This short story is dedicated to all those who are suffering for the coronavirus outbreak. I hope it will entertain you and help you fill the spare time that has forcefully given us.
Take it as a gift from a fellow locked down at home italian girl.
Love.
Part 2 – Jill
That Albert Wesker was a total bitch was well-known.
The Alpha team Captain was as much of a bastard as he was a fine dresser.
Jill's guts twitched in irritation as she spotted him and his tailored suit on the sidewalk opposite Jack's Pub, seemingly having a good time. Arrogance was so ingrained within him that it enveloped his frame in a glowing aura of bare hubris. It radiated through his skin, crossed the street and hit Jill dead in the grey eyes.
Wesker was all appearance.
His austere deportment, his euphonious diction, the maniacal cure he allotted to his perfectly combed hair, it all was concocted to impress others.
But Wesker and his come-hither looks had no more effect on Jill. It had taken her a few weeks to unveil the trick but she'd eventually figured out that behind the masculine countenance there was... abyss. And it happened that, daring a glance at the depths of his nothingness, the feral need to stuff that insignificance of his with sex unravelled to her.
His persona was all he got.
It was a trap set by a predator to attract and cage little sparrows. Preferably busty, dark haired and always younger preys. And with attitude. Because, the most tempered they were the sweetest his conquer was.
But he didn't use his charm only to hunt occasional sexual partners, he took advantage of the effect he was able to elicit in others also to domineer over his subordinates. In workplace just like under the sheets, Wesker's delight swelled incredibly when the counterpart put up a resistance of any sort. Asserting his dominance was his primary pleasure. And it climaxed when it came to be dealing with Chris Redfield.
Jill sighed.
She was very fond of her partner and she admired him for his good heart, competence and unequalled marksmanship, but he was too fucking impulsive. He had already been kicked off the Air Force for his insubordination but he just seemed to never learn how to keep his tongue at bay.
Sometimes she feared Chris enjoyed getting his superiors pissed off just for fun.
On that day, Chris had gone too far. Again.
An hour before their shift was over, Wesker had slammed two whole piles of unfinished reports on Chris's desk, stating that he expected them filled, checked and recorded on his own desk for the following morning. If there ever was a trivial case, an innocent fox's mischief disguised as a chicken theft, a pretentious complaint or any other humdrum drudgery then it was laying on Redfield's desk by then, in addition to the already increased work the office had witnessed in those last wearing weeks.
Chris had taken that obvious punishment without batting an eye. He was too exhausted to repost. Also, he always took responsibility for his own actions, no matter how impetuously he had acted or how readily he'd do it all over again.
Jill and Barry had played for time until their co-workers left and Wesker brought his upside-down broom-like shape in the hallway, before offering their help, but Chris had been unremovable. He'd have paid for his hot-headed drive outcome by himself. Barry, go home to your little girls and your wife, he had said. And with the same warm smile he had convinced Jill to take some rest as well. After all, he'd assured, in a couple of hours he'd have finished. Hadn't she a date with some old school friends, she'd have insisted a little more.
Jill stopped walking and looked around herself and away from her Captain, who naively sipped at his vodka far in the distance.
The vivacity of the teeming street expressed all the potential of a relatively young city on the rise. An effervescent cultural scene, new businesses openings, trendy neighbourhoods expanding... everything fresh was represented on those sidewalks so colourful, crowded and vital.
But the sky above was soupy, coarse and tyrannical. No lucky stars shone for Jill Valentine on that night. Unfortunately for her, she ignored that such grave ceiling was just one choice away from crushing her. She only knew the night was young and so was she. Also, she knew how much time it would take to dispatch all the paperwork assigned to her partner. And she knew him and his slack way to face an untroubled night shift like that as she'd shared many with him. She chuckled to herself, absolutely certain that Chris still had a long way to go before he'd be an off-duty officer for what still remained of that starless day.
He was missing all that life. He was a handsome, sturdy man and he was locked into a lonely office doing useless shit, instead of savouring everything his lusty youth had to offer.
Chillness blushed her cheeks as she rested the cups holder on her car's rooftop and rummaged in her bag seeking the always missing keys. Some black coffee, a friendly collaborative pencil and an affectionate partner and Chris would soon be rejoicing before a drink in those same streets. Hopefully with her.
She drove fast not to let the coffee cool down. In few minutes she was already crossing the east wing of the huge RPD building. It was so late in the night that only rookies meandered in the hallways, fanning their nightsticks with the typical strutting of the newbie, while their senior partners took sound naps around. Jill shook her head and sneered. Rookies always get graveyard shifts. Even that good-looking guy by the front desk in the big hall. Jill's inner sense of duty suggested her to wake him up, maybe with a loud cough so he'd not be that embarrassed, but she got to deaden it. Maybe it was his second or third night shift in a row. She simply took her toned shoulders to shrug somewhere past him in the silent way up to the S.T.A.R.S. office.
Raccoon City could afford another sleeping cop.
While crossing the desert library, Jill tested the cardboard's cup temperature with the back of her fingers and smiled. Chris would've sipped a still hot coffee. Upon the last grey walls of her path, she projected Chris's surprised smile at her unexpected kindness. He'd have told her she didn't have to and he'd have insisted to return the favour. She'd have joked and minimized her consideration with a well faked humbleness but lastly she'd have eagerly accepted his invitation for a drink. That night Raccoon City's pubs would boast of two off-duty officers.
Jill hurried towards the door that every day in the last year and a half had welcomed her and walked past it to get rid of the cups holder by throwing it in the trash bin of the nearby relax area. Walking back with one cup in each hand, she prepared her best smile ready to cheer at a surely dozed off Chris.
Jill pushed the door open and the dice was casted.
The desk she expected to find occupied by her portly partner was indeed the same messy muddle of paper as she remembered but it was desert.
She could turn on her heels and save herself but she had consumed her choices. She was doomed to watch. And hear.
Initially, it was just a shapeless, light-coloured, lumpy bulk that throbbed and rocked and pulsed imitating the contractions of a maddening human heart above her Captain's desk. But even before her second blink was over she sorted out feet and legs, arms and shoulders encircling what seemingly were two heads, dark and so close one another that only after the third blink, Jill figured out where the ponytail ended and the short masculine haircut started.
The woman, of whom Jill could see only hair and shoulder blades, laid all curled up under a massive mount of buff twitching muscles to which she clung and stroked with her thighs. She slid her arms off two round and hefty shoulders and, with the gracious lechery of a feline, she splayed them on the blunt wooden edge of the tabletop, sentencing her crucifixion. As long as she arched her back upwards, the auburn ponytail descended and revealed the leering face of that downwards tilting head.
The girl's head kept reclining beyond the edge until her whole face hung upside down. Her eyes were closed, most likely rolled back beneath the eyelids, her shaky lips panted short, fast-paced whispers and her features were distorted in a grimace of erotic ecstasy, but it all was undoubtedly… Claire's.
And the rest... it was him.
Jill lost her grip on both the coffee cups as her hands had turned into molten butter. Black, fuming fluid poured and splashed all over the floor in the same moment when a whiter, hotter fluid spilled, unseen, into forbidden walls.
Chris stood between his sister's legs, nude and shiny in his own sweat. He raised his head from her bosom and faced the terrible reality that splashing sound hinted at.
His face was blushed and moist, he panted his blissful strain out, raggedly and hoarse, like a fierce lion after an exhausting chase. His paw grinded the tenderness of Claire's breast, harmless claws dipped into her reddened plump flesh, while the other fist supported him to hover her.
Dismay.
That's all she read on her partner's face in that bare second she still indulged in her paralysis. Fateful was her rushing away from that wicked office for she missed the cruelty hue that rose and tinged Chris's darkening gaze.
Jill run away. The RPD walls amplified her fugitive stomping and echoed the terrible rumble of her ripping heart. The marble insignia on the floor opposite the front desk saw her recklessly rush through the eastern roller shutter, from where she'd emerged only a few minutes before smiling and enthused, as if the main entrance was either out of order or clogged. But Jill was too distraught to acknowledge shortcuts existed, thus flew across the east wing fast, her fluster gone unnoticed in the desert halls.
She crushed against the last door and hobbled to the steel fire escape, gripping to it for support as tight as grief had gripped her and her bowels. Short of breath, she felt her legs growing weak but, with a strained boost, she dragged herself into the courtyard eager to walk off the station and her rising nausea. Jill glanced in disgust at the white halo of the three beaming capital letters that stood tall, proud and imponent above the main entrance, an unforgiving admonition to every criminal in the City to watch their backs as long as the authorities were on their watch. But to Jill now, those letters were as vain and delusive as the institution they represented.
Jill slammed against her car and threw up the toxic bile fermenting in her stomach. Wheezing, she leaned against the windowpane and breathed, but the air was too dense, too oppressive, the sky was squashing her to the ground too much for her to actually get some relief. The Police Station stood dark and gigantic in front of her and she swore she saw cracks climbing up the anthracite gray bricks whilst windows shuddered as for a wind or an earthquake. Had anybody else been on that sidewalk, still she'd have been the only one seeing such nightmarish vision.
All her certitudes were tumbling down.
RPD, S.T.A.R.S., it all had meant to her that there was, in the end, something worth fighting for in the world and that even she could hope for a redemption from a childhood spent beside a delinquent father. It had given her a purpose, to serve and protect everyone against the chaotic forces of human's ugliest sides. And now she discovered the police weren't immune to evil. Evil had slithered beneath the thick doors of its offices, the desks, the locker rooms and it lurked superb below its officers' belts.
Evil resided into the RPD.
And into Chris.
That crash was the loudest.
Chris had convinced her anyone deserved a second chance in life and he had given her an unbreakable bond to hold on to as a partner, as a friend, as a hero to look up to. She'd believed him. She had put her life on the line many times for how bad she'd believed his words, his smile, his courage. But he was no different than those hollow walls. He was as a much of a liar as it was the shine of their badges' tin.
Jill had never felt that betrayed in her whole life.
On that night, Fate had settled for her to lose everything she held dear.
To be continued...