Chapter 10.
Axel wants to hold a fight night, which isn't a problem. I like them, and it'll help raise up some revenue that I stupidly turned down. It won't be as fun seeing as the Edonian Liberation Army is on its last legs, but at least it still exists. I arrive late to HQ, and everyone's already riled up. I pull Schroder – a shorter man with shaggy brown hair – over, and he's got the look of pure amazement on his face.
"Did you see the new guy?! He's fucking awesome!" Schroder jeers like a kid.
"No, what's his name?" I have to shout to get heard over the cheers.
"It started with a C, but man, Jake, you have to fight him. That would be amazing!"
"Sure, he can't be that hard to beat."
"He's built though..."
"I'm faster."
"True." The cheering is continuous, and somehow, I'm shoved into the clearing of the crowd. I look up, expecting to find some conceited ass-hat, but as our eyes meet, it hits me. His name starts with a C, and he's built. Redfield.
"What are you doing here? You have puppies to train and dogs to feed."
"I came on a personal visit." He laughs calmly.
–x–
Marcus arrives at work as usual, and Birkin almost has an aneurism at the sight of him. Birkin is quite the jumpy character. 'Are you sure you gave him the coffee?! Are you sure he drank it?!' He is in my face accusing me of being inadequate. "I gave him the coffee, and he drank it all. You said yourself that we just have to wait. I will check on him." I push Birkin out of my face and make my way to Marcus' office to find Marcus throwing up in his trash can.
And the symptoms of Ricin appear.
"Sir, do you need anything?" He does not talk, just focuses on his task at hand. His vomit quickly devolves to dry heaving. He looms over the trash can. 'Rancid food.' He mentions without a single suspicion of poison.
Well, no normal person would say 'Oh shit, Ricin poisoning!'
He keels over, and his body begins to shake beyond his control. He struggles to grab my sleeve. 'He...lp...me...' Birkin runs into the office and observes the death of Doctor Marcus. Perhaps within those dying breaths, he understood that we were not going to help, that we would just watch as he suffered, that he was going to die. A few minutes after Marcus' demise, a voice emits from the intercom. 'Good work, boys. I'll handle the rest, and you can go home.' A voice that sounded like Oswell E Spencer.
–x–
"If I win, you leave." I hiss.
"If I win, you tell me why you're so reluctant to care." I've honestly never seen Redfield fight, but I've heard he's strong. But he looks a bit slow.
"Deal."
"I won't play dirty and knock out your weak shoulder."
"What weak shoulder?" He wouldn't be able to find it anyway.
"It's the left one. You hold your gun with your right, and when you shoot with one hand, it's always the right. You only punch with your right." He lunges forward, and I kick his leg out from under him, causing him to lose his balance. This will be easy. I punch him in the left cheek. "Just as I thought, right hand." He grabs my arm and flips me onto my back. "I'm not some rookie, Jake. I'm in the armed forces." I get on my feet, but he grabs me in a choke hold. What a cheap bastard. I try to pull my way out of it, but that clearly won't happen. What now? I slam my head back into his, which catches him off guard.
"Sometimes, you just gotta use your head." I slam my foot into his chest, pushing him back a great distance. He recovers quickly though, and before I can land a punch, he punches my gut. He packs quite a punch and knocks the wind out of me. I grab his shoulders with my hands and kick him in the chest again. When he stumbles, I swing my left foot around and make contact with his ribs. Before he recovers, I kick him off his feet. I place my foot over his neck. "I think we know who won."
"Me," he answers as he grabs my foot and twists it, causing my body to lose balance, and he kicks me off my feet. My head makes unhappy contact with the pavement. His fist looms over my face, as if he can't hit me for some unseen reason. "You look like your father..."
"No," I punch him in the chest, not very effective but just enough that I can stand up. "I look nothing like him." He grabs my shoulders and flips me onto my back again. He's slow but precise. I try to sweep his feet out from under him, and when he falls, I find myself in a choke hold again. I kick him in the shin, and his hold loosens.
"I get it; we're both good at fighting. But I need answered questions." He demands, as his leg slams down onto my left shoulder. "Desperate measures."
"Fuck," my arm goes limp. Dislocating my left shoulder was a shit move.
"Looks like I win." I lunge at him, but he kicks my leg out from under me. "Let's not make that dislocation any more serious." My shoulder is jolting with pain, and now everyone knows that my left shoulder is my weak point.
"Not on my watch." I trip him up, and he falls on his side next to me. I place my right hand over my left shoulder and slam it back into its socket. "Fuck!" It hurts, but that's an understatement. I push myself up, although my shoulder would surely protest. I drop my weight onto Redfield's chest; my knees support my weight. My right hand clenches into a fist, and I can't find the will to beat him senseless. How would it look to Sherry? How would she think of me when she hears that I beat her surrogate brother to a pulp? "Leave." He sighs.
"Fine," he lifts his hands up in defense. "Just one question."
"Fine."
"Do you really love Sherry? Or are you just leading her on?" His eyes narrow at the pause that follows his question. His anger as a brotherly figure is rising.
"Yes, I love her..."
"Finish him!" Kruger shouts from the crowd. Redfield pulls himself up and turns to walk out the door.
"Muller, escort him out of the building." Axel commands. I do as I'm told. We walk out of the room in complete silence. Redfield keeps up his side of the deal and is leaving as promised.
"You do look like your father." He adds. I stare at him, and I open my mouth to retort but choose to make the better of it. "Same height, same facial features, and same blue eyes."
"You must hate me."
"No, you did what your father never did; you decided to save the world instead of letting it rot away." He stops. "I know the way out from here, but give Sherry a call. She misses you quite a bit, and don't beat yourself up over Wesker. He was Wesker; you are Jake Muller." He pats my shoulder and turns towards the door. I watch him walk out of the building, and my hand brushes my phone. Sherry...
–x–
I return to persisting the execution of Lisa Trevor, and Birkin refuses to join me. He is intrigued by the experimentation; in fact, he is on the path to finding a new strain of virus, a virus that is possibly worse than the Tyrant that we have spent the past fourteen years perfecting. The fact that he is challenging my results after my years of research peeves me. It peeves me greatly. To think that Birkin, my coworker for so long, is capable of disregarding my work, my precision crazed work, especially after I took part in the murder of Doctor Marcus.
No man likes his hard earned work to go to waste.
What is a bigger problem than Birkin and my disagreement? The fact that Birkin has been meeting with Spencer behind closed doors without my knowledge. I pretend that I am oblivious, pretend that I am not pissed off, pretend that I do not want to strangle Birkin to death. I am able to keep face, but within the confines of my own apartment, my anger seethes from every pore. Frustration drives every discussion, yet Anita is patient with me. She holds me together and keeps me from actually killing Birkin.
My mom was good at that; she always keeps people together. Sometimes I wonder if that is why she had so much trouble pulling herself together.
She tries to avoid the topic of work and rambles on about nonsensical, frivolous things while my mind races, plots, and blames. She works excessively to free my mind. She wakes up early and cooks breakfast, stays up late and massages my stress ridden shoulders, keeps up with my days off and spends every second possible with me. I plan to take the initiative and demand a transfer. Spencer grants me what I ask for, and within a week, I am working with the Umbrella Intelligence Bureau. No more labs, no more Lisa Trevor, no more unrelenting anger towards Birkin. However, it makes me a little bit sad. Birkin is supplied with Doctor Curtis Miller without a second's hesitance.
The loss of importance is always hard.
Birkin still feigns friendship and invites Anita and me to his daughter's four year old birthday celebration. Anita brings a gift and a presentation. I have known for quite some time that she is a talented pianist but sadly, was never able to supply her with a piano to play on. If I remember correctly, Birkin has one in the living room.
Another thing that I didn't know, my mom can play piano.
Before my hand touches the front door to knock, Birkin opens the door quickly. Annette feigns happiness at the sight of Anita. 'We brought a gift for Sherry.' Anita smiles, disregarding the last exchange with Annette Birkin. 'It is such a shame that we no longer work together, Albert.' Birkin shakes his head sincerely. "True, however, today is the day that we celebrate your birthday; am I correct?" I ask the young girl who is clinging to Birkin's leg. She nods happily and disappears into the house. 'She's adorable!' Anita compliments. 'Yes, she is.' Annette assures, taking pride in her daughter. 'Ah, if you don't mind me asking, do you have a piano?' Anita asks shyly. Birkin nods leading her into the house. Annette holds me at the door, staring me down. 'I've already told you that I don't like that wretch, especially not in my house. She's a bad influence on you, my husband, and my daughter.' "Calm down, Annette, she just wants to play piano, and she brought a nice gift for your daughter." 'I'm happy to know that William isn't working with you anymore. I wonder though how you are capable of keeping that whore around you so well.' "She is not a whore." 'That's what you think.' Annette laughs as she wanders into the house.
My mom even met Sherry...
I believe their daughter's name is Sherry; she runs about the room but takes extreme interest in Anita when she sits down on the piano bench. 'Are you going to play? Mama and Daddy never play.' Sherry pouts. Anita smiles and pats the bench as to tell Sherry that it is okay to sit with her. Anita closes her eyes and begins to play what I believe is a personal rendition of Moonlight Sonata.
How could I be so uninformed about my own mom?
Sherry enjoyed our company, regardless of Annette's reluctance of our stay. Anita clearly has a talent with children and enjoyed Sherry's company too. Anita joins me in bed, and her head rests against my chest. 'Sherry is a wonderful little girl.' I can feel her smile through her voice. "Yes," Sherry is a bright child, and there is no debating that. Anita falls silent, and a tension thickens the air. Her hand picks at my undershirt. 'Albert.' "Yes, Anita." She falls silent again. 'I know it's selfish because we're not married, and maybe, you just don't want to get married to me. But I –' "Who said I did not want to marry you?" 'Well, that's beside the point. Seeing William and Annette with Sherry made me somewhat jealous, and I'm being very selfish. So stop me when you get sick of my banter.' "I never get sick of hearing you." 'I want to have a child, Albert.' The silence creeps up on us once again. 'Maybe it's just me, but I think it'd be wonderful to have a boy. We would raise him right, and he would protect –' "How about we work on the child part first." I laugh gently. 'Only if you want to.' "Anything for you." 'Just think if Sherry and our child were to be together.' "Well, one, I would hope for our child to be a boy then, and two, I would think that Birkin would be threatening him at gunpoint twenty-four-seven." She laughs, and I honestly consider what I am agreeing to.
Before I was even born, my mom was setting me up with Sherry. If that's not a sign, I don't know what is.
–x–
"Hello," Sherry answers; she sounds tired, restless.
"Hey, super girl." I attempt a casual attitude.
"Jake?"
"What? I thought I was the only one who called you 'super girl.'"
"You are." For some reason, that really makes me happy.
"Where are you?"
"Why?"
"Fine, I won't open up, and I'll be an angsty, over-aged teenager all my life."
"I'm at a bed and breakfast, down the street from your apartment."
"I'm glad you remembered where I lived, albeit rather creepy."
"Shut up, Jake."
"Anything for you, super girl."
"I expect you in half an hour."
"I'll be there in less." I can hear her chuckle on the other end of the line when she hangs up.
A/N: All support and/or criticism is welcomed and appreciated
~FromPrussiaWithLove.