The shortened quotation comes from William Shakespeare's King Lear. I love the bard dearly. But, anyway, I'm trying to give Claire Redfield depth and background that is largely unexplored in the games in order to make her more realistic and complex. Enjoy!
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Chapter 2: Residential Corporate Design
Claire arrived at school late that night and climbed into the shop building through a window. In the darkness, she located a power saw and began carefully grinding away at the lock on the suitcase. The metal eventually gave, and she found herself staring at a padded case containing three vials, all with a dark purple liquid inside. She carefully removed one, and wrapped it in enough bubble wrap for ten packages. Then she slid it into a box and taped it shut. She wrote down an address she had been told the others were staying at for the next week. In case she didn't make it, at least one sample would.
After a night spent in the car, Claire visited her professors to tell them that her brother had a medical emergency and she would be gone for a while. Everything would be fine, except with Dr. Bartle, who insisted she remain for the short class that started in fifteen minutes. It was her playwright class, and she was supposed to present a monologue today. As long as she did that, her grade would not suffer for extended absence. Assignments could always be e-mailed from afar. What harm could a fifteen-minute presentation do? Who said Wesker even knew it was her who had his samples?
"Oh, reason not the deed!" She began distractedly from King Lear. It was a lamenting speech by Lear about his madness and pity of his life. Soon she was lost in it, words pouring from her lips like golden thread, everyone in the class fixated on her. She had that effect when she recited, for her energy and emotion gave the words life as few people could, and she loved it. By the third line, her eyes were closed, but her hands continued to gesture. "Oh, Fool, I shall go mad!" There was a pause, and then the class applauded. Claire opened her eyes and smiled.
"Who would like to follow that?" the professor joked. "You may go, Miss Redfield." She thanked him and turned to leave, noticing that the door was in the process of closing, but giving it no significance. She paraded boldly from the room, spirits high from her presentation. She turned to go down the hall, but loud clapping stopped her. It was slow, paced clapping that broke an otherwise quiet path. It came from her back, and she stopped, turning with dread in intuition.
"Very lovely, Miss Redfield," Wesker's voice drawled. He was walking toward her with controlled strides under his long, black overcoat. "I had no idea you studied literature. How very cultured and unlike your brother," he mocked. His voice was laced with the command and sarcasm that so distinctly marked him. Claire did not wait for more. She ran, but Wesker was superhumanly fast. He grabbed her elbow and forced her against the wall. She glared at him and felt terror creep up her spine. "We need to talk."
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Wesker," she protested with emphasized scorn on his name as she tried to tug her arm away. It only made him squeeze harder, effectively making her wince in pain.
"You're saying some other red-headed, pink jacket-wearing girl stole my samples?" He towered over her and crowded her space. "Let's take this conversation somewhere more private." Claire tried to kick him, causing him to slam her into the wall. "Don't try my patience," he warned. Just then, several professors rounded the corner and caught sight of the two. "Don't make a scene or you might force my hand on some innocent bystander." He released her, and Claire knew better than to think he wouldn't hurt or even kill someone who tried to interfere. So he walked forward, daring her to defy him. Claire suddenly felt utterly helpless and hated him the more for it.
She fell instep beside him, and they walked silently out of the building and by students and teachers blissfully unaware of her plight. She tried to let him gain several steps on her, but he wouldn't allow it. He always matched his pace with hers, and he smiled coldly at her attempt to slip away. Claire knew she had to try something as the crowd began to thin.
"This way, Miss Redfield," Wesker stated, heading for a sunny bench detached from the crowd. Claire paused, unsure if he was serious as she watched him sit. She remained standing, staring at him. He commanded her to do the same by peering over the tops of his glasses. The red orbs found hers and ignited memories of seeing Chris fight him in Antarctica.
"I used to like sitting here," she stated in a small show of defiance, keeping as much space as possible between them. Wesker seemed to be in a good mood, because he merely smiled at her comment. "What do you want?"
"Are you are as oblivious as your brother, dear heart? I want my samples back." Claire was not looking at him but at the other students and hoping that someone she knew would interrupt, but no one did.
"Will you kill me once you have them?" Wesker leaned back against the bench and laid an arm lazily across the top, his fingers behind Claire's shoulder.
"I could," he mused, just to threaten her. "But I was planning on paying you a visit in the near future anyway. No, Miss Redfield, you are more useful to me alive, but it is your choice whether we do this the hard way or the easy way." Claire wanted to rip his eyes out and wipe that smug look off of his face. She had no way to escape him, and she knew it.
"They're in my car." Wesker silently watched the people file by, unspeaking until Claire could no longer take it. "If we're not in a hurry, I'm grabbing a slushy." Wesker turned his head to her and Claire had a feeling she would have received punishment in a more isolated setting. To her surprise Wesker kept a steady expression. He looked so damn normal sitting in the sunlight, lounging. She had only meant the comment as a sarcastic jest to break her own tension. When situations grew difficult, she couldn't stand inaction.
"Make it quick. You have exactly three minutes before I come and get you." Stunned, she stood and slowly walked away, expecting him to painfully pull her back by her ponytail at any moment. But he didn't. She was quite a distance away when she seriously considered escaping. She paused and turned to look at Wesker. He was still lounging, watching her with a smile. Her stomach twisted into a knot. She hadn't really gotten away with the comment. She was going to go in that line, get food, and return like an obedient puppy because three minutes didn't give her enough time to get away. She felt sick as she realized that. It went against Redfield logic. It would have been better if he had simply beaten her. Bastard, she thought as she placed her order.
She returned with a backpack stuffed with food products and a slushy in hand. She wasn't even enjoying it, but she sipped at it while Wesker stood to join her.
"It's time we were going." She wanted to tell him to go to hell, but she was already pushing her luck, and she knew it. This man had murdered and betrayed many people. She couldn't imagine what he would do to her if she pressed his buttons too far. For now, she kept her mouth shut and pivoted, leading him to her old, beaten Chevrolet Cavalier. When they reached it, she untied the trunk. A rusty hole in the roof of the trunk had a rope trialing out of it that tied to the bumper. She did not know why, for she was very unapologetic about her income, but she felt slightly embarrassed untying a trunk in front of a man so obviously well-off as Wesker.
"It better still be there," he warned, eyeing her security precautions. Claire pulled out the briefcase and handed it to him.
"If it looks worthless, people leave it alone," she answered, leaning against the trunk with her arms crossed. "You have what you wanted." So let me go. She didn't say more, but watched him expectantly. She was completely unsure of what would happen next. Wesker walked forward and gripped her chin, hard, pulling her closer to him.
"I suggest you listen well," he stated darkly. "I have been very tolerant of your tongue so far, but I am not known for taking lip from anyone. You will accompany me and do exactly as I say. Now, grab your bag. We're leaving." He led her to another parking lot where a black Audi sat. It looked extremely out of place among the student cars, and Claire would have found the thought of Wesker standing amid cheap, college students amusing if observing from afar. But, as it was, she was nervous and fearful. Once in that car, her chances of escape were slim. Going to death quietly was not something she wanted to do, and yet she was scared to defy him. She was particularly scared that he'd turn her into a test subject.
She carefully slipped a hand into her pant pocket and waited for the right opportunity. The parking lot was devoid of life, giving her a chance that she couldn't have taken before. He opened her side of the car and turned to motion her inside. As he turned, he saw the flash of the switchblade and barely lifted his arm in time to stop it. It was poised in the air, a mere two inches from his face. He tightened his grip until Claire yelped in pain and dropped the blade.
"The hard way it is," Wesker commented as a fist crashed into her temple. Her vision blackened and she fell forward into his arms. Wesker lifted her body and placed her inside the car, tilting the seat backward so she wouldn't fall forward. The backpack was tossed into the backseat with the briefcase. He took a moment to look at her. She appeared just as she had on Rockfort. Her breathing was steady and loose hair from her ponytail fell about her face. He searched her body and found another knife in her boot. The horrors of Umbrella had certainly made her quick to resort to violence, he mused. She was as bold as Chris, and just as foolish. He climbed into the driver's seat and the black vehicle rolled away.
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Perhaps it was minutes or hours later. Claire could not be sure as her eyes slowly flickered open. Her head hurt like she had been partying hard the night before, but she knew she hadn't. Her body stiffened as she realized where she was, and she remained still, examining the area. She was in an empty room with fluorescent lights overhead. The cot was actually comfortable, and her head was sunk into a fluffy pillow. A blanket was laid over top of her, and she was utterly alone. She sat up and leaned against the wall. Her backpack was gone. It was cool. She examined herself and noticed no damage other than a pinprick red dot on the inside of her elbow. For a terrified second she considered that she had been infected with something, but no, she would not be in a normal cell if that were true.
She moved to the door and found it locked. Frustrated, she gave the handle one sharp tug before slinking back to the cot. She flopped onto its surface and sighed. What would Chris and Leon think? She had managed to get herself captured by Wesker again. She needed rescuing again. They would probably think her inadequate forever now. Well, not unskilled or inadequate per say, but probably someone who recklessly got in trouble. She didn't think of herself as reckless, maybe headstrong, but not reckless. Why did you have to take that briefcase? She scolded herself for not wearing a disguise or at least something not so obviously Claire Redfield like.
She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling. She realized she was thirsty, but there was no water. There wasn't even a way to ask for it, and she didn't want to ask Wesker for anything. The moment she realized she was helpless to get her own water was the moment the tears started. She cried into her pillow as her situation hit her full force. Wesker held power over her, and she was probably about to be used again. He always used people as tools to an end, but she couldn't imagine what that current end would be.
"I see you're awake," Wesker's voice interrupted her thoughts as the door opened. Claire sat up and warily watched him enter and shut the door. She had stopped crying, but she knew her eyes must have been red and puffy. He gave her a long look, taking in her disheveled appearance. "Thirsty, dear heart?" Claire glared at him and shrugged. Then she saw him lift a water bottle and waggle it at her. "Very well." He lowered the bottle, and could see the internal struggle on Claire's face.
"Please leave it," Claire said, hating how timid she sounded. "For later." He tossed it to her and seemed amused that she intentionally set it aside on the floor. "Why am I here, Wesker? I have nothing of use to you. I don't know what the anti-umbrella forces are up to, and I won't tell you where Chris is."
"I already know where you're darling brother is," he answered smugly. "But you will be of great use, Miss Redfield, more than you realize. I came to offer you a choice. You may remained locked in this room or behave yourself and come out." Claire felt a rush of hope. Perhaps an escape possibility would arise. "But I must caution you. I can put you in far worse places than this if you should be foolish." His impenetrable face seemed to be waiting for an answer, but Claire could never be sure what he wanted.
"Deal," she answered. This seemed to satisfy him, for he left the room, but the door remained unlocked. Claire chugged the water as soon as he was gone and kept the empty bottle in case she could refill it herself. She exited the room to find herself in a corridor with several similar rooms to her own. The door at the end of the corridor led to a larger room with a small sitting area. Two couches sat around a low table at the center. A kitchen was connected nearby, and a large open serving window in the wall looked into it from the sitting area. There was a large door, but locked, and a metal staircase leading up to a landing overlooking the room. Two more doors were located there. One was locked and one was a bathroom.
"Residential corporate design," she sighed. Everywhere she went things were gray and white. Trapped and frustrated, she flopped onto one of the couches. She noticed a video camera in the upper corner of the room. Great. She hated being watched.
She entered the kitchen in the false hope of finding a knife, but there were none. The cabinets were completely bare but for several boxes of instant noodles. Back to the couch. It was going to be a really long day. She leaned into the fabric and began softly speaking to herself, repeating words from anything and everything she had read and could remember. Her eyes drooped shut.
