Yeah I’m looking to the sky to save me
Looking for a sign of life
Looking for something to help me burn out bright
I’m looking for a complication,
Looking cause I’m tired of lyin’
Make my way back home when I learn to fly…

Claire’s tears had run dry.

It always happened that way. She would lose complete control over her emotions by thinking a simple, stupid thing about Steve. One little iota of a memory would sometimes be enough to trigger off the spigots behind her eyes, which were always held ready to be released and pour their heart-eating grief down her face in a river of clear pain. She would cry and cry, sometimes for less than a minute, sometimes for hours; Claire had no control over herself during that period. The demon of Misery possessed her and manipulated her every action, and the rebellious, free-spirited Claire Redfield with the indomitable will of iron would shrink into a corner of her mind and watch as Misery ravaged her soul.

Then she would just stop. The waterfalls behind her eyes would become dried-up creek beds that could easily be refilled at any moment in time, but were fruitless for the time being. It was during this time period that Claire would crawl meekly back to herself and mold her flimsy emotions back into something resembling the woman she had once been. She would vow to herself that she was through grieving, that she was ready to move on and let Steve finally rest in peace.

Her vow was always broken by Misery some time later, maybe an hour, maybe a day, but it always ended up in broken shards that pierced her agonized heart. She was beginning to think that she was never going to recover; that Steve’s death would prove to be her own deathblow.

Turning her puffy eyes up to the cold dark heavens that leered at her from behind the mask of the Paris sky, Claire felt nothing at all. Her hair hung limp over her blue eyes, the chocolate brown strands weary of wiping away tear after tear from her melancholy face. She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them tightly, trying to give herself the comfort that had come too late.

Where does it end? she wondered. Where?

A knock at her bedroom door startled her out of her thoughts, putting a temporary halt to her slideshow of memories frozen in time.

“I’m fine, Chris,” she called half-heartedly, wiping her eyes hurriedly and trying to sound like she was “fine.”

“Claire?” a familiar voice said. “It’s Leon.”

“Leon?” Claire repeated dumbly as the door swung open and Leon Scott Kennedy walked into her room.

For a moment, all she did was stare. How come she had never noticed that Leon was so…attractive? Even in the shadows of her unlit room, Leon’s russet hair shimmered in the moonlight like an undying flame. Three months had added a couple of inches to the length of the floppy strands, and most of the reddish hair now dangled around his chin. A few wayward strands, however, still insisted on flopping into his ocean deep eyes while others kept making playful attempts to tickle his long nose. Their efforts were in vain, however, because Leon suddenly reached up with a large hand and brushed the belligerent locks away from his face, smiling at her.

“Claire,” he stated plainly. “You don’t know how good it is to see you again!”

But Claire was still feeling far too cold inside to formulate a reply. Unbeknownst to her, her full lips suddenly spread into a watery smile, her first in weeks. Leon grinned back and crossed the floor in three long strides, boots thudding on the floor. He came up to her chair by the window and leaned over gracefully to hug her, putting his arms around her slender shoulders and pulling her close to him.

Claire automatically slipped her arms around his torso so that they rested on his muscular back. The leather of his jacket was cold from the bitter winter, but the cheek pressed gently against hers was warm and soft, giving her silent comfort and support. Claire buried her face in the heated space between the collar of his fleece-lined jacket and his neck, breathing in the scent of him deeply. He smelled of peppermint, leather, and wind, a peculiar mixture that suddenly seduced her senses like a natural high.

“I missed ya,” Leon murmured into her ear.

“I missed you, too,” she said, and with a start, she realized that she was speaking the truth. She had missed him, almost as much as she now missed…No! Don’t start again!

Claire shut her eyes tightly against the tears that were threatening her tough façade again. She clung to her friend tightly, suddenly feeling the silly urge to bury her face in Leon’s shoulder and tell him everything, about Steve, about Alexia, about all her grievances and secret sufferings that she hadn’t even shared with her own beloved brother. For some reason, she felt that Leon would understand about lost loves that died valiant deaths.

But she didn’t do this. Her fear of him not understanding was too great; she couldn’t bear to make Leon think lowly of her. She had ceased thinking highly of herself long ago, and she didn’t want Leon’s opinion of her to degenerate. So she satisfied herself by simply holding him tightly and basking in the unspoken comfort of his warm presence. She gently rubbed Leon’s back, noting with a small smile that he had the oh-so-loathed letters R.P.D emblazoned on the back of his leather jacket like a battle banner.

Just like Leon, she thought fondly, the rebellious, non-conformist to the bitter end. Trust him to go walking straight through the bull arena like a matador with a red cape.

On an impulse, she suddenly reached up and tousled Leon’s brownish-red hair affectionately, letting the silken strands sliding coyly across her fingers and palms. Leon laughed softly at her mother-like antics. Claire couldn’t resist a smile either. How come she had never noticed just how blood red Leon’s hair really was? Red, red just like Steve’s…

God! No, no, no! Claire screamed at herself as Misery tore at her soul. This isn’t Steve; this is Leon! They’re two entirely different people! Why?! Why do I see his face in everyone and everything I come across?!

Leon must have sensed the turmoil of emotions in her through her rigid limbs, for he suddenly released her and stepped back, looking down at her curiously, a small smile playing across his pale pink lips. His blue eyes were filled with friendship, and Claire suddenly couldn’t meet those impossibly deep azure lakes. She averted her own eyes, afraid that he would somehow see in her heart the horrible truth that, for a moment, as he had held her so gently and honestly, she had pretended he was someone else…someone long dead. What would he think of her then?

But if Leon had even caught a glimmer of her thoughts through her eyes, he gave no outward sign of it. His manner was completely relaxed as he plopped down gracefully on the carpeted floor in front of her, arranging his long legs so he wasn’t sitting on them. Claire chanced a look down at him, and found a gentle smile on his handsome face, which only grew wider when she managed to muster up a small grin of her own.

“How have you been doing?” Leon asked warmly, moonlight dancing in his blue eyes like benevolent angels of the night. “Enjoying Paris?”

Not as much as I would have been…if Steve were here.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Claire replied, trying to shove her thoughts of Steve away as she and Leon began to chat about small things, their voices dethroning the silence that had previously reigned when Claire had been alone. They spoke of how Sherry was doing and how much she missed Claire. Leon told her about his “family crisis” situation - turns out his younger brother was missing yet again.

“Probably out dealing some dope to a bunch of crackheads, the little bastard,” Leon grumbled, flicking a lock of silken hair away from his eyes.

Claire cocked her head to the side curiously. “I didn’t know you had a brother, Leon.”

The R.P.D officer rolled his cobalt eyes. “I wouldn’t actually consider him a brother. I disowned him a long time ago…”

They had been talking for a long while before Claire realized that this was the first real conversation she had had with Leon. She had never guessed that there were so many things about him that she didn’t know or just had missed before. Like the fact that he had a younger brother named Deon (“Isn’t that cute?” she had teased. “Matching names!” Leon had just rolled his eyes and grinned.) who was apparently quite the belligerent trouble-maker, according to Leon. Claire had never thought of Leon as an older brother. There were now so many things she was learning about him as they sat up and talked into the night with Claire sitting like a weary old grandmother in her plush chair and Leon plopped down on the carpet in front of her, still dressed in his leather jacket and black jeans.

Several times during the course of their conversation, Claire was struck by just how handsome Leon was. She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t noticed such stunning male beauty before. Despite the fact that there wasn’t a single light on in the room, the moonbeams streaming curiously in through the frost-covered window leapt to touch Leon’s figure as he sat on the floor. These fingers of celestial light highlighted the pale curve of his cheek and clung to his long eyelashes like miniscule crystals. His impossibly deep blue eyes shimmered in the darkness with sapphire friendship and affection, crinkling at the corners as he smiled at her, perfect white teeth flashing in the gloom. Locks of russet hair blazed in utter defiance to the deep shadows of Claire’s room, and more than once, she was tempted to reach out and run her fingers through it.

As they talked on and on, Claire gradually slipped into a strange, half-drowsy state in which the aura of every living thing could not escape her weak human eyes. All the demons and angels in her little sanctuary were suddenly as clear to her as they would be if a spotlight were thrown over their haloed or horned heads. Yes, there was Self-Torture slumped in the corner of the room, shrouded in blackness except for her emaciated arms, spotted with self-inflicted wounds. And there was Claire’s old friend Adversity hovering just outside the window, beating his wings as he looked up to the nighttime sky to speak with the ancient stars, the great soothsayers, who see and know all. Yes, Adversity couldn’t wait for his next battle with the Redfields. He was determined to win this time.

And of course there was Misery, Claire’s best friend as of late, the dark angel always tapping her shoulder at the strangest times and blasting Claire with a riptide of memories that were dangerous to recall, but too sweet to be forgotten. Misery gave birth to Claire’s nightmares, forcing the aggrieved young woman to prostrate herself before Eternal Torment and sing requiem after requiem for a boy named Steve. Misery wouldn’t let Claire forget him. Claire could feel the demonic angel hovering behind her chair right now, glowering at every smile, every laugh, every sound of euphoria that Claire gave forth. Misery was starting to beat is wings again.

But then there was Leon, who sat before her bathed in moonlight and emanating a peculiar breed of sublime innocence, awakening in her a strange mixture of emotions that hardly had anything to do with the fact that he was gorgeous, with a body that any female would love to lust after. No, Leon was more than that. He was a light to the darkness of the soul, a wingless angel with rebellious russet hair and blazing cerulean eyes shining with mirth. His laughter sent Self-Torture deeper into her corner and made Adversity fly away in annoyance. His loving eyes threatened to alleviate Misery and shatter the unseen chains that kept Claire prisoner…

But Misery would have none of it.

The demonic angel suddenly started beating its wings in a frenzy, causing small whirlwinds in Claire’s soul. The whispers of wind brushed past her heart, sending glimmers of recent memories pounding into Claire’s skull. She suddenly sagged into her chair, fighting to keep her emotions down at the bottom of her soul.

Leon rocked forward onto his knees and touched her leg gently, a look of concern on his face. “Claire?” he asked worriedly. “Are you alright?”

No! Help me, Leon, please!

“Yeah,” she said weakly. “I’m…fine.” She averted her watering eyes from his anxious blue ones, unable to look upon his heavenly light anymore. Claire was fighting Misery with all her might, but her soul was too battle-worn already, and she was rapidly losing the fight.

Leon rose to his feet and peered down at her. “You don’t look ‘fine,’” he insisted. “Are you feeling sick?” He reached out to touch her face.

Hold me, Leon! Please! Hold me, and don’t let go!

Misery closed around her heart like a vise.

Claire jerked her face away from Leon’s gentle fingers. “I’m okay, Leon,” she said hollowly, her voice sounding distant even to her ears. “I’m just really tired.”

Leon hesitated for a moment, still gazing worriedly at her. Misery waited with him, all its mnemonic weapons posed to attack, ready to invoke the valiant image of Steve if this crownless king of light, this man whose name meant “lion,” threatened to liberate its hard-won victim.

Claire avoided Leon’s gentle stare, keeping her shimmering eyes turned towards the window and she helplessly watched Misery contort and batter at her will like never before.

Don’t give up, Leon! Don’t let Misery win. Be strong for me, because I can’t. I haven’t the strength.

“Claire,” he suddenly said in a soft voice. “Look, I know-”

Misery shoved a dagger coated with agonizing memories into Claire’s heart.

“Please, Leon,” Claire suddenly snapped, squeezing her eyes shut and turning so she could hide her face in the fabric of the chair. “I just need to be alone right now.”

No! Don’t leave me! Help!

Misery grabbed her by the throat and choked her into silence.

Leon sighed. “Alright, but if you ever need to talk, I’m always here…”

He started to walk away, boots making soft sounds of defeat on the floor as he went. Claire wanted to say something, anything to make him stay, make him understand, but Misery wouldn’t release her voice. Tears trickled from the corner of her eyes, and her throat was painfully tight as she heard Leon shut the door softly behind him, taking from her room the sole source of celestial light that had grappled with Misery…and had nearly won.

For a second, the afterimage of his angelic aura shimmered stubbornly in every place through which he had passed, but the dark angels of the gloom were hungry, and soon even that light was lost. Misery was pleased…so it decided to give Claire a treat.

In the inferno behind her eyelids, an image formed. Fiery red hair. Beautifully pale green eyes. Graceful auburn eyebrows. Porcelain skin. A short nose and a mouth with soft, kissable lips. A lean, enticing male body. Steve Burnside.

He extended his arms to Claire, the pleading look on his face so exquisite it made her heart nearly burst with grief. “Claire!” he cried desperately, voice faint and distant. “Come!”

“Oh, God, Steve,” she whispered to the demon-filled room. “If only I could. If only I could…”