Disclaimer – I own no legal right to any established Resident Evil trademarks or characters.
July 29th.
"Did we have a visitor last night?" Hunnigan asked.
If she hadn't said anything, Leon could have believed he'd only imagined seeing the office in the state he had last night. Hunnigan's reception area had been restored to its former immaculate condition. A quick peek into Leon's inner office confirmed she'd restored it to its former glory as well, although the empty glass bottle remained on the corner of his desk to taunt him.
"It looked that way," Leon said. "But it wasn't anyone I invited in."
"Everything of mine is accounted for. Did they get anything from you?"
Her voice was calm and even as she spoke to him without looking up from today's newspaper. Ada was right; Leon didn't appreciate what Hunnigan did for him enough.
"Just my whiskey," he said. "I don't think they could find what they were looking for." He took out Chris' notebook, studied it for a moment, and then thought of something as he slipped it back into his pocket. "Or they were looking for something I never even had."
That made Hunnigan look up.
"Now I'm confused."
"So am I," Leon said slowly, as he came around her desk to try to read the paper over her shoulder.
"Ben's story got pushed to the back page," Hunnigan said, passing the paper to him. "He didn't mention you by name. Better that way. Not good for business if anyone who wants to hire you as a bodyguard finds out they could end up like that."
"That Bertolucci's got some good ears on him," Leon said, remembering how far the reporter was standing from the crime scene as he quickly read over the story of Clemen's murder.
"Head crushed in by a ten-foot-tall monster," Hunnigan said, looking at Leon skeptically.
"Trash writing," Leon replied. "I said eight. Tops." He looked at his assistant. "You belive me, don't you?"
Hunnigan took a moment and collected her thoughts, frowning.
"Leon, you drink like a fish," she said. "Then you expect everyone to agree with you when you say you were trampled by pink elephants."
"I don't know what this guy was," Leon said. "But he was no elephant." He smacked the paper with the back of his hand, making a loud crinkling sound. "At least Ben believes me."
Hunnigan sighed.
"Ben's a starving writer, Leon," she said. "He's hardly one to let facts get in the way of a good story."
Leon looked up at the clock.
"I've got to get going," he said. "I'm going to be late for church."
"If you don't want to tell me where you're going, you don't have to," Hunnigan said, watching Leon walk to the door. "But you don't have to lie to me."
Leon stopped with his hand on the doorknob.
"Nobody will believe anything I say lately," he said, and then went out.
"I wasn't sure you'd come," Krauser said, shaking Leon's hand outside the tent.
"I figured a little religion might be good for me."
The large tent gave Leon unpleasant flashbacks to his wounds being treated in a battlefield hospital. They were on the edge of the Arklay Mountains, right on the outskirts of Raccoon City.
As they came closer the sound of a choir singing a rousing gospel song grew louder, congregants clapping along in rhythm.
There was a dense throng beneath the tent, trying to stay sheltered from the noontime rain. Krauser cut through the crowd until he and Leon were standing just a few rows away from the choir.
As the choir finished their song and sat down in chairs facing the standing crowd, a middle-aged man walked out in front of them. He was wearing a button-up dress shirt and slacks, sleeves rolled up past the elbows, end of the too-long necktie tucked in between the buttons of the shirt. While the banner above him bearing the name of the First Church of the Illuminated displayed the same strange cross between a cross and a dragonfly Leon had seen before, the leather Bible the preacher held tightly in his hand looked more traditional. His head was completely bald, meticulously shaved, and almost square in shape, with a broad jaw, wide ears, and a prominent, pointed nose. His eyes were sunken and gray.
The congregation fell quiet enough that Leon could have heard a pin drop. Even in the soft grass he was currently standing in.
"The apocalypse is upon us!" the preacher shouted, raising his free hand dramatically into a fist. "But there is still a chance that you all might be spared. You are sinners. The lowest of the low. But there is still a chance that you might be saved."
At this point, a few shouts of "Hallelujah!" and "Amen!" went up from the crowd. Leon glanced around him. Some people were leaning in towards the preacher, hanging on his every word, smiling with conviction. Others were frowning and looking nervously at their own feet.
"The extinction of mankind is inevitable!" the preacher said, gesturing wildly at the crowd before him with the Bible in his hand. "But you may be spared, if only you will accept the Light of the World and do His bidding! Even as your bodies decay, you can receive the gift of eternal life!"
"He sure loves to swing that Bible around," Leon said to Krauser. "But he doesn't seem that eager to open it."
Krauser looked back at him disapprovingly.
"Father Saddler is a prophet," he said. "His words come directly from the Light."
"You suffer on Earth," Saddler bellowed. "You've come to me, starving, wasting away. But you shall be rewarded in the afterlife. There are those of you who are penniless. Without food, shelter, or love. But if you reject your sins and devote yourselves to the Light, you shall have homes in paradise, where you will never know loneliness, hunger, or want again."
Saddler paced back and forth before his congregation, still waving the leather-bound book in his hand.
"A day of retribution is coming," Saddler continued. "For those who oppose the Light. For those who oppose this great country! America is the shining city upon a hill, blessed above all others by the Light! You have come from all races, all cultures, all walks of life, but you must be faithful to this country above all others! You must put the will of the Light above your own!"
More enthusiastic shouts rang out from the crowd. Leon looked around him again. Luis was one of the few club owners in the city that welcomed people from every race, but the diversity at his spot couldn't match the congregation here. With a quick glance, Leon could see representation from all sections of the city. But he also couldn't help but notice that they didn't all look comfortable being here.
"As it says in the final chapter of the Book of Revelation, this world shall be destroyed, and a new one shall take its place! Reject your filthy lives of sin and depravity. Devote your lives to the Light! Declare your allegiance to the United States of America! Watch as the Light brings those who would oppose our great country to their knees, and grinds them beneath His heel! Declare your devotion to the Light! Declare your devotion to your country! Only then might you be saved! Only then will you be able to survive death itself. Only then will you be granted immortality."
He made his way back to the front row of the congregation, and then the choir rose from their seats and broke into another lively gospel song.
After the song ended, the individuals in the crowd began to move, no longer standing still as statues. Krauser led Leon to Saddler.
"Father Saddler," he said. "This is Leon Scott Kennedy. A good soldier who fought with me against the Axis in Normandy."
Saddler took Leon's hand. His grip was cold and clammy and sent a chill down Leon's spine.
"Mr. Kennedy, I'm Osmund Saddler."
"That was one helluva sermon, padre."
"I merely speak as the Light commands," Saddler said. "But did my words get through to you? Are you interested in becoming part of our mission?"
"I might," Leon said. "After all, I see so many friends among your congregation."
He recognized the face of the bass player from Luis' band, the woman who reminded him of Josephine Baker. They made eye contact only briefly, and then she quickly buried herself in the crowd, out of his sight. He also spotted Claire Redfield, who he'd noticed tailing him ever since he left his office.
"Perhaps you know a few?" Leon said. "Does the name Jessica Trevor mean anything to you?"
Saddler's gray eyes moved among his congregation.
"I can't say that it does."
"How about her daughter, Lisa? I believe she's attended a few of your services."
"A shepherd can hardly be expected to know the name of each sheep in a flock this size."
"How about my friend Chris Redfield? He's a policeman."
"I don't see you as someone who has many friends," Saddler replied. "You strike me as a profoundly lonely man. But you are welcome to join us here, where we are all a family of brothers and sisters in the Light."
"I'm not really sure your doctrine appeals to me," Leon said. "Though I do believe in shedding light unto darkness. Dragging dark secrets out of the shadows."
"Only the Light knows our darkest secrets," Saddler said, walking with them through the tent. "Yet I wonder, in the end, what secrets you'll end up keeping just between you and the Lord yourself. What is it you do for a living, Mr. Kennedy?"
"I'm a detective," Leon said. "And if there's one thing you and I have in common, it's our desire to see evil punished."
People were gathered at long tables, being handed bowls of soup and sandwiches.
"Now I see how you gathered so many," Leon said. "Do you offer food as part of every service?"
"Only to those who've listened to my message. What good is feeding their decaying mortal bodies if their eternal souls are condemned?"
"You might try asking them that question."
"A shepherd knows what's best for his flock."
"And I'm sure you're happy to take what few alms they have to offer when the hat gets passed around."
Saddler shook his head and clicked his tongue.
"My flock isn't entirely made of the destitute," Saddler said. "I have those here with plenty to give as well. For example, I believe you might recognize the mayor's daughter."
Leon froze in shock as Saddler pointed to Ashley, pushing sandwiches into dirty, eager hands.
"I could also introduce you to the Captain of police," Saddler said, his hazy gray eyes shifting to where Albert Wesker was pushing his way through those in much shabbier clothing than his own.
Wesker hadn't looked in Leon's direction yet.
"That won't be necessary," Leon said. "We're already well acquainted."
"Then perhaps you'd care for a cup of our special tea?" Saddler said, stepping to where a circle of his closest acolytes stood in long, flowing robes, holding steaming cups with stoic expressions.
They passed a cup to Saddler, who in turn handed it to Krauser.
"No thanks," Leon said. "Major, thanks for the invitation, but I have a friend here I'd like a word with." He nodded to Saddler. "I'll see you around, padre."
"You're always welcome, Mr. Scott Kennedy," Saddler replied.
Leon could feel their eyes on his back as he walked up to Ashley and gently put his hand around her elbow.
She jumped a little, startled at first, and then smiled as she recognized him.
"Leon! I didn't think you were the church-going type."
"I was just about to say the same to you. What are you doing here?"
Ashley gently tussled a small boy's hair and handed him a sandwich.
"I found out there was a church that had set itself up in the woods here and was providing food and water to the poor and homeless. It sounded like a good way for me to give something back to the community. Especially after . . ." She lowered her voice. "Especially after those pictures of me you stopped from getting out. I wanted to show I could be a good citizen."
Leon looked back over to where he'd been standing. Krauser had vanished, but Saddler was only a small distance away, talking to Wesker. It was only a matter of time before Wesker might look over and recognize him.
"I've got to go," Leon said quickly. "I'll see you at Luis' tonight."
Wesker and Saddler had left the tent, the canopy of leaves above providing their only shelter from the rain.
Leon stepped quietly through the grass, trying to keep the widest tree trunks between himself and the two men he was following. He could hear their voices, but the only word he could make out was what sounded like "ganados."
Leon headed deeper into the woods, trying to quickly circle around to the part of the woods Wesker and Saddler were headed to. As he heard their voices growing louder, he scrambled up into the nearest tree, hiding himself in the leafy branches.
"We've run out of 'volunteers,'" Wesker said. "You need to keep up your end of the bargain and provide more."
"And what about your end?" Saddler replied. "You're supposed to keep unwanted attention off of me. Why are there still detectives sniffing around here?"
"We already took care of your detective problem."
"The last one. But now there's another."
Wesker let out an exasperated sigh.
"He's not one of ours. A certain gumshoe, gumming up the works. To tell the truth, I like the kid. I like his gumption. But don't you worry. The Tyrant will make quick work of him."
Their voices grew softer again as they made their way back towards the tent. Leon waited until they'd completely disappeared before dropping out of the tree.
He brushed the palms of his hands off on his pants and then turned around to see Claire Redfield.
"Surprised to see me?" she asked.
"Not really," Leon said. "I know you've been following me all day."
"What have you found out? What does this church have to do with my brother?"
They were walking back to the tent.
"Has it occurred to you that maybe I'm just here to worship?"
"Not for a second. The missing people Chris was looking for went to this church, didn't they?"
Leon stopped walking when he looked up and saw Ricardo Irving quickly moving in his direction.
He spun around, too late noticing the other men surrounding him.
Claire was looking around anxiously too now, sensing Leon's panic. One of the men put his arm around her. She struggled until the chloroform-soaked cloth covered her mouth and nose.
"Let her go!" Leon said. "She's got nothing to do with this!"
Another man grabbed Leon's arm. He quickly pulled away. Then a second man grabbed his other arm. As two men pinned his arms to his sides, Leon tried to struggle free of their grasp, only to succumb to the chloroform as the rag was held over his face.
Leon started to panic when he came to, opened his eyes, and still saw nothing but darkness.
Then the blindfold was removed. Claire Redfield sat across from him, hands tied together behind her back, legs tied with rope to the legs of her chair. Irving's goons took her blindfold off.
Leon looked around. They were in a dimly lit wine cellar, Irving sitting on a cask and sneering at them.
He stood up, walked over to Leon, and then punched him hard across the face.
"Where is it, shamus?"
"Where is what?"
"Don't play dumb with me." He punched Leon again, in the gut this time. "The thigamajig. The whatsit. You know what I'm talking about."
"I already told you, Irving. If I wouldn't get in bed with Gionne when I was a cop, I'm certainly not going to now."
"You're not scared of me, huh? Maybe you'll be more cooperative once I start applying pressure to your girlfriend."
Leon struggled against his bonds as Irving turned to Claire.
"Keep your filthy hands off of her, you sick bastard!"
Irving crouched down in front of Claire.
"Sorry you had to get mixed up with the wrong guy, sweetheart."
Claire spit in his face.
Irving slowly wiped her saliva off of his chin, then responded by standing up and slapping her. Leon struggled harder, the ropes around his wrists digging into the skin.
"I said leave her alone!"
Irving was trembling with anger, still staring at Claire, who stared back in defiance.
Then his wicked grin slowly returned.
"All right, Salvador!" he called. "Get in here."
A tall, broad-shouldered man entered. He was wearing a button-up shirt, a few of the top buttons undone, with tan suspenders holding up his flannel trousers. He had a burlap potato sack pulled over his head, two small holes roughly cut out of the bag to see through, and he was carrying a chainsaw.
Leon continued thrashing around in his chair as the big man revved up his machine.
"Talk fast, Kennedy," Irving said. "Or you're about to watch the redhead lose a pretty little limb."
He giggled as the big man stepped closer to Claire, holding the whirring chainsaw up in the air.
"Let her go!" Leon screamed. "I'm the one you want! She's got nothing to do with this!"
"He's right," another voice said, sultry and feminine.
The chainsaw stopped
A slender beauty stepped out of the shadows in graceful strides, her brunette hair up in an ornate beehive hairdo. She was wearing an expensive white gown and dripping in golden jewelry. She calmly crouched down between Leon and Claire and selected a bottle of wine from one of the lowest shelves.
"Get the girl out of here," she said. "Make sure she gets safely back to her own home."
One of Irving's men replaced Claire's blindfold as she continued to struggle in her seat, even as other men untied the ropes binding her legs and wrists together.
"Leave us," the woman in the elegant gown said.
Irving and his men held tightly on to Claire so she couldn't lash out at them as they led her up a flight of stairs out of the cellar.
"You're not going to hurt her?" Leon said.
"Why would I?" the woman replied. "What's she going to do to me? Tell the police? I own the police."
She grabbed her bottle of wine and then turned her attention to personally untying Leon's ropes.
"I'm Excella Gionne," she said. "Donna of the Gionne family. And, I assure you, getting men into bed with me has never been an issue."