Heaven Can Wait
Kasage Starrunner
Disclaimer: Resident Evil and all characters, settings, monsters, and corporations associated with the game series and the movie are © Capcom and its affiliates. The author has no association with any of these companies.
All other characters and creations are © Kasage Starrunner. The author would like to note that Petra Cross, (Jo Sullivan, possibly) and Adrian Rhodes are part of a joint game project with her and friends, and that Petra will also be used in a collaborative mange started by Mangaworkshop.net. Also, the character Alex Quenby is based on her character, Quenby Andries from the Infinite Spiral Manga saga. Other character associations will be mentioned as necessary.
Also, feel free to correct my Resident Evil knowledge. I want to be accurate. Suggestions on that account are encouraged.
Author's Notes are available after the chapter.
For more information go to Asylum Arc:
http://geocities.com/lukleia/asylum.html
Warnings: Violence (as typical for Resident Evil), profanity (the worst namely on the part of Petra)--more warnings will be added if necessary.
Chapter Eight: Shadow Dance
S.T.A.R.S. Headquarters, Midfield Valley, Ohio University
Alex sat awake in bed. Her and Jo had split up to sleep at 11:30, but her mind kept running in circles from everything that had surfaced between the two of them during the day. The woman touched her throat where it was bruised from Wesker's hand—the enduring mark of his offer to join his corporation. Jo hadn't noticed that when Alex returned from her venture. No, she was moaning over a picture of her and Leon as "Class Clowns." She sighed. The man seemed nice enough from his yearbook photos. He was just probably in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The blonde wanted to apologize but at 2:00am it would have to wait at least until dawn. God, why couldn't she have just told her that she'd protect Jo's friend if he came knocking? She had the answer: because she could not lie when it came to a promise, and she refused to make a promise she might one day have to break. Too many broken promises already … The blonde wanted to be able to protect Leon S. Kennedy from the corporation that hunted him. She wanted Jo to be able to trust her. But how could the brunette trust her with a life when Alex didn't even trust herself?
"A certain little girl, stolen from a certain family, and what a certain someone has done with her."
The woman clutched her heart. Wesker's bite had dug in deep, and she despised him for it. Her mind was her own, and that pansy, blonde, mercenary had no right to delve into her deepest secrets. She got out of bed and began pacing back and forth in the attic room, rubbing her temples with her index fingers.
Images … they flooded her mind without rhyme or reason, a fluid vortex of forgotten and dismissed pain sucking her down to drown. They had struck once when she first reached for sleep and only worsened now in alert consciousness. Alex's childhood was there, high school, then emptiness. There was a void she couldn't get past. Damn, she hated herself. If Jo only knew what a failure her partner was—if the team knew … She flopped back onto the bed, head in her hands.
"Oh god …"
There was a knock at the door. "Alex? Alex, are you okay? I can hear you pacing downstairs."
Alex grappled for control of herself, seeking memories more tangible and modern. Her mind recalled the image of the Licker monster, then filled in the details—the stench of its flesh, the sounds of its clattering claws, the feel of razors across her body, the T-virus attacking her nervous center and failing, the sickening crack as the electrical door crushed the creature's skull in triumphant vengeance.
And then the pain was gone, replaced by an enemy Alexis Quenby could fight, or shadows as it were. She opened the door. Jo stood there, red faced, eyes swollen from lack of sleep and worried tears. The brunette trembled a little as she stood. The bath had done her no good.
"Are you okay?" she mouthed.
Alex nodded, continuing in the lie she conjured up, but seeing the look on her partners face changed her mind. She let the control drop, sighed, and fell back on her bed. Jo joined her with a heavy thud, and her body bounced a little. The blonde just lay there with her eyes closed, listening to the other woman's shuddered breathing.
"I am … not myself."
Jo sat for a moment, contemplating the statement. It confused her, but she asked no more knowing there would be no answers, or not any that she wouldn't have to decipher. She leaned back with the other woman and looked at her.
"You …"
"I what?" Alex whispered.
"You don't make promises you can't keep."
"No."
"I'm sorry."
"No …" She opened her eyes looking at the sloping ceiling that faded into a black peak. "When I was a kid I wanted to protect everyone, but …" She squinted, but it was gone. "But …"
"You can't."
"No …"
"Then why are you here?"
"I don't want t—I don't know."
"Alex? Where did you work before Umbrella?"
The lines of the plaster made crisscrosses. The blond looked at them and sighed. "I can't tell you."
"Why?"
"Because, I don't know. I can't … remember."
"Remember what, your job?"
"Everything. Everything except a little girl—and … and I think that the little girl was … me."
"Alex?"
"I'm not myself. I'm sorry." Her lips closed and locked. There was nothing more she could say about the matter. She felt Jo's weight shift as she sat up in the bed.
"You like children, don't you?"
"Huh?"
"It was just the way you acted with those kids at the youth club. You were … gentle."
The blond smiled. "I guess so."
"People are like that too, you know."
"Mmm?"
"We're a bunch of … babies, really."
"I am."
"Yeah, a colicky one."
Alex laughed and sat up. The springs of the bed creaked. "So we're okay now?"
"Yes."
"And I should treat my team like kids?"
"That was going to be my next statement."
"We'll see. I lack patience—"
"No. That's not it." She stood up from the bed. "But I'm not about to spoon feed you. Sort out your brain, woman. There's a lot you've boxed in there and its time to clean out the closet."
"Neat freak."
"I mean it. What you can't remember …"
"I can't explain that. I don't know. There's something missing."
"Like how you recovered from T-virus infection?"
"Mmm …"
"What?"
"Umbrella needs to clean out their closet."
"Umbrella's not the only one. Take a look on Wall Street sometime. There's a lot of dark closets out there."
"Name one."
"Bio-ject."
"What did you just say?"
"B-i-o-j-e-c-t."
"That's the second time in 12 hours I've heard that name."
"Huh?"
Alex smoothed the sheets with the palm of her hand. "Sit back down, Jo. It's better that you hear this before anyone else."
Jo's boots clunked on the hard wood floor as she returned to sit by the captain. The springs creaked again with her slight weight. The brunette looked to the ground, trying to organize the conversation, but there were two many gaps. She turned again to the other woman.
"What is it?"
"I went for a run after upsetting you—to think. I was intercepted … by Albert Wesker."
Jo jerked around in her seat. "What? Albert Wesker?"
"Yes."
"What does he want with you? Isn't destroying one S.T.A.R.S. team enough for that—"
"He just wants … me. He had this look on his face I despised. Like it said, 'I know something you don't know.' He wanted me to join Bioject."
"Are you okay?"
Alex rubbed her throat. "I'm fine. He's a strangely powerful man, but nothing I couldn't handle. Got a nice bruise out of the deal, though. He really didn't want me dead."
"Figures. He knows you survived the T-virus. Your friend Valeris didn't clean up very well."
"No … There's a mole in Umbrella, but that's not what worries me …"
"What then?"
"It's what he knows about me."
"Is this about—"
"Yes …" Her voiced faded off.
"How far back can you—"
"To just before I joined Umbrella. I woke up in a hospital. They said I'd been in a coma, but other than that all the images are blurry. The first person I remember is … you and Valeris."
Jo rubbed her arms where goose bumps had begun to sprout. It wasn't that it was cold, the furnace was turned up tonight. However, there was a chill in what was going on. "There's something odd about you."
"I won't deny it … And Umbrella and Bioject are both stepping around it trying to get a hold on me."
The brown eyes were fierce. "We can't let that happen now, can we?"
"No."
"Someone's got to stop them."
"Who? Who in the hell is going to stop a major corporation?"
Jo slumped over, elbows braced on her knees. Neither had an answer. The floor boards creaked under the bed with invisible feet as the shadows danced, questions in the minds of two stubborn women.
***
Alexia walked through the tendrils of transparent darkness, eyes closed and naked. Her body emitted an eerie glow through the night-mist as her hair flashed like golden starlight. There seemed to be nothing visible, or solid beyond her. However, there was a cryptic feeling of something hidden beyond what was seen.
The woman stopped, crossing her hands over her heart as one in a coffin and smiled, whispering one word, Berceuse.
That's when they came running in from behind the black velvet curtains surrounding the blonde crowned woman. Nine Alexias of different ages appeared before her. Each one's golden hair waved like a banner as they rushed forward to greet their Queen with an embrace, and Alexia accepted them, wrapping her frigid arms about them.
All of them but one.
One girl of ten years rustled in like the others, but she did not embrace her Queen Mother. She stared at the suspended woman with watery blue eyes, melancholy written across her brow, apology in her stance. From where she hung, Alexia felt the rejection and her ice-sheared blue eyes opened in fury. The little girl, instead entwining herself with her Ascendent, offered her a fragile winged monarch with her two trembling hands. Alexia struck out in anger, refusing this inferior gift just as the girl had refused to become One with what was herself. The woman could not understand her refusal to merge, and called her children to her. The ants crawled up upon the girl and devoured the butterfly, it unable to flutter away as it was cruelly consumed. The blond girl cringed and fell to the floor on her knees, crystal tears running down her angelic face.
Alexia smiled at the pain. She was the Queen, the Goddess. Her Will ruled them, her Nine. She raised her arms and the other Alexias surrounded the fallen one, blank faced and cruel. Their blue eyes pierced their sister's soul as they opened their mouths to sing:
"There was a friendly, but naive King
Who wed a very nasty Queen.
The King was loved
And the Queen was feared.
"Then one day while strolling with his court
An arrow pierced the kind King's heart.
He lost his life
And his lady love."
***
Midfield Valley, Cross Residence
It was the third time since Antarctica that Claire had awakened to this song. She was beginning to wonder whether or not she was going insane. The nineteen year old shook her copper head and looked at the clock: 2:42. Muffled voices were coming from under the floor—downstairs in the living room. Hadn't those people gone to bed yet? The blue eyed woman stretched and rolled from the bed onto her feet, deciding to check it out. It was not her greatest desire to repeat that dream sequence twice in one night.
Lights flickered on the plaster walls as she tiptoed down the steps. She slowly realized that the television was on, which probably explained the voices. The red-head entered the living room and shook her head. Chris was on the couch, facing away from her and smoking a cigarette.
"God, Chris!" she snapped.
The man jerked in his seat and turned his head to look at his scowling sibling. His hands were held up in the air, so the cigarette was left hanging in his mouth, smoldering. He took it in his hand and blinked a moment. "What are you doing up?"
"Nightmare … again. What about you, it's almost 3:00 am?"
The older Redfield grinned and motioned Claire to step around the couch. She did so and stifled a giggle. Petra had literally fallen asleep at some point during the night. She was draped across Chris' lap, hair in her content face, and arms hanging limp over the armrest. It was the quietest she had seen her when Chris was less than a foot from her.
"She's been that way since midnight," her brother whispered. That meant she'd fallen asleep only an hour after Adrian left for his apartment. The young woman decided that she must still be fatigued from her experience. She knew that she'd be asleep if it weren't for the dream.
Petra stretched in her sleep, knocking her hand against Chris' face. He grunted and the sleeping woman started, eyes flashing open and the contacts resetting over her hazel eyes. When she saw the man's face she jumped away as quickly as possible. "Shit!" she muttered.
"Good morning, dear heart."
The punk gathered herself and glared at the older Redfield as he made himself more comfortable. "Fuck you, Chris." Of course, she looked ridiculous, flat hair and smudged mascara (though Claire didn't look much better, but she wasn't trying to be intimidating).
Chris just smiled. "And I was beginning to think you had feelings for me, Petra."
"What the fuck? Where did you get that brilliant idea, dumb-ass."
"Well, you did fall asleep on me." He motioned to his lap. "You can go back to sleep if you want."
"You motherfucker!"
Claire tried to intercede. "Hey, you were tired. Don't listen to him. He probably thinks you're hot when you're angry."
This only gave her brother more fuel for the fire. "Oh, I think it's quite the opposite, wouldn't you agree?" He looked at Petra with ornery blue eyes, and nodded her over.
"Uh … ew … God, you are a bastard and I think you're disgusting."
"You're just saying that to cover up your true feelings. You thought my lap was comfy."
"True feelings? Comfy? You ass, I haven't liked you from the moment I met you. You're arrogant, full of yourself, and fucking crazy."
"I prefer to call myself confident."
"Whatever it is, I despise you."
He laughed and looked at Claire. "I think I nailed it, look at her red face."
The red-head rolled her eyes as the punk fumed where she stood. Her brother was ridiculous. If she were Petra, she'd kick his ass or—She blinked. The green-haired woman was now right in front of her. Before she knew it, she was caught up in the arms and lips of another woman. She felt the older woman's hands run through her lose hair, down her back and below her waste. The younger Redfield wanted to lash out, but was too surprised at the active mouth of Petra. Claire didn't even know that she was unconsciously encouraging the situation with her own actions, and found herself against a lot more of the punk then she meant to be.
"What the hell?" Chris was pissed, but the young woman didn't release his sister for a good half a minute, making sure that the older Redfield knew that her tongue was involved. When she finally let go, the blue-eyed woman just stared at her dumbfounded for a moment, as Petra watched the murderous glare grow in the man's eyes.
Claire was breathing heavily as though she didn't know exactly was had just happened, holding her hand to her heart now wondering if she was a lesbian because she enjoyed that. Or did she enjoy it. God, why did she even get up at three? Her first words weren't very intelligent. "Damn, that's the best kiss I've ever had—Oh God, I did not just say that out loud."
"What, Claire!" the brunette man bellowed.
The red-head twiddled her thumbs as the punk laughed at his defensiveness. That stunt had worked perfectly. Claire stuttered to herself, blue eyes wide with disbelief. It was unfortunate that the woman became an innocent victim, but it was worth it for the look on Chris' face.
"Was it as good for you as it was for me?" She cackled as the man's face reddened, almost more than his sisters. She grabbed her sweater from the chair and slung it over her shoulders. "I'm going to bed. I'll leave you two kids to figure out what the hell just happened here."
***
Bio-ject Medical Facility, Undisclosed Location:
Wesker returned to the medical facility perturbed. His business from yesterday took far longer than expected, and the fact that Steve had awakened without him only added fuel to the fire. His plan had been to be there at the exact moment the foolish high schooler opened his eyes, but that bumbling Dr. Forscythe had neglected to mention his regaining consciousness.
It was no matter in the end. The Burnside teen would be under his complete jurisdiction soon enough, just like little Sherry Birkin. It was a shame that the government hadn't know what to do with such a prize—however, they're loss was his gain. He had been such wonderful "friends" with Birkin. "Of course, the custody was assigned to you Albert Wesker."
He snickered. Officials were more foolish than the Phoenix.
He keyed in the access code to the room containing his project, and the door slid open. From where the man stood, he could see the brown haired woman sprawled across the lower end of the bed, glasses tilted over her nose, and an open book in hand. Her clipboard had fallen to the floor sometime after the woman had slumped over, and it lay upside on the floor, papers scattered. Wesker bent over and organized them onto the clipboard, making careful notes of the woman's observations. She remained asleep breathing steadily, pathetic human being. The whole scenario was distasteful to him.
He laid the clipboard in a safe place on a nearby aluminum chair, putting his briefcase down as well. The metal and metal made a slight clang as they greeted each other. The blonde man heard a muffled groan from the bed and looked toward the headboard.
"So, Steve, you're awake."
The boy gave him a puzzled look from his horizontal position. "I'm pretty sure I haven't seen you here before. Who are you?" Gray-hazel eyes blinked, soaking in the sunglasses, the arrogance, the contrast of the man's pale skin and hair against the black uniform he wore. His mouth twitched, as though he remembered something briefly, but it slipped. "I sorry, I should know you?"
"Don't trouble yourself with trivial introductions."
Wesker stepped around the bed and the sleeping woman, taking care not to limp from where Alex's feet had connected with his solar plexus. That woman was a surprise, to say the least, despite all the strange tidbits of information he had gathered. If her denial hadn't frustrated him, the man would be far more amused.
"So I should know you?"
"I, among other things, am the reason you are alive, Mr. Burnside."
Steve nodded at that, and Wesker turned to the chair containing the clipboard and briefcase. His fingers flicked lightly through the contents of the case for a moment, until he found the set of papers he was searching for. "I need you to sign these," the blonde said, retracting a chrome pen from his pocket.
"What are they?" The boy had pulled himself up in bed, the first gesture of the returning control of his musculature. The gray eyes gazed at him somberly, but slightly dazed. It was a strange combination of expressions.
"Consider them insurance forms. You sign them and you owe us no monetary compensation for anything involved in your recovery."
Steve nodded and held out his hands, attempting to control the quivering that came on—quivering not unlike when the circulation had been cut off for an extended period of time. He found that a strange observation. He blinked and realized that the pen was dangling in front of his nose in the man's hand. Wesker stole the slumbering woman's clipboard from the chair and attached the papers to them, handing these also to the auburn haired young man. He looked from the papers to the black clothed man, pen poised. "Shouldn't we wake her up first?"
"Let her sleep," the European laughed. "Just sign on this line and the one on the next page. I'll witness."
The boy nodded again and scrawled a jerky "Steve Burnside" across the signature lines, consigning himself to the fine printed words he couldn't focus his eyes to read. Wesker offered an arrogant smile and added his own initials. The youth had no clue that he had signed his life over to Bio-ject and Albert Wesker as compensation for his treatment.
"Now that the legal business is finished, I'm going to transfer you to a specialized treatment facility under my direction."
"Will Marion be there?"
The red eyes darted to the passed out woman then back again from behind the black shield of his sunglasses. "No, she will not. Dr. Forscythe has other business to attend to. From here on out you are in my personal custody."
Wesker placed a gloved hand on the teenager's shoulder and he shuddered. There was something about this nameless man … But his voice continued:
"Besides, Miss Marion is a researcher, do not make the mistake of thinking that she is qualified to continue your care." It was a lie, but he gave it smoothly and Steve half-believed it. At any rate, the boy knew he was in no position to argue.
"When do we leave?"
Wesker leered, his hands folded over his chest. "Now."
***
Umbrella Headquarters, Paris, France
Valeris held the phone a foot from his ear, listening to how distressed the other voice sounded. It came out statically, like an overseas call. The old executive sighed into the phone. "I'm sorry to hear that. Lord Alfred found dead, that is a shame." He paused. "No sign of the Redfield girl? Pity the T-virus didn't get her." Another pause. "No, no, I'm afraid business is too pressing here at the International Headquarters. I won't be able to attend the funeral … Thank you for your condolences, I was indeed close to the Ashfords. Good-bye."
He sat the phone back in the cradle gently, grey eyes sparkling. Alfred Ashford was dead … how convenient. The old man drummed his fingers across the desk, rolling back and forth in his chair like a small child. His mind reconstructed the young heir's demise—somehow, during the T-virus outbreak, Claire escapes her cell. That lunatic Alfred, finding her, blames the fall of his beloved Rockfort stronghold on the Redfield. Claire finds a plane and tries to escape, but Alfred reroutes her to Antarctica. He wants revenge. However, somewhere in the shuffle, Chris Redfield and Wesker are in and out of the scene, Alexia is awakened, and her and Alfred both are killed.
He leaned back in his chair. Something wasn't quite right … Petra. Yes, Petra had been to Antarctica. It was where the plane crashed. The report by Michaels said she had even been to the base. What lies had that woman told about what she had seen?
Probably many, she was a slippery wench. A patent leather shoes tapped impatiently on the ground. There were too many holes about this incident that he wanted filled in shortly. Valeris knew he would be making some house calls when he returned to Midfield Valley.
And he would return to Midfield Valley as Executive Head and CEO of Umbrella Incorporated.
***
Davenport Estate, Midfield Valley
EVE climbed into the house through the open fourth floor window, breathing heavily. Her cotton tank clung to her breasts in sweat from the effort exerted in soundless returning to the mansion. Once inside, she kicked off her boots and stripped down to bare flesh, feeling the 30 degree night air quickly soothe her sweating skin. Naked, she walked to the master bathroom as though she owned it and leapt into the shower. A pale hand yanked the braid extension from the back of her head, revealing short clinging red hair.
She smirked. This had been an interesting day.
The red-head turned on the water and let it flow over her, steam quickly rising throughout the room. It was a relief to her sore muscles. Double lives weren't easy, and triple lives were even worse. The smirk widened into a grin. Where would she be without the challenge?
She lathered herself in soap and then watched the foam circle round the base of the shower with her emerald eyes. Iridescent bubbles gazed back at her as they were swept out of site and away. The woman exited the bathtub, and running a towel over herself, wrapped herself in a clinging robe.
EVE returned to the bedroom and picked up the pack she had discarded on the floor. Inside it was the duralumin case given to her by Wesker along with a few other items: floppies, files, a nonsensical keychain from young Alfred. The T-Veronica virus was in her grasp, and she didn't even have to invade the abode of Valeris' precious Muses to get it. The night had been profitable.
She walked to the wall and keyed in her access code, dropping the items into her private store that her executive husband would never dare touch. No, he was too frightened of her cold beauty. The door slammed shut and she pulled on a pair of concealing flannel pajamas—time to act the role of stepmother.
When she exited the room she ceased to be EVE. When she exited the room she became Valeris' second wife. When she exited the room she became Erika M. Davenport.
Bare feet stepped down the carpeted stairway, toward Alfred's room. She could hear him from the crack under his door, muttering to himself or his dead mother. That poor child was such a lunatic. He had no ability to comprehend death or move beyond it. Valeris should really send him to counseling before it turned to a worse insanity.
"Its not like I meant to knock them over," she heard him mumble through the door. The woman leaned her head against it expecting to continue to hear him talking to himself. Instead, he was interrupted by a girl's voice.
"I told you to take your vitamin regularly, Alfred. If you don't, you will die."
The painted lips turned to a scowl. A girl? She wouldn't have—no she did. Erika threw the door open. It slammed against the wall and both Alfred and the blond haired girl jumped up in alarm. Alfred saw the green eyes and practically screamed in shock, but retain himself in order to explain.
"She's all alone-"
"I won't here it, Alfred. Not one word." He grew silent and the stepmother turned her gaze to the girl who stared back without fear or regard to the red-heads superior position. Erika lowered her brows. "Alexia-Clio Ashford, what are you doing in this house."
The girl stood and brushed off her velvet dress, unphased by the ice of the woman. "Alfred came to visit me in the Dormitory and became ill. I couldn't leave him there, so escorted him back to the mansion." She pursed her lips and eyed Valeris' wife. "I was only acting in a manner appropriate to a true lady."
"Don't give me your 'lady lectures.' Valeris will be most displeased if he here's you ventured into the open. What if a low member of the staff had heard you? Seen you even?"
"When Alexia-Calliope, Alexia-Erato, Alexia-Euterpe, Alexia-Melpomene, Alexia-Polyhymnia, Alexia-Terpischore, Alexia-Thalia, and Alexia-Urania awaken it will not be easy to hide us all."
Erika stepped further into the room. "Valeris and I shall both concern ourselves with that when the rest of the Nine awaken. Until then, obey him and do not leave the Dormitory, except to take care of Pepper, and then only at night, and"
"By no means am I to enter the mansion. Yes, I know."
"Now go back to the others."
"They're sleeping."
"Well, you should be as well. You should have been asleep two years ago."
The girl smiled. "But I'm not. I'm very much awake."
"Well all good girls are in bed at this hour."
She tilted her head. "You must be a bad girl then, being out so late."
The red-head made a move to slap Alexia, but she was out the door before she could make the motion. Erika shook her head. That girl moved faster than Wesker. She was practically a ghost. The woman turned around, feeling Alfred's eyes on her.
"What is it Alfred?"
"She really did help me. I was shaking something awful. I never could have got back here to the nursery. She felt so bad she didn't notice I had forgotten the vitamin sooner."
"Hmmm …"
"She sang me that lullabye too, the one about the king and the queen. I love that one."
"I know you do." She bent down, rage dismissed now that things had returned to order. She held out a hand and patted the boy on the head. "It's past three in the morning, young man. You should be asleep."
"I know, but I never do like sleeping."
"The nightmares will stop."
"I don't think so."
The woman stood and walked back to the door. "Well, that's childish of you. You're eleven years old, you should really begin to act it." She stepped out and started to shut the wooden door, leaving it open a crack: "Get some sleep, Alfred. Studies won't wait for the boy who stayed up too late into the night."
"Yes, mother."
"Good night."
"Good night."
She shut the door softly and crept back to her chambers. 'I hate dealing with Alexia,' she thought. That child was far too intelligent for her own good. However had been the nursemaid in the Ashford home must have felt the same way about the original copy.
Erika fell back on the bed with a sigh. Of all the crazy jobs she had, being the Davenport's wife was the most taxing. She'd take the Underworld gods any day to dealing with the Berceuse Project. A hand reached up to touch the flame auburn hair and she released a sigh. The muses would awaken soon. Then this assignment would reach its peak. Rolling on her side she grabbed a pillow and pulled it to her chest. "How much more? How much more of this can I take?"
TBC in Chapter 9.