"Be to her, Persephone,

All things I might not be;

Take her head upon your knee.

She that was so proud and wild,

Flippant, arrogant and free,

She that had no need of me,

Is a little lonely child

Lost in Hell,—Persephone,

Take her head upon your knee;

Say to her, 'My dear, my dear,

It is not so dreadful here.'"

—Edna St. Vincent Millay, Collected Poems


March 18, 1992


Jake Muller.

Tanis hated the name Jacob. Jake was better. It was too formal, too uniform, too everything Oswell Spencer would have wanted for one of his children. The word was like a bad taste in her mouth. The saliva in her mouth was venomous acid that her breath ignited, melting away the layers of her tongue with every breath that passed her chapping lips. Labor had destroyed her legs; of this she could not be more certain. The slightest twitch reminded her of the sprained hip an amateur gynecologist had failed to spare while she pushed the impish boy from between her legs. An early delivery seemingly resulted in the event of the labor doctor going missing this every evening.

"He will require breast feeding, mum." The voice made her jerk, and the pain of her sprained hip was as merciless as the half-Scottish half-English man who held her infant in his arms. He loomed in the corner of her gaze like a specter, garbed in a dark and impeccably spotless suit. An uncharacteristic bolo tie hung around the collar of his shirt, fastened together by the Spencer family shield. His red hair was thinning, threatening age with patches of silver settling along the roots of his scalp. She noted this as he leaned towards her, her squirming baby wailing pathetically in his arms. "He will starve, Miss."

"Keep that away from me." The venom burning her tongue had traveled to his nostrils as he stood upright and returned to the cradle, wordlessly lowering her squirming, bluish-skinned child into its soft interior with experienced grace.

"They say a child who is denied the tit of her mother is prone to madness." Patrick said, eyes fixed on the infant before him. "Perhaps that is why Master Spencer's children all invested in their individual passions as they did." Tanis' eyes never left those of Patrick's. There was a special flame in those steel, color-less eyes. The darkest flames burned hotter in those non-identically sized pupils that lazily observed the world around them with absent interest. He was the soulless lion tamer of a mad lion who had stolen cubs for a languid ideal. He turned to the shelf on the far wall, mutely lifting a bible from its surface and flipping through the pages.

"Don't you fucking—" She began to say.

"Psalms book one hundred and thirty-five, verse four," He began. "For the Lord has chosen Jacob for himself, Israel for his own possession."

"Not if it dies." Her throat was lined with the venom of her own words, and that of the existence of the child. Her eyes travelled all about the small delivery room as Patrick continued reading.

"Psalms one hundred and thirty-five. Verse five through seven. I know that the Lord is great," Patrick said as Tanis' gaze fell upon the tray of bloodied equipment used for her birthing. A chunk of her umbilical chord remained wedged between the blades of the scissors, dripping onto the already bloodied tray. Next to the scissors was the same syringe that had entered her womb before Jake entered the world. The crimson liquid from within the file now ran through her blood, through Jake's blood. Her bottom lip quivered at the thought of wishing death upon the child who had been tainted before his eyes could open. She wished death upon them both, but the horror was realized that death would come sooner for her. "That our Lord is greater than all gods. The Lord does whatever pleases him, in the heavens and on the earth, in the seas and all their depths. He makes clouds rise from the ends of the earth; he sends lightning with the rain and brings out the wind from his storehouses."

"Stop it." Tanis hissed, tears washing from the corners of her eyes. "Let it die in peace!" Patrick watched her for a quiet moment before flipping the pages in his bible. Tanis wept.

"Psalms one hundred and thirty-eight, verse one through three. I will praise you, Lord, with all my heart; before the 'gods' I will sing your praise. I will bow down toward your holy temple and will praise your name for your unfailing love and your faithfulness, for you have so exalted your solemn decree that it surpasses your fame. When I called, you answered me; you greatly emboldened me."

"Kill it!" Tanis cried. "Kill us. Kill us both, please!" Jake's cried equaled her own as the flipping of pages continued.

"Psalms one hundred and thirty-eight, verse eight." Patrick said over both their voices. "The Lord will vindicate me; your love, Lord, endures forever—do not abandon the works of your hands."

"Alright," Tanis breathed, her chest sinking. Patrick smiled a gentle smile, his eyes fully in flame. "Give," she paused, fingers trembling violently as she unbuttoned her gown. "Give him to me."

"Did you hear, little Jacob?" Patrick whispered tenderly as his polished hands lifted the wailing baby from the cradle. "You may be spared from madness, little Jacob. Your mother will feed." Tanis trembled as the impish infant was placed on her chest, his cries tore through her breast as she guided his little mouth to her nipple. "Gently now, mother must teach little Jacob to feed." His teeth were quick, sharp, and destructive. She sucked in a breath as she jerked her head back, shutting her eyes to the imp that suckled her and the lion tamer who's arousal had been peeked from the sight of his triumph.

A phone rang from somewhere outside the room and the lion tamer stood upright, releasing a steady breath.

"If you will excuse me, mum." Patrick said, retrieving a handkerchief from the inside of his blazer to dap the sweat on his brow. "Master Spencer will expect little Jacob to have been fed when he arrives." He sighed again and strolled to the door. "It is a ghastly business trusting the Master to the unworthy during his travels, but he insisted I be here to tend to little Jacob, his very first grandson."

"GET OUT!" She screamed, startling the child at her breast. Patrick loomed in the door, turning his head to gaze at her from over his shoulder. He smiled almost affectionately at her.

"Like my father before me, I gave the instruction to wean Spencer's children six months after each birthing." He shrugged a shoulder. "The mothers were not the original ones, but they were disposed of nonetheless." The door shut behind him with an inaudible click, and the ringing phone challenged Jake's wails.

"Shh!" She attempted to rock the tiny boy, to return his plump little wets lips to her nipple. He squirmed, red-faced and breathless. She rocked him again, her tears plopping onto his cheeks. She looked around again, eyes falling on the syringe on the bloodied tray. She stiffened her jaw and reached for one of the pillows that supported her back, shoving it against the railing of her bed. She trembled as she placed the breathless infant on the pillow, safe from tipping over the edge. With a pained grunt she pulled herself towards the railing, weeping at the pain of twisting her sprained hip. The cheap plastic of the railing crushed the flesh between her breasts as she shot out her arm, fingers trembling for the empty syringe. Tears gushed down her face as the tips of her fingers dragged the syringe, and wheeled the tray closer to the bed. The filth on the tray soaked her fingers to the first of her knuckles as she laid back, the syringe now to her breast. She turned her head to the wailing babe and brought him to her breast, the syringe hung above his head. "Shh."

He was quiet now, little chest heaving as he watched with bright blue eyes as the syringe was positioned above his little heart.

"Phase two." She choked, watching Jake bring a fist to his mouth. The attention span of the infant reflected in his eyes as they looked about everywhere but the death looming over him. Tanis took in a slow breath, the venom she spewed on her baby's face suddenly vanishing when his eyes found hers. His little lips puckered and his fist clenched. "We're both." Tanis cleared her throat. "Phase two." Her eyes travelled to the syringe that had been injected into her womb, the glass file now empty of "Phase 2" of Project Wesker. Her fist trembled violently as she found her resolve.

"Mmm." Jake gurgled, fist at his lips again.

"Oh!" Tanis breathed, eyes on her son again. "No, baby. It'll be quick. First you, than me. We'll be in Heaven together." Her tears blurred the image of her son. One more slow and steady breath passed her lips before she clenched a tighter fist. "No more Phase two."

The door opened and she jerked her arm high up into the air, ready for the plunge. The thought was lost to her as the intruder took a slow, calculative step inside. Tanis' eyes widened, the disbelief in her eyes had clearly gone noted by the tall, golden-haired Wesker child whose windows to the soul were hidden from her from behind his reflective sunglasses. Slowly again, with the same calculative patience, he lifted his pistol—a silencer was screwed into the barrel. The syringe in her fist began to slip from sweat of her palm. The syringe shattered when it hit the floor. Tanis watched as Albert Wesker's weapon lowered and his brows lifted, becoming slightly more visible above the rim of his sunglasses. His gaze, Tanis knew, was on the wailing child she held in her arms.

"I'll die today." Her voice came raspy and exhausted, but it was enough to encourage him forward. Another step, and another, and then one more took place before the man once again came to a stop. She leaned her head back and tilted Jake towards his father. "He may too." Albert was silent, staring, considering, still. His gloved hand twitched slightly, but remained at his side. Perhaps it had been one of the first times in his life that he had hesitated, but he had hesitated all the same. She watched, knowing the moment would be a phenomenon that only she would witness. With the pace of a patient mirage he lifted his gloved hand to the squirming child, extending his index finger. Tanis watched as the tip of his gloved finger came in contact with the center of Jake's chubby little heal. Jake quieted against her breast. Then Albert's finger slid along his chubby leg, Jake's heal slipping into Albert's palm.

"Phase two." Tanis said, eyes traveling to Albert's face. "In him, and in me."