Pulvis et umbra sumus
We are but dust and shadows
Chapter 2: dies natalis {birthday}
May 21, 1997, Wednesday —Her twenty-third birthday fell on a working day.
Now at twenty-three years of age for the second time around, she pinched her cheeks twenty-three times in front of her closet mirror. Her skin was turning more than pinkish... until it turned into an angry shade of red.
She had died inside that helicopter. It was something she should make peace with. The hellish flames then consumed everything that had once mattered to her. There was no other reason for this limbo she found herself stranded into every single day.
Chris...
Sheva...
Josh...
They all had died... even Wesker.
Sporting a furious flush on her face, she fixed the blue beret on her head.
There was simply no waking up from this ordeal.
Upon arriving at the office, her desk was found decorated with scattered metallic confetti. A simple birthday banner was attached on the wall. The chocolate crepe cake in Chris's hands looked appetizing.
"Happy birthday, partner!" His wide smile was irresistably charming. Joseph started singing 'Happy Birthday' in the most out of tune rendition she had ever heard. Barry, Brad, and the members of Bravo team barely saved the song.
It felt unreal. Tears just streamed down her face.
"Thank you, guys. Y-You're all the best."
It felt so real. She was so happy to see them all again—alive and well.
She made a wish as the little flame on her birthday candle was blown away.
—'Please let me keep this happiness.'
The whipped cream was heavenly on her tongue. The sifted powdered sugar on top of the cake was almost too sweet for her teeth. But overall, the dessert was an absolute treat. She wanted to ask if they had bought it from a bakery or maybe Barry's wife had made it especially for her.
"How are you feeling, Jill?" Joe rolled his seat close to her. She turned to him and smiled a genuine smile.
"Pretty good. I... seem to have a kind of devil's luck or something. Got out of that operation intact and uninjured." He laughed as his hands retied the red bandanna on his head. Her gaze shifted to the curve of his throat. At the back of her mind, she could hear the snarling of ferocious canines... the sound of tearing skin as sharp teeth sunk in unguarded flesh. She nervously swallowed and turned away as Joseph Frost's image changed into that of a half-eaten corpse.
Maybe she could see a psychologist about this.
It was unhealthy to firmly believe that the same horrifying events would happen again.
She could at least try to live a normal life.
Wasn't that the point of having a second chance?
"The hospital just called. Wesker is awake." The announcement caused a knee-jerk reaction from her. Her boots noisily bumped against the sides of the wooden desk as she shot up from her seat. Barry's eyebrows raised at her clumsy actions.
"We can't all go and see him now. So who would like to go with Jill?"
Chris was out on a mission with Bravo.
Joseph was tasked with the routine maintenance.
Barry was to stay to man the office.
Brad slid into his vivid yellow vest. It didn't take long for her mind to splash an added crimson hue to his clothes. All she could do was look away and banish the image of the experimental Tyrant hissing... and chasing them around Raccoon.
"We can take my car." The pilot said to her with a small smile on his bleeding mouth.
"I must warn you... He's quite irritable." A sandy blond doctor told them in an almost conspiratorial tone. Chickenheart immediately bristled at the thought of his cranky captain. "Just be understanding. He's been out of the loop for more than three weeks. I can't say if he can be discharged at the moment. We have to run some tests first." She nodded as she eyed the name tag on the doctor's impeccably white coat—'Dr. Birkin'.
The man who created the G-Virus was standing before her, parading like an actual physician.
If only she could uncover his secrets and bring them to be judged... and rightfully executed...
She and Brad stood like school kids at the far corner of the room, waiting to be scolded. The captain's ice blue eyes were piercing under the bright afternoon sun. He was almost squinting. His eyes had always been sensitive to too much light. Or maybe that was just him being allergic to anything bright and light.
"How are you feeling, Captain?" Brad asked, his words almost fearful.
"Well enough." She nearly flinched at the sound of his gravely voice.
But Albert Wesker was human... still.
There was nothing to be afraid of.
Brad excused himself in the pretense of getting some warm meal for the patient. Her teammate didn't stop even when their captain said that he had already eaten.
That left her alone with her supposed savior.
"Thank you for saving my life, Captain Wesker."
The words seemed to burn like acid on her tongue.
"The leader of the terrorist group remains at large. Most of the members had been apprehended and are being kept for interrogation. Chances are... He had already escaped to one of the cities close to Raccoon." She had briefed herself on the details of the mission that caused her to be hospitalized. In the deep recesses of her mind, she was able to dig up a memory of her participating in a S.T.A.R.S. operation of the same nature. Wesker was indeed with her during the bomb disposal. The only difference now was the explosion that happened... And it somehow prompted him to protect her.
The drink in her hand was still too hot. It was scalding in her mouth. But she welcomed the pain. It kept her focus on other things besides the calculating look the bandaged man was giving her at the moment.
"I doubt he escaped. The reasoning of these terrorists gear them to finish what they start." He would certainly know how a terrorist's mind worked... considering his future career change. "What measures has the Chief taken for now?" She watched him assess the bandage wrapped around his left arm. There was concern in his features... and undeniable pain. The wounds were probably swelling.
"Adjusted curfew hours. Tightened security. More patrols in the city." He gave a curt nod at her statement.
"I will be able to return to work soon. I hope the rest of you are holding up well in my absence." Her cup of coffee was nearly empty. The taste was too mellow... delicate. She would have preferred something with more depth... and spiced. The blend had the same effect anyway... awakening her senses.
"Wesker, are you friends with Dr. William Birkin?"
The question rattled him. She could see it in his eyes even when his expression remained calm and composed.
"I believe he's the doctor assigned to me. A friendly relation with him would be... advisable for my well-being." Her teeth dug on her bottom lip. She should be patient. Nothing would be solved if she was reckless.
But how could she get into the core of all of this?
"He seems to be quite attentive. I wish the doctor that had been assigned to me was the same." She stood from her chair, depositing her empty cup into the trash can near the bedside table.
"The others will most likely visit by the end of our shift. It's good to see that you're doing well, Captain. See you at work soon." It took all of her willpower to smile at him... to look glad because of his hasty recovery.
She meant to leave right away but his next words cease her footsteps.
"Happy Birthday, Jill."
The lights had been so radiant. They had danced over her eyes in a kaleidoscope of captivating colors.
Her whole body was trembling. Her teeth chattering. Her skin snow white and ice cold.
Death had become her.
And even her own tears were chilling and lifeless on her skin, providing no comfort... no emotional release.
"Shhh..." A black visage shadowed her cowering form. It crouched low to her level and coaxed her into an almost enamored embrace. "Don't be afraid." Long fingers tangled in her soaked locks of dull blonde hair.
"What have you done... to me?" A sob cracked her voice in a thousand of pieces.
"Refined you, my dear." His breath was fiery air against the side of her face. "Gifted you with enhancements." His lips brushed along the tear drops on the top of her cheeks. "Happy Birthday, Jill." His hands were brands marking the rest of her body.
The self-proclaimed god had claimed dominion not over just lasting death...
—but fleeting life as well.
She feigned illness at the end of the work day. Another visit would probably unhinge her sanity.
Wesker had uttered the same words when he took her out of the cryogenic chamber. She had never heard words with more malice than his.
Her eyes followed the red line as the twenty-fourth of July next year was encircled on her wall calendar. The city had a little over a year before everything falls into loss and chaos.
She could still pack up and leave.
But wasn't this the point of having a second chance?
Being able to change something. Being able to shift the odds on their favor.
She would stay and play the role of heroine again.
Maybe this time she would be able to deliver.
8:48 p.m.— His footsteps against the wooden staircase sounded almost the same... though they were significantly lighter given his leaner build. The floorboards creaked noisily still even with his slighter weight. Her eyes stared at his black combat boots when he finally reached the landing she was sitting on. He had not changed out of the standard white S.T.A.R.S t-shirt and olive-gray pants.
"Are you feeling better now?" His hand was so familiar that her heart ached at the feel of his rough callouses.
"I told you it was only a stomach bug... I just had to take a fast acting drug for it." He helped her up on her feet. The denim skirt she was in was dusted off with her hands. One of her fingernails got caught in the frayed edges and she had to forcefully pull the loose thread off. He was smiling down at her in a sheepish way when she turned back to him. "What?"
"The red sweater looks good on you." A blush instantly stained her cheeks. She almost wanted to reach out and touch the five o'clock shadow on his grinning face. Maybe this time she could make a move way earlier than before. Chris had held affection for her for a really long time. Maybe this time they could start again... like starting now.
"What took you so long anyway? I've been sitting here for an hour." She followed him up the stairs leading to the third floor of the apartment building.
"I thought I've already given you permission to break your way into my apartment, but only in an emergency!" A playful punch was delivered on his shoulder as they both shared a laugh. Her gaze noticed the packs of dark green and deep brown bottles secured in the plastic bags in his hand. Heineken and Budweiser pale lager beers. "And I got us these. It's no birthday if you're not at least getting drunk!"
They were both in for a fun night it seemed.
The color of his couch was off-white, mainly attributed to the dirt that had accumulated on it with time. The maroon carpet was being redecorated with crumbs of Doritos. She had seen the sink and the pile of unwashed dishes left in it.
Chris Redfield would always be a slob.
Only the small guest bedroom was kept relatively tidy. The maintained cleanliness was for his little sister's surprise and very seldom visits. She had definitely slept in that extra room more than Claire Redfield had ever did.
The wall clock read quarter to eleven. The Budweiser and Heineken bottles had been cleared. And they were trying to go through his reserved stash of six-pack Corona. He was on his seventh bottle of beer and she on her fifth. Maybe she should have stopped him on getting the third batch out. He was talking really loud already, laughing about the littlest of things.
And she had not started on what she wanted to tell him in the first place.
Chris was no psychologist.
But he was the next best thing she had at the moment.
He would understand... if she would be able to explain herself... well enough.
'Chris, I know what will happen in the near future.' Too psychic.
'Chris, I came from the future.' Too alien.
'Chris, I died and now this is like my second life and you have to hear me out and believe me.'
—All statements sounded nuts even in her own head.
"If S.T.A.R.S. is a class in school..." A hiccup. "Then you are the teacher's pet..." A slow-moving nod.
He was drunk.
"Wesker doesn't even ask you to redo your reports!", he whined. She started the clean up before the last drop of yellow liquid touched his tongue.
"That's because they don't have to be redone." The dishes could wait until she got some shut-eye.
"Right! Thanks for redoing mine by the way..." Her body was then engulfed in a bear hug. And the heat emanating from him seemed to chase her worries away.
She could live with this.
He turned her towards him and placed a kiss on the top of her head.
"Happy Birthday, Jill."
Then he pressed his lips to hers.
May 24, 1997, Saturday —Her body clock had woken her up. A quick shower was taken before she squeezed herself into a pearl white minidress and a jean jacket with patches.
She had forgotten to finish her report and pass it on time. That would not do.
Her nights had been sleepless since her birthday. She was obsessing over the details about Umbrella's involvement in Raccoon City's establishment and its flourishing economy. How could she incriminate a conglomerate as powerful as this one on her own?
She got in the S.T.A.R.S office before lunchtime. Breakfast had been sadly skipped. She could be quick and polish that paperwork in no time.
"Are you pulling a double shift?" The swivel chair squeaked when her body jumped at the sound of his cold voice.
Wesker quietly closed the door behind him. He was wearing a white dress shirt and dusty blue trousers. The trademark sunglasses framed his face. She almost couldn't wrap her head around his casual outfit. He had simply been equated to the color black for all these years.
"No... I just have to turn this in." She willed herself to relax as she stared at his collected stance. His arm was still covered with protective dressing. She could nearly imagine those blackened tendrils slithering about his form... his red eyes flashing and burning with rage.
Her eyes fixated on the report in her hands as he made his way to his desk.
"Have you had your lunch?", he asked as her teeth worried over the plastic end of a ballpen.
"Not yet... I'll eat after this." She would have to get used to his presence. There was no other way around it for she had chosen to stay rather than run away.
"Are you angry at me?" The context was lost to her. But the question sounded heavy on her ears.
"What do you mean?" She shouldn't have asked. She didn't want to know the deeper meaning of his words. She could have just answered 'No, I'm not angry at you, Wesker, even when you're just a lying snake luring us into a trap.' Her hands busied themselves with the typewriter.
"Between the two of us involved in the incident, you are the more able bodied. Surely, you could have drop by. The address scrawled in your little planner has not changed." The monologue... or more like its implication left her speechless.
What the hell?
She almost wanted to run when he began to approach. His shades had been left on the surface of his desk. His right arm reached out and grabbed her by the nape. She gasped at the contact and tried to move out of his grasp.
But he held her fast.
And crashed her lips to his a second later.
This world continued to be nonsensical.
The slap resounded in the rectangular office.
He hissed at the stinging red mark her palm had left on his face.
She wanted to push him. Hurt him on his injured side. But the confused look he then gave her sent her scurrying out.
Her role in this new world was not the heroine it seemed.
It was Albert Wesker's lover.
Back to the safety of her apartment, she lay on her single bed, trying to extract some truth out of the tiny cracks on the ceiling.
The alternate reality had a sick sense of humor.
Was she having an affair with Wesker?
Her relationship with him during their days in S.T.A.R.S. had been comfortably professional. She had harbored a great respect for him. And he seemed to have held her in high regard... Though that regard had been ambiguous for the most part.
Her musings were interrupted by sturdy knocks on her front door.
She had a pretty solid guess on who could be her humble guest.
"I expected more from you." His tone clearly meant that he was not hoping for more of their hush-hush romance. "You have a mouth. The least you could do is be clear about things rather than being this immature and dramatic." She doubted his feelings had been hurt by her rejection. He was most likely riled about the fact that she had slapped him... out of the blue.
It wasn't like she could tell him that the mere sight of his glasses stir murderous intent within her.
He wouldn't understand.
And she wouldn't want him to understand.
"You might as well have this. I have no use for it." His words were exuding venom. She felt it would be for the better if her eyes remained averted from his face.
A small glossy black paper bag was in his good hand. It was sealed with a navy blue ribbon. He placed it on the center table before her. Her body had yet to move from the comfort of the nearly ten day old green sofa.
She was at a loss of words. Her mind was torn between thoughts of stabbing him with one of the sharpened kitchen knives and opening the obvious gift that had been given.
"I expect things to be normal once we resume working together this coming week. No more further flings, Officer Valentine." Typical authoritative Wesker. But she had never heard him sound so bitter about anything.
What exactly did they have together?
White gold chain... Oval-cut ruby in a four prong setting...
The vermilion pendant seemed to beat under her scrutiny. It was like a miniature of the P30 device.
How fitting.
She could almost hear the world laughing at her. She could almost hear him—laughing at her.
The modest necklace could only be something of high-end value.
Her current savings account would definitely look better with the added cash.
It wouldn't hurt to try it on.
The jewel gleamed right in between her collarbones.
So small and harmless. So red and careless.
If she was in a liaison with Wesker then she could access the inner works of Umbrella.
The clasp was secured at her nape. Her fingers toyed with the fragile gem.
If he was in love with her... then she could get into the heart of everything.
The idea was toxic... almost too tempting...
—The puppet and the puppeteer reversing roles.
Not a bad birthday gift for herself.
Author's Notes: As always, thank you for reading and the continued support! Your reviews/comments are most welcome~ :D