BIG MISTAKE EVERYBODY! READ THIS CHAPTER!
This chapter is the lost chapter to this novel, I thought I had it in there, but I didn't. Once you've read this, teh story will make a ton more sense and...hopefully...will scare you even more. This chapter entails how Leon and Claire first meet, another fatal attack, and...a dark figure who lingers in the sewers and can talk?...perhaps this has something to do with the first novel...eh? (man with a key, check it out in Conspiracy if you get confused)
Chapter One
September 26, 1998
Leon Scott Kennedy sat alone, sunken into the large cushions of a leather couch in the shadow-engrossed living room of his apartment. The only light came from the flashing, constantly moving and unremittingly buzzing television in front of him, its silvery blue light giving little illumination to the shadows that accompanied his figure. His eyelids hung heavily, just barely covering his glance like shutters that were stuck so that they couldn't close all the way. He hadn't slept for weeks. He didn't need it.
Flipping through the many wondrous channels late night TV had to offer, Leon felt utterly annoyed by the obnoxious lows that America's population had delivered itself to just to be able to smile and say 'look at me' on the idiot box. He paused for a moment to watch an infomercial pertaining two midgets walking about their estate, convincing people to follow in their tiny footsteps in order to become wealthy. It was pretty much a biography with little hints and tips on an occasional note. Whatever, he'd seen it all on previous nights.
He clicked the remote control once more and stumbled upon one of those Japanese cartoons. Anime, it was called, or something like that. Kids around here loved it, so naturally nearly every adult (except the ones still having to use pimple cream and their mothers' income to live) despised it. This particular show was about some strange girl that was a cyborg or lived in some shell or something like that. She'd come out and kill people, basic gist of it. Of course it was better then that one where little multi-colored animal monsters jumped out of balls and said their names over and over again as if they were speaking.
Leon sighed and flipped to another channel. Porn. He changed the channel again. More porn. It was clear that his friend and roommate, Joseph Frost, had seen to it that Leon's TV was properly suited for his watching. Over the past two months Joseph and Leon had had to share an apartment because of money troubles, and since then they had become identical to yin and yang. Complete opposites, however neither of them could seem to live apart from one another. Especially after that night two months ago. Yea, that was pretty much how it was referred to now. No one wanted to go beyond those words, especially Leon.
Subconsciously, Leon allowed his hand to rise and touch the place on his neck where the traitor Albert Wesker had infected him. He could still remember his hands tightly bound, the rush as the needle pricked his skin. Feeling the scarred, dry skin made him shudder and pull his hand away, as though he could feel the prick of that needle all over again. As though he could feel the infectious liquid being pumped into his veins and once again gain control of the entire wiring in his mind so that he sought nothing but to kill again and again and again.
That thought scared him. It was the realization that he could lose all control of himself and go on a rampage, just as he had that night with Wesker. Ever since then he had secretly asked Rebecca to create a strong dosage of tranquilizers.
Whenever that urge began to rise he would inject himself with the sedatives and become docile. So what if he became somewhat of a vegetable while he was under the influence? It was worth keeping everyone safe from him.
That wasn't the only thing that had changed in his life because of the T-virus. He didn't have to workout, his body maintained perfect condition and excellent metabolism. He felt a heightened stamina, better sensory and perception, and there never seemed to be an end to his goddamn energy level. While there were some benefactors about this, the fact that sucked was that he hadn't slept in forever, and the last thing he ate was half a box of fries. That was a week ago. He did however, drink plenty of water. Hell, he'd go through a good four or five gallons a day. It kept him healthy, but he had to piss like race horse just about every night.
Just then he heard Joseph mutter something from his room. Talking in his sleep again. Joseph was a loud sleeper, no questions asked. The thought made Leon glad that only Rebecca and Barry had known about his infection. Barry only knew because he was there, and Rebecca was told because Leon was hoping with the research she'd obtained from the mansion she could utilize a cure. Leon didn't want the others to know, he knew that Joseph couldn't take it. The two of them had grown even closer over the past two months, almost like brothers. Leon couldn't have that jeopardized. And then there was Jill, and Leon was pretty sure she was aware of his...problem...but he could trust her to say nothing of it.
God, thinking about his old partners just made it worse. Everything had gone so wrong since that awful night. Leon took a moment away from the television and thought back to the morning after their nightmare at the Spencer Estate mansion in Raccoon Forest.
He and the other S.T.A.R.S. members had returned the morning after the incident full of sorrow and rage. It was Umbrella Corporation who was responsible for that entire situation. It was Umbrella Corporation who had killed their companions, and they wanted it to be known.
Leon and Jill immediately confronted their Police Chief Brian Irons about the entire thing. They explained everything, fully accusing Umbrella of the entire situation. They explained about how their commander, Albert Wesker, was in on the whole thing, and about the T-virus, as well as the monsters it created. Joseph and the others did so as well after they had recovered at the hospital. This had lasted about a week before Irons suddenly decided to suspend the entire remaining S.T.A.R.S. team for improper police conduct at the scene.
The murders were written off as inexplicable, and the investigation was closed. The press blamed S.T.A.R.S. members for the deaths, outwardly accusing them of unprofessional behavior. Little did any of them know that Umbrella owned not only the police force, but the entire press of Raccoon City. They had been backstabbed, and now there wasn't a single place they could go to without someone giving them a dirty look. After all that, everyone in the group just sort of broke apart.
Barry had moved down to Tennessee with his family to live in the big city where some of his relatives were. The last time Leon had spoken with him had been a month ago, and he was still adjusting to big city life.
Rebecca Chambers was gone as well. Leon remembered her giving him a large supply of the sedatives before she was forced to move with her parents up to New York where they had enrolled her in some sort of correctional facility. She needed a good place to regain function, but Leon wasn't entirely sure if a bunch of psychiatrists testing her was the best grounds for revival. He really should go and visit her soon, see how she is doing.
And then there was Jill valentine. After Chris Redfield's death, she completely changed. Leon had no idea what happened to her, except that she had called him a couple weeks ago. He remembered all too well how that had gone:
"I have to go away for awhile, Leon," she had said plainly, almost authoritatively.
"What? Wait Jill, where are you going?"
"I don't know, just somewhere safe. You and Joseph should leave too. It's not safe there in Raccoon City."
"What? Jill what are you talking about?-"
"Just trust me! Leon you need to get out of Raccoon City. I can't talk much longer. All I can say is that they are looking for us, they want us for something and I don't know what."
"What? Jill wait a second-"
"I have to go. Take care, and I'll call you when I can."
Just like that, she was gone. Leon had gone to her house, only to find it had been completely ransacked. Someone had come through looking for her, and Leon was all too aware that Umbrella was somehow linked.
Umbrella, the faceless, traceless organization that had sacrificed so many lives just for the sake of their own demented sciences. The bastards that made Leon keep an eye behind him whenever he walked alone. It was Umbrella who made him worry about the lock on his door at night, and the subtle noises that stirred in the dark.
Either way, it had been two weeks and Leon had spent countless hours waiting by the phone for Jill to call. But she never did.
So now here he and Joseph were, stuck together in Raccoon City, trying to raise enough money to get out of town like the others had. It were as though the night of the Spencer Estate was the pivotal moment for everyone's life, and they were all slowly descending. Leon had had a good job, a fresh start to what looked to be a good life, and in one night that he should have been commended for, he was ridiculed and destroyed. Society had backstabbed him.
Suddenly something inside his brain scraped against his temples and he lurched forward, coughing and hacking horribly. He began to wheeze and choke, trying to stumble to his feet, dropping the remote controller to the floor. It were as though rusted nails were being dragged along the insides of his skull and his ears were being penetrated by steel wool. Tears ran to his eyes, and Leon began to convulse.
It was coming back, the virus was coming back. It was waking up inside of him, pounding up through his heart and rib cage, twitching into every vein, bone and muscle. His flesh began to curl and creep, and his nose began to bleed.
Kill kill kill kill kill kill kill...
"No..." he gasped as he fell to floor, silence twisting and warping into a cacophony of screams and cries from that fateful night two months ago.
The howl of the dogs, the screams of his teammates as they all began to die around him, ripped open wide and slowly devoured in a gushing crimson display of the walking dead. The moans of the zombies, the howling roars of the berserker dead rising up as they filled his soul. Lisa Trevor's agonized wails as she slashed her hook and ripped into his ribcage. Wesker laughing at his pathetic form crumpled upon the floor.
"You're my creation, and I want you to-Kill kill kill kill kill kill...
"Stop it!" he suddenly screamed into his hands as he shielded himself from the noise.
Everything stopped. The noise twisted back into a delicate ringing. Ringing, ringing ringing. Dazed and mentally contorted, Leon opened his eyes. His nose had stopped bleeding, and only a small puddle of blood and puke lay splattered on the floor. The ringing slowly went away in his ears, dying out. His legs like rubber, Leon wobbled to his feet and stumbled over to the kitchen to grab a few paper towels to clean up the mess he'd made.
"HEY!" Joseph called from his bedroom, he then proceeded to mumble something which could only be described as, "Shut a the-hey quiet, man!"
Leon smirked at Joseph's mumbles, the man only half conscious of what was going on. He wiped the mess up, deciding that there was no point in staying here if he wasn't going to sleep. So, the only place he could think of that'd still be open this late would be Emmy's diner. What the hell, he could use some good public atmosphere right now as it was.
Leon grabbed his black sneakers and began lacing them up. He was already wearing his clothing from that day: Jeans and a tight gray t-shirt that bore the faded words "Hell's Kitchen Boxing Club". It was Leon's old t-shirt from his high school days in Hell's Kitchen. One rough place to grow up, thinking back now he was glad his father had put him through all those years of boxing. He admired the shirt for a second, one could still barely make out the faded image of a little cartoon devil with boxing gloves on and a mischievous grin. Leon smiled.
He switched off the TV and shook his head at the prospering amount of adult channels that Joseph had programmed. Walking quietly towards the door, Leon eyed the big dog slumbering amidst its own cushions upon the wood floor. His dog growing up over the past two months had been one of the few positive things in Leon's life. Oh well, he thought as he reached for his faded-brown, leather jacket. The only reason we fall down is to get back up again. The dog awoke as Leon shuffled around in his jacket.
"Don't worry, Argus," Leon whispered, "I'm just going out for a quick bite. I'll be back in an hour or so."
He watched the pup groan and pass back out on its mattress. Smiling numbly, Leon felt about in his pockets aimlessly until his fingers stumbled upon his wallet, the feeling of torn leather inside of it. It was the place where his police badge once was. That feeling of pride and courage stripped clean from him, striking down on the very pride his father and grandfather had carried as police officers. After seeing the corruption and deceit that had taken place these past months at the city's police station, Leon didn't care if he was never a cop again.
Stepping out the door of his studio apartment, Leon decided he was better off at his current job, a construction worker.
...bull shit.
000
Claire Redfield brushed the long bangs of her auburn hair from her almost silvery, icy blue eyes. Her complexion was soft, a smooth creamy summer tan that was slowly fading from the fall's approaching weather. She sat hunched over the desk in the break room of her work, deeply buried within the context of Fitzgerald's "The Great Gatsby" for her literary class. She reveled in the symbolism it ensnared so unnoticeably. Softly, she bit her pink, glossy lower lip in concentration.
Reading on with only the faded glow of a single lamp to allow her, sometimes she wished she had the money and life of these characters. That carefree and "able to make drama" lifestyle, that's what she wanted. Maybe not for the drama, but for the leisure to sit back and relax at ease. That would be so nice...
"Claire!" came that gruff, mumbling voice, "Getbacktowork!"
Her boss. The bastard was a grisly old chef who seemed to think that the English language could be completely melded together into one groaning, throaty word. That, and whenever he spoke to her the unshaven fat would wobble and wiggle as it dangled from his neck. Not to mention how much of a perv he was. Every time he confronted her she could just watch his little beady eyes droop down to her chest.
"I'm on break, Barney," Claire called as she rolled her eyes, "I've got to study."
"Study!" he spoke with a burst of saliva at the door of the break room, "No! Wegotcustomers! Getbacktowork!"
Claire sighed, blowing her bangs out of her face as she heard the fat, decrepit old man stumble back to the sizzle of the kitchen. Truth be told there was no luxury in her life. She was once an art student studying in New York City, working for an incredible art gallery with critics and big bodies looking at her artwork.
But then her older brother Chris Redfield passed away in the line of duty. Him being her only remaining guardian, she lost all support. After visiting his funeral in Raccoon City, she realized that she was stuck. So two months had passed, and now she had a dead end job as a waitress for some all night diner.
So she still went college. Big deal. It was some local college for dropouts that she could barely afford, and only to get a decent degree in literature. The arts didn't even exist in this wastoid's getaway.
Claire sighed and tucked the book into her backpack on one of the coat rings along the wall. Break was up, back to the grindstone of Emmy's diner. As she stepped out of the break room and into the dirty kitchen she smoothed out the creases in her ugly, pink waitress uniform; something stolen right out of the fifties. Of course this entire place seemed to be of that era.
"Claire! You'retheonlywaitress andwe'vegotacustomer! Getbacktowork!" and the jowls wriggled beneath his neck as he stood hunched over the grill, flipping two burgers.
She let out a kind of annoyed groan and stormed towards the door leading to the front of the diner. Honest to god, she was going to shoot the man right in between those beady eyes some day. Why did she choose an open-all-night diner to work at? Seriously, what pathetic loser could want a cheeseburger and milkshake at three in the morning?
She stepped out behind the bar's counter and her question was answered, her breath nearly taken. If he was any kind of loser, he was a very good looking one.
Dirty blonde hair dangled down before his soft eyes as he sat hunched over the table of one of the corner booths. He was the only customer in the desolate restaurant. His brown leather jacket was laid across the table, and Claire could see his muscles beneath a tight, gray t-shirt. He had a slender, but muscular build. A narrow face, tanned and covered with, scarce freckles across his cheeks and nose.
Looking away briefly, Claire grabbed a pot of coffee and a menu and began to approach his table.
000
Leon sat alone in Emmy's diner, in the loneliest corner booth of the entire joint. He sat facing the door. God, he hadn't been here in so long. He smiled at the lime green seat coverings of the booths, the dirty white tables upon the tiled floor. There were tropical plants in the corners against the old yellow walls that held up paintings of famous grinning faces from the fifties. The smell, of course, was unforgettable. Greasy, unhealthy, all American smell of an old diner out of its place yet doing just fine.
It was good to get out again, see the old diner and let the memories soak his thoughts. And where was the waitress? Hell, Leon was the only guy in the place, what could be so hard about just a little service?
As if to answer his call, a young waitress he hadn't noticed behind the counter began to approach him. Immediately Leon brushed away any negative thoughts he had towards her, watching her soft walk.
She was tall, with a thin and smooth body that was lined with slender, feminine muscles suggesting her athleticism. Even in those awful pink dresses the waitresses were forced to wear, she was breathtaking. A cute, playful look on her face as she looked into his eyes. She had a confident, independent stare about her, a stare that said she was kind and possibly interested but could go completely on without a care.
"Hi, would you like some coffee?" she said with a smile as she stood over Leon.
"Uh..." He looked up at her in partial awe, "Um...I mean yea, ahem, yes I would. Or no, sorry, no thanks. I-uh, don't think I need any if I'm up this late."
"Oh, well yea," she smiled with a quiet laugh, "All right then. Well um...do you know what you want or do you need a minute?"
Leon looked up at her for a moment, studying her pale blue eyes. They were kind, innocent and good, but there was something about them. Something jaded, as though they had seen something awful but it was sewn up to quickly to be properly healed.
"Uh, well actually, I sort of just came down here to get out of my apartment. I just needed some time to...to think I guess. If you don't mind, I'd kinda like to just sit here," Leon said with a smile, trying not to sound so foolish.
She smiled warmly, "Okay, well if you need anything I'll just be over um, over there."
"Okay."
Wow. She looked incredible. Her magenta, yet brown hair done up in a ponytail behind her head with strands dangling down about her ears and her slender face. The consideration of asking her to sit down was throbbing in Leon's head. But really, she was working, who wants to be bothered while they're working? But then again, it's not like she had much to do. And besides, she did kind of give him a look, didn't she? What if she said no? How awkward would that be if he decided he wanted a cheeseburger? Oh come on, to hell with it. She's walking away!
"Uh, well actually," Leon's voice broke the silence.
She turned back with a smile on her face, Leon oblivious to the fact that it was a hopeful smile.
"If, you know, if you don't mind I could use some company. Just to talk. I mean if you're not too busy. And if you don't want to, hey that's cool too," Leon spoke like a verbal klutz.
However, to his surprise, the girl smiled.
"Yea, sure," she said, causing his heart to completely evaporate upwards, "Just let me set this stuff down real quick."
"Okay."
000
His fingers scrambled along the walls, scratching at the stone.
"Why didn't you listen…" he whispered, his gasps of breath draped with saliva that dribbled from his lips.
"Why didn't you listen, Leon…"
A throbbing, twisted, and bloated figure that hung in the shadows. His shoulders heave with every breath, his muscles flexing and snapping, twisting the tendons as they grew and sputtered. His eyes, wide and still shielded by the cracked lens of glasses, stared up at the light coming from the sewer gate above. The city above. The life above. How temporary.
"Why didn't you listen to me, Leon Scott Kennedy!" he wailed, tearing his fingernails out as he clawed against the wall.
He had come to Leon, he had given him the key.
But Leon did not listen…and now evil was coming.
A fury was coming.
000
"I guess when I was little I used to be kind of a tomboy," Claire said with a guilty grin.
"Hey, that's okay. When I was little I was a pansy. I was always afraid of bugs and heights and anything, really."
"Ha, you should have hung out with me and Chris."
"Yea...but anyways. So you said this isn't your only job. I mean, here as a waitress?" Leon took a deep drink from a glass of water.
"Yep, I also volunteer at an orphanage, just to teach and help around with the children, there's only ten of them so it really isn't too difficult. Well actually it's kind of a catholic school, that's at least how they pretty up the whole orphanage title."
"Well that must be fun working with kids."
"Ha, yea sure. I mean the kids are great, but it's the nuns that bother me. It's always some prissy rule they're in my face about. Not to mention they're already trying to lay the ten commandments on a bunch of children."
Leon shook his head, "That's really kind of strange. Then again there are a lot of weird things going on in this world. I find it surprising that people can still care for one another through all the chaos. Then I suppose someone with as much care as yourself has no problem doing so. I mean you care for the kids, and you and your brother got along great."
"Yea, that was then. Things are different now. After Chris passed away two months ago, I couldn't afford to go back to college in New York. So I moved here, and...well there you go," Claire spoke bashfully, and Leon could tell she wasn't used to talking about herself so much.
"I'm really sorry, Claire," he replied earnestly, "I knew that Chris had a sister but I never even met you."
"Don't worry about it. From what Barry told me before he left, you guys had one rough night."
Leon shook his head darkly, "You have no idea. But, Chris was an incredible guy. He saved my life."
Claire smiled but said nothing for a moment. The two had mostly just meandered aimlessly through small talk, but occasionally would dabble into the deeper subjects about what had been going on these past two months. As it turned out, Claire was the younger sister of Chris Redfield. Leon had remembered Chris talking about her, it was apparent he was her only guardian. Joseph had spoken of her as well, only Joseph spoke of how hot he was. There was no lie there.
"Well, he was a good brother," Claire finally spoke, pushing strands of her hair behind her ears, "But from what I heard...you were also the hero."
Leon shook his head diligently, it was his turn to be bashful, "Well, no I don't really think so. It's just, that's why I was a cop. You've got to look out for everybody, it was my job."
"It was your job? What happened?"
"Well, just like everyone else, I got suspended permanently from the force," Leon's voice drew very quiet, and he eyed the windows about them before continuing, "We told our Police Chief about what had happened, about how Umbrella was behind the entire thing."
"Yea, I read about how you all accused them in the papers, is that really what happened?"
Leon nodded solemnly, "We had evidence and everything, but the Chief would have nothing of it. He didn't believe us for a second, and he suspended us all. Rumor has it, Chief Irons is on the payroll of Umbrella. Anyways, the evidence was a bunch of papers with the Umbrella logo on it, as well as several signatures from some of the top C.E.O.'s. The papers spoke about the experiments that had gone on at the mansion. Rebecca Chambers, one of the operatives, had them. But when she moved, the papers were taken. So we have no evidence now, just an accusation."
"So everyone believed the press when they said that you all had done a bad job, and you had all been suspended for lack of better judgment."
"Pretty much. After that everyone split. Everyone except for Joseph and me, that is."
"Well, has anyone bothered you about it? I mean, anyone from Umbrella?"
"No, that's what I don't get. Everyone else had been interrogated by some official from the company within the first week they got back. Jill's house was even searched. But for some reason, they completely avoided me."
Claire was silent for another brief moment. Leon took a drink of his glass of water. It was his fifth glass, but Claire hadn't noticed. At last she spoke, "It just...it seems so strange."
"What does?"
"Your entire ordeal with Umbrella. I mean, look at all they fund for this town, and for all of America. They've done so much to help this place, and they manufacture so many products and sponsor so many different things. Not to mention what they do for the military. I mean, if you think about it, it's a little scary how they have such a deep root in the government."
"So you believe it?"
Claire's voice also became quiet, "All I know is that Chris would never have misbehaved on a mission, and he certainly wouldn't have given his life for something he didn't believe. Come to think of it, he never did like Umbrella."
"I know, they're a monopoly. We just stumbled upon one of their locked doors and tried to point it out. Now, they won't let us forget it. They want us to pay."
"Yea, I'm sorry to hear that this has changed your life so much. From what it sounds like, you were a really great cop."
"Oh, well thanks. I mean, I don't know about being a great cop or anything, but you know...I tried."
"Well I mean after all those things you did. How you saved nearly everyone on your team? I think that's pretty cool how you didn't really even think of yourself."
"Well, I guess so," Leon kind of let his eyes drop to his lap, no matter how heroic he had been, he had still failed to save Chris. He had still failed to save his own life, in a sense.
"Oh hey, it's after four-thirty," Claire became excited, "Time for me to sign out."
"Oh okay," Leon chuckled as he watched the girl get up and walk off to clock out.
"Be right back, Leon," she said as she disappeared into the back.
Leon was just amazed at how incredible this girl was. Just a couple years younger then him and already deeply involved in the arts and literature. She had spoken of how she had dabbled in writing, painting, and mostly sculpting, and how she was looking to try and break into the art world on the east coast. And if that wasn't enough she had the body to be a runway model. She was beautiful, and even better she was active. She had told Leon about how she had wanted to play football when she was in high school so they had started up a girls' league because she couldn't play for the boys'.
Just then she opened the door from the back of the diner and stepped out with her back to Leon yelling, "Barney, I'm out of here! Christine and Michelle should be in soon!"
"Getonhome!" came a sputtered yell from the back.
Claire turned to Leon and rolled her eyes, a backpack slung over her shoulder and a dark red leather jacket in her arms. He smiled and stood from his booth, throwing on his own jacket. The two approached each other at the door of the diner, smiling awkwardly for a moment as they looked at one another.
Leon opened the door for her, and she stepped out smiling her thanks. There the two stood in the cold.
"Well," Leon said, "If you'd like I can walk you home."
"Didn't you drive?"
"No, I like to walk at night. Plus it saves gas."
"Oh that's cool. Well I'd like that, but where do you live?"
"Over in the Trask district."
"What? Leon you can't be serious, I live in Monroe district, here and then all the way back to Trask is like another hour."
"So?"
Claire smirked as she put on her jean jacket, rolling her eyes at his cute eagerness to be a gentleman.
"You know, you're too old fashioned," Claire said flirtatiously, "Always wanting to be a hero and a polite young man."
"What's wrong with that?" he retorted playfully.
"I never said there was anything wrong with it..."
She slung her backpack over her shoulder, and Leon noticed the back of her jacket. There was a small angel embroidered on the upper left shoulder, an angel holding a spear. "Let Me Live" was written in cursive above the figure. It was just like Chris' was; only his was black.
"Well," Claire said, "I've got class tomorrow, I'd better head off. It was nice meeting you, Leon."
"Nice meeting you too."
She smiled and turned to walk off, walking away very slowly. Okay, Leon could breathe again. Now should he ask her out on a date? Was it too soon? Would that really be the right move to play? Okay, fine, just do it.
"Uh, hey Claire," Leon called after her.
She turned back towards him, her slender silhouette gleaming from the orange light of a street lamp.
"I was wondering, what are you doing tomorrow night?"
"Working," she said.
"Oh, well what about the night after that?"
"Nothing, why did you have something in mind?" she asked teasingly.
"Well, I heard there's a festival in the park that a local theatre is putting up, they're performing Shakespearean plays. I just thought you might like to go."
Claire walked back towards Leon, reaching into her backpack. She pulled out a marker.
"I'd love to, here's my number," she said as she wrote it down along the back of his hand, "Call me about it?"
"Of course."
"Great," she said, and the two were left with that overjoyed but still nervous phase, "Well, I'll uh, see you then."
"Yea. See you then. Bye."
"Bye."
Leon watched her turn and walk down the street, seeing her body etched over in the dim glow of the street lamps. Ecstatic about having something to smile about, Leon turned and walked proudly down the street in the opposite direction. Little did he know their date would never take place.
000
September 26, 1998
Dr. Andrew Stevenson had never seen anything like it. Twenty-six years working at the Raccoon City Hospital, nearly a decade of medical school, one of the best doctors in New England. All of that, and he stood before the patient's bedside, completely baffled by the cause of death. A young boy, maybe twelve or thirteen, simply returning home late one night from a nearby park. Was it a hate crime? The child was African-American...but that wouldn't make sense. The lacerations and punctures all over his flesh...the bite marks.
Three hours ago he'd been carried in the hospital just fine by his older brother. He was petrified, but showed no signs of needing immediate medical attention. A few wounds on his arms and shoulders, Dr. Stevenson had assumed it to be an attack by a dog. But then the boy had started to convulse, and he was taken into the emergency room. All the while the child was screaming about monsters, men grabbing him and trying to bite him. Before this summer the doctor would have brushed it off as delusions caused from paranoia, but in the past months he had seen things...horrible things that made him suddenly want to believe the boy.
He now stood over the child, puzzled by why he had died. In just three hours he had gone from mild injuries to chronic seizures, finally slipping into a coma, and then death. The bright lights shown down upon the white and silver objects about the room. Blood smeared along the stretcher the boy still lay in. His eyes and mouth open, streaks of crimson seeping from every orifice. The wounds he had received seemed somehow worse then before, as though they had shriveled back like dying flowers.
That wasn't even the worst part. Just within the past eight hours, the hospital had received at least twelve other patients whose symptoms were identical to this boy's. The victims just kept coming. Most of them were still desperately grasping at life, but something inside the doctor made him realize that they were going to die and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Was it an epidemic? It had happened so suddenly, all just within the day.
Then there was the patient that had walked himself in just two hours ago. That had frightened the entire staff. A young man, early twenties, came stumbling in through the front doors just before the epidemic patients had begun arriving. Covered in blood, his torso torn wide open, he had immediately tried to attack the receptionist. He was restrained, and was currently being held in a room where one of the newer doctors was trying to work with him. Dr. Stevenson could bet almost anything the young man was on some kind of drug.
Sighing heavily, the stress weighing down upon his shoulders, the doctor pulled the turquoise sheet over the boy's head. Time of death was two-thirty five in the morning. It was now three, oh god why can't this just end so he can go home? Dr. Stevenson turned and went out of the double doors with a disheartened feeling tugging at his fatigued mind.
It was time to go check on the other patients similar to this boy. The doctor decided to avoid telling the boy's brother, who was still pacing anxiously about the waiting room. He always hated delivering the news of death's business. Walking down the hallway, he checked his clipboard. The other patients who had still survived were all gathered in a larger room, six of them. Four had apparently went into comas, while the other two were still having seizures. This update was about an hour behind, and the doctor hoped to god he hadn't lost any of these patients yet. Maybe there was something more he could do, something he had overlooked.
Dr. Stevenson stopped walking. He took his eyes off of his clipboard, suddenly aware of the silence that bloated up the empty hallway. The doctor looked around nervously, no one was there. Where in bloody hell was his staff?
"Oh god! Please-no! Help me! No!"
Dr. Stevenson's spine felt like it was covered in frost. He recognized the voice of one of the nurses, Samantha, or something. It was coming from room 312, the room in which the epidemic patients were being held. Her screams were cut into gurgling, choking gasps and cries.
He broke into a sprint, running down the end of the hall towards the room. He came to the single door, trying to peer in through the window. It was black inside. He grabbed the handle and burst into the room-...and froze stiff.
In the dark he could barely discern the figures of four men hunched over something in the moonlight that shown with its silvery blue through the window. Crunching...ripping, gushing, squishing...the gut-twisting sounds that made Dr. Stevenson lurch. The screaming went on and on, piercing the darkness with the sounds of a young woman in complete agony.
His fingers shaking, the doctor flipped one of the light switches to the side of the door. A single fluorescent light hummed to life, and the doctor cried in horror. The four men were the patients, draped in their blood-stained robes, they were all on their hands and knees over Samantha. She lay there helplessly, her tears mixing with the blood that splattered upon her face as her arms slapped and waved about on the tile floor in pain. They were tearing her apart with their bare hands and their teeth.
The doctor watched as one patient grabbed her flailing arm, his wet black hair dangling over his mangled face that was transfixed in a grin. In a sudden twisting motion he snapped her arm back, breaking the joint before he sunk his teeth into it. They were eating her. Dr. Stevenson watched them rip her stomach open, tearing out her entrails and devouring them, cracking off her ribs and struggling amongst one another for her heart.
Slowly, Samantha's screams faded into gurgling chokes, before her face finally went blank, her eyes letting the life seep from them as the men continued to rip her skin wide, blood splattering along the floor and their faces as they dug in with their fingernails and teeth. They moaned, croaking hungrily as they fed.
Suddenly the doctor felt a hand behind him, and he turned with a scream to see the little negro boy, his eyes pale and furious. Oh God...
The little boy drove the doctor to the ground, biting his hands as he thrust them out in defense. The doctor screamed as he saw several of the other epidemic victims appear in the darkness above them, the glow from the light partially giving detail to their hungry glares. Calmly groaning, they got down on their knees and grabbed him.
"No!"