"Miss Redfield, you should watch your language, It's not very polite," Albert Wesker sneered.
"What the fuck do you want with me?" She asked him, trying to pry his fingers from her throat, but to no avail.
"I think you have something that belongs to me," Wesker told her, flicking his un-shaded eyes towards the coffee table.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Claire spat. "What do I have that you could possibly want?"
Wesker shook his head and flung her into the same wall, gaining a painful cry from her. He stalked over the the coffee table and studied it thoughtfully. Suddenly, he brought his foot down onto the table, splititing it into two pieces and sending tiny splinters of wood across the room.
"Ah, here we are," Wesker bent over, grabbing a metal case that was hidded inside of the desk. "Miss Redfield, it is quite rude to hide secrects from me you know."
"Go to hell," Claire spat.
Wesker who was brusing off wood splinters from his jacket, smiled sadistically. "Been there, done that."
He opened up the case to find the contents still there and shut it back up with a pleased smile. He sulked over to the wounded Claire, who was using the wall for support. "Now, Miss Redfield, are you going to come with me willingly?"
The younger Redfield glared daggers at him. "No."
"Pity," Wesker said flatly.
Claire awoke in a cell...
Figures... Claire thought to herself.
She knew why Wesker took her... she knew that he would no doubt use her as some kind of leverage to get Chris running to save her. When he should come... Wesker wasn't going to hold back this time, he would kill Chris.
Claire brushed those thoughts away and studied her new 'home'. It was small and windowless, one door that was tightly locked and secured with a code pad. There was a small extention to the room that was the bathroom. Just a toilet, shower and sink. The matress she was laying on was in the far corner of the room and covered with a black sheet. No pillow. The walls were a dull gray and the room itself was dark.
She didn't know what time it was or how long she had been knocked out. The last thing she remembered was Wesker bashing her in the back of the head.
The large metal door creaked open and a sharp sliver of light flooded the room. Claire covered her eyes, for she was not used to the outside light. She squinted, trying to focus on who stepped in. The light gave the man a sillohet until he slammed the door shut behind him.
Claire notcied it was Wesker.
She shook her head and turned away from him. Making his way to her makeshift bed, he dropped a paper bag beside it and a few books.
"Keep yourself busy, Miss Redfield. We don't want you dying of bordome now do we?" Wesker said smugly.
"Why do you care if I die or not?" Claire spat. "If you're going to kill me, then do it already you coward!"
The next thing she knew, she was being lifted up off the ground, and being held by her throat once again.
"Don't insult me, Miss Redfield. It's very unwise. And if I had any intentions of killing you, you would have been dead a long time ago."
Claire grabbed his wrists, trying to pry him off. "Let go... of me," She choked.
"Don't make the same mistake twice. For next time, I won't be so generous." Wesker dropped her back onto the matress and she gasped for breath. Wesker left the room, slamming the door like a tempered child.
Claire reached for the paper bag, rubbing her neck with her other hand. She dug through the contents, pulling out two fast food hamburgers and a water bottle, along with two asprin pills. She popped the asprin to relive her horrid headache and unwrapped a burger.
While she sat against the wall eating, the stack of books he had brought her caught her interest. The first was The Lovley Bones, one of Claire's favorites, the next was a collection of Shakespear that she was familiar with. Claire's college English class consisted of nothing more than William Shakespear and Steven King. The last two books were Fever 1793 and one of Montague Summers Mythology pieces.
Claire flipped through the pages in Summers book, skimming through the Vamparism notes, oral passages on Dragons and the next chapter caught her eye.
Lycanthropes.
"Werewolves?" Claire muttered to herself. She peered at a paragraph that had not only grabbed her attention, it looked quite iteresting when the words sought her eyes.
-In vain he attempted to speak; from that very instant, his jaws were beslputtered with foam, and he only thristed for blood, as he raged against flocks and panted for slaughter. A wolf; he retains yet a large trace of his ancient expression. His eyes glitter savagley still, the picture of fury.
Claire laughed dryly to herself, the passage sounded like Wesker in more ways than one.
Claire drummed her fingers on the book and the thick Shakespear collection fell over from its spine sitting position.
It made Claire jump a tad and it fell open to a bookmarked page. There was a red, fine tip pen resting in between two pages. There was also a note pad jammed five pages down. Claire thought that the pen a note pad would be some form of entertainment other than the books. She flipped through the page and found a small list scrawled in neat, all capatalized handwriting. She assumed it was Wesker's because the list had the collection of books he had brought along with a footnote that read 'asprin'.
Claire chuckled a bit and never thought of Wesker of a man that would forget anything. Making a list was very unexpected of him.
She decided to eat the other fast food burger before it got too cold. She eyed the pen and paper pad and snatched them up. Claire had always had a passion for drawing, but she knew that her moderate skills would get her nowhere without proper training, and she didn't have the time or money to go to art school.
Her favorite thing to draw were portaits; she was always quite fantastic at them. She would constantly sketch when she was bored, mostly sketching Leon's profile, but she could never get his hair and nose right so in the end, she would give up and toss it aside.
Claire just started to sketch away until a handsome and defined male face came about. She added the hair, slicked back with the utmost perfection. Eyes were next, but she was stuck on them... Claire almost slapped herself when her drawing resembled Wesker.
Very greatly.
Only once she had seen what lies behind those sunglasses. The demonic hues, red like boiled blood. She decided to wing it and continue with her drawing, satisfied with the way his arch-feind eyes came out. The nose was the part she always failed at... either they came out too small or too pointy. But for some reason, Wesker's nose came out looking like it should. Defined and chiseled, pointy to say the least. She gave him ears that turned out like they usually did, perfect. His mouth was last and Claire had a hard time sketching it down. She hadn't got a good look at Wesker, ever. She was doing this based on memory and little snapshots of him in her head. Once the mouth was done, the picture was a spitting image of him. Claire shuttered and asked herself why in the hell she continued to draw him. She added texture with hard set cheekbones and the crease in between the nose and upper lip.
Tossing the pad across the room in a fury of anger, Claire stood up a stormed over to the door. She banged on it with her fists, a dull echo filling her cell.
"Let me outt here, Wesker! Or you'll regret it!" Claire continued to pound on the door, but she didn't notice when it came free and swung open. She fell forward but a pair of steel arms caught her from falling on her face.
Wesker propped her up and still had his arms around her skinny waist. Claire squirmed out of his grasp and back away from him.
"Just let me go... please! If you don't, Chris is gonna kill you and I'll sit there and watch!"
Wesker just shook his head and chuckled low in his throat. "Don't make empy threats, Dearheart," he told her smugly, smirking at her evily.
"It wasn't an EMPTY threat, Wesker. Chris will prevail someday and when he does, they'll be dancing on your grave. That is if you even get one..."
Wesker was in front of her in less then a second, spinning her around and pressing her against the door. "I can assure you, Dearheart, I'll be the one dancing on a grave. Your brothers. And maybe yours."
"You wouldn't..." Claire whispered sharply.
"Try me," he warned.
Claire brought up her arm and slapped him clean across his face, Wesker didn't flinch. She bolted from his grasp, heading down the hallway running as fast as her tired legs would carry her.
Wesker smiled sadistically and cracked his neck.
"Alright, Claire. You wish to play cat and mouse, then so be it."