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Chapter Four

Loathing

Chris hated criminals, but, like most cops, he had a special place reserved in his hatred for child molestors, rapists, and wife beaters. Over the years he'd seen his share of all three, and it never ceased to sicken him. In his years working nights, he'd dealt with a particularly high number of the latter two. He couldn't count how many "domestic disturbances" he'd been called to, and he'd never grown accustomed to it. There was an instinctive protectiveness in him that seethed and boiled at the sight of a victim hunched pitifully on the floor, crying. He suspected all cops shared that protectiveness. It was what motivated them, drove them on: the thought of the victim, or potential victims, they might help or fail.

He supposed the wife beaters upset him the most because so often he was helpless to do anything about them. Most of the time, the frightened women refused to press charges. Chris would look at their swelling faces and see the shadowed bruises underneath and know this wasn't the last time he'd be called to this house. He'd never wanted to hurt anyone so badly as he wanted to punch those bastards who pummelled someone weaker and smaller to make themselves feel good. "They pick on people who can't defend themselves," he'd told his partner one night as they peeled away from yet another 'reconciled' couple. "We're the only ones who can help, and the victims won't let us. What kind of crap is this?"

He'd been young then, a rookie, and his partner, an older woman named Shirley Trass, had only smiled. "If we lived in another place or time, I'd beat the crap out of every single one of 'em," she'd told him, and he hadn't missed the bitterness behind that smile. "But we're bound by law, and law says that if the victim doesn't want help, we can't give 'em help. You'll get used to it, Chris. We all do. If you like it or accept it, you become a thug yourself; if you obsess over it, you drive yourself nuts. You get used to it and you keep on hating it. That's the best any of us can do."

Now, as he stumbled through the rain, an ironic smile twisted his lips. Apparently Chris Redfield's high and mighty morals lasted right up until the moment he found himself upset by something. My God, he'd almost hit Jill -- not in training or in play, but in raw, animal anger. Only her speed and training had allowed her to dodge it. So Jill was a cop, so she was tougher and stronger than other women he knew. So what? Claire wasn't your average girl either, but let Leon raise his hand to her once and he'd never raise anything ever again.

He paused on a street corner, wheeling wildly. He knew Jill had taken off on foot; her car remained at her downtown apartment. But where was she? She couldn't have gone far; he was only a minute behind her. "Jill!" he called, his voice hoarse and unnatural. "Jill!"

He sensed her before he saw her leaning against the wall in a sheltered alley. She looked more tired than angry. "Stop shouting, Chris."

Warily, he approached. "Jill."

"Chris."

He reached out to touch her and she looked at his hand as though it disgusted her. Slowly, Chris withdrew. "Jill, I... I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I know."

"I... I don't know what else to say."

She sighed. "Don't worry about it, Chris."

Leaning against the opposite wall, he raked his hand self-consciously through his damp hair. Now that he faced her, his mind had gone blank. The situation was almost surreal -- after all they'd been through, she could still make him quiver and quake like a schoolboy on prom night. "Jill, I love you. I mean, you know that, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I know it."

He waited with his heart in his throat, at last forced to say, "Do you... love me?"

"You know I do. But sometimes love isn't enough."

"God, Jill." He turned away, unable to face her. "I feel sick. What happened this morning... I wouldn't blame you if you hated me."

"I don't hate you. I love you." He turned back in time to see her shrug. "And what happened this morning has been building up for a few months, ever since Claire went missing. Look, I know how you feel about Claire, but you're asking too much of me. You're asking too much of her. You have to make a choice."

"You're not seriously asking me to choose between you and my sister?"

"Of course not. I'm asking you to choose between behaving like a rational, coherent person -- both as a brother and a..." Her voice trailed off, and she cleared her throat awkwardly. "Both with Claire and with me, and behaving like a lunatic. Because the way you're going right now, you're not only going to lose me. You'll lose your sister too. And then Wesker's revenge will be complete." Her voice softened at the look on his face. "I'm not saying this to hurt you, Chris. I'm saying it because somebody has to. I'm saying it because you can't see what you're turning into. I'm saying it because I love you."

He swallowed hard, suppressing the little voice of rage swelling in his mind. "Maybe you're right," he forced himself to say, and a burden lifted as he said it. "But I don't know how else to behave. I'm scared, Jill, I really am. You know what Wesker's like. Claire still won't talk about what he did to her. God only knows -- God, and maybe Leon," he added, allowing some of the rage to spill over. "I don't know how else to protect her."

Jill stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Her hands folded softly against his chest and he drew her into his arms, burying his face in her damp hair, letting her Jillness wash over him. "God I love you," he whispered.

"I'll help you Chris, I really will. However I can. But no more ranting and raving. No more taking off at any rumor of Wesker's presence. It has to stop."

"It will," he promised, clutching her to him. He had never thought of losing Jill. They belonged together, didn't they? They were made for each other. And if he could lose Jill, he could lose Claire too. That was what made his blood run cold -- not only the thought of losing them, but the realization that Jill was right; he was acting out of sheer madness, fulfilling Wesker's plan for him. "I have to talk to Claire," he realized.

Jill squeezed him once and let go. "I'll help. There's plenty of blame to go around from this morning, and I owe her a bit of an apology. We'll make her listen together."

He kept hold of her hand as they walked, unhurriedly, through the rain. For the first time in months, he felt genuinely happy. Jill's warmth spread through him, strengthening him with her love, her courage. They would talk to Claire and she would listen; she would understand. They would talk to Claire and everything would be all right. He felt it.

Right up until the moment they got home to find her gone.