Allison found her way to her father's armory. She walked between the shelves of that spacious place, she beathed deeply, like she was inhaling untainted air for the first time in ages. She seemed enamored by the sight of so many weapons in one place. She allowed her fingers to roam freely, grazing wood, metal and plastic.
She promptly stopped and turned her face halfway towards her left side, she waited and waited... For him to say something.
"I see you had no trouble finding this place. Can't say I am surprised, but I am proud," said Chris. He stood near the entrance, almost giving the impression that the site wasn't his property.
"You're not surprised that I just got back from the dead, and somehow stumbled upon your bunker. Really?" she said calmly. But then she continued, "Unless...,"
Chris had finally decided to push his weight off the door frame, in favor of moving closer to his daughter. Although, he couldn't find a single thing to say; nothing that would fit as a response anyways. She was coming to the conclusion on her own.
"So, you were listening in on my conversation with Maylee," said Allison.
"That wasn't my intention but... Yeah, once I heard a part of it, I couldn't not hear the rest," he explained.
"I wouldn't have blamed you either way; I was just guessing," she said.
It was odd for Chris; he had so much to tell her, so much to talk to her about, yet couldn't find a single way to undo the knot in his throat. He wasn't the kind of man to be at a loss of words but then again... He never imagined he'd be staring into the eyes of his undead daughter after so many years.
"Are you going to make me guess again?" Allison spoke again, confirming that she was indeed alive, that he wasn't dreaming. As though the fact needed further proof.
"Guess?"
"Yes. Since I know you heard everything I said to Maylee, then I know you have questions about where I was for all this time," she pulled the only chair available there before sitting near a busy table.
He knew she was right and as hard as it was to come up with the right words, he still preferred to dance around the fire, "I did and... Yes, I do have questions,"
"Well, then which one of them do you want answered first?"
"Did you feel anything? ... Pain?" he uttered.
"Which part do you mean? At the moment of death? Or in the afterlife?"
"Both, I guess," he sounded like he was battling for the will to get the words out, without crumbling that is.
"It didn't hurt to die, but it hurt to leave; and no, I didn't feel like I was stuck in the afterlife for years, it actually felt like hours," she revealed.
Whatever he'd thought of saying after that, just vanished into the mist. When he heard her admit that leaving him and her friends behind, hurt her more than any other thing, all the strength he'd gathered in order not to crash up until then, had just... abandoned him instantaneously. Moreover, he was hit with the sudden realization that the reason she felt familiar despite her attitude, wasn't the fact that she looked like Allison, it wasn't the fact that she answered to the name of Allison Argent, nor was it the fact that everyone around was convinced it was her either. No, it was the fact that she reminded him of her mother, Victoria, his late wife; so much so that he was perturbed by it. Thankfully, a question managed to sprout through his burdened vocal cords, "You said you met Marie-Jeanne Valet?"
"Yes. The entire thing felt like a dream. One moment I was in Scott's arms saying my last words and only seconds after that I was in some sort of forest. Something attacked me but a woman that looked exactly like me came to help me, I found out after the fact that she was Marie-Jeanne, and I stayed with her," she said.
"You told Maylee that you were watching over us. Is that how you knew where to find this place?"
"I wouldn't say I was watching over you; it was more like following the development of your story, your lives I mean,"
"But she also told you the story of our family, didn't she?" he asked.
"She did. Although, I still don't know what to make of it. One's take varies based on their perspective,"
"You thought you couldn't trust her?"
"I am saying I was skeptical. I mean, you never told me about her," said Allison.
"I never really got around to do that. What was it that attacked you when you were in that forest?"
"I still have no clue about it. I asked Marie-Jeanne, but she never really gave me a concrete answer," she said.
Chris fought the urge to ask the newest question his tormented mind came up with, but Allison was a lot more perceptive than he gave her credit for, or at least, she became a lot like so, "I saw her too," she stated.
"Saw who?" he didn't know why he felt the need to ask that, considering he already knew who she meant, but it just escaped his lips.
"I saw mom. But... she wouldn't talk to me," at those words, Allison swayed on the chair towards whatever parts and scraps were laying there on the table. Her pick was a bullet that she twiddled between her fingers. Her action seemed more like a desperate attempt to shift her attention in order to drown the pending sorrow she felt.
By some unknown power, Chris found a lot to say at that moment; the lines just kept flowing through his mind with ease. But right as he was about to open his mouth, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket; he would have ignored if not for the fear to delay something that shouldn't be.
"What is it?" Allison's voice pulled his attention away from the screen he was staring at.
"It's Scott. He wants us to meet him at the hospital," he said.