Resident Evil - Voracious
Chapter Three
Author's Note: A huge thank you to both deepgirl and Shade1578 for the encouragement. If my ego gets too big so as not to allow my head to fit through most standard household doors, I'm sending you guys the grease bill.
LaChance wasn't ordinarily a bitter man.
When his first wife had divorced him, leaving him for his brother and taking with her every plate, bowl, cup and piece of china in the house, he hadn't sought revenge. He'd just bought paper plates.
When, several years back, his lab assistant had pulled a practical joke in particularily poor taste that had nearly cost LaChance his promotion, he hadn't bothered to fire the fellow, instead recommending him for a retraining seminar being held that weekend.
Even when he'd gotten word last year that his mother's newest boyfriend had broken her arm in several places, LaChance hadn't lost his temper, being in remarkably cheerful spirits when he'd signed the hefty check that would secure the abusive fucker's hospitalisation.
Marshall LaChance was a strong believer in not worrying about things you couldn't change. You couldn't monitor someone else's behaviour, you could only watch your own. People were loose cannons, something he'd learned early on in life, and all you could do was stand back from the blast range and keep your eyes on your own work.
In hindsight, he had probably been due for a blow up.
He stood off to one side in the sterile corridor and watched as stony-faced maintenance men carted out the remains of his desk and bookshelf from his quarters, plucking absently at the sleeves of his jacket. Linda Devine, on her way back from her shift, paused outside her door and watched with interest, a stack of files balanced on one ample hip, and a large, agressively pink coffee mug in her other hand. "Bad day, Dr LaChance?" she asked sympathetically.
LaChance didn't buy it for an instant. The only reason Devine would pat him on the back would be to find the best place to sink a meat cleaver. She was exactly the sort of person that seemed to becoming more and more prevalent in Umbrella's ranks these days. "I've had worse."
One man emerged from the room, carrying the torn remains of LaChance's mattress. Slashing that had been particularily therapeutic.
"I heard they want to cut the Doppleganger Project." Devine went on, scratching at a mole on the underside of her chin. "Too bad."
Fuck. She knew.
Although he would have liked for all the world to snatch the mug from her hand and shove it down her throat, LaChance shrugged indifferently. "I'm taking it up with Mayhew tomorrow. We'll see."
Devine took a sip from her mug and regarded him solemnly over the rim of it. In the harsh lighting of the corridor, she looked even paler, like something you might have found growing on the underside of a rock in early springtime. "Maybe it's time you just let it go, Doctor. Maybe it's none of my business -- "
"Maybe it's not." LaChance agreed tightly, not looking at her.
" -- but I think you could be making a bigger splash in another pond." she went on as though she hadn't heard. "We've got an opening on my team you'd be perfect for. Cellular deconstruction. I think it'd even be a pay increase."
The sad truth was, it probably would be. For the past few months, LaChance had felt as though he was living under a constantly swelling ominous shadow, which represented to him the waning interest of the company in his work. It was like a kick in the balls, when it came right down to it, especially considering the lengths they'd gone to lure him away from his medical practice when they'd first gotten wind of his ideas. To have such support, such enthusiasm, yanked out from beneath you like a rug was one of the worst feelings he'd ever experienced. He blamed it partly on the Spencer Estate incident; ever since, the company had been wary, even downright hostile towards straying away from already established ideas and working concepts.
"We had a breakthrough just the other day." LaChance said, unable to keep the acid out of his tone. Irritated as much by Devine's presence as his own lack of self control, he smoothed his short, dark hair with one hand. "They just need to see the figures."
"The first one was a failure."
"The first one was a tragedy!" he snapped. The maintenance men were carting in replacement furniture now, and his outburst earned him a long, contemplative look from them, as though they were fit to judge him. "We've made incredible leaps since then. Even that was a huge step forward."
"Sure. Sure, yeah, I know the feeling." Devine said. She smiled unpleasantly. "Well, you just think about it, anyway. Let me know if you need any help."
LaChance didn't bother to watch her go. There was nothing to think about. In the long run, his work was going to save lives, completely revolutionise the world. He had to believe that.
Even if it was wrong, he couldn't let what had happened last time happen again. Not to Simon.
The following morning, Barry dropped her off along mainstreet outside of a small market, and Kathy Burton found herself spectacularily unburdened by children for the first day in months.
Not that she didn't love her girls. Moira and Poly Anne were Kathy's treasures, in every sense of the word, and seeing them grow more and more independant each day was like a knife of sad love in her back, twisting between her shoulderblades. Sometimes, she would watch them play or argue, and her heart would be so heavy with love for them and dread for the day they finally left home that she thought the weight of it would drag her to the ground, although she never said it aloud.
But with Barry taking them off to the local mall and left to her own devices finally, Kathy felt a little like kicking up her heels. It had been so long, so many days spent in numbness and worry, laying awake at night and wondering what, if anything, she could do if Umbrella were to break in the house while she was alone with the girls and Barry was gone that she had almost forgotten there was an entire world out there outside of anger, pain, fear, worry. Of course, Barry would be back in just over an hour for her, and all she was really doing was picking up some groceries to stock up the empty fridge inside the cabin they were occupying, but she felt ridiculously free regardless.
Their first night in the new place had been a peaceful one, and surprisingly so. The girls had been too wrapped up in choosing their room from the two the place boasted to argue, and Kathy had been comforted enough by the atmosphere to forget her earlier worries. Although it was fairly large, the interior had been cozily decorated without looking like a trademark of Martha Stewart, fresh off of the factory line. While Barry had set about unpacking, Kathy had spent a while going from room to room, admiring the lived in feel, the sturdy handmade quality of the furniture, and the solidarity of the building itself. She'd caught herself wondering if the owner of the cabins would ever consider selling one. As much as she had been embarassed by her brief flight of fancy -- what, Barry cutting trees for a living, she canning pears while the children picked wildflowers? -- she had been a little relieved by it, too. She was remembering how to live, and she had slept soundly curled against Barry's back that night, with none of the jitters that a new place usually brought.
Rhodes too seemed as energised as she felt by her calm night. While at first she had thought the town had been quiet and lazy yesterday, today it seemed full to the seams with people and duty. The street was an irregular snake of cars and other vehicles, the sidewalks pockmarked with people who seemed friendly enough to pass her a smile as they went by on their own business. When Kathy pushed her way into the market, she found it busy as well. A young mother, blonde ponytail bouncing smartly between her shoulders, jogged past Kathy pushing a shopping cart with a chubby infant in the seat eating a chocolate bar. The child grinned up at Kathy, and she smiled back, netting a communicative glance from the woman and a slight smile.
Kathy got a cart of her own and joined the others browsing the aisles. It was such a normal, mundane, every-day-mom activity that she had to smile again. She knew how little she had smiled lately, and thought it was wasted upon the strangers in this store (heck, she probably looked like a loon, grinning at jars of peanut butter), resolved to spend more on Barry instead. She was still angry at him, at a lot of things, but that didn't mean she wasn't at least willing to open a door or two on the way to resolution.
" . . . didn't know she didn't come back last night." A voice floated over from the next aisle as Kathy stood checking dates on bread. "I mean, she was pretty pissed, but still. I thought she'd go straight home."
"Pretty pissed, yeah. First she gets her designs rejected, and now this." Another voice, another man's, and irritated.
"She heard back from them? I didn't know . . . "
"Probably didn't get the chance to tell you. You were too busy dumping her ass, weren't you?"
"Hey, Anthony, come on. You know what it was like. Cut me a break, I thought we were friends. Jesus."
"Okay, yeah. I'm sorry. I know you weren't happy. I'm just worried, is all."
"I know. But it's not just anybody. If it was anyone else, I'd be worried, but it's Ina. I'm not just saying that to be an asshole, you know I'd never wish anything bad to happen to her, but she can take care of herself. Probably went off to see Charmaine."
"Aw, shit. You're right. I didn't even think to call her and check . . . "
"'Scuse me."
This last had been spoked right next to her elbow, and Kathy jumped. She was aware of a heat in her cheeks, and was embarassed for having been caught listening. "I'm sorry. Am I in your way?"
The speaker had been a stooped, pale old man, and Kathy recognised him as one of the men she'd seen arguing at the diner yesterday. He was dressed, oddly enough, in what looked to be an honest to god smoking jacket made of red velvet, and wore a pair of faded brown slippers on his feet. "Naw." He had a voice like a door left ajar in the wind, but his expression was good natured enough. "Didn't mean to startle ya none. Just wanted ta ask, you and yer husband and yer kids, yer stayin' in town, aren't ya?"
Absurdly relieved she hadn't been caught eavesdropping on that little bit of small-town drama, Kathy managed a nod, dropping a loaf of bread atop the other items in her cart. "Yes. The Burtons. We're staying a while." She knew she sounded inane, but she couldn't help it. She had never been able to handle embarassment gracefully.
The old man's thin brows rose with interest. "That so?" He thrust out his hand. "Council Riddick. Nice to meetcha." he said, and bowed with surprising gravity.
Amused and charmed, Kathy shook his hand, introducing herself. She thought he might have been the one who had been accused of cheating; if so, he reminded her even more of her own father, who had been kicked out of many a poker game, than on appearance alone. He was solidly built for his age, his head topped with a thick mat of iron gray hair, back bowed with age. His nose, a pendulous thing, seemed to droop sadly under it's own weight. "Good to see people comin' into town who ain't some rich bitch yuppie trash -- pardon the language -- especially when we don't usually get nobody unless it's ski season."
"I'm afraid I'm not much of a skiier."
"Good." Council snorted. "Prancy fuckin' thing, call that a sport? Sorry, sorry. Keep forgettin' my language. I ain't used to talkin' to a lady, 'less you count Thomas."
"That's allright." Kathy said with amusement. With her eye on the clock mounted on the wall, she began easing herself in the direction of the checkout. She liked the old man, but she wanted to investigate some of the other stores along the street before Barry came back for her.
Council kept pace with her, standing right beside her as she waited for the bored looking young man at the till to ring her purchases up. He seemed to be glad to have someone to talk to, and she didn't mind humouring him. "How you like the town so far?"
"It's beautiful." Kathy said honestly. "So much nicer than the city."
"Mmm. We got a sayin' 'round here. 'All Rhodes lead to home.'" Council smiled wryly. "Sell a lotta novelty pillows and embroidery with that on it to the tourists. Speakin' of which, you wanna buy that tourist crap, buy it from Sheila Mason over on Wight Street, not that goddamn rip off souveneir store. You buy somethin' there, it'll fall to pieces before you can say 'Gypsy Bastard'."
"I'll keep that in mind." Kathy laughed.
"Ma'am?" the clerk prompted, drumming his fingers on the till.
"Excuse me." she said to Council, and, with an apologetic smile at the clerk, opened her purse. She instantly felt an unpleasant flip in the vicinity of her stomach; her wallet wasn't where it usually was, tucked in between her slim makeup bag and her address book. She unzipped the side compartment to find only a nearly empty pack of sugar free gum.
"Somethin' wrong?" Council asked.
"I . . . I, ah, can't find my . . . wallet." Kathy was blushing again. She knew exactly where it was; sitting on the kitchen counter next to the front door where she'd put it so she wouldn't forget it after paying for the pizza they'd ordered last night. The clerk let out an exasperated snort. "I left it at home. I mean, in the cabin. I-I'm sorry." Embarassed, she grabbed her cart and began to turn it away. "Don't worry, I'll put all this back."
"Don't be daft." Council grunted. Kathy saw with a sensation of horror that the old man had pulled a battered checkbook out of his own pocket.
"Oh, no, please, it's fine, I'll just come back later -- "
Ignoring her, Council began to write the check, tongue poking out between his lips in concentration, and Kathy thought she might die of shame. Having a stranger, much less an old man who probably lived from one pension check to another, pay for her groceries like she was some charity case? "I'll pay you right back." she stammered as he tore the check off and passed it across the counter. "You absolutely did not have to do that, Mr Riddick, I'm so sorry. If you'll just give me your address, I'll bring you the money over as soon as my husband picks me up -- "
Council regarded her with a gentle sort of amusement. Again, Kathy was reminded so powerfully of her father she found herself trailing off. Her father had often favoured her with the exact same look when she'd messed up or embarassed herself. "Tell you what." he said gently. "You and your kin come over this evenin' for supper, and we'll call it a wash." He was writing something down on the back of a blank check, what she thought was his address. When she opened her mouth to protest, he silenced her with a severe look. "Don't you go insultin' yer elders now. I ain't some senile old man, or some dirty old coot. I just could do with the company, and if we're gonna be neighbours, I 'spect we should be neighbourly."
Although the tone was harsh, the words were kind, and Kathy suddenly felt a lump in her throat as she took the address from him. She had forgotten the simple kindnesses of people, had maybe even begun to think they didn't exist. She knew a lot of good people, but running into one like this was virtually unheard of, like some sappy Lifetime channel made for tv movie. "Thank you." she managed, glad she had enough self control not to make a fool of herself and cry right there on the spot. These days, she found herself crying at the drop of a hat.
Council smiled and shrugged the thanks off. "Come by at six. Normally, I eat later, but I 'spect yer kids'll be starvin' by then. Dress casual."
It wasn't until he had gone that Kathy glanced at the address he had scrawled down. She didn't know her way around town at all yet, but something about this tugged at her memory, and when she realised what it was, she felt her jaw drop.