On a Fine Line
It was one of those mornings when the dark, ominous clouds lurked in the sky, the weather stifling and humid, paving the way for the imminent storm. A couple of cars honked noisily outside of Rebecca's apartment windows, but the sounds were soon drowned out by the patters of small raindrops against her panes. Rebecca listened to the soft tapping of the medium drizzle, somewhat processing the rhythmic beats in her head. She pulled her hand out from beneath her covers and drummed her nails against the mattress, attempting to join in on the little musical ensemble, her eyes closed and mind half awake all the while. She was so very lazy this morning, wanting to do nothing else but just rest in her bed, beneath her warm blankets with her stuffed bunny in her arm. Though she was eighteen with an unmatched intelligence, sometimes, she was still a child at heart and spirit. She had moved to Raccoon City as soon as she had been recruited by S.T.A.R.S., leaving behind her family, friends, only bringing with her two packed suitcases, credit cards, and nostalgic memories.
You can't avoid this, Rebecca…the rational side of her mind argued. Most of the time, she listened to that voice. Now, she wished she could somehow mute it. This wasn't about what was right or wrong, logical or illogical. This was about how she felt, and right now, she didn't feel like doing anything.
She retracted her hand, attempting to get in at least ten more minutes of precious sleep before her alarm clock started ringing. She had purposely set the alarm thirty minutes earlier than usual, figuring the night before that she probably needed the extra minutes to reflect and contemplate before she was about to do something that would not only affect her life, but the lives of two other people—Billy and Jill. It had been nearly a week since her dinner with Jill at Emmy's, and despite Jill's constant reassurance that she was going to accept what came her way and be okay, Rebecca knew she couldn't forgive herself if she ended up screwing her friend's life and future over. To this conception, Jill had simply said, "My life is already screwed up. Nothing can make it worse."
And as for Billy's fate, it was shrouded in a veil of mystery.
The unknown frightened her. It was a black realm with no shades of gray, no visible path leading into the realm and certainly no visible path exiting the realm. It was just pure, unadulterated darkness that sucked people in, and the scary part was that they would never know where they'd end up at after being regurgitated. Lives would sometimes change, either for better or for worse. As the seconds ticked by, Rebecca could feel herself being drawn one step closer to oblivion, and she wondered if fate would be kind enough to grant her mercy today.
One way to find out…get your butt up! her mind yelled again, this time, the words were reinforced by the alarm she'd set on her cell phone. The loud, jangling music was painful against her ears. She had not expected the alarm to go off so soon, but when she saw the numbers on her digital clock, she knew it was almost time to face what she'd been dreading.
Her longer brown strands of hair fell messily above her eyes, the tips uncomfortably rubbing against her lids. Unfortunately, she had always had bed hair, and therefore had gotten used to it, never bothering to tame it anymore except with a quick brush-down before she left her apartment. Her short hair always had a way of self-correcting itself later on, the layers and bangs would perfectly frame her face, an accomplishment that stunned her everyday, but seemed trivial today.
Her fingers pushed a few buttons on her phone, silencing the alarm before she groggily pulled herself out of bed. Making her way to the bathroom, she completed her usual routine. As a former science student who loved chemistry and biology, the methodical aspect of the subjects had somehow fused with her life. She was used to the mysteries of life being proven with concrete and factual details. Rebecca liked things orderly, not too fond of her life being mercurial. Trying new things once in awhile was all right, but too much change was no good in her opinion. As she brushed her teeth, she watched her reflection in the mirror, particularly her eyes. Beneath the dim light in her bathroom, her eyes appeared black instead of green, the color reminding her of the perpetual darkness of the unknown. She set her toothbrush down, splashing cold water on her face in an attempt to push back the negative thoughts. She told herself over and over again that everything was going to be okay, but after she had lived to tell the horror of the Mansion Incident only to have it refuted, the word 'okay' no longer had any meaning to her. But, she needed something to calm her frazzled nerves, even if were just a silly voice reassuring her, painting her a false reality of the actual situation at hand.
Rebecca went back to her room, retrieving her Bravo uniform resting at the foot of her bed. She had been given many duplicates of her uniform so a fresh one was usually awaiting her everyday, though during the last few days, she hadn't been keeping up with her laundry. The hellish memories and the ample load of stress distracted her from the things she loved doing, even if some of them were boring (to most people) chores. She had always derived some sense of pleasure from the most trivial and dull activities, studying the smallest details that most people would just overlook. The soapy bubbles from her laundry works would always project tiny rainbows, its colors spreading through the water, the notion of refraction taking place. What appeared to be a beautiful enigma to others was no mystery to her, and she'd enjoy lecturing any laundry-doers about the not so complicated process of how a rainbow was formed given that the laundry-doer, with the exception of herself, actually gave a damn.
She quickly slipped out of her white robe and pulled on her previously worn uniform, her fingers working quickly to adjust the straps, fasten the buttons and clasps. It was something she did every morning for the past few months, and she'd have no problems putting on the uniform with her eyes closed if she had to, the procedure of the dressing mentally ingrained. Judging from the rain plastering against her window and the mild swaying of the trees outside her apartment, she figured it was probably cold outside. Her normal denim jacket would probably not be enough to shield her from the cold today so she selected a light leather jacket from her closet. She slipped easily into the comfortable, brown jacket, the outerwear a bit loose for her. Even on days that were hot, she'd found herself wanting to wear a jacket just to cover the S.T.A.R.S. logo emblazoned on her uniform. It was something she was supposed to be proud of, something that defined her accomplishment and competence as a field medic, but due to the recent distasteful rumors being passed about S.T.A.R.S., she felt uncomfortable revealing her identity as one of "those idiots who had probably taken drugs and hallucinated the zombies and ghouls."
The teen couldn't help but wonder what new, nasty rumors she was going to hear on her way to work, and worse, during work. While the remaining S.T.A.R.S. received respect from some of their RPD co-workers, especially senior officer, Marvin Branagh, most of the police officers ridiculed them.
"You'll find out once you get there," she told her self, letting out a shallow sigh as she reached for her umbrella.
There was still one more thing she needed to bring with her to work.
With slow, tentative footsteps, she made her way to her desk and picked up a manila envelope with a shaky hand. The envelope itself didn't bother her, but the contents inside did. It was enough to make her feel a bit lightheaded, the nervousness eating at her inside out. "Breathe…" she reminded herself as she tucked the envelope safely into the inner pocket of her leather jacket, protecting it from the wetness outside. She patted the open flap of her jacket against her chest, heard the sound of the envelope crushing softly against her, and decided that it was now or never.
Before exiting her room, she turned to face her stuffed bunny, Snowball, lying against her pillow. It had been given to her as a present for her eleventh birthday by her parents, who had stated that it was a "lucky bunny" that would bring her good fortune in times she needed it the most. It was a small thing, about the size of a book, with long pointy ears and fur as white as snow despite the fact that she'd had the plush for more than seven years. Rebecca was always careful with thing she cherished, and perhaps that was why she was so tense at the moment. The toy looked back at her with wide eyes and a small smile. She smiled back before doing something silly and childish- something that corny, 'ol Rebecca would do.
She raced toward the animal and hastily rubbed her thumb against its paw, silently asking for luck to be on her side; she needed it today more than ever.
And then she was out of her apartment, headed for work, headed for the unknown.
Rebecca stood proud and tall, back straight, eyes fixed directly into her superior's dark slits. Inside, she was restless, all the nerves bouncing off her inner walls, waging a war that she could not quell. Outside, she was cool and collected, more composed than still leaves on a breeze-less, summer night. With steady steps, she walked toward the Chief's desk and retrieved the envelope from her jacket pocket, being careful to not get the object wet. She had gotten wet in the rain despite bringing a big umbrella, and had believed it to be a terrible omen. Now, she was about to find out for certain.
"Chief." She cleared her throat, swallowing the nervous lump in her throat before she continued, "I have the report ready for you…the one regarding Billy Coen, the…convict." She detected a small pause in her voice and prayed that Irons had not heard it. Knowing that Billy was an innocent man, it pained her to refer to him as a convict, an undeserving title for such an honorable man.
"Chambers…" Iron drawled, beckoning the woman to step closer with a wave of his hand. He reached out and hastily snatched the file out of her hand, a rude gesture, but not unseen by Rebecca. Unaffected by his discourteous manner, she added, "Along with the coroner report of Billy Coen, I've also filled out my report regarding the derailment of the Ecliptic Express and the incident at the Arklay Research Facility."
Irons flipped through the papers with his chubby fingers, his eyes flitting side to side as he hastily scanned the contents, not particularly interested in certain information. As he relaxed further into his leather seat, Rebecca couldn't help but notice the bulge of fat spilling from the waistband of his trousers. It was a revolting sight, made worse by the expensive looking chocolate pastry beside his unfinished cigar that screamed gluttony; they were probably the main contributor to his recent, rapid weight gain as well. She also caught sight of two strange figures sitting on his desk; it appeared to be expensive looking paperweights. It was difficult to see what the shapes of the paperweights were at her angle, but the smooth, shiny surface of the marble layers were enough for Rebecca to realize that Irons must have spent a good portion of his paycheck on them. She hadn't known that he was quite the connoisseur of fine arts. Perhaps these were recent purchases?
In fact, she noticed many new additions to his room since the last time she'd been in his office. Behind his mahogany desk was a portrait of an awkward looking design made up of various colorful streaks that seemed bring out the red of the plush carpeting. There were also two statues in the corner, both of them resembling some odd animals that Rebecca couldn't identify, but they certainly gave her the creeps. They looked like birds, but she had never seen birds that looked that vulgar. In their eye sockets, there were bright red jewels, making the 'birds' appear more menacing than they should.
She came to the simple conclusion that she was desperately trying to find anything to distract herself. Since it was too late to reel back to the comfort of her room and Snowball and too soon to jump to the end of this little meeting, she had no choice but to make the best of her dilemma. She was now truly stuck between the two extremes in time, and despite the seconds passing by quicker than she'd expected, she didn't feel that she was nearing the end of her torment. The medic could feel her charged nerves itching against her skin, pricking her, waiting to be released so they could get their moment of reprieve. God, she wished she could grant their request for she knew exactly what they were going through.
Rebecca held her breath, the pungent smell of body odor suddenly making its way toward her nose. She noticed that Irons was sweating profusely, the perspiration staining his blue polo and gray pants. As if this can't get any worse!
"Chambers, so this Coen…convict is truly dead now?" The words flowed unevenly through his bloated lips.
Rebecca could feel the muscles in her face tighten. She folded one hand over the other behind her back, squeezing her fist hard as she maintained her best game face. Crap…he didn't sound convinced. What if he's catching on! "Yes," she confirmed strongly, despite how she truly felt. She didn't even realize that she was digging her nails into her own flesh, the tempo of her heart fast like beats from battle drums. "His body was found along with the corpse of two MPs, a few feet away from the overturned transport vehicle. We couldn't retrieve his body due to the separation of the Bravo team and the attacks from those mutated dogs we told you about…" she trailed off, losing her voice, preparing to hear a scoff from Irons, but it never came.
"Shit…well, at least we know he's dead. The world is now one notch safer without Coen around." He picked up his cigar and blew out a puff of smoke. His leather seat creaked as he bent forward, slapping the file down hard on his desk. "You got any evidence at all?"
Rebecca couldn't believe the irony of the situation. You have no right to even suggest that the world is better with Coen around when you don't give a damn about Umbrella had done…and what they will probably continue to do. Her stomach turned. She felt disgusted and this time, it wasn't because of his repulsive presentation of himself, though his surface was a pretty accurate reflection of whom he was inside. It took great effort and self-control to not argue back, reassuring herself that Umbrella's production of biological weapons would be ferreted out in due time. Chris and Barry were taking care of that at the moment. Right now, she needed to take care of her business. Reaching for her neck, she slowly pulled out the chain of dog tags to full view, producing the proof Irons needed to erase any suspicions of the case. Though the two plates felt light in her palm, she felt like she was holding a tremendous weight dripping with an entire man's essence, Billy's core. "Retrieved this from his dead body. There wasn't anything else on him, and if there were, it'd probably perished."
She was moving her hands toward the nape of her neck, preparing to regretfully unfasten the chain when Iron raised a hand, halting her.
"No need. You should hold on to it. It's good to know that he's off the face of this planet. Right now, we're more concerned about Umbrella. Even some local cases have taken a back seat at the moment." Irons quickly scanned over the second portion of the report, nodding to himself in approval.
Rebecca blinked, beyond surprised that Irons had accepted her story. In addition, he even seemed interested in investigating Umbrella. She almost felt guilty for thinking ill about him just a few minutes ago, wishing she hadn't been so rash with her thoughts. Maybe Chris, Jill, Brad, and Barry had finally gotten through to him. "You mean…you believe our story?"
"I'll admit it's quite farfetched, but it can't hurt to look more into it," Irons stated logically, sounding like a leader for the first time.
"T-thank you, sir…" Rebecca whispered, still in great disbelief at how the bleak situation turned out. She could feel her heartbeat returning to normal, the thuds no longer pounding against her chest, and she no longer felt as if the dog tags were shaking from the tremor behind her flesh.
"Thank you for your insightful report, Chambers. You're not bad for a rookie," Irons said with a small smile, whether it was true or genuine, she didn't know.
Rebecca grinned back. This was the first time Irons had smiled at her, and though it seemed sincere, she still couldn't help but wonder if there was something she wasn't catching on to. Was there a hidden motive, a hidden intention behind his kind words? She remembered the unanimous distrust towards Irons from Jill, Barry, and Chris, and with that reminder, she knew that she should not let her guard down—never again after that horrible night. "Thanks," Rebecca replied with a salute to display her respect, or mock respect. If Irons was putting on an act, she would to.
"Well, I won't keep you from your work. You're free to go," the Chief dismissed with a wave of his hand. He exhaled another puff, the smoky rings fading into the warm air.
"If you need anything else, please let me know," she said. Giving a final nod, her shoulders sagged in relief as she turned to make her way out the door, out of oblivion. She had survived the unknown and fate had let her leave with everything she'd wanted. Snowball deserves a carrot tonight, she thought, amused. Everything had gone smoothly, right? Then why, as she closed the door behind her, did she feel as if she had just sealed herself in a terrible, inconceivable trial? She turned around cautiously, stared at the door for a few seconds before purging her paranoia. "I'm probably just tired," she told herself, the words not really offering her solace.
Brian Irons rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he took another look at the reports, particularly the one concerning Billy Coen. He didn't give a shit about the one pertaining to the train derailment and the Arklay Research Facility. In fact, it was his job to destroy it. He already had his hands on the Alpha's report on the Spencer Mansion thanks to Mr. Barry Burton, who had shown up at his office three days ago to personally deliver it with the most constipated face Irons had ever seen. Now, he'd make sure that there would be no more proof of any of Umbrella's dirty work. One more report, one more beautiful paycheck. He chuckled softly, blowing out another ring of smoke as he inclined into his seat, satisfied and proud of what he'd accomplished thus far, of what he had just deducted moments ago.
Brian Irons may seem like a dolt to others, especially to his co-workers, but oh, he was so much more intelligent than his little minions.
Yes, he had seen the nervous look in the youth's eyes when she presented him the case files, the way her brilliant emerald orbs flashed with a trace of fury when he'd referred to Coen as a convict. He'd detected the hesitation in her voice when she spoke and had almost tasted the sickeningly sweet passion she had for Coen. She was young, naïve, and too easy to read, possessing all signs of someone who was trying desperately to hide a dark secret.
Stupid, stupid girl…
In this case, Irons knew what that secret was. His mouth widened into a conspiratorial smile, the thought of receiving a bonus paycheck was really making his morning.
He reached for his phone, dialed the numbers he knew by heart, and waited for the person on the other line to answer.
A/N: I want to thank all the readers for their lovely and thoughtful reviews! You know who you are! There's much more to come! Til next time!