Chapter Ten:
Good Luck Trying To Be Someone Else
xxxxx
Having rolled into bed at 3 a.m. last night, Claire was not too thrilled when Steve stormed into her room three hours later and announced it was time to wake up so they could catch the bus to Disney World. Maybe he was trying to be ironic, but Claire actually found his joke rather cruel, given the situation they were in and the location she knew they were headed to as well. She ended up throwing her bed sheets over her head, muttering curses as Steve left her room to properly dress himself for the day. When she didn't get up after he was done, he submitted to pouring a cold glass of water on her, startling her as if she had been thrown into a bathtub. Although his tactic was successful in getting her out of bed, it wasn't successful in getting her ready for the day; instead, she jumped out of bed, punched Steve in the face, and literally, kicked him out of her room. It took her exactly forty-five minutes to steam off before managing to change in day clothes and agree to leave the house with Wesker and Steve.
Now, looking back, Claire was deeply embarrassed, not only by what Steve had done, but also, by her behavior. She figured that maybe the whole thing would be funny two years from now.
"Care to explain what the fuck we are doing here?" Claire asked harshly, folding her arms. She was sitting (rather impatiently) next to Steve outside one of the many labs in The Agency facility, terribly agitated and just plain frustrated.
"That's the fifth time you asked," Steve stated, sighing.
"Well, it's the first time I've asked you," she pointed out.
"I don't know," he said quickly. "And, seriously, Claire, I don't."
"You better be telling the truth, Steve, or I swear to God…"
"Why would I lie about something like—?"
"Redfield?" a voice interrupted.
Both Claire and Steve looked up, seeing a brunette woman standing in front of them, dressed in a white lab coat and plain dress pants. Her hair was tied back in a tight bun, and she wore thin-framed glasses, appearing rather professional, as opposed to Wesker, who looked more suited for a combat zone than a laboratory, even if he did wear a lab coat. All Claire could do was gawk at her, waiting for the woman to address what she wanted instead of answering anything further. The woman stepped forward, flipping a page on her clipboard.
"I've been told to examine you," she stated, reaching out and offering her hand to Claire. "My name is Liane Gervais," she then said, her last name finally revealing a loose French accent.
"What do you want with Claire, Mrs. Ger-vaaa?" Steve inquired, mocking the way she spoke.
"Dr. Gervais," she corrected. "And, Steven,"—she looked down at her clipboard quickly, reading off the boy's name from a file she had—"all I intend to do is give Claire a physical, of the sort."
"Physical…" Claire echoed, raising an eyebrow. "I don't like the sound of that."
"It's nothing to worry about," Dr. Gervais said. "I promise I won't harm you in any way. All I need is to check your weight, heart rate and reflexes."
"I came all the way from Wesker's crap shack to get a damn physical?" Claire grinded out, finally standing up from her seat. "Aren't these things he could've checked himself?"
"Uh, you really want Wesker touching you and shit?" Steve inquired. "And, please, don't answer that if your response is anything but no."
Claire thought this over for a second. Steve was definitely right: the idea of Wesker giving her a physical was enough to send shivers down her body. Ugh, maybe this was the lesser of two evils. Although, truthfully, a physical wasn't that bad. In fact, Claire was pretty used to them. Throughout high school and her first year in college, it was mandatory to have an updated physical, especially if a student was involved in sports. But, there was a lot more to a physical than being weighed and tapped on the knee with one of those shiny metal tools. She'd probably have to piss in a cup, and since Steve had previously complained about being prodded with needles all the time, she suspected a blood sample would be taken, too. That was where her suspicions continued to grow. Who knew what the hell The Agency would do with her blood, or even what tests they intended to do with it!
Claire glanced over at Steve, and all he could do was shrug in the most unhelpful way possible. "I think Sherry's been in for physicals," he offered, "and she hasn't been morphed into a monster, so who knows? This might actually be completely innocent."
"I'm holding you to that," Claire said unevenly, following Dr. Gervais as she walked into a nearby lab room. Inside, she took a seat on a stool, crossing her legs and slanting awkwardly.
"Arm," Dr. Gervais simply stated, hinting for Claire to roll up her long-sleeved sweater. Instead of preparing a needle and vial like the Redfield suspected she would, the woman only wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her upper-arm, attaching it by the Velcro end and routinely pumping it tight as she fiddled with the stethoscope. After a moment, she nodded and said, "Excellent blood pressure."
Claire smiled dumbly. "Thanks, I work really hard on it," she snarked.
As if being punished for her comment, Claire felt the woman rip off the cuff and begin roughly patting her mid-arm, waiting for the girl's vein to adjust. Claire then cringed as Dr. Gervais prepared the plastic hub and vacuum tube onto the needle. She didn't dare look when the terribly thin piece of metal was finally pierced her vein. Just when Claire thought it was over, however, the tubes were switched, and her vein sadly gave up a whole other 25mls of blood. Jesus Christ, what the hell were they going to test for anyway?
"Oh, man, this is fucking epic!" Steve suddenly roared from the hallway. Claire jolted, immediately assuming he was standing in the doorway, watching and laughing at her expense. He wasn't standing there, though, and Claire was only left to continue overhearing his mysterious excitement. "Who knew she had it in her? Oh, man! This is gold! Pure and utter gold!" he continued.
"Settle down," a voice chided, obviously belonging to Wesker.
Great, Claire thought, now he's here to monitor my goddamn physical.
This was a completely self-absorbed thought, of course, given that she knew whatever they were discussing had nothing to do with her at the moment. It definitely wasn't Agency-related either, because even though Steve was doing a lousy job supporting the right side, he would never use that hysterically amused tone over anything involving his so-called "work."
So perplexed by what was going on, Claire barely noticed when the needle left her arm, and Dr. Gervais walked to the opposite side of the room to jot notes down on her clipboard. Just then, Wesker entered the room, lab coat on and sunglasses off. He looked strangely professional, even with those abnormal cat eyes of his.
"I have a proposition for you," he announced, approaching Claire.
The Redfield just glared at him, rubbing her suddenly sore arm.
"Sherry was in at fight at school, and it—"
"She what?" Claire shouted, jumping from the stool. "Oh, my God! Is she okay? What happened? Oh, God!"
Wesker's brow lowered, displaying his annoyance in her behavior. "She's fine," he said plainly. "Now, being that I am her guardian, they called me, and I've been asked to come in for a meeting."
Steve suddenly appeared in the room. "Isn't that just golden? Like he's her fucking dad! Can you just imagine him, Albert Wesker, going into a middle school and sitting in the principal's office as Sherry is lectured about fighting? Oh, God!" Steve ended his explosion of amusement by gripping his sides, continuing to laugh at the sheer irony of it all.
Claire's worried expression faltered, unable to believe Steve's immaturity. She shook her head and curled her lower lip before asking, "What happened?" She looked at Wesker steadily, knowing she had to stay calm if she wanted answers.
"They didn't say specifically," he admitted, "however, it happened during passing periods. The girl Sherry was fighting was sent to the hospital for a broken nose."
"What?" Steve and Claire cried in unison.
Claire left her mouth wide open, gaping in disbelief. "Oh, Sherry…" she muttered, sighing.
"Good for her!" Steve repeated. "I mean, fuck, she always has this attitude about her, and I always thought she'd never do anything with it. Gotta hand it to her."
She shot him a glare. "This isn't funny, Steve," she remarked. "Sherry could be in serious trouble."
"I doubt it," Wesker chimed in, crossing his arms. "She's thirteen; kids do this kind of stuff. She'll just be lectured about it, told to go home for the day, and no one will care tomorrow."
"Except the girl whose nose Sherry smashed in!"
Dr. Gervais approached the three, holding a small plastic cup. "I need to continue Miss Redfield's physical," she said slowly, eyeing Wesker to hint for both Steve and him to leave the room.
Claire grabbed the cup from the doctor's hand, her face flushing in embarrassment. "Okay, yeah, that's fine, but what's this proposition you speak of?" she asked, avoiding eye contact. There was something very unpleasant about the man knowing she was going to piss in a cup in just a few minutes.
"I'll tell you after you're done," he insisted blandly.
Claire's complexion brightened even more, causing her to grumble beneath her breath as she walked away towards the back of the lab with Dr. Gervais. The woman guided her into the small bathroom and closed the door for Claire once she entered. For a bathroom it sure was complicated, though; the walls were a mint green color that was covered in a hazmat-labeled glass, and everything was automatic, thus dismissing the need for an individual to touch any object.
In the privacy of the small enclosure, the situation became less embarrassing, but it was still unsettling that Steve and Wesker were out there, knowing she was crouching over like a retard and trying to aim into the cup correctly. Fuck, men sure had it easier.
When Claire was finished, she screwed the lid back onto the cup and washed her hands. Back in the lab, Wesker was showing Steve something, which, from Claire's location, appeared to be a small, laminated card. She had no time to question it, however, for Dr. Gervais took the cup and subsequently directed Claire toward the scale to weigh her.
"120 pounds," the woman noted, writing it on the clipboard.
"120?" Claire repeated. "Fuck, I gained weight."
Dr. Gervais looked up to the girl, who remained on the scale. "When was the last time you were weighed?" she wondered.
"My last physical at school…" she said. "I was 115 pounds back then."
"You've been more energetic since then, haven't you?" she theorized. "I am guessing it is muscle, not fat, Miss Redfield. You can relax."
Claire rolled her eyes, not believing that one bit. In the last few months she had been anything but energetic. Lying around and studying Umbrella files wasn't exercise, and since being kidnapped by Wesker, she obviously hadn't done anything physically exerting.
Kidnapped? That doesn't really sound like the right word. You haven't done much to fucking try and escape.
Another roll of her eyes, and the Redfield stepped off the scale. "Are we done?" she asked.
Dr. Gervais nodded and looked at Wesker. "You can take her now."
Claire hesitantly walked over to Steve and the blonde man, eyeing the card Steve was still holding. "What's that?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow.
"Uh, it's for you," Steve explained, handing over the card. "It's an I.D. card. Or, rather, a fake I.D. card."
Eyebrow remaining raised, Claire examined it, seeing that while her picture was used on the card, her name certainly was not. "Amanda Birkin? What the hell?" Before she had a chance to figure anything out, she took another look at the photo on the I.D., realizing exactly where it came from. "Woah, wait, what gives you the right to use my Rockfort picture?"
Steve frowned. "He did the same for me when he made my fake Umbrella I.D.," the boy grumbled.
"Aren't you going to ask what it's for?"
Claire slowly rose her gaze to Wesker's. "Well, this obviously has something to do with Sherry being in trouble. What, do you want me to pose as her mother, or something?"
"No, her sister," Wesker said quickly, his tone almost catty. "I have work to do here, and they want her guardian to come in, so being that you're over eighteen, you'll do just fine as a substitute."
"She's your responsibility," Claire countered, glaring at the man cruelly. "You just said it—you're her guardian, basically her father—and you can't find time out of your schedule to go to her school when something goes wrong?"
"I'm not her father," Wesker replied, glaring back at the girl. "I thought, if anything, you'd be grateful for the opportunity. Sherry's opinion of you has certainly lowered since your arrival here. This is a wonderful chance to revive your relationship."
"That's fucking low, even for you," Claire spat out, shoving the I.D. into her pocket. "I'll do this, but only because I do care for Sherry, unlike you," she finished, crossing her arms, as if gesturing for this proposition to get a move on.
"Wonderful, then," he announced, smirking. "Steven will go with you. But, I warn you, any attempts to use this as your opportunity for a getaway will only result in failure."
Claire's expression fell as she sucked in her lower lip, briefly eyeing Steve, who remained emotionless.
"I've already arranged for a driver to take you there, so head up to the main entrance," Wesker stated. "Oh, and Steve, put your contacts in on the way."
"O-Okay…" he slowly replied, turning to Claire afterwards. "Ready to go?"
Claire shrugged, following the boy outside the labs and towards the elevator.
"This is goddamn ridiculous," the girl seethed. "Obviously Wesker needs a course or two on parenting."
Steve sighed. "Well, he is right—he's not her father. William Birkin was, and he's dead and gone."
"Yeah, and when Wesker took it upon himself to kidnap Sherry he assumed the role as her guardian!"
"Do you really expect him to be fatherly towards her?"
Claire narrowed her eyes, seeing Steve's point. "Well, no," she admitted, "but you would think he'd take on some role, seeing as how he lets her live with him and attend school."
"What, are you admitting Sherry actually does have somewhat of a normal life?"
"Nothing is 'normal' when Wesker is involved!" Claire shouted as they arrived at the elevator. "But… sometimes I think about it, and I know that Wesker sort of provides a better life for her than…" Trailing off, the girl pursed her lips, afraid to say anything more.
"Than who?" Steve wondered, pressing the call button.
"Than everyone…" she murmured. "Her parents were neglectful and barely gave her any attention, and while I know Wesker does the same, at least he's home regularly. And, when I really start to think about it, I know Chris and Leon and I would've failed as well. We never could've had enrolled her in school without Umbrella finding her, and even if we could, there was no way we could've ever receive legal custody of her. She would've ended up in some foster home if the government found out we had her."
"Oh…" Steve said as the elevator arrived. "Sherry doesn't really complain about her situation…"
"Don't remind me," Claire sighed out. She ran a hand through her hair, keeping her arms crossed as she did so.
The two entered the elevator, walking towards the back where they could be alone. There were several employees riding to the upper-levels as well, but they were immersed in their own conversations, too busy to question the new presence of Steve and Claire. Steve was actually grateful for this, because with Claire so visibly upset at the moment, it almost made him want to comfort her somehow. But, given their rocky interactions in the last couple of days, he wasn't sure how she was going to react to such a thing. Then again, did it really matter? If she pushed him away (figuratively and literally) it wouldn't be much different from their verbal spats all morning.
When Claire leaned against the elevator's wall, having fallen in deep thought, Steve scooted himself closer, feeling both awkward and decidedly dorky. It felt like one of those cliché scenes from a chick flick, where the man was "casually" stretching his arm out behind his date at the movie theater. Almost immediately, Claire took notice of Steve's new proximity, and the boy cursed himself for thinking Claire would ever be that easy to make a move on in such a formulaic manner.
However, instead of moving aside or insulting Steve's motives, the girl took it upon herself to press up against him, burying her face into his neck and letting out a stressful sigh. Steve practically melted into the embrace, wrapping his arms around her and smiling to himself. How long had it been since they had a moment like this? God, it felt like eternity, and Steve wanted nothing more for it to last longer than some stupid elevator ride.
xxxxx
Claire decided Sherry's school looked more like a goddamn college than a measly middle school. In fact, she hadn't even believed they arrived at the correct location when the driver initially parked in front of the building. It certainly lived up to every assumption made about private schools, however, especially given the pompous name: Palmer Memorial Academy Middle School. Since when were schools also academies? It was no wonder Sherry ended up in a fight with one of her classmates. Everyone who attended this district was obviously a pompous asshole.
"Per the order of Mr. Wesker, you two may go in alone, but I shall be waiting in the car when the meeting is over," the driver informed Claire and Steve, turning slightly in the front seat to address them properly.
Claire took a deep breath, nodding. Steve climbed out of the backseat first, offering a hand to Claire to help her out afterwards. Just the brief physical contact allowed him to feel the stiffness in her body, and he realized Claire must have been insanely nervous about the whole thing. He frowned as he closed the car door, catching up to the girl, who had already begun walking towards the main entrance.
"Claire…" he voiced carefully, keeping his frown evident. "Are you okay?"
"I'm just worried," she answered, pushing through the front doors and entering the building.
It appeared much more typical inside the school than outside. There was nothing too fancy about the surroundings, although the trophy case in the main corridor was proof enough that academics were not the school's only focus.
"I assume we just go to the front office," Claire eventually said, seeing the office to the left of the trophy case. She entered, approaching the front desk, where a gray-haired secretary was busy filing paperwork. "Excuse me," the Redfield said, "I'm… I'm here for Sherry Birkin. I was called in about… a fight she had?" Her last sentence came out in a stutter, and the girl automatically turned red, embarrassed by her demeanor.
The secretary looked at Claire up and down. "Are you her guardian?" she asked, raising an eyebrow beneath her red-framed glasses.
"Um, no, actually," she said, pursing her lips. "I'm her sister…"
"We called in her guardian," the lady said, walking over to her desk and picking up a file. She flipped open the manila folder, and continued, saying, "Albert Wesker was who we spoke to on the phone."
"Oh, yes… He's our guardian." Claire's tone lowered, and she decided to rephrase herself, by saying, "Albert is our guardian, yes." Obviously using the man's first name was far from normal for Claire, but she thought she did a decent job speaking casually.
"May I see a driver's license, or I.D., ma'am?"
"O-Of course!" Claire agreed, digging into her pocket, where the faux I.D. card remained. She handed it to the lady, who only looked at it for a couple of seconds before returning it to Claire.
"Sherry is in the principal's office in back," the woman informed, gesturing behind the counter, where a hallway was located. "It's the last door on the right."
Claire nodded her thank you before turning to Steve. "You should wait out here. They're going to wonder who you are."
"But, I want to know what happened! I want the gossip on the big brouhaha!"
"I'll fill you in, Steve," she promised, smiling slightly. "Besides, I think Sherry will be overwhelmed with you there."
Steve gave a glare, knowing this was true, given the Sherry's negative opinion of him. Sometimes he really hated that girl… She was such a kid: nosy, intrusive and just an overall smartass. Actually, sometimes she reminded him too much of himself, and that's what was most bothersome of all. But, if that were true, why the hell did Wesker seem so tolerant of Sherry and not Steve? Maybe it was because Sherry had blonde hair, like Wesker. Fucking weirdos, the both of them.
Obliging to Claire's request, Steve took a seat in one of the empty chairs. Claire, meanwhile, had already disappeared into the hallway, finding the principal's door wide open with the man standing in front of the room. The secretary must have informed him someone had arrived.
"Ah, hello, Miss Birkin," he greeted, offering her hand.
Claire shook his hand respectfully, smiling. She peered behind the man, seeing Sherry sitting in a chair with her arms crossed. She looked rather pissed. When she felt Claire's gaze on her, the girl looked up and was instantly startled to see the woman present.
"Claire!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here? Where's Wesker?"
There was almost distress in her voice, as if she was worried something had happened to the man. "He… he couldn't make it. He was busy."
Sherry frowned.
"Wesker?" the principal echoed as he closed the door and took a seat behind his desk. "Do you mean, Albert, your guardian?"
"Ahem, yes!" Claire interjected. "Albert couldn't make it, so he sent me." She took a seat next to Sherry, leaning directly towards the girl so could speak privately. "You know, your sister," she finished off in a whisper.
Sherry looked confused for a moment before realizing the situation. She gave an unimpressed look, as though she knew something Claire did not. There was no time to question it, though; Claire quickly refocused her attention on the principal, taking notice of the man's name—Gregory Vickers—on the small, metal nameplate. The name sounded vaguely familiar to her, and she suspected this man had some sort of political background in Canada, as most principals and super attendants did. Or, at least the ones who worked in private districts.
"So, may I be filled in on what exactly happened here?" Claire began, folding her hands in her lap.
"It happened during passing period. Your sister was walking to her math class when she engaged in a fight with a classmate, Samantha Slater."
Claire turned to Sherry, looking at her with concern. The girl avoided eye contact and distracted herself by staring at her schoolbag, which was lying on the floor.
"Samantha was taken to the hospital with a broken nose," the man went on, resting his arms on his desk. "Here at Palmer Memorial Academy, we pride ourselves in learning not only as individuals, but as a community as well."
"Um, okay," Claire said, furrowing her brow. That was such a principal thing to say. "What was the fight about?"
"Miss Birkin, I am well aware of Sherry's background," he suddenly said, his expression icing over. "I've been thoroughly informed by Albert Wesker, and being such, I've also been properly compensated to keep quiet about Sherry's attendance at our school."
Claire gaped. "You've what? That fucker paid you off? Jesus Christ!"
"Keep your voice down," he warned, his tone dropping. "We are a private school, and therefore not required to release our student information to the public without heavy permission from the district's front; however, Sherry is not under the Witness Protection Program, nor has Mr. Wesker made any efforts to change her name and identity."
"…I'm aware of this," Claire choked out, glancing over at Sherry, whose head remained down.
"What I'm saying, Miss Redfield, is that her identity can and may be released by sheer accident. Being that I was so generously persuaded to remain silent, I have no intentions of letting certain people know Sherry's location. But, if she begins to act out of line and earn herself a negative reputation in this environment, her peers will talk. And, all it takes is one person's slip-up for her name to end up in the wrong conversation with the wrong person."
"I can't believe you're saying this to me!" Claire shouted. "If you're so aware of her situation and who I am, too, then why are you allowing Sherry to publicly get in trouble?"
"You misunderstand," the man explained calmly. "It is not my job to cover for Sherry, at least not completely. But, prior from today, Sherry has done an excellent job blending in and keeping herself distant from her peers so as not to risk her identity being released."
"So, you're saying that this fight risks her being known? That's ridiculous!" Claire stood up, glaring down at the man. "And, personally, I think you're the one who doesn't understand! Wesker may have custody of Sherry, but don't think for a second she would rather be with him than with people she actually cares about!"
Gregory Vickers stood up as well. "Sherry broke a girl's nose, Miss Redfield," he said blatantly. "In most cases I would suspend a student for that kind of conduct. But, Wesker and I have met an agreement regarding Sherry's attendance here, and it is my better judgment to allow her to continue, so long as she retains her previous pattern of obedience."
"Fuck that!" Claire backfired. "Both you and Wesker are denying Sherry any kind of normality! She has the right to make friends and interact with her peers! The fact you would accept a bribe from a despicable man proves your own lack of ethics!"
"Claire…" Sherry voiced softly, reaching for her schoolbag. "Please, calm down. He told me I could be dismissed for the day, so let's just go now."
The Redfield sighed, biting her lip and softening her expression at Sherry. Mr. Vickers walked out from behind his desk, opening the door for the two. Normally, it would have been a gentleman-like act, but Claire only saw it as an extension of his cunning behavior.
"Have a good afternoon," the man said as Claire walked by him.
"I hope you rot in hell," she spat, reaching for Sherry's hand so they could pick up the pace and get out of the school building as quickly as possible.
"Claire, you don't need to hold—"
"—dude, what's going on?" Steve interrupted as they approached the front of the office. Claire's expression must have revealed her displeasure.
"Fucking prick," the Redfield grumbled, keeping her grip on Sherry's hand as she stormed out of the office, not even acknowledging Steve.
"Claire!" Steve called out, racing after her.
When they exited the building, Claire released Sherry and continued to let out several high-pitched curses before Steve took hold of her shoulders, urging her to calm down.
"Tell me what happened," he said, reaching out and stroking a stray piece of her hair.
Sherry made a scoffing sound, not impressed by the affection he showed her.
"Wesker paid off the jerk," Claire started bitterly. "The principal here knows about Sherry's past, and Wesker paid him off so he wouldn't be persuaded by Umbrella if they ever dig for information in this area."
"It's really not that big a deal, Claire," Sherry spoke up. "It's not like I want to make friends here. Everyone is a jerk."
"What, so what was the fight about?" Steve questioned.
Claire blinked. "He never told me…" she said honestly.
"It was stupid," Sherry admitted with a shrug. "And, I mean really stupid. It's not even worth mentioning."
"But, I'mdying of curiosity!" Steve exclaimed.
Sherry rolled her eyes. "That girl, Samantha, thought I was moving in on her boyfriend, or something stupid like that. In science, I was paired with her boyfriend, and apparently, to her, that meant I had devious intentions with him. She picked a fight with me by pushing me into my locker, and I just sort of snapped and punched her in the face. I didn't mean to, but I lost my temper."
Both Claire and Steve gawked at her, but it was Steve who eventually said, "That's the dumbest thing I ever heard! God, Sherry, the least you could do is fight about something more scandalous!"
The girl glared at him. "I didn't want to fight in the first place. I don't care about her stupid boyfriend. She started it! And, what was I going to do, just take it?"
Claire managed to smile. "I know," she said, her smirk extending. "Middle school can be really fucked up. But, I'm sorry you got in trouble, Sherry."
"It's fine," she said with a shrug. "I was already aware of all this, though, Claire. You didn't have to flip out in front of him."
"I have to agree with Sherry," a voice said, prompting the three to turn in the direction it came from. There, in front of the car Claire and Steve had arrived in, stood Wesker. He was dressed much more casually now and even wore his sunglasses, which allowed him to look somewhat normal. "You have an awful temper, Claire," he continued, approaching them.
Claire recovered from the shock of his appearance, and quickly asked, "Why the fuck didn't you tell me he knew?" She glowered at him, anger rising. "And, why did you go through all that trouble making me the I.D.?"
"It was hardly any trouble at all," he assured smugly. "And, simply, when I was informed of the incident, no one told me whether it would be a meeting with Vickers, or if other staff members were to be present as well. Besides, Claire, the I.D. will come in handy in other situations, so keep it safe."
The Redfield frowned. "Vickers seemed weirded out that Sherry referred to you by your last name," she mentioned, seeming confused by it herself.
"Well," he reasoned, "I don't recall ever ordering you three to call me anything specific in the first place."
"So, I can call you fuckface?" Steve asked hopefully.
Sherry seemed interested in Wesker's words, perking up and saying, "I can call you Albert?"
"If that's what you'd like," Wesker answered nonchalantly.
"So, I can call you fuckface?" Steve repeated, still hopeful.
"You two can go home now," the man informed Steve and Claire. "I'm going to take Sherry back to the headquarters with me."
"Why?" Claire asked, suspicious.
"This school is no use to her," he told them. "I'm going to arrange for a personal tutor."
"All right," Sherry said, sounding completely apathetic to the change. "But, can I at least finish my week here?"
"Are you sure you don't want to stay home tomorrow?" Claire asked, cocking her head. "I mean, after today, it just seems like it might be best to take a day off."
"I'm fine," the girl assured. When Wesker began walking towards the car he arrived in, Sherry followed him, lugging her schoolbag along with her. "See you two later," she called out, waving goodbye to Steve and Claire.
Steve clicked his tongue, amused by it all. "Guess it's home for us then," he said to Claire.
"Something is very unsettling about this whole thing," Claire muttered, looking at Steve in hopes he would offer something back.
Steve began walking towards their own car, where the driver was beeping to catch their attention. "What, you mean about the principal situation, or Sherry being dragged off with Wesker just now?"
"Both…"
xxxxx
Even if Sherry was going to be withdrawn from Palmer Memorial Academy, she still had to finish up her last week of school, and in doing such, she had an essay due tomorrow concerning cultural theory. In some ways, Claire's suggestion of staying home was looking better and better. Sherry was typically very persistent in keeping up with her schoolwork, but the last week had been beyond stressful, and she had fallen behind in some of her daily routines, most notably when it came to essay writing.
Ugh, she thought bitterly, I have about two more paragraphs to go before this thing is done.
But, those two paragraphs were flowing terribly. She couldn't even formulate her sentences anymore. All she could think about was the fight at school, the fact Wesker had spontaneously suggested she call him "Albert," and how in just a matter of days, she would be beginning lessons with a private tutor, thus no longer attending an actual school. Everything seemed entirely fucked up, and she knew essay writing was far from the kind of therapy she needed.
Tiredly, she stared at the computer screen, reading over the last paragraph she had written:
When determining the culture around an individual, it's important to consider how the family around he or she will affect self-determination. A contentious element in relation to cultural theory is the order in which one is born into a family. Often times, it is believed the first born is destined to become goal-orientated with high self-esteem; the middle born is often prone to depression and self-loathing; and, finally, the youngest is often thought to be rebellious and troublesome. Although children do not always fit these "roles," the different treatment to a select child virtually always affects the way that individual develops psychologically.
"Good enough," she decided, hitting the enter key so she could start a new paragraph.
Although Wesker—(ahem, Albert, she tried correcting herself)—was generally protective over the computer, the man was lenient enough to allow her usage for schoolwork. She figured he knew it was necessary and that his generosity was anything from actually being nice. Whatever the case, she was grateful. If she had to write the entire thing on paper, she'd go mad.
She continued on, summing up her final words on birth order as she typed:
Unlike many attributes affecting the cultural theory, birth order happens to be viewed the same way in all communities, often times truly proving to have some simplistic relation to formation of the family.
She had just finished marking the end of the sentence with a lovely period when her entire view was flooded with darkness. Sherry jumped backwards in the chair, instantly horrified until she realized what was going on a moment later.
The fucking power had just gone out.
"Goddammit—oh, fuck!" Steve screeched from down the hall. Unfortunately, for him, he was taking a shower.
Sherry heard a few more curses, followed by a tumbling of toiletries and a clinging of the shower curtain before a final thud that revealed he had fallen over the ledge in an attempt to escape the dark confines of the bathroom. She was amused long enough to forget she had lost her most recent paragraph in the essay, and so, she stood up from the chair and felt her way out of the lightless office.
"Claire?" she called out, unable to see if the girl was lurking in the hall to rush to Steve's aid.
"I can't see anything!" the Redfield cried from down the hall. "Is Steve okay?"
Sherry laughed beneath her breath. "I don't know," she managed to say, trying to sound concerned.
"Ugh, I'm fine," the boy whined from the bathroom. Although the door was still closed, his words (as well as the many swears he continued heaving) remained audible. "Where is that stupid fuck? Ask him why the hell the water stops when the power goes out! I mean, what the fuck, man?"
Sherry approached the bathroom door, crossing her arms as she said, "Don't be an idiot, Steve. I don't know what lame ass town you grew up in, but here our water isn't pumped through wells, it comes from pumping stations, which use electricity."
"I don't care!" he ranted on, finally emerging from the bathroom, fully dressed but hair wet and still soaked in shampoo. "Look at my hair! I never got to wash out the shampoo!"
"Stick your head in the toilet?" Sherry offered.
"I'll stick your head in the toilet, smartass," he countered lamely, walking by her and stomping down the stairs.
Claire followed timidly, tugging at her pajama bottoms that felt a little too short for her taste. Sherry felt there was no other choice but to follow as well. She couldn't very well work on her essay. At least she managed to hit save before starting her new paragraph. It was no big deal losing just one or two sentences, after all.
"Hey, assfuck!" Steve yelled, stomping through the living room.
Wesker was busy digging through the kitchen drawers, searching for candles. He ignored Steve's childish shout, but he was fully aware of why the boy was upset. He couldn't quite blame Steve either; he, too, would've been thoroughly pissed had he been in the shower. But, really, the whole ordeal was somewhat humorous, given the fact the soapy frizz remained in Steve's russet hair.
Only when Wesker realized Claire and Sherry had come down the stairs, too, did he decide to turn around and face the trio, raising an eyebrow curiously. "I'm well aware the power went out," he stated. "No need for an intervention."
"I was taking a shower!" Steve whined again.
"Jesus, we know," Sherry muttered, walking away from the kitchen and plopping down on the sofa. "Some of us have more important concerns at hand, like finishing essays."
"It probably won't be out for too long," Claire said, folding her arms as she followed Sherry to the couch.
Managing to find candles, Wesker removed the four sticks from the drawer and placed them in the holders. "It's not even windy out," he noted, "so I don't know what the problem is out there."
"You only have four candles?" Steve barked. "The almighty Albert Wesker appears to be an unprepared fool."
"Not everyone keeps a cabinet full of them," he replied, transferring the holders over to the dining room table. "Besides, I can see just fine."
"That's because you're a fucking freak." Steve took a seat the dining room table as he said this, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl in the process. "I can't see shit."
"I'll make note of that in your file, then," Wesker said, taking a seat as well. "I actually find that quite interesting. Remember the woman I showed you the day after you awoke?"
"The one in that lab? Yeah, what about her?"
"She cannot see in the dark either," he revealed. "I presume that is a side-effect from the G-Virus, not the T-Veronica. Since you have both in you, I suppose you received the G-Virus' effect there."
"Great, so I'm clinically retarded, is that what you're saying?" Steve took a bite of his apple, crunching loudly.
"Hardly," the man said, "but it does make your abilities somewhat limited."
From the couch, Claire gave a frustrated grunt, not wanting this conversation to go on while she was present. She stood up, ready to go back upstairs, but Sherry grabbed hold of her arm, pulling her back down.
"Don't be so anti-social," the girl chided.
"I'd rather be in my dark room than listen to this," Claire yakked.
"Well, what do you want to talk about, Claire?" Wesker wondered, cutting off his conversation with Steve.
"I don't want to talk to you about anything."
"Fine, then go to bed," Sherry said, rolling her eyes.
"Why don't you go to bed," Steve commented. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"
"I have to finish my essay, Steven."
"Sherry, you're free to stay home tomorrow, if you like," Wesker offered blandly, apparently in agreement with Claire's own suggestion early in the day.
Sherry hesitated for a moment, unsure what to say. "Oh… Well, maybe. I mean, who knows when the power will be back on?"
"Do what you like," the man maintained.
"Thanks… Albert…" Sherry said slowly, testing the man's first name again. It actually wasn't as awkward as she thought it would be; in fact, it instantly reminded her of when her father would refer to the man all those years ago.
Steve ended the short lived silence by taking another loud bite of his apple. After he swallowed, he obnoxiously asked, "So, Sherry, truth or dare?"
The girl furrowed her brow. "Huh?"
"Truth or dare?" he repeated.
Claire pinched the bridge of her nose. "Oh, no, no, no—we're not playing that, Steve. Shut up now, please."
"What?" the boy argued. "Isn't there some kind of theological rule that when the power goes out you have to play a game?"
"No," Wesker insisted.
"Oh, you're just saying that because you'd rather play something perverted, like spin the bottle," Steve proclaimed with a full mouth.
"There's hardly anything perverted about spin the bottle," Wesker debated.
"So, you are admitting interest in the game!" Steve concluded.
Wesker just gave his regular poker face as his response, uninterested in Steve's immaturity.
Sherry lifted herself from the couch and took a seat at the table with Steve and Wesker. "Steve, both those games require social skills, something we're all lacking here."
"I'm pretty sure I have wonderful social skills with all three of you," Steve proudly stated. "Everyone else here needs to work on theirs."
Claire glared at him from the living room. "If that was directed at me, Steve, I swear to God—"
"See!" Steve announced. "You're being mean, and that's definite proof of your lack of social skills."
Claire began seething, approaching the boy as if she was ready to hurt him.
"Just relax, Redfield," Wesker intervened. "If you haven't figured out Steve's spontaneously immature behavior by now, there's no hope you two will succeed."
"Don't act like you understand him," Claire demanded, roughly sitting down at the last empty chair.
"Well, it's fair to say I understand him better than you," he disputed. "We're both Tyrants, and therefore, our connection is deeper than yours will ever be with him."
"Woah, okay, you don't know shit about me!" Steve yelled, his mood shifting immediately.
Claire was ready to say something herself, but Sherry managed to find words first: "If we're not talking about Agency garbage via Claire's request, I request that we're definitely not talking about this either."
"That leaves very little conversation choices," Wesker pointed out.
"Fine!" Sherry grunted, running a hand through her hair in annoyance. "Then, I think we should play a game."
"I thought we all lacked social skills!" Steve complained, purposely using a mock-whiny voice.
"I have a game that hardly requires that," she declared, rising from her seat and grabbing a notepad from the kitchen counter. She placed it on the table before wandering into the living room to retrieve three pencils from the phone drawer.
"If this is one of those cheesy-ass slumber party girl things, I will kill you," Steve noted.
Sherry sat back down, and explained, "Okay, this is how it works: Someone randomly thinks up a subject—usually a concept—and we all write something down on our pieces of paper while disguising our handwriting. Then, whoever thought up the subject gathers each paper, mixes them up, and one by one, reads them out loud. Once the person is finished reading all the papers out loud, he or she tries to guess who wrote what."
"Why do we have to disguise our handwriting?" Steve asked, tapping his fingers on the table, suddenly very bored. "Can't someone else just read it out loud so the person guessing doesn't see the writing?"
"Because," Sherry explained sternly, "if we did that, whoever is reading would have to read their own statement and their tone could give away whether they wrote it or not."
"Oh…" Steve said.
"Okay, so, who wants to start?" she asked, ripping three pieces of paper off the notepad. When no one said anything, an obvious sign of lack of interest, Sherry just rolled her eyes, passing the three papers to Wesker, Steve and Claire. "Fine. I'll think of the subject and guess."
"Good, because this game is gay."
"Quiet, Steve," Sherry ordered. She collected herself properly, then said, "Okay, the subject will be… food, how about that?"
Steve and Claire shrugged, but Wesker remained emotionless. Eventually, one by one, each of them picked up their pencils and began jotting down something. They all seemed to write quickly, an obvious attempt to scribble so as to disguise their penmanship. After they folded their papers, Sherry collected each and mixed them up in her hands. Once she was positive she couldn't remember the order, she opened all three, beginning by reading the first one:
"'I think it's wrong to eat veal,'" Sherry read aloud, nodding briefly as she set the paper down.
Steve looked pointedly at Wesker. "Ha! Well, we all know that isn't yours. You'd slaughter a family of baby cows without even blinking."
"Quiet, Steve," Sherry repeated. She then continued to read the last two, "'Food is for fat people,' and…"—Sherry shifted to the next paper—"'I think human meat would be quite delectable for tomorrow night's dinner.'" The girl faltered, furrowing her brow and looking at Wesker in a similar manner Steve had looked at him just a few moments ago.
"You guys suck," Claire declared, finally speaking up. "You both wrote something far too revealing. I thought the point of the game was to write something vague that didn't necessarily match your personality."
"When the fuck did she say that in the rules?" Steve whined.
"She didn't. But, it was easily interpreted."
"Claire's right," Sherry said, nodding. "So, Albert, nothing about human meat, okay?"
He shrugged.
"And, Claire, nothing too soft," Sherry then chided.
"What? The veal thing could've been Steve's, too!" she complained.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I don't care which animal certain meat comes from!" Steve shouted. "And, besides," he then added, deciding to reference his own answer, "food is for fat people."
Sherry sighed, now annoyed. "Okay, we're doing this over again," she said, crinkling up the papers and handing out new pieces. "This time the subject will be, uh, secrets."
"Ooh—!" Steve sarcastically cried, grabbing his pencil and writing down something in mock excitement.
Seconds later, when everyone was finished, Sherry recollected the papers and unfolded the first one, "'I have no secrets to tell,'" she read, raising an eyebrow afterwards. "Hmm, okay, and the next one says: 'I'm really bad at multiplication.'" She shifted to the last paper, reading off, "'This one time, in the locker room, I accidentally touched another guy's ass, and that was basically the gayest thing I ever did until I was forced to play this game.'" Sherry blinked before shooting a look at Steve and growling angrily. "Steve, can you not act stupid?"
"What?" he groaned, grimacing. "That could've been Wesker's!"
"I would've supplied more details to an experience like that."
Steve balked for a moment before exclaiming, "Gross, fag!"
Wesker shrugged. "Hmm, you're the one who touched some guy's dick in the locker room."
"It was his ass!" he defended. "And, it was an accident!"
"Jesus Christ…" Claire muttered, shaking her head.
"Yeah, okay, moving on," Sherry broke in, "I think the multiplication one is Claire's and the 'having no secrets' one is Albert's, although, you're obviously lying."
"I don't believe I said I didn't haveany secrets—just that I don't have any to tell. Meaning, any I want to tell."
Sherry smiled, apparently amused by his technicality. "Okay, Claire, you pick a subject this time," she then decided, taking the girl's pencil to use.
Claire didn't look too thrilled to be put on the spot, but as Sherry distributed paper to Wesker and Steve, she managed to come up with a subject. "I choose religion," Claire voiced. "And, Steve, if you write something about Catholic priests molesting boys, I will punch you."
"I wasn't—!" Sighing, the boy stopped himself from speaking and resorted to mumbling before looking away and writing something down on his paper.
Sherry finished first and handed her piece to Claire, followed by Steve and then Wesker. Claire shuffled the three pieces quickly, and then read, "'Once, I was tricked into taking a personality test for Scientology.'" She chuckled at this, but then continued, "'I think religion is for insecure assholes,'"—she switched to the next paper—"and, finally, 'I used to go to church up until I turned ten.'"
This time, no one had anything snide to say, and instead, they allowed Claire to think over her answers. She curled her lower lip, obviously giving the whole thing great thought before setting the papers down and looking up to everyone.
"The Scientology one is Steve's, the insecure one is Sherry's, and the last one is Wesker's."
"Ha, wrong!" Steve exclaimed. "I didn't get suckered into some stupid Scientology test. Mine was the one about going to church until I was ten."
"You got mine correct," Sherry admitted.
Claire blinked a few times. "So, you're the one who got tricked into a Scientology test?" she asked, gaping widely at Wesker.
He shrugged. Again.
Steve laughed obnoxiously. "You idiot! How the fuck did that happen?"
"It just did," Wesker said, not seeming to care about it. "They determined I wasn't a good candidate for their religion."
"You're not a good candidate for any religion," Claire grumbled, pushing the notepad to Steve. "Your turn," she said.
Steve smirked and rubbed his hands together in a mockingly villainous way. "Oh, yeah, baby, my subject is sex!"
"Should've seen that coming," Wesker droned.
"Coming. Ha, good one," Steve said, although it was obvious the pun was only amusing to him. "Now, snap to, bitches, I definitely want to see what you guys are going to write."
Sherry, Wesker and Claire all managed to decide on something quick, and as they slid their papers to Steve, the boy continued to chuckle beneath his breath.
"I swear, Steve, you're like a ten year old," Sherry commented.
"Oh, please!" he dismissed as he mixed up the papers. "What do you know about sex anyway?"
"More than you, probably," she gambled.
"Yeah, right. You wouldn't know sex if it smacked you upside the head."
Sherry raised an eyebrow. "How does sex smack you upside the head?"
"Just read the papers, Steve," Wesker suggested, annoyed.
"Fine!" he yelled, turning to the first one. "'I lost my virginity at 16,'" he read, then eyeing Sherry momentarily. "Well, that obviously ain't yours," he reasoned, flipping the pages. "'Sex is a desire that humans succumb to and therefore lose control of their own self-will.'" Amused, he scoffed knowingly at Wesker, and went on to read the last, voicing, "'My intuition tells me there's absolutely no way Steve has ever been laid in his entire life.'"
Sherry stifled a laugh by putting a hand to her mouth, but her amusement was evident nonetheless.
"You little fucking cunt!" Steve hollered, rising from his chair in sincere anger.
"Steve!" Claire shouted, standing, too, as she gaped widely at the boy. "I'm sure she was kidding! There's no need to flip-out."
Sherry remained somewhat deadpanned now, her laughter settled. "Uh, that wasn't even mine, Steve," she revealed, giving him an odd look.
Steve's mouth dropped, and he immediately transferred his glare to Wesker. "All right, fine, fuck all you!" he announced, throwing the notepad at the blonde man. "You can shove this game right up your asses!"
And, with that, the boy stomped up the stairs, barely managing to travel through the dark living room without bumping into every passing object. Right before he slammed the door, he heard Sherry and Claire break into hysterical laughter.
End of Chapter Ten