The Girl on the Train
Part Three:
I Lost You Long Ago
A fonte puro pura defluit aqua
"Because what's worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?"
― James Patterson
Sandfort Springs, Colorado, 2007
The snow was six inches deep before the fire was out.
The school was lost. It was smoldering ash and destruction. They'd tried for eight days to save it, but the infection had nearly killed every child there before they could contain it.
Someone had released it into the water in the school. It had run like wildfire through the classes.
He'd spent eighteen hours putting bullets into children.
He didn't think he'd ever sleep again.
TerraSave arrived to help administer help to the struggling the community. The losses were heavy. Nearly every child between the ages of five and eleven. Grades from kindergarten to fifth. The whole town - childless in a single attack.
Only a handful of children survived.
When the last of eight children that hadn't been infected had been extracted, they set fire to the whole building and damned the rest to eternal rest. He'd stood in the wavering firelight and questioned his purpose in the world.
He couldn't remember what he was fighting for.
He couldn't do anything but see the faces of the crying children being eaten by their classmates and put down while they wept. There was no cure. No cure. NO CURE.
The bitten were killed the same as the turned.
It put him in the shower with his face turned down and the water beating at his bowed head. The horror plagued him. It left him crippled.
He sat in the heated spray and mourned.
The little girl had cried as they'd held her down. She'd wept for her mommy. She'd bled all over the helping hands that were hurting her. He'd watched them shoot her between the eyes and done nothing.
What kind of hero was he?
In the pounding water, he let go of the pain on a tidal wave of grief and punched the wall until his hand was bloody.
The knock on his door was unexpected. He figured it was Jim coming to tell him that the morning would bring another wasteland needing a hired gun to end the suffering of those who'd never survive.
Honestly, he needed a vacation. He needed to go out to the Bay and just...breathe.
Instead, he went to the door and opened it.
And found salvation on the other side.
Claire took one look at him and breathed, "Oh, honey, oh, sweetheart...I'm so sorry."
He let her in, stepping back to leave the door for her to enter.
She came in, looking fresh and soft. The red jacket she wore was the color of wine after it breathes. He wondered if it would look as good with brains splattered all over it.
He wore nothing but the towel gathered around his waist. He circled a hand in the air, inviting her in.
His back was littered with whip marks. Claire froze, looking at the mess of him. When? Why? He'd never say. He likely couldn't. Whatever he did, he never spoke of it. Here, vulnerable and mostly naked, was the inner sanctum of the great Leon Kennedy.
There were a handful of people in the world that got to see the real him.
She spoke into the quiet as he poured another snifter of scotch, "You should have called me."
He laughed, darkly, and it was thick with pain. "Why? So you could run to my rescue? It's done. The children? They all died. I took care of them. The cleaning crew is out there getting rid of the evidence. Isn't that what you do, Claire? You clean up the mess after I do the dirty work?"
He was so angry. He was looking for a target. It was her, conveniently. And that was ok. There was nothing quite like Leon Kennedy in a shame spiral. He had such a big heart, he felt every death like one of his own.
She said, softly, "I do my part, Leon. I comfort those left behind. Sometimes, I have to kill them too when they turn after we think they're safe. I stand in the ashes of what you burn. I try to implement protocols to save people and fail. You saw me fail. You know what I do."
He laughed, mirthlessly, "Yeah. I saw what you did in Harvardville. I know what you do. The great Claire Redfield - her brother kills them, she heals them. You're the white mage to his black one huh?"
What a nerd, Claire thought, watching him drink his sorrows away - always talking magic and dungeons and dragons. It was charming on a package so perfectly male.
"Don't pick a fight with me, Leon Kennedy. I'm not who you're mad at."
He spun, pointing at her. He was shimmering with rage. "I'm not? Aren't I? I'm in this fight because of you. I'm here because of you. You're the reason, Claire. The reason I stayed. The reason I covered. You are. I'm here because you got away...you stole my life."
Jesus.
Her heart cramped in her chest. She scanned his forlorn face looking for the truth in it. It was all over him. He blamed her for what he'd become. He blamed her.
Was that why he'd never really looked at her? Was that why they were best friends but safe from that final leap to something more?
Was the love he felt for her all tied up in hate?
She spoke, almost gruffly, "I never asked you to cover for me."
He shook his head, laughing again. It tinkled like broken glass. "Didn't you? You ran for it. You took off. What choice did I have?" He yelled it and made her jump, "YOU LEFT ME! YOU LEFT SHERRY! You took off and left me to handle it. What did you think I'd do? Turn you in? I had to protect Sherry!"
He shot back another round of scotch, hissing, "And I had to protect you. You didn't give me a choice, Claire. I am what you made me."
The silence dragged between them. It hurt. It was painful.
Claire finally spoke into the painful void of it.
"You want the truth? I'll give it you." She stalked a step back to him, looked up into his face. "You are the best thing that has ever come into my life. You were the only thing that kept me from giving up that night. The only thing. The best friend I've ever had. There is a bond with you that I will never ever feel with another living person, let alone another man. And that terrifies me." His eyes had softened, just a little. "And you are the biggest, spoiled brat I have ever met. How dare you blame me for what you've become! I never would have asked you to compromise yourself, ever. Never. Don't you dare insult me by blaming me for your life. I made the best I could out of mine, Leon. Your mess? It's all yours. And only a spoiled brat would sit here whining about it."
Hi eyes sparked again as he grabbed her arms, pulled her just a little bit up off the floor until their faces were even. It surprised her. She couldn't remember a time he'd ever put his hands on her in anger. "Protecting you doesn't make me spoiled, Claire. It makes me stupid."
She slapped him, just once, just hard enough that his head snapped back.
His eyes fired, hot enough that she was frightened for a single shining moment. It sent a shiver down her spine as she remembered one thing about him: he was something you feared in their world. He was something that was synonmous with death.
But he was still Leon. Still her Leon and her heart said? He would never hurt her.
"Go on." His voice was gruff, harsh. "Hit me again if it makes you feel better. Does it change anything? Does it? I let you chase your brother that night Claire and throw me under the bus. But not just me...not just me...her too. Sherry too. You left us BOTH."
There was so much pain inside her, so much rage. It shimmered. It made her breath catch. Why? Because part of her thought he was right. And it made her despise him.
She whispered, "I hate you."
"...I hate what you've done to me."
Her heart slammed, painfully, and tears sparked in her eyes. She slapped him again and it rang in the quiet room. They were both panting with it as she spat, "That makes two of us...you stupid asshole."
Unleashed, he growled once, darkly, and shoved her. He slammed her into the wall and followed her. It made her back ring, it made her breath catch. It made her heart race.
She had a flash of unnerved fear and his mouth came down, hard and fast.
The moment he kissed her, she responded. To his rage, to her own.
Their mouths smashed together, tongues intertwining. She fisted her hands in his hair and poured herself into him.
He lifted her and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he turned and walked them to the bed.
He came down atop her, their mouths still fighting furiously for control.
His hands moved furiously over her, jerking at her jacket. She pressed her mouth to his chest, ran her tongue over him. Her hands grabbed fistfuls of the scarred perfection of his back. She jerked hard enough he grunted and thrust his groin against hers so lewdly it made her face flush.
She slapped him again and he laughed. He just...he laughed. It made her feel like her body might melt into the bed and become part of his.
There was the loud sound of her shirt ripping and his mouth was on her, over her, through the silk of her bra. She cursed, madly, "...fucking christ."
And he bit her. He wasn't gentle. Her nipple sent a shock wave into her groin and had her humping crudely against him.
She screamed, arched toward the wet pit of his mouth on her. Her hands raced over his shoulders as his hands jerked at her jeans, pulling them free of her. There was a rustle of clothing, the pant of labored breathing.
She jerked at the towel on his waist to get her hands on him. Her nails raked over his ass and the slick heat of him smeared damply over her belly.
There was a moment, just a flash of it, as he seemed to hesitate but she gripped a handful of his hair and jerked him down to kiss her and he gave in. Her body jerked as he ripped her panties at the hip and he jerked her hips to the end of the bed so he could kneel there and touch her.
He crudely stuck two fingers in her in a rhythm that didn't ask if she was ready. She came almost instantly, slapping at his chest and bucking. He pulled his sloppy fingers out of her and buried his face against the apex of her body.
His mouth clamped over her, hot and fast. She scrambled her hands on the comforter, cried out. The orgasm built in a scalding wave; she felt her body splinter apart from her mind. Her hand squeezed tight on the covers and she threw her head back with a scream.
Leon felt the moment her body tumbled over, felt her release, and never thought he'd ever known such hunger before. All of this was instinct. It was as basic as sex itself. It was boy, girl, and fuck. It was that simple.
He crawled up her body and she lifted her arms to slide them around him. When he was close enough, she lifted her body, ran them along the slickness of his torso. The muscles, there were so many muscles.
She filled her hands with him, almost sweetly. Her stroking was sure and smooth, slick with him and her and deft stroke of her tongue, just once, along the slit of him.
Leon hissed harshly through his teeth. Her hand felt like silk. If she put her mouth on him, he'd go. He wasn't ready. He tugged her face up to kiss her instead. His hands passed against her ruin clothes to pull them off her.
The world shifted - turning red and wet.
He rolled his head against her shoulder and kissed her. It was a little slower this time, a little softer.
He flattened a hand on either side of her head and pushed his lower body against hers. Claire moaned, slid her hands down his sides.
There was a sound of cloth pooling on the ground.
He moved to the edge of the bed, took her hips in his hands. She gripped handfuls of comforter and met his eyes. His fingers passed over the softness of her hair on her mound. Red - like she was. Red - like the need for her.
She was on fire for him.
With a look that was part primal fury, part encompassing passion, he drove himself into her.
Claire cried out as something that was dangerously close to joy slipped through her. She arched her body against him as he leaned just a little over her, bracing himself around her.
She took his face in her hands, a gesture so genuine between them, so pure and whispered, "Yes."
Leon let himself go. Part of him had been afraid, part of him elated.
With something close to a cry, he started to move inside her.
The bed creaked a little with the force of their bodies merging. Claire had a moment to see the colors in the room become a rainbow blur and she was tumbling, screaming, was soaring down into a chasm where there was nothing but feeling and heat and light.
It was minutes really or a lifetime. Or both. Or neither. She reached up to him and he rolled his back down to kiss her so she could hold his face. They watched each other as he filled her.
She felt him tighten and milked him with her body until they were both on the edge.
Leon was over her, in her, wrapped around her like a monkey and he shuddered and laid his mouth against hers as his body erupted inside her.
Movement of bodies rolling, arms and legs that tangled like roots in the earth. He held her, smooth and soft and sweating against his side.
There was the harsh sound of their breathing; a cacophony of sound in an otherwise silent room.
She could feel him, wet and hot deep in her body.
With everything that had built between them, she wanted to say they'd simply fucked each other. It was natural, it was healthy.
But she'd never been a liar.
Claire had thought that the first hint of any kind of passion that edged toward violence would frighten her, send her screaming for the hills.
But she'd never been scared of Leon, never been afraid of anything inside him. Although she could admit, at least to herself, that she'd never imagined that he harbored this kind of desire for her.
She ran a hand down the softly heaving muscles of his stomach.
Dressed Leon was impossibly handsome, beautiful in the purity of his manhood. Naked, he was a revelation.
In her minds eye, she'd never imagined he would look like this.
Her hair fell around them like red edged silk. Leon skimmed his hand through it, another old gesture, and then slid his other hand down her back, over the curve of her butt and this was new.
He hadn't meant for it to come to this between them. Never pictured it as something pent up, something explosive. In his planning, there had been candles and wine and music.
But nothing ever went as he planned with her.
She'd enjoyed him. Hell, she'd clenched around him more then once so he knew she wouldn't be disappointed. But he was terribly afraid she would run. He had no fucking idea what he was doing.
To his surprise, she leaned up on one elbow and looked down into his face. Nothing on her looked upset. She looked flushed, well used, and happy.
He met her eyes, trying to keep his carefully blank. He thought he was doing well until she spoke.
"Well, where have you been hiding Mr. Kennedy?"
He saw her mouth curve and felt his echo it. Maybe she wouldn't run.
There was a suggestion of beard burn around her mouth, on her neck. He lifted a hand and trailed it over the delicate white of her skin.
She saw where his eyes were aimed and smiled again.
"Did I hurt you?"
So there was still something of the man she knew in the god before her.
Claire took his hand and kissed the fingers. "I'm not a flower, Leon."
"Do I owe you an apology?"
"For what? Multiple orgasms? I swear the nerve of some men! I told you I only wanted one!" But she was grinning and so he relaxed.
"Claire…"
"Leon I know there are things we need to talk about, stuff that needs dealt with. But I don't want to do it right now. Do you?"
He lifted his hand, slid it down her body and watched the light that speared through her eyes again.
"Well I think we could probably find something else to do."
One corner of her mouth lifted as she lowered her head, trapped his lips in a kiss that had him pushing against the softness of her hip.
She whispered, "Oh I think we can manage somehow."
In the morning, he left at dawn. She lay in the bed, knowing she had weeks of work left here.
She also knew that things with them were changed forever. She wasn't entirely sure, but part of her was curious about what this meant.
She didn't ask. He didn't say. Before he left, he murmured, quietly, "...what's next for you?"
Claire clutched the sheet to her breasts and shrugged, watching the pink spill of dawn cut across his tired face, "The Bay...maybe. Are you free?"
He shook his head, looking so sad it hurt her. "I can't. Not for months. July?"
She nodded, hopefully, "Maybe. Yeah. If I can."
"Right. I should go...I'm on duty." He paused. His hand snaked out and caught the back of her neck. She spilled against him, turning her mouth up to his.
It was a long kiss. It made them both breathless.
He let her go. She breathed, "You're always on duty."
He laughed, mirthlessly, and lamented, "Yeah...the story of my life."