Chapter 18: Settling in for the Long Haul

The metal door slid open and Claire found herself staring at a stereotypical Umbrella lab. There was a table in the middle with metal hand and ankle cuffs attached at either end. Her face paled and she tried to run, but she only bumped into Wesker's chest. He held her tightly and steered her into the room.

"NO!" Claire yelled. "Let me go. Let me go!" She frantically pounded her fists against Wesker's chest. Her limbs were shaking in fear as she realized that she had been a fool to think that he'd treat her any better than a lab rat. But then it dawned on her that Wesker was not retaliating against her lame attempts at hurting him. He merely grabbed her arms and held them captive behind her back. He was a black and blond blur through her watering eyes.

"Dear heart, this is for your own good. I suggest you cooperate," he intoned. Claire breathed heavily and closed her eyes. She tried to calm her system. "Can I let you go now?" Claire nodded drearily and Wesker set her on the table, but he never shackled her. He let her sit there on her own as he collected and prepared a few syringes. When he returned to her, her tears had dried and she sat looking numb and expressionless. He couldn't remember having ever seen her look so defeated…

The respite from her attitude had not lasted long. Five days later, Claire was more prepared to deal with her situation, and she took heart in the fact that she had not mutated or died yet. The first day had been unbearable, with frequent crying and anxiety attacks, but Wesker had surprised her. He was not using physical force nearly as much as before, and he was most gentle in handling her body. Maybe she was being more docile, she thought, because escape wasn't looking like a wise decision even if the opportunity arose. That's how she explained it to herself so her spunky side would not make her do something rash.

Claire hated that she had turned into a test subject. She had said as much, and Wesker asked her what else she had expected. True. He had at least given her an option to either cooperate or get strapped to a stretcher. What a choice indeed, she thought as she sat in her pants and pink jacket in the lab. Wesker had taken blood from her the fifth day running. He was apparently conducting multiple tests, and he was so immersed that they rarely spoke. Most often Claire was left to her own devices in a makeshift bedroom, a.k.a a spare cot in a vacant lounge area.

"How are you feeling today, Miss Redfield?" Wesker asked as he entered the lab with a sandwich. Claire rolled her eyes and took the food.

"I couldn't possibly be better," she replied sarcastically, but there was an upside. "My hand has healed." Wesker held her hand and inspected it, running a finger over her scars. She hurriedly withdrew it. "Did you find out what's going on with me yet?"

"You're infected. I keep finding small amounts of virus in your blood, but today all traces of the original were gone."

"What does that mean?"

"It means your body has either completely destroyed the virus or completely assimilated it. I can't be sure on either option until I find a way to test for a new variation or until you begin to change." Claire did not like the sound of that, and Wesker could feel her panic meter shoot through the roof. "You should be physically improved, Miss Redfield, not damaged. This virus was meant for me, remember. You'll reap the rewards that I had planned for myself." He ended the comment with a sneer.

"And then what?" Claire questioned. "If I'm you're equal, you'll kill me, no doubt. And if you harvest the virus from my body, you'll have no more use for me." Wesker sat beside her on the table and, in a very rare action, removed his sunglasses and slid them into his pocket. The red did not bother Claire anymore; she had seen it too often.

"You have yet to not be useful, Claire. I seem to recall telling you that you had potential. We'll see what happens, but don't assume anything about your future. It could easily change at anytime. Your life is mine to dispose of as I will."

"So I'm stuck living in a windowless lab until you pinpoint what's happening to my body?" Claire sounded utterly dejected. "Wonderful. What a way to spend my last days on earth." She looked at her shoes. A million concerns brewed inside her. "Wesker, did you feel different when you infected yourself? Was it painful to die and come back?" Wesker regarded her, and Claire realized that, without the glasses, he seemed to have more expression.

"The dying hurt, but coming back was an odd feeling of waking up from a deep sleep," he recalled. "When I infected myself, my body felt numb at times and sometime it burned, but mostly I felt the same. Birkin didn't live long enough to explain why my eyes changed, but he had warned that I might find small alterations in my physical form. You might have to die before you find any changes, as I did." His controlled face regarded her with interest. "You're scared that you'll be like me, aren't you?"

"I'm terrified," Claire tried to half laugh.

"I relished the opportunity. Many people want power, and you are one of few to get it, yet you don't want it. People would kill to gain the secrets of my virus." Claire could interpret nothing from his steady, contemplative words, but she knew that he thought she was foolish for not wanting his power.

"I'd rather be a normal human," she scoffed. Wesker smiled coldly as he stood and replaced his sunglasses.

"And return to your brother and friends and live a normal life," he mocked. "I was expecting that." He closed his computer. "But you could be here with me for a very long time, Miss Redfield. Research takes years." Claire's face twisted in disgust. "Yes, I know you find the thought of living like me detestable." Wesker paused and seemed to be considering something. "Be glad I am not anxious to be rid of you."

"Hmmm?" Claire did not understand what he meant by that. He shot her a cryptic look and then the two were off. They left the facility and emerged from what looked like little more than a small bunker in the side of a hill. A road wound down along a slope to a small river and into the distance. Beautiful cabins and houses sporadically dotted the landscape, which was swaying with the dying colors of late fall. Claire was dumbfounded as Wesker drove a short distance to a side road that led to a house situated among the trees. From below, the valley felt isolated, as Claire could see no other buildings from this particular vantage point. There was only the wilderness.

"My employers provide housing for higher ranking researchers who work on private projects rather than research teams. The other bases are designed for that," Wesker explained as he opened the door to the house and led Claire inside. She found the place surprisingly homely looking with its simple design, full curtains, and carpets blanketing the wooden floors. There was even a fake fireplace. It was exactly the kind of house that Claire would not picture Wesker living in, although the simple practicality and orderliness suited him.

"So the lab here is for only a few scientists?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Are there other people around?"

"No. This is a difficult spot in the winter." It's like a seasonal resort then, Claire thought as she sat on the couch. She wasn't sure what to do. "You may stay here rather than the lab, but be warned dear heart: if you try to leave, I'll know, and the consequences will include being housed in one of the laboratory rooms designed for holding specimens."

"I understand," she said. "What I don't understand is why you're being nice."

"If I must repeat myself again, Miss Redfield, you could be here for a very long time, and I don't need you underfoot at the lab or otherwise interfering with my business." And with that Wesker left in full enjoyment of the fact that his comment about her being a hassle annoyed her greatly; however, Claire soon recovered from her anger and explored the house. The downstairs housed a kitchen, study, living room, laundry room, and small, indoor porch in the back. Upstairs she found two bedrooms, a bathroom with an enormous bathtub, and a small library. It felt strange to wander an empty house that felt like it should contain a happy family but knowing that it belonged to Wesker.

She checked the kitchen and was surprised to find cooking utensils and fresh groceries. She also found a phone that, unsurprisingly, needed a special access code to use. She thought about how many possible combinations there could be…Screw it, she realized. There wasn't a computer or a TV either, so that left her with the books upstairs for entertainment.

Still, it was better than the lab, and she again wondered why Wesker had brought her here. He probably doesn't want you around, but she had been under the impression that he liked the interruptions at times. And that comment about not wanting to get rid of her yet and offering her a job…She sighed. Maybe it was part of his manipulation game.

How the hell do these things always happen to me? The empty house was just another reminder of the situation she was in and how Wesker separated himself from humanity. If he didn't even come visit her, she decided that she'd probably eventually resort to talking to herself. Let Wesker be a mechanical human. She hated being lonely. Of all the punishments inflicted on her as a child, being locked in the closet and ignored had been the roughest. The taste of paprika had lasted for only a few agonizing minutes compared to sitting in the dark.

It was getting late, and she decided to go to bed. She selected the first bedroom and snuggled under the blankets. Images of Umbrella experiments plagued her mind. She heard their moans and screams and saw them morphing. Then she saw Wesker with his red eyes, emotionlessly shooting people and going after Chris. She imagined herself with red eyes and always having to hide behind sunglasses—of being one of them, and she couldn't stop the tears. Claire cried herself to sleep and prayed that when she was killed, she wouldn't come back.

*************

Wesker arrived early morning to check on the house situation. He half expected Claire to have fashioned a weapon of some kind and foolishly try to kill him. Instead, he found her curled in his bed, face wet and body occasionally kicking. He set a bag on the floor and watched her. A hand gently swept hair away from her face. Claire Redfield, you may be stuck with me for a very long time. The thought did not annoy him in the least, as it once would have.

The work he did—that anyone did for Umbrella or a similar entity—exploited relationships for control of their employees. He had used similar tactics himself, and therefore shunned even friendship; although it was hardly only a work-related decision— such an action came naturally to his calculating personality, which found personal attachments cumbersome and impossibly sentimental. Still, he knew that he wasn't immune to normal, human emotions and experiences; he simply subordinated them to more important matters. He never deluded himself as a rule. He understood psychology too well for that.

But he could remember having a few friends, years ago. William Birkin had been the last, and by the time Umbrella was through with him, he probably would have sold Wesker out for his own benefit. That's what happened to people here...Claire, lying there asleep and troubled, had but a small taste. Somehow, it didn't keep her from fighting the tide. Somehow, she still woke up from her nightmares with determination. Wesker left her to her dreams.