Resident Evil Series Fan Fiction ❯ Tenebrae ❯ Everlasting ( Chapter 17 )

Leon pulled at the collar of his suit and for the millionth time wished his hands weren’t sweating so much.

In a few moments he and his bride to be would take the spotlight in front of the chapel, and he was deathly afraid. Not of being married, but of screwing it up. It would be just his luck to begin sabotaging his marriage at the wedding itself.

No, that was negative thinking. Positive thoughts- that was the key. Out with the bad, in with the good and all that other new age bullshit that ended up on public access television and in bookstores.

“How are you holding up?†It was Jonathan, looking predictably smug at the thought of his Agent marrying off.

“I’ve been better.â€

“Not after tonight you won’t have been,†His boss chuckled, looking over Leon in his tuxedo. His eyes softened and took on a distant look. “Did I ever tell you about my wife, Leon?â€

Leon had seen pictures in Jonathan’s office of a woman with dark hair and a bright smile, but knew nothing other than her appearance. “No, you haven’t.â€

“We were married for the best fourteen years of my life. The cancer took her from me,†There was old pain in Trask’s eyes. “I’ve always regretted the time I spent at the office instead of with her. You never know how long you have to be happy.â€

The older man shook himself from the memories. “Anyway, maybe now isn’t the proper time, but I wanted you to know I just got back from a meeting with the Board. You’ve been promoted.â€

Leon smiled, genuinely pleased and grateful to hear it. “Thank you sir.â€

“I’ve moved you up to be under my direct supervision, you won’t be pulling jobs from the Agent pool anymore. There are a lot of missions that could benefit in the planning stages from your extensive experience.â€

“Am I grounded?†It was a term that Agents used much the same way it was in the Airforce- no more active field assignments. Leon wasn’t sure how to feel about that. On one hand it would make it much easier to spend time with Ashley, and the risks associated with black ops work were all but eliminated. On the other hand, he would miss working in the field, and could see a desk job quickly becoming stale.

“Not exactly. As my operations expert you’ll be going where I go, which means a lot of overseas travel and otherwise. And of course, who’s to say every now and then whether an assignment might require your personal intervention.â€

Now things were definitely looking up. His new role in the Agency would allow him a great deal of flexibility. “Thank you very much sir, I won’t let you down.â€

Jonathon snorted. “Of course you won’t, if you did I wouldn’t have put you in this position. Fuckups aren’t allowed in this business.†He turned back to the door. “We’ll discuss this more when you return to work. Enjoy your honeymoon.â€

Leon grinned. “You can count on that.â€

Welcome to the last, and oddly, first Author’s Note for Tenebrae. I say oddly because when I was writing my first story, On Earth as it is in Hell, I put a note at the end of each chapter. I dropped the practice when I wrote Artificial, and this story too. So those of you bothering to read this are in a different situation than those that followed On Earth as it was posted, this being the first time I have communicated with you. Is that because you are less important than the people who reviewed On Earth? Probably, but who can say.

Thank you for reading Tenebrae! You’ve just finished a Resident Evil 4 fanfiction, losing precious hours of your life that you can never get back! This is hardly relevant because you’d just waste them anyway on other such meaningful pursuits as looking through Sharper Image catalogues, watching reality TV, drinking Frappacinos and ordering pay-per-view pornography andor wrestling.

The idea for this story came to me as I was playing Resident Evil 4 on my widescreen television which is better than yours. That idea being to flatly plagiarize the game in written form. I began to implement this idea with what was originally the first chapter, a boring rehash of things you already knew. That starting chapter is now chapter two since I added a new prologue. (Those of you reading this at AdultFanfiction will be confused as I never bothered to add the new Prologue) This ‘boring rehash’ concept continued with the ‘Scenes from a Waking’ chapters, the monotony of which was briefly broken by the stirringly original ‘The Reasons of Things’. I then constructed a loose and flimsy structure of occurrences to support my large array of goals for the story, those goals in fact only being one goal. This goal can be condensed into the easily chewable summary of, ‘Leon and Ashley have sex.’.

Stuffing my face with frozen pizza and stealing heavily from multiple better fanfics, I completed that goal with the minimum of effort expended on my part. Once ‘Implosion’ was completed (The entire concept of which was utterly pirated from the X-Files fanfiction ‘Solitary Confinement’, which can be found in the ‘Whispers of X’ archive) the story was essentially finished. Desperate for the continued attention of people on the internet I’ll never meet and who may or may not be real, I dragged it out until it was stretched so thin you could see through it.

And that, really, is all there is to say. The new prologue was inspired by the ‘Zombie Survival Handbook’ and all the similar italicized blurbs it contains. A fair amount of research was done. All Spanish locations listed in this story are real with obvious exception of the Salazar Estates. ‘Illuminados’ really would appear to be the Spanish equivalent of ‘Illuminati’, the not-so-secret world controlling organization so popular in fiction and otherwise. All usage of the Spanish language was either taken directly from the game or badly translated. 'Estela la Muerto' means 'Wake the Dead'. 'Sonambulo' means 'Sleepwalker'.

Concerning, as one reviewer put it, the ‘free fall chain of thought’, Ashley’s first incomprehensible dream sequence is simply two things I wrote mashed together. The second chain of thought I just made up as I went along.

For those of you who really have nothing better to do than read this overlong and overindulging author’s note, here they are in their respective entireties.

Sorry about the odd spacing. This website always fucks that stuff up.

Race You to the Finish Line

Let’s set a race on the beat down road.

What will you worship when they melt the gold?
If you can find the time then you might move me
Counting all the wrappers and throwing them in the bin
Here in the car we’re stuck and slow
With red lights trapped on the dashboard
Always the radio is turned up loud who needs to talk, change the station

Jump the ditch and hit another drive by
And now I’m caught between the belt and the seat
This never was an open run out street.
If you can find the lies then you might trust me
Read between the lines, watch the heading.
We load the glove compartment like a washer and dryer

I drop my hands, I take a step back

But I love that speedy sensation
Rip it out and toss those blown out shoes
We could be fake but that’s for you to choose
If you can see the signs then you might find me
Counting all my change and spitting in the wind
All the rage, it’s in the news
Check the stands, I found a note there
Do you remember what we came here for?
I fold the dollars but then less is more.
If you can find the time then you might move me
If you can find the time then you might.

What Dies in Space

Can you fall asleep in the glow of the headlights close your eyes to the windshield staccato breaking over wrists and heads mangled metal in full swing the car crash is singing me home sweet notes of shattered climax down the window shards to the gutter fenders scrape like teeth on wire open wide hood trunk conflagration, spit in the mirror rain hides your tears with gasoline rainbows waiting for a fire for a spark off something other hug the road with rubber slick grip then lay me down gentle in steel enfolding, cold
and raw with power to spare in your burning belly heat me up or down whichever comes first I can’t be particular with wreckage to back me to stack me up rubble and asphalt is rubbing into lacerations the glass under my skin burns like pinpricks but I’ll survive
to walk free yet I’ll claw my way out to a gray homecoming you still have miles to skid over weigh stations and weighty road full of people without destinations point them in the right direction back to me and the bent frame prison with fires to light the way and
blood on the bumper they’ll know it when they see it and how could they not

Untitled

You rolled through the tunnel into a bright white horizon.
Remember the fields? Remember the sky?
All outside the window sill on days where we breathed without care.
I signed over the better parts of me for an hour of escape.
Where are my regrets?
Fossilized and catalogued.
Dead before they could touch the ground.
I hit the floor running, going nowhere slow,
And then I am at rest as always, stasis my natural comfort.
I killed change and my forward momentum with a silver bullet from a handmade gun.

Well, thanks for reading. I hope that the next story you read really sucks so that you appreciate me all the more. That’s just the kind of guy I am.

Caleb out.