Rebecca had finally come home early that morning, after hours of debriefing. They had been warned to sit tight for now, to speak to no one. Irons had been particularly focused on the No Talking rule. The media would be all over them soon enough.
The nightmare was over.
Rebecca showered under the hottest setting she could physically stand until the hot water ran out. She scrubbed. Every inch of skin, multiple passes through her hair. There was not enough soap in the world.
She was exhausted. Sleep wouldn't be an option soon, but…she didn't want it. Not yet. Her nightmares while on a hair-trigger inside the mansion had been bad enough. What would happen when she finally was safe in her own bed?
Rebecca headed for the coffee machine and got it started. Counterintuitive; but the caffeine spike would be followed with a low, and she might be able to leverage that with Gravol to bypass the dreams. It was a thin hope, but she was willing to try it.
A sharp knock came at the door. Rebecca jumped at the sound. She had left her sidearm at the station for evidence. Don't talk to anyone until we clear it, Irons warning them. She stood frozen in her kitchen. Could it be Jill?
Another sharp knock, much harder. The door shook in its frame. The person outside swore and pulled it back. "Miss Chambers, I don't have a lot of time." The voice was young, female- around her age, although the tone was strangely formal. She was talking through the door while trying to manage her volume. "I'm…I'm not with them, if it helps. I needed to talk to one of you, and I don't think I'll get the time for a mulligan without consequences. "
Rebecca was a medic first. She hesitated a moment longer, then moved quickly to open the door.
The woman on the other side looked like an average office worker. A duffel bag was slung over one shoulder, no purse in sight.
She held an umbrella ID card out to Rebecca in one hand, who looked sharply back at the woman's face. The woman stood there, waiting until Rebecca glanced back down at the card again. John Clemens. The man who had written the letter admitting them to the lab, out of desperate hope that they might be avenged. She stopped breathing. The woman smiled. "Mutual friend, I think. Can I come in for a few minutes? I'm getting the hell out of town as soon as I'm done here, but…I don't think you realize how bad things are about to get for your team."
Rebecca goggled at her. It would have been easy to hear the words as a threat and slam the door shut, if not for the object in her hand. Of course it wasn't over. Of course. She stepped back, and let the stranger in.
It was just as well that she was making coffee anyways.
Ada watched the strange woman disappear into the house. Maybe an hour. Hopefully, much less.
Ada had asked her why this traumatized girl would even speak to her- they would be on lockdown by now. The woman- she had refused to give a name- had seemed distracted. "Also a loaded question. She'll talk to me." She had scrubbed her face in exhaustion, likely running caffeine and adrenaline. Ada wondered if she had been planning to snatch a few hours sleep at John's house. What had changed her mind?
"This is quite literally the least I can do for them."
"Mutual friends?"
"Mutual what-the-hell-is-that, sure." the woman hesitated. "I don't want to deal with a swarm of whatever you call until we're away from here. Can you wait to call them?" She had nodded to Ada's car phone. "They're going to have enough coming down on their heads, and I don't think they have any idea."
Ada had considered the request. There were cracks in this woman's façade, and she wasn't nearly as sure of Ada as she had out on when sliding into her car.
Ada had considered the request. Then: "I'm going to go for a drive. I'll be at that corner in an hour. I wasn't supposed to talk to you, you know. I'll likely have a drop-off point for you."
"Much appreciated. Is Daniel Simmons still at the old Connecticut place?" Ada's face must have actually twitched, because the woman smiled and nodded. Well, if she were going to put in the effort to stay interesting…she smiled back. "One hour. Scout's honor."
Ada had driven a few blocks away and parked. One hour. There were recording devices in her car, obviously. And she had managed a few nice, clear pictures of the woman's face while she had been on the street. She picked up the phone and called her handler.
"I need to use the drop point for a package- the one just outside town. I'll let you know when I deliver it." She hung up before he could reply. They were used to that from her.
Then she hesitated. If the Family was involved in the leak up at the mansion, she'd need to call in a favour. If she asked the right person and caught a missing butterfly for them...having Derek Simmons own her a favour would be useful. But his father? Priceless.
She dialed the Connecticut number. Derek picked up. She headed him off before he could build up any momentum.
"This isn't a social call. Was there anyone in deep at the Raccoon City facility?"
Derek paused. Then, "Honestly, not that I know of. We have a good working relationship with them, and I have people at their headquarters keeping us updated. Why?" His normal flirtation was forgotten, and his tone wary. That was good. He'd last longer that way.
"If I send you a photo later in a few hours, can you run it by your father? I ran into someone who dropped his name to me, and I don't think that was an accident. British, maybe blonde? Her American accent wasn't the worst I've heard, but if she was supposed to be an agent, she's either brand new or making a run for it."
"I'll tell him to expect it. Some of the things I've heard out of there recently are…off-putting…to the board. Keep sharp."
Understatement of the decade. She hung up without another word.
Rebecca closed the door behind the stranger, circled back around while holding what felt like a safe distance. The woman held very still, letting Rebecca take the ID out of her hand. A piece of plastic was clipped into the lanyard attached to the ID. A moments scrutiny confirmed that it was a hospital bracelet:
Marigold Ashford. Female
DOB: 05/05/1949. Type: A-Pos.
Project Placidia. Umbrella Corporation
Rebecca made a strangled sound. The woman looked back, her face a blank mask. "That's mine- I'm leaving it here, if that's alright."
Rebecca stared at her. "This says you're almost fifty."
"And I am trying very hard not to think about that, because it means I lost seventeen years in a basement. I'm quite serious about not having time." She -Marigold, apparently- seemed to steel herself. "I wrote down what I knew early this morning, as soon as I got clear. It's…old information, and if Umbrella knows I visited one of you I don't know what they're capable of anymore. But..I need to know. There was a strange man in the woods. Looked young, long reddish hair, very dramatic, generally horrid. His face...changed." She looked hard at Rebecca. "Is he dead? For certain?"
Rebecca gaped at her. "You were there."
"I probably just missed you. I kept away until I could figure out whether you were Umbrella yourselves. Please. I need to know that Marcus isn't coming back."
Rebecca deflated slightly. She had been bristling, she realized. "He isn't," she said, calmer, tired. We…I put him down myself. Anything that was left would have been destroyed when the facility blew up."
"…Alright." Marigold seemed to soften.
"You were really there."
Wordlessly, Marigold reached into the duffel bag and held out the lab notebook, her focus for much of that morning. "That covers what I saw, and what I know. It's not evidence- they'll say you made it up, and I'm still hoping they think I died in there. But..it's information. A timeline. Names. Things that can be followed up in. Just… be very careful that no one knows about this until you decide whether to use it. I don't think your bosses are on your side."
"Why's that?"
"Because of who was in charge of your team. I may be out of the loop, but I know that name. Please." The woman's voice picked up a light tremor. "I need to know there aren't more traps waiting for me. Not from that corner."
Rebecca looked down at the notebook, hesitated, then took it. Flipped it open. Tight, cramped handwriting had filled in at least twenty pages. Emptied sugar packets bookmarked sections of diagrams: maps, approximate layouts.
This wasn't a tip. This was a plan for war. She looked sharply back up at the woman in front of her, who was lightly wringing her now-empty hands. This might be an Umbrella trick, but it seemed too elaborate to send someone so clearly afraid of getting caught. "I can provide a blood sample if you have equipment for it, as well. I know this is a lot to take on faith."
Rebecca answered automatically. "Not on faith. But yes- it's a lot." She came to a decision. Okay. I'll grab my backup kit. Help yourself to coffee."
The conversation was brief, and the woman (Marigold, though she had requested that they not overuse the name outside this conversation - she had to concur given, well, everything) helped herself to a cup of black coffee (downing it, then placing the cup directly into the dishwasher), and allowed, with some visible apprehension, for Rebeca to take three vials of blood. True to her word, Rebecca told her how the Alpha team captain had met his end, and the anguish of his surviving team members. None of them had known. All of them had trusted him. The release of the Tyrant had then unleashed utter chaos on an already fraught situation. Marigold interrupted her once.
"He woke the thing up and made himself the biggest target? Like this?" The woman looked perplexed, to the point of sheer irritation. She raised her arms out wide to her sides, punctuating her question. Rebecca nodded, and Marigold's frown deepened. "That...sounds insane. No, not the story. Just...it's like wearing a 'Kick Me' sign on steroids." Why would he do that? was writ large across her face. "You can't exactly fake getting impaled through the chest. Not at that range."
"No," Rebecca agreed. None of them had really questioned it. The fight with the Tyrant had pulled their focus entirely, and what point would there be to trying to get into their dead captain's head? She glanced to the notebook. Maybe some.
Marigold started to stand. "I might have a contact inside headquarters. I think she's wanted to cut loose from them for a while, but - this sort of thing is easy to dismiss as rumours at her level. Not this, most likely. Can I put her in touch?" She grimaced. "I'm sorry to put this on you, but I think she'd have to reach out to you anyhow. They're probably keeping a very close eye on their staff right now."
Rebecca flipped the book open, scrawling down her university email address. They let alumni hold on to theirs indefinitely upon graduation, and it would be a less obvious address than her personal one, or the RPD contact. "I'll give you my email. I'd rather not risk it getting recorded on voicemail in that case, and I can access it more readily." She moved to tear out the blank page, but Marigold held a hand out to stop her. "Eidetic memory. Just show it to me, I'll remember. I'm handing off all of the bits of evidence as quickly as I can anyhow. It would be best if I can deny knowing about any of this." She sighed. "Last time I really pushed myself to make a point it went very poorly." She paused. "Um."
"What?"
"What's...email?" At Rebecca's expression, she changed her mind. "Nevermind. I can still pass that to her. I'll work it out later. Thanks so much for the coffee. Stay as safe as you can."
The entire visit lasted forty-five minutes. Marigold hurried out the door, Rebecca still staring after her, then down at the small bounty left on her kitchen table. The girl seemed entirely too sweet to have survived the circles of hell she had, but she had.
Marigold hoped that she had left them with enough. Her own path was murky, but was beginning to take form.
"I have a hypothetical for you. Have you ever been to Spain?"
"Once or twice," Ada replied.
"Say you're running with the bulls. Or, I don't know, something to do with not getting gored. What kind of person antagonizes then and draws their focus?"
Ada gave her a sidelong look. Marigold grimaced "I know, but...humour me for a moment, alright?"
"Generally, idiots. Matadors, maybe?" Ada shrugged. "Although, again. Idiots. Matadors have a fairly high death rate. Men do all sorts of idiotic things in order to cover themselves in glory."
"Maybe." Marigold leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes a moment. That feeling from the forest, the one of being hunted was gone. Maybe it would stay gone.
She was getting out of here.
"I have to follow up on a lead this afternoon, but I'm going to stash you in a motel across the interstate. The other side of town from where it looks like you started. I don't suppose you have ID."
"No. Nothing." Marigold kept her eyes closed. The cool air inside the car was soothing. She'd fall asleep if she forgot herself. "I doubt any of it is any good anymore anyhow." Even if this woman connected her to Umbrella, let her think she was a patient. Or an intern. Rebecca had an incentive to give the samples and information to her team. They might be agile enough to do something if they moved quickly, so Marigold needed to give them all the ammunition she could and hope they used it well. Ada might have ties to her old contacts, but the world had shifted since she had gone away. The ground she stood on now was far from solid.
Ada sighed next to her, and Marigold forced herself to open her eyes. "I'll sign you in, then. I don't suppose you'd like to give me a name? I'm sure this place sees its share of Jane Does, but -"
"Callie," Marigold said, quietly. "Callie Lundy." Only the family called her that, and she'd be able to respond to it. Her old classmates might put it together. Daniel would be in for a bit of a shock if Ada really knew him.
They drove in silence the rest of the way. Ada glanced at her, presumably decided that she wasn't about to take off, and went in to sign in. A moment later, she returned with a set of keys. "Here. It's on the ground floor, at the end of the row. I have a pickup coming for you in a few hours. You might want to use that time to sleep."
Marigold cracked a wry grin. "That is the smartest thing I've heard anyone say today."
Marigold unslung the bag from her shoulder and flipped the lock closed behind her. Aside from some water bottles, discarded packaging (stuffed into the motel's waste bin), and dirty clothes, All she was left with was some office supplies, the knife, compass, and the small gun left for her at the lab. The clothes on her back.
Poor John. He'd had agencies breathing down his neck from every angle, and had no idea. She wasn't doing much better, herself. All she had managed to do was cross out a small list of people who might be coming after her. It was something. Probably enough to let her breathe for a moment, get her bearings. The Family was likely the lesser evil, but from what Rebecca said, they might be the closest thing to a body independent of Umbrella than anything else. Not ideal, but that was just a refrain of what she was going to do once her window of being able to pass for normal was up. There hadn't been a good solution before she was taken. Alexia had begun to ask pointed questions about the company, and her infection at age nine, which Alexander had shrugged off as his bright little girl's genius at work. Was this really any worse?
She looked out the window at the idyllic wilderness, a bit of scrubland by the highway. The motel was at least a mile outside the city. It was worn, and tiny, but the room she'd been given was reasonably clean. She shut the curtains, away from prying eyes.
She was so tired of the intrigue, and the traps. She was just...tired.
The day had been warm. She had spent several hours since early this morning just walking around, documenting, trying to plan. Peeling the borrowed clothes away, she made for the shower.
There wasn't enough soap in the world, but she did her best with what she had. The tea dye rinse washed out easily. It wouldn't matter soon. They'd be here in a few hours to pick her up.
The clothes she wore in the forest were beyond filthy. She sighed, and reached for the damp office clothes she had discarded a moment before. Her fingers brushed over the place on her arm where Rebecca had taken her samples - it had healed almost instantly.
There was still an entire bottle of vodka in the bag, saved from John's place. If she healed that quickly, that Might be just enough to let her drop off to sleep without nightmares.
In the end, she was pleased to find her hypothesis had proven correct. Tucking the knife under her pillow like a talisman, she crawled on top of the covers and dropped off to sleep.
The dreams came anyhow.
The dying light of the day still filtered through the curtains when she started out of a deep sleep. The sudden shift left a lingering paralysis over her limbs. Marigold lay still, waiting for that last vestige to slough away as she struggled to reorient herself.
Ah, yes. The hideous nightmare of the last two days had bled out from the dreams she had had for years leading up to her capture. Not paranoia, but the actual truth of the company. And now something had ripped her out of the first sleep she had managed to get since waking up within the nightmare itself.
The forest. The feeling from the forest, that scent. It hit her hard, that sense of being hunted again. Marigold forced herself to raise her head, beginning to sit up. She looked across the room and froze.
Red, glowing eyes met hers in the darkness. Still bleary, she curled her fingers around the knife under her pillow, kicking back the blankets.
Movement flashed towards her, far too fast for her eye to track. She found herself hauled up, pressed in a punishing chokehold against a firm chest. Marigold pulled at the arm -it should have been enough - but her leverage was gone, and the chokehold tightened until her vision blurred.
A voice chuckled in her ear, deep and silken and cruelly amused. "You know, I wouldn't have thought you'd even have the capacity to remember, or that Marcus could have been even more of a fool than we thought. This week has truly been a revelation."
Marigold had just enough time to think I know that voice before the tyrant-class sedative pierced the side of her neck.
Then, for a time, she didn't think anything at all.
