Chapter Two

Entranced

When Claire opened her eyes, Wesker was sitting in the chair, hands folded, arms resting on his thighs. Watching her.

Several months ago she would have jerked awake and back, out of his reach -- if there was such a thing. Now she only lay still, allowing herself to adjust to wakefulness. For his part, Wesker seemed to take no notice of her. He could have been asleep himself for all she saw behind those bloody glasses.

At last she rolled to a sitting position, keeping as much of herself covered with the thin blanket as possible, not out of modesty -- even in bed she wore sweat pants and a hooded sweater -- but in a futile attempt to keep warm. It wasn't dangerously cold but uncomfortably so, and had been since she'd arrived.

Wesker titled his head, examining her, and she returned the favour just as blatantly. Wesker. Finally. After nearly two weeks of captivity, of being driven nearly insane by boredom, here he was.

Well, at least she wouldn't be bored any longer. Whether she liked the alternative remained to be seen.

The space between them grew so unnerving Claire began to wonder if she wasn't dreaming Wesker's presence. "You're here," she said, just to break the silence.

"I'm here," he agreed.

"How long have you been here?"

"Some time now. I didn't wish to disturb your rest."

She blinked. "I don't suppose that was kindness on your part?"

"I'm afraid not, dear heart. This was a temporary rest stop. It's not suitable as a permanent base. We're going to have to move, and you may find the journey... trying."

Her heart skipped a beat, but she pressed on, very aware that if she let him intimidate her now she would be frightened of him for the rest of her life. "Trying like turbulent, or trying like you'll-be-tied-up-and-thrown-in-a-box?"

"The latter, I'm afraid. I can't have you knowing our location."

Anger surged, and she repressed it. Anger was at least as dangerous as fear, at least where Wesker was concerned. "What exactly are you going to do with me, Wesker? I've been here for almost two weeks and this is the first time I've seen you..."

"Were you missing me, Miss Redfield?"

She narrowed her eyes, hating the mockery in his tone. "Hardly. I just want to know what you're up to."

He rose to his feet, and all at once she felt very small, huddled beneath her blanket, her eyes still heavy from sleep, her hair disheveled and dirty. "What I'm up to is my own business, I'm afraid. All you need to know is that you're staying with me."

"For how long?"

Amusement tingled his reply. "Forever, if I want it that way. Haven't you realized, dear heart? After all you've been through, you and your brother still hold the charming delusion that one day you'll defeat me." He laughed softly, humorlessly. "You won't. And I'll tell you why: no matter how you plan, no matter what you come up with, you will always underestimate me."

Claire shivered again, this time not from cold. "Get out of here," she ordered. "If all you came to do was gloat, then leave me the hell alone."

"Get out of that bed."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Go to hell."

The next thing she knew, the blanket had been wrenched from her grasp and she stood in the middle of the room, shivering, her arms wrapped around herself for warmth. "Bastard," she spat.

"Yes. Now grab anything you want and come with me."

She hesitated, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her surrender. On the other hand, who knew how long he'd keep her locked up? Or when he'd be in the mood to grant her requests again? Swallowing her pride, she grabbed the small duffle bag he'd left on the floor and shoved a few changes of clothes into it, along with her art supplies, hairbrush, and a few packages of dried fruit and nuts she'd squirreled away in case he decided not to feed her. At last she faced him, tossing the bag onto the floor between them. "Well? What now?"

His lips twisted in a humorless smile. "Now you follow me." She started to object but he cut her off. "Alternatively, I carry you. Those are your choices, Miss Redfield."

She scowled, but when he scooped up her bag and headed for the door she fell into step behind him. She hated that she'd obeyed him, hated it even more that he hadn't even bothered to glance over his shoulder, simply assuming she'd comply.

He can hear you, she reminded herself as they stepped into the corridor -- yet another carbon copy of Umbrella's many hidden locations. The cold was even worse out here, and her teeth chattered as she followed in his wake.

"Is it cold?"

She raised her head. "What?"

"I said, is it cold?"

She stared at him in disbelief. "What do you think?"

He shrugged. "I didn't bother to check the ambient temperature. If you wish me to make changes to your quarters, Miss Redfield, you must tell me."

She snorted loudly. "My quarters?"

"You would prefer another word?"

"How about cell? Prison? Hellhole?"

His smile remained humorless. "Very well. If you wish me to make changes to your hellhole, let me know."

God, he was impossible. She rolled her eyes and followed him around a corner and into a laboratory. Her heart seized as she hesitated in the doorway, taking in the all too familiar hospital bed, the reek of sterility. Wesker glanced over his shoulder at her. "Come in, Miss Redfield. If I wanted to hurt you, I'd have done so already."

Yeah, right. On the other hand, though, nothing stopped him from chasing her down and dragging her back if she ran. Swallowing what felt like a golf ball, she stepped into the room. "Sit down," he commanded, gesturing to the bed.

She swallowed again. Son of a bitch, that son of a bitch...

Somehow she made her way to the bed. When Wesker came to her, he held a syringe in his hand. "What is it?" she demanded, muscles tensed to bolt and to hell with the consequences.

He laid a hand on her shoulder, a hand that felt gentle but could easily be restraining. "A mild sedative and amnesiac. In lieu of tying you up and throwing you in that box you mentioned... unless, of course, you'd prefer..."

She rolled up her sleeve with a speed that made him chuckle, although she kept her eyes averted as the needle pierced her skin. Swallowing hard, she wondered what precisely he'd injected into her veins. Was he telling the truth? Why would he lie? How could she stop him if he did?

For a moment she felt nothing, and then a wave of dizziness overwhelmed her. Wesker caught her and eased her to the bed. She strained to demand an explanation, but words wouldn't form. "It's all right," he soothed, and for the barest of seconds she found his reassurance... well, reassuring. Then she realized she wasn't worried about anything after all -- floating in a hazy, pleasant, dreamy state. Rolling onto the pillow, she closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of floating.

A moment later, something warm and heavy settled over her. She forced her eyelids up to find Wesker laying a thin hospital blanket on her. "I'll be back," he said, his hand on her forehead easing her back down.

Claire slid back and didn't hear him leave. By the time he returned, she was once more fast asleep.