Many, many, many thanks to Andrea Tyler for beta-reading this chapter. You did an awesome job!

Chapter 6

"Answer the question, Miss Redfield."

"But I already told you!" Claire sighed. She was getting tired of hearing 'Miss Redfied'. First Wesker, then her contact, now Umbrella. It was starting to feel like she didn't have a first name anymore. "I was looking for my brother!"

Three days. It had been three days since she'd been hiked off the floor in cuffs. That was another thing. What was it with her and handcuffs? Even though they paraded her back and forth to the same room, she had no idea of the layout of wherever she was, and certainly neither the strength nor tools with which she could make an escape.

Umbrella made thoroughly sure that she was completely unarmed. She had been swept by about 3 different metal detectors, then frisked almost to the point of strip search several times. They kept her in a holding cell overnight; and with only her clothes and her thoughts, she was essentially harmless.

Then, the next morning, the questions came. They escorted her (cuffed again) to an interrogation room, the kind like it the TV police dramas: bare, save for a table and chairs, and a mirror that took up half a wall. Claire guessed that it was one of those special kinds that you could see through on the other side. Whoever was watching her from the other side was anyone's guess.

The first day, they asked everything about her, starting with her name; first, middle, and last. After that came her birth date, her hometown, and her college. Then, the names of her deceased parents, immediate family, and friends. Umbrella was methodically picking her apart, attempting to get a clean view of the girl that rose hell in one of their core facilities. Claire thought about lying, but they'd probably find that out pretty quick. No, her best bet was to play as dumb as she could get away with.

Now, more than ever, she was grateful to her and Leon's plan they started three months ago. They had decided to keep their lips' zipped about the truth behind Raccoon City, until they could gather solid evidence. This meant that Umbrella couldn't prove anything about them, and so, logically the company wouldn't deem them as a threat. But as she sat in that bare room after being shot at the day before, she began to think that that wouldn't really matter; Umbrella could just kill her anyways. Who would know?

After the first day, the real questions started. Claire could honestly say she saw most of them coming. They were all questions pertaining to Raccoon City and the outbreak. She was able to dance around them, gloss over events, mixing in lies with truth. Yes, she'd been there, no, she didn't know the cause of it. Yes, she met other survivors, but she didn't keep in contact with them. Even harder was to keep Wesker out of it.

Now, three days later, the same questions came around. Clearly, they were trying to see if she was staying consistent.

"You broke into the secure section of this facility, looking for your brother, Chris?" said the voice on the other side of the mirror, the tone dubious through the intercom.

"Yes," Claire said flatly.

"Why?"

"'Cause I thought he might be here."

"Why would you think that?"

"I was at the RPD in Raccoon, and I found his diary. It mentioned something about him going to Paris, and something about Umbrella. He's a real prick when he's angry, so I wanted to stop him from doing something stupid."

The intercom paused. Perhaps they were debating her answer.

"Where did you get your gun?"

"I bought it off a guy on the street."

"How much did you pay for it?"

"Why does that matter?"

"Miss Redfield-"

"I dunno!" she shouted, throwing up her arms suddenly in an outburst of frustration. "I don't know the damn exchange rate! He just took a wad of cash. It was probably a couple hundred bucks."

"Was there a reason why you thought you needed a gun, and that you needed to trespass here?"

"Hey," she said, leaning back on the stiff metal chair. "You're talking a girl who shot her way through a bunch of monsters. I sleep with a gun under my pillow now. As to why I came here, I already told you."

The intercom paused again, this time longer. Claire sighed irritably and crossed her arms and legs. At first the tough girl act was a farce, but now, her true feelings were beginning to show. This was maddening.

"You know, you can't just hold me here," she said. "You're not the cops. I know my rights."

No answer. Another sigh escaped Claire's lips.

"What is your relationship with Leon Kennedy?"

"My relationship?" she asked incredulously. "We're not exactly dating, if that's what you mean. He saved my ass a couple of times. Don't know where he is now."

"Very well. That will be all for today, Miss Redfield."

Ugh, stop calling me that!

The door buzzed, the electronic lock releasing. Two guards walked in. Obediently, she stood up and let one take her by the wrist and reapply the handcuffs. Fighting back wasn't a good idea at this point. Now that Umbrella had caught her, they probably wouldn't have any qualms about killing her. Better to play dumb and bitchy.

Leading her by the arm, they took her back to her cell, a lonely, dark corner of a sub-basement. Once they were outside of her cell, they removed the cuffs, shoved her forward into the room, and locked her in, their footsteps echoing as they walked away.

Claire lowered herself onto the thin mattress that served as her cot. She predicted, based on the cycle of the previous days that her usual evening slop would be showing up in about an hour. Which was pretty much all she had to look forward to. That, and the sleepless night that would follow. It was very noisy in her cell. She guessed that the little room shared a wall with a boiler room or a generator or something. Even if it weren't for the noise, though, there were always the million thoughts—everything from wondering if she would ever see Sherry, Chris or Leon again to vivid images of her own torture concocted by her imagination—running through her head.

With nothing to do but think, she sighed and slumped backwards onto the cot, then began to count the seconds away. At least the overwhelming sense of failure had disappeared in the last day. It almost brought her to tears the first night there. She failed her mission, but she was still alive. That had to at least count for something. As long as she was still breathing, she still had a chance to save Sherry.

"Could you tell us again how you escaped Raccoon City?"

Claire massaged her temples, trying to ease the growing tension in her head. This was their form of torture; it had to be. "Me and Leon got through to the sewers. We managed to get into a subway tunnel, then followed it out of the city. I'm pretty sure that's what I said last time."

...and the time before that...

She hadn't had a shower in over a week. Now, the only company she had in her cell was the growing scent of her own body. It wasn't that bad, but Claire hated to think that she stunk. The long shower she took when she arrived seemed like a year ago.

"When did you come across Sherry Birkin?"

Sherry...This was new. They hadn't asked about her yet, but why now? "Sherry Birkin?" she repeated, as if she hadn't heard correctly.

"Yes. News sources state that she was with Leon Kennedy and yourself. Do you deny this?"

"No. We...found her in the RPD. She was alone."

"Did she tell you about her parents?"

"Yeah, I think she said that they worked at a chemical plant just outside of Raccoon or something."

"Do you know where is right now?"

"Not exactly," Claire said as she hooked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, feigning ignorance. "Leon took the liberty of dropping her off in foster home, or an orphanage, one of the two. Someone who could watch her better."

"You didn't let her stay with you?"

"I'm a college kid with no parents," she stated flatly. "I barely make it by the way it is. I can't afford having a little brat eating into my savings."

God, Sherry, you know I don't think of you like that! I can't believe I just said that...

As her guards marched her back to her cell after the questioning ended, Claire found herself pondering. As much as she hated to admit it, Sherry was probably safest with Wesker. He could keep her away from Umbrella much better than she or Leon ever could. But there was no way that she was going to even consider keeping it that way. Umbrella was going to burn first, Wesker would follow soon after.

On the tenth day, her two usual guards didn't take her to the interrogation room, instead veering sharply in another direction towards an elevator. Needless to say, Claire was surprised, and more than a little fearful; what were they going to do with her? She'd thought of the possibilities, she had plenty of time for that in her cell. Death barely made it to the top of the list...in fact, that was one of the tamer ones.

As they marched her to the elevator at the end of the corridor, she steeled herself and asked where they were going, with confidence that she did not truly possess at this point.

"We're not going anyway," one said. "You're the one being moved."

"I don't suppose you'll tell me where?" she replied icily, thoroughly expecting that they had no intention of answering her.

"Rockfort Island."

Oh, no way...

The very place Wesker wanted her to find, and now she was being transported there. Great! Now if only she had a way of contacting him before she was shipped off. In the back of her mind, though, she wondered if this had somehow been a part of Wesker's plan all along.

The doors to the elevator opened, and a gust of wind swept in, startling her with its sudden coldness. Most of the chill, however, wasn't from the weather. A helicopter was perched on the roof, blades spinning in preparation for takeoff. The Hispanic man who had caught her over a week ago was standing near it, staring off into space, his arms crossed over his chest. He noticed their movement and looked up. Claire shot him an angry look as the guards dragged her closer. In spite of her silent vow to not do anything that could provoke her captors, she obviously didn't want anything to do with this man. He returned her scowl and made his way closer to the guards and their prisoner, meeting them about twenty feet from the helicopter.

Claire had a split-second view of his hands rising in front of her before her vision turned to near black. She distinctly felt the rough, grainy texture of burlap brushing against her skin.

"What the hell is this for?" she demanded in muffled outrage, struggling to instinctively back away as a foul odor permeated her nostrils.

"It's either this, or I crack you in the back of the head," the Hispanic man said with a smirk in his voice as Claire felt his hand grab her by the arm. "Get moving."

He grabbed her roughly towards the steps leading into the deafening machine, and gave her a most unceremonious shove towards the helicopter cabin, almost knocking her flat on her face as her feet tripped over the steps, causing her to stumble. Grateful that the bag hid her reddened face, she was able to maintain her balance and what remained of her dignity as he 'guided' her into a seat, then buckled a seatbelt over her lap, tightening it with a single jerking motion and a slight grunt of effort.

I doubt he's worried about my safety. Probably just doesn't want me kicking his ass.

The inside of the bag was warm and uncomfortable from her trapped breathing. The reek of the unknown, foul odor that had embedded itself into the material of the bag increased with the heat. In spite of her numerous suspicions as to the origin of the smell, Claire dealt with it quietly. Whatever the cause, dealing with this smell certainly beat getting brain damage.

She felt the helicopter take flight, the wavering, shaky flight almost nauseating without the images to go with it. With no way to even think of which way they were headed, Claire leaned back, trying to get as much comfort as her position would allow. That familiar, numb feeling was already beginning to tingle in her fingers as the cuffs around her wrists resisted her blood flow.

It was going to be a long flight.

Author's note: Finally, an update! Sorry Lara for taking so long, but I should be on track, now that you gave me some ideas. Thank you once again, Andrea Tyler, for taking the time to beta read this and all the suggestions you gave me.