Chapter Three
Impending
Still wrapped in the blanket she'd tugged around her shoulders the night before, Claire gazed out her window at the late morning scene. Not a busy street, but an active one, filled with people from all walks of life. So like Chris to live here. So like him to make his home where he was at once welcomed and inconspicuous, another face among many.
She raked her hands through her hair, trying to work through the tangles. Dreams. None of them pleasant. She'd opened her eyes this morning with a fresh wave of terror, a thought born of nightmares. Wesker had said he'd be back. He hadn't said when. It could be tomorrow or it could be in ten years. Maybe that was his real revenge after all: leaving her in an agony of doubt, always checking over her shoulder, jumping at every sound. Could she live like this much longer?
She knew Wesker was a man of action and tended to move sooner rather than later. But she also knew, both from Chris and her own observations, that he could be very patient when it suited him. Yes, he wanted success and power; yes, he wanted them now. But if he couldn't get them now, he would take them later.
When she came right down to it, she knew Wesker would always choose the shortest path if it was equally viable. Faced between a treacherous shortcut and a certain roadway, he'd take the latter every time.
Which got her nowhere. She only knew she couldn't continue in this half-life of doubt and fear. She'd been planning to apply for a job? What was she thinking? How could she work with strangers when any one of them might be in his employ?
Her hands trembled on her thighs, but she knew full well what she needed to do. If Wesker was coming for her, let him come. She wasn't going to ruin her own life, or Chris', waiting for him. And that meant she had to get away from Chris.
She started to stand, but her knees buckled and she had to take a few breaths. Who was she kidding? She didn't stand a chance against Wesker. This was a stupid, reckless plan, and she should climb back into bed and stay there.
But she couldn't. So she steeled herself and crept down the hall towards her brother's room. From the kitchen she heard voice's -- Chris and, presumably, Jill. She was terribly grateful. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was interupt them in bed. She prefered to proceed under the blissful assumption that her brother didn't have a sex life, a preference she knew he shared.
She rooted through his things until she found it tossed carelessly under a pile of clothes in the closet -- the heavy, gleaming magnum revolver that could (she hoped) blow a hole through even Wesker's head. She'd fired it once on the firing range under Barry's supervision, and the recoil had knocked her flat on her bottom. With a grin, she'd told him she'd stick to more traditional weapons.
But now she needed the magnum's firepower. Actually, she needed a rocket launcher, or maybe a tank. But failing those, the magnum would have to do. She tucked it into her waistband and ducked into the washroom, taking a few moments to comb her hair and pull it back, brush her teeth, make herself look like less of a crazy person. Maybe she was crazy, trying to track Wesker on her own. But she had to do it. Whether she killed him, he killed her, or she wound up his prisoner again, anything would be better than the endless waiting.
She stared herself down in the mirror, forcing steel into her eyes. She made herself only one promise. No matter what happened, no matter what he did to her, he would never hear her beg again. She could handle almost every other memory of her imprisonment. But the thought of her desperate, broken pleading made her cringe with humiliation and fury. Never again, she vowed, and prayed with all her heart she spoke the truth.
-----
"I'm going out," Clare called as she passed through the kitchen.
"Have fun," Chris replied absently, intent on not burning the bacon.
It took almost three seconds for what she'd said to sink in. "Woah," he cried. "What?" He shot into action, tearing through the house and arresting her with her hand on the doorknob. "What the hell are you doing?"
His sister fixed him with a bored expression. "Going for a walk."
"Not by yourself, you're not."
"Come on, Chris. How long do you think you're going to keep this up?"
Jill followed them into the porch, sweetly disheveled, dressed in one of Chris' long sweaters and oversized sweat pants. "Maybe she's got a point," she said.
Chris ignored her completely. "Is this because I went out last night?"
"No. Of course not. I just wanted some air. Is that asking too much?"
"We have a number of perfectly serviceable windows." His jaw set, he dragged her back into the house. Suddenly her nails sank into his hand, and he released her with a startled cry.
He stared at the bloody half-moons, then at Claire in disbelief. "Sorry," she said with a shrug. "But I'm not a toy, Chris. You can't just drag me around."
"Another point," said Jill from behind.
Chris spun on her. "Would you just keep out of this, please?"
"You're right; sorry I interfered. You're doing a masterful job on your own."
"Jill, shut up. Claire, get upstairs." He missed the indignant rage settling over Jill's face as he turned to his sister.
Claire snorted. "I'm not a child anymore. You can't make me do anything."
"I'm older and stronger, and I will drag you up those stairs if I have to."
Claire glared at him. "Try it."
Chris threw up his hands in disgust. "I'm not trying to piss you off, Claire! I'm worried about you!"
"You're always worried about her!" Jill shot back. "She's a grown woman, Chris; she has the right to go for a bloody walk by herself if she wants to!"
"I told you to stay out of this!"
"Well, I don't have to do what you say either!"
"Both of you shut up!" Claire hollered. "God! You see, this is why I want to get out of here!"
"Oh, because of me?" Jill laughed harshly, her face red, her fists clenched. "That's rich. All I've heard for two months is Claire this and Claire that, and you need a break from me?"
Chris was beginning to get the sense he'd made a terrible mistake. "Look, girls, let's just..."
"Don't call me girl!" Jill shouted. "I'm a police officer, or I was! Don't you pull that condescending crap you use on your sister on me!"
"Oh, I was a police officer," Claire mimicked savagely. "Well, doesn't that make you special?"
"Why don't you shut your God damn mouth?"
"Why don't you try sleeping in your own bed instead of parading around here like some overpriced whore?"
"Woah!" Chris caught Jill's shoulders as she lunged for Claire and shoved her back. "That's enough! Both of you, calm down!"
"Get out of my way!"
Chris' own anger began to stir. "Keep your hands off my sister, Valentine!"
"Right, everything's about her, isn't it?"
"Jill, why don't you go back to the kitchen."
"Why don't you get stuffed?"
"You don't get to talk to him that way!" Claire screamed, stomping her foot. "You don't get to walk into this house and treat him like a toy and me like garbage! You're not that important!"
"Stop it!" Chris shouted. "Jill, knock it off!"
"Jill knock it off? What about Little Miss Mouth over there?" She tossed her head and glared. "I wish we'd never rescued you, I really do. I wish we'd let you die in that pitiful little hole."
"Shut up!" Before he knew what he was doing, Chris took a swing at her. Only Jill's speed saved her; she instinctively dodged, his fist grazing her chin.
Dead silence fell. The three of them stared at one another. Chris looked at his hand as though he couldn't believe what he'd done. "Jill..."
Without a word, she shoved past him, jamming her bare feet into her runners. "Jill!" he repeated, but she was already outside, slamming the door behind her.
He hesitated, his eyes on Claire. "Go, you idiot," she returned unemotionally. "I'm OK. You'd better catch her now."
Relieved, Chris dropped a kiss on her cheek. "Don't go anywhere. We'll talk when I get back."
"Good luck."
And in his hurry to find Jill, he never noticed that she hadn't agreed.