Three Days and No Guarantees

Finally We Step to Leave

Fortunately, the night ushered in an abundance of much-needed calm for a DSO agent. The late hours enveloped his hotel suite in azure blue serenity, promising to give him a few hours of sleep in the wake of a chaotic day.

While his rest wouldn’t be anywhere near ‘restful’, he would at least be able to close his eyes for a while. When it came to his line of work, any rest was better than no rest at all.

With the evening calm pouring through his windows, he set off to bed. In accordance with Hunnigan’s wishes, he made it so the gentle ambient music spilling into his room, through the suite’s sound system, would continue to play throughout the night.

The single press of a button assured him soft melodies would watch over him as the night unfolded, standing vigilant against his torrent of ongoing nightmares. So, satisfied with knowing everything was in place, he settled himself onto his bed and-

Heard his phone ringing.

The room’s lone occupant frowned. Who could possibly be calling him at eleven o’clock at night? One look out of the window told him the world wasn’t ending, so he wasn’t being summoned to serve in the twentieth apocalypse.

Having just finished with apocalypse number nineteen, he wasn’t ready, willing or able to deal with anything else. Letting it go to voicemail would have been in his best interests, but with the possibility of a higher up being on the other line, he answered it with no small amount of reluctance.

“Make it quick.”

The voice on the other end immediately skewered him.

“Leon?”

Leon Scott Kennedy sat upright, phone firmly grasped in his right hand, suddenly seized by alarm. The voice was a familiar voice-it actually belonged to a very close friend. But it was stricken with no small amount of pain. And there were tears. Dammit, there were tears. Something had gone South. Keeping that in mind, Leon quickly shifted the tone of his voice from ‘frustrated’ to ‘immensely concerned’.

“Chris? What’s going on? Are you all right?”

“No.”

Leon winced. The answer was short, too damn short. And there were so many damn tears.

“Sorry. I know it’s late. I can call back later.”

Ah. Another direct hit. When it came to his career and Chris Redfield’s career, everyone and their grandmother knew ‘later’ was never a part of either itinerary. The word had been purged from their vocabularies. Nothing in their line of work was ever guaranteed, so why…?

Still wincing, momentarily speechless, Leon shut his eyes while gritting his teeth. “Don’t apologize,” the Kennedy urged him, his voice urgent yet soft and soothing. “It’s all right, I can talk. What’s wrong, Chris? What’s going on? Don’t tell me something’s happened to Claire.”

The situation only continued to spiral out of control, with the pain inside of the Redfield’s voice intensifying. The voice on the other end was faint, trembling, infected with an overpowering amount of heartache-and it gutted the DSO agent. 

“No, she’s fine,” Chris assured him, but the trembling and tears worsened. “It’s just…I…”

Chris was given about five seconds to finish his response, but that was all the time Leon was willing to give. Hunnigan’s long-time friend was never one for waiting. Just get it out in the open and let him deal with it-that’s the kind of guy Leon was. And hearing the pain in his friend’s voice, knowing Claire’s brother was usually a calm paragon of strength, only made the waiting worse. “Where are you?” the smaller brunette asked, his tone firmer but still gentle, still laden with concern. “Are you hurt?”

“Could’ve been.”

Chris’ answers were stilted. And the pain behind each word, each breath, tore into Leon with implacable fervor. Every fragment of the Kennedy’s being wished for the power to incinerate whatever was causing his friend such harm, even if attaining such strength would have cost him his humanity.

“Let me know where you are,”
Leon urged him, fighting to keep a calm, comforting tone, despite his heart beating a hundred times per second.

“I’ll be right there. Hang on, Chris.”