The circle begins to close
Her neck was an accordion of dark bruises and crimson fingerprints, the muscles knotted and the tendons broken. Wesker had really done a number on her; Daniel couldn't remember the last time Wesker had killed someone with his own two hands. And yet, Daniel couldn't shake the feeling that Wesker was unhappy about that fact. Strangling a beautiful woman with only your hands, staring her in the face as you finished it, the eyes bulging for just a moment before settling into a quiet serenity…something about that appealed to his dark sensibilities.
Her face was peaceful, a small bruise formed on her cheek, but still something he couldn't help but stare at. Dark hair spilled about her head, some of it matted with blood, but the rest soft and fragrant. Her normally cloudy eyes were closed, and he would have given anything to see them open, staring at him with that mischievous sparkle he had fallen for.
He ran his thumb gently across her eyelid, hoping against hope for a sign of life. Cupping her striking face in his hand, he couldn't help but hate Wesker, a man who had rescued him from the mundane mediocrity of his old life. But the moment passed quickly, and he continued his long trek to dispose of the body.
Dreams of walking hand in hand along the beach, dancing under the stars, and making love beneath soft covers flashed again before his closed eyes, dreams dashed and gone forever. But if there was one thing Wesker taught him, it was that forever is subjective. Where there had once been death, he had seen life restored.
Turning the corner, Daniel decided what he would do. The laboratory was on the way to the disposal facility, and one of the scientists owed him a favor for incinerating the corpse of his unfaithful wife in the middle of the night. Something could be done. No…something had to be done. Daniel had watched woman after woman walk out on him, never raising his voice, never fighting to keep her. Wesker might have callously cost him his one true love, but at the same time, Wesker had also provided him the means to keep her. Forever.
He hurried down the hallway.
--
The foursome walked in silence, Leon and Harper in the front, Claire and Bernard pulling up the flank. They were four hours behind the projected timetable, and would soon have to switch over to night vision. And with an additional person, supplies were thinned ever more. Someone would have to go blind once the sun had set completely.
"I'll do it," Harper volunteered, his eyes never straying far from Claire's body. The other men looked at him with surprise at his offer.
"No need," she replied casually. "I'll be fine without it."
"Claire…we have no idea what to expect up ahead," pleaded Leon. She didn't seem to hear him.
"He's right…it's not a bad idea to have one," added Bernard. It was only after hearing his words that she responded.
"Alright, alright," she said. "I'll take one."
A cold autumn wind cut through the bare trees, caressing the rolling mountain ranges and rustling fallen leaves. The night was bright, illuminated by the full moon that hung low overhead, nearly touching the low mountaintops in the distance. The season had been characteristically chilly, but there was something else in the air that night that made the group collectively shiver.
Little did they realize, inhuman eyes gazed intently at them from high above, glassy eyes reflecting cold purpose. With a flutter of wings, the crow took off into the dark sky, shadowing the group. Behind its impenetrable eyes pulsed a sensory receptor, transmitting the vision to its host and master.
"C-Claire…?"
But whatever triggered that faint memory, it could recall nothing else, fading back into darkness.
--
"Congratulations, Daddy!" squealed the girl brightly, leaping into her father's arms. Despite his newfound position and success, he couldn't help but redden at her bubbling, contagious joy.
"Mr. President," bowed one of his aides. "Congratulations."
"Thank you, Wesley," Graham said, composing himself. "And you too, honey," he added, setting her back down after kissing her cheek. She clasped her hands tightly to her chest, so happy for her father's victory that she neglected to realize just how much her own life would be impacted by this change. But watching him shake hands and pat backs, nothing could knock her off her cloud.
"Ashley, stop crowding your father," lectured her mother, who kissed her husband quickly on the cheek. Even that chaste gesture caused her embarrassment, waving to the cameras and supporters surrounding their family.
"Leave her be, Deborah," said the President-elect. "The public voted all the Grahams up here, not just one of us," he said, pulling his wife and daughter close for a photograph.
Hours passed. The stream of flashes had begun to dwindle, the whirlwind slowing, when they decided to return home.
"You two go ahead with Monten," said Graham. "I have a few things to finish up at the office."
"'The office'…just hearing that makes me so proud of you, Davis," his wife said softly, clutching his hand tightly. "My husband, the President…"
"President-elect," he reminded her. "And you still have school to get back to, young lady," Graham chided Ashley, who was clearly exhausted. "What kind of example are you going to set if you're half-asleep all the time?"
"Daddy, I don't have classes on Friday…" Ashley replied, yawning. "College isn't like high school."
"Well, I'm glad to hear you say that now, because I won't put up with paying that high tuition unless you can keep up good grades…this isn't going to be a breeze like the past few years."
"My dad the President," sighed Ashley. "Not only can he run a country, he can still find time to lecture me…"
"Ashley!" gasped her mother, shocked at her daughter's tone. Her father laughed, hugging them both and seeing them to the car. He stood under the streetlight, watching their car until its taillights disappeared around the corner, before he returned inside.
The hidden communication panel built into his desk had cost a pretty penny, but money wasn't an issue like it used to be. It was power that mattered; cash could come later. And with his new office, of this he was certain. The flashing light told him he had an incoming call, and he wasn't surprised. Graham took his time getting settled in, pouring himself a low glass of lukewarm whiskey, wishing it was bourbon. The brownish liquid seemed to settle him, reclining deeply into his chair before finally opening his end of the communicator. That familiar face came onto the screen, his former cash cow and campaign manager.
"Congratulations…Mr. President," said Wesker, bowing his head ever so slightly.
"What is it, Albert," Graham asked, making no secret of his annoyance. "I'm very busy."
"I could tell," said Wesker, stroking his chin. "That was quite the party. But I hope you haven't forgotten who your…friends are, Davis."
"Friends come and go, Wesker," Graham said defiantly. "I expected you of all people to know that."
"Like Gerald, Mr. President," Wesker said offhandedly. "But I don't disappear that easy, my friend…unless I choose to."
Graham fought his astonishment, finding his poker face. "Don't think you can threaten me, Wesker. I've been at this game longer than you've been alive."
"I don't know about that, Mr. President…I've been around for a very, long time…the only thing longer is my memory. Why, I remember a time you were desperate for funding, searching for a means to put your free healthcare and pharmaceutical system into place. I doubt your memory is so short that you'd forget who it was you came to…"
"It isn't my memory that's short, Wesker, but my patience," replied Graham coldly. "You know as well as I that you have no power over me. There's no documentation and no evidence or any relationship between us, so trying to connect me to your history of wrongdoing is impossible."
"Is that so? And how can you be so certain?"
"Because we wouldn't be having this conversation if you had any kind of leverage on me. Now, either you show me what you have, or stay the hell away. I am not an enemy you want to make, Wesker."
Wesker sighed, and Graham knew only something bad could follow that insincere sigh.
"You disappoint me, Davis. All those promises and dreams of yours. To think, it was I who helped put them within your reach, and look how quickly you forget. It's heartbreaking, Davis…simply heartbreaking. But I made this call to congratulate you, not to remind you of any obligation you might feel you have towards me for my constant support and contributions. I suppose you are tired after such a long day, so very weary with all the congratulations. If that's the case, perhaps I can extend my sincere…congratulations to your lovely family. What do you think of that, Mr. President?"
"You son of a bitch," whispered Graham.
"Oh, do you find that inappropriate, old friend? I'm just anxious to look out for them; you can never be too careful with the…dangers of living in the public eye. Especially for such a lovely creature as your daughter Ashley…"
"If you touch one hair—"
"Threats, Davis? That's not befitting a man of your position," said Wesker, his voice dropping to a lusty whisper as he leaned forward. "Only the lowliest of the low would do such things. Besides, it seems to me your driver is quite dedicated to protecting her…"
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm watching it now; you would truly appreciate his loyalty, Graham," sighed Wesker, sitting back into his chair. "It's so heroic, watching him struggle to fight off so many dangerous men. Men dedicated to another cause with equal vigor and passion. Isn't it…tragic to watch young men die for the causes of old men?"
"You lying bastard! An entire convoy of Secret Service was with them!"
"Yes, they…were. You train such good men, Graham. Perhaps after your term is done, you can come on board with me and help train my men…"
"I'll see you in hell first."
"Something to look forward to, I suppose. But in my defense, Davis, I am not behind the kidnapping of your daughter, nor the slaughter of your men. I am but a helpless observer in this ever deadly world."
"Get to the point, Wesker," demanded Graham, his head reeling. Neither his wife nor daughter was answering her cell phone. He tried again, tucking the phone in his lap, out of sight.
"Like I said, I was only checking on them to convey my congratulations, and then saw some dangerous men snatch your daughter away…large, burly men with scarred faces and venomous eyes."
"Bullshit, Wesker."
"Would I lie to my friends?"
"With every breath, you son of a bitch."
"Perhaps before…but now I'm a changed man, Davis. Your success has shown me what I too can achieve with the right focus and desire, all with but a fraction of integrity. You've made it all possible, my friend, and for that, I sincerely thank you. In fact, I have my suspicions about where those goons took your precious Ashley…"
"Then tell me already," Graham yelled, crushing his useless cell phone in his hand.
Wesker yawned, looking down deliberately at his watch. "Sorry Davis, but something's come up; I'll have to get back to you after I return from my vacation. Europe is so lovely this time of year…"
"Wesker…!" screamed Graham, but the screen had turned black. Wesker had hung up on him.
--
"I'm here," said Wesker into the phone. "Do you have her?"
"I do, Mr. Wesker," said the voice on the other end, gruff and heavy.
"Good work, Krauser. Did Mr. Monten live up to his…reputation?"
"He was quite skilled, sir, but not nearly enough. I didn't have time to finish him off, however…"
"He's unimportant," replied Wesker. "And the wife?"
"She fainted, so I left her; bitch didn't even so much as scream. I doubted she could handle such an ordeal, and your report said that she's not that valuable a bargaining chip with Graham anyways."
"Good thinking. Perhaps you'll end up being useful to me after all…"
"…I'm sorry about that sample, sir, but there was absolutely nothing left…"
"I normally don't tolerate failure, but in this one instance I shall…forgive your mistakes in light of your more recent success. Still, I wouldn't recommend failure becoming a thing of habit, Krauser."
"Absolutely not, Mr. Wesker. I am heading to the destination point for the handoff to Saddler; we should reach it in about 15 hours. Did you drop the bait for Graham?"
"Only a fool would miss the hint I gave him, and he has no choice but to pursue it. He should be sending in our distraction within 24 hours…"
"Giving me ample opportunity to steal the sample…"
"If you are able. Do not overextend yourself, Krauser. I have someone else in mind to take care of the…'delicate' parts."
"Someone else…you still don't trust me?"
"I trust no one…remember that. But she and I have…history."
"She? You're sending in a damned woman to help me?"
"Sometimes a woman's touch is absolutely essential for success."
"If you say so," Krauser said, his disappointment obvious.
"With the…failure of the G-Virus recovery, it is essential that I obtain a sample of Las Plagas. Only then will our ultimate goal appear within reach…"
"Umbrella…? You can really bring it back? You can restore chaos to this world?"
"Would you be here if you didn't believe that?"
--
The years had passed slowly for the survivors, but the woods had remained untouched by the passage of time. Development of the region had slowed with the decontamination process, halting to a practical stop. Businesses were eager to pounce on the low cost of production and land prices, but few employees were willing to relocate to a place with such a tragic history. Despite human curiosity often leaning towards the morbid side of nature, most, if not all people swung wide berth of Raccoon City.
The silence of the woods reflected this change; the hilly land was nothing but a lifeless husk of its former self. Where there had once been lush forests with an abundance of wildlife was now dead greenery and barren land. Only weeds grew where vibrant trees had once blossomed, only dirt where there had once been thick grass. Conservationists had tried in vain to repair the damage, but they were run off by the unspoken terrors of the night, their own fear. History had a way of creeping up on people.
Leon asked himself again why Sherry had come back here. There were better research facilities spread all over the world, and not just Umbrella ones. She had her pick of the litter, after all. Who could stop her? Even if it was the eye of the authorities she was trying to evade, reports had indicated she made no secret of her location. It was as if she was daring them to come after her. Why had she grown so reckless when she had once been so cautious? She had literally disappeared off their radar on three separate occasions, and resurfaced to their awareness at her own discretion.
He looked at the group surrounding him. Claire was talking with Bernard again; she hadn't strayed more than a few feet from him since they met. Leon couldn't honestly see anything between them, but age difference wasn't such an issue with the ladies, he'd been told. Shaking the thought from his head, he returned to the task at hand. As team leader and commanding officer, completing the task and getting everyone back alive was his top priority. Harper didn't seem to be all about business either, leering at Claire's figure from a safe distance. Jealousy was not an emotion Leon was familiar with, but considering the situation, he decided it wasn't a matter of his own feelings; it was for the benefit of the whole unit.
"Harper," he whispered forcefully. "Keep an eye out for the enemy."
"That's what I'm doing, Cap," he replied.
"I know what you're keeping an eye out for, soldier," he said sternly.
"Yeah, we can't have both of us looking at that, right…sir?"
"Watch it, Lieutenant," warned Leon, but he knew, deep down, that Harper was right. Claire still refused to acknowledge him, and he couldn't help but stare at her, now more than ever.
"The mansion is just up ahead, sir," Bernard said from the front. "Over that hill, it'll be less than a click away."
"Alright, stay in formation," ordered Leon. "Keep your heads down when we reach the top."
The Spencer estate had once been famed amongst the architectural elite. Designer George Trevor had labored for years on his last project, creating a mansion that was foreboding, yet oddly welcoming. He had created a layered castle, its maze-like format puzzling to even those who built it. Every eccentric billionaire in the world wanted their own Spencer estate; the elusive dream of their own, personal Xanadu given substance. Trevor had breathed life into Spencer's mad desires, and he had satisfied them down to the last brick before his mysterious disappearance.
But that estate was long gone, destroyed during STARS' dramatic escape from the premises nearly six years earlier. What they had unearthed in that mansion would eventually spill into the nearby city, costing thousands upon thousands of lives. Government protocol stepped in at that point, wiping out the last traces of Raccoon City. The military, assisted by deputies, SWAT, and the National Guard, combed the woods, killing and incinerating any animal they came across. Thick smoke from the bonfires had filled the skies for days, the foul stench of burning flesh still lingering in the air, even years later. Or perhaps that was just some long distant memory, Leon thought to himself.
"Why the hell would the freak come here," asked Harper, who crawled up between Bernard and Claire, who shot him an annoyed glance. The four looked down upon the rubble, and it looked exactly as one would expect a blown up building to look like. The entire support system for the mansion had collapsed and burned, leaving nothing but a pile of broken marble and ash. A few of the thicker walls remained intact, the higher sections toppled.
"Reports indicate the lower level remained mostly intact," replied Bernard, unbothered by Harper's uncomforting closeness. "I guess an area this remote was exactly what she wanted."
"For what, though," Claire asked.
"Your guess is as good as ours," Leon said honestly.
"That's comforting," she muttered, and despite any sarcasm, Leon was glad she was at least acknowledging him again.
"Does it really matter at this point?"
"I guess not," she replied to Harper, who was itching for action.
"You sure you can work that thing? It's pretty advanced," he asked.
"I've seen my brother do it before," she said. "Looks pretty simple to me…lighter than I thought it would be, too."
"Just like any other gun: point and shoot," added Bernard. "Remember though, you only have two shots with it, and then the core is done…so aim carefully."
"You sure you want me to use this? One of you will be without yours," she wondered.
"I prefer the good ol' M4 anyways," said Harper with a wink, patting his gun.
"Let's move," Leon said sullenly, as he began to slide quietly down the slope.
--
The fall of the house of Usher, one of the other soldiers had called it, the reference to Poe's classic lost on most of the uneducated fighting men. But Leon had understood, and he saw it now for himself.
He had seen the remains before, of course, in the stock photos of Graham's report. He had also seen the castle before its fall in a picture from over two decades ago, the only known photograph of the building when it was standing. The late night news outlets would still run the old story once in awhile when desperate for a human-interest story, still trying to cash in on the tragedy.
And yet seeing the remains all those times, he was still unprepared for what he saw. Walking through the husk of the estate, he could feel its age, the foreboding sense that the evil had been borne here all those years ago. When had it started? When the mansion was built? When Umbrella was founded? No one would ever know, the mysteries lost forever in the explosion that destroyed the great house.
Moonlight poured freely into the ruins, through broken wall sections and cracked supports, bathing the area in a pale blue monochrome. The night had been generous for once, granting them light to work by, leaving their night vision sets alone. Leon hated the equipment, personally, and was thankful that at least one thing had gone their way.
"Still no sign of anything," whispered Bernard. "This isn't right, Captain."
"At ease, soldier," said Leon, reaching for a burnt out door. "Just be sure to have your weapons at the ready; we might need them at a moment's notice." The metal gate swung heavily on a broken hinge before snapping and crashing to the floor.
"Stealthy as ever," muttered Claire. As Leon turned back quickly to reply, he saw her eyes widen in surprise, and spun back towards the door. The girl sat casually on a pile of blackened rubble, a slice of moonlight illuminating her pale features. She cast shadowed, sunken eyes on them.
"Welcome," she greeted. "Welcome back."
--
"Sherry," cried Claire, running forward, but stopping when she saw her young friend's face. Claire hoped the girl would remember her this time; she had nearly left her and Ada for dead in the jungle facility months earlier.
"You again," said the girl, tilting her head slightly. "I thought you'd have learned your lesson after South America."
"You knew we were coming, didn't you," asked Leon, stepping through the passage. "How?"
"Oh, a little birdie told me," she said coyly, gesturing at the murder of crows that had silently gathered along the top of the broken walls. "But I suppose that doesn't really interest you…"
"Why are you here, Sherry, why did you come here?"
"This is where it all began, you know. Right here in this room, in Spencer's private study. This is where he received the phone call that would change everything, this is where he decided that an unseen power was the key, hiding it in the air, in our bodies. A power worth the lives of so many innocent lives…"
Something in her gusty voice had changed, her facial expression softening. Her eyes lit up for a moment with a youthful joy, the energy wholly human and entirely healthy.
"Claire," she said, her voice younger. "What are you doing here? And…Leon?"
"You know why we're here, Sherry…"
The girl bit her lip, turning away with a tired, sad look on her face. When she turned back, that face was gone, the icy veneer returned as well.
"Ah, the virus within me…the one everyone is after. It must be worth a bit of money these days, being the last sample in the whole, wide world…"
"I think I've seen this before," Claire whispered to the others. "I studied a bit on multiple personality disorders; I think we're seeing her revert back and forth between personas…"
"So she's schizo," asked Harper, clicking his safety.
"Not the same thing," said Claire. "Similar symptoms, but—"
"What are you foolish children prattling on about," demanded Sherry, walking slowly to a broken window, running a finger along the jagged edges. "And you are just that…children, compared to me. Or perhaps amoebas is more accurate? You are so far beneath me on the evolutionary ladder that you should be begging on your knees for any attention I grant you!" Her voice grew angry, building to a scream, her eyes burning with cold fire.
"Sherry," said Bernard gently, striding forward bravely. "This isn't you; this isn't how you were raised."
"And what would the likes of you know about it, old man," sneered the girl.
"I'm your…uncle, Sherry. Remember?"
The girl's lower lip quivered for a moment, the muscle reflex showing an inner struggle.
"Uncle Bernie," she cried happily, taking a tentative step forward before pausing. They could tell she wanted to leap forward into his arms to hug and kiss him, but something was holding her back. Her entire body seemed to shake with indecisiveness, a child-like voice coming from her.
"That's right, Sherry…uncle Bernie," he said, his eyes welling up. "I've missed you sooo much, kiddo."
"You're dressed to fight," said the girl, curious. "Are you going off to fight again?"
"Yes, but I…have to. I have no choice; this is more important than all those other times…"
"Who are you fighting this time, uncle? Someone bad?"
"No…not someone bad," he replied quietly, dropping his gun to wipe his eyes.
"Then why are you fighting them? You're not…bad, are you, uncle Bernie? Mom told me you were good…"
"I am…I try…to be…"
"Be careful, uncle," warned the girl innocently. "Bad people will do whatever it takes to win…"
"That's what makes them evil," he said, kneeling down.
"And good people? What makes them good?"
"I…I guess good people know what has to be done, and no matter how much it hurts themselves, they do it because it's the right thing to do."
"But…how do you know what's 'right'?"
"Your heart will tell you, and you'll know…you'll just know, and it will take you to the right place."
"So then…you'll understand when I do this," she said softly, as a gray spike erupted suddenly from the ground, piercing Bernard's torso. He barely had time to scream before his innards were pushed through his back, the bone spike pinning his body to the wall.
"Holy shit," swore Harper, unleashing a spray of bullets with his rifle. The bullets flew true, striking Sherry in the chest and neck, puncturing her skin with wet smacks. "Eat it, you crazy bitch," he yelled, unloading the entire magazine into her falling body.
He was loading the next clip when he saw her rise, pulling the carbine's cylinder back when he heard her maniacal laugh.
"Fool," she cackled. "You think your dainty bullets will stop me?" As she stood, they could see purple blood flow upward, back into the wounds,before closing back up.
"Christ, use the linear launcher," yelled Harper, but Leon was already undoing the strap for the harness, charging up the battery.
"The Boy Scout caught unprepared," chuckled the Birkin creature. Sensing another attack coming, Leon dove to his right as a flurry of tentacles ruptured from the dirt, thin gray grabbers tearing the linear launcher to pieces. "You should've had it ready before you came in, Leon…not that it would have mattered." With a wave of her hand, more tentacles burst from the ground to grab at him, one set ensnaring Harpers' feet and pulling him down.
Claire watched this exchange wordlessly, stunned by the twist of events, her mind locked in a seesawing battle. She could clearly see that this creature was evil, and needed to be destroyed, but she had also seen Sherry, the young girl who had relied upon her for protection. Reaching for her knife, Claire ran for Harper, cutting at the vine-like growths holding him.
Leon continued to dart about the mansion's remains, a stream of vines and spikes reaching from the floors and walls to attack him. Drawing his survival knife, he swung blindly as he ran, cutting at pieces of the Birkin creature's flesh. Just when he was about to be cornered, he heard that disembodied voice behind him, the last thing Bernard had heard before he was killed.
"Foolish girl…that man is as good as dead," it said in a hollow, lifeless voice. And as Leon turned, he could see the creature walking away from him, towards Harper and Claire. Knowing it was futile, Leon grabbed desperately for his pistol, firing round after round into the creature's back, none of his hits even slowing its deliberate march.
Cursing himself, Leon ran for Bernard's linear launcher on the other side of the room. He could only watch as the Birkin creature waved its hand casually, the tentacles pulling Harper apart and into the soft earth. Claire grabbed for his hand, but more tentacles snatched at her, pulling her against a wall. One strip of flesh wrapped around her neck, and she could feel the air being forced out. She struggled vainly against the vines' grip, feeling the strength fade from her exhausted limbs. Was this the end?
Just when she was about to lose consciousness, she heard the sound she'd only heard once before, back on Rockfort Island. In the same moment, the grip began to loosen, and she could breath again. Had Sherry had a change of heart like in South America? Opening her eyes, she could see that wasn't the case.
Leon had the launcher propped on his shoulder, its long barrel smoking. The Birkin creature's lower body had been all but vaporized, and the tentacles and spikes were turning to dust, cut off from their host. The crows that had been circling overhead fell to the earth, dozens of black-feathered bodies covering the rubble. Claire fell forward, gasping for breath, her eyes never leaving the dying creature. It turned its eyes on Claire, and she was startled to see them so sad. Crawling towards her, the creature made no sign of pain other than its ragged breaths.
"Claire…" it wailed weakly. "Claire…"
She recognized the voice. It had guided her through the dark tunnels of the city's sewers, making an otherwise foolhardy journey worthwhile. It was her friend. It was Sherry.
"Sherry," she said gently. "It's okay, honey…it's okay. Just rest now."
"I…can't. Why can't I," she cried weakly. "I'm so tired, Claire, so tired…"
"Why did you come here, Sherry," Leon asked, coming over to kneel beside her. "What's here that's so important?"
"I told you," she breathed raggedly. "This is where it all began…I only thought it should…end here too."
"You wanted us to…?"
"Kill me? More than anything, I just…wanted it to end. It's so lonely, so miserable…being a stranger to your own body. Like drowning for every second of your life and knowing you'd live forever," she said sadly, her voice gaining strength. She looked down at her hand, and saw Claire holding it. The girl smiled.
"What about the cure you were researching?"
"There…is no cure," she said, her face pained. "My father's virus…was too powerful. It consumed everything…even my mind. This was the only way, Leon, the only way I could…find some peace," she gasped. "Th-thank you…"
"Sherry," began Claire, her voice overcome with emotion. She shuddered, her body racked with sobs.
"There's something else," said the girl quietly. "I want you to have this, Claire. I want you to know how much…happiness it gave me to have, just to hold in my hands when I was…alone. There's not much left to it now, but I still treasured this little piece more than anything," she said, opening up her hand to reveal a shred of the familiar pink vest, a Valkyrie symbol emblazoned proudly against the sky.
"No, I gave this to you for a reason, sweetie…I want you to keep it."
"Claire…it won't do me any good where I'm going. You have to destroy me, every shred of proof that I was ever here. Please…I want you to…finish me."
Tears filled her eyes, distorting the young woman's vision and the world around her. Here she was, barely twenty-five years old, and being asked to murder a close friend to end her suffering.
"I…can't. I can't do that Sherry," she whispered, shaking her head. Feeling something against her shoulder, she turned to see Leon behind her, the linear launcher in his hand.
"Take it," he said, offering her the cannon. "There's enough in it for one more shot."
"Leon…?"
"Finish this," he pleaded. "It's what she wants."
"Go to hell Leon," Claire said coldly, turning back to face the young girl she had oftentimes pictured as a younger sister. "You and your goddamned mission."
He was silent, and when she looked at him again, she saw that familiar sadness in his eyes. She had last seen it when they had barely escaped Umbrella's goons in the woods, and he had been forced to kill. She and Sherry had tried their best to comfort him, telling him it was the right thing to do, and now…now it was his turn to do the same, and she couldn't help but lash out at him. God, what had she become?
"Claire," said the girl serenely. "Remember what you said when I last saw you? You promised you'd…take care of me. Please…do it," begged her friend. "I'm so tired, Claire. I just want to rest, to sleep knowing that I won't wake up as that—that thing."
Her thoughts turned to Steve, the young man who had died in her arms, the young man who had beaten the virus within him to save her at the cost of his own life. If he could beat that Veronica virus, why couldn't Sherry do the same? He had done so out of love, why couldn't she? She remembered the pain in his smile that last moment, her desire to take away that suffering, willing to even take on that burden herself.
No one should have to make this choice, she thought, taking the launcher reluctantly. The metal felt cold in her hands, despite its warmth from Leon's recent blast.
Closing her eyes tightly to blink away tears, Claire clutched the piece of her old vest in her fist as she listened wistfully to a friend who had lost all hope.
"Sherry…" she wept, the image of a young girl on the border of womanhood flickering in her eyes, a lonely young girl that might have been her had it not been for a strong, dependable brother. Chris…he would hate her for this, she thought.
She pulled the trigger.
--
Smoke rose quietly from the ruins of the Spencer estate, faint light from the predawn morning creeping over the tops of the Arklay Mountains. Two young people stood silently, their grim countenances betraying the raging sea of emotion in their hearts. A smoldering ring of fire burned between them, the ashen remains of a girl not even out of her teens blowing softly into the wind. The young woman tossed something into the small fire, a shred of cloth that soon joined the other embers, swirling into the autumn sky.
Long moments passed, neither of the two speaking or even acknowledging each other's presence. Only when the fire finally died out did one of them speak.
"You may not see it now, but it was…for the best," Leon said glumly.
He saw it coming, clear as day, but did nothing to stop it. Her fist connected squarely with his jaw, snapping his head to the side with a crack. Stumbling back, he didn't even raise a hand to defend against her follow up, a left cross that sent him to the ground. He sat there in the dirt, neither angry nor sad, a calm expression on his pale features.
"Feel better," he asked, rubbing his jaw gingerly. He hadn't been hit this hard since he last sparred with Krauser.
"I don't think I'm ever going to feel better around you," she said, her eyes burning hotly.
"Claire, I know you're upset, but…can't you see why I didn't want to tell you? There are things we're better off not knowing…"
"And since when was it your place to decide who knows what?"
"I'm your friend," he said carefully. "I was only doing what I thought was best for you…and Sherry."
"Best…for us? Is this what was best for us," she asked angrily, gesturing at the ruins. "She didn't deserve to die in a place like this."
"Neither did Bernard or Harper," Leon replied gravely. "But…they did what they had to, just like us. We mustn't hate ourselves for it."
Her entire torso began to burn hotly with anger, the enormity of what she had done sinking in. She had been angry in her life, no different than anyone else, but never like this. All she could think of was how to hurt Leon, how to make him feel like she did at that moment. And then it occurred to her, just how to do that.
"You know…you're right, Leon," she said quietly. "Now that I think about it, I've been nothing but a hypocrite all this time, holding out on you while being angry at you for doing the same…"
"What do you mean?"
"Your little friend, Ada…? She's alive and well," said Claire, turning to walk away.
"Wha-what? But that can't be…I saw her die…!"
"That's not everything, Leon. All these years, she's been working for Wesker."
--
His eye still bled, the soft part of the damaged area beginning to harden. Yellowish pus had begun to form along the cracks in the skin, and he worried for a moment that it might become infected. That could wait, though. His one good eye took in the exchange between Kennedy and some woman, and he debated whether he could just charge in and kill the two of them to retrieve the sample.
The sample…as the fire burned, less and less of it became viable. What would he do if he couldn't recover even a part of it? The two were arguing now, the woman punching Kennedy twice, the Boy Scout too proper to fight back or even defend himself. Whoever she was, she threw a mean cross. Krauser had sparred off and on with Kennedy, who had some decent moves, but none of the aggressiveness of a true fighter. He fought with compassion, which made him weak. On the last occasion, Krauser had nearly broken Kennedy's jaw. Watching the fool rub his jaw now, he dearly hoped Kennedy was remembering that punch.
He watched as the woman stormed off, leaving Kennedy alone to his thoughts. Just when Krauser decided to move in for the kill, the young man ran after her. Fool. Even from such a distance, Krauser could tell how much Kennedy cared for the woman. Krauser had never cared much for women, or anyone else, for that matter. He'd had impulses like other men, and in that regard he viewed women as a means to an end: utterly disposable. Women weren't lining up to be with him, and he didn't care. The strong could take what they wanted, as history had proven. There had been a few incidents in the academy, but his military potential far outweighed any sluts' claims. And so they were forgotten, his trespasses forgiven.
Krauser looked with disdain at Bernard's corpse. The gaping hole in his belly explained his end clearly enough. The man had thought himself clever, posing as a freelance commando to hide his relationship to the girl. Krauser had convinced Graham that would be an asset when the final battle came. The girl obviously had no memory of her past. Or maybe she did, and just didn't care. He grinned, breaking the drying scabs on his face. Blood dripped down his face, blending with salty sweat.
His grin vanished when he saw her remains up close. Or, more accurately, the scattered ashes of her remains. Those two must have unleashed both barrels of a linear launcher on the girl to achieve this kind of effect. He swore quietly to himself; those two had cost him an easy ticket into Wesker's organization. Weeks of careful planning and manipulation for nothing.
He kicked savagely at Bernard's corpse, the bones breaking under his boot's heel. Another kick and he felt better. What could he give Wesker now that there was nothing left of the girl but ash? Maybe there were some of her parasite things laying around. Walking through the remains, he found only dead crows crushed under his boots. Of course...the girl had implanted them with the leeches, he realized. He took one into his hands, carefully slicing its belly open with his knife. Flaky gray powder poured from the hole, blowing into the wind. Dust. Nothing but dust.
Note: This chapter didn't quite have the conclusion I wanted, dialogue-wise, though the plot points all ended up fitting together. I wrote it in piecemeal, between going back and forth with some other writing, and I found that to be rather therapeutic, getting the kinks out. Hardest part to write was the Sherry scene; I at first planned a huge battle with an onslaught of her puppets in an Arctic facility, but I kind of liked the idea of ending her life on the remains of the Spencer estate. It didn't quite begin there for her, per se, but with the city destroyed, there really weren't many options. Decided to make her want it to end, to simplify things and maybe give some insight to her character; she is, after all, still that sweet little girl underneath it all, being forced to do terrible things.
Also, I had written out that very last section of the chapter with the intention of telling it from Krauser's perspective, as he is sneaking around, trying to get a G-Virus sample from Sherry. But…decided to scrap it midway through, leaving it kind of jumbled.
Actually worked out the idea for this ending on the message board at Gamefaqs, where I discussed a potential sequel to RE2 with Sherry and Claire, and how it would end. The original ending I had thought of was a bit too 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' (as I was later told), with Sherry remembering everything just before Claire pulls the trigger. But even though I never really watched that show, I still thought it would be better to put a different twist on it. I left out the emotional impact of the Ada revelation for Leon, but we'll see repercussions later on.
