December 27, 1998
I know little of my mother. There was absolutely no time for acquaintance, thanks to Father's paranoia. Perhaps that was for the best, as she would have grown up hating me for exceeding her capabilities. Alfred and I would have dealt with her eventually, had Father not taken things into his own hands. Even so, I digress... Through a journal that I found shortly before entering cryogenic state, I was able to piece together a general time line of events. I will not lie and say that Father's actions against Mother did not serve as a partial reason for his...change. But, that comes later. At least through the notes I have discovered, I can tell the story of my conception, however bizarre that might be. It is most likely the greatest accomplishment in the history of man - my creation.
However...
It is a rather sad story, truth be told.
-Alexia Ashford
______________________
Alexander Ashford sipped his warm, amber Cognac from a ballon glass, his surname etched in a rolling, fluid hand into the fragile crystal. The pleasant, satisfying aroma of fresh fruits filled his senses, and the warmth of the brandy alleviated the chill that only the Antarctica base could impose. He smiled to himself, setting down his glass onto the grand dining room tabletop and retrieving his journal from a stack of notes. Removing the golden fountain pen from his breast pocket, he began writing into the leather-bound book, his aristocratic penmanship filling page after page of parchment:
September 21, 1970
My dearest ancestor, Veronica Ashford,
The last chapter of my research has been completed. As I wrote to you months ago, I was able to extract the intelligence gene from a blood sample that has been stored since your tragic passing. I kept it safely in a locked freezer until a proper surrogate mother could be provided, one of a noble and superior upbringing. Per my orders, the young lady chosen shares your characteristics, although her beauty could never equal yours. The woman is Beatrice Rockfort, the twenty-five year old child of a prominent family hailing from England. She did not choose to follow willingly, so my servants were forced to abduct her; however, I feel that once my magnificent plan is revealed, she will be proud to carry the children containing your blood, our blood.
Of course, young Beatrice will have to be dealt with immediately after the birth of the twins, but such is to be expected. I cannot have Ozwell Spencer aware of my research or plans, considering that already he controls a large portion of Umbrella, Inc., a company that should rightfully be in the Ashford's charge. My father, Lord Edward, is responsible for the creation of the Mother Virus, not that buffoon of a man, Spencer.
I cannot fail my father. I cannot fail you.
The twins will be the crowning of the Ashford name, and their intelligence will second only yours, my matriarch. When Spencer is gone, the company will look to my children for leadership, and we will control Umbrella Pharmaceuticals once again. Ahh, if only that day was now. If only fifteen years could pass in the blink of an eye. I take comfort in the knowledge that our name will carry the honor and prestige it once did in the days of your life, Veronica.
I feel your spirit, looking over my shoulder even now, and your beauty and intelligence is inspiration! I know that you would approve of my work, and how I wish that you were here to guide me. I admit that my heart is weary from years of study, but to see the day! It will be worth everything and more.
Your Loyal Servant,
Alexander Ashford
______________________
Closing the book and laying it flat on the table, Alexander stared into the fireplace, mesmerized by the dancing flame tongues licking within their stone prison. It was even grander a fireplace than the one located inside of George Trevor's last accomplishment, the sprawling Spencer mansion, although most other characteristics were identical. Alexander had always admired the beautiful Spencer Estate, its many rooms, exquisite carpets, and majestic staircases. What better way to mock Spencer than by building a replica of the mansion in this Antarctic base, a home that would house the two children that would be responsible for the downfall of Umbrella's "founder"?
His revelry was interrupted by the sound of footsteps outside the dining room door. Instinctively, he reached for the silver revolver resting distantly on the long table and waited patiently, his finger holding steadily to the trigger. He couldn't underestimate Spencer and his contacts; they were everywhere, waiting on him to make a move that would give them the perfect opportunity. Training his aim on the large double doors, he awaited the confrontation, beads of perspiration slowly oozing their way down his forehead. The brass knob clicked, echoing loudly in his ears, causing his back to stiffen.
"My Lord," a soft voice called through the partially open door. Alexander relaxed and took in a loud gulp of air, the grip on the gun retracting before returning it to the table.
"Yes, Harman. Enter." Alexander heard the door creak on its hinges and watched as the middle-aged man entered the room, his shadow elongated against the wall. Scott Harman, butler to the Ashfords for nearly five years, approached the chair where Alexander sat and bowed low.
"Lord Alexander, I came to inform you that Ms. Rockfort's tests were positive. The implantation procedure has, by all accounts, been a success," Harman spoke, his voice barely above a whisper and his face showing no emotion.
Alexander found it amusing that the butler was always speaking in hushed tones, as if the walls had ears. Perhaps with the severity of the situation, Harman's actions were ideal. "Excellent! Is the woman conscious?"
The butler nodded in response, the bright light of the fire reflecting in his eyes. "Indeed, she woke only moments ago. However, she is in a highly agitated state and is asking many questions. With your permission, I would like to give her the mild sedative that you have prepared for her during pregnancy. The stress could not possibly be good for the embryos."
Alexander held up his hand, silencing the butler before he could say another word. It was only noble that the woman should know a portion of her situation. "I wish to speak with her before you do so. Ms. Rockfort is surely afraid, and perhaps her tension will ease once I speak to her."
"As you wish, my Lord. Will there be anything else?" Harman inquired, scooping up the empty brandy glass from the dining room table with a graceful wave of his hand.
"Yes, draw me a bath. I'm quite sure that the confrontation with the young lady will be most unpleasant, and perhaps a hot soak will ease my rigidity," Alexander spoke, rising from his chair and clearing the dining room with longs strides. "And, Harman, I'd like a warm glass of brandy to drink after my bath. God only knows that I'll need it." Alexander genuflected in the middle of the spacious dining area, crossing himself before rising to leave the room.
"Of course, my Lord," Harman assured, crossing himself mechanically. He sighed deeply, a frown creasing his face as his master exited through the double doors and ascended the large staircase of the entrance way, footsteps almost muted by the thick carpet. The butler turned, staring into the fire, his face solemn as stone. He whispered to no one, his hushed voice quivering as he spoke. "As if these small acts of godliness will afford us any mercy from the higher power. Judgment Day will be a terrible thing for the Ashfords...and for me."
______________________
Alexander reached the oak door of the bedroom that housed his new guest and quickly cleared his throat before knocking. There was no response from inside. Impatiently, he knocked once again, harder this time, before opening the door and entering. Standing at the window was Beatrice Rockfort, her long lavender gown perfectly pressed and hanging limply around her porcelain shoulders. She did not acknowledge his entry, but kept her back to him, her graceful body moving to the time of her slow breathing.
"Good evening, my lady," he began, closing the door behind him and approaching her slowly, almost cautiously. "Harman informed me that you were conscious. I am most pleased by the progression of our plan."
Beatrice turned, her dark eyes flashing with immense anger and confusion. Her long, chestnut hair fell in layers around her shoulders as she moved towards him, her stride purposeful. "I woke up only moments ago to realize that you've drug me from my home and family and brought me to this godforsaken frozen hell for no apparent reason. I'm not even sure how long I've been here, and no one will give me answers." She stood nose to nose with Alexander, daring him to breath. "And I want to know what's going on."
Alexander took a step back from the irate woman, extending his hand to meet hers. She watched guardedly as he reached for her fingers, pulling them to his lips and planting a short kiss on them. As enraged as she was, she found herself momentarily speechless by the perversely charming gesture, almost caught off of her guard.
"My lady, I am Lord Alexander Ashford, son of Lord Edward Ashford. We have met before, although I'm afraid that you were...incapacitated at the time," he spoke leisurely, his voice low and deep. "I thought it best that I come to you and explain the situation, in an attempt to ease your worry and anger." He took a seat in one of the two plush chairs occupying the room, waving his hand to the other in a silent invitation.
Beatrice eyed him thoroughly, trying to discern whether he was being genuine. Although she was scared out of her wits, she couldn't help but have a bizarre curiosity about her predicament. Why was she here? And who was this man sitting before her? A Lord? He was clearly refined, eyes of the most sparkling blue and hair the color of a bright spring day, with a deep, strong voice that had a certain allure to it, despite her attempts to shut him out. He was gracefully clad in a lengthy navy blue wool overcoat and black slacks, and even his shoes appeared expensive. He was something alright, and against her better judgment, she found herself sitting across from him in the padded chair.
"How long have I been here?" she inquired, her tone hinting at suspicion.
The corners of Alexander's eyelids wrinkled as he smiled, and he appeared pleased that she'd decided to hear him out. "Only one day," Alexander lied. "We had to sedate you on the trip in order to keep you from injuring yourself or your captors. From what I understand, you were quite a handful; elbowing a guard and breaking his nose, while nearly castrating another." He let out a chuckle, attempting to ease the distressed young woman. He was delighted to see her give a legitimate smirk; however, he did not entertain this for long, as his face quickly turned solemn. "All joking aside, miss, I feel that you must know the importance of your stay here. I will now explain to you why this mission was of the utmost secrecy, although some of it will be hard to believe." He gazed straight into her almond-shaped eyes, addressing her as if confiding in his most trusted friend. "My dear Beatrice, have you ever heard of the company, Umbrella, Inc.?"
Beatrice paused for a moment, laying a slim finger against her pallid cheek. "Of course I have. Although relatively new, it is one of the leading pharmaceutical and electronic enterprises in the world. I believe many homes in the United States have a product of some kind manufactured by the company." She stopped, as if waiting for him to laugh at or correct her. He did neither, only watched her with grim features, fingers steepled as if in a quiet prayer.
"You are absolutely correct, my dear. A least, to a certain degree." Alexander closed his eyes and frowned, taking in a considerable breath as if waging some unseen battle in his mind. Crooking a finger, he beckoned her forward, leaning his face close enough to hers that she could feel his warm breath against her cheek. Lightly running his index finger down her nose, he whispered, sounding almost giddy as he did so. "Not all of their funding comes from the sale of legal products."
She wrinkled her brows but kept her face only millimeters from his until his stubble grazed over her skin like tiny branches. "And what, pray tell, does that mean? Do they sell illegal drugs or something?"
Alexander's bellowing laughter echoed in her ears, causing her to recoil in fright. Placing a fair hand to her neck, she listened to the man's hysterics roll from his gut even after tears began to form in the corners of his eyes. Taking a handkerchief from his coat pocket, he dabbed the liquid from his lids and wiped the side of his upturned mouth, still seeming on the edge of another outburst. "Ohh, my dear woman. Illegal drugs are so minor. Why, with Umbrella being the company that it is, being federally charged with distribution of drugs would result in little more than a slap on the wrist. The corporation has the funds to pay off any lawyer or judge." His features turned serious once more, his irises an icy blue and his mouth set into a thin line. "What I am speaking of is even worse. What I am speaking of is playing God. Genetic mutation, viral warfare, using diseased humans as weapons that seek out flesh." Sighing, he laid his head back against the chair back, closing his eyes and folding his hands in his lap. "I don't expect you to understand everything. You have not been trained to do so. However, I will say this much. Umbrella's current project is something that they like to call the T-Virus. It is powerful, powerful enough to wipe out millions. When injected into living tissue, the virus regenerates cells while slowly killing off the infected individual. What results is a zombie-like creature, if I may; a cannibalistic horror who's only thought is consuming fresh meat. It is already dead, so "killing" it is nearly impossible. Do you understand?"
Beatrice's face was ashen, and her eyes shifted from one corner of the room to the next, her hands wringing in her lap. "I do. But...what do I have to do with any of this?" Her voice shook, and her brows furrowed as if trying to disassociate herself from any possible connection.
Alexander patted her arm and kept his hand on her shoulder reassuringly. "You see, Ms. Rockfort, Umbrella has been surveying you for some time. They were planning to kidnap you and take you as their prisoner to conduct tests." When Beatrice gave him a horrified but unsure look, he continued, sincerity the core of his voice. "I know what you are thinking. 'Why me?' You see, a certain percent of individuals in the world genetically qualify to become something more than a mindless zombie. Umbrella cannot be sure what the results of these tests will be, but they hope to create a super-weapon that still retains thought and decision- making power. As we speak, they have begun to search for candidates for this new operation. And unfortunately for you, my dear, you have qualified for their fundamental criterions." He reached into his coat, bringing out a small manila envelope. "These pictures will prove to you that what I speak is true. You can tell by the detail that they are not forged."
Lifting a brow, Beatrice accepted the envelope from the man and adjusted the clasped metal prongs. Inside were a handful of documents, memos, and photographs which she silently viewed, her eyes growing in horror with each passing page. The final photo showed a zombie in the last stages of decomposition, leering wickedly at the camera with a hungry tongue flailed across its dead lips. She gasped, throwing the documents onto the floor and bringing her quaking hands to her lips. "No! You cannot let them take me! I don't want to become that! Please!" Tears fell down her pale cheeks, sparkling as they hit the light and fell to her dress in small splotches. She leaped to her feet quickly, her back straight as a board, and began pacing the room, sobbing all the while. Alexander rose as well, placing a comforting hand on her back.
"That is why I brought you here, Beatrice! My glorious plan is simply to save your life! I learned through confidential resources that Umbrella planned to execute this horrendous proposal. I had to stop them, as it was my duty to keep a beautiful, noble, and respected woman such as you out of harms way!" He stopped, turning her body to face his, offering a small smile. "I brought you here because this is where I can protect you. This is where Umbrella cannot find you. Don't you understand?"
She looked confused, tears still spilling from her glistening eyes. "How do you know that I'm safe here? Could they not track me down?" Her body shook from head to toe; her skin was clammy and coated with a sheen of nervous sweat.
"Only if you go back. No one knows that you are here, and it can stay that way until Umbrella decides to give up their search; however, only you can make that decision," Alexander spoke, his voice cracking as if in turmoil, a tear falling from his eye. "I've brought you this far to protect you, but I cannot be responsible for whatever may happen to you if you leave this place, Beatrice."
Alexander noticed that Beatrice seemed placated, trusting, and almost thankful. Her behavior was a total turn around from what it had been only five minutes earlier, which was difficult for him to understand. Could this girl be so naïve as to believe a total stranger, especially with such an incredible claim? His question was answered when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, squeezing him in a tight embrace. "With your permission, Lord Alexander, I would like to stay here for just a little while. At least until things have calmed down. I do appreciate you taking my well-being to heart," she spoke, blushing deeply. "Would you mind staying with me tonight, just for a little while? After all you've told me, I do not want to fall asleep alone."
He smiled, gently tugging a strand of her hair from her eyes. "Of course. I could not leave you alone, my dear." Planting a kiss on her damp forehead, he took her hands in his and gave them a squeeze. "I know that things look bleak, but all will work out in the end. I promise to you that you will be protected while in my care."
"For some reason, I trust you. Perhaps it is those sparkling eyes of yours, or the way you throw your shoulders back when you walk. Or possibly the way you speak to me." She returned his smile with one of her own, before turning away from him and unzipping her gown. It fell to the floor in a large pool of lavender, and she gracefully stepped out of it, her sheer underclothes revealing the lean, sinewy muscles of her body as they stretched. Beatrice looked over her shoulder, her cheeks pink, her lips puckered slightly, and her eyes cloudy. She sauntered to him as a woman of experience would, and placed her hands on the sides of his cheeks, her mouth inches from his. "I hope you don't consider me less of a lady for what I am about to do, Lord Alexander. I just want to show my appreciation for every effort that you have taken to save my life."
Alexander simply smiled. "I cannot say that I would be disappointed, my dear." He wrapped his hands around her slim waist and pulled her closer, lowering his lips to hers in a soft kiss. Beatrice's eyelids fluttered, and she quickly turned the sweet kiss into a more passionate one.
A low moan escaped Alexander's throat as Beatrice began running her fingers through his hair roughly, pressing her tongue into his mouth with darting thrusts. He found that she was leading him to the large canopy bed, unbuttoning his overcoat and pulling it from him in the process. He stopped, breaking their kiss briefly, his voice coming in short gasps. "Are you sure that you want to do this?"
Beatrice let out a high-pitched giggle, gently tugging on his hair. "Just because I am a lady doesn't mean that I have no experience with men," she spoke in sultry tone. "I'm sure that I can teach you a thing or two." With that, she shoved him onto the bed, crawling on top of him and kissing his lips ferociously.
Alexander couldn't help but smile as Beatrice effortlessly removed his clothing and her own. This was going to be much easier than he'd anticipated.
______________________
An hour later, Alexander arrived into the master bedroom, his hair mussed and his clothing uncharacteristically disheveled. Scott Harman squinted from his chair, placing the well-worn paperback onto the side table at his left.
"My lord! I was beginning to wonder! Is everything alright?" Harman exclaimed, sounding sick with worry. He stood immediately, striding to Alexander in a purposeful manner. Quirking a brow, Harman halted and surveyed his master's condition. "I'm afraid that your bath has already run cold. Not to mention your brandy."
Alexander laughed maniacally, running forked fingers through his hair. "Ah, Harman! Forget the bath AND the brandy! There are much more important matters at hand!"
"I take it that Ms. Rockfort did not take the news very well?" Harman replied dryly, although Alexander didn't seem to notice. The butler had become acquainted with the rather unusual behaviors displayed by his Lord, but he was quite curious as to why the young man was so enraptured.
"On the contrary, Harman," Alexander raved, his eyes wild. "As I spoke to her, I had the most brilliant idea! A way to keep from telling her about my research; in essence, keeping the information from getting into the wrong hands. Of course, I had to tell a few small fibs, but in the end, she was practically ripping away my clothes. There is no need to inform her that she is already with child, and when she becomes aware of her pregnancy, she will assume that it is a result of our little rendezvous tonight. Why go into so much unbelievable detail when a few simple lies will keep her in my control for the nine months needed?"
Harman nearly fell where he stood, his wrinkled face turning the color of chalk. "You mean, my Lord, you didn't tell her? What does she know?" He heard a subtle clomp as his paperback fell from the table into the carpet.
Alexander didn't acknowledge the butler at first, but instead took on the task of turning down the bedcovers and adjusting the pillows. After each was in place, he eyed the butler with more than a hint of satisfaction. "The young lady is under the impression that she has been selected as a T-Virus specimen, and that I, her brave and noble knight in shining armor has rescued her from the evil deeds that Umbrella schemed against her! Thanks to the pictures that our dear friend, Markus, took of the carriers' evaluations inside the Arklay lab, I was able to assure her that she would become one of them if she did not stay here. Not only was the young woman grateful, she proceeded to show her appreciation through a way that will not lead to questions when the twins are discovered."
"What shall happen to her after the birth of the children?" Harman inquired, afraid of the results that he would hear.
"Of course, Harman, I cannot have her learning the truth. If she does so, Spencer will surely hear of my plans and send his men after all of us. That would make all of my hard work a waste, and the Ashford name would be tarnished forever!" Alexander screamed, his voice inhuman. He breathed in deep, exhaling slowly before he spoke again, softer. "When the twins are borne, Harman, you will have the opportunity to prove where your loyalties lie."
Harman could barely stammer in response. "But...L-l-ord Ashford! I...I most certainly cannot do such a thing! I brought her here for you, but I did not expect to have to..."
Alexander smiled gleefully, reaching into his nightstand table and taking out an empty syringe, the needle sparkling under the candlelight. "You will, Harman, to prove that you are a loyal servant of the Ashford family. Do you not know that your father had to dispose of the chaff when necessary?"
The butler blinked, his mouth dry as cotton, but said nothing in response.
"I know that you realize the severity of the situation, Harman. If you do not kill Ms. Rockfort immediately after the birth of the children, I will be forced to do it. And who knows what will become of the Ashford's only butler afterwards?" Alexander spat wickedly.
Harman's knees shook, his heart slammed in his chest...but he reached out and retrieved the syringe, gripping it in his right hand until it nearly shattered. "It shall be done, my Lord."
I know little of my mother. There was absolutely no time for acquaintance, thanks to Father's paranoia. Perhaps that was for the best, as she would have grown up hating me for exceeding her capabilities. Alfred and I would have dealt with her eventually, had Father not taken things into his own hands. Even so, I digress... Through a journal that I found shortly before entering cryogenic state, I was able to piece together a general time line of events. I will not lie and say that Father's actions against Mother did not serve as a partial reason for his...change. But, that comes later. At least through the notes I have discovered, I can tell the story of my conception, however bizarre that might be. It is most likely the greatest accomplishment in the history of man - my creation.
However...
It is a rather sad story, truth be told.
-Alexia Ashford
______________________
Alexander Ashford sipped his warm, amber Cognac from a ballon glass, his surname etched in a rolling, fluid hand into the fragile crystal. The pleasant, satisfying aroma of fresh fruits filled his senses, and the warmth of the brandy alleviated the chill that only the Antarctica base could impose. He smiled to himself, setting down his glass onto the grand dining room tabletop and retrieving his journal from a stack of notes. Removing the golden fountain pen from his breast pocket, he began writing into the leather-bound book, his aristocratic penmanship filling page after page of parchment:
September 21, 1970
My dearest ancestor, Veronica Ashford,
The last chapter of my research has been completed. As I wrote to you months ago, I was able to extract the intelligence gene from a blood sample that has been stored since your tragic passing. I kept it safely in a locked freezer until a proper surrogate mother could be provided, one of a noble and superior upbringing. Per my orders, the young lady chosen shares your characteristics, although her beauty could never equal yours. The woman is Beatrice Rockfort, the twenty-five year old child of a prominent family hailing from England. She did not choose to follow willingly, so my servants were forced to abduct her; however, I feel that once my magnificent plan is revealed, she will be proud to carry the children containing your blood, our blood.
Of course, young Beatrice will have to be dealt with immediately after the birth of the twins, but such is to be expected. I cannot have Ozwell Spencer aware of my research or plans, considering that already he controls a large portion of Umbrella, Inc., a company that should rightfully be in the Ashford's charge. My father, Lord Edward, is responsible for the creation of the Mother Virus, not that buffoon of a man, Spencer.
I cannot fail my father. I cannot fail you.
The twins will be the crowning of the Ashford name, and their intelligence will second only yours, my matriarch. When Spencer is gone, the company will look to my children for leadership, and we will control Umbrella Pharmaceuticals once again. Ahh, if only that day was now. If only fifteen years could pass in the blink of an eye. I take comfort in the knowledge that our name will carry the honor and prestige it once did in the days of your life, Veronica.
I feel your spirit, looking over my shoulder even now, and your beauty and intelligence is inspiration! I know that you would approve of my work, and how I wish that you were here to guide me. I admit that my heart is weary from years of study, but to see the day! It will be worth everything and more.
Your Loyal Servant,
Alexander Ashford
______________________
Closing the book and laying it flat on the table, Alexander stared into the fireplace, mesmerized by the dancing flame tongues licking within their stone prison. It was even grander a fireplace than the one located inside of George Trevor's last accomplishment, the sprawling Spencer mansion, although most other characteristics were identical. Alexander had always admired the beautiful Spencer Estate, its many rooms, exquisite carpets, and majestic staircases. What better way to mock Spencer than by building a replica of the mansion in this Antarctic base, a home that would house the two children that would be responsible for the downfall of Umbrella's "founder"?
His revelry was interrupted by the sound of footsteps outside the dining room door. Instinctively, he reached for the silver revolver resting distantly on the long table and waited patiently, his finger holding steadily to the trigger. He couldn't underestimate Spencer and his contacts; they were everywhere, waiting on him to make a move that would give them the perfect opportunity. Training his aim on the large double doors, he awaited the confrontation, beads of perspiration slowly oozing their way down his forehead. The brass knob clicked, echoing loudly in his ears, causing his back to stiffen.
"My Lord," a soft voice called through the partially open door. Alexander relaxed and took in a loud gulp of air, the grip on the gun retracting before returning it to the table.
"Yes, Harman. Enter." Alexander heard the door creak on its hinges and watched as the middle-aged man entered the room, his shadow elongated against the wall. Scott Harman, butler to the Ashfords for nearly five years, approached the chair where Alexander sat and bowed low.
"Lord Alexander, I came to inform you that Ms. Rockfort's tests were positive. The implantation procedure has, by all accounts, been a success," Harman spoke, his voice barely above a whisper and his face showing no emotion.
Alexander found it amusing that the butler was always speaking in hushed tones, as if the walls had ears. Perhaps with the severity of the situation, Harman's actions were ideal. "Excellent! Is the woman conscious?"
The butler nodded in response, the bright light of the fire reflecting in his eyes. "Indeed, she woke only moments ago. However, she is in a highly agitated state and is asking many questions. With your permission, I would like to give her the mild sedative that you have prepared for her during pregnancy. The stress could not possibly be good for the embryos."
Alexander held up his hand, silencing the butler before he could say another word. It was only noble that the woman should know a portion of her situation. "I wish to speak with her before you do so. Ms. Rockfort is surely afraid, and perhaps her tension will ease once I speak to her."
"As you wish, my Lord. Will there be anything else?" Harman inquired, scooping up the empty brandy glass from the dining room table with a graceful wave of his hand.
"Yes, draw me a bath. I'm quite sure that the confrontation with the young lady will be most unpleasant, and perhaps a hot soak will ease my rigidity," Alexander spoke, rising from his chair and clearing the dining room with longs strides. "And, Harman, I'd like a warm glass of brandy to drink after my bath. God only knows that I'll need it." Alexander genuflected in the middle of the spacious dining area, crossing himself before rising to leave the room.
"Of course, my Lord," Harman assured, crossing himself mechanically. He sighed deeply, a frown creasing his face as his master exited through the double doors and ascended the large staircase of the entrance way, footsteps almost muted by the thick carpet. The butler turned, staring into the fire, his face solemn as stone. He whispered to no one, his hushed voice quivering as he spoke. "As if these small acts of godliness will afford us any mercy from the higher power. Judgment Day will be a terrible thing for the Ashfords...and for me."
______________________
Alexander reached the oak door of the bedroom that housed his new guest and quickly cleared his throat before knocking. There was no response from inside. Impatiently, he knocked once again, harder this time, before opening the door and entering. Standing at the window was Beatrice Rockfort, her long lavender gown perfectly pressed and hanging limply around her porcelain shoulders. She did not acknowledge his entry, but kept her back to him, her graceful body moving to the time of her slow breathing.
"Good evening, my lady," he began, closing the door behind him and approaching her slowly, almost cautiously. "Harman informed me that you were conscious. I am most pleased by the progression of our plan."
Beatrice turned, her dark eyes flashing with immense anger and confusion. Her long, chestnut hair fell in layers around her shoulders as she moved towards him, her stride purposeful. "I woke up only moments ago to realize that you've drug me from my home and family and brought me to this godforsaken frozen hell for no apparent reason. I'm not even sure how long I've been here, and no one will give me answers." She stood nose to nose with Alexander, daring him to breath. "And I want to know what's going on."
Alexander took a step back from the irate woman, extending his hand to meet hers. She watched guardedly as he reached for her fingers, pulling them to his lips and planting a short kiss on them. As enraged as she was, she found herself momentarily speechless by the perversely charming gesture, almost caught off of her guard.
"My lady, I am Lord Alexander Ashford, son of Lord Edward Ashford. We have met before, although I'm afraid that you were...incapacitated at the time," he spoke leisurely, his voice low and deep. "I thought it best that I come to you and explain the situation, in an attempt to ease your worry and anger." He took a seat in one of the two plush chairs occupying the room, waving his hand to the other in a silent invitation.
Beatrice eyed him thoroughly, trying to discern whether he was being genuine. Although she was scared out of her wits, she couldn't help but have a bizarre curiosity about her predicament. Why was she here? And who was this man sitting before her? A Lord? He was clearly refined, eyes of the most sparkling blue and hair the color of a bright spring day, with a deep, strong voice that had a certain allure to it, despite her attempts to shut him out. He was gracefully clad in a lengthy navy blue wool overcoat and black slacks, and even his shoes appeared expensive. He was something alright, and against her better judgment, she found herself sitting across from him in the padded chair.
"How long have I been here?" she inquired, her tone hinting at suspicion.
The corners of Alexander's eyelids wrinkled as he smiled, and he appeared pleased that she'd decided to hear him out. "Only one day," Alexander lied. "We had to sedate you on the trip in order to keep you from injuring yourself or your captors. From what I understand, you were quite a handful; elbowing a guard and breaking his nose, while nearly castrating another." He let out a chuckle, attempting to ease the distressed young woman. He was delighted to see her give a legitimate smirk; however, he did not entertain this for long, as his face quickly turned solemn. "All joking aside, miss, I feel that you must know the importance of your stay here. I will now explain to you why this mission was of the utmost secrecy, although some of it will be hard to believe." He gazed straight into her almond-shaped eyes, addressing her as if confiding in his most trusted friend. "My dear Beatrice, have you ever heard of the company, Umbrella, Inc.?"
Beatrice paused for a moment, laying a slim finger against her pallid cheek. "Of course I have. Although relatively new, it is one of the leading pharmaceutical and electronic enterprises in the world. I believe many homes in the United States have a product of some kind manufactured by the company." She stopped, as if waiting for him to laugh at or correct her. He did neither, only watched her with grim features, fingers steepled as if in a quiet prayer.
"You are absolutely correct, my dear. A least, to a certain degree." Alexander closed his eyes and frowned, taking in a considerable breath as if waging some unseen battle in his mind. Crooking a finger, he beckoned her forward, leaning his face close enough to hers that she could feel his warm breath against her cheek. Lightly running his index finger down her nose, he whispered, sounding almost giddy as he did so. "Not all of their funding comes from the sale of legal products."
She wrinkled her brows but kept her face only millimeters from his until his stubble grazed over her skin like tiny branches. "And what, pray tell, does that mean? Do they sell illegal drugs or something?"
Alexander's bellowing laughter echoed in her ears, causing her to recoil in fright. Placing a fair hand to her neck, she listened to the man's hysterics roll from his gut even after tears began to form in the corners of his eyes. Taking a handkerchief from his coat pocket, he dabbed the liquid from his lids and wiped the side of his upturned mouth, still seeming on the edge of another outburst. "Ohh, my dear woman. Illegal drugs are so minor. Why, with Umbrella being the company that it is, being federally charged with distribution of drugs would result in little more than a slap on the wrist. The corporation has the funds to pay off any lawyer or judge." His features turned serious once more, his irises an icy blue and his mouth set into a thin line. "What I am speaking of is even worse. What I am speaking of is playing God. Genetic mutation, viral warfare, using diseased humans as weapons that seek out flesh." Sighing, he laid his head back against the chair back, closing his eyes and folding his hands in his lap. "I don't expect you to understand everything. You have not been trained to do so. However, I will say this much. Umbrella's current project is something that they like to call the T-Virus. It is powerful, powerful enough to wipe out millions. When injected into living tissue, the virus regenerates cells while slowly killing off the infected individual. What results is a zombie-like creature, if I may; a cannibalistic horror who's only thought is consuming fresh meat. It is already dead, so "killing" it is nearly impossible. Do you understand?"
Beatrice's face was ashen, and her eyes shifted from one corner of the room to the next, her hands wringing in her lap. "I do. But...what do I have to do with any of this?" Her voice shook, and her brows furrowed as if trying to disassociate herself from any possible connection.
Alexander patted her arm and kept his hand on her shoulder reassuringly. "You see, Ms. Rockfort, Umbrella has been surveying you for some time. They were planning to kidnap you and take you as their prisoner to conduct tests." When Beatrice gave him a horrified but unsure look, he continued, sincerity the core of his voice. "I know what you are thinking. 'Why me?' You see, a certain percent of individuals in the world genetically qualify to become something more than a mindless zombie. Umbrella cannot be sure what the results of these tests will be, but they hope to create a super-weapon that still retains thought and decision- making power. As we speak, they have begun to search for candidates for this new operation. And unfortunately for you, my dear, you have qualified for their fundamental criterions." He reached into his coat, bringing out a small manila envelope. "These pictures will prove to you that what I speak is true. You can tell by the detail that they are not forged."
Lifting a brow, Beatrice accepted the envelope from the man and adjusted the clasped metal prongs. Inside were a handful of documents, memos, and photographs which she silently viewed, her eyes growing in horror with each passing page. The final photo showed a zombie in the last stages of decomposition, leering wickedly at the camera with a hungry tongue flailed across its dead lips. She gasped, throwing the documents onto the floor and bringing her quaking hands to her lips. "No! You cannot let them take me! I don't want to become that! Please!" Tears fell down her pale cheeks, sparkling as they hit the light and fell to her dress in small splotches. She leaped to her feet quickly, her back straight as a board, and began pacing the room, sobbing all the while. Alexander rose as well, placing a comforting hand on her back.
"That is why I brought you here, Beatrice! My glorious plan is simply to save your life! I learned through confidential resources that Umbrella planned to execute this horrendous proposal. I had to stop them, as it was my duty to keep a beautiful, noble, and respected woman such as you out of harms way!" He stopped, turning her body to face his, offering a small smile. "I brought you here because this is where I can protect you. This is where Umbrella cannot find you. Don't you understand?"
She looked confused, tears still spilling from her glistening eyes. "How do you know that I'm safe here? Could they not track me down?" Her body shook from head to toe; her skin was clammy and coated with a sheen of nervous sweat.
"Only if you go back. No one knows that you are here, and it can stay that way until Umbrella decides to give up their search; however, only you can make that decision," Alexander spoke, his voice cracking as if in turmoil, a tear falling from his eye. "I've brought you this far to protect you, but I cannot be responsible for whatever may happen to you if you leave this place, Beatrice."
Alexander noticed that Beatrice seemed placated, trusting, and almost thankful. Her behavior was a total turn around from what it had been only five minutes earlier, which was difficult for him to understand. Could this girl be so naïve as to believe a total stranger, especially with such an incredible claim? His question was answered when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, squeezing him in a tight embrace. "With your permission, Lord Alexander, I would like to stay here for just a little while. At least until things have calmed down. I do appreciate you taking my well-being to heart," she spoke, blushing deeply. "Would you mind staying with me tonight, just for a little while? After all you've told me, I do not want to fall asleep alone."
He smiled, gently tugging a strand of her hair from her eyes. "Of course. I could not leave you alone, my dear." Planting a kiss on her damp forehead, he took her hands in his and gave them a squeeze. "I know that things look bleak, but all will work out in the end. I promise to you that you will be protected while in my care."
"For some reason, I trust you. Perhaps it is those sparkling eyes of yours, or the way you throw your shoulders back when you walk. Or possibly the way you speak to me." She returned his smile with one of her own, before turning away from him and unzipping her gown. It fell to the floor in a large pool of lavender, and she gracefully stepped out of it, her sheer underclothes revealing the lean, sinewy muscles of her body as they stretched. Beatrice looked over her shoulder, her cheeks pink, her lips puckered slightly, and her eyes cloudy. She sauntered to him as a woman of experience would, and placed her hands on the sides of his cheeks, her mouth inches from his. "I hope you don't consider me less of a lady for what I am about to do, Lord Alexander. I just want to show my appreciation for every effort that you have taken to save my life."
Alexander simply smiled. "I cannot say that I would be disappointed, my dear." He wrapped his hands around her slim waist and pulled her closer, lowering his lips to hers in a soft kiss. Beatrice's eyelids fluttered, and she quickly turned the sweet kiss into a more passionate one.
A low moan escaped Alexander's throat as Beatrice began running her fingers through his hair roughly, pressing her tongue into his mouth with darting thrusts. He found that she was leading him to the large canopy bed, unbuttoning his overcoat and pulling it from him in the process. He stopped, breaking their kiss briefly, his voice coming in short gasps. "Are you sure that you want to do this?"
Beatrice let out a high-pitched giggle, gently tugging on his hair. "Just because I am a lady doesn't mean that I have no experience with men," she spoke in sultry tone. "I'm sure that I can teach you a thing or two." With that, she shoved him onto the bed, crawling on top of him and kissing his lips ferociously.
Alexander couldn't help but smile as Beatrice effortlessly removed his clothing and her own. This was going to be much easier than he'd anticipated.
______________________
An hour later, Alexander arrived into the master bedroom, his hair mussed and his clothing uncharacteristically disheveled. Scott Harman squinted from his chair, placing the well-worn paperback onto the side table at his left.
"My lord! I was beginning to wonder! Is everything alright?" Harman exclaimed, sounding sick with worry. He stood immediately, striding to Alexander in a purposeful manner. Quirking a brow, Harman halted and surveyed his master's condition. "I'm afraid that your bath has already run cold. Not to mention your brandy."
Alexander laughed maniacally, running forked fingers through his hair. "Ah, Harman! Forget the bath AND the brandy! There are much more important matters at hand!"
"I take it that Ms. Rockfort did not take the news very well?" Harman replied dryly, although Alexander didn't seem to notice. The butler had become acquainted with the rather unusual behaviors displayed by his Lord, but he was quite curious as to why the young man was so enraptured.
"On the contrary, Harman," Alexander raved, his eyes wild. "As I spoke to her, I had the most brilliant idea! A way to keep from telling her about my research; in essence, keeping the information from getting into the wrong hands. Of course, I had to tell a few small fibs, but in the end, she was practically ripping away my clothes. There is no need to inform her that she is already with child, and when she becomes aware of her pregnancy, she will assume that it is a result of our little rendezvous tonight. Why go into so much unbelievable detail when a few simple lies will keep her in my control for the nine months needed?"
Harman nearly fell where he stood, his wrinkled face turning the color of chalk. "You mean, my Lord, you didn't tell her? What does she know?" He heard a subtle clomp as his paperback fell from the table into the carpet.
Alexander didn't acknowledge the butler at first, but instead took on the task of turning down the bedcovers and adjusting the pillows. After each was in place, he eyed the butler with more than a hint of satisfaction. "The young lady is under the impression that she has been selected as a T-Virus specimen, and that I, her brave and noble knight in shining armor has rescued her from the evil deeds that Umbrella schemed against her! Thanks to the pictures that our dear friend, Markus, took of the carriers' evaluations inside the Arklay lab, I was able to assure her that she would become one of them if she did not stay here. Not only was the young woman grateful, she proceeded to show her appreciation through a way that will not lead to questions when the twins are discovered."
"What shall happen to her after the birth of the children?" Harman inquired, afraid of the results that he would hear.
"Of course, Harman, I cannot have her learning the truth. If she does so, Spencer will surely hear of my plans and send his men after all of us. That would make all of my hard work a waste, and the Ashford name would be tarnished forever!" Alexander screamed, his voice inhuman. He breathed in deep, exhaling slowly before he spoke again, softer. "When the twins are borne, Harman, you will have the opportunity to prove where your loyalties lie."
Harman could barely stammer in response. "But...L-l-ord Ashford! I...I most certainly cannot do such a thing! I brought her here for you, but I did not expect to have to..."
Alexander smiled gleefully, reaching into his nightstand table and taking out an empty syringe, the needle sparkling under the candlelight. "You will, Harman, to prove that you are a loyal servant of the Ashford family. Do you not know that your father had to dispose of the chaff when necessary?"
The butler blinked, his mouth dry as cotton, but said nothing in response.
"I know that you realize the severity of the situation, Harman. If you do not kill Ms. Rockfort immediately after the birth of the children, I will be forced to do it. And who knows what will become of the Ashford's only butler afterwards?" Alexander spat wickedly.
Harman's knees shook, his heart slammed in his chest...but he reached out and retrieved the syringe, gripping it in his right hand until it nearly shattered. "It shall be done, my Lord."