Chapter 3: A Gilded Prison
"Oh, don't you see the bridge is burning? Stop screaming and don't resist, because otherwise it will break apart."
Not for the first time, Claire found herself slowly coming awake. Her body felt heavy, soporific, and it took her several minutes before she could open her eyes. Despite the hollow feeling in her stomach, the first thing Claire realized was that she was comfortably curled beneath heavy blankets. She shifted, feeling the warm sheets against her bare skin. Mmm. Satin.
Confused, Claire turned her head on the pillow. Her bed didn't have satin sheets and it most certainly wasn't this big. Something wasn't right, but Claire was still too dazed to figure out what. Blinking, she glanced around the room. It was massive, more like a grand hotel suite than a bedroom. The furniture was modern and typical enough, and the floor was paneled in rich honey-colored wood, but the walls were made entirely of weathered stone, like something Claire would expect to find in a castle, and there was a large open fireplace set in the opposite wall. This clash between medieval and contemporary gave the room a strange, mysterious sort of feeling that Claire wasn't entirely sure she liked. Where the hell am I?
Suddenly, like water gushing from a broken dam, everything that had transpired came flooding back. Claire sat upright with a soft cry, clutching her arm where Wesker had injected her. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for a way out.
"I would strongly advise against getting out of bed."
Spinning around so fast it made her head pound, Claire faced the direction of Wesker's voice. He was seated behind a large mahogany desk at the far end of the room, smirking and watching her from behind those infernal glasses. Claire tugged the blankets more tightly around herself in an instinctive gesture of protection, trying to force her heart out of her throat and back into her chest where it belonged. A heavy silence seemed to fill the room and Claire suddenly became aware that she'd been asleep in the man's bed. Oh, God I think I'm going to be sick…
"Where am I?" she demanded, her voice rough.
Wesker laced his hands together on the desk. There was a large, expensive-looking computer in front of him, as well as a cordless phone and various other paraphernalia. "Relax, dear-heart," he chuckled. The way he said the strange nickname made Claire's skin crawl. "You're safe and that's all you need to know right now."
"Safe?" Claire blurted. "You infect me with a virus, you kidnap me, and then you want me to feel safe?"
Wesker frowned at her. "I see that I'm going to have to clarify a few things," he said. "To the best of my knowledge, I did not infect you with anything, since I have no idea how or even when you were exposed. I was hoping you could enlighten me in that regard."
"Sorry to disappoint you," Claire spat. All she remembered was suddenly feeling sick at work. As far as she knew, it'd been a normal week up until then. The most remarkable thing to happen was that she'd plowed into Todd coming out of the restroom, so no zombies, no Tyrants, and no contact with Umbrella whatsoever. She told Wesker as much, adding hatefully, "Did you have fun poisoning the city's water supply?"
Wesker's frown became a glower. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that last comment," he warned. "You should be thanking me on bended knee for saving your life. Instead, I have to listen to you self-righteous accusations."
"Give me a gun and I'll show you what you really deserve," said Claire. She felt sore and empty on the inside, as though she hadn't eaten anything for days, and she was starting to quiver slightly under the blankets. She kept a brave face, though, determined not to show weakness in front of Wesker. She furtively glanced around for a weapon.
"I'm afraid there's no can of antiseptic for you this time," Wesker sneered, though he sounded almost amused.
Claire scowled at him, hatred boiling inside her. "Whatever you want from me, you're not getting it," she said, "so you'd better kill me now or let me go, because I'm not becoming another one of Umbrella's science experiments!"
"So slow to catch on," Wesker taunted. "If I'd wanted to kill you, you'd be dead already. Same with the "experiments" you keep referring to every time you're lucid. I'd start showing more gratitude if I were you. I could have thrown you in a cell somewhere with only the rats for company instead of allowing you to share my accommodations." He gestured at the lavish room around them. "Or is that what you'd prefer?"
"I'd prefer to leave," said Claire coldly.
"Very well. If you truly find my company so despicable, I'll have you sent back to your dear brother."
Claire blinked, gaping at Wesker. "Just like that?" she demanded suspiciously.
"Just like that, dear-heart. Of course, you'll die within a few days without the serum I've manufactured to keep your infection in check, but that's beside the point, isn't it?" The ghost of a smirk was coiled around Wesker's lips and Claire could detect the faintest gleam of red behind his glasses. His words sent a massive shudder crawling down her spine and she unconsciously moved to clutch at her arm. The gauze was still in place, but what was underneath it?
"So I'm still infected? What's the point, then?" she demanded. "So you can keep me around and see what I turn into?"
Wesker stood up and Claire immediately fought the urge to cower. Coming around the desk, he soon towered over her, dark shades glinting menacingly in the light. "I don't enjoy repeating myself, so this is going to be the last time I indulge your foolishness," he said. "If you want to remain in good health, you're going to start acting a little more grateful. I am responsible for you, and as such I have no intentions of harming you. Yet. Do not underestimate the power I have over you, dear-heart."
Claire sucked in a terrified breath as Wesker planted his hands on either side of her body and leaned in until she could smell the mouthwash on his breath. He was too strong, too dangerous, and far too close. "You are not here for my personal pleasure, but if you disobey me, if you cause me any kind of trouble by trying to escape, there will be severe consequences," said Wesker, his voice deep and rich, and utterly cold. "Is that clear?"
Claire swallowed, trying to project a calm she didn't feel. "Go to hell," she hissed.
Wesker moved so fast, she didn't even realize he'd grabbed her until it was too late. Claire gasped as his hand wrapped around her throat and levered her back, flattening her against the bed even as he straddled her hips with his legs. Claire had no way to fight him and she was too frightened to struggle. "Obviously not clear enough," he growled, his expression fierce. His fiery eyes seemed to burn right through his glasses and into her soul. "Do you really want me to show you how badly I can hurt you?"
Claire shivered, her hands scrabbling against Wesker's sleeve. "You can't keep me here," she gasped. "My brother will come for me!"
Wesker let out a short, barking laugh. "Did I mention that Jill was the one to inform me of your condition?"
Claire froze, Wesker's words ringing in her ears. "She… she what? You're lying!" Claire exclaimed, her eye wide. Wesker was trying to frighten her. He had to be! After everything that had happened, everything that this traitorous bastard had put them through, there was no way in hell Jill would turn to Wesker for help.
"I'm afraid not, dear-heart." Wesker's hand uncoiled from her throat and he stepped back, leaving her gasping. "Miss Valentine contacted me when it appeared that your condition had become terminal. You brother was quite angry as I recall, but there was very little he could do given the circumstances. I did not "kidnap" you. I brought you to this facility because I couldn't risk an outbreak."
Claire's mouth opened and closed several times, but nothing came out. She wanted to believe that Wesker was lying to her, but one look into his eyes quickly dispelled the notion. Horror and shock and anger hit Claire all at once, making her ill. She'd been betrayed. Jill had sold her out to a monster. She'd been imprisoned by Umbrella before, but this time her captor was far more dangerous and unpredictable, and there was no telling what he'd do. Wesker gazed down at her for a moment longer before walking away in the other direction. Claire heard him leave the room and close the door behind him.
Gulping, Claire laid there for a minute, massaging her abused throat and trying to shake off the feeling of Wesker's hand. After making certain that he wasn't coming back, she slowly and painfully got to her feet. A wave of dizziness passed over her as she stood, and she had to grip the edge of Wesker's nightstand in order to keep from falling. Unlike the last time, she didn't have the benefit of adrenaline coursing through her system and she'd never felt so weak in her life. Taking one step at a time, she slowly shuffled towards the door. It was made of heavy, solid oak and arched at the top, studded all-over with worn metal rivets. Claire gripped the handle and gave it a tug, but the door wouldn't budge. Despite its antique appearance, the door was quiet strong and it looked as though Wesker had fitted it with an electronic lock.
Claire hadn't really expected the door to be unlocked, but she had to try, didn't she? She let her hand glide off the latch and turned to survey the rest of her prison. A small kitchenette took up most of one corner and there was one another door through which Claire could see what looked to be a bathroom. Behind Wesker's desk were heavy velvet drapes in a dark, somber hue of red. Claire hurried to check, but the simple act of walking left her damp and weak. Grasping the curtains, she desperately threw them open before she lost the strength to do so. Looking out the window, Claire didn't know what she'd expected to see, but it definitely wasn't this.
Outside the window, the sun was just beginning to set and cast a ruddy orange glow. Claire was shocked and dismayed to find herself faced with a sheer drop of at least a hundred feet down a smooth sandstone wall. Looking left and right, all she could gather was that she on the upper floors of a building perched atop a tall, rocky hill. Although, Claire realized a stunned moment later, the building would probably be more accurately described as a castle. The ground fell away below her in tiers, upon which were clustered numerous trees and buildings, most of them looking as though they'd been built in another century. At the bottom of the incline was a high stone rampart with several large towers and beyond that, a featureless expanse of dark blue ocean that seemed to go on forever.
Claire sagged against the windowsill. Oh, my God…
She was on an island. Off in the distance, a dark, hazy band could be seen on the horizon, indicating the presence of a large landmass, but there was no way for Claire to tell how far away it was. Despair rose up in her chest, threatening to choke her, and any sort of awe or curiosity concerning her location was swallowed up. Even if she managed to escape Wesker's immediate clutches, where would she go then? The island looked relatively small, but it was still a kilometer of unknown, heavily populated ground to cover on foot. And if she reached the wall and somehow managed to get over it, was she supposed to swim the dozen or so miles to shore?
Shaking, Claire turned away from the window, her legs threatening to give out. Stumbling, she only barely made it back to the bed before she had to collapse. Wesker's sheets smelled like soap and aftershave and cologne, something warm and musky, and reminiscent of sandalwood. Knowing that Wesker slept here made Claire want to hurl in disgust, but she couldn't force herself to go to the couch. Curling in on herself, she broke down and began to sob, balling handfuls of Wesker's pillow in her fists. She couldn't bear the thought of Chris, her big brother, her hero, suffering over her wellbeing. The horrible thing was that it didn't take long before a nasty, vindictive little voice snidely reminded her that Chris obviously didn't care about her. He'd abandoned her to Wesker, after all.
No, no, NO! That's not true!
Claire was wracked by guilt for even thinking it such a thing. Jill and her brother had only been trying to help her, and Claire angrily wished that she'd died before they'd been forced to make that choice. Her entire body trembled as she cried into the pillow, soaking it with her tears. Wesker was right. There was no escape. She was now the prisoner of a monster who'd betrayed his entire unit without batting an eyelash. She was completely and utterly alone.
Claire fell asleep crying and stayed that way the entire night, occasionally coming to and then lying awake to sob before drifting off again. By the time morning came, cold grey light filtering in through the open drapes, Claire had no more tears left to cry. Her throat was raw, and her eyes were swollen and sore. She struggled with Wesker's tangled sheets for a minute before heaving herself to her feet. Her stomach gurgled miserably, voicing its need for food, and Claire suddenly became aware that she needed to relieve herself. Moving slowly, she made her way into the bathroom. It was fairly large, with the same honey-brown flooring and grey stone walls. A spacious walk-in shower was in the corner, immaculate and white, brass fixtures gleaming in the light.
Claire peeked inside, but any shampoo or soap – assuming that Wesker still took showers like a normal human being – was hidden somewhere beyond her immediate ability to find. There wasn't much else to explore, so Claire rinsed her face in the sink and dried off with a nearby towel, scowling at its ebon color. "Does everything the man own come in black?" she wondered aloud, her voice sounding strangely desolate. She went back into the main room and stood in the center of it with a hollow pit in her stomach, trying to figure out what to do next. Then she noticed a shopping bag – several bags, actually – near the foot of the bed.
Going over to retrieve them, Claire discovered that they were full of clothes. Wesker must have left them for her to find. There were several pairs of sweatshirts and pants, a velour tracksuit, one or two black t-shirts, and two pairs of shoes. All of it was plain, practical, and one-size-fits all. Claire rubbed her bare arms, reminded of how vulnerable she felt wearing a skimpy hospital gown. If nothing else, she decided to get dressed. Facing Wesker half-naked again was not something she wanted to repeat. As if on cue, Claire had no sooner pulled a jacket over her head when the door unlocked with a bright, distinctive chime.
Claire hastily stood up as Wesker came into the room. "Good morning, dear-heart," he said, smiling at her in a way that made Claire want to shiver. Glancing at the slim silver briefcase Wesker was carrying, a sudden feeling of dread spilled into her stomach. She bravely resisted the urge to back away from him. "What's that for?" she demanded, relieved to hear that her voice was steady.
"Relax," Wesker chuckled, a placid smirk lifting the corners of his mouth. He set the case on the desk. "I've managed to bring your infection down to a controllable level, but you're going to have to take an injection every morning in order to keep it that way, or until I decide otherwise." Opening the case, Wesker removed a long syringe marked with the letters PG68 C/R.
"I don't want it," Claire told him sharply.
Wesker chuckled, amused by her defiance. "Dear-heart, you seem to think I am giving you a choice."
Claire swallowed hard. Wesker's tone was light enough, but she wasn't foolish enough to miss the menacing edge hiding beneath it. She wondered what would happen if she continued to refuse and thought it likely that Wesker would simply knock her to the floor and administer the injection by force. Lowering her eyes, Claire thrust her arm towards him, too tired and hungry to put up a fight. Wesker smirked and gripped her wrist, pulling her forward a step. The close-fitting leather of his glove felt hot and buttery against her skin, and she resisted the urge to shudder. He slapped the inside of her elbow, making her veins appear, and carefully slipped the needle under her skin. There was a slight jab of pain and Claire watched with a sort of morbid fascination as the eerie red liquid drained into her arm.
"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"
Gritting her teeth, Claire yanked her arm out of reach and rubbed the inside of her elbow. Wesker put the syringe back in the case, glancing at the open drapes. "I see you've taken a look outside," he observed.
"Yeah, I did," said Claire shortly. "Pretty impressive. Are you going to tell me where I am?"
"You mean you haven't figured it out by now? With all the effort you and your brother put into trying to ruin me, I'd have thought you'd know the locations of all my facilities by heart," Wesker jested cruelly.
Claire glared at him. He was baiting her, trying to elicit a reaction, and she wasn't going to give it to him.
"It's called Mont St. Michel," said Wesker, "or Saint Michael's island, if you prefer."
Claire thought long and hard, but the name didn't ring a bell. "And what about all those people down there?" she asked, gesturing at the small town below them. "A couple hundred innocent civilians are expendable if something goes wrong, huh? Just like Raccoon City."
"First of all, Raccoon City was an accident," said Wesker coolly. "And for your information, dear-heart, the surrounding community is populated solely by Umbrella employees and their families. Since the only way on or off the island is by boat or helicopter, the daily commute proved rather inconvenient. Housing everyone locally simplifies things, wouldn't you agree?"
"Huh. And how many of your "employees" know what really goes on around here?"
"Oh, a fair few," Wesker replied casually, as if he were commenting on the weather. "Like myself, most top-level personnel have permanent residences in the main facility, including a few I believe you may be acquainted with."
Claire looked over at him, catching those red-gold eyes directly. His statement baffled her, but she wasn't about to ask him for clarification, not with that smirk hovering on his lips. She glanced back outside and inwardly had to admit that the island was indeed very grand, but any kind of wonder Claire might have felt was destroyed by knowing that it was all just a front to keep Umbrella's adoring public and the health inspectors happy. Little did they know that there was stuff that made Ebola look tame simmering beneath their feet.
"What happens if there's an outbreak?" Claire demanded, folding her arms.
"The possibility of such an event is precisely why I choose this island. Despite a full-blown outbreak at the Ashford training facility, the infection was effectively contained and causalities were actually very limited. If you'll notice, the island is completely surrounded by a rock wall approximately fifteen feet high and four feet thick. A useful relic from the last century, I must say. The undead may be notorious for crashing through storefront windows, but I can safely assure you that they'll find the wall a bit more troublesome to breach."
"They'll find a way eventually," said Claire, unimpressed.
"Perhaps," Wesker agreed. "However, if there is an outbreak, the island goes through three lockdown phases. Phase 1 is when sensors detect a contamination in the lower levels. The air vents are promptly sealed, safety barriers come down over all windows and doors, and internal security is alerted. Airborne chemicals are then pumped into the lower levels to eradicate any contamination."
Claire scowled at him. Such procedures sounded good on paper, but she'd repeatedly seen how useless they were in the real world. "Yeah, that's what they said up at Arklay, too," she said. "And in Raccoon City. And on Rockfort Island."
"Phase 2 is when people have actually been exposed to a virus," Wesker continued. "At this point, the island goes through a mandatory evacuation for all nonessential personnel and the security teams are then authorized to use deadly force. Phase 3 is when the situation is deemed irreparable and the self-destruct sequence is set."
"Oh, so you just nuke a couple hundred people to make sure nobody finds out? How noble."
"You obviously haven't been listening," said Wesker a trifle coolly. "If the island has entered a Phase 3 alert, then anyone who hasn't been infected has already been evacuated. Whoever is left has got approximately ten minutes to reach minimum safe distance. There are enough high explosive charges planted beneath your feet to sink the entire island to the bottom of the ocean."
Claire bit back a smart remark regarding how many people Wesker planned to kill with the resulting tsunami. That is, if there were any people on the nearby shoreline to kill. For all Claire knew, she could be floating off the coast of Greenland or Antarctica, since Wesker had been deliberately vague in regards to which "ocean" he was referring to. She opened her mouth to say something to him when her stomach groaned loudly, seeing as it hadn't gotten her attention the first time. The smug look on Wesker's face was enough to make Claire want to punch the crap out of him.
"Help yourself to anything you like, dear-heart," said Wesker, waving his hand towards the kitchen. "I think you'll find that it's stocked with better things than bread and water."
Claire didn't miss what he was insinuating at, but she couldn't find the energy to care or act tough. She heard Wesker laugh confidently to himself, clearing enjoying her submission, and so Claire had to settle with flashing him a stubborn glare, silently promising him hell as soon as she got something in her stomach.
A/N: Sorry for the short chapter, folks. There will be more Claire/Wesker antagonism next week, I promise, as our favorite redhead dredges up some painful STARS memories and needles Wesker into a rage, but something happened at Arklay that he's not telling her. Witness as the plot begins to thicken! ;)
Anyway, I want you all to Google some images of Mont St. Michel, so everybody can better picture what Claire is seeing. And before you all gang up on me, I know it's a tidal island and barely a kilometer offshore, but I figure since this is obviously an AU universe and since neither Raccoon City, Kijuju, Rockfort Island or any of the other famous Resident Evil locations even exist in the real world, I don't think I'm going too far by pushing Mont St. Michel out to about three to four miles offshore. I really liked the history and layout of the island, so it was perfect for the establishing the sense of power and grandeur that is Umbrella. Claire will begin to like it eventually. She just doesn't know it yet. Besides, there's another reason why I ultimately picked Mont St. Michel, otherwise known as Mount Saint Michael, as the setting for this story.
The Archangel Michael is typically invoked for the care of the sick, and his name actually translates as "Who is like God?" A fitting title, wouldn't you say? As always, your kind reviews are enjoyed and very much appreciated. Thank you for being my inspiration! ^_^