"...Maybe somewhere down the road a ways

(at the end of the line)

You'll think of me and wonder where I am these days..."

The Travelling Wilburys "End of the line"

December 15 1998 9:20 PM- Susan

Susan's eyes trailed off the papers in her lap. She watched impassively as the steady drizzle beaded off her balcony window, blurring the cityscape on the other side of the glass. Past the lights of the harbour Puget Sound stretched to the horizon, looking like black granite.

She pulled off her cat's eye glasses, a vintage pair from the sixties she had found at a thrift store, and rubbed her eyes. They ached dully, unaccustomed to so much reading. She pushed the glasses back in place, and returned her gaze to the window. The lights from a Christmas tree in an apartment across the street twinkled and pulsed. Obscured by the rain, it was a multicoloured cone of light.

-Christmas.-

It would have been no surprise to her to find out that depression rates were highest during the holidays. From her early teens onward she had hated Christmas, the forced cheer, the awful music, the subtle judgement by her extended family,

"And what are you doing these days Susan? Still working at that hotel?"

Twice she had intentionally gone on vacation in order to avoid the debacle that was a Kelso Christmas. Though at least then avoiding her family had been on her own terms.

-I never thought I'd miss them-

She had spent her adolescence and adulthood identifying herself by what she wasn't. She wasn't her Mother. She wasn't her younger, obedient sister, or her good natured brother. She wasn't her workaholic father. These people were gone. Four tombstones and a few photo albums was all that remained. Who was she?

She shook her head slowly and returned to the forms she was filling out. Soon she would be Susan Kelso: a University of Washington student on the four year journey to her Bachelor of Education.

Outside, the rain continued. It was not an outright downpour, just enough to make things cold and miserable, typical weather for December in Washington. It would be snowing in Raccoon City. The lifts would be running in Latham.

A half hour later, she brushed the paperwork aside, stood and stretched, eyeing her new living room. The furniture was all new, delivered from Ikea the week before, semi-disposable stuff she had bought on sale. She padded down the hall toward her bedroom, noting that she didn't like the place much. It seemed more like the hotel rooms she used to clean than an actual domicile, comfortable and stylish, but lacking any character of the person who resided there. She had left most of her personal things in Latham when she moved. Her boards, her music, none of it seemed to apply to her any more. The punk routine was only really relevant if the person had something to rebel against. Everything she had been defying had disappeared in a mushroom cloud the last week of September.

In a way, the slate had been wiped clean.

She stopped at her dresser, staring with blend disinterest into the mosaic mirror she had bough for nineteen dollars and ninety nine cents. She wasn't physically any different than four months ago. She was still short, still had black hair and thin lips, her eyes still squinted whenever she took off her glasses.

She was still Susan Kelso.

The alarm clock on her nightstand, bargain priced at seven ninety nine, showed that it was ten to ten. She sighed, walked over to the large, mostly empty closet, and began undressing. She had work in the morning. As the sole beneficiary to her family's life insurance policies she didn't need the money, but the job kept her occupied. It gave her a purpose.

She slipped out of her bra and panties, into a ratty pair of Joe Boxers and a Misfits T-shirt, and then dosed a pair of pills from the bottle that sat on her nightstand. Swallowing them dry, she shuffled barefoot into the kitchen, shutting off lights as she went.

-Good night Seattle-

A quick gulp of water washed the bitter tang from her mouth. She wiped the glass and placed it back in the cupboard. Five of the glasses had yet to be used.

She hesitated at the fridge, transfixed by the tall skinny man who smiled at her from the five by seven taped to the door. Unconsciously, one hand crept to the simple gold ring that was strung through a chain around her neck.

And a hot pang ripped through her with enough severity that for a moment she actually thought her heart had stopped. Her breath hitched in her throat.

It was the first picture she had taken of him. He was clean shaven, lips parted in a broad smile, a cigarette tucked behind his ear. His dark hair was combed back, and he was leaning on that hot rod Mustang of his.

She remembered looking at him as she snapped the photo, thinking to herself 'Oh my God, I think I'm dating Sodapop Curtis!' Before she could burst out in laughter, his grin widened, and he asked her if she wanted to learn how to drive a stick shift. He tossed her his keys before she could answer.

She had nearly burnt the clutch out of his car that day, and by the time she was able to start and stop without stalling, she swore that his back tires were skinned bald. All the while he kept laughing, looking like he was having the time of his life despite the fact that she was torturing his car.

"Don't worry, tires are cheap. Try giving it a bit less gas."

God she missed him, his quiet confidence, the way he looked at her.

-Don't torture yourself, take the picture down-

"No."

There was a tombstone for him as well, next to Owen's. Like the rest of her family he was missing, presumed dead.

BRRANG!

She startled badly at the sound of the telephone. The ring slipped from her fingers and fell to its spot between her breasts.

-Whoah, easy-

Susan's pulse relented, and she walked over to the phone. The call display showed an unlisted number. Normally that only meant one thing.

-Damn salesmen. Can't they leave the bereaved alone?-

The phone rang a third time. She eyed the receiver searchingly.

-It's too late for a telemarketer though, they normally call around supper time.-

She picked up the phone before the answering machine cut in.

"Hello?" She tried to give her voice the appropriate balance of politeness and annoyance.

"Hello" An uncomfortably long pause. "Susan?"

Susan felt a shiver fire down from the nape of her neck to the bottom of her heels. She spun sideways and gaped at the grinning man on her refrigerator door. Was she going insane?

"S-speaking." She was trembling badly. It took effort to keep the phone to her ear. That voice, raspy, but unmistakable.

"Hey, Suzie-Q, you can't believe how good it is to hear your voice."

Susan Kelso bit her lip and closed her eyes against the tears. Once more, her fingers slipped around the gold engagement ring, along with its neighbour: a small silver medallion bearing the likeness of Saint Christopher.

-Oh yes I do-

Author's Note: First of all, I'd like to thank you for taking the time to read my fic. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

As you probably noticed, I did take a few liberties with Raccoon City and the Resident Evil timeline. I hope you RE purists aren't too irritated.

I had originally ended this story with chapter ten, however I was never fully satisfied with the ending. So after much deliberation I decided to add an epilogue, I always feel a little ripped off when a story has an ambiguous ending, and figured that there was a good chance that you feel the same way.

So, now is your chance to tell me what you think, should I have left well enough alone. Or is this better. I'd sure like to hear what you have to say.

BTW, The Traveling Wilburys are awesome, just so you know.

Cheers

-C