Chapter Text
:Two: If these walls could talk:
Dulvey, Louisiana – 2017
Somewhere a clock was ticking.
Or not.
It was probably his watch. His watch was ticking. Ticking. His aim was steady even if the arm supporting the weapon was shaking so bad it was like hypothermia.
But the gun didn't waver.
The barrel of the big .50 caliber weapon just kept staring at his dead wife.
Her body was in a pool of blood four feet from him. He was sitting against the wall, sticky with blood, feeling the shallow slashes on his arms drip, drip, dripping onto his jeans. The path of his vision showed the tattoo at the bend of his elbow, on his forearm, the mix of their astrological signs. Pisces for Claire, Cancer for him. They'd had the matching tattoos done on his birthday. Her idea. He didn't give a rats ass about signs or their meanings.
But she did.
SHE DID.
..........
"We're both water signs."
He lifted both dark brows and jotted something down on the notebook beside him on the couch. Annoyed, she slapped the report out of his hands and rolled over the back of the couch. The move dropped her into his lap. He grunted, kept the droll look on his face, and waited for her to make her point.
Claire shifted and straddled him. She took the little glasses off his nose that he wore for reading and poked them on her face. The shaggy spill of her hair and the glasses made her look like a naughty librarian. Since he liked that, Leon let her keep the glasses.
She was in a little blue t-shirt with a farting cat on it. It shouldn't have been sexy at all but she was braless so…those fantastic breasts of hers kept swaying as she talked. Since he liked that too, he even tried to pay attention to the mystical mumbo jumbo she was spouting. "We're a good match. Cancer and pisces."
"Mmhmm." His hand slid under her top to cup one of those swaying breasts. She made a little sound and scooted closer in his lap. Her hand jerked his chin up to her face while he played with her excited nipple.
"Pay attention, Kennedy. You hear what I just said?"
"Something about crabs and fish. And being compatible in a pot – with garlic."
Amused, Claire pulled his hand from her shirt. "You gonna listen?"
"I'd rather just…" He shifted and she was laughing as he put his head under her shirt. She let him, cuddling her arms around him as he put his mouth to those breasts.
She kept on talking because she was a trooper. "We should get matching tattoos, ya know? Just…" She gasped a little when he put some teeth on her, "…just…because you are SUCH a crab."
His head popped back out from her shirt. He narrowed his eyes, considering. She was shivering with delight as his hands picked up where his mouth had left off. "I feel there's a double entendre happening there."
Claire pushed on him and spilled him back against the arm of the couch. She played her hands all over his naked chest, exciting them both. "Mmm. You have a crunchy shell on the outside and nothing but gooey yummy stuff inside."
He laughed a little and kissed her. It was a good kiss, soft, tender and a little bit of tongue. "Hmm. You want to taste my gooey yummy stuff?"
"…perv." She giggled a little and stroked his hair off his face. Gripping it a little, she tugged and stole his breath with excitement, "We're both gentle, Leon. You? All tough guy on the outside, all sweet on the inside. Me? Same."
"I don't know. You're pretty sweet on the outside too." Another kiss, smooth, wet and thrilling. "But I get where this is going. Romance right?"
"Oh yeah. Both of us love it."
"Whoa. Whoa whoa whoa. Don't go telling people that kind of shit, Claire. Your brother? I'll never live it down. He'll have ammunition to use against me for…ever. Forever. Til the end of time."
"…what is it with you men and thinking being gentle makes you weak? Why would he care if you leave post it notes with little love poems on my rearview mirror?"
He laughed. She nibbled his throat while he answered, "Claire, honey, it's great for you and I that we are gooey. It is. It's our private stuff, sweetheart. OUR stuff. Guys? We don't like the world knowing we give a shit."
"Why!? That's so stupid."
"Maybe. But unless you want your brother to start leaving mocking post its on my car, I will beg you NOT to say anything about that. EVER."
Claire chuckled and leaned back to look at him. "Deal. IF you get the tattoo."
That was an easy answer. He'd get a pickle smoking pot tattooed on his body if it made her happy. "Yup."
"…just like that?"
"Why not? I love you. I'll put you anywhere on my body you want." And he bobbled his brows.
She giggled, shucked that little t-shirt, and put her body all over his.
...........
The Pisces sign was blue, the Cancer red and orange. They mixed together on the skin and showed their intertwined love for each other. She'd sliced it open with that knife.
The knife that was on the floor a foot away from her.
The knife she'd tried to kill him with.
"….fuck."
Leon eased to his feet, slipping a little in the blood. He kept the Magnum on her, moving toward the knife. He kicked it with his boot, sending it spinning down the long hallway. But Claire didn't move.
He shouldered open the door beside her body and found it was a bathroom. Clearing it as he went in, he moved toward the sink. He set the Magnum on the sink and dug through the medicine cabinet behind the mirror looking for something to treat his arms.
The sink was cracked porcelain. He was shaking as he watched his blood plop in fat red droplets into the white bowl of it. His hands shifted to grab the edges and hold on, just for a moment. His face stared back at him from the cracked mirror.
Pale.
What had Redfield said?
Old.
He felt old. He felt dead.
But he wasn't.
Claire was.
He said it out loud, "Claire is dead."
It sounded stupid. So he didn't say it again.
He used what was in the cabinet to bind the wounds on his arms. They were cannibals but they had gauze and tape. So they were at least ready to treat wounds from their victims, clearly. He wrapped his arms with the soft white roll of it, taped it on, and picked up his gun.
He looked like he was wearing long white sleeves now above his tactical gloves.
Easing forward, he swung the Magnum down the hallway. But it was just Claire's body. Claire's body.
Just Claire.
Who was dead.
The little rotary phone started ringing. The sound was so startling. It made him jump. It scared the piss out of him. Leon waited for it to stop but it kept on ringing.
He eased around Claire's body and picked it up.
The second it was against his ear, a heavily accented southern drawl said, "Yeh shouldn't have come. Who are you?"
"An odd question. You first."
"I'm Zoe. And you're out of time. Get to the attic. There's a way out there."
"Right. I so often listen to strangers calling on random old phones in dirty mansions where my wife just tried to kill me. Why not? The whole sentence just sounded as dumb out loud as it did in my head."
There was a small laugh. "You're funny. That's good. You'll need a good sense o' humor to survive."
"Survive what? My wife is dead. I'm not leaving this place until I take every last one of you with me."
"You're wasting time tryin to kill me. I'm gonna help yeh. And you're gonna help meh. Let's try this again…I'm Zoe."
He hesitated but what did it cost him to say it? It was just a name.
"Leon."
"Leon…nice to meetcha. I want out too. So, listen to me, and listen good. Things ain't what you think here. You and meh? We're in this togetha now. Listen to me, and I'll get you out of that house. Don't? You'll be just another member of the family."
The words made no sense. The family? What the fuck did that even mean?
"Get to the attic, Leon, get out of the house."
"I won't run. I don't run away, Zoe. I'm gonna level this place for what they've done to her."
"You're wasting time. Stop bein a hero. It won't do no damn good. Get out of that house. Now. And your wife?"
"Claire."
"Yeah. Claire? She ain't dead."
The call clicked off.
He froze. He blinked. He set it back in the cradle gently.
She ain't dead.
He turned and there she was.
She was just…standing there.
She said, softly, "Hey baby…I know you didn't mean to hurt me right? You wouldn't hurt me. You…love me."
Jesus Christ.
"Shhh. Shh.. It's ok. Why are you so mean? Why are you so scared? You didn't mean to hurt me right? You wouldn't hurt your sweetheart, your Claire Bear, your girl...right?"
Her hands stroked his face. She had a weeping fist sized HOLE in her CHEST. It gaped. It bled. It should have blown her heart apart. A .50 caliber round at point blank range?
Monster.
He breathed, "What did they do to you? What are you, Claire?"
She dragged him down. She licked his mouth. She rubbed her bloody chest against him, dragging her breasts against his shirt. It was the first time, ever, the touch of her disgusted him.
"I'm your boo. Your baby. Your girl. Want to taste me? Want to touch me? You wouldn't hurt me right? Your WIFE."
His voice came to him, cool, empty. THAT was the voice of the guy who didn't flinch. "You're not my wife. She's dead. You? You're just walking around wearing her skin suit. The thing about that? It don't fit you, you fucking piece of shit. And me? I'm taking it with me when I go. So I'm gonna need you to get the FUCK out of my wife."
She laughed and he waited while she licked his mouth again. He waited.
And then he head butted her.
It struck fast and hard. It drove her back so that she stumbled and screamed with pain.
Her voice growled, "You shouldn't have done that…IT HURT!"
"I warned you, you bitch. GET OUT OF MY WIFE!"
"She's mine, stupid hero. MINE. And you will be too!"
The Magnum came up and she was so fast. She was just there. Right there. She grabbed his throat. She lifted him, right off his feet. He pulled the trigger, the bullet hit her in the clavicle in a burst of blood and sound, and she threw him with a scream of fury. The wall exploded behind his flying bulk.
He was sheer muscle, always had been, and he hit the crumbling rotting wood and kept on going. He came down on his back, sliding along the hard floor and smashed into the dresser that waited there. But he'd held on to the fucking Magnum.
Claire shouted in rage. He watched her grab the knife from the floor. The Magnum came up from where he lay on his side on the floor and he drilled her.
He shot her twice in the side while she grabbed that knife.
She screamed, she took it, and she turned.
He knew. He KNEW where to shoot her.
Where did you shoot a fucking zombie?
"….in the goddamn head."
He adjusted his aim and Claire threw the knife.
The shot went wild and smashed the broken wall beside her ear. The knife was tossed by that practiced hand. Claire was a wizard with throwing knives. It was her thing. She did it at carnivals with balloons to make kids laugh.
He said a silent curse at Chris Redfield for teaching his baby sister to do it, and rolled.
The knife hit the dresser an inch from his throat.
And Claire grabbed him.
She punched him so hard in the face he felt his nose break. Probably. It was probably broken. Snap. Pop. And blood everywhere. And then she started choking the shit out of him.
He lost the Magnum in the scuffle. He elbowed her twice, twisted his body, and dropped his arm to break her hold on him. And then he right hooked his wife in the side, spun back to elbow her in the face, and drove a hip kick at her that sent her skidding over the floor on her ass.
The Magnum was three inches from her right hand.
So, that back fired a little bit.
She grabbed it, Leon caught sight of a small hatchet on the floor in the mess from the exploded wall, and he threw his shoulder down. She shot, it whizzed a quarter inch from his left ear, and he rolled through the drop and grabbed the hatchet.
It put him on the ground beneath her but that was ok. Because he drove a boot into her hip, spun her off center, and scissors kicked her in the chest as he got back to his feet. She lost the gun in a clatter of sound, screamed like a banshee, and grabbed for a broken piece of wood from the shattered ceiling above them. She wielded it like a stake and raced at him.
Christ.
"Claire!" He figured what the hell right? Maybe she was still in there. "You kidding me!?"
She swung the stake and Leon dropped low, threw his leg out, and took hers from her. She went down, shrieking. He swung the hatchet at her, hit her in the neck with a chunky thunk of sound and blood, and she kicked him from the floor.
Her bare foot smashed into his chest and threw him out and away like he weighed nothing.
Leon hit the dresser, slid over the top of it, and thunked into the wall beyond. He heard her coming and waited for it. She grabbed his shirt, jerked him up, and slapped him three times in the face. It hurt like hell but it was ok. He'd had worse.
And it let him shout at her, "CLAIRE! STOP!"
Like she would.
She wasn't Claire anymore.
He KNEW that. But he couldn't let the hope die.
He just kept holding on to it.
So he planted his foot, pivoted on the other one, channeled Chris Redfield, and straight arm punched her in the face. He put everything he had behind it. He didn't pull it, didn't hold back, he drilled her face with his fist like she was a zombie or a bad guy…because she was.
She was a bad guy.
And he couldn't die here with her.
It just wasn't how he was built.
She shrieked again, snarled, and leaped at him. She latched onto his front like a wailing monkey clasping a tree. It sent him stumbling into the wall and the psychotic thing that she was? She bit him.
She drove her teeth into his chest and just bit down.
He shouted, he bled, and she jerked and took a hunk of flesh with her. He felt it rip out of him. It was…the most disgusting feeling ever. His body jerked with the pain of it. His brain shut down to protect him and adrenaline kicked into over drive.
Claire ripped her bloody mouth back and spit. She spit out his flesh and the hunk of his shirt she'd taken with it.
She spit out the muscle and laughed.
And Leon grabbed her hair in one hand and jerked. As she shrieked, he drew her throat long and pretty and ripped the hatchet from the side of it. He hit her again with it, blood sprayed EVERYWHERE, and she slapped his hand so hard the hatchet spun off into the wall.
Leon drove his fingers into the gaping wound on her throat like he'd find her spine and snap it. Claire slapped her open palm against his bloody face and hit him in the broken mess of his nose so hard it stole his breath. He lost his grip on her.
She went to the floor like she'd crawl away.
He actually spit blood everywhere and shouted, it sounded wet and awful from the mess of his face, "I don't fucking think so!"
He grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her back to him.
She grunted and scrambled but Leon held on while she kicked and slapped at him.
He pulled her across the floor by her hair, grabbed the Magnum from where it hand fallen, and jerked her to her knees with her back to him. She laughed. She just kept laughing.
She was still laughing when he put the big barrel against the back of her head and pulled the trigger. The echo of the gunshot was so loud. It echoed. The big gun kicked in his hand. His other hand let go of her hair as the blood splattered everywhere. Brains and bone cracked and went all over from the point blank execution. Her body fell to the floor on its face, still, only the pooling blood showed movement. Everything else?
Utterly still.
He'd executed his wife.
He couldn't do it looking at her. Because he was a coward.
So he did it with her facing away.
Away.
He had blood splashed over his jeans and chest. His shirt was ripped, his face soaked with it, his hands tacky and sticky. He was bruised and bleeding and shaking. Because he'd just killed his wife…again. Twice. He'd killed his wife twice.
Leon whispered, "What the fuck did they do to you?"
He didn't look at her. He stepped over her corpse and moved.
The room was horrid. It was blood and brains and destruction. He was soaked in it. Claire's body lay mired in it. The walls were thick and dripping. It was a goddamn gore fest.
He left it behind without flinching.
The bathroom offered him the ability to bind the wound on his chest. She'd gotten a whole mouthful. She'd ripped a hunk out of him the size of a half dollar, right above his nipple. It was totally gross. It was bleeding all over the place.
He balled up gauze, taped it down, and put pressure on it. It was the best he could do.
Leon grappled his phone from his back pocket but it was missing.
He cleared back into the hallway to find it. Easing around the corner of the shattered wall, he pointed the big gun at Claire's dead body.
But she was gone.
The panic set in. What had the girl on the phone said?
Your wife? She ain't dead.
Clearly.
She was undead.
All his life, he'd been fighting them. He just kept fighting and fighting and fighting. For what? For this?! For his world to end in blood and rot and infection? For his wife to turn into what he'd spent a lifetime destroying?
What kind of justice was that!?
What kind of karma was it that took a gentle, beautiful, soft hearted woman that just wanted to save the world…and turned her into the thing she'd dedicated her entire life to ending? WHY!?
He was breathing sharp and fast. He was panicking. He was losing it.
He had to get it together.
Out loud, he said, "You're better than this god damnit. Shut the fuck up. Shut up. And survive."
And he went to the place where he could find his peace and keep on fighting.
Where else?
It was wherever she was. In his memory.
.............
"Promise me!"
She was on the pier, getting ready to get on the ship to leave. She kept grabbing his hands.
"Promise me, Leon!"
"Why? You'll be back in a few weeks."
"Because! We always do it. So just DO IT!"
Laughing, he pulled her in and held her for a moment. She smelled like lilacs. She always smelled like lilacs.
"I promise: No matter what? I'll keep on fighting."
She kissed him, grinning. "That's right. No fear right? On that island…the fucking bitch kept taunting us with it. Fear. FEAR. Fuck fear. I knew I'd survive it. I knew it. Because you were waiting for me. I had to get back to you. No matter what happens, ever, I am always waiting for you. If not here, then in the next life, and the next…no fear. And never stop fighting."
............
It anchored him. It left him calm. He eased around the doorway to find himself back in the main hallway of the house. He was just off the kitchen and parallel to the staircase. He passed by the room with the VCR and headed toward the stairs.
And Claire spilled out of the pantry beneath them.
She laughed. She was all bloody. Her face was a wreck. The hole in her forehead wept copiously and was disgusting. She was missing half the right side of her skull. He watched it weep and plop chunks.
His stomach heaved. She had the barrel of the Magnum. She forced it back on him while they stood there in the hallway, wrestling for it.
And she said, "You bad boy. You bad bad boy. You killed me. I thought you loved me. Don't you understand? You can't run. You have to stay. We belong here. You belong here…"
Claire jerked, the Magnum went off, and he felt her body burst with blood all over their hands. She grunted, mouth gushing blood, and whispered, "Liar. That's not love. LIAR."
She head butted him.
It hit so hard that he felt it try to collapse his skull.
He went down on his back, his vision burst black for a moment, and his head started throbbing like a bad tooth. She jerked the Magnum from his hands. She aimed it at his face.
"Liar."
His boot came up, her finger pulled the trigger, and the bullet him in the chest as he kicked her arms. It saved his life by shifting her aim down from his face but cost him anyway. The bullet went right on through and into the floor beneath him. He grunted, humped his hips, and gained his feet as she staggered.
Claire grabbed for him, he rolled to the right and put his shoulder into her, and used her own momentum to throw her over his shoulder and down the hallway where he'd been. She went through the far door, screaming.
She came barreling at him now with a god damn screwdriver. He ducked to grab the Magnum and she tackled him before he could get it. They went backward together, Claire shrieking and stabbing wildly at him, him with his hands thrown up to stop her. The screwdriver went into his hand, they hit the floor and skidded along it to smash into the pile of furniture blocking the door, and he punched her full in the face with the other hand.
She rolled left, jabbed his throat with that screwdriver, and he lost all his breath when it tried to go clean through and sever his windpipe. Luck, grace, or utter fucking blind stupidity saved him losing his rocking voice to wild jabbing. He rolled his neck, the screwdriver jabbed but didn't do more then split a little shallow skin, and it scraped down his throat.
Bleeding, grappling, she jabbed the damn thing into his shoulder. He rolled up on the other side, jerked his leg up, and kicked her in the back of the head. Chris Redfield be damned. THIS is why he did yoga.
Claire went over the top of him, he grabbed her dirty shirt and kept on tossing, and she flipped and smashed into the door. She slid down into the mess of furniture and was already leaping out to get him.
Leon dropped to one knee, missed losing an eye to that damn screwdriver, and gripped her wrist. He jerked down, pushed up, and broke her arm at the elbow. It snapped wetly. It popped audibly. She screamed so loud it echoed in the dirty house and she heel jabbed him right in the nose. Blood, crunch, if it wasn't broken before it was fucked now. The pain exploded as she tried to send his nose into his brain and Leon jerked on that broken arm to throw her like garbage down the hallway.
She rolled, smashing into the wall.
Leon staggered to his feet. She was already stirring. She drove the screwdriver into his calve. He shouted, staggered, and she laughed. She grabbed it to jerk it clean and go after him again. He kicked her twice in the face where she lay and she went still.
He grabbed the Magnum from the floor, spun, and raced up the stairs beside him.
He was dropping blood all over now.
It was bad.
He was fucked.
He knew it.
He coughed and spit. The spit was pink. Which meant she'd nicked a lung when she'd shot him. He stumbled on the stairs but kept on going. The attic was dusty and moldy. What part of this fucking house wasn't!?
Slipping in the blood, Leon ran toward the ladder there that offered him a way out. Clearly the girl on the phone knew what she was talking about. Holstering the Magnum, he scaled the ladder. He was opening the shutter that would likely spill him out to the roof when he heard it.
He'd heard it before.
Plenty.
He'd faced it so many times he was surprised it still managed to scare the living shit out of him.
You never forgot after all…the roar of a chainsaw.
It sputtered and kicked to the life. It started rending and ripping the shutter in front of him. Horrified, he let go. He went backwards as Claire burst through the opening, shrieking and waving the jagged teeth of that death machine where he'd been.
Leon hit his back and rolled as she pushed into the attic. He ran for it, shouldering into the closest room as she raced for him.
She gave chase, screaming, and he smashed the door into her face as she lifted the chainsaw over her head to decapitate him. He kicked it twice, it smacked her while she laughed, and he shot her in the face through the wood.
It splintered, a hole erupted, wood chunks sprayed like shrapnel.
And he unloaded the rest of the magazine into her face.
The chainsaw sputtered and hit the floor, Claire's body hit the far wall and slid down it, and Leon grabbed for another magazine off his leg. He coughed again and the pink tinged spit was just blood now. Just blood.
He was FUCKED.
His lung was filling with blood. He was rasping and wheezing. His vision was blurry on one side. Which told him she'd head butted him and given him a fucking concussion. He listed, staggering a little, but he kicked open the door anyway.
She was struggling against the wall.
He raised the Magnum on her, rasping.
Claire turned her head, face ruined, a mask of bleeding and naked bone and rot, black moldy skin and infection. She gasped…and put her hands behind her head.
"Oh do it! DO IT! Do it, baby. Hurry. Hurry. Don't stop."
Christ…it sounded like sex talk or something. But it wasn't. It was his wife begging him to kill her.
Not fuck her.
Kill her.
Again. And again.
Jesus Christ.
Claire wept, softly, tears from one bloody eye. The other was gone. He'd blown half her face off with his Magnum. He felt the moment his left lung collapsed. It was a bit like someone dropping an anvil on one side of his body. He went to one knee, leaning in the door frame.
His brain said: you're dead you stupid bastard. What did Chris say? WAIT FOR ME.
Nope.
Idiot.
The genius part of his brain (lost somewhere under the utter fucking asshat that had been arrogant and full of himself) said: you have a tension pneumothorax. You're dead. You fucking moron.
That was fine.
He didn't care.
He didn't want to live anyway without her. And the bitch on the floor in front of him? She was dead. She was UNDEAD. She wasn't Claire. Claire was dead.
But she WAS. She was CLAIRE. Because she said, "I love you. Look at me."
He leaned on the frame, vision edged with blood now. He could barely breathe. He grunted, "I'm looking at you."
"I love you. Kill me. Do it. And run. Run, baby. Run away. And live. Ok? Run."
Leon laughed, wetly, and hacked up blood all over the floor between them. Her face. Her face was so scared. "I look like I can run? I'm fucked, Claire. I'm done. This? This is what fucked looks like, honey. It's you and me beating each other to death."
He slid further down the door. The gun trembled on her and finally lowered. He let it go, feeling it dangle in his hand near his hip. What did it matter? She couldn't die. She was already dead.
And he would be soon enough.
What did it matter?
He said, "Find…my phone. Call..your…brother. Hurry. While you're still you. Tell him…" He slumped, gasping. His whole body told him he wasn't getting enough oxygen to his blood for proper perfusion of his organs anymore. His one working lung was filling with fluid. "Tell him…burn it down. Sanitation. Hurry."
"Oh, god…please…"
He could hear her moving. She was coming for him. He just hoped it was quick.
He slumped, shifted, and offered her his neck. "Break it. QUICK, Claire. Ok? Break it. Put me down."
"Shut up, idiot. Shut up. I'm going to get you to the hospital. I'm going to help you. Why did you come!? She'll never let me go, Leon. Listen to me...it's mind control. It's...bad. It's so bad. She gets in your fucking head. Somebody took everything we've been fighting all this time and made it look human. Made it have needs. She thinks I'm her mom. She wants a dad. She wants a family. She wants hugs. She wants to be loved. But she's not human. She's death. She's infection. She's rot. Mold. The mold. The mold...oh god..."
He slumped forward and whispered, "It was her."
"Yeah. She emailed you. I'm so sorry. She got the email from my brain. It's why I can't run. I can't. I'm not me. SHE'S me. She's in me. On me. In my head. I wouldn't risk you. I thought...I thought I'd protected you. I never even thought of you in case...in case she found you in my memories. Baby...baby baby...you stupid man. You came from an email? Alone? ALONE!? Where is Chris?"
"He's coming...he's coming...I'm done, Claire. Listen to me. He won't make it. I'm down. You shot me in the fucking lung. I'm done. Put me down."
"No. No. There's time. I couldn't stop from shooting you. I couldn't. But I could stop from killing you. I just...I can't stop it forever. I will kill you. She said...kill you. Kill you for letting me go. But I can't. I won't. I have to get you away. Where Chris can get to you. Chris is coming? He's coming. He's coming. Leon...please. Don't give up."
He went down to the floor, palms spread now, mouth spilling blood in a heavy drip. "Claire...honey...look at me..." He spit, he coughed, he gagged and went to his side on the floor. "End me. Hurry."
"No. I CAN'T. Hold on. I love you. I LOVE you."
She moved. She moved now and grabbed him. She picked him up like he wasn't twice her size. She threw him over her shoulder and moved.
He dangled, feeling his chest seize. She was going down the stairs. She was kicking the furniture that barred the front door. She was so strong.
Leon felt the gun slip from his hands and bounce on the floor.
Claire grabbed the handle of the boarded up door and just…ripped.
It opened with a scream of giving wood and popping nails. She ran out into the dying sun carrying him. He felt the world dip and spin. He heard her shouting.
Feet were running.
She struggled as she was grabbed. She snarled like his woman trying to free him. She shouted, "GET THE FUCK OFF HIM!"
And that was ALL her.
But she lost and he was dumped to the ground.
He couldn't breathe. The world was dark. It was all dark.
Claire roared, "I WILL KILL YOU if you touch him! Do you hear me!? TAKE YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF HIM!"
Someone fisted his shirt and jerked him to his knees. And he was down. He was down. But he wasn't out.
Who the fuck did they think he was?
He laughed, low and wet.
"Something funny, son?"
"This is funny. You think this is the end? This is just the beginning."
That face floated in front of him, "You got that right, son. Your beginning. Your new one."
He could hear Claire screaming, trying another tactic now. Pleading. Not threatening, "LEAVE HIM! PLEASE! LEAVE HIM ALONE! I STAYED! I stayed, didn't I!? I stayed! Please! Just let him go!"
There was laughter. He couldn't see. Someone grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head back. "He's handsome! You see this, Marguerite? Our new son? He's HANDSOME."
"Just do it, Jack! Hurry! It'll be dark soon! You know she hates us out here after dark!"
The vision in his good eye told him he was looking into glasses and a swarthy face pocked with old acne scars. That drawling deep voice said, "Welcome to the family, son. We gonna have a REAL good time."
He saw it coming. The fist was fast. But he wasn't dead. Not yet anyway.
And he wasn't some idiot lost in the woods without a prayer.
Mostly dead or not...he was still Leon Kennedy. He didn't just lay down and die.
The fist came at his face and his went for the groin of the man holding him. He punched the dude clean in the dick with everything he had. It cost him. He went from barely breathing to not at all. He spilled to his face on the ground while the man shouted and kicked him.
Kick, shout, kick, and shout. It hurt. But Leon was mostly numb now anyway. Too much blood, too much oxygen deprivation, and he was done. Claire kept screaming for him. Something broke. A rib? His chest? Who cared anymore.
The man kicked him again; Leon grabbed that foot, jerked, and broke the ankle in a swift and final move. There was shouting now and rage.
He murmured it, quietly, "Fuck your family."
The woman shrieked, "What did you say!? You HEAR this Jack!?"
And louder now, a bubbly, bloody, wet shout, "You deaf you stupid bitch!? I SAID: FUCK YOUR FAMILY. You better make sure I die, you cunt, or I will burn this place to the ground and laugh."
"How DARE you!"
Claire gasped. He heard her beg. And then?
"NO! NO! LEON!"
The angry woman kicked him so hard in the face he heard something snap.
And he went down in the dark to the echo of Claire pleading for his release.
She was undead.
But she was still Claire.
She was undead.
But she was still…his.
And he was just gone.
................
Claire was weeping softly. It spilled from her with ragged breaths. She was shaking and smiling though, a constant contradictions. The face in the mirror was her – but it wasn't her. The girl that stood behind her was brushing her hair and humming.
"You lied."
Claire felt the chill of it in her bones. But she smiled, tears streaming, " I told you he was strong."
"You said he loved you."
"He does."
The brush stopped. The small dark eyes watched her, patiently. "A Daddy doesn't hurt a Mommy. He tried to take you away. Why would you let him take you away? Why would you leave me?"
Claire smiled, tremulously. "I wouldn't. He didn't know. He'll be better. I'll make sure he understands. I promise."
The little girl giggled a little and kissed her cheek. "He is handsome. Jack said so. I wonder if he will think I'm pretty enough to his daughter."
She curled up on Claire's lap, snuggling against her.
Claire felt the horror and the pain and the fear mix with the feeling of wanting to hold the little girl. Her brain…it ached. Her skull seized as if held in vice grips. She made a small sound of pain and looped her arms around the child she held.
She wanted to break the narrow neck. She wanted to snap her bird like bones. She wanted to watch the light die in her pretty little eyes.
But she just kept sitting there, stroking the hair of the girl who'd stolen her life...and nearly killed the only thing in it that mattered.
They just had to hold on. Chris was coming, he'd said. Chris was coming.
If she could protect him, protect them, and keep them alive...Chris was coming.
He wasn't Leon. He wasn't. He'd come with men, with guns, with RPGs and bullets and blood and death. He'd leap from a chopper with grenades and flamethrowers and fury. He'd kick in the door and kill the Bakers while they fled and fell and screamed. She'd rise to fight with him and they'd free Leon together.
She'd be the hero for once with her brother beside her.
She just needed to play this game a little longer.
She just needed to keep this little girl from seeing the truth in her head...she just needed...to stop turning in to a monster.