The 0714 Files: File #1 Inferno (Remake 2)

Chapter 15

I lay there for a long time, staring at the morning sky. The tears ended a while ago, though they didn't do much. They haven't at any point this week really. Crying my agony out into the cemetery doesn't help me feel any better. Doesn't make me feel healed in any way. I suppose no amount of crying can change that I'm going to die here no matter what I do. Or that maybe even if given a chance...

Instead, I just finally admit things I've been bottling. I miss my parents, and even though I don't deserve it. I want to go home and know real freedom again, to feel know real warmth from an unconditional love. I'd give anything right now to see them one last time before I die in this hell. To... know what their faces look like and not fuzzy abysses. I gave up on the idea, coming to the conclusion long ago after the things I've done that they would be disgusted to witness the monster their daughter became. Maybe it's best the little girl they remembered be the only thing they remember.

I even begin to wish I'd died in my time in Umbrella. Lamenting that I should have allowed them to kill me before I committed my first murder.

The sky in a matter of that period turns cloudy again like the first morning when Marvin and Rita waited outside for updates from Ramirez. It goes a step further and starts drizzling just the slightest as I get up, where I head to the gate for the main courtyard.

I scan the decorative walls bordering the entrance when I sidle in front of the stairs. It was a place I'd retreat to when I needed time to myself. It happened more often than it should've, it's the main reason the rookie caught me on the steps in a somber mood that day. I'd sit on them, and eat lunch or maybe just take a minute to breathe. Sometimes Marvin would join me and we'd talk for a little bit.

They were the moments where work wasn't the main focus, when he'd tell me past stories of his time in this place, and make jokes. That was when I began to look up to him, realizing he was nice, and not stern like those new to the department led people to believe. He was somebody I wanted to be like if I was free to do so, someone who served and proteced no matter what came his way. Those small conversations over lunch are where I found my respect the job I was doing.

Taking a step up to enter the main hall. I halt when I think I hear whispering and the scuffling of feet on concrete. Turning around as the sound nears, I startle when I see a mop of brown hair and somebody wearing a shirt with: "R.P.D." on the sleeves come into view. The person immediately turns themselves to face me and appears startled too, like he wasn't expecting anyone to be in view.

Hair disheveled and matted down in the back with what's no doubt layers of sweat and grease from no bathing. There's stubble on his face too, having been unable to shave for the last four days. His uniform is in rough shape from the day he'd first showed it off to me, parts of it torn or bloodied, a pant leg is singed as if he'd been too close to fire at one point. Not to mention the blood on his face and arms; the .45 ACP he bought not long ago is held one hand. There's a second of regarding each other as three other people surround him. Two men and one woman.

"Patricia, is that you?" Kevin asks from behind the gate, and I blankly stare back. Processing the fact he's standing in front of me and is alive when I thought we'd never meet again.

Taking a few steps down, "Yeah..." approaching the gate, "how did you make it here?"

There's a hint pride in his eyes, in the sense of still being alive, "It's a long story—"

"And he'd love to tell it to you, but the rest of us would also like to get beyond this gate first. If you don't mind," the woman steps closer to us as she interrupts. Blonde hair in a pixie cut with the bangs at an angle, her scarlet pants suit is tattered and ruined to the same extent of Kevin's uniform. Of the other two men behind them. Along with the black pair of flats on her feet that are currently caked in mud and hold scratches in the soft material.