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August 8, 2006 – 05:07 a.m.
Claire was awake when her phone started ringing on her nightstand. She knew something was wrong the moment she saw Chris' name on the caller ID.
She had never been able to sleep peacefully while Jill and Chris were on a mission. Even when she wanted to, she couldn't fall asleep. She was always waiting, as if she could receive bad news at any moment.
She stared at her phone, hesitating before answering the call. When she finally did, she heard Chris' shaky voice at the other end of the line
"Claire."
Neither of them said anything for a while. Claire heard Chris take a deep breath, as if he were about to say something crucial. She spoke before he could.
"She is gone, right?"
Chris was quiet for a heartbeat.
"I'm sorry, Claire."
Claire took a deep breath. Stared at the blank ceiling for a second, as if she were processing the information she had just received. Then the tears came. Quietly at first. She couldn't believe it.
"I'm so sorry Claire. I-I can't... She is gone because of me."
She started sobbing loudly and collapsed onto the bed.
"Just come home" she said between sobs.
"I'll come, don't worry." Claire could tell from his voice that he was crying too.
Claire didn't know how many hours she'd spent in bed, doing nothing but cry.
At some point, she heard the jingle of keys and the front door opening. She hadn't expected Chris to come home this early.
"Oh, Claire..." she heard someone whisper.
Claire turned around, not expecting to see Rebecca standing there, her eyes red and swollen.
The sight of Rebecca broke her again.
Rebecca didn't say anything. She crossed the room and pulled Claire into her arms. Claire immediately broke down, burying her face against Rebecca's shoulder as the tears started again.
She simply held her, both crying over their loss.
September 13, 2006 – 06:57 a.m.
"Hey, Jill."
Claire carefully placed the bouquet of lavender she was holding in front of the tombstone.
"I brought you some lavender. You always liked how it smelled..."
She stared at the tombstone, at the name engraved there. It still felt wrong somehow—that Jill had died.
She had always been aware of the risks that came with this line of work. She knew that anything could happen at any time. She just... she just never really expected this.
"It still feels surreal. Every evening, I wait for you to walk through the door. Every time I wake up, I expect to see you beside me. I wait for you to hold me, to wipe away my tears when I cry."
She lay down in front of the tombstone and watched the stars, barely visible in the evening sky.
"There are so many things I couldn't tell you... so many things I couldn't do with you. Still, I am happy that I have no regrets."
She turned toward the headstone and ran her fingers over the letters.
"At least I kissed you one last time. I told you that I loved you one last time."
Her hand dropped to her side.
"Oh, Jill... it hurts so bad that I can't see your face again..."
Tears began to well up in her eyes.
"Jill, I don't think I could move on. I don't believe I can leave your memory behind and just start living normally."
She squeezed her eyes shut.
"I know you would want me to move on, live a happy life, start with a clean page, but... but I can't, Jill. Not without you."
She could feel the tears slowly rolling down her cheeks. She made no move to stop them. She simply gazed at the headstone before her and the bouquet of lavender she had just placed there.
She looked up at the sky, which had grown quite dark.
"I should go home now, I love you babe."
That night, Chris called and asked if she had left the lavenders.
February 14, 2007 – 03:43 a.m.
Claire woke up with a gasp. She had another nightmare. This was her new normal now.
Ever since Chris told her what had happened at the Spencer Mansion, she had started having lots of nightmares, most of them about Jill falling from that fucking window into the darkness.
This was one of them too. The same place, the same scene. Jill was falling, and Claire was failing to save her.
Claire rubbed her eyes and stared into the dark room. Her eyes fell on the empty space beside her, on Jill's pillow.
She took the pillow and hugged it tightly, burying her face in it. It still smelled like Jill. Claire hadn't changed that pillowcase on purpose. She hadn't put away Jill's sneakers near the front door, either. She hadn't organized the pile of clothes on the chair or cleaned Jill's ashtray that always sat by the kitchen window.
It was like Jill had never left, never died. It was easier this way. Acting like it had never happened...
Maybe she was making things harder for herself. Maybe it would be easier if she just moved on, packed up Jill's things, cleaned the cute mess she had left behind before she... died.
But Claire didn't want to. She chose to live like this, surrounded by reminders of Jill. It was like she was still with her somehow. She wasn't happy, exactly, but she was more comfortable this way. And again, she definitely wasn't ready to leave Jill behind. How could she?
Everyone always told her that her pain would ease, that her loss would eventually feel lighter, and that her grief would stop hurting so much at some point... but she didn't really believe that. How could they say something like that so easily? How could people expect her to forget her love, bury it, and just—just act like her lover hadn't fucking died?
She took her phone from the nightstand and checked the date. She gave a bitter little chuckle.
Valentine's Day... and Jill's birthday.
She should go to her grave with some roses this time.
November 22, 2007 – 08:01 a.m.
Claire looked at herself in the mirror one last time and opened the bathroom door. Everyone was already sitting at the dinner table.
She sat between Chris and Sherry. It was nice,to gather together for Thanksgiving. But still... it hurt that Jill wasn't with them.
Barry, Chris, and Rebecca were talking about something she couldn't quite catch, while Sherry was chatting with Moira. Again, it was nice and cozy, but Claire couldn't stay fully in the moment. Her mind kept drifting away.
Kathy came to the table with a still-half-asleep Polly in her arms. Once she was settled into her chair, everyone started eating.
No one was in a hurry to eat their meal. They stayed there, talking and laughing as the plates were slowly cleared away.
Barry had started telling one of his old stories again, one Chris had apparently heard a dozen times before. Rebecca occasionally interrupted him to correct some tiny detail, which only made everyone laugh more. Sherry and Moira were talking about something of their own, barely paying attention to the others.
Polly, meanwhile, had gotten bored of sitting in her chair. She wandered around the table, occasionally stopping beside someone to show them a toy or ask for something before running off again.
It felt strangely normal.
For a little while, Claire almost forgot.
She laughed when Barry made a joke. She listened to Rebecca complain about something that had happened at work. She even found herself smiling when Polly climbed onto Chris's lap and started babbling about something nobody could understand.
It was warm. Familiar.
Like the old days.
And maybe that was why it hurt so much when Polly suddenly looked around the table and asked,
"Where is Gigi?"
It was a silly question, cute even, especially because of the name Polly had come up with for Jill and the fact that she was also missing Jill, looking for her among the familiar faces. Polly and Jill had always gotten along well, too.
But considering that Jill was currently, well, dead, there was nothing cute about the question.
After Polly's sudden question, everyone stopped eating. There was dead silence. Claire's hands froze midair. She stared down at her plate, at her hands, at her utensils. Anywhere but someone's face.
It... it just really hit her hard that Polly, a three-year-old child, was also aware of Jill's absence.
She dropped her fork and knife onto her plate and suddenly stood up.
"I-I'm sorry, I just—"
She stumbled over her words. Her eyes were burning with a familiar feeling. She stormed out of the room and threw herself into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
She didn't try to hold back her tears. They immediately spilled over her lashes, streaming down her cheeks. She collapsed onto the floor and buried her face in her hands, crying with an ache in her chest.
She felt like she couldn't breathe, like someone was sitting on her chest. Her heart was pounding desperately. It felt so bad, the ache in her chest and everything.
She heard footsteps in the hall and didn't even try to stop crying.
Someone opened the door, sat down, and pulled her against their chest. Him, she realized from the strength of his arms. Chris.
He didn't say anything. He just held her close, rubbing her back soothingly.
Her crying slowly subsided. Claire looked at Chris as she began to feel calmer.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't—"
"Don't apologize, Claire. You have every reason to leave the table. It's difficult, and it will never stop being difficult. And—and we know it's worse for you. The pain is worse for you."
He held her face and planted a kiss on her forehead. His eyes were watery too.
"So you don't have to apologize for anything, okay?"
Claire nodded while sniffling, her nose running, her eyes red and swollen.
Chris helped her to her feet, embraced her one last time, and left her alone.
Claire checked her reflection in the mirror. Claire was grateful that Chris hadn't prolonged the conversation and had been so understanding. She washed her face without overthinking it. She didn't spend much more time in there, leaving the bathroom a couple of minutes after Chris.
The dinner ended quite well. They continued their chit-chat until nearly 2 a.m. Claire even had a little bonding session with Polly, although they both ended up crying.
March 21, 2008 – 05.45 p.m.
Claire walked out of the BSAA building, tired and frustrated.
She didn't enjoy her therapy sessions with that asshole BSAA psychologist. What the hell did he know about losing someone? About waking up from the same fucking nightmare night after night? About any of the goddamn things she'd had to deal with?
The only reason she showed up to every session was for Chris' sake.
She didn't believe that therapy was working. She never cared about her therapist's recommendations. She didn't do anything he told her to do.
She hopped onto her motorcycle in front of the building and rode straight home. This shitty building was a nightmare in itself. It only reminded her of the days she had to show up for Jill's funeral arrangements.
The BSAA hadn't let them arrange a proper funeral for Jill. An empty grave was all they had to settle for.
Along the way home, the psychologist's words kept haunting her mind. Every time, he told her the same things: to move on, maybe change her environment—even her city—and see someone else.
How could someone say something like that? As if it were that easy. As if she could forget every second she had spent with Jill. How could they expect her to just start over?
"Unbelievable", she muttered to herself while parking in front of the apartment.
Finally, she stepped inside and closed the door. As she put away her helmet, her eyes fell on Jill's keys; they were still sitting in the same bowl, exactly where she had left them. It had been nearly two years, yet the house was still filled with traces of Jill.
She couldn't get rid of Jill's things; her clothes were perfectly folded and waiting on the shelves, her toothbrush still sitting in the same spot, her books, shoes, and every other thing still waiting in its place. Even the Samurai Edge, from her S.T.A.R.S. days, was still there, tucked away in the drawer of Jill's bedside table.
Well, she was more comfortable this way, and she had no intention of listening to some stranger's advice.
October 7, 2008 – 11.37 p.m.
Claire shifted on the sofa, watching the ending credits of Clue. Sherry was with her; she had tried very hard to get her to stay for the day.
And it was really nice, having someone she loved beside her, watching a movie that...
"It was Jill's favourite, Clue."
Sherry didn't say anything, waiting for her to continue.
"She always put this on when she had a hard day. We always watched it together and..."
She took a shaky breath, unable to continue.
"I know," Sherry said quietly. "You don't have to finish."
Claire looked at her. They sat like that for a heartbeat.
"You hungry?"
Sherry laughed at the sudden question and checked the time.
"It's nearly midnight. I don't think that's very healthy."
Claire was already on her feet, moving toward the kitchen.
"Ugh, God, what are they teaching you?"
Sherry just laughed at that.
March 8, 2009 – 02:21 a.m.
Chris was on a mission, and she hadn't heard from him in nearly two days. She didn't even try to sleep, knowing she couldn't, even if she wanted to.
She was tired of that feeling, tired of waiting, tired of pretending like everything was okay. She felt like everything had gotten even worse. The pain hadn't gotten any lighter over the years; it had only intensified. She was still mourning, still thinking about Jill every day. She was looking for Jill whether she was happy or sad.
She had been sitting at the kitchen table—for like two hours, maybe?—staring at the night sky, a burning cigarette between her fingers. There were empty bottles on the table.
She suddenly got to her feet, for the first time in years certain of what to do. She went to the bedroom and took her purse. She spent an extra minute standing in front of Jill's nightstand, thinking about her decision.
Before leaving the house, she glanced around the room, full of memories, and closed the door.
She made her way to the cemetery as quickly as she could and collapsed right in front of Jill's tombstone. Tears came immediately, fast and hot against her cold, pale cheeks. She leaned against the tombstone, her purse thrown onto the ground.
"I'm so sorry, Jill," she sobbed quietly.
"I really tried. I tried to heal, to start over, but—but..."
She took a deep breath, then pulled her purse onto her lap and started playing with its buckle.
"Every day I wake up, and every goddamn time I look at the empty spot beside me, as if I might find you there when I wake up one morning."
Her voice was full of pain. Her hands were occupied with the purse in her lap.
"When I return from work, every time I walk into the house, I find myself involuntarily looking for you, expecting to see you. When I go out, when I'm sitting with friends, the only thing I can do is think about you. I wonder what it would be like if you were here, if you were with me."
She unzipped her purse and pulled out the Samurai Edge, the very gun from her S.T.A.R.S. days. She stared at it, her eyes burning. Her tears had stopped long ago.
"Jill, I swear I tried. I tried to act like it didn't hurt that much anymore. But it does. It hurts more. Every passing day, it hurts more and more."
Her voice faltered. She shut her eyes.
"I-I can't take it anymore. I can't live like this. I feel like I can't even breathe. How can I live like this?"
She looked at the tombstone one last time, then at the handgun in her hands.
"I'm sorry baby."
February 14, 2010 – 01:17 a.m.
Jill opened her eyes. She would almost drift off to sleep, only to wake up from a nightmare every time. She shifted a little to get more comfortable.
"Babe, you okay?"
Claire asked as she stroked Jill's head, resting against her chest.
"Yeah, just can't sleep."
"Me neither," Claire whispered.
They had spent a lovely day. They celebrated Valentine's Day and Jill's birthday and had dinner at home. Neither of them was very keen on going out.
Neither of them spoke for a while. Then Jill tilted her head slightly to look at Claire.
"How did you survive believing I was gone?"
Claire looked at Jill, not quite understanding.
"I mean, I-I think I would have gone mad, you know, if you had left for nearly three years. I don't think I could live with that kind of pain."
Claire looked at Jill, speechless.
"Jill, I-I didn't..."
She took a deep breath and looked at Jill with watery eyes.
"Jill, I almost killed myself."
She could feel Jill tense up, but she still didn't say anything. She waited for her to continue.
"I was just about to pull the trigger in front of your tombstone. Then—"
She opened her eyes. Jill was waiting for her to continue.
"Then?"
"Then Chris called me. He fucking called me and told me that you were alive. That you were alive and on your way home. Jill, I-I cannot find the right words to describe what I felt at that moment."
Jill looked at her, stunned, then muttered,
"Well, good thing Chris didn't wait another second to call you."
Claire chuckled incredulously.
"You are unbelievable."
Jill pecked Claire's lips, then placed her head against Claire's chest once again.
"Let's sleep now. We have plenty of time to talk about this."
Well, Claire was grateful that the matter put aside, at least for now.