Chris is finally home.
I am SO sorry! I said that I'd do a chapter a month but instead it's taken me over six months to finally do this!
I know the quality is crap and poor for a six month wait, but please enjoy and accept my apologies, I swear it won't be another six months before Chapter 8!
Claire was glad that she had driven to the hospital that day rather than visit on her bike, what with Chris finally being discharged, but getting him into the car at the hospital was far harder than she thought it would be. He had lost a considerable amount of his muscle mass while in hospital, and he was still physically weak for saying he used to be a gym visiting, boulder punching, BOW fighting tank of a man. He had done his best to pull himself up into the car, but she could tell that he was disheartened by his lack of upper body strength in comparison to his somewhat still remaining bulk.
She turned at a junction and blinked rapidly at the low sunlight, before sliding her shades from the top of her head to her nose. Goddamn sun. Why didn't she replace the sun visor? Hell, why didn't Chris replace the sun visor back before he left for Edonia? This was his car, after all! He's lucky that she even took it for a service in his absence; who knows if the exhaust would have snapped off had Claire not noticed the weird rattle? Or that puddle in the garage, brake fluid leak. Or the temperature gauge reaching unusually high levels. It was just decent luck and her common sense that she took it in to be inspected within minutes of the STOP light sticking solid on the dashboard at her; Jesus that was an eye watering expense. At least the coolant, thermal regulator and pipes won't have to be replaced again any time soon. The whole ordeal had sent her into a wild foray of panicked thoughts and money worries. But maybe Chris won't need to know that; the repairs or her money concerns. She passed a rapid glance to his legs. No, he won't need to know. It's not like he'll be driving again, nor will he need to know how much she may have to foot his medical bills if the BSAA's finance threshold is reached. Which probably already has been reached and she is probably already being crushed by tens of thousands of dollars worth of care.
She stopped at a red light and clicked her tongue, and the leather upholstery squeaked as she leant back. The radio faded and buzzed and jolted as Chris fumbled with the tune function, his face screwed in frustration. Claire rolled her head to the right slightly to watch him as she drummed her fingers on the wheel.
"Why can't I pick anything up on this?" Chris grunted, roughly tapping his fingers against the panel.
"Because…" Claire gently pushed her hand under his own, "you've somehow turned AM on."
She switched it to DAB, and glanced up over the steering wheel in time to see the light turn green. She squeezed her foot on the accelerator as Chris began to cycle through various stations.
"Any preferences, Claire?" he asked. She felt chills at the sound of her brother saying her name, it both comforted and scared her in an indescribable way. And she wanted to hear him say her name again.
"Claire?"
"You can pick." she spoke, her eyes forward. Another cold ripple passed through her body, and she bit her lip.
"Oh, but, what kind of music do I like? I er…he scratched his hairline and giggled nervously, "I don't remember…"
"Then keep tuning it until something catches your ear."
Claire stopped at the next set of lights and ran her tongue across her molars. It pained her to watch him struggle with something as trivial as a radio. Did he just simply not remember how to use it? What else has he forgotten in terms of functionality?
"Oh hey I like the sound of this one!" Chris exclaimed, and he rested a hand on the dashboard. Claire breathed in slowly and accelerated at the sight of green.
"Do you want me to tell you that you hated this song?"
"I did?" Chris asked, surprised.
"Yeah. You would always call it," Claire pulled her face into a grumpy expression and lowered her vocal pitch, "over processed teen pleaser."
"Wow, really?!"
"Really. But you do you, Chris." Claire chewed her lip again and her eyes wandered, "this is the new you, after all."
Chris didn't hear that last part, and she was glad.
Barry was taking bricks of polystyrene and large sheets of cardboard out of the front door by the time she pulled onto the driveway, though she only parked slightly on, near to the front door and far from the garage; she'll pull the car further forward later. She always hated that the door was so close to the main sidewalk, but even more so that it was on the far side of the driver's door, but silently thanked the architects and her brother's choice of house when she realised that it meant he was closer to the door.
Chris gawked at the single story building, his grey-blue eyes alight at the white slatted house before him. Either side of the large, white washed door were two bay windows; green curtains were viewable through the window nearest to him, and through the other, far over to the right, a deep red throw blind was visible. In front of him was another bay window, but he couldn't see into it from the angle he was at. Little sweet shrub rows footed each window below the little ledges, and precious flowers peeked out from beyond the leaves. Down the driveway was a garage with what looked like a wooden door, but was more than likely that fake plastic that warped easily in the heat. He turned his attention back to the abode.
"Hot damn, you picked a nice house, Claire!" he exclaimed as he practically pressed his nose against the passenger door window. Claire shut off the engine, and the car came to a spluttering silence as he turned to look at her biting her lip. Actually and physically attempting to embed her incisor into her bottom lip.
"Erm…actually Chris-"
"Oh…" Chris looked at her face as she held her gaze forward, "is this where you tell me that I picked the house?"
"...Yeah…"
Chris rubbed a hand across his mouth in silent disgruntlement, and looked behind his seat at his disassembled wheelchair. Barry approached the car, his face abeam, and opened the door on Chris' side.
"Welcome home, buddy!" Barry hollered. He remembered that this man was Barry. Barry…Bartle? Bolton? He knew full well that Chris had no idea who he was, but he remained enthusiastic nonetheless. Oh! Burton! He's Barry Burton, that's right!
"Thanks, I guess, hahaha." Chris smiled. He also knew that Barry knew that HE KNEW he didn't know him, but didn't want to dampen the evening more than he felt Claire was…
Poor Claire, he thought, she's probably hurting more from all of this than I am. I can't blame her for seeming so glum. He watched his sister's face as she walked around the hood.
Pain. He could see it. He could see that deep emotional anguish on her face as she stared at her feet.
He followed her with his eyes as she assembled his wheelchair on the driveway. Ever since he was copus, ever since he discovered that she was his little sister he kept telling himself that his memories of her, his existence in her presence, was still within him, it must be! Why else would he want to hold her and comfort her so much? That's got to be his brotherly instincts, surely! He felt that he just knew that grief on her face, he felt like he had seen it countless times.
Of course he had.
He was her brother. No, not was, is. He is still her brother.
But alas, no memory of it.
As Chris lifted his legs out of the car door, Barry offered his shoulder, heaving his old friend out of the car and into his wheelchair with seemingly little effort. He could hear a shout from beyond the car, though not the words, and he could see through the car windows a little elderly man wearing a claret coloured cardigan resting his hands on the white picket fence. Claire sighed and approached the man as an elderly woman joined them. Voices, yes he could hear, but too low to decipher.
He turned his head around to observe his surroundings; wow, had he really picked this house? How could he describe it? Cute? He had apparently purchased a quaint little house on an adorable little dead end street, with its bulbous shaped end. He counted the houses; seven. Seven houses around the edges of the circular concrete, all single story, some wider than others, two of them had attic windows. Some were grey, some white, and one on its own was coffee bean brown. Further down the road there were no houses, only grassy banks, with splashes of wildflowers and young trees. At the street entrance, or exit, cars and trucks would occasionally zip by; he deduced that it was a main road. But, wow, this little street was quiet even though the main road was just down there! The only sounds in the air beside the neighbours' voices were the trees rustling and the birds singing their evening song.
He heard the shrills of children across the asphalt, and a little boy in pyjamas and an even smaller girl in a nightdress stood with their toes curled over the curb, circling their arms at him, calling his name.
"Mommy, Mr Redfield is home!" shrieked the little girl, and Chris smiled faintly. A woman approached her, scolding her for shouting, and she looked up at him. Even from here he could see the mother's eyes soften, and she placed a palm on her chest before smiling and waving gingerly at him. He returned an equally sheepish gesture before his sister's voice brought him back closer to reality.
Claire closed the front door, perhaps a little too roughly. She greatly appreciated that all of their neighbours were so enthralled to see him; they had consistently offered their support and care during the time that her brother was missing, and even more so when he was seriously ill in hospital but, ugh, she wasn't in the mood right now for their kind words and elated expressions.
Maybe tomorrow.
"Did you help me pick this house, Claire?" Claire spoke. He grasped both wheels of his chair as he took in the long hallway, with its simple design and two or three generic pieces of "artwork" that they had picked up from that one store that sells everything ever.
"A little bit. Originally we lived closer to the heart of the city, me in a studio apartment on my own, you in a one bedroom apartment also alone, but after the Kijuju business, you decided that you wanted somewhere quieter."
"So, and please, don't read this wrong; if I lived alone and wanted somewhere quiet, how did you come here too?"
Claire breathed in sharply. God. Bringing back the memories of him mentally struggling after Kijuju hit her like a freight train. The memories of him almost literally on his knees, begging for her help, crying into the crook of her neck after he had banged a fist on her door at 2am stinking of alcohol, borderline demanding that they move out of their respective abodes for somewhere. A new start for him, and her. Somewhere that he could seek her out with little effort if he needed it. She looked down at him in his wheelchair with his patient expression.
"You asked me if I wanted to move in with you." Not a complete lie, but an answer devoid of the real truth. The truth? He was scared of being alone.
Yes. There was no need to tell him that his mental, alcohol fuelled problems began far before Edonia and Lanshiang. No need at all. Not yet.
"Just that?"
"Yeah. That's all."
She watched him breathe in and glance at the doors either side of him.
"This one is your room." Claire twisted his chair slightly to the right, "You wanna see it?"
"Sure!" Chris exclaimed loudly, and Claire winced. She sighed through her nose and opened the door to his bedroom, allowing him to practise manoeuvring through the doorway.
This was the first time she had entered his room since he was on his deathbed, and she was definitely beginning to regret avoiding it. While his bedsheets remained, he had an entirely new bed; not too dissimilar from a medical bed. She could see the plastic mattress underneath a thin topper. Topper is simple enough to wash and the mattress was wipeable, she thought glumly.
Fuck her life right now.
She never imagined that she'd have to be cleaning her brother's bed of accidental bodily spillage. She shivered. Oh God the catheter stuff…
"Oh wow, this is nice!" Chris gasped, gazing around the room of various green hues.
There were also risable sides to the bed's upper half; Chris wouldn't exactly correct himself on his feet if he fell out of bed, so it made a bit of sense. Still, she felt that it made him akin to a small toddler who had a tendency to roll out of bed, which was certainly not a habit he had held since he himself was literally a toddler, if the stories she was told through her mother were anything to go by. Little roly boy Redfield.
Attached to the side bar was a plastic holder, and inside this was an equally plastic remote control for the bed; to raise and lower the top end, raise and lower the bottom end, and a button to raise and lower the entire bed in one go. She hadn't noticed it initially, but there was also a new feature on the ceiling; a trapeze handle for Chris to hold on to for when he got in and out of bed.
"Oh man, I have a pc? It's sweet!"
Claire diverted her attention to her brother's voice as he pushed himself over to his desk.
The desk.
She had filed and hid away all documents and notes relating to BSAA and his work. He wasn't going to need them. Now it was simply a wooden desk with a pc tower, monitor, keyboard and mouse with a couple of game cases tucked to the side.
"Yup, you have a pc." she confirmed.
"For work or…?"
"Er, you did work from home occasionally, but you do have a simple gaming setup on there too. I used to use it a lot for games, too."
"What did you play?"
"It really doesn't matter, Chris…"
"Claire." Chris' voice almost snapped, and it made her jump, "You think I haven't noticed how you've been? In the car? Since we got here? What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Ok, so maybe I don't remember you, myself, or us as a family. But I'm not having this." He pulled at his green gaming chair and commanded that she sit. She bit her lip for the umpteeth time and slowly paced over, placing her ass into the seat. Her brother tisked at her and gently pulled at her bottom lip.
"You're gonna fuck your lip up doing that all the time. Stop. And don't even think about sighing at me again, I saw that inhale!"
Claire held her breath, keeping that huffed sigh in, and she saw in the corner of her eye Barry's feet leaving the room.
"I already told you, I heard you cry over me, I heard your words when you were convinced that you were going to lose me. Why the sudden change in tone? Why do you sound so defeated?"
Claire said nothing, unable to give him a reason for her attitude today. Chris carried on talking.
"My saving grace is probably that I don't remember anything, but I'm not going to let it stop me from living, I'm not going to let it stop me from carrying on, nor will I let it stop me from being your brother. If I have to scold you, I will. I won't have this. You hear me?"
"Clearly, Chris."
Claire could faintly hear the kettle bubbling away; Barry must've put it on after he left them alone. If Chris heard it, he paid no heed, and he continued to softly glare at his sister.
"It's not my fault that I am this way, and it's not yours either. I WANT to get my life on track again, but I need you to help me. I don't want to see you wallowing in pity, for yourself or me. I am alive beyond all odds, and I'm not about to have anyone dampen the room."
Chris took her hand, and she tensed up at his touch.
"I have nothing to worry about with myself. This is me now, and there's nothing that I can do now to change it." Chris said softly, thumbing his chest, "But I'm worried about you. This will be hard, we both know that, but I don't want you to suffer in silence. If there is anything, ANYTHING that I can do Claire, then tell me. Don't keep it to yourself. Please."
Claire thought about biting her lip again, but she saw his hand rise up, and she quickly stuck her lip back out. The hand moved to touch her cheek, and for the first time since pulling onto the driveway, she met his eyes.
"I will do everything that I am capable of to be your brother again, but I need your patience. And for fuck's sake, Claire, smile!"
Claire couldn't stop the tears, and she reached up to grasp his fingers. He brushed her tears away with his other hand, but she could feel the quiver in his fingertips. He sniffed hard once, and sighed with a laugh.
"Come on, sis. Give me a tour of the house! Impress me!"
Claire weakly laughed with him, and beckoned him to his bedroom door with one hand, her other hand still holding his own.
Again, really sorry, I know there are readers who were waiting for this who don't read my other stuff, don't worry, I didn't forget about you :)
Let me know your thoughts about this chapter.