Funeral Games – Chapter 14

The girls got them a private jet back to the States. Wesker slept most of the way, and Jake sulked, which didn't exactly make for great company. Leon thought he was okay with that; he could use the time to think.

In fact, he only ended up more confused.

Partway through the second leg of the flight, Tanya reached into her bag, pulled out a bottle of vodka and thrust it at Leon.

"No charge," she said, giving him a pointed look. "On the house."

Leon didn't bother trying to explain, or even bother trying to refuse the bottle. He cracked the seal and took a long drink, longer than even he had expected he would. He hadn't thought it had been that obvious, but, hell, leave it to a Russian…

The vodka didn't exactly clear his head, but at least it got him moving. It got him to put in the call he'd been avoiding since they'd lifted off from the base in Antarctica. It shouldn't have been hard, but it was starting to look like he was developing a nasty habit of treating easy things like they were difficult and impossible things like they were no big deal.

After he hung up, he made his way to the rear of the plane where Jake had retreated to avoid him. Leon offered the bottle, and Jake took a sip. When he handed it back, Leon took a lot more than that.

"Listen, kid. You don't have to do this. Once we're on the ground, if you want to take off, I won't hold it against you."

Jake was quiet for a long time. Leon was starting to think that he didn't intend to answer, and he was weighing the benefits of trying again, when Jake's lips parted a fraction of an inch and he managed to grind out, "You're going to get in a lot of trouble for this."

Leon frowned. "Yeah. Probably."

"And you might make some enemies out of people who used to be your friends."

"Sure," Leon said. He took another drink; he was starting to feel pretty good, like he should have after a job well done, but he wasn't quite all the way there yet. "And I wouldn't blame them for that. There are a hell of a lot of concerned citizens out there, you know."

"Jesus, Leon. You're half in the fucking bag already."

"Wait," Leon said. "Hear me out. I know you don't like thinking about it, but those bugs your old man has inside him are a pretty hot commodity. There are a lot of folks out there who would do a lot of things to get their hands on them, including some friends of mine. So if you want to feel better about all this, just tell yourself I did it because I'd rather have him where I can keep an eye on him."

"Is that really why?" Jake said.

Leon shrugged. "Of course. "

"You fucking liar," Jake said, but there was no real heat behind the words. "I saw you guys talking. For god's sake, he's an insane terrorist who sprouts tentacles when he's worked up. The least you can do is treat him like one. He doesn't need you to coddle him."

Leon felt a weird pressure behind his cheeks, and it took him a minute to realize that he was blushing. He took another swig of vodka, as if that would cover it up. "You're taking things out of context."

"What context could make that okay?" Jake snapped.

"The one where he's a human being," Leon said. "One who's hurt and scared."

"Oh my god. Do not pull this shit, Leon."

"Things could have been a lot worse if I hadn't talked him down," Leon said. "The real context is all the shit you missed while you were hiding in the hallway feeling sorry for yourself, so you don't get to question what I did now."

"You don't even know him. You never even met him."

"Neither did you."

Jake went quiet all at once. His hands tightened on the arms of his chair and he sat back, very stiff and rigid.

"Shit," Leon said. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

"No," Jake said. "You're fine. I get you."

He sighed. When he reached for the bottle of vodka, Leon handed it over immediately. "Look, just tell me what he was like. Can you do that? It might make me feel better, in a couple of ways."

Leon shrugged. He eyed the bottle, which Jake seemed to have no intention of giving up any time soon. Though he knew that he'd had plenty already and it was high time he gave someone else a turn, he thought that just being able to hold it might help ease his mind.

"It's hard to tell exactly," Leon said. "He's in shock and he's pretty out of it. There were a couple of times when he was lucid, though. He asked about you."

"Damnit…"

"Relax, I didn't tell him anything. I guess there were some things he never knew either, though."

Jake's eyes narrowed abruptly into slits of shrewd, distrust. "So, what? You want me to say that makes it okay? Do you want me to forgive him?"

"No. I'm just saying—"

"My mom wanted me to forgive him, too. And I swear, she almost never made me mad, but when she did that, it made me furious. When I got in the army, I met a lot of other guys with absentee dads. They all seemed to idealize them, like it came easy to them because they'd never met them, or only ever met them once in passing. It was just natural for them to build them up into better men than they were. Not me, though. I always knew just what he was, and I always knew just who I was. And I know who you are too, Leon."

"Good," Leon said. "Then you can keep track of it for both of us."

Wesker finally roused when they were somewhere over Coahuila, which made the last few hours of the flight pretty awkward. No one wanted to talk about the elephant in the room when the elephant was actually conscious to hear you.

While Jake lay down across one of the seats and desperately pretended to be asleep, Leon managed to get Wesker to drink some water and pop another pain pill. The hole over his heart hadn't closed yet, which went counter to everything Leon knew about the man and his uncanny ability to heal. The wound had stopped bleeding, but the edges of it sucked inward every time he took a breath. It took him almost a full minute to sit up.

"Where are we?" he asked at last.

"On a plane."

"Yes." Wesker took a shaky breath and pressed his palm over the wound in his chest. "Going where?"

"Don't take this the wrong way," Leon said. "But I don't think I should tell you that just yet."

"Another laboratory, then."

"No," Leon said. "No way."

"I don't suppose it would do any good to offer you money. Or to beg."

Leon felt his throat constrict. Though Wesker was watching him calmly, without a single furrow on his immaculate brow or the hint of a quiver in his voice, the words were still enough to lodge a sliver of ice in Leon's belly.

"Listen to me," he said. "I'm taking you someplace safe. You're not going back there if I have anything to say about it."

"What makes you think you might have something to say about it?"

"Based on my track record?" Leon said. "Not a hell of a lot. But I want you to know that you can trust me, and I'll try to trust you until you give me a reason not to. How does that sound?"

"Adequate."

Leon laughed, without much feeling. "You must be a fun guy at parties. At least give me an idea of how you're holding up. It's about three hours until we land."

"I'm fine," Wesker said.

"Yeah? You look it."

"What would you rather I say? Shall I tell you of how they abused me?" Wesker narrowed his eyes. "I think you would like that."

"I'm not sure how to take that," Leon said. "But if you want to talk about it, I can listen."

"I most certainly do not want to talk about it."

"All right," Leon said. "I get it. Let me know if you change your mind. I'm not going to say I understand exactly, but I want to help if I can."

Wesker looked at him steadily for a long moment. His eyes were no longer the clear, unclouded blue they had been in his youth, nor the fiery and inhuman red that they had been at the end. They were somewhere in between: dull, muddy purple, like two deep bruises stamped in the middle of his face.

He glanced away abruptly. "I'm fine. I just need to rest. My body will recover soon."

"There's no need to push it," Leon said. "You're not as young as you used to be."

Wesker shot him a sharp look, but said nothing.

"I'll leave you to it," Leon said. Though he didn't expect Wesker to appreciate it much, Leon leaned across the gulf between the seats and clapped him on the shoulder. His muscles felt hard and brittle, like one of those deceptively light woods harvested deep in the Amazon Basin, or those delicate, translucent minerals that broke into splinters at a touch.

A tremor slid along Wesker's arm and he inclined his head so a few locks of hair fell over his face. He was forcing himself not to flinch, not to pull away.

Leon kept his hand where it was for a moment longer. He was going pretty far out of his way to trust Wesker after all, and the least Wesker could do was make an attempt to do the same.

But Wesker didn't move, and Leon slowly got to his feet and made his way to the front of the plane.

Once they made it across the border, they switched to a smaller chartered flight. In upstate New York, they touched down at one of the podunk regional airports. It was late and there was just a skeleton crew on the ground, which was just fine by Leon. He didn't suppose there was any way they were going to squeeze through without attracting attention, but he didn't want to get the whole Eastern Seaboard talking.

A car was waiting in the parking lot. The keys were in the visor. He got Wesker bundled into the back seat where he sat, rigid and still. Leon turned around to get behind the wheel and he realized Jake was no longer with him.

Leon backtracked until he found him, back by the terminal door, waiting. "Guess you decided," he said.

"I'm not coming," Jake said. "Sorry. Are you going to be all right?"

"Ashley worked something out for me," Leon said. "Should be fine for a while."

"That's not what I mean."

"I know," Leon said. "But what do you want me to say? You're the one who wanted to know what happened to him."

"I didn't want to know what happened to him. I wanted to know what happened to his fucking money."

"Ah, right."

"So, what?" Jake said. "You're pissed at me now?"

"No," Leon said. "I'm not. But, you know, he's here now and you might regret it if you don't get some closure."

"Closure?" Jake scoffed. "Nothing was ever left open. I'm sorry, this was a really stupid idea, and that's my fault. But you shouldn't have brought him back here. He's not worth saving."

"Maybe," Leon said. "But I'm stuck with him now. Seeing as how I'm not getting any help."

"I knew a guilt trip was coming."

"He is your father," Leon said quietly.

"And he might as well be a stranger to me. I don't know what's so hard to understand about that. Don't pretend you all of a sudden know what it's like to come from a fucked up family—"

"This isn't about my family," Leon said, and he knew he had said it too quickly for it to sound anything but desperate.

Jake looked at him steadily, without curiosity or pity. He had that much, at least, in common with Wesker.

"Are you really going to be all right alone with him?" Jake said.

"We're not going to kill each other if that's what you mean." Leon sighed. "You'd better get going. I'm not going to ask you to stay if it's that hard for you."

"Are you mad at me or not?" Jake sniffed.

"Goodbye, kid. Let me know if you hear from Sherry."

Leon walked back to the car. Wesker was an immobile shadow in the back seat, a ghost carved out of granite.

"Sorry," Leon said. He didn't know if Wesker wanted him bringing up his kid right now, so he just added weakly. "I forgot something."

Wesker didn't answer right away, long enough for Leon to assume he was getting the silent treatment. It wasn't until he had pulled out and started to drive down the empty state road that wound away from the airport that he realized Wesker was fast asleep. His spine was still straight, his chin still possessed of an arrogant tilt; only the slight declination of his shoulders indicated that he was completely exhausted.

Leon followed the GPS out past the edge of town, turning off the highway and onto a private road that snaked for a good three miles through the trees. They were big, stately oaks, their tops lost in the darkness overhead. Leon only knew they were there by the way they curved over the road, leaving only a thin ribbon of naked sky right down the center.

When they had spoken on the phone earlier, Ashley Graham had called the place her family's summer cottage. No one went there anymore, she had said, but a local girl came out to tidy it up once a month.

They came out the other side of the trees. The cabin was at the end of a long unpaved driveway, butted up against a lake and veiled by woods. It was a lot bigger than Leon had expected. It had a couple of stories, a big enclosed deck on the second floor, and a façade made to look like chinked and fitted logs.

Leon parked around back so the car would be hard to spot both from the water and the road. It wasn't perfect, but it would do for now. He got Wesker out and made him walk a little. It was slow going, but they managed to negotiate the steps up to the porch and get inside.

The inside of the cabin had the same rustic affectations as the outside. The main room was cavernous, with a vaulted chalet ceiling and reclaimed wood floors. A big, cold fireplace dominated the center of the room, and a herd of artfully rough-hewn chairs were clustered around it.

Leon let Wesker down on the big sectional sofa. He slumped forward so his hair fell over his face. When his hands twitched against his thigh, his fingers looked bone-thin and twisted, like spiders that had been stepped on.

"You okay?" Leon said. He wiped his palms on his jeans; they suddenly felt clammy.

Wesker tilted his head to the side, turning it just enough that for Leon to catch a glimpse of one of his uncanny bruise-colored eyes. The iris seemed completely opaque, absorbing all light from the tasteful chandelier overhead.

"All right," Leon said. "Stupid question."

He managed a smile, but he knew it wasn't convincing. "I need a drink of water, but I'll be right back. Try not to fall asleep. I want to take a look at that wound on your chest."

Wesker didn't move, though Leon waited around longer than he should have for a response. Finally, he backed away and headed for the kitchen.

There was a note on the sleek, stainless steel counter. In a few impersonal lines it directed him to the food in the fridge, the furnace in the basement, the spare toothbrushes and towels in the hall closet. Though he didn't think he had ever seen Ashley Graham's handwriting before, somehow Leon recognized the tall, even copybook script as hers. It could have been no one else's, unchanged as it was since she had first labored over learning the letters in a grade school class.

There was little in that prim handwriting that resembled Ashley as Leon had last seen her. He'd been able to tell, even then, not six weeks after getting back from Spain, that she had lost weight. She'd always been pretty small, but he'd spent enough time hefting her up and hauling her around that he knew she had lost flesh from her bones. She'd worn a big hoodie and jeans, and her hair - jet black with little ribbons of yellow showing at the roots - had hung in her face.

Most of all, he remembered her expression, the way she had smiled graciously and to Leon it had seemed sincere enough. He should have known better; indeed he must have known, even then, that the expression had been well and agonizingly practiced. Pieced together from memories and things she had seen in movies, a plaster cast to flimsily contain the horror within.

After Raccoon City he had done the same thing, shoring up fragments against his ruin. He hadn't known what else to do, how else to face the monstrous terror of it all. Sherry was the same, and Claire, and even Chris. And Wesker, now, or so Leon wanted to believe, not out of any need or sick compulsion to see the man suffer, but just so that there could be no more mysteries between them.

Leon tore the plastic off the pallet of bottled water in the cupboard. He broke the seal on one of the bottles and drank it down in a single swallow. Once the edge had been taken off his thirst, he glanced up at the other bottles, the glass ones on the top shelf of the cupboard. He started to reach for one, but then stopped himself short. Instead, he grabbed another water for himself, and then a third for Wesker. No matter what either of them thought about the situation, Wesker was waiting, and he needed Leon now.

Leon pasted a smile on his face as he headed back out to the main room. "I've got something to drink. Are you still awake?"

Wesker didn't answer, and Leon caught himself hoping he actually was asleep, or dead. Or, better still, vanished. Escaped back into the world where he could be someone else's problem.

But when he came around the sofa he saw that Wesker's eyes were open and watching him closely. His irises were muddy, a flat shade of purple, almost the same color as the dark circles under his eyes.

Leon sighed, handing over the water. "Just drink it. Maybe you don't need to, but it can't hurt."

While Wesker twisted the cap off the water, Leon took a seat on the coffee table; facing him, but not too close.

"Look," he said. "Jake saw the files they left behind. He told me everything. We both know what happened, but I guess I can't really know what it was like."

"No, you can't," Wesker said sharply. "But I doubt that will stop you from trying."

He brought the bottle of water to his mouth and drank furiously. As soon as he had lowered it again, he began to unbutton his shirt. "The wound ought to be cleaned," he said. "But it will close on its own."

"I don't doubt that," Leon replied. He watched as Wesker let his shirt slide off his shoulders. His skin seemed more bronze than tanned, strangely smooth and poreless, as if he had been cast from metal rather than flesh. Wesker slipped out of the shirt and let it drop. Leon realized he was staring, and he looked away quickly.

Wesker hardly seemed to notice. He was probably used to being admired.

Leon cracked open the first aid kit and got out the bottle of antiseptic. Wesker reached for it, but Leon didn't hand it over. "It's all right. Let me do it for you."

Wesker looked like he was barely able to suppress his irritation, but he reclined on the sofa so Leon could get to his chest. Leon dabbed the antiseptic onto the puckered edges of the wound. It really was a lot smaller than it had been. Wesker sucked in a deep breath when Leon touched him, and his body ratcheted up tight as if he was fighting the urge to pull away.

"Not much longer now," Leon reassured him.

He finished the hole in Wesker's chest, then he had him turn over so he could take care of the exit wound in his back. Though the hole just inside Wesker's left shoulderblade was bigger, it wasn't so terrible to look at. Leon cleaned it out, then he set a hand on Wesker's shoulder, just a light touch so Wesker would know what he was doing.

"Want me to take care of your leg too?"

"Yes," Wesker replied quietly. He turned over on his back and arched his hips so he could work his jeans down. Again, Leon stared, and this time he felt an uncomfortable tightness in the back of his throat. He didn't know why he had expected that part of Wesker to be any less impressive and intimidating than the rest of him.

"It's freezing," Wesker snapped, hacking the thought off short as if with a blade.

"Sorry," Leon muttered. He taped a square of gauze onto Wesker's thigh over the patch of missing skin. Then he jerked a blanket up and over him. Without looking up to meet Wesker's eyes, Leon said, "That's about all I can do for now. Need anything else?"

Wesker's lips parted. They were the same uncanny bronze color as his skin, and against them his teeth looked very white. "Water."

Leon handed over the last bottle. "Let's get you upstairs."

"No," Wesker said quietly. "No more."

At that, Leon looked away. When Wesker spoke to him like that, in that weak, weary, contrite voice, it made him feel more embarrassed then when he had been caught staring earlier. "All right. I'll take the chair, then. I can sleep just about anywhere."

Wesker didn't look at him. He had hooked his sculpted thumb nail under the plastic label on his water bottle and he was slowly peeling it away, a task which seemed to require his full attention and a not insignificant percentage of his strength. "That's good," he said, so softly that Leon could almost pretend he hadn't heard him. "Don't go."

It must have cost him something in the coin of humiliation to get the words out. If this was half as hard for him as it was for Leon, then Leon supposed that was something. "I wasn't planning on it," he said. "You've got to be exhausted, but I'm not good for much else either."