Chapter Seven:
Love is Like a Punishment
xxxxx
Sherry sat in the hospital waiting room, reading silently as busy men and women rushed by her every few minutes. Voices echoed throughout the brightly lit atmosphere while whispers emitted within the small area where she sat. A few people were waiting, too, but she knew none of them and couldn't really imagine what they were waiting for, considering they were all Agency employees.
The girl had been waiting a good two hours, and frankly, she was worried. It was about 2 a.m., and she had school in the morning. She guessed she wasn't going, which would make her tenth absent this marking period, not that she really cared. She had incredible grades, so her teachers weren't strict on her repetitive absences, especially considering The Agency was paying for her to attend. Of course, Sherry was still left clueless as to why she was even at The Agency's goddamn hospital in the first place.
She had been sleeping when the phone rang. Wesker was the one calling, and he promptly told her to pack a small overnight bag and wait for some men to pick her up. She would've been scared, but this sort of thing had happened before.
It was some kind of drill, which usually meant Umbrella must have gotten word on where she was located, or something. The whole thing baffled her. She thought staying in Wesker's house meant Umbrella's search for her was supposed to be more complicated. Though, in truth, all the times she was sent out of the house in the middle of the night had, in fact, been drills. But, this time she'd been waiting far too long, and she had a sinking feeling that something was wrong this time.
And, that was exactly why she was blocking out her thoughts by reading The Scarlet Letter. It was a class assignment, and she was chapters ahead of where the rest of the class was, but she thought the book was pure crap. Hester Prynne was a whore, and that had been firmly established within the first few pages of the book; it didn't need to drag on for another hundred just so Sherry could develop more hatred for the stupid protagonist than she initially had at the beginning.
"Good, you're here."
Sherry looked up, seeing Wesker standing in front of the nearest entrance. He looked disheveled for the first time and was missing his normal sunglasses and suit jacket. She automatically noticed a red stain on his blue sleeve. Now she was officially worried. She closed the book and walked over to him.
"I've been waiting for two hours. I wasn't sure what to think this time." She gave him an almost disrespectful look, but Wesker's continual pathetic appearance made her expression soften. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he said coldly. "There are two things you need to know," he then continued. "One, Claire's here in the facility."
Sherry's eyes widened. She couldn't have possibly heard that correctly. Yet, the serious look printed on Wesker's face stated otherwise.
Claire? Here?
That made no sense, but Sherry tried to piece together all the little things that happened within the last 24 hours. Steve wasn't around all day, Wesker was in and out of the house, and prior to that, the two were having arguments about sending Steve on some kind of trip. That trip obviously brought Claire Redfield into the picture.
Knowing she had to say something, she decided on asking, "What's the second thing you need to tell me?"
"I'm going to murder Steven," he announced, not seeming bothered by the fact Sherry had dismissed the news on Claire.
"How's that going to solve anything?" she wondered.
"It will fucking make me feel better," he grunted. He walked by the girl and picked up her bag that was still sitting on one of the waiting room chairs. He grabbed the book resting there, too and began walking towards an elevator.
Sherry figured she was supposed to follow, but before doing so, she took a moment to build up the courage to ask if she could see Claire. But, Sherry knew the answer to that. Besides, did Claire even know Sherry was here, too? Instead of outright asking, Sherry decided to just conclude, "I guess I'm not allowed to see Claire."
Wesker called for the elevator and turned around to face Sherry. "That would be correct."
"Well, what are you going to do with her?"
"I haven't decided."
"Can you at least explain to me what's happening? Or, what happened?" Sherry watched as Wesker stepped into the elevator once the doors slid open.
"Steve bumped into Claire while doing a job for me. He thought the two of them could magically run away together and live all hunky-dory without any consequences whatsoever."
Sherry examined Wesker's expression once more. He was scowling deeply and without his sunglasses there was no hiding the creased brow. "Are you… are you going to murder me?"
"How's that going to solve anything?" Wesker said, repeating her earlier question.
Sherry thought about repeating his earlier response, but feared it might give him an idea. The elevator doors flung open before any uncomfortable silence could arise, and Sherry rubbed her forehead in exhaustion.
"I applaud you for not having a tantrum by now," Wesker commented as they walked down the new hallway.
In some ways, Sherry should have been insulted by that comment. Had she ever, really, thrown a tantrum in front of Wesker in the first place? Sure, she had gotten emotional, especially the first couple of weeks she was living with him, but she had so been hell bent on emulating Claire that she managed to compose herself most of the time. If anyone was holding back having a tantrum right now, it was probably Wesker. She wouldn't have minded seeing it, so long as she didn't get in the way of his rage. Smiling slightly at that unintentionally humorous thought, she distracted herself by taking in her new surroundings.
It looked like the hall of a fancy hotel: cranberry colored walls, brown carpeting, bright lights hanging on the wall between every door. She had never been in these levels of the facility, but she knew they were where some of the worker's lived. And, tonight she was sleeping over, it seemed.
Wesker stopped in front of a room labeled 203 and unlocked it with a cardkey. He walked in, placing Sherry's belongings by the door. Sherry stepped inside the room, too, seeing that even the inside appeared to have some homey hotel atmosphere.
"Make yourself at home," Wesker said.
Sherry noticed all the lights were already on, which seemed awkward. She turned to ask Wesker about it, but saw him heading for the door, leaving.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"To see little Miss Redfield."
The door closed, and Sherry continued to stand in the middle of the room.
"Uggh—"
Sherry jumped at the moan. The sound was followed by a cough, then another painful moan. It was coming from one of the bedrooms, but even the dull groan had familiarity in it. Steve was here.
Would've been nice if Wesker told me, she thought, walking towards the bedroom. She opened the door, finding Steve lying on the bed, curled up in a ball, obviously in a large amount of pain.
"Steve," she greeted.
The boy turned his body to face the voice. He seemed surprised to see Sherry, but also content. "Thank God you're not that fucking bastard," he groaned.
"By that, I guess you mean Wesker," she concluded. "Are you okay?"
"Not really. I just found out Wesker is fucking tracking my every move by this stupid device he implanted in my body."
"Oh."
Steve huffed a sigh, rolling onto his back to stare at the white ceiling. "I can't believe how stupid I am."
Neither can I, her mind droned, but she stayed silent. Even she had suspected Wesker was tracking her every moves. Wesker just seemed like the type of guy to do that, not caring whether or not the involved person knew.
"He's tricky," she shrugged.
"Yeah, but this was pretty obvious." He scrunched up his face in pain once more. "Whatever he implanted inside me… it started to go off, and it stung my entire body. I couldn't even move. It felt like I was being pricked by a million needles all at the same time." He clutched his upper-hip.
"Let me see," she offered. She reached out, lifting his shirt to see where he had his hand. When he moved his arm, she saw a bright red spot, almost appearing as a burn. "Ouch."
"When I originally woke-up—you know, after dying—that area of my body was stitched. I asked him about it, and he gave some weird explanation. Even then, I thought it was a weird answer, but I never really thought about it afterwards."
"Maybe you can take a butter knife and dig it out."
Steve turned his head towards her, raising an eyebrow. "You're such a kid," he spewed.
"I was kidding, Steve."
Steve decided to change the subject. "So, you know that I ran into Claire, huh?"
"Yeah, Wesker told me."
Steve narrowed his eyes. "Have you seen her?"
"No. I don't even know if I will. Wesker is angry, but he'll settle down and start playing what appears to be his innocent act."
"And, what then?" Steve wondered.
"Well, he might let us see her. He's not going to kill her," she insisted. "Why would he? He doesn't hate Claire as much as he hates her brother, so he'll use Claire as a way to lure Chris out of hiding."
"Then?"
"And, then…" she paused, mulling over the possibilities. "And, then, stuff will happen."
"Sounds exciting!" Steve exclaimed.
"I don't know what to say to make your pity party end," she admitted, "but be reasonable here, okay?"
"Why should I?" Steve shouted, suddenly becoming sincerely angry. "I fell right into his trap! Right into it! I honestly thought Claire and I had a chance of escaping, and it went straight down the toilet. How stupid could I possibly be? And, how stupid could Claire be for going along with it? I fucking hate my life right now!"
Sherry rolled her eyes. "There's no use blaming yourself, or Claire. You were blinded by, like, love, or something."
"Jesus Christ, do you know how stupid that sounds?"
"Yeah, I do. That was the point."
Silence crept across them, and Sherry couldn't help but keep her eyes locked on Steve's sad expression. He was overreacting, but his negativity was reasonable, she supposed. Personally, Sherry was the one who should have been acting like a child. Claire and Steve were on their way to escaping this nightmare, and yet neither of them seemed to care about what happened to her. Did she even cross their minds?
"Maybe it's better that you two were caught," she said. "I mean, Wesker would've been so upset and taken his anger out on me. I'd probably be dead."
Steve brightened up with some sort of realization. "Oh, yeah. I never mentioned you, so she has no way of knowing you're around here, unless Wesker said anything."
"Thanks a lot," she expressed sarcastically. "I'm so glad you care about me."
"I, um—well, it's not like I don't. I mean, I do, but I'm not like your best friend or anything. I was just distracted."
"My dad used to say that," she revealed. "Tell me, is that supposed to make me feel better?"
This time, Steve rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."
"No, not rea—"
The phone rang in the living room, cutting Sherry's words short. For a moment, both of them were still, half-wondering if they were hearing things, half-wondering if they should start panicking.
Knowing Steve wasn't in the best of shape to get up and answer, Sherry walked out of the room and picked up the phone.
Hearing nothing on the other end, she spoke first: "Um, hello?"
"Sherry, someone will be up to get you in a few minutes."
It was Wesker, but Sherry was more boggled by his statement. "Why?" she asked.
"Knowing how stubborn a Redfield can be, I know your presence will calm Claire. I want you to come see her."
Sherry furrowed her brow. "I thought that was a no-no."
She received no response. Wesker had hung-up already.
Confused, Sherry looked towards the room where Steve rested, wondering if she should say anything to him. Wesker wouldn't care, but Sherry knew the boy would start freaking out and insist he come, too.
It was best for him not to know.
xxxxx
Claire extended her arm, trying to touch the aching part of her head. She was dizzy. But, also, very tired. The last thing she remembered was Steve lying there, grasping his side as he hollered in pain. She couldn't do a thing about it either. He was just screaming, pleading for her to "remove it." When he finally stopped shouting, she could hear a buzz-sound, and she knew it had to be some kind of chip implanted inside his body.
Wesker!
That name jolted something within her body. She sat up in a rush, looking at her surroundings. She was in a laboratory, or maybe a hospital.
Oh, no… Please don't let him have done anything to me.
Shit, what about Steve? He was so out of it by the time Wesker showed up. In fact, he was so out of it, that he hit her. That's why her head hurt. Steve had rejected her comfort in exchange for Wesker's. He practically melted in the blonde's arms, and then—
—and then kissed him!
Why would he have done that? Surely Steve must have thought Wesker was Claire.
That automatic need to excuse Steve for kissing someone else surprised her. Maybe it was just the fact it was Wesker, who actually seemed relatively uninterested in his liplock. He didn't seem surprised, either. He seemed completely deadpanned, as if it didn't matter. But, why? Steve had been groaning about various subjects, and the only thing she could make out of his talk during the kiss was "same," or something along those lines.
Claire blinked once more, her vision finally clearing completely. She was indeed in a hospital, not a lab. Her first instinct told her to get out of the bed, but her legs wouldn't move. She reached underneath the light green blanket, searching for the restriction. Feeling down her knees, she finally stopped when her fingers came in contact with something rough and bumpy.
She was strapped onto the bed.
Wesker had caught her.
"Fuck," she cursed, sitting all the way up and trying to wiggle out of the straps. "I am not going to let that bastard keep me here."
Her attempt was to no avail. Her head was protesting the continual sitting up, and her entire body was pleading for more rest. She stopped, looking around the room for something to cut the straps, but the room contained nothing. She was still wearing her "costume," although her glasses and shoes were missing.
Oh, my God…Claire shuttered the instant she saw the clock on the wall. It was 3:30 in the morning. Hours had passed since she left the Umbrella compound and had Wesker not caught her, she would've been just a few hours away from home. Chris, Leon, Jill… they were no doubt freaking out at that very moment. She had not called them and that would automatically lead to the assumption she had been caught by Umbrella. They might have even thought she was dead. Chris would have a breakdown; Leon would hold it all in; and Jill would cry.
The thought re-energized Claire, and she continued squirming within the holds. They felt like leather, perhaps made of something even stronger. Her ankles started burning from the constant contact. She winced, falling backwards in defeat. Staring dully at the ceiling, she began to wonder if anyone was going to come into the room. Maybe Steve would.
She doubted Wesker had done anything critical to him. Steve was obviously some deluded use, so the man wouldn't have harmed him… that much.
Claire shut her eyes, trying to get rid of her headache. It felt like her head was splitting in half, and the ticking of the clock only frustrated her more.
At the sound of voices on the other side of the door, Claire froze. That was Wesker's voice, but a female was with him. She concentrated on the talking, trying to overhear the conversation. Suddenly, the girl's voice became familiar. It sounded vaguely like—
—Sherry…?
She fidgeted in the holds, foolishly attempting to escape.
"Sherry!" she hollered, without thinking.
She threw herself onto the floor. Her feet stayed locked to the straps, making her body dangle from the bed. She slid herself toward the door, moving only an inch or two before the straps prevented her from going any further.
A beep emitted and the door flew open. The first thing she saw was two pairs of feet—boots and then scuffed-up dress shoes—but when she looked up, she saw the faces of Albert Wesker and Sherry Birkin.
"Oh, how attractive," Wesker muttered. He walked over to her, grabbing her by the underarms and lifting her up quickly and easily.
"Don't touch me!" Claire protested. She writhed in the man's hold, managing only to make Wesker step backwards as he lightly lost his balance.
This refusal of help caused the blonde man to drop her roughly on the bed. Claire grunted and looked over to Sherry, who still stood in the doorway.
"Sherry," she repeated.
"Hi, Claire." Sherry stepped into the room and eyed Wesker, who was now tightening the straps on Claire's legs.
"W-What… what are you doing with him?" she asked, gesturing towards Wesker.
"I uh…" She paused, unsure. "I don't know."
"I take care of her," Wesker replied, sounding bitter.
Claire dropped her mouth in disgust. "Shut the hell up, you sicko!" She gritted her teeth, seething with anger at the man's response. "What the hell have you been doing to her?"
"Providing settler, food, schooling…"
"Oh, do not give me that," she hissed. She looked at Sherry, who was staring at her feet. "Please tell me you're okay."
"I am," Sherry assured. "Just out-of-my-mind surprised you're here." She gave a soft smile when she looked up to Claire.
Claire finally saw how much Miss Birkin had grown. The girl now had a unique bone structure in her cheeks, which automatically made her look like a young adult. She looked so pretty. There was an obvious mix of Annette and William in her features. Her golden blonde hair sat just beneath her shoulders, longer than it had been when Claire met her in Raccoon City. If Claire had been standing up, she was sure she would've been shocked by the girl's height, too.
"You bastard," Claire then spat at Wesker. "All this time you had her? You have been keeping her from people she cares about and possible family?"
"Sherry has no relatives," Wesker quickly informed. He stood right next to the girl, seeming bemused. "How do you feel, Claire?" he asked, mockingly.
"Don't change the subject," she ordered. "You honestly think that you have the power to control us all, don't you?"
"Steve is fine, by the way," Wesker shrugged, "but you weren't very concerned about that, were you?"
"Where is he?" Claire asked, suddenly looking startled.
"He is fine. That's all you need to know." The blonde grinned, knowingly. "Actually, he's better than fine. You see, that little incident of him falling down and wailing—well, it was a wake-up call."
Sherry narrowed her eyes and turned to face the door.
"When we revived little Steven, we implanted a chip into his hip area. If he ever disobeyed, we could control him. It seems Umbrella has stolen my idea with the TV-002."
"You're no better than them!" she shouted. Wesker had somehow managed to gain information on the TV-002, possibly from her own notes or maybe Steve's, if he bothered to write any.
"Darling, I never said I was," Wesker replied.
"Sherry, it's going to be all right," Claire coaxed. "I'm going to get us out of here somehow."
Sherry looked at Claire sadly. The Redfield knew she must have looked so pathetic: strapped down to a bed with ugly clothes and looking as if she hadn't slept in a year. But, Sherry did not seem thrilled to see her. What had Wesker said or done to break Sherry's spirit?
"I know you're worried about Steve," Sherry began, "but I saw him just a moment ago, and he truly is okay."
Claire's eyes widened. Steve and Sherry knew each other. Why didn't Steve mention her, then? Surely Claire had spoken of her during their adventures on Rockfort.
"But, are you okay, Sherry?" Claire wondered.
Sherry nodded, finally looking happier. "Yes. I am very much okay. Nothing has happened and no one has done anything to harm me. I'm worried about you."
"All this worry is getting us nowhere," Wesker interrupted. "Claire, do you not remember that your need to find Chris ended up making you abandon Sherry?"
Claire looked at Sherry with worry. "Sherry, you know that I didn't mean anything like that when I left. Leon was going to take care of you!"
"I know," Sherry said. "I mean, I was afraid for the longest time that you didn't care about me, but I know now, after thinking about it for so long, that you do."
"Of course I do. Don't ever believe otherwise from now on."
Sherry nodded, then reluctantly looked up to Wesker. "Please don't hurt her any way," she pleaded.
"Sherry," he began, "you are a sharp and talented girl, but Claire is just trying to get information out of you. Tell me, do you think that if she had to choose between destroying Umbrella and saving you, that she'd choose you?"
Sherry continued to look at him.
"She sure didn't choose you when it was between Chris and you. And, I'm fairly certain you were in more need of her attention."
"Sherry…" Claire sighed, shaking her head. "I know you are aware of who is more trustworthy. Believing anything Wesker says is like—"
"Stop it," Sherry interjected sternly. "I don't want to hear any of this 'whose side should I choose?' nonsense. There are much more important things going on here than your stupid personal problems." Sherry looked back and forth at Claire and Wesker, her statement directed at both of them.
"Such wise words from someone so young," Wesker commented. He put a hand on Sherry's shoulder, pushing her lightly towards the door. "It's time to go now. Steve needs us."
"You fucker, don't touch her!" Claire cried, rising up from the bed.
"Claire…" Sherry voiced, turning before she exited the door. "Just try to stay calm."
With that said, Wesker and Sherry left the room, leaving the Redfield alone with the plain walls and ticking clock.
xxxxx
When Claire opened her eyes, she instantly knew she was somewhere other than the hospital. At first, she thought the whole ordeal had been a dream, and maybe she was in her own bedroom, with Jill, Leon and Chris just down the hall. But, Claire had never been a visual dreamer, and certainly, what went down with Steve, Wesker and even Sherry, was too detailed to be anything except the cold, dark reality.
The décor in the room she currently occupied was elegant. Everything was brightly colored, including the pink and brown walls and smooth, fancy bed sheets.
She was instantly suspicious.
When she sat up, she noticed a different feeling in her clothing. Looking down, she realized her attire had been changed. She was dressed in plain jeans and a baggy red t-shirt. An uncomfortable feeling ran through her, making her more suspicious than before. The Redfield subsequently lifted her shirt all the way up, only to find she had a new bra as well. This disturbed her further. Who had changed her clothes and when? She didn't even remember falling asleep after seeing Sherry. She just drifted off, and now she was here.
Distantly, she could feel her head still pounding in pain, but she ignored it. She had to escape this room. It did not make her feel better, if that's what Wesker was aiming at. It made her feel worse, because it was foreign and suspicious and just downright creepy.
Rising from the bed, Claire whispered, "Please be unlocked." She reached out for the doorknob on the only door in the room.
Before turning the knob, she listened carefully, prepared for anything or anyone to be on the other side. Hearing nothing, she opened the door, immediately scanning the new room.
She found that the connecting room was a living room, but the much more shocking part was that Sherry was reclined on the green sofa, looking startled by Claire's presence.
"I had no idea you were awake," she choked out, rising from the couch.
Claire's worried nausea flattened at Sherry's tone, and she felt more relaxed, even though Sherry sounded a bit rude. Wesker was nowhere to be found, which was a positive note, but that still didn't answer her question about where the fuck she was and what had happened in the last few hours.
"Sherry, where am I?" she asked, slightly snippy.
"Still in The Agency facility," the girl informed. "We're on the upper-levels, where some of the workers live. Wesker is… temporarily keeping us here."
Claire lowered her eyes. Part of her wished that she was still in the hospital room, where she wouldn't have to deal with Sherry's obvious disrespect for her.
"You look different with your hair down," Sherry noted, smiling only a little.
Claire felt the back of her head, finding no ponytail. "I… I had it down yesterday. You should've seen me in braids."
Both girls fell into silence, smiling back at one another to acknowledge the short stint of peace.
"Come sit," Sherry offered, gesturing to the sofa as she took a seat again.
"Sherry, we have to get out of here," Claire proclaimed. She looked towards the door.
"It's no use," the girl stated without emotion. "Wesker has them electronically locked, so we can't get in or out unless someone disables the system."
"And, where can we do that?"
Sherry gave a quick shrug. "Who knows."
"Dammit," Claire cursed, lowly. She spotted a large, sliding glass door and dashed over to it. "We'll break this!"
"And, in the process, trigger an alarm while we attempt to jump a billion feet to the ground?"
Claire stayed quiet, realizing how thoughtless and foolish she was acting. But, at the same time, she recognized Sherry's growth, not only physically, but in every other way possible. She was not the naïve and impulsive girl, who would sooner try every escape before thinking over reason. Of course, Sherry was not as impulsive as Steve had been—she had a lot of determination versus Steve's need to impress—but, she had been a bit reckless, too.
"You two are so much alike," Claire mused. "You and Steve, I mean. It's insane."
"Insanely wrong!" Sherry barked. "Steve is older than me and acts like a child."
Claire pursed her lips as she smiled. If she didn't know better, she would have assumed Sherry had quite the crush on Steve. But, when the Redfield rationalized, she knew Sherry just did not want to admit she didn't all-out hate Mr. Burnside.
"He is here, too, by the way," Sherry revealed, pointing towards the door next to the room Claire had previously occupied. "He's been asleep all morning, so I don't think you should wake him."
Claire turned towards the door then looked back to Sherry, who was still sitting on the couch. For the first time since she came out of her room, she noticed the television and what channel Sherry was watching. It was a music video station, but she did not recognize the song.
"I can at least see him, right?"
Sherry furrowed her brow. "I'm not his nurse."
Claire paused, contemplating whether or not she should actually go inside. She wanted to ask him how he was feeling, but also, if he was going to be okay.
Sherry had her eyes on Claire, which made the Redfield a bit uncomfortable. This provoked her to finally go over and open the door.
Inside, Steve was still indeed sleeping, looking rather peaceful under the sheets. She stepped fully into the room, kneeling down in front of the bed. At that moment, she very much wanted to wake him, but stopped herself from the urge to shake him gently.
Instead, she ran her fingers through his hair, staring deeply at his face. His lips were parted, causing his breathing to be heard if she didn't move too much.
"Steve," she whispered, ignoring the fact he really shouldn't be awakened. "It's me, Claire."
Steve continued to sleep, not even moving at the soft voice of Claire. Perhaps Claire was speaking too lowly.
"He wasn't too active last night," Sherry voiced from the doorway. "Maybe he feels better today."
Claire turned at Sherry's words and allowed her eyes to follow the girl as she made her way towards the bed. She threw the blankets off Steve's body, lifting his shirt to reveal the bruise.
"Oh, God!" Claire gasped. "How could something so small create that much damage outside the body?"
"It must have been really strong," Sherry concluded. "It was enough to knock him out."
"Then why not implant it in his head…?"
Sherry readjusted Steve's clothing, and Claire took notice of his new attire: a long-sleeved black shirt and loose, pajama-like pants.
After Sherry was done, she kneeled down next to Claire and rested her arms and head on the bed. "I guess Wesker didn't want to ruin Steve's pretty, little head."
Claire blinked, thrown off by the answer. Was that a confession of Sherry's affections for Steve… or Wesker's? The thought brought her back to the kiss between both men, and she found herself more convinced that Wesker was trying to pull something, especially since Sherry's bland tone made the conclusion sound more serious than meaningless.
"Sherry," Claire began, looking at her knees, "do you like it here?"
Sherry half snorted, half scoffed. "Well, just to let you know, this isn't where Wesker keeps us. He has a house. I have a room. It's nice there, but I'd rather be a hundred other places."
Claire ran her hands through her hair, a nervous habit. "He—Wesker, I mean—hasn't hurt you, right? You can tell me."
"Not in the way you probably think. Wesker's not like that. And, no, he doesn't hit me or anything. To be honest, I don't think he's ever touched me. When I was originally brought here, it was other men who… kidnapped me." Sherry lifted her head when Steve rolled over. She stared at Steve for a moment and then said, "Oh, but, Wesker hits Steve."
"Not surprising," Claire droned.
The Redfield was slightly unpleased with the fact that although she was hell bent on knowing if Sherry had been harmed, she wasn't bothered by the fact Steve was the one who endured the abuse. Maybe it was because Steve was older and more capable of fighting back.
"Steve is pretty into you," the blonde stated. "Do you feel the same way?"
"I don't know," Claire instantly replied. "I am pretty sure Steve doesn't know how he really feels about me." Claire looked at Steve as she said this, taking in the peaceful expression on his face once more. His eyes were closed, but jittering every now and then, most likely a result of his dreams.
Steve had contacts in when he saw you, Claire reminded herself. What will his eyes look like when he wakes up this time?
"He loves you," Sherry assured. "It's so obvious."
"I'm afraid you might be a bit too young to understand how this works," Claire objected, calmly. "I don't believe in love at first sight, so I don't think Steve could've fallen in love with me as quickly as he claimed."
"Why are we having this conversation here? I bet'cha ten bucks he's already awake and listening on our every word."
Claire chuckled at Sherry's suspicion. "You're right. Come on," she said, standing up and offering a hand to Sherry.
The young girl took the Redfield's hand, standing up and then walking out the room with her. Sherry shut the door to Steve's room, only to hear another door open.
Both girls turned around to see Wesker entering the room. Claire gaped at the sight of the man dressed in casual clothing. He wore a pair of tan, pressed pants and a black, button-up shirt with long sleeves. Again, he did not wear his sunglasses, which made him look normal, despite the orange cat eyes.
"Glad to see everyone is playing nice," he greeted. "How's Steven?"
The blonde man's look was not enough to distract Claire from her resurfaced anger. The Redfield—as impulsive had she had chided Sherry and Steve for—ran to the man, throwing herself on him in an attempt to hurt him.
Wesker did manage to stumble backwards, but he quickly and easily picked the Redfield off him, throwing her to the ground carelessly. She slid along the carpet, a rough burn skating down her arms before she was stopped by the back of the couch.
Sherry walked over to Claire, looking at the woman with what could've been disappointment. Claire groaned as she sat up, rubbing her head before she let Sherry help her stand.
"Come on, Claire, haven't you learned by now?" she asked. "Besides, I doubt he'd hurt you so much if you didn't try attacking first."
Claire huffed. "Don't think you can keep me here forever like a deluded princess in a tower," Claire spat, ignoring Sherry as she advanced towards Wesker.
"I don't think of you as a princess, Claire, but I do think you should listen to Sherry. She's quite the intelligent thing."
Claire gritted her teeth. "Stop acting like you care!"
The blonde girl sighed at the sound of this argument starting up once again.
"If Sherry wants to stay angry with anyone, she has good reason. And, you, Miss Redfield, have certainly done enough to earn her hate."
"I don't hate anyone!" the girl interjected. "Maybe Umbrella and their stupid employees, but I'm way over the abandonment thing. And, Claire, I'm sorry, but much to your disappointment, I don't hate Wesker either."
"Sherry…" Claire breathed. "He's evil."
"He was my dad's friend," Sherry said firmly. "What, are you going to say my father was evil, too?"
After the girl said this, she narrowed her eyes, knowing full well Claire would indeed say such a thing. William Birkin very well might have been evil, but he was still Sherry's father and she loved him, even if he was a non-attentive, work-absorbed psychopath.
Sherry just sighed, walking away from the two, who still stood facing each other, and entered Steve's room.
"Very good job upsetting her," Wesker said, folding his arms and giving Claire a mock-disappointed look.
"God, shut up! If for some crazy reason you actually do care for Sherry, it's not because you want to keep her safe, it's because you can control her! Just like Steve!"
"Oh, don't be mistaken; I don't care for Steven."
"You sure make it seem like you do," she argued. "Otherwise, what was up with that kiss?"
Wesker cocked his head and leaned against the door. "Is there a problem with what you saw?"
Claire could tell he was feeding her the bait, trying to make her get upset so she would assume the kiss actually meant something. She was not going to bite.
"It was unreasonable and suspicious," she said.
"When you think about it, no. Steve and I are both infected. When he was in that much amount of pain, he clung to what felt familiar. The virus allows us to feel each other's presence no matter how hazy or sick we might be. When he felt the familiarity of the virus, he felt good."
Claire gave a deeply embarrassed look, revealing that her thoughts of it meaning more were absurd. Wesker caught this look and grinned faintly.
"What?" she demanded, realizing he was looking at her.
"Were you really threatened by the scene?" Wesker wondered. "Oh, Claire, I'm not sure what to say. No, I'm not seducing Steve, if that's what you think. Although, sometimes I think I should, just to prove a point."
Claire furrowed her brow, a mix of disgust and surprise. "What point is that?"
"Never you mind, dear. I simply came up here to make sure you three didn't kill each other." Fishing in his pocket, Wesker revealed a small device in the palm of his head. He pressed the single-button item and Claire heard a click-sound near the door.
"You are sick," Claire fumed.
Wesker said nothing as he exited, but Claire was briefly able to spot a security guard across the hall. They locked eyes for only a second, but were cut off when the door shut. Even in those few seconds, Claire could see how emotionless the man looked.
"Don't let Wesker get to you. You're above that."
"Steve!" Claire yelled, rushing over to the boy standing in his doorway. She threw her arms around him, pressing her body roughly against his, in a passionate hug.
"Ugh," Steve moaned as Claire's thigh pressed against his wound.
Claire jumped, backing away from him right away. "I'm sorry!" she said. "I just—"
The Redfield stopped mid-sentence as she looked into Steve's eyes. They were bright orange, even brighter than Wesker's.
Steve realized why Claire was looking at him funny. He turned away from her sight, slightly ashamed, but also humiliated.
"Steve," Claire spoke up, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I just didn't expect to see your eyes like that."
"You don't have to tell me. I know they are disgusting."
"Oh, Steve," Claire chided, putting an arm around his shoulder and holding up some of his weight, before leading him to the couch.
Steve smiled distantly when she helped him sit. He stretched out, putting his legs on the coffee table. "God, I feel weak."
Sherry appeared in the living room, seeming oblivious to the two lovebirds sitting there. She grabbed the television remote and clicked off the TV.
"Did you just wake up?" Claire asked.
"Yeah. Sherry told me right away that you were here. I was so happy when I heard that." Steve smiled again.
"Looks like we were both given new clothes," Claire noted, picking at one of Steve's sleeves.
Steve's realization of his own clothes made him notice Claire's. "Wesker sure likes to take care of clothing needs, it seems."
Claire caught the bitter tone, but wasn't sure why Steve would be that bothered by the clothing.
"He did the same for me," Steve said. "When he brought me to his house, he had a room, furniture, clothing… all for me. It was creepy and I know it's his way of buttering me up."
"Obviously, it didn't work," Sherry voiced, sitting on the coffee table.
Steve and Claire turned to her, both seeming a bit frustrated by her presence. Claire smiled the best she could, while Steve rolled his eyes.
"Think you can cook us up something?" he asked, not even attempting to hide his frustration. "I'm famished."
"I could really go for something, too." Claire's statement was less demanding, but the tone was enough to reveal wanting to be alone with Steve.
Sherry gave an insulted look, biting her bottom lip and staring through her half-closed eyelids. She waited a few moments for Claire to vocalize an apology. When she didn't, Sherry stood up, practically stomping off into the kitchen.
Claire could hear the girl's shocking complaints, and suddenly felt very bad. "We shouldn't have done that."
"Who cares?" Steve blankly shrugged.
"She might poison our food," Claire told him, only half-joking.
Steve snorted, and Claire gave Steve a long stare, her eyes locked on his own.
Besides the similar shades of orange, Steve's eyes were noticeably different than Wesker's. The blonde's were so cat-like and spooky, but Steve's were almost… exotic. The pupil's diamond shape made him seem so bewitching and magical. Claire found herself magnified to them, as if they were sucking her in and leading her into a trance. She preferred his eyes this way to the fake contact cover-up.
Even through his agony and confusion, Steve had given such a desperate expression when burning with pain the previous day. He laid there on the floor, heaving and pleading as if in the middle of sexual ecstasy. At the time, Claire had noticed this, but would not allow herself to admit it due to the situation. But, now, thinking back to it, fascinated Claire in the most inappropriate way.
The more she thought about the way his head was thrown back, the way beads of sweat fell from his forehead, the more she felt a distinct stir in her lower stomach.
Uncomfortable, Claire turned away from Steve's stare and down to her feet.
"Something wrong?" Steve asked, his tone sounding deep and sensuous.
Claire wasn't sure if it was her imagination, but thankfully, the clanking pots and pans from the kitchen snapped her out of her thoughts. Just a moment later, Sherry stepped out of the kitchen.
"There's no food," she announced. "Cannibalism it is, I guess."
"None?" Steve questioned. "Why would he lock us in here without food?"
"Maybe he does want cannibalism to be the death of us," Sherry suggested, only half-joking. She looked at Steve and said, "No urges?"
Almost instantly, Claire realized what Sherry meant. The idea of Steve craving human meat had never even occurred to her. Steve was infected, but she didn't see him as a monster. He still looked relatively the same, acted the same…
She imagined that as a humanoid Tyrant he would have been far more advanced in every way possible, including diet. Maybe Wesker ate human meat as a Tyrant.
"Get over yourself," Steve told Sherry. "I'm not a mindless zombie, but if it comes down to it, we will eat you."
"Stop acting like a prick just to impress Claire."
"Whatever," Steve groaned.
Sherry picked up the phone on the coffee table. "I guess I can call Wesker in the labs and ask him." She began dialing the number.
"Let me see that," Claire said, reaching over to take the phone from Sherry. "Is there any way to get this to dial outside numbers?"
"No," the voice on the other end said.
Claire jumped, not realizing the call had already gone through. "So, you're leaving us up here with no food?" she inquired, after pressing the phone to her ear.
"Basically, yes," Wesker responded, dryly. "Maybe cannibalism will save you all."
Claire lowered her eyes, but routinely stood up to properly have a phone conversation. The Redfield noticed Sherry took her seat on the couch, and it only made Claire think about the fact the girl had made the same exact comment about cannibalism as Wesker had, almost in the same tone, too.
Not wanting to think about their similarities, Claire turned away to continue speaking to Wesker.
"Are you in love yet?" Sherry whispered to Steve, leaning in so Claire couldn't hear them.
"Shut up," Steve ordered, pushing her away roughly, but not enough to harm her.
"Come on, Steve," Sherry began in a serious tone. "You and I are stuck here because of our families. Claire does not deserve to be here."
"Neither do we!" he yelled.
Claire looked over her shoulder to Sherry and Steve. "If you really want to torture us," she said to Wesker, "then let us die slowly and painfully. Starving one is actually quite a peaceful death."
"That's not going to work," Wesker scolded, catching on to Claire's reverse psychology scheme.
Claire let out a loud, frustrated growl, throwing the phone on the other side of the room in defeat.
Sherry rose from the couch and grabbed the phone from the floor. "Hello?" she greeted, hoping the phone wasn't broken.
"If Claire tries to jump out of the window, let her."
Sherry felt slightly relieved to hear Wesker's voice. At least he was calm, unlike Steve and Claire at the moment. It brought a small amount of comfort, and for that, she was grateful.
"I am rather hungry," she admitted, trying not to sound desperate.
"And, there's no food at all?"
"Just some fruit, but I'm not sure I trust it." Sherry began pacing the room, feeling Claire and Steve's eyes on her.
"I'll have the kitchen bring you up something," he said after a short pause.
"And, what about—?"
"Yes," he agreed, knowing full well she was gong to ask about Steve and Claire.
Sherry was ready to express her gratitude when she heard the line go dead. She figured it was Wesker's way of showing he was still a bastard after doing something relatively nice. Though, whether or not their food was going to be poisoned was another story.
End of Chapter Seven