Optio
Chapter 35: In Caritate. Ad Odium.
February 11, 2003, Tuesday 3:26 AM
The motion of my plans had never ceased, and any recess from my duty was inexcusable. This could no longer wait. Freedom. I'd been working through the night, corresponding with lawyers who in turn corresponded with other lawyers who would have enjoyed to see me hang for my part in Umbrella Inc. I'd been offered full immunity only under the circumstance that I provide the very information that I'd failed in stealing those years ago upon my resurrection. For six months, I'd been tracking my enemy, waiting for the perfect opportunity to slip in and steal what had been stolen from me. At times, it did strike me to inform Claire of my plans, but without any certainty of a timeline or what I'd do after I righted my own mistake, I felt that it would only further break her heart. A deeper wedge would be driven between us.
I heard uninvited steps coming down the stairs, too many to be just one person, not skillfully quiet enough to be hers. She hadn't been down here in months anyway.
"All right, boss man, the kids are down. It took a while, but we managed." Krauser stood with his arms open, proud of his accomplishment while Sherry looked utterly exhausted just behind him. Before I could question why my children were not in bed at an earlier time, Krauser asked loudly, "Where's Claire?"
My brow drew inward as I slightly swiveled my chair in their direction. "What do you mean?"
With her voice heavy with fatigue, Sherry stepped around him. "She didn't sneak back in? We thought she was down here with you and maybe you guys had…" She trailed off, rightfully nervous about continuing that assumption as it was no one's business what we had or hadn't resolved.
At the moment, I wanted to push myself up from my chair. "Claire hasn't been down here." I stayed seated.
The pair nervously looked to one another, Sherry's mouth opening and closing without offering the slightest sound. "She- she," her stuttered was accompanied by a renewed stamina that was ignited with what I could clearly perceive as worry.
In my moment of anger that I began to fail at concealing, I asked slowly, "Where. Is. My. Wife?" My eyes fell on Krauser, who Claire had affectionately been referring to as merely, Jack. I felt myself growing more enraged at that thought; Jack was a friend, but we didn't need Jack here with us, we needed Krauser.
Finally, Sherry was able to speak again. "She went for a walk."
"When?" I asked in a voice so low that the word came out as a growl that appeared to shake even "Jack." Though my relationship with Sherry had been partially mended, I could not afford to ask nicely.
"Around twelve."
It was 3:30 AM. My wife had been missing for four hours, but no one had noticed. The rage inside me had been screaming for me throw them against the walls and storm out of the house to tear apart the island. She wasn't some item to be misplaced, set down on a corner table in an unused room and forgotten about. She wasn't a second, third, or fourth priority to anything or anyone else in this world, not even the twins. With that thought, a snarl had forced its way to the surface, my lips twitching as I fought the display with everything in me. Then, I remembered something else: she was not something that I hid my emotions for. "She is my wife."
Sherry and Krauser were in a whirlwind as I ordered them to pack up the twins and anything that they needed. While they packed the car, I wiped every drive clean that had been stored in the house in the unlikely event that the protocol measure failed. I would not bother searching the island for her, I would not bother calling her phone, and I certainly wouldn't waste more time waiting to see if she would show up.
"Get to the airstrip," I ordered throwing a glance into the back seat at the sleeping infants, none the wiser to my own inner havoc that I fought with tooth and nail to keep under the surface. "The plane should be waiting. Your instructions are on board. Don't come back here." Rather than stare any longer at the twins, I pushed myself off of the jeep.
Krauser had begun unfastening his seatbelt. "Let me come with you."
As the driver's door began to open, I quickly shut it. "The least you can do is protect the children and Sherry."
He looked visibly shocked, although I could feel no shame for my quip when his purpose under my roof had been failed. "I will handle this."
Leaning over from the passenger's side, Sherry asked, "How do you know what's going on?"
"Because I know Claire." As I backed away from the vehicle, Krauser finally cranked it up, and I watched them as they slowly left the driveway, Sherry's eyes peering at my reflection from the side mirror. Once more, I returned to the house, still feeling very much inhabited though its occupants were all gone. The sounds of my boots against the wooden floors were almost muffled by it, by that heavy and unmistakable feel of a home. It set such a stark contrast against my previous abodes. Photographs had now framed walls, filled tables that had no other purpose but to hold luxuries, and I thought back to how Claire had cleverly insisted on backing up those memories. So many framed photos of my family had come to adorn this house that I never imagined would become a home.
"I think I'd keep this place," she'd said to me one night, her hair and our limbs tangled as she looked around the bedroom, taking in the architecture, but having no true knowledge of it. The appeal had been the unlikeliness of it becoming ours. A throw that partly covered an unfinished book of Sherry's was laying on the sofa across from the twins' play area, littered with blocks and balls of various colors. A can of Coke that undoubtedly had been Krauser's set on the side table, probably empty. This house. This home. The occupants. Claire would never see it again. I pulled a portable device from my back pocket, flipping it open, revealing a keyboard and a display.
This had to be done. I quickly thumbed in a code, heading for the front door and taking one last look as I grabbed a jacket from the coat rack in the foyer. To my left, Claire smiled, the sun shining behind her as she wrested the children. Sherry gave a half-hearted smile with a peace sign. Krauser and I had only appeared once in all of the photos in this frame, both of us, walking away from the camera. There are copies, I said to myself when I thought of how angry she'd become upon hearing that all of the original photographs were gone. I set the device on a table nearby, its display reading four minutes.
They would be close by now; they should have driven past Sherry and Krauser, noticing that I wasn't in the car. Before I went to the garage, I gave a scoff and took down the picture frame, carrying it with me to the black Jaguar. Rather than take the road, I kept my lights off, driving off the path to the side of the property to a safe distance. Perhaps we should have purchased beach property after all. Then, the headlights of a van illuminated the yard, missing me by just a few feet. As the car made its way down the driveway, I checked my watch for the time. It seemed that in every profession, being late had become acceptable.
Then, several men jumped from the vehicle, guns in hand as they attempted to covertly run to the front door, but an automatic light revealed their positions. The flash of a gun indicated that they'd shot the lock. Amateur. They all pooled inside like desperate, little ants. Strong, obedient, and utterly brainless. Then, the yells that I imagined were instructing a retreat were heard even from my distance. Before the first man could reach the threshold, a ball of fire engulfed the structure. As desperate to escape as they had been, the fire quickly rushed out the front door, the explosion so strong, that it did not propel his body in one piece, but in several as his limbs shot from his body and towards the yard.
Claire would have killed me if she'd known that the house was completely rigged to blow.
Then, I heard yet another rumble, turning over the engine to the Jaguar. I initially gently tapped the gas until I'd reached the driveway, accelerating as I gazed into the rearview where another explosion lit up the night. The effects reached so far out that they'd managed to catch the van, throwing it into the air and setting off a chain. Just as my home had to, I'd burn everything that Sergei loved, regardless of whether or not she was alive. Please be alive.
February 11, 2003, Tuesday 4:58 AM
As I drank the water, I felt it pleasantly coating my throat with a much-needed reprieve of the dryness and inflammation that I'd been suffering. At 6'7, he'd had to lean down to me to properly administer the glass, but I'd watched him with strained eyes the entire time, something that seemed to both offend and amuse him. When I reached the bottom, I wanted to cry out for more, but I'd save these favors as I'd figured that after this initial nicety, they'd grow fewer and farther between.
"Better?" he'd asked in that uncorrupted Russian accent.
I didn't answer, my chest raising with a deep breath as I tried not to send myself into another panic. Earlier, when he entered the room, I had almost died of heart attack, ashamed to say that a horror cliché could've taken me out so easily. Everything about him had taken me to a place that I never wanted to return to. Several places actually. I shook my head as that impossible idea reemerged. "I know you?"
Quickly he said, "Oh! Forgive me! I am Sergei Vladimir" With a smirk, he bowed to me, his full torso dipping, and his head down. "We've never met, exactly." His head shot up then, that smirk more lively and excited than it just had been. "I look familiar to you." He straightened up. "You did survive Raccoon City and Rockfort didn't you?"
Had the chair not been bolted to the floor, I would have scooted away hurriedly, probably toppling over in my attempt at a very desperate mistake.
"I apologize if my brothers left a bad taste in your mouth. You see, they were modeled after me, but did not possess my… charm."
Unable to stop myself I retorted, "So you mean Mr. X just wanted me to witness his wit and charisma? I thought he was trying to kill me and my friends."
A booming laugh quaked his chest, his good eye closing as the echo of his amusement attempted to escape the prison. It was stopped harshly in its pursuit of freedom by the surrounding concrete, creating a stinging sound that only dissipated shortly after he wiped at his eye. "Something tells me that your mouth is responsible for Albert finally settling down. And here I thought he killed anyone that could challenge him."
Smugly, I declared, "You don't know Al."
"Apparently not. And if you're counting on him coming to save you, so am I. You see, Mrs. Wesker, I had to take matters into my own hands when your brother flubbed the assault on your Honeymoon hideout."
"What are talking about?" I snarled. The mention of Chris had suddenly compelled me to break my façade; I did not speak of Chris anymore, and nor could anyone else.
"Albert was difficult to track when I'd freed him of his lifelong infection." He looked to the ceiling regrettably. "We'd almost gotten him." Pacing, he added, "I did not tell your brother about your initial betrayal. But once you could not keep it a secret who your knees spread for, I could only help a comrade as enthusiastic as him in tracking you."
I tried to lunge forward, quickly reminded of the restraints that had been long forgotten in my anger.
"I did not mean to offend you, I'm sorry. It's just that, I tried to spare you of this by sending him to you. I knew that he wouldn't kill Albert, but I knew that we could possibly –as they say- light a fire under him by reminding him of how Albert Wesker continued to do nothing but take from him. So, as you can see, I'd never wanted you to be hurt in this, not truly. Every time someone shines a light on that little cockroach, he scatters before you can squish him."
"Choke on a vodka-soaked dick, you ugly son of a bitch!" I spat, still struggling against my restraints. He'd dared to insult me and add further to it by insulting my husband, and right now, I felt a bubbling in my chest that felt as though it would cause me to bolt forward through the iron of the restraints.
He gave a laugh, unaware of the manifestation of my rage. Then, in one step, he was directly before me, and I saw his hand jerk back before bringing it back, glass still clutched, towards my face so quickly that I could only shut my eyes in preparation of the impact.
I felt my throat tighten as I pushed my vocal cords to the limit, screaming as I felt the sharp, agonizing stabs of chunks of glass entering my cheek. When he'd dropped his hand, covered in both of our blood, pieces of glass were engrained in his palm.
He laughed, staring down at the mess he'd made of his own hand.
I had still been screaming, my face feeling like it was on fire as I jerked around and against my restraints, frantically searching for some way to take my focus off of the pain in my face. Don't look into the mirror, I told myself, knowing that the large shards were protruding from my wounds, the glint of them appearing in my periphery. I'd screamed so much that I couldn't anymore, my voice giving out, my lungs exhausted, and eventually I felt the glass being pushed from my skin, the pieces falling to the floor beneath me, loudly. As I felt a rush of endorphins rush through me, I breathed with a relief that I feared would never come, almost forgetting that I was not in a safe space, but for just a moment, I swore that I was home.
"Interesno." His footsteps began to retreat, and he snapped his fingers, the door screeching open.
When I dared to look up to see how much more bloody I was, I saw someone else entering the room, prepared to take any beating that he'd give at this point. However, when I saw his substitute, I quickly realized that he was less man than Sergei had been. The pale figure, robed in a white that almost matched his pallor, marched towards me, an orange visor giving him the appearance of a permanent scowl, and as he drew back a fist, I wanted to scream all over again. I could not.
Time had begun to mean nothing to me; I was going mad, I had to be. That thing, Ivan, had come in to show me the consequences of disrespecting his "brother." I knew that the only thing worse than being pursued by a Tyrant would have been being beaten by one, and I was right. Somehow, all of my teeth were still intact, my bones had mended, but I had reached a point in which Aceso was struggling to keep up. I'd been hearing the grumbling in my stomach as of late, trying to ignore it, and it came easier as my wounds began to heal more slowly. Luckily for me, I'd purposely worked to put on almost ten pounds in the last half year, but in the time that I'd been held hostage, I could feel my clothes becoming looser on my body. If I ran out of reserve fat, what would happen to me?
With my head back against the chair, I stared into the mirror, barely noticing myself through the caked blood that had almost blackened in the hours. Streaks covered my neck as well, disappearing into the black sweater that hung off of one shoulder. I inhaled deeply, no longer feeling the pain of a previously cracked rib. This virus was amazing right now because if I survived this, I wouldn't have looked like I'd undergone facial reconstruction, but at present, I wouldn't have been angry had it shown me the extent of its determination to keep me alive.
"It's symbiotic, right?" I asked myself, receiving no answer, but what had I expected? "I guess I'm not holding up my end of the bargain." We needed food. Wait, we?
"Wait for it."
"Who said that?" I asked aloud, my head darting left and right to identify the speaker. No answer, just the rattle of chains as something above vibrated the structure.
The sound of door screeching open once more caused me to attempt to scoot away in futility yet again, but when I saw who entered, I wanted to run to him. "Chris!" I yelled, sounding more afraid than excited, but I was so confused that I couldn't tell the difference anymore.
He approached me slowly, no smile present on his face, no relief that could be made out as his body was tense and stiff.
"Chris, please get me out of here!" I pleaded, knowing that he would, but I just needed it to happen sooner than later. "That psycho is here somewhere- he- he has these things- Ivans! They- they…" My sputtering stopped when I saw no change. Chris had never been so cold. "Chris!" I pulled at my restraints once more, nervously looking up at him with tears springing to my eyes. "Please?"
His head tilted to the side, almost apathetically. "Did he teach you to say please? That it would make everything better when I finally caught up to you?"
I felt Ivan's fist in my ribs all over again. "Chris now's not the time to-"
"April 29th, 2001."
"What?"
"The day you went into labor. The last time I saw you as that same girl I'd grown up with. I prayed that when I stabbed you that at least you lost that one too."
I wanted to speak, but nothing would come out. My mouth moved, and every time nothing happened.
He then began reaching into his vest, seeming to struggle with finding whatever it was that he was searching for. "Then I heard that you had twins."
"Chris," I finally managed in a whisper.
Then, slowly, I saw the glint of a combat knife, ridges running down its spine. "It's okay little sis." A smile of insanity crept over his lips as he came closer.
"Chris?" I asked, feeling the fear of that day that he'd last seen me all over again. I was just as helpless, just as alone.
"You'll never have his children again!"
As he lunged at me I felt my chest burst open, tentacles ripping themselves free and lashing wildly before my now terrified brother. My own fear was nonexistent as I heard his screams.
The knife dropped to the floor in a loud clang as he turned only to trip over his own shoes, and he clawed as he attempted to regain his footing. A tentacle whipped out to grab his foot, dragging him slowly towards me as his fingers left bloody trails and fingernails behind him. Another tentacle shot out to grab his other leg, lifting him high into the air and lowering his face down to mine.
"Wha-wha-" He failed to get anything out.
Then, that voice from before seemingly came from nowhere once more. "Hello, Chris." Wait, it was coming from me, not my lips, but from me. "I'm Aceso. And I'm hungry."
"Claire!" he screamed into my face, the same plea that he'd ignored from me earlier.
The voice continued without protest from me. "Too hungry for this." A team of smaller tentacles shot out, covering his face before he could scream again, and I could feel every squeeze from every new limb that was inflicted upon his soft, vulnerable flesh. I could taste him like he was in my mouth. He tasted like sweat and fear and skin but they did not register to my senses as they had before. No, it was fucking delicious.
I felt myself smiling, smiling so big and I didn't know why until I started laughing so hard that I began to cry. My body felt like it was beginning to separate, limbs and bones and muscle all extending to welcome him into me. As I stared down at his face, horror forcing his eyes to remain open as he took in every terrifying detail that I could not see, I felt a new sensation in my chest. Something was preparing to tear him to shreds. My excitement only grew at this source of nourishment and I felt my hand fall free from behind me.
It was all gone at that moment.
"She's burning up!" an American exclaimed, freeing my feet.
"Who are- who are you people?" I murmured, catching a glimpse of my face in the mirror ahead, noting that the blood seemed to soften and begin once more dripping down my face. Fevered dreams had obviously brought on the horrifying hallucination. Horrifying not because of what I'd seen, but because right now I was so pained with a hunger that I began to wish that it had been real.
"Told you we should've pulled her crazy ass out when she started laughing! No, you wait until she has a fucking seizure!"
"Hey," another voice said calmly, "shit's goin' down upstairs and the boss said don't move her until it's necessary."
"Please," I began, looking between the two masked men. "My husband- he has a lot of money. Whatever Sergei's paying you guys, he'll quadruple it!"
Silence.
"I- I… I…," I felt myself falling forward, the cement floor rushing up at me, seeing nothing after but unending darkness that stretched out in every direction. Al. Sherry. Jack. Haven. Liam. I don't think I can make it. I'm sorry.
A/N: Claire is losing her mind it seems, and it's not looking like she has the luxury of having the same patience as Sergei. Honestly, I didn't plan on that last part getting to that point, but I was like, "I've had a lack of tentacles in this story. I'm thirty-five chapters in and where are the tentacles?! I can't even kill anyone important yet so I gotta have tentacles!" Well, I hope you guys enjoyed it, drop me a review to let me know you guys are still out there. The next chapter should be Tace and because I've previewed that in the past I have some written already so I know what that chapter is going to be about. Peace!