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Jill laughed a wonderfully uproarious laugh. It made her stomach hurt and her eyes water immediately. And it felt good . She switched her cool beer to her other hand, wiping her eye with the freed one. Chris clapped her on the back and shook his head, taking the tongs to flip the grilling burgers over once more. Few people in this world could make her laugh as hard as Chris could. His wit was always warm. A bit corny at times. But so very…honest. Humble. Sometimes embarrassingly so.
Barry poked his head through the sliding glass door entrance to the patio.
“Are they done yet?” he called.
“So impatient, Barry,” Jill chastised, “Don’t worry, they’ll be burned to shit just how you like ‘em.”
Barry pulled a face, “Sorry I don’t enjoy gore with my burger like some people.”
“If I put one of the char-coals between a bun,” Chris wondered, as if Barry wasn’t there, “Do you think he could tell?”
Jill snickered before taking another sip, raising her brows in answer.
“Ha. Ha. Hurry up, we’re starving,” Barry replied before shutting the door, rejoining the gang in the dining room.
The summer air smelled so good. The smoke from the grill. Sunscreen wafted over from somewhere. A neighbor must have a pool, Jill realized, the chlorine smell making her think of her youth.
Suddenly a horrible scream ripped through the ambience.
It came from inside.
Jill dropped her beer in the grass, ripping the sliding glass door open in an instant.
Inside, the living room was in rubble. Blood and limbs were scattered across the floor. Blood came pooling at Jill’s feet, touching the edge of her boots. Her breathing started in pants and she scanned furiously for understanding. Across the room, she saw him.
The thing that hunted her. It was back.
Somehow–somehow that fucking thing was still alive!
In its tentacled hand dangled Rebecca, screaming and squirming.
Before Jill could even beg or scream or even fully comprehend the sight, Rebecca’s head was crushed in the creature’s hand.
Jill screamed–or tried. But no sound came. It burned in her throat. She tried to scream again. She tried to reach for her gun, but there was no gun. She wanted to kill this thing. To run. To hide. To cry. To just fall into the rubble and never rise again.
She turned and ran back out into the yard, shocked Chris wasn’t behind her.
Then she spotted him, standing strangely in the grass by the fence, his head rolled awkwardly to the side. He turned around at the sound of Jill’s approach, and Jill could see that Chris had turned.
Not Chris , she begged, not him too.
She couldn’t move. Everyone was gone. They were all gone.
Her nemesis burst through the glass door and was on her before she could even try to run.
Not that there was any point in trying.
She awoke with a scream.
Seated on a crate by the fire, Lara jerked to her feet, drawing her gun at lightning speed and pointing it towards Jill. Her eyes were wide and alert, but as the situation became clear to her, she lowered her gun.
“Jill,” Lara asked softly, “Are you all right?”
Jill’s heart thudded in her ears, almost too loud for her to hear the question, “Yeah,” she reassured quickly, feeling tears bubbling to the surface, “Yeah, I’m…it was just–” she stammered.
The emotions were rising so quickly and she tried as hard as she could to stamp them down.
Her face began to heat in embarrassment as she struggled to get everything under control.
In a fluid motion, Lara holstered her gun and crossed over, dropping to a knee beside Jill on her bedroll and pulling her into a hug. The intimacy of the gesture shocked Jill instantly, pausing her emotions for a moment.
“It’s okay,” Lara whispered, “I’ve got you.”
“No, I’m…” Jill managed, taken aback, “I’m fine it was just…”
Lara put her hand on the back of Jill’s head, cradling her in the hug. Her fingers brushed lightly, petting Jill a little, “You’re safe. It’s okay. I’m here. You’re not alone.”
“I’m…”
Just like that, the floodgates opened. She couldn’t explain it. She hadn’t cried about any of this in ages. A handful of times ever . Twice for Arklay. After it was over and when the funerals were over. Once after Racoon city. A few after what Wesker had done. But not for years .
Yet here it was. Her tears bubbled over, and bubbled over hard. A sob wracked her body and Lara held her tighter. Which made her cry harder.
“Shh,” Lara cooed, “I’ve got you.”
Jill let it all out, her shoulders shaking in Lara’s arms. And then it was over.
Lara seemed to feel it, because then she let go and stood up. To Jill’s relief, Lara did not look her in the eye. The embarrassment set in, and she coughed to clear her throat, brushing her wet hair away from her face and from clinging to her skin.
“Sorry,” Jill replied hoarsely, “I don’t know what that was. I don’t–”
“Don’t worry about it,” Lara replied earnestly, smiling sadly at her.
Jill felt so stupid suddenly.
“Seriously,” Lara pressed, “It all catches up with you sometimes.”
Something in her tone did more than reassure Jill. It wasn’t sympathy so much as neutral understanding. Jill dared make eye contact with Lara and could see a tired darkness in her eye she’s had yet to see on their journey.
“They say demons know how to swim–you can’t drown them. Demons are also cowards,” Lara went on, “Have to catch you while you’re asleep.”
Jill nodded, “I guess. They catch you too?”
Lara smiled. A jaded smile. “Not if I keep moving.”
Jill’s chest tightened.
Lara talked a lot. And she told so much about herself. Her studies. Her interests. Her experiences. People she knew. Places she had been. Languages, cultures, books, scrolls, myths, legends. Everything. But nothing too heavy.
If pushed to share anything too intimate about Lara, Jill couldn’t think of anything.
She had assumed a lack of hardship. Her rich upbringing. Her schmoozing. Her dinner parties and museums and estate visits and blah blah blah. Maybe Jill was wrong.
“Does it ever end?” Jill sighed.
Lara let out a little laugh, “I’ll let you know if I find out. Race you there?”
“Are you competitive about everything ?” Jill snorted, folding her arms over her knees and hugging herself.
“Only when the competition is a worthy match,” Lara smirked.
Jill raised a brow and Lara only smiled.
“Do you also flirt about everything?” Jill quipped.
“Only when the competition is hot.”
Jill choked out a laugh and Lara’s smile widened. Jill shook her head at Lara’s audacity, breathing in deep and sighing, trying to shake the images from her mind.
“You should get more rest," Lara added, “You didn’t sleep long.”
“No thanks,” Jill sighed, “Demons won tonight. Lemme keep watch. You should sleep.”
“How chivalrous,” Lara replied, approaching her own bedroll and dropping down.
Jill stood, stretching out the tension in her body and watching Lara get settled.
“You going to be okay?” Jill asked.
Lara gave her an inquisitive look.
“Sleeping?” Jill pressed.
Lara smiled endearingly, “Yes, thank you. You know,” she began in a tone that Jill knew full well by now meant a story was coming, “The Zulu have a myth about a creature called The Tokoloshe–a little brownie of sorts that would terrorize people in their sleep. They slept with their beds raised to help prevent the creature from attacking them. They’re typically called upon by…witches and other spellcasters.”
Jill raised her chin, prompting Lara to continue–not that she ever needed a cue.
“A university professor of mine once was damn near certain one of his ex-wives had courted the services of just such a spellcaster,” Lara continued.
“Guilty conscious?” Jill laughed.
“No, one of his ex-wives had actually poisoned his medication and it was causing all sorts of night terrors.”
Jill snorted a laugh and Lara followed suit.
“There are countless myths and legends about sleep. Countless theories of religious and psychological and spiritual and sociological origin too,” Lara went on, “Many cultures also employ ideas about shared unconscious. The ability to enter the sleeping mind of others. Through physical presence or influential means.”
Lara smiled thoughtfully to herself, “I enjoy myths about wards for sleep. Charms. Protectors. The idea that something could protect you. Someone could protect you. If you could do harm to another in dreams, then there must be a way to shield others too.”
Jill’s brow furrowed slightly, wondering where this was leading.
“Sleep often feels like…such a waste of time,” Lara lamented, “If only my time could be spent traversing the dream world.”
“Gonna be my protector?”
Lara tipped her head to the side, “Oh, no, no, I want to be a brownie terrorizing the sleep of the wicked.”
Jill choked out a laugh in surprise, “Well, you’ve got the right height.”
Lara laughed, “It’s fine-–I’ll bring my guns.”
The image of a tiny furious brownie-Lara brandishing pistols chasing evil-doers around in their pajamas brought immense delight to Jill. The laughter rippled through her body as she imagined a wild dirty little creature scuttling around rattling off inane facts and tales as she harassed her prey from dusk til dawn.
“I admire your hands-on approach to monster-ridding, Lara,” Jill replied when the laughter subsided.
Pleased with herself, Lara slid under the covers of her of her bedroll, “Thank you,” she called, getting comfortable, “If ever you are in need of my services, click your heels together thrice and say, ‘holy fuck I just need some sleep.’"
Jill let out another burst of laughter, “I’ll try to remember.”
“Do,” Lara replied sleepily.
Silence fell over the camp. The idea of Lara battling it out in the dream world was both amusing and endearing. Never a moment’s rest for the woman.
Maybe next time Lara will appear, wild hair and guns blazing. Or Jill will be ready next time.
Lara was right either way. She’s not alone.