Chapter 4: Seeds of Doubt
In the days that followed, Claire soon discovered that any kind of physical exercise, even walking to the bathroom and back, usually left her shaking. And she was constantly tired, having to take two, sometimes even three naps a day just to stay on her feet. She'd been awake and lucid for just over three days, but had to wonder exactly how long she'd been in Wesker's so-called care beforehand. A week? Two weeks? She made a mental note to ask him. Not that the man was ever around to talk to, anyway. Except for her daily injections, she only saw Wesker very late at night, when he returned from whatever lab he prowled during the daylight hours. And even when he was the room, he usually spent hours on his computer, hardly sparing Claire a glance as he clicked away on the keys.
On the morning of the fourth day, when Claire actually had to stop and rest on her way to the kitchen, she told herself enough was enough. She made herself a sandwich and with it clenched in her jaw made her way back to the couch to eat. She'd already tried the phone on Wesker's desk the day before and found that no matter how many times she picked up the fiendish device, the dial tone would abruptly cut out. It was as if the phone had a mind of its own and could tell her apart from Wesker, since she'd seen the man use it at least once. Huffing, Claire had banged the phone back in its cradle with a few choice exclamations and given up.
Claire finished her sandwich and laid flat on the floor, hooking her toes beneath the couch. In trying to do a sit-up, however, Claire found that her stomach muscles refused to properly lift her weight. She dropped back down with a dismayed squawk. Damn viruses, damn being sick, and damn Wesker most of all. Claire sunk her teeth into her bottom lip and tried again. Five minutes later, with the folds of her stomach damp with sweat, she managed one single crunch. Gasping, Claire flopped back down and declared that she was done. She was lying there trying to catch her breath when the door opened and Wesker came into the room. Claire eyed him warily as he came to stand over her, his eyes fixed on her face.
"I trust you're doing alright?" he asked, though he didn't sound very concerned at all.
"Not really," Claire snapped, growing uncomfortably aware of her vulnerable position on the floor. She rolled over and hastily got to her feet, keeping the couch between her and Wesker. "I can't even walk across the room and back without stopping to catch my breath!"
"It's only natural that your muscles would atrophy slightly," said Wesker in his clinical doctor's voice. "Coupled with your recent illness and the strain on your system, I don't think it's anything to worry about. If there aren't any further complications, your strength will return in time."
"Wow, that makes me feel a whole lot better," Claire deadpanned, glaring at him. "And just how long was I out?"
"About a week, which is why I've decided it's time for you to give your dear brother a little progress report," said Wesker with a disconcerting smile. He moved towards his desk and sat down languidly, picking up the phone with one hand. Claire was confused and understandably unsettled, and didn't move from her place by the couch. What was Wesker playing at now? There was no way he'd let her talk to Chris.
Wesker's smirk deepened. "Unless you don't feel up to it, of course," he purred, tipping his head at her. His hand hovered over the cradle, poised to hang up the phone.
Claire jerkily moved forward.
Chris slumped on the couch, a dying cigarette hanging from his lips. After an extended two-day stay at a local hotel, he and Jill had finally been allowed back into their home. Umbrella had packed up and left, leaving nothing out of place, but nothing could cover up the smell of chemicals, most of which being probably just about as dangerous as the crap they were supposed to be killing. Chris didn't care either way. Living each tortuous day knowing that Claire was in Wesker's bloodstained hands turned his stomach sour and made it impossible for him to think of anything else. What was he doing to Claire? Was she still sick? Dead? Dying? There was no way for Chris to know, and he'd been debating with himself for days whether or not to get into contact with Leon.
Chris violently shook himself and relit his cigarette, realizing it'd gone out. Just then, the phone rang and startled him out of his stupor. He lunged across the couch to get it, knocking a glass of warm soda over in the process, and hit TALK before the phone had a chance to ring a third time. "Hello?"
"Well, that was fast," laughed a cold voice.
"Wesker!" Chris felt his guts harden and tangle up, forcing a lump into his throat. He gripped the phone like a drowning man. "Where's my sister? I want to talk to her!"
"Of course you do," said Wesker smoothly. Thousands of miles away, he held the phone out to Claire, smirking at her over the top of his glasses. That alone scared the hell out of her, but she forced herself to take the phone, feeling numb all over. "Chris?"
"Claire!" Her brother's shocked, relieved voice filled her ear. "Claire, are you alright? Has he hurt you?"
"N… no, not really," said Claire, swallowing hard. She watched Wesker as he casually leaned back in his chair, reaching across his desk to pick up the telephone cord. Smirking at her, he pointedly wound the line around his finger and Claire didn't need a translator to know what that meant. One slip-up, one wrong word, and her call was over. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves.
"Claire? What do you mean "not really"? Hello?" Chris' voice sounded desperate.
"I'm okay, Chris," said Claire, shakily leaning against Wesker's desk. For some reason, just hearing her brother's voice made her want to burst into tears. He sounded so worried and full of despair, she would have given anything to hug him right now. "Really. I'm okay. I'm not locked in a cell or anything, so… so you don't have to worry about that."
"How… how are you doing then? You were so sick, I thought you were going to... you know, leave me like Mum and Dad," Chris mumbled thickly. "Was it the T-Virus?"
"No, thank God. Wesker says it was T-Veronica," Claire answered, trying to act stronger than she felt.
"Isn't that the stuff that Alexia had? I thought you said you never got bit or anything!"
"I didn't! I don't know how it happened. I would have told you if I did."
Chris was silent for a minute, apparently thinking hard. "I did find you all tied up in that cocoon," he said after a moment, his voice low. "Do you think something might've happened there? Maybe that sadistic bitch shot you full of something!"
Claire had never thought of that. Maybe Alexia had conducted an experiment on her and intended for her to mutate like Steve had done. But if that were true, then why hadn't it worked? Steve had turned into a reptilian monster just a few hours after having been exposed to the virus. Claire glanced at Wesker out of the corner of her eye, aware that he was watching her closely.
"It's what she did to Steve, so she might have," Claire agreed, a painful sort of fury kindling inside her. Steve had been so chivalrous and kind to her, even confessing to loving her just before he'd died. Claire wasn't sure if she felt the same way in return, but she did know that Steve had been a dear friend and the man who'd taken him for experimentation was sitting just two feet away.
"Are you still feeling sick?" Chris wanted to know.
"No. Well, sort of. I'm tired all the time and I can't do much, but Wesker says he's got the virus under control. I have to take an injection every morning, but it's not so bad," said Claire, trying to ease Chris' mind, even if that meant stretching the truth.
"An injection? And just what the hell is that doing to you?" Chris demanded.
"I'm not sure. I think it's like a insulin shot to keep the infection suppressed."
"More like keep you suppressed," Chris growled. "Please, Claire, don't lie to me, okay? Tell me where you are and I'll come get you."
Claire's throat tightened. She tried not to look in Wesker's direction, afraid of giving herself away, but she couldn't help it. Glancing sidelong at the man, she realized that Wesker was dangerously still and Claire felt rather than saw him narrow his eyes, daring her to say something. "I… I'm on…" Saint Michael's island! Say it while you can!
Wesker pulled the coiled phone-line taut.
"I don't know, Chris. I really don't," Claire gasped, and it was the truth. Wesker's vague references didn't tell her where in the world Mont Saint Michel actually was. She desperately wanted to give Chris the name and hope that he'd figure it out, but something inside her warned that it would be pointless. Knowing the scope of the island and what Wesker was capable of, the last thing in the world Claire wanted was to watch her brother get killed.
"But you know something, though, don't you?" said Chris accusingly. "Claire, don't worry about me. I'll get backup, Leon and the others. We'll get you out of there, I promise, but you have to give me something to go on!"
"Chris, I… I can't," Claire whispered.
Chris' frustration became almost palatable. "But why? He's still there, isn't he?" he snarled, voice low.
"Yes, Chris, I'm still here," said Wesker with a smirk, raising his voice to make sure Chris heard. He held his hand out for the phone. "Time's up, dear-heart. I'm a very busy man."
Claire felt a thrill of mingled anger and desperation. Swallowing, she gripped the phone, unconsciously turning her body away from Wesker. The tyrant frowned at her warningly. "I gotta go, Chris," Claire managed, struggling to keep her voice even. "I love you, okay?"
"Claire, wait—"
Chris' voice was abruptly cut short as Wesker deftly plucked the phone from Claire's grasp. She jumped, trying to comprehend how he could move so quickly, as Wesker placed the phone to his ear. "Sorry about that, Chris," he mused thoughtfully. "It seems she enjoys my company more than I anticipated."
"You son-of-a-bitch! I'm going to kill you, you hear me?" Chris roared, shaking with rage.
"Brave words, Chris, but I won't be giving you the chance to act on them," said Wesker coolly. "If you're lucky, perhaps I'll let you speak with your sister again sometime in the near future, providing that she remains obedient."
"Wesker! Don't you dare hang up on—"
Wesker brusquely dropped the phone back into the cradle and Claire ground her teeth as her tormentor walked away. The overwhelming urge to inflict some kind of pain on this bastard was growing. Wesker acted so calm and matter-of-fact, but a razor's edge hid under his every word, almost as if he purposely inciting Chris to new levels of rage. Claire knew from Chris and Jill what had happened at the Arklay Mansion, and she knew Wesker's betrayal had affected her brother deeply, turning his idolization of the S.T.A.R.S. captain into bitter hatred. Wesker seemed to know how to play that to his advantage, it seemed.
Fury swam up inside Claire. She'd been caught off guard when Wesker had handed her the phone. It'd seemed far too trusting of him, but now she realized that "trust" had never been an issue. He'd gone out of his way to prove as much by wrapping the cord around his finger, radiating the threat of punishment like some malevolent god. Giving her the phone had just been an illusion of control, since the ultimate power still rested with Wesker, and he'd flaunted it in her face. Furious and close to tears, Claire groped the desk behind her for something to throw. Her fingers brushed something cold, something heavy, and without thinking she hurled it at Wesker with all her might.
It happened so fast, Claire's brain couldn't really process it until it was too late. In less time than it took to blink, Wesker suddenly vanished, the air seeming to warp and buckle around him. The heavy crystal dish tore through the space his head had occupied a mere second before and struck the wall with an ear-splitting crash, shattering into dozens of pieces. If she'd wanted Wesker's attention, she most definitely had it now. Before she could even think to move, Wesker was suddenly in her face. Knee to the stomach, elbow to the back, and Claire went sprawling to the floor.
How did he…? That's not possible! Nobody can move that fast!
Raw, paralyzing fear surged through Claire's system as she struggled to get up, her lungs cramping as she fought for air. Wesker's booted foot came out of nowhere, catching her under the ribs just hard enough to flip her onto her back.
"You just can't learn the difference between bravery and stupidity, can you?" Wesker growled, placing his foot on Claire's shoulder and pinning her down. She gasped and pounded his leg with a fist. "Get off of me!" she yelled.
"Give me one reason why I should," said Wesker coldly, unfazed by her attempts to dislodge him. "I have gone above and beyond for you and this is the gratitude I get: broken property and an attempt to pulverize my skull. After I was generous enough to let you speak with your brother, no less!"
"You did it so you could hurt him!" Claire shouted hoarsely. "I know what you did in that Mansion, how you betrayed everybody! It must have been the proudest moment of your miserable life, telling Umbrella you could hand them an entire squad of test subjects, you sick, murdering—"
Wesker angrily jammed his foot into her shoulder, cutting her off. "Don't test me, Miss Redfield," he snarled. Behind his glasses his eyes were actually burning like live coals. "You weren't there, so don't even think you can dictate to me what went on at Arklay!"
"As if me not being there makes any difference! You tried to murder my brother! Do you know how long he suffered – how long Jill suffered – trying to get over what you and your precious company put them through? Did you get a good laugh as you watched everybody die?"
Wesker let out an animalistic snarl and abruptly took his foot off her shoulder, leaving Claire gasping at the sudden absence of pain. Before she could get her breath, however, Wesker bent down and jerked her to her feet. Claire suddenly found herself face-to-face with the man she hated more than anything else and then she was brutally slammed against the wall. Wesker's hand encircled her throat, lifting her up until her toes barely touched the ground. Frightened and hardly able to breathe, she clawed at his arm.
"Is parroting your brother's sentiments towards me the only thing you're capable of?" Wesker snarled, his eyes blazing murderously. "You know nothing about that night, and if Chris had even once stopped to examine the situation he might be surprised to find that there are things that don't match up with his charming little theories about me."
Claire wrung her fingers into Wesker's sleeve. "Wha… what the hell are you talking about?"
"Ask yourself this: If I was so intent on eliminating the members of Alpha team, why did I go out of my way to aid them in escaping the Mansion? But Chris never told you that, did he? I doubt he even remembers because my actions were so insignificant, but at the time they were all I had the power to achieve. I'm not and will never be inclined to discus the reason why with you, but the final outcome of that night was one I desperately tried to avoid."
Claire couldn't believe she was hearing this. Was Wesker actually making excuses for himself, trying to weasel his way out of his crimes? Claire aimed a kick at his crotch, struggling to escape him. She knew she was just pissing him off, but she didn't care. "You actually expect me to believe that? You're a coward, Wesker! A pathetic c— Ughh!"
She choked as Wesker's fingers jammed into her throat. He'd actually begun to shake with pent up rage. "You may be right about that, Miss Redfield," he growled, "but until you understand the circumstances that forced me to make those decisions, I refuse to put up with any more of your misguided accusations!"
In one swift, violent motion Wesker tore off his sunglasses, letting his murderous red eyes burn into her own. He kept her neck secured with brutal fingers, so she could feel the pulse in her arteries every time her heart pumped blood. She tried to wrench herself free, throwing all of her weight into the effort, but to no avail. Exhausted, she was too out of breath to do anything put gasp as Wesker leaned forward, pinning her to the wall with his body. They were cheek-to-cheek now, his breath whispering along the delicate curve of her ear. "You would do well to remember what I've said, because this is your last warning," he hissed. "The next time you attack me, I will not be so lenient."
Wesker suddenly let go of her and stepped back, leaving Claire to slide down the wall. Clutching her bruised throat, Claire gagged and rasped for breath, her head spinning. Wesker regarded her for a moment, some unidentifiable emotion scoured into the lines of his face, before he angrily spun on his heel and left the room, throwing the door shut behind him with such force the resulting bang echoed around the room. Claire pulled her knees to her chest, wincing at the resounding ache in her body, but she didn't think she was hurt. It was if Wesker knew precisely how much violence could be inflicted on the human body without actually doing serious harm.
Claire's eyes fell on the broken glass littering the floor. Small pieces of licorice were scattered in amidst the broken glass and Claire suddenly realized that she'd thrown the candy dish Wesker kept near his computer, the one and only stint of normality that she'd seen him display. Groaning, Claire shuffled towards the mess, brushing the shattered object with her fingertips. For the first time, she noticed the glass had been etched with a magnificent wreath of roses surrounding the Maltese cross of the Umbrella Corporation. At least that was Claire thought it was. The design was utterly ruined and she felt the smallest pang of sorrow, suddenly regretting throwing the stupid dish in the first place. She grudgingly had to admit that Wesker had every right to be pissed, but upon looking back it suddenly occurred to her that there was more to it.
In the empty clarity of hindsight, Claire found that Wesker had become truly and utterly furious, not when she'd tried to stave in his skull, but when she'd mentioned STARS. It didn't fit at all, and Claire had been so certain he'd take the opportunity to gloat. Inadvertently thinking back on Wesker's words, she felt an unwelcome trickle of doubt seep into her brain and she realized that the man had left her alone with a new demon.
Herself.
Filled with misgivings and maybe even a little fear, Claire didn't speak to Wesker for several days afterwards. In fact, she decided it would be better not to acknowledge him unless it was absolutely necessary and Wesker apparently had the same idea about her. Claire reluctantly swept up the broken candy dish and threw everything in the garbage except for one piece of glass that was large enough to have a whole, mostly intact rose. She didn't know why she bothered, but she couldn't but help but feel a little guilty. And although Wesker's absence was an improvement in many ways, Claire soon found herself growing restless. As much as she loathed admitting it, the solitary confinement was getting on her nerves. This might very well have been Wesker's plan, but if he thought she was going to get on her knees and beg him for freedom, he was in for a rude surprise. She'd throw the phone at him first.
To pass the time, she made herself a cup of tea and went to Wesker's desk to snoop, listening attentively for his footsteps. What she really wanted was something to write with. A plain old yellow tablet would do. Cautiously sitting in Wesker's chair, Claire opened the first drawer. It contained nothing more fascinating than a stack of papers and a collection of CDs labeled with meaningless serial numbers. Claire tried the second drawer, but there was nothing much in that one, either, just everyday office accouterments.
Claire eventually came across several notebooks in the bottom drawer. Thumbing through them, Claire found that she'd managed to locate Wesker's laboratory notes. Page after page was filled with meticulous reports and notations in Wesker's narrow handwriting, though Claire noticed one or two isolated reports where his lettering abruptly became sharper and more angular still, as though he'd wielded the pen like a knife, stabbing and slashing at the paper as he wrote. Claire got the eerie feeling that she didn't want to be anywhere near Wesker when he was in that kind of mood.
Intrigued all the same, however, she read a few pages, but found that she could comprehend very little, save for words like T-Virus and mutation that had a tendency to jump out at her. She wondered why Wesker would leave something as significant as his research logs where she had easy access to them, but then she realized that even she wasn't stupid enough to mess with them and deliberately piss him off. She knew it and he knew it. Scowling, Claire picked up another notebook and discovered that Wesker had only just started writing in it.
Claire looked at Wesker's notes, wondered if they were important, and decided she really didn't give a damn. Gripping the notebook, she tore the first few pages out and considered running them through the shredder just to spite the bastard. She decided against it, however, and stapled them together at the corner before putting them back in the drawer. After pilfering one of Wesker's pens, Claire went to the couch with an expression of unholy glee and began to write.
August Something
Day 14 of captivity in Wesker's lair…
Wesker (hereafter referred to as The Bastard) hasn't talked to me much after the incident. I suppose that's a good thing, but the quiet is really starting to stick in my craw. His room is nice enough, though, and I guess I should be thankful I'm not locked in a cell somewhere. It's always warm in here and at least I'm not deprived of food, but that about sums up what I've got to be thankful for in this god-forsaken hole. At least The Bastard hasn't hurt me (not badly, anyway) or tried to force himself on me (although I'm pretty sure he threatened me with it the other day, the sicko) but I honestly don't think I could stop him if he wanted me that way. He's different somehow. Changed. He's faster. Way faster, and I think he's stronger, too. After seeing his eyes, I don't think those damn sunglasses are just for playing poker.
Whatever happened to him, I don't think he's completely human anymore. Maybe it's got something to do with the fact that he should be dead. Chris saw the Tyrant stick him like a pig. There's no way anybody could survive that. Maybe he really is the Devil after all, but that's not what's really bothering me.
Claire paused to think, unable to find the right words to describe what she was feeling. As much as she'd tried not to, she'd been turning Wesker's words around in her head for the past two days, incapable of dismissing them like she so dearly wanted to do. She hated herself for even giving him a second thought and wished the uncertainties he'd planted in her head were physical manifestations that she could punish. Wesker could easily have been lying about Arklay, but Claire couldn't help but think she'd sensed some kind of sincerity.
The anger in his voice had just been too raw.
A/N: What's going on around here? What secret is Wesker hiding? Will Claire ever find out? Maybe. Muhahaha. Anyway, this chapter isn't exactly as long as I wanted it to be, but I couldn't add more without stealing too much from the next part. I tend to write slowly, so I'm trying to stay one chapter ahead of what I'm posting, since I want to keep updating on a regular basis.
Kudos to anyone who can tell me what "insignificant actions" Wesker is referring to when he tells Claire about how he supposedly tried to assist STARS in escaping the Mansion. HINT: They only appear in Chris' storyline. Until next week, here's a brief message from the Emergency Alert System: Don't freak out and come after me with pitchforks! I'm not turning Wesker into the "good" guy… but I am providing some extenuating circumstances. ;)