Chapter Three

Life was hell. That's all there was too it. The group was boisterous, and Vincent was hypnotic. Every time Claire so much as glanced at him, she felt the lure of his presence. And she didn't like it. Not one little bit. She had never been the type to fall mindlessly for someone – that had always been Chris's department. She was the practical Redfield who only fell in lust or love with reasons. Vincent hadn't given her any reasons.

She pressed her hands over her mouth, exhaling through her nose. She was seated at the bar, positioned so she should see if anyone needed anything. Hopefully she just looked like a waitress at the end of her shift on a dead night. Tired, but attentive. And certainly not eavesdropping.

Not that they had anything worth spying on them for. Apparently Cloud was a delivery boy. A delivery boy! And it didn't sound like his deliveries were on the low-low either. It sounded genuine. Even if it had been something more dramatic, his meeting was nothing more than a happy get-together with his friends. They laughed and chattered and generally had fun.

It actually made Claire nostalgic for her pre-Umbrella days. She smiled at that thought, remembering a long night at the bar followed by karaoke in the streets. No gun. No zombies. Just a perfect evening getting sloshed.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the door open. A smallish man with a sweaty face stumbled in. He had shifty dark eyes and a twitchy face. His arms were crossed over his rumpled suit. He dropped into a corner booth, motioning for her to approach.

But at that moment, her relief popped in. Shelby was a pretty young woman, and her green eyes swept the bar, lingering on Cloud. "I'll take over, sweety," she said to Claire with a wink. She grabbed a bottle, and headed straight toward Cloud.

Coming to a stop, she leaned forward, displaying her assets. "Hey sweetheart, can I get cha a refill?"

Cloud nodded slightly, holding up his glass. Claire watched her pour the amber liquor. She glanced at the others briefly to see how they were reacting to the change in staff, and found that Vincent was watching her.

Oh hell that's sexy . . . er . . . eerie, Claire thought. She forced her gaze back to the sweaty, twitchy man. He'd planted his face in the table, arms stretched out in front of him. Then he stood. It was like watching a puppet rise, as if someone had pulled a string in the middle of his back, jerking him to his feet. His arms rose at the same time.

Claire felt dread only distantly. She didn't have her gun – she'd loaned it to Rebecca (who'd lost hers). She glanced around the room, fast, taking in anything that could be used as a weapon. Her eyes caught red. Vincent. Then traveled down to his holstered gun. Her approach must have seemed normal. After all, she'd been doing this weird near-and-far from Vincent dance since he'd arrived.

As she got closer, Tifa laughed. "I think she likes you, Vincent," she teased. "You should ask her to dance."

Then Claire was beside him, taking his gun. It was heavy, but she hardly noticed. She turned, aiming at the zombie. It was making decent time toward her. She looked it in the eyes – making sure of the milky film covering them. Dead. Another life lost to Umbrella.

She pulled the trigger. The recoil sent her arm into the air. She felt cold, clawed metal on her bare skin, and then a leathered hand plucked the too heavy weapon from her fingers. Claire didn't care. She'd gotten a perfect head shot. And there wasn't much left to the head.

She exhaled. "Disaterific," she muttered. She strolled to the body, but only got a few feet.

Cloud stepped into her path, sword naked in his palm. "Care to explain yourself?"

Claire ran her hands through her hair. "What's to explain? That I just shot someone? And you want to know why?"

"That would be start," the bouncy stuffed animal said – Reeve, if she remembered correctly. "It is a crime to kill people."

Claire closed her eyes. "It is a crime to kill people," she agreed. "But that wasn't a person."

"It looked like a person to me," Yuffie said. She'd gotten the world's biggest shuriken from somewhere and was glaring daggers at Claire.

Actually, she had a feeling the whole lot of them were glaring daggers, and Claire remembered something Reno had said about Cloud. He'd said that Cloud was a "decent enough" guy, but he had a tendency to "meddle." She gritted her teeth. "Call the police if you want. I did the right thing." She stepped past Cloud, moving toward the body.

Reaching it, she knelt down and gently rolled the corpse over. Checking the pockets, she found what she was looking for. An Umbrella issued identification card. She stood extra fast, spinning to face the group. They'd spread out to cover all exits – as if she was going to run away.

"Shelby, do you recognize this symbol?" she asked, pointing at the Umbrella logo on the card.

Shelby moved back, hiding behind Cloud. "Please protect me," she whimpered.

Claire felt the fear pouring off the girl, and irritation stabbed through her. She was not – could not – would not ever be the type of person who could hurt others on a whim. Hell, she could hardly stand the thought of going after the Umbrella scientist who created the T-virus. She felt tears threaten. Not close to falling, but just misting over her eyes. Her tongue felt suddenly heavy. "Do any of you know what this symbol is?"

Tifa raised her arm.

Claire turned toward her, expecting an answer. Instead a feeling of exhaustion swept through her body through. She felt as if she'd been up for days, months, years. Her eyelids felt heavy, eyes burned with the need for sleep. Her head felt too heavy for her neck. She felt herself falling forward, but her body refused to respond. At the last second, she saw a flash of red as Vincent Valentine moved toward her. "What the hell?" she whispered.

Then she was asleep.