Chapter 4

Watch how He Moves

If Jack Krauser hadn't been in my life before, he sure as hell was now. I couldn't round a corner without running into him, sometimes literally. I saw him in the mess hall, I saw him during practice in the advanced classes. I was beginning to get that itchy feeling again, that someone was watching me, the same feeling I'd had when I first arrived at the facility. Now it was worse, like an itching at the back of my mind that was driving me to distraction. I thought it was him, Krauser, but half the time I wasn't even sure anymore. The nightmares were back and the Sergeant had called me in to say that Mellissa was being allowed into the facility to give me weekly sessions until she declared me fit again. She was bound to ask me about my breaks, especially the one with Krauser and, in all truth, I didn't want to talk about it. I was avoiding him like the plague for a reason, even though it didn't seem to be doing me much good.

The assessors were acting wary of me again. I thought I'd worked it out of them, by impressing them, by being friendlier than they'd expected me to be, less of a head-case than they'd expected me to be. Now I felt I was back to square one, with everyone just waiting for me to break down again. I was beginning to question why Howes had even considered keeping me on the first place. It was almost as if he had some ulterior motive.

'Christ Kennedy,' I thought ruefully as I shook my head, 'paranoid much?'

Kessinger was a useful guy to have around, I found out very quickly. He was a walking human distraction. I started brooding, he'd suggest a ten laps around the field (which also kept the assessors happy), I start staring off into space, he challenges me to a game of cards, I wake up screaming, he's got hold of my shoulder saying 'you're safe Leon, you're safe' in a voice so authoritative I have to believe it, even through the haze of fear. Yet, on top of mothering me, he also had a wicked sense of humour, a competitive streak a mile wide, the best fastball I'd ever seen and an air of mystery that kept my interest. I still hadn't been able to get him to talk about the scar and, in a fit of spite, I'd refused any of his advances about mine. In a way it'd become an in joke, which the other guys took as entertainment.

The next time I phoned Claire she informed me that she had pulled her brother out of the stone-age and bought him a lap top with a web cam. So the next time we spoke I got to see her smiling face, which helped more than she knew. I had felt, in the month since I'd started here and especially after the two incidents, the cold, unemotional, ineffectual side of my personality creeping back in; the one which had got me through Racoon. Claire had seen it, maybe even just in the way I found it hard to say 'hello' with any inflection in my voice. She'd soon pummelled that out of me though, with her continuous barrage of information about what she'd been up to, her endless enthusiasm, forcing Chris to sit down and talk too. Not that he minded talking, he just hated the web cam.

"Heard things have been a little rough on you," Chris said, scratching the back of his neck, looking me right in the eye.
"You heard right," I said back, feeling instantly defensive.
"I'm not getting at you," he frowned, "just wanna make sure you're...alright, y'know? Claire worries and I need to know if she should or not."
"I'm fine," I lied, "she doesn't need to worry."
"Okay," he said, nodding his assent, smiling a little, "no need to be so defensive. Look, she really wants to come up and visit you, wants you to show her around town the next time you're on sabbatical. I thought we could both make it up, what d'you think?"
"Sounds great," I said, forcing a smile, "take my mind off things at least."
"Right," he said, shrugging his shoulders in defeat "she's driving me crazy, can't stop her talking about it. She's got it all planned out you understand, don't think you'll have any choice in the matter."
"I get you," I laughed, genuinely for once, "wouldn't be Claire if I did."
"Yeah," Chris said, laughing back.

Claire had arranged to come up in a week. We had a day off before that, but she hadn't been able to book tickets in time, much to her chagrin. So Kessinger, instead, had the great idea of going out and getting completely out of our faces drunk, to which everyone had agreed. I'd been happy at the thought of getting a good hard drink, but also because it would get me off base and drastically reduce the chances of my running into Krauser. We'd gone to a local bar, which Whetford had suggested as he was the only local, and proceeded to drink the place dry in a matter of hours. It was a nice place, reminded me of home. Small, quiet, dimly lit, smelling of beer and cigarettes and cheap perfume.

One by one they bugged out, Kohler first, falling asleep on the table and being quickly labelled a lightweight, Whetford next, who ended up refusing to drink anymore. Huntington and Walker were on a par, both knowing when to stop so that they could still easily get the other two home in one piece. It was Kessinger and myself who had both no self control or want to stop. So it ended up me and him, still in some reckless drinking competition, laughing our asses off every time someone spilt their drink, burning away our hard earned cash just to buy some piece of mind, after the others had headed back to base.

"Christ Kennedy who taught you how't drink?" Kessinger slurred, "You're little sister?"
"I don't have a sister," I managed to annunciate, "but if I did she'd probably drink you under the table."
"O-oh," Kessinger sing-songed, lifting his glass in a mock salute, "touché."

He knocked back another shot. I looked down into my empty shot glass, thinking about the severe hangover we were going to have tomorrow. I looked up to the whiskey bottle, still a quarter full, on the table. Fuck it. I was probably going to get kicked out at some point anyway, so who gave a good god damn what I did? I felt good, better than I had in a long time, happy even, and I liked it, that feeling, missed it. Who cares if it's just the drink, right?

"So you gonna tell me yet?" Kessinger's voice broke me out of my thoughts.
"'Bout what?" I asked.
"About what, he asks," Kessinger rolled his eyes, gesturing vaguely with his right hand, "the scar numbnuts!"
"The hell I am," I replied with a look of incredulity, reaching for the bottle to refill my glass, "if you think I'm going first you got another thing coming Vic."

He looked at me through concentration narrowed eyes, like he was too drunk to see me properly (which wasn't unlikely), before smiling and shaking his head. He looked away, licked his lips, and then leaned in on the table and laughed shortly.

"Y'know what, screw it, I'm just too fucking curious for my own good," he said grinning, "and I guess I'm at my limit cause if I don't know it's gonna bug me forever. So I'll go first, happy?"

He could never understand how much I wasn't. If he gave me his story, then I'd have to give him mine. I'd been happy when it was just a joke between us, a friendly rivalry of sorts, I'd never thought he'd actually tell me his story, which is why I didn't have to worry about telling mine. Now I was going to have to think something up, quick, so I didn't have to tell him how I really got the scar that had been caused by the wayward claws of an eight foot Licker.

"So my dad," Kessinger was talking and I tried to listen while forcing my drink addled brain to think, "he died when I was four. He was in the military, y'know, family traditions an' all that. Anyway, mom had her assortment of boyfriends, most of them assholes. She went for guys like dad yeah? But none of 'em were honourable like he was, so they used to beat on her, take her money, whatever."

I felt the drink slowly seeping out of my mind, Kessinger's drunken confession making me feel horribly guilty for thinking about the fact that I was going to have to lie to him about my own scar.

"One night, I was seven...no, eight I think, yeah eight," he continued, "I got sick fed up of all the bullshit. So I got in the way, when one of those assholes was hitting her, shoved him into a glass coffee table, cut up his arm real bad. Not that I felt sorry you understand! Was just unfortunate that it gave him ammo. He picked up a shard of it and lashed out, caught me right across the throat, nearly chopped my damn head off, stupid son of a bitch. I mean hell, who does that to an eight year old kid, eh? Was in hospital for like, a month."

He stopped to snatch the bottle from my frozen hand, eyes brightening up after they'd glazed over a little towards the end of his story. He smirked at my look of horror and pity.

"Ah don't look at me like that," he shrugged, pouring another shot, "but you gotta tell me yours now."

Tell him, a traitorous part of my mind goaded me, you should tell him. He deserves it, he's your friend.

Fuck this, fuck it! Why should I have to hide myself away? For Umbrella's sake? Like I would ever do anything to cover up for those bastards. Only no one ever believed us, me and Claire, no one ever believed Chris or Jill either. The drink slowly swam back into play and I felt an insane sense of safety when I stared into Kessinger's honest eyes.

Do it, it said, do it.

"It was..." I hesitated, not sure how to start, "Racoon."
"I kinda guessed that much," Kessinger scoffed, shoving me playfully, "come on Kennedy, you never talk about it. Spit it out, it'll make you feel better!"

I swallowed, downing the shot he poured for me, feeling it numb the fear and the anxiety.

"You know it was my first day, right?" he nodded, "Well, things went wrong real quick. Let's just say that I didn't make it to the police station straight away, but when I did, well...everyone was dead. I've never smelt anything like it since, that stench, it was everywhere. Blood smeared up the walls but no bodies, rooms left empty like moments in time, coffee cups half empty, computers till on, lunches half eaten..."

Kessinger was looking at me with a slight frown, but his eyes urged me to continue. I took a breath. Everything was coming back into the forefront. He hadn't interrupted, asked any questions yet, and for that I was glad.

"It was safe inside, or safer anyway, that's what I'd thought," I continued, looking away from him, staring at the reflections playing on the bottle, "but I was still on alert. Hard not to be really, even though the place was so empty. Some of the doors were locked, so I went to look for a key. It was so black outside the window, so dark I thought I saw something move, but it was only my reflection. So I ignored it, kept going, through the door and down the hallway. That's where I saw it, the first body in the whole place."

The light in the room fooled me, made me think about that wide corridor in the R.P.D. headquarters, the metallic tang of the perfume substituting the stench of blood. I gripped my glass harder, forcing myself back to the present. Kessinger was still staring at me, but I couldn't read his emotion.

"The blood was everywhere," I said softly, "and the body had no head. Just lay there, arms splayed out, neck open. I was so repelled by it, yet I couldn't look away. I had my gun out but...but I was so distracted that I didn't see it until it was on me. I think it must have been on the ceiling, waiting for an ambush. Fucking thing moved like lightning, got me right in the shoulder, clawing me down my arm. I didn't even feel it, I was so fucking terrified. Took a whole two clips before it went down."

I took my bottom lip into my teeth and pulled, feeling the flesh splay out. I blinked and looked down into my glass, feeling like an idiot. What the fuck was I thinking, saying this stuff? He was going to think I was completely fucking insane, either that or hate me because he would think I was lying after he'd been so truthful. The alcohol was making me feel sick now, the pleasant buzz had gone altogether. I let go of the glass before I broke it, standing suddenly, still not looking at Kessinger.

"I don't feel so good," I said hurriedly before rushing to the bathroom.

The stalls smelled slightly of disinfectant and were thankfully empty, although I didn't throw up. I just needed to be out of there, out of that space I'd created that seemed so like Racoon but wasn't. What the hell was wrong with me? Did a little drink, okay well a lot of drink, make me this fucking reckless? Did I ever want to be taken seriously again in my lifetime? Then maybe I should stop talking about Racoon fucking city! That hellhole where Umbrella tested a biological weapon on a whole fucking city and then covered it up as if it was nothing. Nothing! Fucking bastards killed thousands and they just walked away without a scratch, nothing! Nothing! NOTHING! I didn't even realise I'd been punching the wall until Kessinger was there, pulling me back, turning me round to shake me by the shoulders.

"Leon, get a hold of yourself," he said, a little wobbly on his feet but sober enough, "hey!"
"I'm sorry," I said, panting, "I'm sorry I..."
"What the hell are you apologising for?" he said, bewildered.
"I don't know anymore," I said, letting my head drop forwards, bringing my hands up slowly to hide my face, "I wasn't made for this...this...god I don't know."
"Hey, come on," he said, shaking me again, less forcefully this time, "I believe you alright? I believe you."

I looked at him as if her were the mad one, not me.

"Why?" was all I could ask.
"I can tell when people are lyin', and you weren't," he shrugged, as if it were the easiest thing in the world, "although you left a few gaps, but I'm guessing you don't wanna elaborate on what attacked you huh? Don't worry, I'm not gonna press the issue okay? Maybe we should head back, get your hand looked at."

I looked down, only then noticing the blood on my knuckles. I shook my head ruefully. It was then that the main door opened and an unfortunately familiar face greeted my eyes. I swear, if I didn't know better I'd think the guy was following me.

"Krauser," I couldn't help but say in disbelief, feeling like an idiot for saying it; he blinked at me, then at Kessinger, who was looking at him with barely hidden contempt.
"Looks like I'm interrupting something," Krauser finally said, smirking sardonically.
"Whatever," Kessinger said, letting go of me, "let's get back Leon."

I followed him blearily. He pushed past Krauser who had helpfully not moved from his position in the doorway, forcing Kessinger to shove him out of the way. I couldn't meet his eye as I moved past him, trying to ignore the obvious jagged red scar tissue tearing its way down over his left eye to his chin. Until I was forced to as he stuck his right arm out, palm smacking into the wood of the doorframe, blocking my way. Kessinger hadn't noticed, having headed back out into the bar to pay the tab. I looked up at him, startled, wondering if I was going to be coordinated enough for a fight if it was needed. I felt like this had been coming for a while now, this confrontation, yet when I looked into his eyes I wasn't sure exactly what I saw.

"Something tells me you're avoiding me," he said calmly; I could smell the drink on his breath, funny I hadn't noticed him earlier if he'd been here in the same bar, I thought.
"I wouldn't say that," I said back, trying for self possession but ending up sounding defensive.
"I would," he said, stopping at that, not elaborating at all, just staring down at me, eyes unreadable.

I glared back, shoving his arm out of the way, hating the way he didn't stop me, didn't react. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? All the tension that had built up over the last week, all for that? I looked at him over my shoulder as I walked down the corridor back towards the bar. He was simply watching me, his face impassive, making me shiver for a reason I couldn't define. I frowned and looked away, focusing on simply opening the door and not making a fool of myself by tripping over my own feet.

"You okay?" Kessinger asked, walking up to me to give me my jacket.
"Fine," I said tightly.
"Did he try anything?" he asked angrily.
"It's fine," I shook my head, "let's just get out of here."

Somehow, I thought as we walked back through the cold night air, silent though not awkward, I realised that I'd been hoping for something more climactic. That's why I was feeling just that little bit more empty as we walked back through the darkness towards the bright lights of the facility. Avoiding him? Was he kidding me? Of course I was! I hadn't known what to say; that I was sorry? I'd done that and it made me feel like a fool. I thought there must be some sort of way to make him see that I meant it but...I had no idea what that was. It made me feel naive that I couldn't even tell if he was still angry with me. Hell, if he'd said that he thought I was avoiding him, did that mean he had been following me around, trying to talk to me? Fuck, who knows, I thought, pulling my coat tight around myself and concentrating on simply walking in a straight line. Hopefully the drink would be enough to knock me out and there would be no damn nightmares tonight.

AN: Yikes, on a bit of a creative roll at the moment (it's kind of like a jam roll, only less sticky). Well, not sure if this chapter works, I did have a different ending lined up but I changed my mind at the last minute and I'm not sure if this one works at all. It kind of just peters out...oh well. Let me know what you think!

Maiko