Day 92

Wesker and Emily had been working for over an hour in the laboratory by now and Emily had been abnormally quiet. Every time he looked at her, she avoided his sight. He had noticed every detail about her that would appear as suspicious. Her hands appeared to be shaking, she breathed irregularly and her features seemed tensed. At first, he had wondered if she was ashamed of their little romantic moment. But no, something was just not right. He would be patient enough to wait for the moment she revealed herself to him.

It took Emily all her self control to not yell at Albert her anger, but she was far too convinced getting her vengeance was the right thing to do. She tried to act normally, but her hatred had been terribly hard to cover up. She hoped her pitiful acting talents had been enough for him to not suspect anything. She had finally come to her senses, her sanity freshly restored. She felt ashamed for falling so easily for this man… But now was too late for regrets, now was time for vengeance…

The moment of truth finally came; Wesker was looking down the microscope. Emily grabbed a scalpel and got ready to stab the traitor with it. If he died, they would most likely beat her to death, but she did not care, what else did she have to live for? Nothing… She was going to die making him pay, but it would be a worthwhile death to her. She raised her arm, then stabbed at him as hard as she could. But the moment the knife was about to penetrate his skin, something unexplainable happened. In the blink of an eye, he had turned, then grabbed her wrists, exerting an unbearable pressure on her bones. Shocked, she whimpered, wincing under his hold, unable to take it anymore. The knife dropped on the floor, the sound of the metal hitting the hard floor echoing in the entire room. He understood what had just happened right away. That was the reason behind her strange behavior.

She had never felt such a horrible physical pain in her entire life, but it did not stop her from screaming her hatred at him.

"You FUCKING LIAR!"

An evil grin showed on his face; he appreciated the moment to its full extent, loving the feeling of liberation it brought to him. He was finally free from the woman that had caused him so many headaches. After looking at her in pleasure struggling to break free, he finally took a more serious expression.

"How did you find me out?" his voice came out cold, distant and composed. It was so different than usual… As if it was a completely different person that had just talked to her.

"The guard that picks me up every morning, I heard him talk to you over his radio. I was close to the door of my room and heard the whole conversation."

"I guess Robert will have to die," he thought to himself.

For a moment they just stared at each other, all her features filled with anger, his with amusement.

"Asshole!" she yelled, not being able to contain herself anymore.

Wanting to teach her a lesson, he pushed her to the floor savagely. She whimpered as her butt and back hit the cold floor violently. He walked slowly to her then crouched down, looking at her like she was simply his prey, his features menacing. His head tilted, he stared at her and observed her reactions, his silence heavy.

"Who are you, anyway?" she finally asked.

"My name really is Albert Wesker," he stopped himself at first, still observing her. She impatiently waited for the rest of his story, so he filled her curiosity, feeling he owed it to her after all. "For years, I was a researcher for Umbrella Corporation, working on their underground research on bioweapons. Unfortunately, the paycheck was not satisfying enough and they underestimated my talents, not to mention that I did not want to sink with the ship. So I found a new employer that would meet my expectations to a greater extent. They offered me more power and more money. So far I'm pretty satisfied with my advancement, but I needed to prove myself by obtaining the T-veronica virus and making it a powerful weapon. That is where you came into play, my talents were not enough to complete this task, but yours were. As you declined any of our offers, you left me no choice but to force you to work for us."

"So you never had a daughter, right? Absolutely nothing you ever told me was true?" she asked right away, even though she already knew the answer. She just had to ask, she just had to hear it from his own mouth…

Her questions amused him. "Of course not," he grinned, proud of himself. "I knew my little story would hit hard on your overflowing sense of morality."

"Asshole!" she yelled again, feeling the tears filling her eyes.

"Enough!" he stated firmly, grabbing her arm and forcing her roughly to stand up. He brought her to her bench and urged her to sit down. "Enough discussion, we are losing our time. Now, you work," he ordered, leaving no place for disobedience.

"Fuck you!" she yelled before spitting in his face.

His patience was tested out greatly. Instead of punching her in the face smashing her skull like a watermelon, he slapped her, not enough to really leave any great physical damage on her, but enough to leave a red mark on her cheek for several days. He had to show her he was in control, he had to show her there would be no insubordination tolerated. She covered her cheek with her hand, humiliated and hurt all at once, but stayed still, determined to not spend another minute of her life obeying this man. Tired of her attitude, he grabbed her arm. His grip was so tight that she felt her arm could be reduced to nothing if he applied just a little more pressure. He wiped her saliva off of his face with his other hand, then moved her along with him, making her almost trip from his quick pace.

"Fine, I'll bring you to your cell for the moment. You need to cool down, Miss Reynolds."

Emily struggled to break free, but there was no point, his grip was too tight for her meagre strength. She tried to kick and punch him, but he evaded all her pathetic moves. When he had enough, he lifted her on his shoulder, her head upside down, and held her legs even tighter than he was holding her upper arm. Then finally, they reached her cell, her agony coming to an end. He shoved her in roughly, then slammed the door behind him without even bothering to say anything to her. Left with no other choice than to feel miserable, she crashed in her bed and cried herself dry…

Emily had been crying for a good two hours now. She was feeling so miserable. Albert was the only thing she was hanging on to, and now there was no more Albert. Instead, there was a hole inside her. The hatred had left her empty. Her vengeance was the only thing she had left and she failed to attain it.

She heard the door open, but did not even bother to look who it was. She stayed on the bed, laying her head on her pillow filthy with her tears. A guard came, a different one than usual, Robert was already dead… He left a plate of food on the floor then left immediately. She finally turned her head and looked on the floor, seeing the tray of food. Not a tuna sandwich, but a plate of spaghetti. What were they thinking? That bringing her some decent food would make her forget all that happened?

She started crying again, desperate for any kind of comfort. But there was none… There was nothing left… Nothing. What was the point of living anymore? She would never get her freedom again. This Albert Wesker would not allow it. Actually, when he would be done with her, he would most likely kill her… If she was doomed already, she could simply end her life right now. At least, this way, she would not have to suffer any longer. She could try to make a rope with her clothes, but where would she hang the thing? She had no sharp object, and making herself drown was not possible: it was against human instinct.

Her eyes suddenly fell on the metal tray holding her food. Maybe if she broke the thing, maybe it would be sharp enough to cut her wrists, maybe she would finally find an escape. Her escape...

Inch by inch, she bent the tray, using the frame of her bed to help herself, placing the thing on the floor and stepping on it to bend it further. It took her a good two hours to get it to break. Like a prisoner, she was patient, patient for her escape. Though her personal escape was a little bit different than the one of a typical prisoner.

She looked at the sharp metal piece, her hands trembling. There it was: her only salvation, her escape from her miserable life. She closed her eyes, then pressed it firmly on her left wrist, moving it down. It was amazingly painful and tears escaped her eyes, but she did not care, she kept going. When the first one was cut enough, she proceeded with the second one. Her job finally done, the pain almost unbearable, she moved quickly before she left too much blood all over the place. She left the plate of food on the floor, hid the rest of the tray under her bed, then laid on her bed, covering herself with the blanket. It would take hours until she lost all her blood and finally died. If someone came in, they had to believe she was sleeping. After a few minutes, she drifted away… drifted away to an endless night...

Wesker was sitting in his office, unable to concentrate on his work. It had been hours since he had left her in her room, but he still could not get the whole scene out of his mind. Maybe he had gone too far with her? After all, how was she supposed to continue her work if the whole plan had failed. He had to talk to her, to calm her down. Somehow, maybe he could convince her to work for them. Maybe he could come up with a new story, maybe she would be stupid enough to believe it again…

He left his office and walked slowly down the corridor, trying to come up with the words that would convince her. He finally got to her cell, then knocked on the door. No answer. He proceeded in, only to see her sleeping on the bed. He was about to leave, figuring there would be a better time to talk to her, when he noticed blood on the floor. Surprised, he stared at it, puzzled at what might have happened, then he realized it was dripping from the bed. Quickly, he ran to it and removed the blanket she had rolled herself in. He only saw her back, but he could see the bed was drenched with blood. He turned her around only to realize she had cut her wrists. Frantically, he searched for her pulse: it was weak, but it was still there.

His heart was beating fast, he was almost panicked. There was no time to lose. With his astonishing speed, he left the cell with her in his arms, climbed ten floors of the base through the staircase and brought her to the infirmary.

"I need help!" he yelled seeing no one at the entrance of the small emergency room of the headquarters. Hearing such a phrase from Wesker's mouth was very unexpected.

Having heard his plea, the doctor in charge that night and a few nurses came to his rescue.

"What happened?" the doctor asked, frowning at the girl in Wesker's arms, but still keeping his calm in the situation.

"She tried to kill herself, I don't know how long it has been but, her pulse is very weak. She lost a lot of blood."

Not losing any time, one of the nurses had left the room, bringing back a stretcher. Wesker put her down carefully, his movements delicate, unusual of his personality. The nurses brought her to the operating room, followed by the doctor.

"You better save her!" he threatened the doctor looking at him entering the operating room.

"We'll do our best, Dr. Wesker," he stated calmly before disappearing in the doorframe.

Wesker stood up there for several minutes, paralyzed, his heart still beating fast. He realized panic had overwhelmed him, his generally cold demeanor replaced by complete fear. The time he had felt such emotions in his life could be counted on one hand…