A Sanguine Vision (Leon Kennedy x OC) [BOOK 4]

Chapter 3: Hello again

"The bathroom is straight down that hall," I said, pointing past the staircase as I kicked off my shoes and shut the door. Rebecca nodded, holding onto the small bag of her belongings she scrounged from her office as she shuffled down the hall. Chris didn't linger, strutting towards the living room like he owned the place.

"I'll order food. After the day you've had, I'd hate to subject you to my cooking on top of it," I said, giving her a smile. Rebecca returned the gesture with a soft smile before vanishing into the bathroom. A moment later the muffled sound of running water picked up.

I lingered in the entryway, sucking in a silent breath. Having another person in my home felt foreign. Work kept Leon under lock and key for the last few weeks, and even when he found the key and stumbled through the front door, he was distant–distracted. I knew he was struggling, the restlessness, the dark look in his eyes when he thought I wasn't looking, but when I attempted to pick his brain I always received the same answer.

'I'm fine.'

Two words had never frustrated me more.

He likely wanted to shield me from whatever he was dealing with, putting on a strong face because he doesn't want me to help shoulder the burden. But I wanted to do that for him, especially since he'd been there for me through my own struggles.

I walked into the kitchen, pulling out my phone for the first time since this morning. Several calls and texts from Isaac, a few other emails about work, and zero texts from Leon. I cleared my notifications, biting at the inside of my cheek.

I tapped away at my phone while resting at the kitchen counter while Chris idly flipped through tv channels. A few moments, the sound of my own voice from the speakers had me cringing. I looked up from my phone, finding the footage from just an hour prior. Deer in headlights came to mind as I looked at my pallid features, and the way I chewed on the inside of my lip while I was drilled with question after question from fired up reporters desperate to get their scoop. Isaac was a few feet behind me, his demeanor smooth and calm, a trait I had become truly envious of in these last few months.

Director? My narrow, wild gaze screamed anything but 'Director'. The word flustered maniac seemed a better description.

"I'm gonna use your bathroom," Chris said, standing up and leaving the room. I mumbled an okay as my interview finally finished and switched to a newsreel discussing the recent attacks.

I ground my teeth as they played footage from the most recent attack in the series of onslaughts from the midwest. A woman stumbled into frame from a dark alley, scrambling to get away from the shadowed figures jerking toward her. She tripped, throwing her palms out as she collided with the slick cement. She barely had time to scramble to her hands and knees before the figures struck like a pack of rabid wolves.

They snatched her shoulder and threw her onto her back. She screamed and cried and thrashed as their nails and teeth pierced her flesh. The camera selectively zoomed in on her main aggressor as it snagged a handful of flesh and drew it to its mouth. Her screams had stopped by the time it finally took its bite, and the feed flickered out. The reporters appeared once more, his features grim while his co-anchor excused herself with a hand over her mouth. Rage and sadness twisted in my gut.

When the hell were we going to get some real answers here? I've been hounding the science team for weeks, checking on their progress daily, and yet we still know so little. We can't figure out what's triggering the attacks and once the host was dead the virus deteriorated so quickly we barely managed to collect a single sample and run any type of test before the specimen was useless.

The scientist heading up the BSAA's internal research just kept repeating the same line when asked.

"Fresh specimens."