# Arc 1 - Claire's Last Investigation - Chapter 4: The Promise

## January 1998

The new year came and went without celebration.

Chris had tried to get Claire to go out on New Year's Eve. Told her she needed to see people, to stop staring at the walls of their cramped apartment. She'd smiled at him—that patient older-sister smile she always used when he was being ridiculous—and said she was fine. Just tired. Stressed about exams.

He'd believed her.

For almost a week after New Year's, Claire seemed normal. Better, even. She got out of bed on her own. Made coffee. Picked at her textbooks and engineering notes like she was trying to catch up on everything she'd missed during her illness the month before.

Chris watched her carefully, the way you watch someone who's been sick, waiting for signs of a relapse. But she moved okay. Talked okay. Laughed at his jokes about the neighbor's cat getting into the trash again.

"You need to stop worrying," she told him on January 3rd, catching him staring at her over breakfast. "I told you, it was just a bad flu."

"Flu doesn't last a week."

"Gross flu, then." She pushed her eggs around her plate. "I'm fine now. See? Eating."

She took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed.

Chris wanted to believe her.

---

January 5th was when the headaches started.

Claire tried to hide them at first. Chris noticed her rubbing her temples while she read, the way she'd close her eyes for too long after looking at a page. She said she was tired. Said she hadn't been sleeping well.

Then the fever came back.

January 7th. Chris woke to the sound of her vomiting in the bathroom. He found her on the floor, sweating through her pajamas, skin pale and flushed at the same time. She looked up at him with eyes that didn't quite focus.

"I'm okay," she whispered.

"Like hell you are."

He carried her back to bed. Her skin was burning.

---

The next days blurred together.

Chris called in sick to his part-time job at the garage. He sat by Claire's bedside, pressing cold washcloths to her forehead, trying to get her to drink water. She slipped in and out of consciousness, sometimes lucid, sometimes muttering things he couldn't understand.

He called a doctor on January 9th.

Dr. Morrison was an older man who'd treated …