Chapter 19
"Halls Of The Dead"
August 2nd 1995
Jay stood outside Brian's quarters, rubbing his hands together nervously. He had been through this door many times before, but this time it was hard. He was scared of what he might find, or what might be said on the other side of this door. Setting himself to the task, Jay swallowed his fears and doubts and knocked meekly on the metal door.
"Well, he must not be awake," Jay told himself the second his knuckles left the cool metal and turned to walk away.
The voice on the other side told him otherwise and stopped him dead in his tracks; "Come in."
Slowly, almost fearfully, Jay returned to the door and turned the knob. Taking a deep breath, he opened the metal door, it's rusty hinges made a sound that was akin to Godzilla belching as it slide ajar.
As he walked inside, Jay looked around the small dimly lit room. Most of Brian's things had been packed already, an Army surplus rucksack, already packed and closed lay next to his bed, and an olive drab duffel bag lay open on the bed, the sleeve of a bright green T-shirt protruded from the opening.
The Springfield Armory 1911-A1 that he had taken from the Weapons Room and fired in frustration in the hallway after the Female Subject's death lay on the nightstand next to the bed, the slide still locked back after the last round was fired from the old magazine, though Jay could now see the golden shine of a bullet inside a fully loaded clip waiting to be chambered.
"Going somewhere?" Jay asked, looking from the pistol, to the packed rucksack next to the bed.
"I'm leaving. I put in my resignation, it was accepted. I'm catching the chopper out, day after tomorrow then I'm out of the halls of the dead for good."
Jay watched as his friend crossed the space between his bed and his dresser and viscously stuffed shirts and pants into the duffel bag as though he was trying to punch a man in the stomach.
"So that's it?" he asked.
"That's it," Brian stated, grunting as he punched another shirt into the bag, "I'm through with this place."
Jay's eyes fell upon the tile floor as Brian headed back to his open dresser for another handful of shirts and socks, and said; "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I know how much you cared for her."
Brian slowed in his rummaging briefly, his hand wrapped around a pair of white boxers, then turned and went back to his bed, "Thanks."
"Won't bring her back, though," Jay said.
"No. It won't bring her back."
"You knew, though. Didn't you?"
"Knew what?"
"That it would end like this."
Brian stiffened up briefly, as though he was expecting a blow to his midsection, then quickly relaxed, but not before Jay was able to notice.
"I had to try."
"Why did you have to try so hard?"
Brian's arms dropped from where they were poised to sock the clothing he held into his duffel bag. All of the sudden, they seemed to weigh fifty seven pounds each, and he was extremely tired.
Without turning, Brian asked; "Did I ever tell you about my mom?"
Jay felt a story coming on. Normally he avoided stories as much as possible, but he felt this was important; "No."
"She was a lovely woman. Loved my dad like nothing I've ever seen before. When I was two years old, my dad divorced her. She was pregnant when he left us. Before the baby was born, she remarried. I think she was scared to raise her son and her unborn daughter alone. My mom's name was Jessica Jackson until she met my step-dad. When she married him, she did what damned near all women do. She took his name. When my sister was born, she also took my step-dad's name. My step-dad's name was George Trevor. My sister's name is…was Lisa. Lisa Trevor."
Brian dropped the shirt he was holding, turned to the night stand, and took a file folder from the drawer before handing it to Jay; "This is the reason I'm here. This was in the oldest section of the archives. It dates back to when this facility was first built."
Jay took the folder from his friend and looked it over. It was worn to the color of old parchment and smelled of mold. He opened the folder and looked on the sheet of yellowed paper and which was fastened to the folder with metal brackets. He scanned the typed print until something caught his eye;
11-12-1967
Test Subjects, Names, Sex, Age, Dates Of Birth, Active/Deceased
001: Trevor, Jessica | Female | 40 | 10-28-1927 | Deceased
002: Trevor, Lisa | Female | 14 | 06-18-1953 | Active
Jay could have read further, but there was no need. His jaw tightened and a look of pity crossed his face as he looked to his friend, who's chin was jerking up and down, the surest sign that a person was about to cry. Everything made sense now. Why he spent so much time with her, why he brought her food, why he cleaned her face the first day they arrived, why he looked at her with a kind of love he showed no one else as she slept, why he hummed lullabies to help her sleep when he didn't think anyone was around, why he froze when he heard Wesker and Burkin were coming to kill her, and why he lost his mind when they finally did it.
"That's my sister lying dead in there," a repressed sob escaped Brian's throat and his chin jerked up and down harder, "And that's why I had to try so hard."
Jay lowered his head, fearing that if he held his friend's gaze any longer, he would cry himself.
Brian turned and punched two more shirts into his duffel bad, his shoulders shaking as he did, "My sister was fourteen when they brought her here. I was living with my real dad when it happened, and we lost all contact with them. We filed a Missing Persons Report with the Raccoon City Police Department, but we never found them," he punched another shirt into the bag and let out a sniffle, "One day, it leaked out that two women were being held here. They matched the description of my mom and sis, so, when I was old enough, I did some digging. It was them, alright.
"I found out later that my mother was already dead, but my sister was still alive. That's when I told myself that no matter what the cost, I was going to get her out of here."
Jay opened his mouth, but closed it again. He couldn't find any words of comfort for his friend. He had lost a brother in Operation Desert Storm, but he was at home when he got the news. His father had called him and told him that his brother died in a helicopter crash. Sand had blown into the engine, causing it to fail in flight.
He could relate to Brian in the respect of both senselessly losing a relative, but that was all. With his brother, it happened quick and he found out from a phone call, but Brian had to watch his sister lying as a vegetable for twenty eight years until she was injected with curare and killed in front of his eyes.
Was there any words of comfort for something like that?
Jay didn't think so, and if there were, they alluded him.
Still, he wanted to say something, finally, after a full five minutes, he said "I don't know what to say."
Well, it's a start.
"I know."
"You two were close, weren't you?"
Brian nodded, "She was always sweet to me. She once brought a butterfly into our room. It had a broken wing and she wanted to take care of it," his voice cracked at the end and he had to wipe away the tears before going on, "I didn't like it, or understand it, it was just a fucking butterfly after all, but she wanted to, so she made a bed for it in her doll house, and I put some sugar water in an old lid," another sniffle was heard and Brian rubbed the back of his hand under his nose, "She was so sweet. So innocent. She kept that damned butterfly until it healed, and she let it go. As she watched it fly away, she told me that she wanted to be a doctor."
Brian turned from his packing and sat on the edge of his bed, his cheeks were red, puffy, and shimmered with the tracks of his tears, "She wanted to be a doctor, all because of a goddamned butterfly."
He looked at Jay, unrepressed misery etched into his features, "Umbrella not only stole her life, but they stole mine as well."
"What do you mean?"
"I tried for twenty eight years to save her. Now she's dead, and I'm an old man. I can't start over, I'm fifty two years old now. I have no more life to live. My life has been for nothing."