Chapter Thirteen
Crescendo
The high, monotonous drone cut into Claire's dreams, dragging her awake like a particularly vile alarm clock. She moaned, rolling her head to one side, easing the kinks. Tightening her legs, she stretched her arms over her head.
Or tried to. The resistance of leather straps binding her wrists brought her fully awake in a flash, suddenly, horribly aware of where she was and what was happening to her.
Sure enough, she found herself lying in what seemed to be a combined hospital room and laboratory. Her arms and legs were strapped to the bed, but her head was free; she could lift it enough to look around, taking in the computers, the unfamiliar equipment. Her gaze came to rest on a case of syringes and she shuddered.
"Claire," muttered a hoarse voice from somewhere behind her.
"Leon!" She twisted her head to find him in the same predicament, his bed several yards from her own. She strained her wrist anyway, trying to reach his hand. "Leon, are you okay?"
His dark eyes swirled under the dim lights, flashing pinpricks of self-loathing. "No, I'm not okay. I'm an idiot, and I deserve whatever happens. But you, Claire..."
"Leon, don't. Not now."
He shook his head and offered her a rueful grin. "Not the most romantic setting, huh?"
"Not by a long shot. What happened?"
He shrugged, or tried to. "I pulled a Chris. Got stupid. When I heard Wesker had you again, I snapped."
"So Chris doesn't know where we are?"
"He might. Barry knew, and since I haven't seen him, I'm assuming he's either free or dead."
Claire closed her eyes and breathed a silent prayer of thanks. "I bet he escaped. Wesker's not the master of subtlety, or hadn't you noticed? I don't think he'd hesitate to swing Barry's head from the ceiling if he thought it would gain him an advantage."
Leon winced. "Do you have to be so graphic?"
"Hey, I'm an artist; it's in my blood."
They exchanged a brief smile. But their situation didn't allow for levity, and soon they were searching for means of escape. Claire wasn't optimistic. She knew Wesker, had been his prisoner once before. He wouldn't leave them any opportunity. "Oh, God," she whispered out loud, her gaze once more resting on the case of syringes. "What's he going to do to us?"
"Hey," Leon replied sharply. "We're going to get out of here long before we have to find out."
Footsteps echoed through the room, and Claire rolled her head to face him. "Oh really?"
Leon didn't answer. He didn't have to. The door slid open and Wesker stepped into their field of view. "Ah, you're awake. Excellent. I was afraid I'd have to delay another day."
Claire twisted in her bonds. "Wesker, you lying bastard -- you said you'd let Leon go!"
"Did I? And when was that, dear heart?"
She raked her mind for the details, but they escaped her. Still, he had to have promised -- she wouldn't have broken without his...?
He smiled, not unkindly. "You assumed, Miss Redfield. I said nothing of the kind. No indeed, I'm grateful to the both of you for providing me with subjects to replace the late Mr. Burnside. The only question remaining is..." Reaching into his pocket, he produced a syringe and tapped it against his finger. "Who wants to go first?"
-----
Jill sank onto the bed, exhausted. A pile of papers tumbled to the floor and she cursed loudly, but didn't bother retrieving them. She already knew what they contained: names, names, names, contact numbers and emails, some current, some not. She'd been through the list five times today and turned up less than half their contacts; of those, less than a quarter were able or willing to lend their assistance.
Someone rapped softly at the door. "Come in," she called without moving.
Barry slid into the darkness like a very large shadow. "Hey, Jill. Am I interrupting anything?"
"My slow descent into insanity."
"You're lucky. Mine's rushing on with the speed of a roller coaster." He spun the desk chair backwards and straddled it.
"Where's Chris?"
"Asleep, finally."
"You have to drug him?"
"Amazingly, no. He's trying, Jill."
"I know he is. But this is a lot to take. I'm not sure I'm going to be able to keep it together, and it's not my sister out there."
Barry laughed harshly. "Hey, you're not the idiot who let Leon stroll in there on his own."
She snorted. "So now we're going to play the blame game? It's in the past, Barry, and you can't change it unless you do something. So stop blaming yourself and get moving."
Barry became oddly quiet, his gaze intense in the half-light. "You know who said that?"
"Said what?"
"All that about blaming yourself."
"Me. Just now."
"Wesker."
She sat up. "What?"
"Six... no, seven months before the mansion. To Chris, actually. After that girl was raped and murdered in the alley."
Memory tugged at her. "Wait, I do remember this. Chris was so angry -- totally blamed himself, didn't he. Why?"
"Can't remember. He was supposed to be on a case involving her, that's all I know. Anyway, he was sitting around the office ranting and raving all night, and finally Wesker turned to him and said..."
A slow smile spread across Jill's face, and she added her voice to Barry's. "Stop blaming yourself and get moving. Every second you sit here you make things worse."
A long silence. Jill swallowed, the memory's sweet nostalgia mingling with a fierce pain. "Why'd he betray us, Barry?"
"In a way he didn't. We were never really his friends, his team. It was all an act from day one." He swallowed his bitterness. "He wasn't the man we thought he was."
There was more to say, so much more, but it had all been said before. Jill inspected the big man's face, lined and tired in the darkness, and changed the subject. "How's Terry?"
He brightened. "Great, really good. Her leg's almost better and the kids have been helping out a lot. I promised I'd be home as soon as I could..." He sighed. "If I could. Didn't mention that."
"Probably wise. So what's the plan, hero?"
"That's what I actually came to talk to you about. Any changes to the list you gave me after supper?"
"Nope. I'm still waiting to hear on Daniels and Murphy, but I'm not hopeful."
"Well, I outlined a plan based on what we have; if those two show up, it'll be a bonus. Just so we don't lose anyone."
She shook her head. "We're banking on Leon keeping his mouth shut, you know. And he's not exactly famous for that."
"Not fair, Jill. I've worked with Leon, and he's a damn good field agent. Better than me. Maybe even better than you. I know he hasn't breathed a word about me to Wesker."
"What about Ada?"
He shrugged. "I don't know if Leon told her about me, but either way, she has no way of knowing I was outside. It's a solid bet, Jill. I'd lay my life savings on Leon this time."
"You're laying more than that. You're laying our lives."
"You're right, but I don't know what else to do. And if you have any bright ideas, you might try sharing them instead of shooting holes in everyone else's." Jill blinked, and Barry held up his hands. "Sorry. Sorry. It's been a long day for all of us."
Jill leaned over and plucked the paper from his hand. "This your dangerous but brilliant plan?"
"Yeah."
"Looks short."
"It might be."
They exchanged smiles. "All right. I'll look through it and spread the word. When do we move?"
"Tomorrow at sundown."
"Great." She slapped his thigh. "Now you get some sleep, Barry Burton. You look like you're about to keel over."
"Sure thing, Lady Jill. You too, okay?"
Jill, smiling, nodded her agreement, but she knew she was lying through her teeth.
Oh, God. Wesker. Again. Could she face him? Could any of them?
They'd better. Or they just might end up with a knife in their backs.