Thirty-one
Claire is sitting in Cumberland's office. Ever since she exerted her authority over him that one night he's been more than compliant. Though she's their captain, the others still treat her as one of their friends, their equal. Normally she would prefer it that way, but not when she disagrees with the direction in which they want to take the mission. That's when she puts her foot down and tells them what they need to do. Every time she's placed in that situation, every time she's required to treat her friends as subordinates, she's uncomfortable. They can hear it in her voice, and it doesn't inspire confidence. This is why she checks up on Dr. Cumberland. He's afraid of her. She needs that on occasion.
Cumberland is holding a binder. In it is his report on what he's discovered about Albert Wesker's blood. He's flipping through the pages, trying to decide on what to tell Captain Redfield so that she can get the gist of his findings. He knows if he were to hand her the entire report she'd be able to decipher it, but not any time soon. His handwriting is atrocious. He should have typed everything. There simply wasn't enough time.
She's bending over him. He looks up at her. "I never thought I'd get the chance to do something like this."
"What do you mean?"
"This is… this vial, this blood is like… the holy grail."
"I'm glad you're getting such a kick out of the collateral for Rebecca's life."
"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to be insensitive."
Claire knows what his intentions were, but the line just popped into her head, and timing is everything.
"What have you found out?" she says, ignoring his apology.
"This is the most impressive blood sample I've ever seen. I've isolated the virus from the genetic makeup of the blood itself. As far as the virus goes, I wasn't able to find out anything we didn't already know. The form that was injected was engineered to remove most of the possibilities of mutation that had been observed in the past."
Claire nods. She's contemplating whether or not to tell him not to point out the obvious. It's too soon after her last quip, so she doesn't. "But the blood… I've never seen anything like it. It's… it's perfect blood. There are none of the eccentricities that all human blood possesses. No variations between red and white cells, robust… I can't imagine what humanity would be like if we all had blood like this."
"That's a dangerous way to think, Cumberland," Claire says.
"I only mean…"
"Keep going. What else did you find?"
"Well, this sample opens up a lot of questions. For instance, the strain of virus that was used was, of course, engineered to have a particular effect. But Wesker was still taking a huge chance by injecting himself with it. How could he have known he wouldn't end up a hideous monster like all the others who were injected?"
"He must have come across the discovery in his research. That was his plan all along."
"Exactly. Remember, only one in one billion people possess the genetic makeup to spawn into Tyrants. Wesker must have known his blood, his DNA, supported the exact strain of virus he used to become what he did."
"We already knew all of this, doctor."
"True, but there's something we don't know."
"And that is..?"
"We don't know when he was actually infected."
"We were told he injected himself with the virus sometime around the mansion incident. Possibly a few days before it."
"That's not what I've found. The virus in this blood sample has been there for decades. It's very mature."
"He was around this stuff all the time. He must have been tempted to use himself as a subject."
"See," Cumberland starts, removing his glasses, "that's not the Wesker I knew."
"What do you mean?"
Cumberland puts down his folder and looks at her.
"I'm not suggesting I was close to him, don't get me wrong. No one was close to him except Birkin. Birkin monopolized all his time. But when we were training, Wesker was very wary of the samples. You could tell he was fascinated by them, but he was ridiculously careful. It was kind of funny, actually."
"So what are you saying?"
"I'm only telling you what I've discovered after completing my initial research."
"And how does that help us?"
Cumberland thinks of something to say. He's not quick enough. "Did you find out any weaknesses he has? Anything that can help us destroy him?"
"The way it stands now, there's nothing you can do. He has no weaknesses. I'd need more time to figure out…"
"Then keep looking. There has to be something there that we can use."
She's about to leave the room.
"Captain, with all due respect, Wesker's a clever man. If any of his alleged weaknesses would show up in his blood he wouldn't have handed it over to you."
"You're wrong, Cumberland." She turns around and faces him. "Wesker's very nervous that we have this. He gave it to us because it was the only way we'd let him keep Rebecca as a hostage. If it was anyone else, he would have denied us the sample. But it wasn't. It was her."
"Then," he says, "it sounds like you have found a weakness."
Cumberland looks at her with a smile that suggests great respect. Claire catches his gaze, reflects on his loaded comment. She's known this all along.
"Maybe I have."
She turns around and leaves. For the first time in a while, she's proud of herself.
Thirty-two
It makes sense that the rendezvous point is in the very warehouse where the ordeal began. Everyone is standing back to back, their weapons drawn, waiting for him to appear. He promised he wouldn't be accompanied by his men, but they're not taking any chances. They listen intently to every sound the warehouse makes. They can hear water dripping and the wind whistling through broken windows. They switched on every light they could find. A lot of the bulbs burned out a long time ago, so it hasn't made much difference. Every shadow is cause for alarm.
He still hasn't shown up.
No one is more worried than Chris. He's convinced himself something terrible has happened to Rebecca. He's thought of several scenarios in his head. He's going over them now while aiming his Magnum at the darkness.
I'm going to kill that son of a bitch.
A rat scurries across the floor, between two piles of broken crates. Chris is startled. He aims his gun at the pile of crates the rat was fleeing, expecting him to spring out from behind them. Nothing happens.
Suddenly they hear a clang at the other end of the warehouse. Someone is coming. Everyone tenses up. Leon wishes he wasn't facing the opposite way. He wants to be able to spring into action if he has to. He's armed with a shot gun. It's perfect for taking off heads. He's wearing short sleeves; the naked skin of his arm is pressed against Claire. She knows this, but now is not the time to savour the feeling. Her wrists are crossed. She's holding a gun in each hand. Leon steals a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. Her face is set and determined. That's the Claire he remembers.
Jill can tell there are two people coming. She can hear both sets of footsteps. One of them is obviously Rebecca. Jill knows the cadence of her steps, how heavily she steps on the floor, how quickly she walks, what part of her foot makes contact with the concrete. The other set of footsteps is heavier, less apologetic. Even after all these years, she knows when he's coming. She grips the handle of her pistol tighter. The footsteps stop.
"Come out, Wesker!" Claire says.
It's quiet. In the distance, they hear Rebecca whisper something, but they can't tell what she's said.
"Rebecca?" Chris calls out.
"I'm here, guys."
They're relieved to hear her voice again. She sounds okay.
"Captain Redfield."
"Wesker."
"Put the vial on the floor and slide it over here."
"Where are you?"
He steps out of the shadows in front of her. Even twenty feet away, he's intimidating. He's dressed entirely in black. Rebecca is a little ways behind him. She isn't restrained at all. Claire wants her to just run over to them, away from him. That, however, is risking too much.
Claire puts one of the pistols back in its holster and takes the vial of his blood out of her vest. She slowly bends down and places it on the floor, then slides it over to him. He stops it with his foot, picks it up. He holds it up to the light, closes his hand around it, and stands up again. He's looking at the floor for some reason, not saying anything. "Your turn, Wesker," Claire says. "Send Rebecca over."
He glances behind him at where Rebecca is standing, still partially concealed in the shadows. They look at each other; Claire is confused. They're communicating somehow, but she can't tell what they mean.
Rebecca starts walking. She approaches him. He turns his face away from her. She passes him.
Before she's out of reach, his hand shoots out and grabs her wrist.
Leon and Chris level their guns at him. "Let her go, Wesker!" Chris warns.
"Wait!" Rebecca says.
Jill doesn't understand what's going on. He's talking to Rebecca quietly, and she's answering him with murmurs and worried looks. They can't hear what either is saying. His hand tightens around her wrist whenever she looks like she's about to walk away.
Jill recognizes this scene, and it starts something inside her.
"Let her go now, Wesker!" Leon shouts.
"Give me a fucking minute!" he says.
They're shocked. He's not behaving the way he usually does. He's losing his cool.
"Wait, guys, wait..." Rebecca says.
She turns her back to them.
Chris strains to hear what they're saying. He doesn't understand why she's letting him speak at all. What can he possibly have to say? What lie is he telling her now?
Eighteen 'till she dies. I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch.
Rebecca raises her hand and holds it out to him. They keep talking under their breaths. Her open palm is steady and insistent. They can't see her face, but they can see his. He's looking at her out of the corner of his eye. Chris looks at Wesker's gloved hand around Rebecca's wrist and notices he's stroking the inside skin with his thumb.
That sick fuck.
Suddenly Wesker raises his other hand. Chris aims for it, ready to blow it off if he touches a hair on Rebecca's head. Wesker doesn't hit her.
He places the vial of his blood in her hand.
"Captain!" Rebecca calls. She turns around to face her team mates. "Catch!"
She tosses Claire the vial. "He's coming with us."
"The FUCK he is!" Chris yells.
"What the fuck is she doing?" Jill says.
"Rebecca, get away from him!" Leon says.
"Captain!"
Rebecca has a look on her face that can break a heart. Claire stares at her.
"Rebecca…" she starts.
"Captain, please…"
"What did you do to her, Wesker?" Chris says.
"I'm okay, Chris."
"You're fucked!"
"Claire…" Jill whispers.
Claire can't answer.
She's remembering her orders.
"If he comes with us, he comes in handcuffs," she says to Rebecca.
"You're not serious," Leon says, his eyes open wide.
"This is fucking bullshit!" Chris hisses.
"Shut up, Chris."
"Claire!"
"That's an order, Redfield!" she says with tremendous vehemence.
Chris is shocked. "Leon."
"Captain?" he asks warily.
"Take Wesker into custody."
"Captain, I don't think handcuffs will hold him."
"I understand the formality," Wesker says. "I won't resist."
Even submissive, his voice is chilling.
Leon releases a set of sturdy handcuffs from his belt. He's about to approach Wesker when Chris swipes them out of his hand.
"Chris," Leon says.
"You're not denying me this, Kennedy."
A sneer comes over Wesker's face as Chris steps up to him. Chris slaps one of the cuffs over his enemy's wrist, then roughly twists his arm behind his back. He grabs the other hand, puts his boot on Wesker's back, and forces him to his knees. He cuffs the other wrist. "Pass me the belt, Kennedy."
"He's not resisting, Chris," Rebecca says.
"He comes with us, he wears the fucking belt!" Chris snaps at her.
Leon looks at Claire.
"Give him the belt," she says.
Leon removes a security belt and hands it to Chris. Chris fastens the belt around Wesker's waist and locks the handcuffs to it, presumably immobilizing him. Chris stands in front of his enemy, glaring angrily. Wesker looks up at him, over the top of his sunglasses. Chris catches a glimpse of his evil stare, notices a smile growing on Wesker's face.
"Enjoy yourself, Redfield."
"That's enough," Claire says. "Leon, Jill, Chris, take Wesker to the chopper."
He steals one last look at Rebecca before he's lead away.
When they're alone, Claire looks at Rebecca gravely. "We're going back to the facility, at which point Cumberland will perform a full check up. After that, I want you in my office. You're going to tell me everything. Everything, Miss Chambers. That's an order. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Captain."
Rebecca is terrified.
Thirty-three
"Where are you?"
"Behind you."
A warm hand slides over Jill's naked belly. Chris presses himself against her back, enveloping her in his arms. "Chilly Jilly…"
"Hey you."
"I saw you naked."
"Oh yeah?"
"Uh-huh."
"What'd you think?"
"You're hot."
Jill smiles. "Yeah?"
"Yup. You're a hot mama."
Jill tries to remember why she was so afraid of this.
"Chris?"
"Yeah?"
She can't think of anything creative to say.
"You're hot too."
"Aw, you stole my line, man!"
"Well!"
"You can't say that."
"Why not?"
"'Cause I just said that."
"Well, I can't think on my feet!"
"You wanna lie down again?"
Jill lets out a pleasantly annoyed sigh. Chris leans into her and nibbles her earlobe. "Chilly Jilly…" he whispers.
"Where's the light?"
"I ate it."
"You ate the light?"
"Yup. No more light. It's dark forever."
"Chris, don't eat the light anymore."
"Too late."
She starts to walk over to where she knows the light switch is, but he pulls her back.
"I've got to get back to work!" she protests.
"You can't. I ate the DVD player too."
"Come on!"
He kisses her neck.
"Claire's out, you know," Chris says.
"Yeah? Where'd she go?"
"To get another recon disk."
"Where's Leon?"
"I don't know."
"Are we alone?"
"Yeah."
Jill acquires a mischievous grin.
"That sounds like fun."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Here comes the fun?"
"Yeah. You know what's fun?"
"What?"
"Letting me get back to work."
Chris snorts. "That's not fun!"
Jill tries to untangle herself from Chris' arms, but he won't let go. She pokes at him, pries at his fingers, starts to giggle. Chris' embrace remains solid. "Okay, Chris? I have to go now."
"Where's your hat, Jill?"
"I don't wear hats anymore."
"I liked your hat."
"I know you did."
"It was saucy."
"Uh, yeah."
She wiggles around to try and shake him off. It doesn't work.
"You can't leave without your hat."
"Then gimme my hat."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"I ate it."
Jill playfully bangs her fists on his hands. "You suck eggs!" she says.
"Eggs are good."
"Hey, is the toaster working?"
"No."
"What about the oven?"
"Yeah, but only two of the burners work."
"I'm hungry."
"Me too."
"Want me to make something?"
"Yeah, can you?"
"What do you want?"
"A Jill sandwich."
He makes a slurping sound while he turns her around. She laughs lightly.
"Yeah, that's right! Eat me!"
"Mmmmm…"
Chris gently bites the apple of Jill's cheek.
"Turn on the light."
"Jill…"
"Turn on the light."
He kisses her. She runs her hands over his chest. "Go turn on the light, Chris," she murmurs.
"Jilly…"
Their eyes close. "It's ugly out there," he says.
"I know."
"It's not even clean. And something fuckin' smells really bad in the kitchen. Have you smelled it too?"
"Yeah."
"I like it here. It smells like you in here."
"That's 'cause I'm here."
"Yeah."
"But it's dark."
"Yeah, that's okay."
"No it isn't. I'm a gentle flower. I need light."
"Gentle flower my ass."
She feigns being insulted, puts her hand on his face and tries to push him away. "Okay! Okay! Hold on!"
He releases her and disappears in the darkness. She can hear him rummaging around and knows he's making a mess. A ray of light shoots across the room suddenly. Chris has discovered a flashlight. He puts it under his chin. "There. Light."
"I meant big light."
"You can't have big light. You can have take-out pizza and this." He waves it over his head.
"If we order pizza you'll have to get dressed."
"I'll get dressed. You stay like that."
"What if I drop something on myself?"
"I'll lick it off."
"Ew!"
He walks over to her with the flashlight beneath his chin. "Wanna see something?"
"No."
"Really?"
"Fine, what?"
He points the light down. Jill puts her hand over her mouth. "Whaddaya think of that?" he asks jauntily.
"Well!" She looks up at him and nods. "That's impressive!" She says it as if it's a joke, but she means it.
"Yeah?"
"Oh yeah."
He nods too. "Oh yeah!"
"It's too bad I can't see more of you."
"Maybe I should go turn on the light."
"You can't."
"Why not?"
She steps up close to him, raises her hand, and tugs his bottom lip down with her thumb. His teeth part, and he bites it eagerly.
"'Cause I ate it."
He raises his eyebrows.
Thirty-four
Rebecca is looking at the clock on the wall. It's very late. He's been gone for hours. He didn't tell her where he was going; only that he'd be back in good time. She welcomed the solitude for the first hour or so; she walked around the office, taking everything in. She's finally discovered what the contents of the wall unit are, a fact that takes her entirely by surprise. There's an eclectic collection of music and movies, stuff that she never thought he'd be into. She even got a chance to play the piano without worrying about whether she was annoying him or not.
He hasn't returned.
She's starting to worry.
He's never left her alone before, and it's leaving her with a very uneasy feeling. It's so quiet she feels as if she's doing something wrong, as if at any moment he'll come in and chastise her for her choice of pastime. She doesn't want to start watching a movie, and there are several of her favourites here, because she doesn't want him to know what movies she likes. The same goes for the CDs. She's already tried going through his desk. All the drawers are locked. It's just as well; if she's unable to snoop, the temptation will fade away.
She sits at the piano and starts hitting the keys absently, listening to them echo. The notes seem to punctuate the sounds of traffic on the streets below. It's a haunting melody; she plays minor chords, and a sense of melancholy settles. She realizes she's doing it to herself, exploring her own maudlin feelings. It matches the weather; fall is here.
She hears the elevator arrive but doesn't turn her head. The doors part and he steps into the room. She hears him walk towards her when he sees her sitting at the piano. He stops in front of her. She raises her eyes. "Hello."
"Hello."
They look at each other. He bends down and kisses her softly on the forehead.
She knew it.
"Albert…"
"Yes."
Her voice is shaky.
"You smell like blood."
A heavy silence descends.
"Yes," he says.
She looks away.
"Did you kill someone?"
A pause.
"Yes."
It hurts for her to swallow.
"Why?"
"Because they deserved it."
"'They'."
She squeezes her eyes shut.
She knew it.
She rises suddenly and steps away from him, choosing the ground she will stand before she confronts him. He watches her as she finds a spot that's suitable and waits for her to begin. She puts her hand to her forehead, takes a deep breath. Her cheeks are flushed, but the rest of her face is pale.
"Who are you to say who deserves to die and who doesn't?"
"Because I'm the one with the power," he hisses.
"You broke the rule! You promised me!"
"The rules don't apply to me, Miss Chambers, and you'll do well to remember that."
"You promised me!"
"I lied."
He freely admits it. Her eyes widen. They search the room for anything that might make her feel less helpless.
"I should have known you would!"
"Yes, you should have known. Now you're right. Enjoy it."
"How can you be so heartless? It doesn't stop, does it?"
"You've got me confused with someone else."
"How can you be so cruel?"
"Because I'm not a good person, Miss Chambers. I was never a good person. You seem to think that there's something inside me to be redeemed. I'm telling you there isn't."
"I can't believe…"
"Don't," he says. "You can't believe? Oh yes you can. You can believe it. You've known it all this time. You're not that naïve that you thought this wouldn't happen. You expected it."
"Go to hell."
"You know it's always there, just beneath the surface, no matter how gentle I am with you, and that's exactly the type of thing you like, isn't it?"
"Fuck you!"
"You're turned on by villainy, Miss Chambers. You fetishize it. You always have."
"You're the only villain I've ever known, Wesker!"
He smirks at the sound of his name.
"That's not true, and you know it."
A bead of sweat trickles down her back.
"Shut up."
"Billy Coen, Rebecca. Do you remember him?"
"Shut up!"
"Lieutenant Billy Coen was charged with killing… what was it?" He pretends to search for the number. "Twenty-three people? That's right, isn't it? When you met him?"
"Don't you dare talk about Billy that way!" she says. "Billy saved me! He risked his life for me!"
"And it didn't bother you that he was a convicted killer, did it?"
"Billy's innocent!"
"To this day you still haven't been able to prove that. Is he?"
"Shut up!"
"Whether he is or he isn't, it didn't stop you from knowing him in the Biblical sense, did it?"
"I hate you!"
"Right now, yes, you do. But you'll be here for a while, and soon you'll catch me doing something that moves your pretty little heart, and you'll crawl into my lap again. Because you think everyone can be saved. I can't be, Miss Chambers. Not by you or anyone else. I'm sorry to have disappointed you."
This is what he's wanted, this night. He's been waiting for it. If he says the right things, does the right things, she'll realize she has to let go. She won't get attached to him.
And he won't get attached to her.
Rebecca holds in a sob and glares at him with pure rage. "That's a lovely expression."
"You have no right to talk about Billy."
"Your hero?"
"He saved my life more than once that night."
"And I tried to take it."
"I'm so stupid!"
"Yes, you are."
"I thought you could change."
"I'm sorry, dear heart."
"You can. You just won't."
"I can't. And I never will."
"You're a liar!"
"No, not now. Now I'm telling the truth."
"You're…"
"Would you like to see Lieutenant Coen again? I could arrange it. If I paid him enough, I'm sure he'd make an appearance."
Rebecca lunges at him, her fists flying. She grabs at his jacket, at his shirt, and tears with all her might. Several buttons pop off; the cloth rips. She's screaming, crying, swearing at him, punching him, scratching his face, grabbing handfuls of his hair. He doesn't fight back.
He can't fight back.
She slams him against the piano, and a dull rumble emanates from the impact. He seizes her upper arms and she starts to shake. "I thought you'd change!" she cries.
"I won't."
"For me!"
"I'm sorry."
"For me!"
"Not for anyone."
Her arms restrained, she kicks him over and over again.
"You're a snake! You're a liar!"
He can't help but draw her close to him.
"Yes, I am."
Sobbing, she puts her arms around him.
"How could you?"
"Easily. Very easily."
He puts his hand on her head, smoothes her hair.
"You promised!"
"I don't keep promises," he says softly.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to."
"I hate you."
"Good. Hate me."
She can't catch her breath. He holds her closer.
"I hate you Albert!"
"Good."
"Why do I want this?"
She starts pounding on his back. It doesn't hurt.
"Stop it."
"You're a horrible person!"
"You're right."
"But I can't…"
He pushes her away, grabs both her arms, and screams so loudly she chokes on her own voice.
"STOP HITTING ME!"
She's terrified. Her legs weaken. He tries to hold her up, but she sinks to her knees at his feet. He contemplates kicking her, but doesn't. Her chest heaves uncontrollably. He bends to help her to her feet, but she shoves him away. She rises, staggers a few paces away from him, and continues to cry.
She cries for what seems like forever; each time she feels she's about to stop, she remembers something and it starts again. It's ages before she's able to breathe normally again. They stand facing each other.
Neither one of them moves. Neither one of them leaves.
He doesn't want to be the first one to speak.
But he is.
Thirty-five
She finds him sitting at his desk in the dark. The moon is full and highlights his face. He's leaning on the dark wood, both hands clasped together. He's put his clothes back on, including his gloves. She's embarrassed. She thought he was still naked, so she didn't bother to dress.
He hears her bare feet stepping on the floor and turns his head. "You're awake," he says softly.
"Yeah. So are you."
"I received a message when you dozed off."
"Come back to bed with me."
"They succeeded, Rebecca."
At first she doesn't know what he's talking about. "Your team mates. They've held up their end of the bargain." He looks at her. "I have to take you home tomorrow."
She puts her hands on her cheeks, feels them getting hot, and takes a deep breath. She knew this day would come eventually, of course. She ran it through her mind over and over again, thought about the different ways she could and would react. One time she pictured weeping with joy; another time, she imagined being saddened by the news. There was a period she anticipated feeling totally numb.
Now that it's here, she doesn't know how to feel.
"Are they alright?"
"Yes, they all survived."
"Oh good…"
His face is expressionless, hidden behind the dark glasses. She tries to figure out what he's thinking but he is, as usual, an enigma. "Albert?"
"Yes?"
"What are you going to do now?"
He looks away and doesn't answer. "You don't have to go back."
"Don't start."
"You have to stop whatever it is you've got planned."
He stands. She keeps talking. "Please, Albert. Is it all really that important?"
"You don't understand."
"Don't do it, whatever it is."
He moves to hold her, but it's too sudden, and given the situation, Rebecca jumps.
He glares at her.
"What was that?"
"Albert, please…"
"You want to get away from me now? Is that it?"
"It's all over, you don't have to do this."
"Do what?"
"I don't know."
They stand in silence.
"This is our last night," he says.
"I know."
He turns away and returns to his chair, sits down, and looks out the window. She walks over to him. He doesn't look at her. "Captain?"
"Albert."
"Albert…" She stands next to him and watches him gaze out at the city. "Are you okay?"
"I know what's coming."
"What's coming?"
He sighs, and sounds exhausted.
"I'm going to beg you to stay."
His candidness catches her off guard. She turns her head and stares at the blinking lights on the tops of the skyscrapers.
"Will you?"
He nods. "How do you know?"
"It's what I do."
He says it as a matter of fact.
Rebecca drapes her leg over him. He leans back and welcomes her as she slips into his lap. Curled in his arms, she closes her eyes and feels him slide his gloved hands over her bare flesh. She breathes in deeply and catches the familiar smell of his cologne. She can't remember what it's called, but she likes it. She listens to the steady beating of his heart. They stay like this for a while.
"One last time."
"Yeah," she says.
"I'll tell you everything I can."
"Everything?"
"Yes. Will you do the same?"
"Everything I can."
He lifts her up as he rises. "Where?"
"Here."
"Right here?"
"Near the window."
"Alright."
"Take your glasses off."
He hesitates. "Take them off and promise me you'll look at me."
"You'll be left with that. Is that what you want?"
"Yes."
He puts her down and they stand in front of the wide windows. She reaches up and removes them. He's staring down at her ankles, thinking that perhaps he'll start there. "Look at me, Albert."
He does. She stares into them, mesmerized. "Were they always like that?"
"No."
"What color were they?"
He chuckles. It's almost funny.
"They were blue."
"Blue…" She smiles. "I never saw your eyes before, you know? You always wore these." She holds them up. He takes them from her and drops them on his desk.
Rebecca starts to undress him slowly, savouring the feeling of his expensive clothing on her fingertips. She pulls off his jacket and tosses it onto the desk with his shades. She unbuttons his shirt, opens it, runs her hands over the taught flesh, counts the defined muscles of his abdomen. He shifts to allow her access to his body. Every time he moves she gets a whiff of his scent; she's still trying to remember the name. Soon the cufflinks are loosened, the belt is unbuckled, the pants come off, the shorts are black and snug. She slips two fingers into his glove and carefully slides them off his hand, does the same with the other.
"Why do you wear gloves all the time?"
"Habit. Do you know you talk in your sleep?"
"Yes."
"Do you know what you say?"
"Sometimes. You've heard me?"
"Yes."
He leans into her, his roaming hands leading his strong arms, and holds her tightly as they begin. There are his lips and hers, his tongue and hers, his sighs, her murmurs, the sounds of kissing. He slips his fingers into her mouth, gets them wet, and his hand travels down her body to find the spot she loves best. He starts to massage her with moistened digits, cooing as she whimpers in pleasure. He turns her around and presses her back against his chest, one arm around her, embracing her, as the other hand continues to tease.
"Do you ever think of him?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"I remember him."
"Do you ever picture him instead of me?"
"Yes."
She groans, doesn't want him to stop. "Are you angry?"
"No…" he whispers, his fingers still dancing.
"Don't hurt me, Albert…"
"I won't hurt you."
"Please don't hurt me…"
"I won't."
Her hands reach up to hold the muscled forearm across her chest. She tosses her head. Her lip is curled. "Come for me, dear heart…" he purrs in her ear.
"Hold me…"
He grips her tighter.
"Come for me…"
Her head falls back on his shoulder. He sees her eyes are closed. "Come…" She can hear his breath as it escapes him, knows there's a small smile on his face. She thinks of his lips, beautiful and vicious as they are, slightly parted, near her neck.
"Don't stop…"
He laughs lightly.
"I'm not gonna stop. Come… You know you want to…"
She grunts. She loves that he's urging her, demanding her. "You know you wanna come, Rebecca… you're so close…"
"Don't stop, please..!"
"I won't." He turns his face, his lips brushing her ear as he murmurs. "Come on now… come on…" He leans back with her. "Come… come…"
Helpless, she does.
In a minute, he's laid her, trembling, on the floor behind his desk. The moon is high in the sky and illuminates their skin in ethereal shades of white and violet. He puts her arms over her head, giving himself access to her breasts. Her lovely tan nipples have hardened beneath his lusty gaze. He brings his lips to one perfect orb, licks and nibbles the sensitive skin. She watches him fondle her, her large eyes glassy and bright. He moves to the other, worships it as he did the first. She's glad they're so high above everything. They can look out over the city, but no one can see them.
"How old were you when you had your first?" she asks.
"Twenty-three. You?"
"Eighteen."
"After I met you?"
"Yes."
He grins.
"I missed my chance."
She smiles too.
She thought the questions would occur to her sooner. She thought she'd never stop talking, what with everything she wants to know. Now, beneath his gaze, she's having trouble remembering. Little things come back to her between caresses; it isn't that they seem insignificant now. She ignores them. She doesn't want to hear her own voice. She wants to hear his.
He pulls off his shorts. She can see the full extent of his eagerness as he straddles her and sits up. The moon is behind his head, lining his body in silver. He takes hold of himself and strokes slowly. She puts her hands on his, feels the way the muscles tense as he works his sex. He drops his head and catches sight of her hand rising and falling in time with his. Her hand looks so small compared to his. It strikes him that she uses them to heal. His ass tightens, and he grunts. He doesn't want to come yet.
"How old are you, Albert?"
He has no choice but to answer.
"Forty-eight."
"Why do you look so young?"
He smiles.
"How old do I look?"
"How young."
"How young?"
"Keep going…"
He realizes his hand has stopped.
"I can't or I'll…"
"I want you to."
"Not like this. Inside you."
She grins at him, wicked, mischievous.
"Say that again."
He leans down and locks her in his sight.
"I wanna come inside you."
"Really?"
"Yeah…" he nods.
She finally has the chance to get him back.
"Beg me," she says.
It isn't lost on him. He growls enthusiastically and lies down beside her. "Please…" She giggles and tries to roll away. He catches her, holds her against him. "Please, Rebecca?" He sweeps his knuckles over her cheek; then his hand begins to travel down her arm. "I'll be good…"
She laughs. She could ask him what his plans are; his words invite it. She can't. She doesn't want to think.
"No you won't."
"Yes I will… please…"
His fingers instinctively find the spot she loves the most; instead of rubbing, he traces it delicately. "Please, baby…"
"Called me baby..?"
"Yeah."
"You've never called me that before."
A flush comes over her, between her legs.
"There are a lot of things I want to call you."
"Like what?"
She expects him to say 'bitch'.
"Angel."
It hurts.
She closes her eyes.
"Oh… I like that…"
"Angel?"
"Yeah…"
He starts to rub.
"I'll call you angel if you let me fuck you." She whimpers. "I'll call you angel if you let me come inside you."
He doesn't know how risky this is. Everything he does, he says, everything signals the end. There's a weight to his words that he's completely unaware of. He has no concept of how to reach her; to him, it's teasing, power, control.
But he is reaching her. He's burning images in her head that will never leave.
This is the most dangerous thing he's ever done.
She returns to him, and he climbs on top of her, eases her legs apart with his knee. Her hands reach out for him. He takes them both, kisses them, lets them go. Her knees come up, bookends to his supple form. He holds himself, poised, ready to enter her for the last time. "Tell me you want me," he says.
"I want you, Albert…"
"Yeah…"
"You said…"
"Angel…"
She reaches for him again. There's a look on her face that he doesn't recognize. He doesn't know what she wants of him. He caresses her face. She grabs onto his hand, clasps it firmly between hers, then lets it go. He lays it on her belly. She runs her hands over his arms, his chest, his shoulders; her expression doesn't change.
He gets it then.
With one sweep of his arm, he catches both of her hands in one of his, presses them over his heart. "Angel," he moans, and with one merciful thrust, she's his.
It's painful, exquisite. Every empty space in her body is filled with him, with his cruelty, his lust, his passion, and the things he's hidden away. His hands, his fingers, pierce the last barrier in her mind, a barrier she's held up for all these weeks. It shatters. They're grunting like animals, moaning so loud the windows shake. When they roll over she pins his wrists to the floor. He pretends he can't move and bucks, writhes beneath her. They beg and plead with each other, order each other to obey their wishes. He throbs. She swells. Soon he's on top of her again. It won't be long now.
"Last time," she says.
"Yes..."
"I've never… felt…"
"… this…"
"… yeah…"
"Don't go…"
"… before…"
"Don't go…"
"I…"
"Stay with me…"
"… oh…"
"... please…"
"… I have to…"
"… angel…"
"I love you, Albert..."
His eyes open. "What?"
"I love you..."
Heat.
Nothing but heat.
"… oh…."
"Do you love me, Albert?"
This is it.
"I'm gonna come, Rebecca…"
"Do you love me?"
"I'm gonna come..."
"Answer me..."
"Oh fuck..."
"Answer me, Albert..."
His body releases him. He gasps.
"Yes... Yes... Fuck, yes... Yes..."
The next thing he hears, when the bells stop ringing, is Rebecca sobbing gently into his neck. He looks down at her, his hands smooth over her damp cheeks. "What is it?"
"I can't remember what it's called!"
"What?"
"Your cologne!"
"What?"
"Your cologne! I can't remember!"
He holds her close.
"I'll write it down for you."