"You did good, Grayson," Annette told him, framed in the perpetual twilight of the window in his apartment, the one that had gone up in smoke when the government had dropped their missiles on Raccoon City. She was still smoking her cigarette. "You got Sherry." Annette laughed, then said, "But Alexia Ashford, Grayson? See your sense of humor's still intact. William would hate it."
"Alexia's not so bad," he said, sitting on his gone-couch, staring at the coffee stain in his gone-carpet.
Alfred was sitting in the armchair, leafing through a copy of Guns & Ammo Grayson had never owned. He was still dressed in his red military jacket, the one he'd died in. "Alexia's not the maternal type," he said, and turned a page. "Sherry isn't even a noble, yet my sister insists on wasting her time?" He glanced at Grayson, then said, "She's only doing it to spite William Birkin, I assure you."
"Maybe, but it's not about Alexia. Not this time," Grayson said, and looked over at Annette. "It's for Annette, for Sherry. I made a promise, and I'm tired of breaking my promises." He looked at Alfred, then said, "I couldn't save you. I'm sorry."
"Death isn't so bad," Alfred said, and went back to reading his magazine. "I don't have to listen to whinging anymore. I don't have to deal with Spencer. It's quiet, Grayson, and I quite like quiet."
Grayson stood up, walked over to Annette, and she smiled at him. "I couldn't save you either," he said. "I'm so sorry. I love you, Annette."
"I love you, too. You did what you could," Annette said, and reached up, caressing the curve of his cheek. "You've got Sherry now, and I'm glad. She loves you, Grayson. I wanted her with you."
They kissed, Annette and him, for the last time. Alfred stood up, shook his hand. Grayson hugged him. "Take care of Alexia, mate," he said, and clapped him on the back. "If you do anything to hurt my dear sister," Alfred continued, and met his eyes, "I will kill you."
"You can't kill me," Grayson said. "You're dead, Alfred. But I promise, I won't hurt her. I—"
Grayson woke up with a start, quickly wiped the tears from his eyes, glad for the tinted sunglasses he'd taken to wearing. He sat up straighter in the passenger seat of their company car, trying to see where they were now. Trees blurred past the rain-splashed windows, the wipers smearing tail-lights into a neon watercolor of reds. Dark clouds hung heavy over the Arklays, and thunder roiled.
Alexia drove, sipping coffee from a foam cup. She must had made a stop while he'd been sleeping, he decided. Sherry was out cold in the back-seat, sleeping peacefully. "Where're we?" he asked.
"I-94," Alexia said, glancing at the rear-view mirror and adjusting it. She spoke quietly, so she wouldn't wake Sherry. "Have a nice sleep? You've been out like a bloody light." She glanced at him, then Sherry in the cage of the mirror. "Like that one in the back."
"Yeah," he said, and nodded. "I had a good nap." Grayson helped himself to some of Alexia's coffee, and gagged on the sweetness. He wrinkled his nose and popped it back into the cup-holder. "You put any coffee in that creamer?" he joked.
"Sorry I can't drink it black like you, dear," Alexia replied, and paused, looking at Sherry in the mirror again as traffic slowed to a crawl. "She's honestly the spitting image of William," she remarked. "Though I can see a bit of Annette there, too."
"Hope our daughter takes after you," Grayson said.
"If the universe is kind, she'll at least have your hair," Alexia said, and chuckled.
"Nothing wrong with yours."
"It's too bloody straight and fine, I can't do anything with it—fucking asshole." She looked at him. "Did you see that? Bloody car just cut me off. That one, the black car in front of us."
Grayson looked, shrugged. "Everyone drives like an asshole on the highway."
When traffic showed no signs of moving at a reasonable speed, Alexia took the exit to Stoneville. Unlike Raccoon, Stoneville had gotten off unscathed when the feds had dropped the missiles, thanks to its distance from Raccoon City.
They pulled into a Stagla on a lonely county road. Grayson offered to gas the car, while Alexia and Sherry took a moment to stretch their legs and get something to eat in the station's convenience store. He was in the middle of pumping gas when he saw a black sedan pull up to one of the other pumps. A guy got out, went into the convenience store, while his friend pumped gas.
"I'm getting paranoid," Grayson muttered, and shook his head.
It was cold outside, and the rain felt like ice on his skin. Grayson pushed his free hand into his coat to keep it warm, the other still on the nozzle, and glanced back at the bright lights of the storefront. He saw Alexia, washed in fluorescence, take a clip of money from her wallet to pay the cashier, while Sherry waited beside her. The guy he'd seen get out of the sedan was in line behind Alexia. He said something to Alexia, and she said something back. Then Alexia, Sherry trotting beside her, came out of the store and crossed the floodlit tarmac, huddled in her coat for warmth.
"What was that about?" Grayson asked, popping the nozzle back on the pump's hook.
"What are you talking about, Grayson?"
"That guy," he said. "The one who was talking to you at the register."
"He wasn't hitting on Dr. Ashford," Sherry chimed, hands in the pockets of her blue coat. "Don't worry."
"I wasn't worried about that, Sherry," he said.
"It was nothing, Grayson. Honestly. You're bloody paranoid," Alexia said, putting the bag of snacks and drinks into the car. "He asked me what part of England I was from. You Yanks hear a bloody accent, and take it as some kind of invitation, I swear."
"To be fair, you kinda stick out, Dr. Ashford," Sherry said, reasonably.
"So did you tell him?" he asked, chuckling.
"I did. I said Surrey. He asked me where that was in England." Alexia rolled her eyes, went to get behind the wheel.
Grayson stopped her. "I'll drive. Your turn to relax," he said, and helped Alexia into the passenger seat.
"Aren't you sweet," Alexia said, and smiled.
"Gives you cavities," he joked, climbing into the car. He saw the guy coming out of the convenience store, bags in each hand, and then he got into his sedan and drove off.
The county roads became raised highways and toll-bridges, and the farms and small towns became a glittering sprawl of skyscrapers and suburbs.
Arklay City was Raccoon City, if Raccoon City had been half the size of New York. In the distance, in the city's business district, the Umbrella building loomed like a bad memory. Though the building had always existed as a biomedical research center, it wasn't until Raccoon City had gone the way of the dodo that Umbrella USA had converted it into their headquarters and moved most of its research projects down to an expanded NEST 3. Probably Spencer's idea, Grayson thought: a giant middle finger to the feds that Umbrella wasn't going anywhere, and that the Raccoon Trials were just a momentary setback.
Their home was a mansion in Arklay City's Murray Hill neighborhood, where all the snobs—mostly senior researchers who worked for Umbrella, or people who worked in the city's burgeoning tech industry—lived. It was built in a style called French Gothic, and it had its own private garage and garden, and had cost Alexia fifty million dollars for the privilege of living in it. Grayson couldn't imagine ever spending fifty million dollars on anything, let alone an overpriced dollhouse like this, in a neighborhood full of people he didn't even like.
He parked in the garage, and they got out and went inside.
The interior adhered to Alexia's particular taste for rococo design, but the style was mercifully tempered by her love of arterial red and dark woods. Sherry looked around, awed, as they cut through the kitchen (Grayson loved the marble counters and floor, and all the top-line stainless steel appliances, and spent most of his time in here) and entered the living-room.
"This place looks like a palace," Sherry remarked.
"Only the best will do for an Ashford," Alexia said. Then, to Sherry, "We should go over a few rules, however."
Sherry looked at her, listening.
"You are to stay out of the basement," Alexia said, taking off her coat. Grayson took Alexia's coat, then Sherry's, and hung them, along with his, in the nearby closet. "My lab is down there, and it's not a place for a child to be mucking about. Secondly, my study upstairs is off-limits as well. Other than those two things, don't touch my belongings without asking, and we'll get along just fine."
Sherry nodded. "Yes, Dr. Ashford. I understand." She hesitated, and after a few moments of silence had passed, asked, "Your laboratory, there aren't any… viruses down there?"
"What's down there isn't your concern, little dear. But rest assured, there won't be any outbreaks."
"Um…" Sherry trailed off, fiddling with her hands.
"What?" Alexia said.
"Can I still see Claire?" Sherry asked. "And Leon?"
Alexia's expression became unreadable. She glanced at him, then looked at Sherry. "I don't think—"
Grayson cut in. "See what we can do, Sherry. Promise." He wasn't, of course, sure if they could do anything; he wasn't certain if Claire and the others had even reached Wesker's plane before the Antarctica facility had blown. He hoped they had. Unlike Alexia, Grayson held no grudges against the Redfields, and he cared about Jill. "But I should show you to your room, huh?" He put his hand on her back and nudged her toward the stairs. "Hell, you can even pick one. There's a few to choose from, since it's just me and Alexia."
"What about the baby? I don't want to take their room," Sherry said, following him upstairs.
"Alexia already chose what room she wants to use for the nursery, so don't worry about it, kiddo. Come on."
Sherry picked the room at the end of the hall, the one that overlooked the street. She put down her backpack, took off her sneakers. Grayson went over to the dresser, patted the top of it. "When Alexia told me you were coming, I got you some clothes. Went a size up, just in case. If anything's too big, just let me know and I'll return them."
"Thank you, Grayson," she said, smiling. Sherry took off her red hairband and put it beside her clock on the nightstand. "I can't believe you came back for me," she said.
"You're like a daughter to me, Sherry," he said, and paused. "You are my daughter, far as I'm concerned. I love you, kiddo. I just had some… problems I had to take care of. Didn't want to drag you into it."
"I'm just glad you didn't leave me behind," Sherry said. "Claire told me you wouldn't, but I thought she was lying to make me feel better." She went quiet, tipped her head on one side, studying him. Then, "How come you won't take off your sunglasses? We're inside."
"I gotta eye condition got worse after Raccoon City," he lied. "Real light-sensitive."
"You remind me of Mr. Wesker," she said. "He always wore sunglasses, too."
"Yeah, I'm nothing like Albert," Grayson said, but he wasn't even sure if he really believed that. "You should get some sleep, kiddo," he told her. "I'd offer to tuck you in, but you're almost thirteen and probably think that's lame."
Sherry grinned. "You can, but only this once," she said, and laid down.
"Don't tell Alexia," he joked, pulling the covers over her. "She'll think I'm going soft."
"I don't think Dr. Ashford likes me much," Sherry said, frowning.
"Alexia's just difficult to get along with. But once you get to know her, she's not so bad." He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead, and then said, "Get some sleep. Tomorrow, I'll take you out, and you can get some posters or whatever to make this room more yours. If Alexia cries about it, I'll take the heat."
"You're the best, Grayson," Sherry said, smiling. Then, "Hey, can I get a pet? Mom never let me have one."
"Alexia hates animals. Thinks they're dirty. She's not gonna have a dog or cat shitting and pissing all over her expensive furniture and carpets. Sorry, kiddo. I wanted a dog, and she shut that down real quick."
"What about a hamster?" Sherry said, and looked at him.
"I might be able to persuade the boss," he said. "No promises, though."
Grayson left the room, heard Alexia talking to someone downstairs. At first, he thought she was taking a phone-call; but then he heard the man's voice, in the living-room, and recognized it. Albert Wesker smiled patiently at him from the couch, arm thrown across the backrest. He was dressed in a black suit and turtle-neck.
"Hello, Grayson. Congratulations on the baby," he said.
"You escaped," Grayson said, an uncomfortable feeling in his chest, like a fist tightening around his heart. Claire, Jill, Chris…
"Don't look so disappointed," Wesker said.
"Claire and the others," he said. "They didn't get out?"
"Oh, they did. Aboard my plane, after Redfield's sister shot me in the head."
"How the fuck did you survive that?"
"Same way you survived your fatal wounds, Harman."
"Origin?"
"A pale imitation of it, but yes," Wesker said.
"I agreed to work with Wesker," Alexia said. "We both want Spencer dead, and Wesker's offered me quite the deal. The Connections wants me to work with some woman named Miranda on a project regarding the mutamycete, a fungus I'd worked with as a girl. Spencer had smuggled a sample out of Europe, though neglected to say from where, and wanted me to look into developing a mycovirus to destroy it."
"Spencer was quite concerned about the fungus," Wesker said. "It's potential is limitless, and it could prove quite detrimental to Umbrella's monopoly on the military black market."
"So, what, you're going to team up with a crime syndicate to undermine your own company's share of the market, and increase the opposition's?" he asked Alexia. Though Grayson knew there was something more to all of this; Alexia was planning something.
"Sometimes you have to tear down the old to build something better in its place," Alexia said.
"Alexia is going to be my inside-woman at Umbrella," Wesker said. "The Connections is interested in the company's secrets, and who better to tattle than one of its senior researchers? One who's quite trusted by Spencer."
Grayson couldn't see Alexia ever betraying her grandfather's legacy like that; Umbrella belonged to the Ashfords, and she wanted the company firmly under her thumb. This had to be some elaborate con-job to make that happen, an angle.
"I was simply dropping by to confirm some things with Alexia," Wesker said, smiling. Then he stood up and said, "But I think it's time I'd left."
"I think it is, too," Grayson agreed.
"Before it slips my mind," Wesker said, stopping in the doorway of the living-room and pointing upstairs. "I know Sherry's here, and I'm not the only one who does." Then he pointed at Alexia, and said, "Nor is she the only child they're going to be interested in."
"Spit it out, Wesker," Grayson snapped.
"Think about it, Harman," Wesker said, as if speaking to a young child. "Your daughter is the product of two bioweapons. It's been Umbrella's pipe-dream, making bioweapons that can reproduce. And you both succeeded where they've failed for years. Your daughter's going to inherit some interesting abilities the company will want to exploit. The first real hybrid. And they won't be the only ones who will want a piece of your daughter."
"I should like to see them try," Alexia said coldly.
"Don't act as if you're not tempted to study her either, Alexia," Wesker said. Then he told them good night, and left.
"Our daughter is not a science experiment," Grayson told her. "Neither is Sherry."
"I never said they were."
"Why are you working with Wesker?" he asked.
"Using his own momentum against him, of course," Alexia replied, and sipped her lemon-water. "Stop worrying so bloody much. I have it under control, dear. He doesn't know Scott's research is gone, and that's how I intend to keep it. So long as Wesker thinks I have it, he'll want to stay on my good side."
"How long can you keep up the lie, though?"
"For as long as I bloody can," she said, and sat down on the couch, patting the spot beside her.
Grayson sat down. "Is Umbrella really gonna come after her?"
"I wouldn't be surprised," Alexia said honestly. "Wesker was quite right about our daughter being special. And Sherry's still carrying the G-Virus in her body. Honestly, I'm a bit worried. I don't want to wind up like William or James Marcus, gunned down by a bloody USS unit."
"I wouldn't let that happen."
"Grayson," she said, and squeezed his hand. "You're impressive, but Origin doesn't make you invincible. If you're outnumbered by a USS unit equipped with anti-BOW weaponry?" Alexia frowned, then said, "I really don't want to think about this sort of thing right now. Can we talk about something less… upsetting?"
Grayson didn't want to talk about those things either. Alfred had shown him the footage of William being gunned down, and now all he could see was Alexia in his place, blasted to hell by automatic gunfire. So he let it drop, and said, "I'm gonna take Sherry out tomorrow for some things. She wants a hamster."
"Absolutely not. The only place a rodent belongs is in a bloody laboratory."