Phoenix:

1.

Survival

2004

The little cart stopped, and Ashley stepped off, her blonde hair catching an errant gust of wind as the swirling gray clouds above her threatened rain. She exited the Ferris Wheel and headed down to join her friends to get a corndog while her protective detail lingered, glasses in place, suits pressed and black. They stood out like turds in a punch bowl as she stopped at the shooting gallery and stood beside Micah while he won her a giant yellow teddy bear.

He was handsome - pre-med, fit; he rowed crew at school. He was from a good family with a long lineage of money and wealth, like Ashley was, and like Amber was where she ate cotton candy with Reggie, who also came from money. They were legacy kids - happy, healthy, in the prime of their life, waiting for Ashley's twenty-first birthday so she could finally drink with them.

Micah was her first real crush. His dark hair and dark eyes were sultry and sensitive, and he looked at her with a puppy dog devotion that made her feel like a million dollars. She painfully awaited that first kiss, hoping it would be tonight.

But it was hard to find a boy to kiss her with loyal hounds dogging her every step.

And that was why she ditched her detail and snuck out the bathroom window at Logan's Pub. She wanted just a little taste of freedom. Just five minutes. Just five whole minutes, she could be a girl who liked a boy and wanted to kiss him in the moonlight without eyes on her.

She wiggled out the window in her plaid green skirt, wrapping her jacket over her orange argyle sweater and fluffing her hair as she landed in the alley. She figured it was minutes before Beavis and Butthead came running after her, so she hurried up the alleyway toward where Micah was waiting near his Porsche. She waved as she ran, her leather boots slapping at the ground in a rush.

She was nearly to him when the world fractured around him.

He waved, eyes flashing happily, and the happiness froze on his face like someone had thrown a switch - immortalized, twisting into a dead-eyed look of shock, a moment before the tip of a knife exploded out of the hollow of his throat. Pop. Crunch. Splatter.

Blood flew in red rain. He looked in horror at her as his mouth opened and spilled scarlet down his Gucci shirt. The white turned macabre. The sky grumbled and split and let loose a heavy gush of rain that turned that red pink at his feet.

Ashley couldn't even shout.

It was a moment.

And then it was over.

He tumbled forward, and the man that rose behind him was enormous. Muscled. Menacing. Scarred and scary, with a smirk on his tortured face that had Ashley skidding to a stop in the street. She backed up, and he ripped the knife from Micah's body on the ground and waggled it at her, "Don't."

She didn't heed him. She turned and ran for it. She raced toward the pub, screaming at the top of her lungs for help. The doors burst open, and her protective detail burst out, guns ready, looking for battle.

They opened fire on the man behind her. Ashley raced toward them madly, and Amber opened her car door to shout, "Ash! THIS WAY!"

It was a mistake.

It was all a mistake. Ashley veered toward her and the car, and it just...exploded.

The car went up with a whoosh of sound so loud it set off other car alarms, sent people fleeing and screaming, and Amber died like she'd lived - in a world on fire. Ashley couldn't even feel the horror.

She couldn't feel anything but shock and terror. She ran for the agents. One reached for her to put her behind him and get her to safety, and his head exploded in a pop like those balloons at the shooting gallery had.

Pop. Burst. Boom.

Brains and blood flew all over her as the soft rain turned into a storm.

A storm.

And she was in the eye.

The other agent shot and shot again as Ashley jumped into the car that arrived to get her. She slid into the back seat, she watched out the window as the car took off, as the agent died like a hero, firing into the storm until the rain and the blood swallowed him. She curled on her side on the seat as the car raced away, shaking, soaked, and covered in horror and shock.

She didn't cry.

She couldn't.

The two agents in the front were shouting into their headsets, asking for directions, and charting a course. They veered down a street and barreled into the storm. Ashley lay on the cold leather and shook like a leaf.

And then, out of the vortex, a fire lit the night.

The driver shouted. He veered, he overcorrected, and the car skidded in the rain. It smashed into another vehicle, sparked and let loose a metal scream, and crashed into the building wall so hard that Ashley was thrown out of the seat and onto the car's floorboard.

She heard the airbags deploy. She huddled in the bottom of the car while it ticked and the sound of flames crackling mixed with crashing waves of rain. Move, her mind told her, MOVE!

She couldn't move.

She was frozen.

"I can't," She whimpered brokenly, numb, unable to find her fight.

The door was jerked open with a crunch of rended steel.

And she found the will to move.

She screamed. She scrambled. She kicked at the arm that reached in to grab her. The face of the scarred man taunted, "Little pig, little pig let me in."

And she kicked him in the face.

Crunch.

He wheeled back, and she kicked him again as she launched herself out of the car and ran. She ran so fast she was sure wings appeared on her feet. She almost flew.

She needed a weapon. She needed a weapon. She needed a weapon.

She raced against the roaring fire of overturned cars and death and sobbed desperately as she tried to find anything to protect herself, even as the voice shouted, "Where ya runnin, piggie!? I'm gonna blow your fucking house down!"

Terrified, Ashley prayed, "...oh, god."

But there was no god here. Just the devil - and he was here to take her to hell.

She tossed over a trashcan as she plummeted into the rain. It clattered and hopefully would slow him down as she went. When she whipped around a corner, instinct, and survival more than conscious thought had her leaping into a dumpster to hide.

She lowered the lid, hunkered down, and covered her mouth with her hand to quiet her breathing.

She wouldn't throw up. No. No. No. It repeated in her head like a prayer.

She heard something rooting around in the alley beyond where she hid. She tried to find any bravery under the terror. She was alone. She was alone. She was alone.

Everything kept repeating in threes.

She was going to die.

The horror covered her, stealing her breath, and the only sound beyond her hiding place was rain now.

Rain and thunder.

She waited. She listened. And then she gingerly lifted the lid on the dumpster. It made a tiny squeak, causing her to shiver in fear. But the alley was empty. She was alone.

It was the first time she wasn't terrified to think it.

She eased open the lid further, scanning the area. Empty. Still empty. Maybe she'd outsmarted him.

Climbing out of the dumpster, Ashley eased forward toward the noise on the street. Ambulance noises. Cop car noises. People. Right now? She wanted people. She hurried toward the street and saw the flash of red and blue lights - help. Help was waiting.

She just had to get there.

She was three steps from it when the puddle at her feet splashed up on her. And she knew. She knew.

Her time was up.

The big guy snatched her. He held her back to his front, arm around her waist, hand over her mouth, pinning her against him. Ashley denied, shaking, fighting, but he grunted, "Game over, bitch."

And something poked her in the neck. She tried to scream for help. She tried so hard.

But the last thing she heard as she went into the dark was the echo of his breath in her ear.

She huddled in the dank room alone and heard the sound of their chanting beyond the door. She'd been here for days, maybe weeks. She'd lost track of time.

They fed her. They poked at her. Sometimes she woke up with them above her - looking at her with red eyes and rapidly missing souls. Demons. Devils. Darkness. It was all she knew now.

She tried to fight when they came in, but they tased her. They hit her with shock rods and sent her to her face on the floor. They gave her a bucket to relieve herself and left food.

Whatever they wanted, they didn't want her dead.

She was being ransomed back to her father; she was sure of it. But why? She wasn't worth anything.

The chanting stopped. She waited, breath held, body frozen. Her hand closed on the candlestick beside her. She dug down deep for the courage to finish it this time or die trying.

And the door opened.

She eased around the small boxes before her as a voice called, "Ashley! Ashley Graham?!"

This one talked. It said more than Saddler as it dribbled spit on her face and eyed her body like it was food. This one? It sounded human.

It lied.

She roared in rage. Tired of the fear, she ran at it. She had a flash of blonde hair and a buttchin, and she tried to crush his skull with all her might. He caught the candlestick as she gave her battle cry in his gloved hand and urged, "Fuck! Easy! Easy!"

She jerked on the stick and kicked him in the shins when he didn't relent. He stumbled, she shoved passed him, and he called, "I'm here to bring you home!"

What was home?

Where was home?

She'd be damned if she went with him just because he looked normal.

She shouted, "No thanks, bro!" And ran for it. She was trapped when she reached the end of the walkway above the church worship area. Terrified, she turned back to face him like a champ, and the man lifted a hand at her.

"Easy. I'm Leon. I'm here because your father sent me to bring you home."

Ashley paused. She twitched her head like she heard voices. "Oh, yeah?" She demanded, "What's his name?"

"Graham. President Graham."

"No," she snapped and grabbed a vase off a table beside her, "his real name!"

The man nodded, "Ok, sure. His name is Richard. He has a cat named Twinkles. He lost his wife about two years ago to cancer. And you're his only living daughter. You had a brother who died of SIDS after three weeks."

Ashley paused with the vase in her hands. "...who are you?"

"I told you - I'm Leon Kennedy. I've been assigned to protect you and bring you home."

Ashley lowered the vase and set it on the table beside her. "How can I trust you?"

He gave her a cool look. "What choice do you have? It's them or me."

He had a point.

Ashley finally nodded, studying his handsome face in the flickering torchlight. He looked tired but determined. If he was telling the truth, it also meant he was capable. Her Dad wouldn't have sent just anyone to get her.

"...it won't be easy," she warned as she watched him.

He laughed a little, "story of my life, kid. All you gotta do now, Ashley, is trust me. Trust me, and I will get you home."

Desperately, she volleyed her eyes over his face. "There's so many of them."

Leon nodded, "I know. I know that. But there's a lot less now."

She looked at the shotgun hung on his back, his body armor, and the gun holstered at his thigh. He smelled, and he was covered in blood and guts. He had a huge knife strapped to his chest.

He looked like a warrior.

His face looked like a man trying to soothe her. Something about him reeked of survival and yet promised safety. He was trying to talk her down. He could have forced her, but he wasn't. He was offering her a choice.

And a chance.

And she was tired of being alone.

So, she said, "Ok. I believe you."

Leon nodded once, bobbing his head, "Good. Then let's get the hell outta here."

The noises outside the church became men filtering into the worship area, and they were suddenly no longer alone. Ashley gave him owlish eyes as he lifted a finger to his lips.

He gestured to the ceiling above her and whispered. "Best way out? Up. I'll boost you; you lower the ladder - quietly."

And that was how she knew he was good. She could go up there and run and leave him. She could do that. But he was trusting her not to. He was literally giving her a way to run if she wanted.

She didn't want to. She wanted to believe him. So, she lowered the ladder, and he climbed up after her.

He was her savior. He pushed her. He praised her. He kept her going.

He made jokes. He made puns. He tossed out cheesy one-liners and made her smile. He made damn sure she knew she was strong. When she flagged, he carried her. When she broke, he fixed her. When she panicked, he talked her down.

He might have been a warrior - but he was also a godsend.

Because he never, ever failed her.

When they were separated, he fought hard and fast to find her. When she had her moment, her one moment of courage, and found the key to his cage - he called up to her, "That's it, kid. That's how you show these fuckers how strong you are. Jump down, ok? I'll catch you."

She trusted him.

She knew he would.

Because everything he said? He did it. He just did it. No questions. No comments. No regrets. He took hits, and he kicked asses. He stood in front of her like a sentinel while she cowered.

She hated herself. Because she wasn't a coward, and she just couldn't shake the terror.

He'd say the right things: "You're doing great, kid. Just keep holding on." "You're so brave; keep sticking close, ok?" "We're gonna get out of this, Ashley. Trust me."

She did. She trusted him. He never lied. She grabbed what she could. She helped where she could. When he was down and hurt, she grabbed his gun and fired it. Blindly. Wildly. But it worked. Those who attacked hesitated. She hit a few. She felt like a hero.

When the weakness on him abated, he rose and took the weapon. He finished off their attackers. He looked at her with a shimmer of pride and remarked, "...goddamn, that was impressive."

She denied, "...no. It wasn't courage. It was just-"

"-instinct," he held her eyes, "you got good aim, Graham."

She laughed. She liked him. He was good to her. And she was so fucking glad he was there.

They took her. They forced her to their will. She went, terrified, locked in a prison of her own flesh while her body went on without her mind. She saw. She moved. She breathed.

She wasn't her.

They said to kill him. Finish him. End him. She lifted his gun on him and killed the two men behind him, resisting - fighting so hard. He was locked in the same prison. Their eyes met - blue and gold, pain and suffering.

She saw the battle on his face and under it, under all of it, the understanding. He was ok with dying. He was ok with her killing him. But not yet. Not until she was safe. It was the only thing he cared about.

His life was worthless. She was all that mattered to him. And she believed in him. Even as she gun jammed and saved his life. Even as fate gave her hope. Even as she walked like a broken doll out of that room -she believed he would come for her.

And she found the fight to get back to him.

She lay on the table as the pain ate her world. It destroyed her. It bled her dry. He was so hurt. He was so weak. He fell. He slid to the floor and went down.

She climbed off the table and found her strength. She got him on the table; he was heavy and dead weight. She did it. She got him up there and worked the machine. She watched the lasers pop that parasite that laid claim to his body.

And she told it, "You can't have him, you stupid son of a bitch."

It felt so brave to say it.

He awoke to find her above him. Filthy, tired, bloody, and hurting - she whispered, "Leon?"

And he gripped her hand to hold it. Together. They were together in survival.

They were a team.

And he was the reason she knew what came next for her.

She felt the storm bleed into her bones when they stood on the beach. When the horror turned to heavy loss and hurting. She looked into his eyes and breathed, "Thank you, Leon. Thank you."

And he just said, "It was my job, kid. No thanks necessary."

As she started up the beach, he'd called, "You did good, Ashley. Real good. Gotta knack for surviving."

She gave him a sad look and answered, "No, I don't. You do."

And Leon returned, "Couldn't have done it without you, Graham. Remember that."

She almost believed him. Because he never lied.

But he was wrong.

She wasn't special. She was just lucky. He made that luck. He brought it, shared it, and ensured she was under his good fortune. It kept her afloat while they talked, while they joked even when things seemed hopeless, while he made sure she knew she was going to make it.

Ashley shed her filthy clothes after the doctor finished examining her, and she was back in her insulated hotel room. It was posh, and it was swanky, and it was fancy and fabulous and decked out, and it was heavily guarded beyond the door and windows.

She was safe.

She was terrified.

She didn't feel safe.

Something was missing.

She took a long bath. She put on panties and a fluffy robe. Her wet hair trailed on her shoulders as she took a knife from the kitchen and carried it toward the bedroom.

Her hands shook as she sat on the bed and held it in both of them, ready for anything. Ready to fight.

There was a knock on her door. A burst of terror had her raising the knife as she shouted, "who is it!?"

As if the bad guys would knock on her door. She waited for the horrid voice of that evil man to taunt her - little pig, little pig...let me in. But it wasn't.

"It's me."

And that was what was missing.

She eased the door with the knife held loosely in her left hand.

And there he was. Clean. Hair wet. Face tired and battered. A black eye, a swollen mouth, and a bandage on his neck in a white t-shirt and jeans. Seeing him, she suddenly felt safe again as she opened the door.

Clearly, her service detail had left him through.

He entered the door as she stepped back and glanced at the knife. He said nothing as she murmured, "...s-sorry. Sorry...just...here," she set it on the counter in the kitchen as Leon took a chair at the table and leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees and his face was in his hands.

"S'ok," he stated gruffly, "I don't blame you. I just wanted to see how you were."

He rubbed his tired face as Ashley murmured, "...I'm bulletproof, kid."

His favorite thing to say to her.

He lifted his eyes from his hands. His mouth twitched. "Yeah, you are," he acknowledged warmly and held her eyes, "got coffee?"

She nodded. She moved to make it. Her hands shook so badly she spilled the ground on the counter as she lamented, "...shit...fuck...what is this?"

And Leon returned, "Shock."

Ashley laughed, and it sounded like a small sob. Angry, she turned to face him with a hand over her mouth like she'd stop the weakness of it, "Sorry."

He shook his head. "Why? It's human."

"Crying doesn't help anyone," she stated, feeling the first fat tear plop on her cheek, "it's stupid."

Two more tears and then another, and she cursed, "...goddamnit...I hate myself."

He queried softly, "...why?"

"Because I'm a coward!" She almost shouted and then whispered, "...sorry. I'm sorry. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me."

A moment passed before he commanded gently, "come here." He put his hand out.

She put hers in it, and he tugged her forward. He laid her palm against his chest and laid his atop it as he stated, "Feel that?"

Thump. Bump. Steady. Steady heartbeats. Steady.

Like him.

She nodded, throat catching, tears spilling down her cheeks as he told her, "Alive, Ashley. That's what it feels like. You're alive, and now you decide what that means."

Her eyes filled as he added, "it won't be easy. It will hurt and suck so bad you'll hate every moment. But it's worth it. Because you're here. And you're safe."

She whimpered softly, "I'm not. I'm not," her voice broke as she confessed, "unless you're here. I'm not safe without you."

He held her eyes. The moment trembled. And he grumbled, "You are...you just gotta feel it."

She leaned down. He let her. His eyes stayed locked as she pressed a kiss to his mouth. Smooth. Soft. Gentle. Her first kiss with a boy and the right moment. Because he deserved it.

And she breathed, "...thank you, Leon."

He gruffed, "No thanks necessary, kid. It's my job."

Ashley replied, "It's not. This? It's not your job. Accept my thanks, " she touched a hand to his wet hair and finished, "and stop being so goddamn humble."

"A kiss for saving the girl?" He flicked his gaze over her face.

And she murmured, "Yeah, a kiss for saving the girl."

"Then I think the girl who saved me deserves one, too," He tugged a little on the tie of her robe. Her breath caught. She watched him lean in and press a kiss to the exposed skin of her belly. He'd find her naked beneath him if he parted it just a little.

Maybe this was how she found her fight. Maybe she gave herself to the first boy who really deserved her. Maybe she found her fire under the fear by taking what she wanted.

And she wanted him. It might have been adrenaline or survival or simple lust. It might have been brought on by rose-colored glasses made from hero worship. It was likely all of that. And knowing, knowing...if she gave herself to him, there would be something extraordinary for her to remember after the worst days of her life.

She made a slight sound as two tears landed on his head as they dripped off her chin. He parted the robe a little more, those lips of his skimming from the belly button-up now. A few more inches of moved fabric, and he'd see her breasts. Would he like them?

She trembled as he parted the robe and put his hands on her hips to bring her forward so that she straddled his legs where he sat. The robe caught on her breasts and hung on, concealing her: a tease, a temptation. She leaned over him and took his face.

Her hands trembled as she caught his face and tilted it up. She leaned down to really kiss him, to really taste him. Her mouth was hesitant, and it was shy. She tried lips and tongue, she wasn't sure if she was doing it right, and he met the slow quest with his own.

She whispered, "...is that good? Is it good?"

He grunted.

He tasted like scotch and spearmint gum. She sank until she was straddling his lap. The robe parted utterly, and she pressed her breasts against his chest. He trembled and then caught her face.

His tongue made an eager assault on her mouth, forcing it to his will and showing her how to respond. She answered, shaking now and feeling the lance of longing in her body. She forgot to be afraid.

She would rise out of the ashes of her misery, reborn. She was no longer without a choice here and was no longer trapped. She was free, and she was alive.

And she was ready to take what she wanted...finally.

No more survival - she was ready to live.