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Chapter 9: Rescued?

The door to the Claire's cell opened and a tall man in a tank top and jeans stepped inside. Claire resisted the urge to spit on him, and it was a rather strong urge at that; however, she had done that once already, and it had only resulted in the guard spitting into her water bottle. She hated the sidelong glances he gave her, and she spent most of her free time contemplating how best to attack him. She was sure she could handle him given the right opportunity; she wasn't a weakling, and she was resolved to act as soon as possible. Given a choice between Wesker's benevolence and her own wits, she'd choose her wits any day.

"Bathroom break, love—for being a good girl." Nash had given her a few privileges since her offer to help them, but she was hardly thrilled. She stood and followed the guard to the restroom in what she thought looked more like an empty building temporarily fixed as HQ. He shoved her into the small room and stepped inside with her. There was no stall, only an off-white toilet and sink. "Make it quick."

"How about some privacy?" she snapped. The man merely laughed.

"Get to it or you can wet your pants." Claire lowered her slacks and sat on the toilet, which unfortunately put her in the position of facing the man. He leered at her the entire time, and she glared daggers. She stood and pulled her pants up. When she turned around from flushing, he was much too close for comfort. He grabbed her waist and bent her over the sink while he fumbled with her pants. Her body automatically reacted. She rocketed her head backward into his face, and his nose cracked loudly. "Bitch!"

He staggered backward and Claire took the chance to wrest the gun from his exposed hip holster. He lunged, but it was too late for him. Claire unloaded the magazine into his chest and watched his bloody body fall to the ground. Crimson seeped across the white tiles and filled in the square recesses. Claire quickly jumped over the mess in her pumps and sprinted. She would have given anything for sneakers.

"What was that? Mike?" someone yelled as she exited the bathroom. Great, the entire place probably heard the gunshots. She ran for a window and crawled out onto the fire escape. Her heels kept getting stuck in the grating, so she removed them and unlatched the ladder. More gunshots fired from inside as she scrambled down the rungs and jumped the last few feet to the ground. Her feet stung and guns blared. She was amazed to realize that they weren't shooting at her.

"Opportunity knocks," she smiled, running across the street and into an alley. She hopped over a broken bottle and crouched behind a dumpster. She'd clear the path behind her and then find the nearest phone. It was a simple plan, a good plan. Yet no one was chasing her, and so a suspicious chill tickled her spine.

Peeking around the dumpster, she saw someone exiting the building, a shotgun in hand. Claire aimed and fired. His body fell to the ground, and Claire waited for the next person. If the coast were clear, she would make a run for it. Then a person in black detached himself from the doorway. The blond man looked at the fallen body, then toward the alley. "Wesker," Claire said, relieved it wasn't another of Nash's thugs. Wait. Relieved? The emotion vanished as Wesker began walking in her direction, and her grip on the gun tightened. She'd never get away unless she slowed him down…

She jumped out from behind the dumpster and aimed a shot at his head. He came, her mind whispered. Her trigger finger faltered. The gun tilted and fired into his shoulder instead. Wesker yelled, and Claire ran as fast as her legs would go. Her body was tired from deprivation and dehydration, but panic was a powerful motivator. She managed to make it to the end of the alley and around the corner before Wesker caught her.

"I wasn't expecting a warm welcome, Miss Redfield," he glowered. "But that was very ungrateful." He twirled her around, and Claire saw a mere patch of blood on his shirt. "You only grazed it, or I might not be so forgiving." The wound's already healed, Claire realized in astonishment. She had never before seen how fast his body healed.

"You would have left me to rot if it weren't for Nash. Let go!" Claire hollered. "I'm not going back with you!" Wesker grinned into her hair as he pulled her toward his car. The documents he had found in the building had him in a very good mood. The US government should have been more discerning in what they kept hard copies of and whom they distributed them to.

"You called me," he stressed as Claire continued to struggle. He squeezed until she stopped squirming. "Remember our first car ride, dear heart? Unless you'd like a headache, quietly sit and buckle yourself in." Claire seethed but let him somewhat toss her into the passenger's seat. The door instantly locked, and Wesker climbed in on the other side. Claire realized she was still holding the pumps and dropped them onto the floor while throwing her head back into the cushioned seat. "Are you injured?" Wesker asked as he started the car.

"Only my dignity, and my finger."

"The mess in the upstairs bathroom?" he guessed, giving her a long look. Claire shrugged and Wesker focused on the road.

"Why aren't I unconscious?"

"Because I didn't hit you." Claire shifted in her seat, annoyed and worried. "Dear heart, don't stress. You did, after all, ask for my help, and I came. You have more than made up for stealing the sample with saved time. Nash's days are numbered."

"I don't care," Claire stated. "If you're so grateful, let me go."

"I'm afraid not. I upheld my end of the deal. It's Chris's loss that he couldn't protect you. He seems to lack in that department." Claire wanted to slap him for insulting her brother like that. Chris is very good at protecting people, she told herself. She saw Chris running toward her in the airport, calling her name and smiling. She hadn't been that happy in what felt like forever. Her throat tightened and she cringed. Tears fell from her face, but she didn't make a sound. She didn't want Wesker's attention or for him to think her weak. She just silently cried, and Wesker didn't say a word.

"We were so close," she whispered into the window. She had been full of escape hopes under Nash's watch, and she had planned rather than dwell on her losses at the airport. There hadn't been time, but now… It began to rain, and she listened to the drops hitting the roof and windows until her eyelids drooped. Her grief exhausted her, and Wesker was lost in his own thoughts, probably deciding what to do with her. She didn't want to know what he was plotting, and so she slept for several hours until the sound of thunder wakened her. She sat up lazily in her seat and saw that Wesker seemed to have barely moved a muscle.

"Can we get some food?" she asked.

"Any preference?" Wesker asked, a slight smile about his lips.

"You're seriously giving me an option?" He gave her a cold glance.

"I can take it back, if you'd prefer."

"No, um, thanks," she said with an edge of viciousness. "I'd like something without grease. I've been living on vending machine food and junk for too long." Wesker barely nodded and Claire fell asleep again. When she woke up, the car was parked in a lot and Wesker was missing. She immediately tried the door handle, and, in opening it, let rain soak half of her leg. She slammed the door shut almost immediately. Where was she going to go in a strange place, exhausted, without money, and with Wesker searching for her? Despair gripped her, and she stewed in her misery until Wesker returned several minutes later. He passed her a cardboard box, and she opened it to a beautiful and expensive looking plate of fish, vegetables, and rice. The smell alone made her mouth water. "Thanks," she said, and meant it. It looked and tasted exquisite.

"Consider it reward for your service," Wesker mocked.

"Please, please don't ruin this for me," Claire mumbled. The food's pleasure had already somewhat dampened. "I did not intentionally help you. It was survival." Wesker settled into his seat and watched her scarf the food down.

"Things were much quieter without you, Miss Redfield." He had noticed the silence after her departure. On the second day she was gone, he had unexpectedly thought to go harass her while waiting for a file to transfer only to remember that she was not there. She held ideas and put her emotions on display in a manner he did not personally experience or sympathize with but understood from observing others. He could use them to his advantage, he knew, or at least as a brief distraction. Claire always had something to say about everything, and, unlike others, she was willing to say it to his face.

"It'll stay quiet if you let me go," Claire tried. Wesker gave her the look that told her to shut her mouth. "I just want my life back. You can't pay me to cooperate in dinners."

"You only say that because you don't know what it's like to starve. I could arrange for you to take that comment back, Miss Redfield. It would be too easy." He grabbed the box and took it, closing and setting it on his lap. Claire wanted to scream at him like an angry child. It was painful not to surrender and beg him.

"I should have killed you when I had the chance," she spat, looking out the window. "I take back the shred of humanity I credited you with." Wesker turned her chin toward him, and both of their eyes blazed with fire as they met.

"You knew I didn't come for your sake. Don't act like I betrayed you. As for shooting me, bullets can't kill me." He peered more intently at her. "But it was very foolish of you to spare my life, as you thought you were doing. Why would you hesitate, Claire?" Claire's fire abated and she closed her eyes and leaned into the leather.

"I thought I saw something in you that obviously wasn't there. Can we at least let Chris know I'm all right? He has no idea what happened to me."

"He'll know soon enough," Wesker stated flatly.

"Bastard."

"You're lucky I'm in such a generous mood, dear heart. Never forget your limits. It keeps you alive." Claire tried to ignore the smell of the food as Wesker started the car. He would swat her hand away if she reached for it, even though it was so close on the dashboard. "And I did not say that I minded my quiet interrupted." He left Claire to ponder that while they again hit the highway. She did, consequently, relent and ask for the food, but she did not feel angry so much as numb.