GLIMPSE:

A Resident Evil Short Story

Starring:

Leon S. Kennedy and Claire Redfield

Guest Starring:

Chris Redfield, Jill Valentine, Rebecca Chambers, Sherry Birkin, Albert Wesker and the Ghost of Ada Wong

Part Two:

The Executioner

Raccoon City - 2006

When face to face with a cow, one has a moment to consider the nature of their existence. For Leon Kennedy, the question of his was staring him in the face currently chewing cud.

It was possibly angry. It was probably aggressive. If he leapt from the Jeep to run, would it pursue him?

He'd faced an entire village of Ganado in Spain once...he was not nearly as scared then as he was now.

In the seat beside him, the dead visage of the former spy was smirking at him. He rolled his head on the seat and looked at her. "Am I dead?"

She laughed, lightly, "Do you feel dead?"

He considered this, carefully. He glanced at his face in the mirror above the windshield. Reclining, slumped as he was, there was something horrifying looking back at him from that visor. The start of a double chin.

He whispered, "I will be soon if my arteries have anything to say about it. You make me fat?"

Ada laughed again, eyes twinkling, "I'm your spirit guide, not your chef. You made yourself fat I'm afraid."

He rolled his head, sighing, "What happened here? And how long am I trapped in it?"

Ada shrugged, considering the cow as it moved over near the driver side, still eyeballing the former rookie cop. Leon stiffened, waiting to see if it would go all Jurassic Park on him and try to knock the Jeep over.

"Until you learn what you need to learn. Isn't that the point of these things? To teach a grand lesson, have an epiphany, and discover the truth?"

Leon sighed, dramatically, "I'd rather be back on top of Jenna with my joint and my scotch, Ada. I had an epiphany there too, and it got tossed in the trash when I took the rubber off."

Ada rolled her eyes, laughing, "You're a miserable wretch, Leon Kennedy. A mess. Two steps from suicide by liver failure. This glimpse is a gift. Use it well. And when you wake up in the hospital when this is over, turn your life around and really live it for once."

Leon watched her for a long moment, "Who am I here, Ada? I'm not me. I don't understand any of this."

"You are you. You're still you. You're just the you that didn't become an agent. There was no outbreak. There was no viral warfare. There was only a baby cop in Raccoon who met a pretty girl that came to the RPD to see her brother...fell in love. And started a life."

Leon shook his head, watching the cow meander away. "I don't know how to be that guy."

Ada shrugged, looking unconcerned, "You're a genius, they say. Figure it out."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Well...you're also the worst driver in the world. Keep fucking this up long enough, you'll crash and burn. And it'll be done. Your choice."

It wasn't much of one.

But, apparently, it was the only one he had.

"You gonna show up when I need you?"

Ada smirked a little, "You ever known me to be predictable?"

He glanced over but she was gone. Nope. She was never that.

Apparently, neither was his life.

He steered the Jeep into the driveway. Chris was standing on the porch smoking. Chris - the Human Tank - apparently not that at all now. He was still huge. Apparently, some things didn't change, but he looked young somehow and happy. No scars. No lines around his eyes to talk about grief. No signs of drinking too much and denying his needs.

He'd marred Jill. Which...was like finding out he had two heads.

And Jill was fat with the spawn of his loins.

Which...was like finding out he was also Darth Vader. It didn't seem possible. Redfield with kids?

Wait...wait...WAIT. HIM with kids? Leon Kennedy with kids!? What the hell was happening here?

He stepped out of the Jeep. The door opened and the small boy came out. "DAD! Where ya been!? You missed Santa!"

LORD.

Where was he?

In the seventh circle of hell, clearly.

Leon smiled shakily. He eased up the walk way. Redfield continued to watch him like a hawk. The kid threw himself bodily at Leon for a big hug. "I love my BIKE, Dad! I love it! Come see!"

He hurried back inside.

Leon started past and Chris threw a big hand against his chest. They were shoulder to shoulder, eyeing each other. Chris mused, softly, "Get your shit together, Kennedy. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Leon shook his head, sighing, "Looooong story."

"Put a fucking smile on your face, you scrooge, it's Christmas."

Right.

Christmas.

WITH HIS FAMILY.

Lord.

He stepped into the house and the laughter followed him as he tried to find his way through a house that was his but wasn't. The kitchen was filled with familiar faces now. It was Jill and Rebecca Chambers. It was BILLY COEN - the convict that had gone MIA after Raccoon who was not, apparently, a convict at all but WAS Rebecca's husband.

It was Barry and his wife and kids. It was BRAD VICKERS - not dead, but still stupid, making arm pit farts. All of the long dead STARS. It was MARVIN BRANAGH who Leon had watched die in the RPD. Kevin Ryman the rest of the rag tag band he'd led out of Raccoon were all there. There was Chief Irons and his wife and the MAYOR.

Who in the HELL was Chris that all these fucking people were th-

And then the hall bathroom door opened and the worst one came out.

The worst one.

Leon shouted so loud that it had all the laughter and talking come to a screeching halt.

"ALBERT WESKER!"

Wesker stopped, blinking, wearing NO SUNGLASSES and looking startled. He was in a pair of jeans and a blue polo shirt. He was not looking sinister at all.

He was staring like an owl at Leon though.

And Leon shouted, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE!?"

He answered, without hesitation, "I was urinating. Is this not permitted?"

Ok. So...apparently Wesker was not the bad guy here. The series of faces staring at him said he was probably crazy though. Sherry was leaning on the wall watching him. She had pink streaks in her hair and a lip piercing. She mused, "Dude...you ok, man? You been hitting the bong again without me?"

From behind Wesker, Claire - in a pretty red sweater and jeans - gave Leon a look that would fell a lesser man. "Sorry, Al. Seriously. I don't know what the hell is wrong with him today. Leon? A minute?"

Wesker shrugged, studying Leon shrewdly, "Perhaps you should consider a cardiovascular routine, Mr. Kennedy. It would help with controlling your stress level. Endorphins create feelings of contentment...as well as hone the physique."

OH MY GOD. Albert Wesker was calling him fat. It was officially the worst day of his life.

He shook his head and moved passed Wesker. Sherry grabbed his arm and muttered, "Dude...don't bogart the weed. Where'd you stash it? You know the warden hates when we toke up when she's around."

Yep. He was a fat, pot smoking house husband. Did he even have a JOB!? Did he do anything but eat ice cream, smoke weed, and drink beer? Apparently, not.

Leon shook his head and moved past her.

Claire took his arm and, not so gently, tugged him into the small study off the main living room. She closed the door and tilted her head at him, "What in the world is going on with you?"

He answered, desperately, "Claire...CLAIRE...this is gonna sound nuts...it is...but bear with me here. I'm...not me."

She raised both brows.

"Ok. I'm...not me exactly. Not really. This? Not me." He raised his shirt to show his belly, "Where's my six pack, Claire?"

She sighed, "Don't start. It's in the fridge. I told you that."

He shook his head, "No. No. Listen - I'm not a pudgy suburban dad."

"Damnit, Leon. Not this again. Not today. As stupid as this diatribe usually sounds, I'm not in the mood for it today." She shook her head at him and paced the little study.

His eyes slid over it. Bookshelves covered in books of all subjects. A desk with pens and various things. There was a nerf basketball hoop draped over the back of the door. There was a small leather arm chair with a dog earred copy of the Catcher in the Rye waiting there to be read.

This was his study. He could feel it. THIS? This was the first place that felt like him.

He tried again, gently, "I'm sorry. I am. I know it seems crazy. But...this isn't my life, Claire. It's not me. I don't know what's going on, but I don't belong here."

She surprised him. He expected her to explode with anger.

Instead?

"I hate when you talk like that. I hate it. Stop saying stuff like that. I don't care who your Dad was. You belong with me, you big idiot, you always have."

She turned and pushed him. His back hit the door and her hands went right up under his sweatshirt. She, apparently, liked his fat dad bod just fine. She curled her fingers in his little bit of chest hair, tugged, and plastered her mouth to his.

Ok.

So...there were benefits to this "glimpse" of his. He'd always wondered what she tasted like. Now he knew: strawberry lip balm and cinnamon. His hands came up to grab her face. He tunneled his fingers into her hair and tilted her face up.

It was his fake life, after all, and this one of the perks apparently.

He kissed her like he'd finally find what was missing in her mouth. It spilled fast and heavy between them. Claire made a small mewl and he dipped, scooping her against him. Leon turned her to slam her against the wall and make her gasp with it. He kissed her slick and needy, tongue and twisting fingers in her hair. Her leg came up to wrap around his hip. She kinda humped all over him and gripped his butt.

He came up for air, scooping her shaggy bangs back to see her face. She had her eyes closed, rubbing at his ass. He whispered, quietly, "...you're beautiful, Claire."

It sounded a little awe inspired. It was. It really was. He added, "I mean...you were always a very cute girl, there's no question of that. But you've...turned into a stunning woman."

Gasping, she nibbled at his jaw. "This is good stuff, Kennedy. Romance. Keep it coming."

He tilted her face back up and plumbed her mouth again, questing now, tasting. His eyes stayed open on her face, watching her reactions. She fluttered her thick lashes. She liked to suck his tongue. She answered it by sweeping hers into his mouth.

And she paused.

She stopped.

He watched surprise shoot over her pretty pink skin.

She made a small sound of confusion and drew back to see his face. They were both flushed and panting.

Her eyes were hooded and her voice cracked a little, "...what was that?"

He licked her mouth and stole her breath with it. She trembled. His voice was gruff and hoarse when he answered, "What was what?"

"...it felt like...that was...it..."

He knew what she was trying to say. It felt like a first kiss. Because it was. It was. For him. She'd been kissing his doppelganger for years apparently in this weird third dimension of hers. But him?

He'd never even tried to touch her.

Now?

He didn't want to do anything but touch her.

She whispered, "How do you do that?"

He skimmed her mouth with his thumb. She softened like butter his arms. "Do what?"

She caught his face and echoed him, stroking his mouth. "...look at me like you haven't been doing it everyday for the last eight years."

A good question.

An easy answer: he hadn't.

He said nothing. Claire gasped and pushed at him, "What are we doing here? Groping like horny kids when we have a house full of guest." She laughed lightly.

She seperated herself from him and paused, staring at him for a long moment. He tilted his head, watching her. She shook herself like a dog coming out of water. "Later, hotshot, later with the long looks. Lord. Can't remember the last time you touched me like that. You're really on a roll today with the weird behavior."

Well...that was fucking insulting as hell. For a man who was a literal Lothario of the ladies, who was RENOWNED for his lovemaking skills. Who was known for leaving you fulfilled and fanning your face...he'd become a LAZY bed mate. He was Don Juan de Dumbass. He'd stopped fucking his wife like a champ and started being a two pump chump apparently.

It just kept getting worse: he was a two pump chump with a fat gut.

He shook his head, laughing with derision. "Yeah, enough of that shit."

Claire nodded sagely, "I agree. Get it together."

She started out of the room and he hooked an arm around her and dragged her back. She went, making a little hmm hmm sound of happiness. He kissed her breathless, making her cling and coo against him, and let her go. "Yeah, enough of that. Get these people out of this house, Claire, so I can put my mouth all over you."

Her face flushed red. Her hands gripped at his butt to rub him against her. "Hoooo...hah...ok. So...that's ok. That weirdness is good. Keep that thought. DWELL there. Christmas cookies be damned! Give me the cock!"

He laughed, charmed by her. He liked the shaggy chin length hair on her too. It suited her face. He wanted to touch her alot. But not with a house full of fucking people beyond the door.

He was, however, going to redeem himself. His lazy other version was done here. He was going to fuck her bowlegged, get on fucking treadmill, and fix this shit: pronto.

He started to follow her back to the party and something on the book shelf had him freezing in place.

Eyes wide, he moved toward it. It was a trophy of some kind with his name on it.

But it wasn't a fucking marksman trophy. Oh no. Not that. Nope.

It was a goddamn bowling trophy.

"Leon S. Kennedy:

The Executioner -

Leading the Raccoon City Tyrants to 12 straight victories and achieving the fastest ever 300 game - 12 strikes in 92 seconds.

Leon Kennedy - killing it."

He stared. He just kept on staring.

He was a fat, bad in bed, surburban husband who was the best bowler in the world.

He couldn't help it.

He just started to laugh.

He went out the study door into the backyard of the house. It was covered in snow. It was filled with laughing kids. Who's? Barry's - which he recognized: Moira and Polly.

His - the boy - with the red hair and the big eyes. He watched the kid play and laugh. He finally turned and waved, "Hey Dad! HEY!"

The little boy raced at him. Polly, Barry's daughter, yelled, "Ben! Wait!" And inadvertently gave him his own son's name.

Leon knelt to catch the kid as he launched into him. The boy laughed and kissed him with cold lips. He grinned and flashed white teeth missing the bottom one. "I farted on Polly."

Leon snorted a little, "What would you Mom say?"

"...to apologize." He sounded sad about it. Who could blame him? Leon patted his head, awkwardly.

The little boy leaned back to study his face. They engaged in a long stare down. A handsome fucking kid. His face with Claire's hair. Whatever else was true, his useless balls made good looking offspring. Apparently they weren't any good at fucking, so at least they were good for something.

Ben narrowed his eyes at him. Leon narrowed his back.

Ben let him go, considering things. It was pretty intelligent for a kid. And he said, "You wanna see me do a back flip?"

Laughing, Leon shrugged, "Sure. Show me what ya got."

Ben ran out into the snow and danced. Polly was kind enough to race over and fart on him, making his shriek with laughter, and then the little boy executed a pretty decent back flip.

Amused, Leon eased down the porch into the snow.

"Not bad. You wanna see something pretty cool though?"

The kids eyed him happily. Ben asnwered, "You bet!"

"I can do three in a row."

Moira scoffed. Polly looked thrilled. Ben looked rather judgmental.

"No you can't Dad. You can't even do a cartwheel."

Leon paused. He froze. He considered that. What if it was true? He wasn't himself after all. Maybe he was...clumsy. Maybe he wasn't able to do a goddamn back flip. It hadn't crossed his mind. None of this had. It was fucking surreal.

Determined, he rolled his neck and shoulders. "Sure I can. Ready?"

"...oooook." Ben said in a sing song voice, "Be careful though. You p'obably get peety hurt, Dad. Just sayin."

Polly clapped happily.

Moira looked pretty interested. He could see the older version of her like a shadow on her young self.

Leon braced. He winked.

And he back flipped.

But he didn't.

Not even a little bit.

He went up, he went over, and he went right down on his face in the snow.

The kids shrieked with laughter.

He laid there for a long moment, frozen. He couldn't do it. The kid was right. He rose, shaking with anger now, and the ran across the yard. The kid was right about this too - he couldn't even do a fucking cartwheel.

He tried and fell, getting more excited laughter.

They thought he was playing around.

He wished to GOD he was.

On the heels of the revelations that he was useless, bad in bed, and fat - the last of the horrifying thoughts hit him. What if he couldn't shoot either?

He turned and fled into the house while the kids laughed and cheered. His heart was hammering so hard. He moved into his study. He dug in the desk. He dug through the closet. Nothing. No gun.

No safe.

No evidence of anything.

He hit the stairs listening to laughter and merriment. He ignored it all.

He went into the bedroom and jerked open the closet door. He dug through it, looking for a lock box or a gun cabinet or anything. Nothing. Nothing. NOTHING.

He knew how to test the theory though. He knew.

He ran for the stairs and hurried down them.

Redfield was in the kitchen, cuddled up behind Jill and swaying. His hands were stroking her belly while she happily chatted with Wesker. Wesker had some woman on his arm. And worse?

His kid was there with them.

JAKE. The kid that would later have the anomaly in his blood to save the world.

Jake - who looked like a pissed off toddler at the moment throwing peas. He was on the hip of the woman with Wesker, looking sour faced and angry.

Leon shook aside the horror of his world - so simple and normal - and grabbed for Redfield's pockets. Chris shouted when his hand went right into his jeans and grabbed his keys. "HEY! You fucking pervert, what the hell are you doing in there?"

"Shut up, idiot. Shut up."

Jill chuckled happily, "I usually like to watch when a hot guy feels up my husband, Leon. Just sayin."

Chris rolled his eyes, "You would, you voyeur."

She winked and turned her mouth to kiss him as Leon ran away with Chris' truck keys. "You better go check on him, babe, before he takes your truck and drives off."

"...holy shit, he'll wreck it. The dumb shit." Chris let go of her and hurried after him.

Leon was digging around in his glovebox, muttering, his butt hanging out of the cab of the big Silverado.

Chris paused, eyeing him, "What the hell man? What is this shit?"

Leon grabbed the pistol in the glovebox and jerked it out, clearing and chambering it in a series of rapid movements. Chris shot his eyes into his hair, "Nice man. I haven't seen you handle one in years. Like riding a bike huh?"

That's what he'd been afraid of.

THAT.

Leon shook his head and ran out into the woods beside the house. Chris followed him, shouting, "HEY! What are you doing!?"

What the hell? Was he going to go kill himself? Kennedy was a fucking nut on a good day. Today? He was acting like 12 kinds of crazy. He was a step away from getting him a straight jacket and a trip to a padded cell.

Leon got winded running.

He got winded running a quarter of a mile into the woods.

JESUS CHRIST.

Breath hitching, he finally stopped and aimed at the big cypress across the clearing. Chris came up beside him, not winded at all- the bastard.

Leon aimed, adjusting. He puffed out white clouds from his mouth as he breathed in and out. Surely this was just something in his goddamn bones. Surely, this was just something he could do no matter what body he inhabited.

Surely.

He pulled the trigger.

The bullet whizzed off into the great beyond.

Chris chuckled, "Fail. What do you expect? You have to practice sometimes man. Just sayin."

Leon lowered the gun. His hands trembled. He'd missed. A tree. He'd missed a tree. A non mobile object bigger than a house. He'd missed from less than twenty yards.

He offered the pistol back to Chris. He stared into gray sky beside the tree. "...what the hell happened to me man?"

Chris lifted a brow, studying him, "What kinda question is that?"

"What am I now? I was...a cop right? I was a cop." That part was still true. He knew that. Ada had told him that.

Chris laughed, lightly, "Yeah. For one whole day. And then your Dad got sick."

His Dad. His Dad got sick. His Dad - the former cop turned gym teacher that had been a drunk all Leon's life and basically a waste of space. His Dad had gotten sick.

And Leon had quit being a cop to take care of him, clearly. Clearly.

He was desperately afraid he knew what he'd become instead of a bad ass agent. He whispered, "...where do I work?"

Chris laughed, rolling his eyes, "You know where you work, dumb ass. Congrats by the way, Claire said the promotion came through. Should we start calling you Mr. Principle? How's Sherry like being a senior with you as the Big Cheese?"

He was a mother fucking TEACHER.

He was a fat, bad in bed, clumsy, out of shape loser who bowled a perfect game, couldn't shoot, didn't know how to do a damn cartwheel or fuck his wife apparently - lived in the burbs and was a fucking principle.

The Big Cheese. THE BIG CHEESE. All he needed was a fake eye to be a complete failure.

This wasn't a glimpse - it was purgatory. He'd come here to roast in the fires before they delivered him to hell. He was a joke. He was a shadow.

It was glimpse alright. A glimpse into his own private hell.

He'd traded being a champ - for being a chump.