Chapter Four: A Jill Sandwich
Jill stepped into the art room, eyes glancing over the artwork. A series of paintings covered the walls of the blue room—both originals and reproductions of classics. The marble statue of a woman carrying a basin over her shoulder stood in the center. Light shined from the showroom lights, each highlighting each piece of art. If it had not been for the current situation, Jill would have taken time to examine each one in awe.
It reminded her of when she would sneak into the museum, pretending that she was with the tour group to get out the rain. Then as the tour guide spoke of each piece—the artists, their history, the strokes and colors within the painting—Jill fell in love.
Now wasn't the time, she reminded herself. The open threshold of a hallway was at the left of the room, while another door was to the right next to it. The door led to a hallway with peach wallpaper, giving the corridor a warm hue. A row of windows overlooked the night to the right. Jill peered out, but couldn't see anything through the glare. Still, she cupped her hands to block out the light. Other than the outlines of a few trees through the fog, Jill couldn't see anything.
A silhouette darted in front of the window.
Jill jumped back, hand dropping to her holstered weapon. The glass returned to a pane of glossy black. Her limbs felt stiff as she edged back down the hall. It's nothing, she told herself—more to calm her rapidly beating heart. She walked no more than a handful of steps when something cracked behind her. Jill spun around, drawing her Beretta. A series of long cracks ebbed through the pane. She took a few steps backward. Run, a voice in the back of her head screamed. Run and never look back, or you're dead.
Still, her joints refused to beckon her call.
Glass shattered behind. She turned in time to see an open maw and a mouth of rotted teeth coming toward her neck. Jill leaped aside, and the creature landed behind. In the full light, the sight of the dog stole the breath from her lungs. It almost looked like a Doberman, or what was left of it. The dog's twitching body was almost completely skinned, except for a few patches of black hair. The skinned Doberman turned its narrow head toward her. Much like the zombie she saw before, its eyes were completely white. A low growl escaped its throat.
The window behind it shattered and another zombie-dog leaped in. Its body connected with the wall and bounced off, leaving a bloody blotch on the wallpaper. The dog landed on its side, though once it shook its self, was right back on its feet.
Jill finally felt her muscles unlock. She spun around and bolted down the corridor. The dogs panted as they gave chase. She rounded the corridors bend as another dog crash through the window in front of her. Jill charged by as it righted its self. Her legs screamed. The door at the end of the hall was so close, yet it seemed to get farther away the faster she ran. The dogs nipped at her heels, missing only by centimeters.
She burst through the door and slammed it shut behind her. It shook as her pursuers crashed into the wood. Jill said there for a moment, gathered her breath, and then grabbed her radio.
"Hey Barry," she said into the receiver. "You might not want to come the way I did."
Static issued from the speaker. Jill sighed and clipped the radio back on her belt. Like she tried to tell Barry, going back probably wasn't the best idea. So, she stood back up and continued along this new, narrow passage.
Much like the previous corridor, this one wasn't long. It wound about—first to the right and then to the left, and then back right. Each turn made Jill's limbs stiffen, and she kept her weapon poised in case anything should attack. Once again, the corridor ended into paths; a single door to the left, and two double doors to the right.
Jill entered the single door. The room beyond was a perfect square. Images of medieval men, going about their daily lives in the forest were etched into the cream-colored walls. Though, the paintings stopped halfway up the room, leaving bare, cracked walls—as though no one had finished it. There was one other door.
There seemed to be no reason for the room's existence, other than to connect one room to another. Though, there seemed to be no reason for this mansion altogether. She continued through the next door and tried to push the previous one out of her mind.
The next room was a bit more comforting; a small lounge area with two couches and a mantel. The décor resembled the rest of the house—candelabras adorning the surfaces, artwork in gilded frames on the walls. A camera hung in a corner of the room, its dark lens watching the room. The red light, indicating that it was on, blinked on and off. Goosebumps ran up Jill's arms; the way it does when someone is watching. She turned away, but still felt the device on her.
On the opposite wall, within a golden frame, was a mounted shotgun.
"Well, I'll be damned," Jill muttered. Sure, it wasn't much, but every little bit helped. She lifted it from its mounting hooks and inspected the ammunition. It was full. Jill closed the shotgun, and after examining the room, left.
Jill didn't notice the shotgun's mounting hooks raise, as though part of a hidden mechanism, as she left.
As soon as Jill stepped through the threshold the locked clicked behind her. Gears grounded from within the walls. Plaster fell onto her shoulder. She glanced up and gasped. The ceiling was descending. Jill turned back to the door and tried the handle. It was locked.
The ceiling was falling fast.
Jill ran to the other door. It, too, was locked.
"Oh, God," she said. "What did I do now?"
She clutched onto the doorknob once again and pulled with all her strength. No matter how vigorously she pulled, the lock refused to budge.
The ceiling was three-fourths of the way down.
"Wesker! Barry! Help!"
The rumbling above grew louder and louder. Jill pounded against the door. She dared not look up and expected to feel the weight of the ceiling crashing down upon her head.
"Jill!" A voice came from the other side of the door. "You in there?"
Jill's knees grew weak with relief, and she crumbled to the cold marble floor.
"Barry?! Get me outta here! The door's jammed."
The ceiling fell over the lamps in their alcoves. All that was left was the darkness and the grinding of gears.
"Stand back!" Barry called from the other side.
The door rattled as three gunshots fired from the other side. Light pierced the darkness, with a stocky figure framed within the threshold. Jill blinked several times before her eyes adjusted. The door groaned as the ceiling pressed down upon it.
"Grab my hand!" Barry said, reaching out. Bits of wood splintered, grazing Jill's outreaching arm. Barry clamped Jill's wrist and pulled. The ceiling grazed the back of her thighs. Jill tucked her legs under her just at the ceiling hit the floor.
"Holy shit," she said, glancing back to the slab that now blocked the threshold.
"That was a close one," Barry said, kneeling beside her. "A second late, and you would have fit nicely into a sandwich."
"Right?" Jill said, rolling her eyes. "Thanks."
Barry stood, and helped Jill to her feet.
"Yeah, I heard your call on the radio," he said. "It was mainly static though-thought you might have been in trouble."
"Well, thanks again," Jill said, turning to look at the blocked doorway. "This place is like one big booby trap. Maybe we should stick together."
"Yeah," Barry said. "Besides I need to check on something."
"Check on what?"
"Just…thought I heard something in this direction," Barry said, staring off into the filled threshold. "Anyway, let's get going."
Barry turned and walked toward the double doors.
Jill couldn't put her finger on it, but she knew that something wasn't right. Those cameras. How many more were watching them? She wondered as she followed Barry into the next room, and hoped that this all would soon make sense.