To Live

Chapter One

Two months after the hell that was Raccoon City...

The nightmares woke me again and it took several minutes for my brain to compute where I was. My eyes, which had been wheeling around wildly trying to discern what direction the enemy was coming from, finally settled on the faded wood of the walls. This time, consciously, I scanned the room looking for anything out of place but everything was just as it was before I fell asleep last night.

The handcrafted furniture made of stripped and polished wood shone faintly in the early dawn light. A small table with two chairs sat in the corner under the room's only window. The faded lace curtains would normally be considered cheerful and quaint, yet I could only see how little protection they offered should something wish to break through.

Standing up cautiously and bringing my gun with me from under my pillow, knife already in my left hand from my earlier panic attack, I tiptoed in stocking feet softly across the cool planks of the floor to peer out said window. Outside everything was pale in the still weak morning light. The lawn glittered with dew and held nothing more sinister than a picnic table and some lawn chairs made in the same way as the furniture in my room. Further out another 60 feet the tall trees that surrounded and hid away the little building swayed in a gentle breeze.

Seeing no immediate danger my adrenaline started to ebb making room for memory to return. I was safe. Raccoon City was thousands of miles away. This was a safe house set up by Claire's brother, Chris Redfield. A small rustic cabin in the forests of rural Maine that their great-grandparents had homesteaded.

Holstering my weapons and taking a moment to straighten up the mess of blankets on the bed, smooth the wrinkles from my flannel shirt, and slip on my shoes, I cracked open the door listening for anything unusual. The aroma of fresh brewed coffee assaulted my senses, drawing me from my room almost without thought.

Throwing one last look around my now tidy living space, I shut the door and walked down the short hallway toward the kitchen. I passed a few doors on my way, but did not tense up as I had been just a few short weeks ago. The remnants of my nightmare still had me glancing at them suspiciously until I saw the little plaque hanging on one of them. The smile tugged at my face unbidden at the little wooden sign decorated with pinecones, fallen leaves, and paint spelling out "Sherry" that marked her bedroom.

Unable to help myself I put my ear to the door for a moment taking comfort in the soft snores I could hear from the other side. I then made my way past the living room, noting a fire had been lit in the hearth (it was a little chilly with winter practically here), and rounded the corner into the kitchen.

For a second, I panicked upon seeing someone standing at the stove. She was just a bit shorter than I, her back turned to me, nearly waist length chestnut hair hanging loose and wearing only shorts and a white tank top. Then once again memory trumped dream and I recognized her.

"Good morning, Claire."

She turned around with her usual wide smile, and I felt the remaining tendrils of my dream disintegrate. Her silver blue eyes tightened almost imperceptivity as she caught the movement of my hand dropping from the holster of my gun (I had unconsciously reached for it before I distinguished her).

"You know what they say about old habits..." I tried to shrug it off, but the joke fell a bit flat.

Her eyes shifted, became a little darker with concern and sympathy as she searched my face. She reached for a coffee mug, forgetting her own half filled one, poured a mugful and handed me the aromatic brew. Taking it gratefully I leaned against the counter sipping the hot liquid as Claire began putting together our meal. It was very peaceful and comfortable watching her bustle about taking ingredients out of the fridge and working her culinary magic. We chatted occasionally, but I found myself loath to interrupt her. Now and then her gentle melodious humming would start up.

Finally, I could stand it no longer and asked, "why do you do that?"

She stopped in mid-motion stirring the eggs and looked at me mildly confused, "do what?"

"Hum," I replied.

Strangely she blushed, a delicate pink suffusing her cheeks; I couldn't fathom why. She went back to preparing breakfast and I opened my mouth to ask again when she said, "I'm happy."

This stunned me. Happy?! Torn away from everything, hunted, memories of horrors to gruesome to describe, memories I knew kept her awake almost as much as they did me.

"Happy?" I responded, a touch incredulously.

"Yes, happy," she replied getting down three plates and starting to fill them. She smiled wider as she made up the third plate, taking time and care to lay the bacon in the shape of a grin.

Ah, of course, little Sherry. They had taken to each other almost immediately. Despite her young age (was I really one to talk being only two years older?) Claire doted on her like a mother and enjoyed every minute of it. Traveling with them these past months had made me ponder what was really important in my life and what I wanted out of it... at least until the nightmares reminded me what still need be done.

I shook my head to clear the darkness that tried to creep back in. Instead, I focused again on Claire reaching out to help her move the plates to the dining table. Her quick grin caused my heart to jump for a second and I decided to steer things in a safer direction. "Sherry really is a great kid and she adores you."

Claire set down the dishes she held and went back to the kitchen for the coffee pot. She walked over to where I was standing by the table (it would be rude to sit down before she did) and filled my mug again. As she did, she glanced up shyly through her lashes and said, "she adores you too."

I couldn't help but smile at this. "I'm pretty fond of the little squirt as well." Then, unable for some reason to stop my mouth, I continued, "do you ever think about having one of your own? You're a natural mom."

Claire looked up from refilling her own cup, but I found myself studying the wafting steam coming off my brew not fully understanding why I felt so nervous.

"Sherry is mine," was her reply and my head jerked up to meet her speculating gaze, mouth half open to apologize for the unintended meaning of my words. She held her hand up and I closed my mouth. "But I understand your question, and yes, someday I would love another little one. Sherry would love a brother or sister and I know how important it is to have a sibling around during hard times..." her grin widened as she looked at me, "and good friends."

Thankfully I didn't blush as visibly as Claire did, but I could feel the tips of my ears grow warm. "I hope you will be able to achieve that wish. You and she deserve it."

'You on the other hand...,' I thought to myself. 'Would I ever be free of the nightmare?'

What I was thinking must have shown on my face because Claire's eyes softened into nearly liquid pools of metal. Setting the pot down in its place on the table she walked slowly to me. For a moment we just stared at each other. I had no idea what my expression was giving away, but hers turned slightly quizzical. I wasn't sure what she was searching for so I remained silent.

An eternity later, she seemed to find her answer and reached up to put her small warm hand gently on my cheek. "It's alright to worry," her soft as a whisper voice began. "It's alright to be afraid. Leon, don't let it make you forget how to live." She bit her lip for a moment then continued softer still, "I... we need you."

Her pleading eyes turned warm and she held my gaze a few seconds longer before withdrawing her hand, blushing bright red as she did, and leaving to go wake Sherry for breakfast.

Gripping the back of the chair for support as I tried to process what just happened, in my heart I could feel where the last look she had given me had ignited something, a tiny flame I could only call... hope.