Chapter Text
The rain had started before noon.
It wasn’t heavy or particularly troublesome. It didn’t hammer against the roof of the car in fat drops, nor did it force Chris to slow to thirty miles an hour. It was more the persistent kind of autumn rain that seemed to hang in the air rather than truly fall from it. Fine droplets settled on the windshield, blurring the world behind a thin veil of water, while the wipers swept steadily from left to right.
Shhh.
Shhh.
And again.
Claire was beginning to hate that sound.
She sat in the passenger seat with her arms folded tightly across her chest and her head turned toward the window. She wasn’t looking at Chris. For nearly two hours, she had been doing everything she could to avoid so much as glancing at him by accident, which, inside a car, required a surprising amount of determination.
Beyond the glass, a wet autumn landscape slipped past. Dense forests stretched along both sides of the road, full of dark trunks and canopies in shades of rusty red, muted gold, and brownish orange. Wet leaves clung to the asphalt. Some spun through the air, lifted by passing cars, only to drop back to the ground almost at once.
Claire watched them with little interest. Her reflection in the window looked exactly the way she felt. Furious. Maybe a little tired. Mostly furious.
Chris glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She noticed immediately. She didn’t react.
Chris turned his attention back to the road. Maybe thirty seconds passed. He glanced at her again. Claire clenched her jaw. Another minute. Another look.
“Can you stop?”
Chris frowned.
“What?”
Claire finally turned her head.
“Looking at me.”
“I’m not looking at you.”
“You just were.”
“I’m driving.”
“Then look at the road.”
Chris tightened his hands around the steering wheel.
“I am looking at the road.”
“Great.”
Claire turned back to the window. Silence fell again. Worse than before.
Chris slowly exhaled through his nose. He wanted to say something. The problem was that every possible thing that came to mind seemed like a terrible idea.
I’m sorry?
He had tried that this morning.
Claire had told him his apology wasn’t going to give her old life back.
It’ll be okay?
He had tried that too.
Her response had been that if he told her one more time that it would be okay, he would have to find out for himself whether it was possible to drive with a steering wheel shoved down his throat.
Chris wasn’t sure whether she was actually capable of doing that. He had no desire to find out. He looked at the sign by the road. Three miles to town. Three miles.
He could do this.
Claire had noticed the sign too. She felt something heavy settle in her stomach. This was it. Another new beginning. She hated new beginnings.
People always talked about them as though they were something good. As though all you had to do was pack your belongings into cardboard boxes, close a door behind you, and suddenly everything that had happened before ceased to exist.
New place. New school. New people. New chance.
Claire had heard it all before. More than once. Every time, it looked exactly the same. First, Chris would tell her they needed to talk. He always started with that. We need to talk. Four words that, coming from him, almost always meant disaster.
Then came the boxes. Then the moving truck. And finally, the long drive to a place Claire didn’t know and had no desire whatsoever to know.
This time was going to be different. Of course.
Chris had told her that two days ago. Claire had nearly thrown a mug at him. She hadn’t. The mug had fallen off the kitchen counter all by itself. At least, that was what she claimed.
Chris had a different theory.
“Nice place.” he said suddenly.
Claire slowly closed her eyes. Of course. He couldn’t help himself.
“Chris.”
“What?”
“No.”
“I only said it looks nice.”
“I know.”
“And?”
“And I don’t want to talk to you.”
Chris nodded.
“Right.”
“So stop.”
“Okay.”
A few seconds passed.
“I’m just saying that…”
Claire whipped around to face him.
“God, can you seriously not last five minutes?”
“I’m trying.”
“You’re doing a terrible job.”
“I noticed.”
Claire snorted and folded her arms again.
Chris was silent for a moment.
“Claire…”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Maybe it does.”
“If you’re going to tell me again that you’re doing this for me, save it.”
This time, Chris didn’t answer. The car glided over the wet asphalt, the hiss of the tires blending with the steady sweep of the wipers.
Claire stared ahead.
“Do you know how many times I’ve heard that?”
Chris swallowed.
“I know.”
“No. You don’t.”
“Claire…”
“Every time, you say exactly the same thing. That things will get better. That it’s a good place. That this time we’re really going to stay longer. And then something happens, and suddenly we have to pack again.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Exactly. It never is.”
Chris clenched his jaw. Claire noticed the movement. She knew it. Chris always did that when he wanted to say something but changed his mind at the last second.
Lately, he had been doing it more and more often.
“Then explain it to me.” she said.
“What?”
“If it’s not that simple, explain it to me.”
“We’ve already talked about this.”
Claire gave a short laugh without a trace of amusement.
“No. You talked. I was supposed to agree.”
“You were expelled from school.”
“Oh, great. I knew we’d come back to that.”
“Because it matters.”
“I didn’t set that room on fire!”
Chris shot her a quick glance.
“I didn’t say you did.”
“But you think I did.”
“Claire, the window was closed.”
“And?”
“And the curtains suddenly caught fire.”
“So?”
Chris opened his mouth. Closed it again.
“Exactly.” Claire said.
“That’s not an argument.”
“It is to me.”
“You were the only person standing nearby.”
“So what? I have the power of spontaneous combustion?”
Chris stiffened. Only for a second. So briefly that Claire didn’t notice.
“I didn’t say that.”
“But apparently you think everything is my fault.”
“I don’t.”
“Sure.”
“Claire.”
“Whatever.”
“No, it’s not whatever.”
“It is to me.”
“Then why do you keep talking about it?”
Claire looked at him. Chris knew immediately that he had said one sentence too many.
“Great.” she said.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Of course it wasn’t.”
“Claire.”
“Shut up, Chris.”
“Listen…”
“I said shut up.”
This time, he listened.
Claire turned her face toward the window before he could see that there was something more than anger in her eyes. She didn’t want to cry. Definitely not in front of him. She was angry. She had every right to be angry. She had left everything behind. Again.
People she had barely had time to get to know. Places she had only just begun to grow used to. The little café three blocks from their apartment, where the owner already knew what she ordered. The route she walked in the mornings. Her favorite spot behind the school. Everything. Again.
Chris kept his eyes on the road. He knew he should say something. He also knew he had no right to tell her the truth. Not yet. Maybe never. The thought came suddenly, and he pushed it away at once.
The town emerged from around a bend. First came scattered houses. Low, old buildings with wooden porches, rain-darkened roofs, and yards buried beneath autumn leaves. Then the buildings grew closer together. Streetlamps appeared along the road, followed by a small motel, a gas station, and a sign welcoming visitors.
Claire read the town’s name. It meant nothing to her. Good. She had no intention of getting attached.
Chris slowed down.
“This is it.”
Claire didn’t answer. The car rolled onto the main street. The town looked almost absurdly peaceful. Old brick buildings stood packed closely together. Small awnings hung above shop entrances, rainwater streaming from their edges. Wet leaves covered the sidewalks. A few people hurried beneath umbrellas. An elderly man was closing the trunk of his car. A woman in a red coat stepped out of a bakery with a paper bag pressed to her chest.
Normal. Everything looked normal.
Claire watched the storefronts pass. A café. A bookstore. A grocery store.
A small movie theater that looked as though its last renovation had taken place sometime in the previous century.
Then the car passed another storefront.
Claire didn’t even have time to read the sign. She saw only dark wood. Narrow windows.
Warm, golden light inside. Old books in the display window, several candles, dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, and a deck of cards spread in a fan across dark fabric. And then something stabbed at her temple.
Claire flinched. The pain was sudden. Sharp. As though someone had driven a thin needle straight behind her right eye.
“Shit.”
Chris immediately looked at her.
“What?”
Claire pressed her fingers to her temple. The pain vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared.
“Nothing.”
“What happened?”
“I said nothing.”
Chris frowned. Claire felt something warm above her upper lip. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Froze. A thin red smear marked her skin.
Chris noticed it at the same moment.
“Claire.”
“Relax.”
“Your nose is bleeding.”
“I can see that.”
Chris immediately began looking for somewhere to pull over.
“I’m stopping.”
“Don’t stop.”
“Claire.”
“Chris, it’s a nosebleed, not an amputation.”
“You’ve never had a nosebleed before.”
“Fascinating that you keep records.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. Drive.”
Chris looked at her again.
“Stop looking at me and watch the road.”
“Are you okay?”
Claire pulled a tissue from the pocket of her jacket and held it to her nose.
“Yes.”
“Does your head hurt?”
She hesitated.
“No.”
The lie came easily.
Chris watched her for another second, then turned his eyes back to the road. Claire glanced through the rear window. The shop was disappearing around the bend. For one brief moment, she thought she saw something in the display window. A flash. Like a reflection of light. Or movement. She frowned.
Then the building vanished from sight.
The pain in her temple disappeared completely.
Claire lowered the tissue. The bleeding had almost stopped as well. Strange.
“Probably the weather,” she said.
Chris looked at her.
“What?”
“The nosebleed. Dry air or something.”
“It’s raining.”
Claire pressed her lips together.
“Thanks, Chris.”
“Just saying.”
“Don’t.”
“Okay.”
Silence returned. This time, though, it was different. Claire was still angry. She still didn’t want to talk to him.
She still thought moving here was yet another catastrophic decision in the long history of Chris Redfield’s catastrophic decisions. And yet, for the first time since they had gotten into the car that morning, she wasn’t thinking about the previous town.
She was thinking about the dark storefront. The old books. The warm light. And that one brief moment as the car passed the shop.
The moment when, for a fraction of a second, she had felt something strange. Not pain. Something beneath it. Something deeper. Like a sudden tug on an invisible thread tied somewhere beneath her ribs. As though something had noticed her.
Claire looked at the bloodstained tissue. Then she crumpled it in her hand. Stupid. She was tired. Furious. Probably hungry. That was all. The car turned onto a side street.
Chris looked at the address he had written down, then at the numbers on the houses they passed.
“We’re almost there.”
Claire rested her head against the cool window.
“Awesome.”
Chris sighed.
“You don’t have to pretend you’re happy.”
“I’m not pretending.”
“I noticed.”
Claire glanced at him. For a second, she almost smiled. She didn’t. She was still angry with him. She had to have some principles.
Chris turned again.