Chapter 2: Severed Ties
"We're going in through the front?" Eric questioned shakily.
Chris stared at him in confusion. "You have a better idea?" Eric frowned, but did not reply. It was obvious to Chris that Eric didn't like the way things were being run, but that's how things always were between the two. Why should he treat this one instance any different?
'I guess blondes are retarded afterall,' Eric thought to himself, as he happily ran his fingers through his own spiky black hair. All four men were out of high school, but Eric still found himself to be smarter than Chris- and in truth, it would have been a surprise to anyone else. Chris just edged into his twenties and Eric himself had turned nineteen last week, although you'd be hard pressed to figure out which one was the real adult solely based on their incredibly different attitudes. In fact, the only one in their little circle that still went to high school and school in general was Adrian, and Eric secretly envied him for that. It was the one thing that became a valid reason to miss causing trouble at two o'clock in the morning. And even though Ade only lived with his brother Markus, his brother was a better parent than their actual parents ever could have been. That was from what Eric seen of them, anyway.
Truth of the matter, though, Adrian was nowhere in sight and he was close to looting a place he's never gone near before. Even if he had heard a lot about it, the more he thought on the situation, the more he was beginning to doubt all those rumors he heard in History class back then.
"This is dumb," Eric mumbled, "we really shouldn't be doing this."
"What do you suppose we do then?" Chris replied. He didn't even bother to turn and look at his comrade, too busy with trying to wedge the double doors open. "Give me a break, Vermie, this place hasn't been touched in ages.. what makes you think someone would-"
"Would you both shut up?" someone said behind them, cutting Chris off. "You both sound like a bunch of schoolgirls." Eric turned and sighed.
'Only Brent..'
Brent Bogart was the one person who actually spoke against Chris whenever he wanted, simply because he didn't give a shit. It wasn't like it mattered to him what they did, but if someone pissed him off, they would surely know about it. And it didn't help anyone's case that Brent was the tallest in the group, a lanky six foot five. For someone who was only a snotty nineteen year old kid from one of the rich families in Raccoon City, his looks and attitude sure didn't fit the part. But if Chris didn't like him and told him to never show his face near him again, he'd comply. It wasn't like he needed the money which was the case of the others, he just wanted something to do to pass the time every now and then- and vandalism was just the cure to his boredom.
"Maybe it's just the money talking," Brent continued, "but you two sound like that Erica chick babbling with her twin sister over who's boyfriend has the worst acne."
As Brent staggered forward in drunken exhaustion, Morgan brushed by and leaned towards Eric, whispering so much as to not draw Brent's attention. "Er, doesn't he go out with Erica's sister?"
Eric turned and stared at Morgan as if he was the biggest idiot in the world. And technically he was, even if Eric couldn't speak for many people outside of Raccoon City.
"Welcome to eight months ago, buddy." Eric patted Morgan on the shoulder, and glanced in time to see Chris pry the doors open.
"Got it." Eric noticed Chris slide the pen knife into his pocket and push the doors wide open. Being that Eric was the only one who seemed to care at that moment, he was able to peek inside first, and look around at the interiors in disbelief.
"Ages, eh?" Eric took three small steps into the lobby. Velvet carpeting, marble floors and pillars, not one single paint chip to be had. Gigantic front stairs stretched upwards and branched in two directions half way up. Lavish wooden doors- one even an indigo blue- lay dormant, tempting... beckoning to be opened. Eric didn't doubt the place had something valuable in it, but... "Ages... more like weeks to me."
Chris overheard what the teenager had said, and wandered into the doorway behind him. "This place has got to be worth millions."
Brent and Morgan made their way inside as well, and they were both equally surprised by the overly luxurious decor.
"Wow..." Morgan was speechless. It was the first time he had been near anything that looked so beautiful. Nothing in Raccoon City had such charm anymore- not after the first cannibal killings, at least.
Brent wandered over to a nightstand to the left of the stairs, which holding a rather old but usable typewriter. He punched in a few keys playfully. "Interesting."
Morgan moved past Eric for a quick second, heading to the steps and taking a seat. Eric looked after him at first, but soon his vision soon drifted over to that odd blue door on the right side of the lobby. And slowly, the door creaked open.
"We'll work in pairs," Chris said hastily. "Stay on this floor, just go a couple rooms in, turn around, and come right back here. See anything good that you can carry, feel free to swipe it." He surveyed the room and everyone around him, rubbing his stubbled chin.
"Me and Brent will go in this door over here," he said, pointing to the double doors on the left side. "Eric, you and Morgan can check the blue door over there. And please don't take too long, that clear?"
"Crystal!" Eric boomed back.
Morgan stood up eagerly, unstrapping his Winchester and clutching it in his hands. "Yeah, Chris, no problem. Ain't any different from any other job we've done, right?"
"Exactly right," Chris answered. "Let's go, we're burning moonlight."
Eric watched the two of them walk off, and had no idea what to say to them. He was so worried that for a split second, he actually thought he'd never see either one of them again. Overreacting? Perhaps, but he wouldn't have lived with himself if his intuition was correct.
"Chris," Eric called softly with halved devotion. It was just enough for Chris to peek back over his shoulder.
"Yeah?" he asked.
Eric paused, trying to think of what to say. He thought, and thought, and after all of that... "Take care." He gulped, and immediately looked down at his pistol. Chris was probably laughing inside at that moment, but to Eric's surprise, the laughter wasn't made known to his ears. Eric's eyes trailed upwards, and saw Chris nod his head before he continued walking, disappearing beyond the door with Brent.
'Ugh, I should've forced him to move the truck', Eric prodded mentally. He hated that- every time he had a chance to say something important, he couldn't think of it until afterwards. He would have went after them, but Morgan tapped him on the shoulder.
"Let's go," Morgan suggested. Eric looked up at the six foot red head, and nodded in agreement.
---
Brent poked at the spotless silverware with the barrel of his handgun. "These things are pretty... well.... undusty, for being so old. Or as my parents would say, they're exquisite in their lack of aging decadence."
Chris didn't want to hear anything, completely enamored with the scenery before him. Everything was so neat, so pristine...
"I want to shoot something," Brent continued, scratching his head with his gun. Chris' smirk grew wider as a result.
"Well not in here, my friend... once we get back into the lobby, you have my permission to shoot that little shit Vermilion as much as you want, though."
Brent stopped walking, eyes solely trained on Chris' movements down the hall. "You really don't like him, do you?" he inquired, grabbing an expensive looking bottle of wine from the table. "May I be so bold as to ask why?" He awaited Chris' response as he carelessly juggled the item in his hands.
"Just such a smartass," Chris answered, and a tinge of annoyance seemed to rise in his voice. "He never ceases to say something stupid, even if it's just for the sake of pissing me off. That, and the fact that he refuses to blame Deanne for any of our problems even though she left him, knowing I would treat her better than he did, well.. that pretty much sums it up." He took a deep breath, tapping his gun against his hip. "Man if it were up to me, no one would be seeing his face again. But of course, he became buddy buddy with that fruit."
"Who, Ade?"
"That's exactly who."
"Eh, he's not as much a fruit as he is a man constantly starving for sex. Like he's a vampire and an orgasm is his lifeline instead of blood. At least that's what I heard from that Krystal chick he goes out with. What do you call those kinds of things? Isn't that an incubus or something?"
"Nah," Chris said in dismissal, not really paying attention. "Incubus is that shitty band I think." Brent looked to say something in mockery of Chris' comment, but decided it best if he kept that for later. As beautiful as the mansion was, it wasn't a place he wanted to fight in.
"Women," Brent sighed as he changed the conversation back to the prior subject, "such hassles on the mind and the wallet. Why you let them get in the way of your personal perceptions of other people, I have no idea."
"Yeah..." Chris trailed off. He stopped for a second, shooting a glance back at Brent before he swiftly went back to walking. "I don't get it either. I just don't understand why I'm talking about that with you of all people."
"Well," Brent wavered, "aren't the French supposed to be the ones who know everything about love, and all that jazz?"
Chris paused for a second, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "You're French?"
Brent tilted his head in annoyance, as if he just wanted to call Chris a retard right then and there. "Yeah," he nodded, "yeah, I am."
Chris hesitated again. It seemed like the talk between them would end there, until he finally yawned out something to say. "Man, this place is unbelievable."
And indeed it was. It was a dining room that seemed almost like it belonged in a castle, fit for a king and queen. The large table that stretched throughout the entire hall was grand in both its size and presentation. Even Brent felt jealousy towards whoever had such fortune to eat here.
'Such a drain on one's bank account it must have been, shame it went to waste like this. Then again...'
"Chris, this stuff is pretty spick and span for china that hasn't been used uh.. how did you put it... ages ago?"
Chris faltered in his step for a moment before he stopped, Brent doing the same just a few paces behind him. As much as Chris didn't want to bring on any kind of weird thoughts, the conversation would ultimately be inescapable no matter how long he tried holding it at bay. "Yeah, it occured to me, too."
"Should we mention anything to them when we get back to the lobby?"
"Nah... nah, Eric would have picked up on this already. He's a schmuck, but he ain't stupid. As much as I hate to admit it..."
---
"You know," Eric mumbled as he not-so-enthusiastically made his way to the blue doors, "you're not stupid, at least not as much as how much everyone says. Why would you be friends with that idiot Christopher Smith?"
"Because first and foremost," Morgan replied, "he's not that much of an idiot. And second of all, and more importantly, he's not a douche bag."
"Heh, only when he wants to be, right?" Eric watched Morgan pull the doors open, and held his gun tight with caution. He had definitely expected something to be waiting for them on the other side of the blue, and for a moment he was insistent that his preminition was right. However, upon closer inspection, he proved himself wrong in the same breath.
"Nice statue," Morgan said with an optimistic smile, "don't you think?"
Eric slowly brought his gun back to his side and holstered it, inhaling deeply in relief. The nymph-like statue certainly was a magnificent piece of eye candy, and if Eric could have lugged that thing out of the mansion, he sure as hell would have. "Yeah, pretty nice." Feeling safer with his fear momentarily subdued, he bravely took a few steps into the room next to his friend.
"I'm trying to figure out how all this stuff would be left behind like this, though," Eric continued, "doesn't make any sense."
"Maybe you're just thinking about this too much?" Morgan answered thoughtfully. He was oblivious to any facts that weren't pertinent to the money scenario, and it showed.
"Well I'll tell you what I think," Eric retorted, "I think I smell a rat on this one...." he was going to end his reply on that brief note, had not it been for what his eyes saw next. "And the reason why there's a broken door right where you're standing eludes me as well."
Morgan traced the invisible line that led from Eric's pointing finger to where it was directed to, and it was then that he noticed the splintered wood as well.
"Hm..." Morgan raised his rifle and carefully ducked his muscular frame past the sharp wooden shards. "It's probably nothing," he added as he looked around the narrow hallway. There wasn't anything of interest, until he hit the corner and looked at the other end of the U-shaped room. "Sweet."
Eric inched over to where Morgan was standing and took a look at what Morgan was grinning at. Numerous paintings lay in perfect condition on shelves, along the wall...
"Those hafta be worth something, right?" Morgan swung the Winchester over his shoulder and picked up one of the expensive looking drawings. "Sucks they'd just be lying back here like this, eh?" After hearing no reply right away, Morgan managed to take his eyes off the drawing of the lighthouse just long enough to see Eric looking back at him with a bit of indifference.
"I dunno, I guess so," Eric eventually mumbled with a shrug. Morgan frowned. He had a feeling that he should have tried to calm Eric down right then and there, but it would have been no use. He wasn't feeling so great either come to think of it, even though he was trying to hide the frustration away.
"There was another door just outside," Morgan mentioned as he walked back towards the broken doorway, painting still gripped in his hands. "Let's see where that one leads to." Eric followed Morgan back into the comfortable dark blue room- after finding no signs of anything to worry about just yet, he felt perhaps he was thinking about things too much.
"Shit, locked." Morgan filed through his pants pockets before he pulled out a pair of his trusty lockpicks. "Give me a minute, Eric, I'll have it open soon."
"Okay." Eric scanned the room further. There were more paintings hung up, perfectly displayed under bright yet gentle fluorescent lights, which combined with the indigo gave the room an overall tranquil glow. A stepstool wasn't too far from where Eric stood, but it wasn't much of a big deal. The more he looked around, though, the more the silence grew on him. He had to say something, at least before he went back to fearing the worst was soon going to happen.
"So," Eric forcibly stammered, "what are you gonna do after we leave here tonight?"
"What?" Morgan asked as he busily prodded at the keyhole in front of him. "You mean what I'm going to do with my money?"
"Yeah."
"Well, what any other poor kid like me would do. Pay bills, take care of the family, basically anything my dad won't do."
"Heh." Eric smiled. The remark reminded him of his own family. Not too much, but enough to reminisce. Knowing them, mom and dad were probably gearing up for overtime at the hospital as he and Morgan attempted to break further into a large mansion. Considering all the cannibal killings and the talk of the flu season coming around early this year, it meant Eric's parents were seen less and less around the house. Not like he cared, they were pretty apathetic enough anyway. So apathetic that they knew about his plans to check out the Spencer Estate tonight, and they said nothing in return. Not even a mere hint of disapproval.
"Your dad, huh... what about your mom?"
For a moment, Morgan's tinkering with the lock stopped. He turned and looked into Eric's hazel eyes before he went right back to work. "Uh, yeah, she's one of the main reasons why I'm here, too."
"Really?" Eric questioned. "Why's that?"
One of the picks Morgan held onto snapped like a twig. "Ugh..." he reached into his pocket and searched for another one to use. And the second he found one... "Uh.. her funeral needs to be scheduled."
Eric's heart sank. "Shit... I, ah..." his mind raced for something to say. He could say 'sorry', but Morgan would probably expect that. "I..."
"It's alright," Morgan said quickly, obviously looking to stray away from the subject as soon as possible.
"Well..." Eric fought desperately to say something. Anything. "Why the hell are you doing this, man? You shouldn't... you oughta be-"
"Mourning. Yeah, that's what my brother told me," Morgan said in interruption, "but coming from someone who lives down in Arizona, it doesn't hold that much relevance. My dad has no money and nor do any other close relatives, which means I need the money for the funeral, otherwise we hold a memorial service for her in the backyard."
Morgan's voice sounded shaky, but he was far from tears. In the five years Eric and Morgan knew eachother, Eric never saw Morgan cry once, and that moment didn't bring an exception to the unwritten rule. Morgan sounded so happy just a few minutes ago...
"How could you not say anything, though, man? I mean.. I'm sorry, this isn't much of my business.. I just, you didn't seem to shaken up over anything today..."
"Yeah, well, people have more important things to worry about." Another snapped lockpick. Morgan sucked his teeth and let his fingers scrounge along the bottom of his pockets for another one. "My mom died from a stroke, and little girls are getting chewed up by dogs or whatever's been killing these people. Do you think people are going to go out of their way to be sympathetic towards me? No, people would tell me to be grateful."
Eric shoulders slouched and his mouth hung open still in a wide array of emotions. "Nah, man, no you should be grateful for having a life to live. Something like that is something to be grateful for. Just because your mother died amidst all this doesn't just make people not care about what you're dealing wi-"
"Got it." The snap of a lock sounded and the wooden door slowly eased open.
---
"'Ey, Brent, you got a light?" Chris leaned back against the large grandfather clock, looking back at Brent impatiently. He twirled a cigarette in between his fingers, as if longing for just one single hit. Brent shot an annoyed look of his own right back.
"I don't smoke."
"Shit..." Chris placed the nicotine behind his ear and searched every one of his pockets. "Swear to God I had a lighter on me.." he drifted off, just as his eyes lit up. Success?
"Oh, yes, thank you." Chris flared the oil lighter to life, and let the cigarette dangle over the small flame as he brought the end of it to his lips.
"Could you not smoke near me," Brent requested as Chris inhaled, "my dad does enough of that shit at home and the last person I want getting me cancer is you."
Chris shook his head and walked down the rest of the dining hall. "Alright, alright. For fuck's sake..." he headed over to a closed door at the right side of the hall's end. "I'll be right in here."
"Merci." Brent watched Chris step out of sight into the next room and saw the faint cloud of smoke trail off along with him. "Fucking cancer sticks." Brent smirked, pulled out the fine bottle of red wine from his pocket and popped the cork. One sip later, his eyes squinted from the sweet taste that hit his lips. "Now this is an addiction that more people should appreciate."
Brent could still sense the smoke that wafted through the air. Although not overbearing on his nose, it was definitely present. That, and something else. Something that smelled terribly bad, like rotting meat.
"Ugh, what reeks in here?"
Brent's eyes scanned the large table at his side. He couldn't pinpoint the very source of the smell, but it was somewhere nearby- it had to be if he hadn't noticed it until just then.
'Where the hell is that coming from?'
It only took him a second to realize, and he suddenlt felt dumb for not figuring it out. Slowly, he walked to the end of the table and uncovered one of the gourmet plates. Nothing. He moved to the next one and revealed it as well. Nothing.
Chris could hear Brent's footsteps out in the dining room but thought nothing of them. Finishing his cigarette was more important; afterall, with that prude rich kid around him, it would probably be the only one he would get to smoke for awhile.
He figured while on his little smoke break that he could take the time to get a head start in looking for things to loot in the new hallway before Brent had a chance to find anything of his own. With a deep exhale, Chris sauntered down the hall towards a nearby door and tugged on the plastic knob. Locked. "Hmph," he grunted. Chris was ready to try one of the other doors at the very end of the hall, but something made his ears perk, some kind of noise from beyond the door. A slight, gurgling sound that made Chris sick just listening to it. And yet, he couldn't look away from the door.
"The fuck is that," he mouthed, the words barely leaving his mouth. Chris cocked one of his bushy eyebrows in curiousity of what was beyond the door.. and in a stubborn move, he put his ear against the wood.
'You better be fuckin' kidding me if someone still actually lives in this place.'
More gurgling, and a slow shuffle of feet to go with it- and they were beginning to get louder. Chris knew better than to stay near the door any longer and backed off, training his gun on the dark wood, waiting nervously for whatever was making the noises to come out.
"Oh shit, Chris!"
BLAM! BLAM!
The shout caused Chris to place two pockmarks into the door before the cigarette fell from his lips as he ran for the dining hall.
"Brent, what happened?" By the time Chris could finish the question, Brent was already making his way back towards the lobby.
"Fuck this, man," Brent hollered in reply, "I'm getting out of here right now. I'll go and spend my earned money tomorrow instead."
'Huh? What the fuck is he-'
Chris' chain of thoughts stopped right there, as he felt the ground fall out from underneath his feet. The loud noise of a gourmet lid skittering across the ground jarred Chris into a brief wave of fright, as the back of his head crashed hard into the black and white checkered floor. "Agh, son of a bitch!"
He had no time to acknowledge the pain- all Chris knew was that he needed to get on his feet before whoever was beyond that door in the pale green hallway had come out. And now that whoever was there knew there were intruders, Chris wouldn't have to wait long to see who it was. However, Chris wasn't that dumb. He forced himself to his feet and the moment he was up he noticed what very well could have been what had scared Brent off. That was when the smell bombarded his nose as well.
"Holy..." Chris couldn't even finish the two word sentence, as he stared in a state of shock and the red matter that rested on the gourmet plate. He had no idea what it was exactly as it was too drenched in red to tell. That, and the added frenzy Chris was thrown into didn't help either. In the end, Chris didn't care what the glob of matter was, he just wanted to do what any other person would do in his situation, and do it just as shamelessly- he ran.
---
"Nice," Eric said as the door before him opened. He was still shaken with the news Morgan laid on him right then, but he wasn't going to go and egg Morgan on about it. He must have been through enough of shit as it was, trying to keep quiet about it and all.
Surprisingly enough, though, Morgan went back to the subject. Technically, anyway. "Don't tell the others what I told you. Okay? I don't feel like having to explain all this shit to them, too."
Eric nodded in understanding. "Sure. No problem." He smiled weakly, trying to bring some kind of happiness back into play. But as soon as the smile appeared, it was long gone again.
Morgan noticed the lightning fast change in expression, along with Eric's widened eyes.
"Vermie?" he questioned. "What is it?" The moment the word 'it' left Morgan's mouth, he noticed what 'it' was.
Although they only saw the person for a split second, they both could give a detailed yet accurate description of what they saw. A woman in a violet colored dress with long, shimmering blonde hair stared down the hall and right back at them. She was around five foot nine, just around Eric's height, but seemed a bit older; maybe in her mid twenties. Her pale skin went unblemished, and cherry red lips were perfectly accentuated. A very sophisticated looking woman indeed, someone that Eric would normally find around Brent, but something was different. Her eyes, her crystal blue eyes and the way they stared at the two men. A cold, almost calculating stare. Not one either man had witnessed before in their nineteen to twenty years of living.
Eric and Morgan both thought the exact same thing at the exact same moment.
'Holy shit, RUN!
That was when the noise struck their ears.
BLAM! BLAM!
Both of them went pale and did just what their minds told them to do- run for their lives. Eric was gone from the blue doors before Morgan, who had stopped just for a moment to snatch his claimed painting for he high tailed it behind his friend.
All four of them ran into eachother at the lobby, and not one of them could function any other proper thought into their heads. None at all, other than to get the fuck out of dodge and as quickly as possible.
A/N- I don't go out and make author notes after chapters real often, but this one time I'll make an exception. For Kegmaster Chen: Well, those would be valid arguments, but I really don't see the point of calling me out for that stuff one chapter into the story. Yes, I kinda know that the mansion was for biological research, does that necessarily mean the characters know that, too? And as far as the characters acting like schoolgirls, well, you hit the nail on the head there. They do act like schoolgirls (for now anyway), because, in case you haven't noticed, they don't really like eachother. That's the whole point. That makes it more interesting to see them begin to get over their issues the more the story progresses. Sorry but, yeah, with all due respect, I think you were a bit premature calling me out for plot issues and character development within one chapter of my story- especially since I haven't even begun to get into what the story will REALLY be focused on, and haven't had a chance to get into the background of the characters.
And by the way, I guess you could consider it unrealistic... but then again, how realistic is the notion of dead people coming back to life exactly? That's why this is fiction...