Chapter 5: the Games We Play
Claire wrote in her journal for several hours, alternating between jotting down her thoughts and trying unsuccessfully to do some exercises. With a little difficultly she could do three sit-ups, but anything beyond that was still a no-go. Around ten o'clock that night, the door chimed softly and Wesker came into the room, spooking Claire bad enough to make her jump, especially since she was clutching something of his that she'd commandeered without permission. She schooled a hard expression on her face, inwardly deciding that if Wesker wanted his stupid notebook back he'd just have to come over and get it, but Wesker wasn't paying attention to her. Except for a cursory glance, he ignored her like a fencepost.
Claire watched him go into the bathroom and shut the door. A few minutes later, she heard the gush of running water and Claire wondered if he wore his sunglasses in the shower. The thought was enough to bring a humorless smirk to her lips and she scribbled a grossly exaggerated sketch of Wesker in just such an act. If he took his notebook back, then so much the better. Maybe the look on his face would get her a laugh. Thirty minutes later – Wesker was clearly the sort of person who preened in the shower – the bathroom door opened again, letting a puff of steam and the rich smell of his cologne into the main room. Dressed in black sweatpants and a matching shirt, Wesker marched across the room and promptly got into bed with the air of one following a precise schedule. Setting his glasses on the nightstand, he switched the lights off without a word, plunging the room into near total darkness.
Taken aback, Claire wasn't sure what in the world she was supposed to be thinking at this point. Knowing that Wesker still participated in normal human activities such as showering and sleeping made her feel better somehow, but the emotion was so negligible it was quickly smothered by another, less welcome thought, as Claire suddenly found herself thanking high heaven that she hadn't been in Wesker's bed when he'd decided it was naptime. Except for that first night she'd been staying on Wesker's large couch, too disgusted to sleep in the same space he did. If she had been in his bed, however, she realized that there would have been two possible outcomes. One, Wesker would have just evicted her from his personal space or two, forced her to share the bed with him. Claire shuddered violently at the thought and pushed it from her mind. With Wesker taking charge of the program, it was lights out whether she liked it or not.
Closing her journal, Claire hid it beneath the couch cushions and unfolded the black duvet on the arm of the couch. It and a pillow were the two things she'd been forced to take from Wesker's bed no matter her qualms about touching his personal things. As quietly as she could, as if Wesker was liable to pounce at the slightest noise, Claire laid back and tucked herself under the blanket, wondering if she was going to have trouble falling asleep.
After about twenty minutes, Wesker chuckled quietly in the darkness, making her hairs stand on end. "Am I making you uncomfortable, dear-heart? This is my room, if you recall."
Claire swallowed hard. "Really? I didn't think you ever slept," she replied, nerves making her voice sharp.
"Oh, I sleep, dear-heart, I just require far less of it than a normal human being."
Ah hah. Claire lay still for a minute, formulating her reply. She couldn't be sure of the wisdom of crossing mental swords with a dangerous predator she couldn't even see, but Redfields weren't known for keeping their mouths shut. "Well, if you're not human then what are you?" she asked, adding scathingly, "A vampire?"
"My, aren't you the curious one? Perhaps I'll tell you in the morning."
Damn him. Claire scowled in the darkness. She couldn't see Wesker's smirk, but she could most definitely feel it, and with that realization all traces of fear fled from her system. Now she just hated him. Claire jerked the blanket more tightly around herself and shut her eyes, refusing to fall into any more of Wesker's traps. He chuckled again and fell silent, and Claire entertained thoughts about taking the lamp, sprinting across the room, and bringing it down on his smug face. What had she ever done to deserve this hell? Claire tried not to think about her brother and willed herself to go to sleep.
It was many hours later, as Claire hovered on the brink between dreams and wakefulness, that she smelled frying eggs. She stirred, her thoughts immediately going to Chris, but a cold dose of reality quickly brought her out of her fantasy. Her brother was miles away and the only person she could except to wake up to was Wesker. But where did eggs fit into all this? Claire warily opened her eyes, finding the room suffused in buttery yellow light spilling in from the open drapes.
The sound of sizzling food brought her attention to the kitchenette in the corner and as she carefully levered herself up, Claire was shocked to see Wesker tending something on the stove.
"Sleep well, dear-heart?" he purred without turning around.
Claire swallowed, certain she was still dreaming. What kind of sick game was he playing now? And with all her Redfield intelligence and wit, she came up with the one word in the entire English language that could possibly sum up what she was feeling. "Huh?"
Wesker chuckled. "Glad to see you awake so early," he remarked. "It makes things much more convenient for me, so if you're finished gawking why don't you make yourself presentable and join me for breakfast. And before your charming tendency for defiance comes into play, let me remind you that you're due for an injection regardless."
Claire glanced at the silver briefcase Wesker had left on the counter. He made it sound like an invitation, but in reality it was anything but and Claire realized she was going to end up going over there no matter what. Gritting her teeth, she shoved the blankets off and stalked into the bathroom. After spending as long as she dared washing up and fixing her hair, she changed into her velour tracksuit and came back out to face Wesker, affixing a blank expression to her face so he couldn't tell how uneasy she was. This was a side of Wesker she hadn't seen before and as she nervously seated herself at the tiny table, she found herself thinking that it made him seem even more dangerous. Turning away from the stove, Wesker slid an omelet onto a plate and set it in front of Claire.
"I hope you're hungry," he said.
Claire glowered at the omelet, noticing a garnish of mushrooms and bell peppers. It smelled so good her mouth watered in spite of herself. She'd never exactly pegged Wesker as Chef Ramsey, but she wasn't going to touch the stupid omelet no matter how good it looked and that was that. Wesker served up another omelet for himself and poured them both a cup of coffee, which Claire suddenly noticed had been perking on the countertop. Her every muscle tensed as the man lowered his tall frame into the chair directly across from her, smirking at her in a way that made her want to run as fast as she could in the opposite direction.
"Eat," Wesker ordered, gesturing at her plate with a fork. "You wouldn't want to hurt my feelings, would you?"
Claire glared daggers at him. "I'm not hungry," she said coolly.
"Oh, but I think you are," Wesker mocked. "Now eat. If I wanted to poison you there are more direct methods. I'm well acquainted with what I keep in my kitchen, dear-heart, and you haven't been eating nearly as well as you should. It would be shame if I spent all this time keeping you alive just for you to die of malnutrition."
Claire fought the urge to lean across the table and stab Wesker with a fork. Despite the assortment of food on hand, Claire had been sustaining herself on cereal and sandwiches, and not because she didn't know how to cook. It just felt wrong eating like a queen on food provided by a murderer, especially since she couldn't be sure what kind of price was attached to it. But when her traitorous stomach mumbled a voiceless plea for sustenance, Claire reluctantly had to admit that Wesker was right. She gained nothing by starving herself. Moving stiffly, she picked up her fork and started in on her omelet. It was a touch too runny, but unfortunately it was also quite delicious.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, but Claire got the uncomfortable feeling that she was being studied. It was only after that she'd finished her omelet did she notice that Wesker was smirking at her over his coffee, which she wasn't surprised to see that he took straight up black.
"See how well we get along when you're not throwing things at me?" he jested, leaning back to pick up the infamous silver attaché case. Claire wordlessly stuck her arm out for him, well used to the routine by now, and forced herself to remain still as Wesker gave her the injection, his gloved fingers sending fine shivers racing across her skin. "Except for our little spat the other day it seems as though you've been behaving yourself," Wesker continued, a hint of smugness in his voice.
Claire briskly pulled her arm out his reach and picked up the sugar, using it to sweeten her coffee. "Yeah, so?" she demanded, taking a sip. "You going to reward me with candy?"
Wesker's smirk grew wider, enjoying her defiance. He uncrossed his legs and stood, taking his white lab coat off the back of his chair. Wonderful. What kind of nasty voodoo did he bring in on that? Claire risked a glance up at him and was disconcerted to see him smiling. "Actually, I had a different reward in mind, dear-heart," he said, putting his hand out for her to take. "How would you like a tour of the facility?"
Claire wasn't sure whether to laugh or recoil in fear. Wesker's hand hovered over the table, waiting for her choose, and Claire was overwhelmed by the sudden urge to accept his offer. She needed to find out more about the layout of the island, not to mention the fact that she found herself welcoming the opportunity to leave this room and walk around a bit. Claire stood up, ignoring Wesker's proffered hand, and angled her body towards the door, indicating her willingness to leave. Wesker chuckled, not at all offended by this snub, and led her out of the room. Out in the corridor, Claire felt as though she'd had a religious experience of some kind and this new privilege, even if it was at the end of a leash, was a welcome change.
Just then, however, Wesker caught her by the chin and turned her to face him, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Now let's get one thing straight," he said. "I'm letting you have some freedom only because you seem to be rotting in that room, but I'm only giving you one chance. Betray my trust and you'll go right back into your cage. Understand?"
Claire bit back an angry remark and nodded submissively, knowing it was what he wanted. She had to pick her battles carefully. Making a quiet noise of satisfaction, Wesker folded her hand into the crook of his arm and steered her down the corridor. Like the room they'd just exited, most of the décor wouldn't have looked out of place in medieval Europe save for the varnished wooden floors and fluorescent lighting. Seeing that this theme wasn't unique to Wesker's room made Claire extremely curious to where they were and she tried to take in as much as she could.
"Trying to get a fix on your location? I'm afraid you won't find many clues," Wesker laughed.
Claire ignored him as they walked. They passed a lot of people in the corridors, but none of them spared her more than a curious glance, though they all had a polite smile for Wesker. Talk about irony. Nobody even has a clue that I'm here against my will, thought Claire bitterly, marveling at Wesker's audacity. Most kidnappers hid their victims in dark basements and closets cut off from the outside world. Wesker let her stroll along with him like a guest and nobody was any the wiser. So much so, in fact, Claire had an inkling that even screaming bloody murder wouldn't help.
"I'm surprised you're so quiet," said Wesker after a moment. "What are you thinking about?"
"Oh, I was just wondering where you keep the T-Virus," Claire shot back, leaving him little room for doubt.
"Someplace you'll never see," said Wesker simply. "It may surprise you, but Umbrella has hundreds of departments that don't even know such viruses still exist, let alone come into contact with them. Most of the main facility is comprised of medical labs and their corresponding R & D divisions. All of the Hot Labs are secured 600 feet below ground."
"600 feet, huh? I'll be sure to remember that, because when I get out of here I'm going to the nearest military base and inquiring what yield a bunker buster I'll need to get that deep," Claire promised.
Wesker snorted, amused. "Is that a threat, dear-heart? Because if it is, it's a poor one."
Claire scowled fiercely and made no reply. She wanted very much to rip her hand out of Wesker grasp, but something told her that the pressure of his fingers was liable to turn brutal at the slightest attempt to escape. And it wasn't as if she could evade him for long even if she did manage to free herself. She'd already tried that once before. All she could do was keep up with Wesker as he deftly threaded his way through the occasional gaggle of scientists, but it wasn't long before her muscles were burning. She was just about to choke down her pride and ask Wesker for a break when he ushered her into an elevator.
Claire wearily leaned against the wall, trying to catch her breath, as Wesker tapped the control panel. She felt the elevator give a small, downward jerk and the faint hum of machinery filled the air. Claire tried to ignore the fact that her legs were trembling slightly, and not just because she was tired. She didn't think Wesker would go through all the trouble to cook her breakfast just to stuff her into a test tube, but she couldn't really be sure. Just then, the elevator came to a gentle stop and the doors swished open. Wesker smiled and gripped Claire's hand. "Shall we go?"
Inhaling deeply, Claire stepped out into the corridor. The first thing she noticed was the abundance of sunshine streaming in from the large glass windows mounted high in the ceiling, which was vaulted and immensely high. The hallway was filled with people on their way to different parts of the facility and the noise was bright and animated, every bit a normal working environment. Claire had to wonder if she'd really expected lines of prisoners in chains with armed guards escorting them at gunpoint. Feeling very out of place, Claire thought she smelled wet dirt and flowers, something that smelled very much like columbine. She glanced around, noting various doors and hallways branching off from the main route. A huge glass dome was partially visible through one of the windows and that was where Wesker was leading her.
Stopping at a heavy aluminum door, Wesker unclipped an ID card from the front of his jacket and swiped it through a nearby reader. The panel instantly went from red to green and there was a clunk as heavy metal tumblers turned inside the door. Smiling like the perfect gentleman, Wesker guided Claire into the next room. Claire braced herself for a bloody torture chamber, but was shocked to discover that the room was filled with hundreds of plants growing in raised beds, many of which Claire had no name for. The air in here was warm and muggy, heavy with the perfume of a hundred flowers.
Awed by the sight, Claire tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling. It ran the length of the greenhouse like the top half of a massive pipe, its glass panels reinforced by a web of metal struts. The hot sunlight felt amazing on Claire's cheeks and she found herself wanting to close her eyes in order to savor the moment. She never would have guessed something this incredible had been on the island.
"Not what you were expecting, dear-heart?" Wesker asked, obviously satisfied by her reaction.
"No," Claire admitted at length. Even the Devil deserved his due. "What do you need all this for?"
"You would be surprised how many useful compounds can be found in plants," Wesker answered. "The main component for aspirin, acetylsalicylic acid, is extracted from willow bark as you probably already know, and my staff has recently discovered a tentative treatment for lymphatic cancer in a rare South American tree. I trust you haven't forgot that I run a major pharmaceutical company?"
"Yeah, Our Business is Life Itself," Claire snorted in disgust. "You're the leader in alternative medicine, you are."
Wesker smiled, flashing his perfectly straight teeth. "As a matter of fact, we are," he said. "There are many things that can be treated with minimal usage of synthetic chemicals. In some cases, such remedies actually work better than ones that have been artificially manufactured, so Umbrella prides itself on being the cutting edge of botanical research."
Claire shook her head, refusing to buy it. While she agreed with Wesker that plants frequently produced better medicine than man, Claire couldn't help but wonder how many of Umbrella's over-the-counter medicines were laced with T-Virus and conveniently set up to be recalled when people started turning into zombies after a month or so of use. But that didn't matter to Umbrella or Wesker. Deaths were just statistics to be added up later, a minor side effect to be pushed aside for the greater good. It was sick and wrong, and Claire didn't care about the rationale behind it.
"Human lives are not figures on a slip of paper," she said to Wesker, "so I don't give a damn about your high-and-mighty garden or your research because I know what you're doing with it down below. The way you see it, Raccoon City was just a slipup. You don't care about how many lives you ruin or how many people you hurt."
Wesker stared at her for a long moment. "You really believe that, dear-heart?"
"Yes. Yes, I do."
Claire risked a glance into Wesker's face and was dismayed to see a slow, wicked smile spread across his lips. "Well, we'll have to see about changing your mind, now won't we?" he said, turning and moving towards a table that was set with beakers, plastic eyedroppers, and several large orchids with cream-colored flowers.
Placing a hand over the cold pit of dread that had formed in her stomach, Claire hastily left Wesker to wander around the greenhouse. She was unsure if he'd permit it at first, but when the man didn't come after her she figured that she was allowed to move around on her own. It sickened her to think that she was on this man's leash, like a child asking a parent's permission to run around the playground. Claire pressed deeper into the greenhouse and had to marvel at its size, since it was easily the size of a football field, but despite the large quantity of plants everything was laid out in an orderly grid, with clearly marked linoleum walkways leading through the tangle of foliage.
It wasn't long before Claire became uncomfortably warm in her jacket, so she took it off and knotted the sleeves around her waist, trying not to feel self-conscious. There were a handful of other people in the greenhouse besides her, but most everybody she passed was wearing a pristine white lab coat, whereas she looked as though she'd just came in from a jog. However, nobody was rude enough to point this out, for which Claire was grateful. She had no idea what to say if somebody came up to her and started asking questions, like who she was and where she was from.
Oh, my name's Claire Redfield and Wesker kidnapped me because I came down with one of his viruses, so now I'm wandering the greenhouse because letting me out for a jaunt is his way of exercising the prisoner.
Claire turned a corner, coming upon a massive bed of roses. Several distinct species were kept in this corner of the greenhouse, ranging from miniature yellow tea roses to huge, leafy bushes that were almost as tall as she was. Some were streaked and speckled, others were bold and one color only, but they all smelled just wonderful. Claire stopped to sniff each one, relishing the subtle differences in scent. She wanted to take a few pink ones back in a vase, but she didn't think Wesker would take kindly to having his prize roses harvested.
Moving down the row, Claire eventually came up and tray of roses that seemed miserably wilted, its dark garnet red flowers hanging limp. Claire felt a sudden pang of sorrow for the dying flower and she looked around for a hose to give it water. Considering the vibrant state of the rest of the greenhouse, she couldn't understand why they'd leave this particular rose to die and she could only conclude that it'd stopped being useful to Wesker, the cruel bastard. Coming forward, she found a half-empty watering can and gave the roses what was left, though in hindsight she realized that the soil had already been moist. Water clearly wasn't the problem, then. Claire looked around for someone to ask when she spotted a woman attentively bent over a microscope on the other side of the greenhouse.
"Hey. Excuse me," Claire called, going over before she could change her mind. "Ma'am, do you think I could ask you a question?"
The woman turned around, surprised, and Claire realized that she wasn't nearly old enough to be addressed as ma'am. Dressed in a skirt and blouse, her shining blond hair worn loose and straight, she looked barely older than fifteen, and even that was pushing it. Looking into the girl's eyes, however, Claire stopped short. There was something terribly familiar about those liquid blue orbs with far more maturity than was strictly normal.
"Oh, my God… Sherry?"
Sherry, and Claire had no doubt that it was Sherry, stared at her for the space of several heartbeats, shocked recognition dawning on her features. "…Claire? Oh, Claire, it's so good to see you!"
She eagerly came forward, looking as though she wanted nothing more in the world than to give Claire a hug, but still hesitating to do so. Claire swept the tall girl into her arms, a confusing mixture of relief, shock and guilt swelling in her chest. It was a surreal moment. Sherry had grown substantially over the past few years, and her figure hinted that she was rapidly maturing in other places, too.
"I didn't know you were here," said Sherry. "If I did, I'd have come to see you!"
Claire didn't know what to say. "Oh, that's… that's okay," she managed. "I haven't been here that long, and I didn't know you were here, either. So we're even. I'm just glad you're safe."
"Safe?" Sherry pulled back to arm's length. "Why wouldn't I be safe? Oh."
Understanding bloomed in Sherry's eyes and she shifted nervously, biting her lower lip. "I… I wanted to write you, but Uncle Albert said it would be better if I didn't, that you wouldn't understand," she whispered. "I'm sorry. You and Leon worked so hard to keep me safe, and you've been worrying about me ever since. I'm so, so sorry, Claire!"
"No, don't be sorry! You didn't do anything," said Claire quickly, her head spinning. She and Leon had been forced to give Sherry into government custody directly after Raccoon City, never guessing that several higher-ups planned to use her as a bribe to get Leon to work for them. And it had worked, since he hadn't gone to DC for the cherry trees. Still, it'd been a working arrangement, if not a desirable one, but that all changed when Wesker came back from the dead. A few months after the events on Rockfort Island, Leon had gone to visit Sherry like he'd promised and walked into the scene of a massacre. Claire could plainly remember him telling her the story of how he'd found most of the guards either dead or dying in the lobby, with a man Leon identified as Wesker putting Sherry in the front seat of an unmarked black Audi. He'd killed two Marines and hospitalized seven just to get to her, and Sherry honestly referred to him as Uncle Albert? What on earth had he done to the poor girl's mind?
"Claire, what's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?"
Knowing that Sherry had a special immunity to the G-Virus, Claire had been so sure Wesker had taken her for his experiments with full intentions to discard her when he'd finished, but seeing her alive and well threw that assumption into serious hot water. Claire was no longer certain what to think, but she realized Wesker didn't need to be cruel in order to keep Sherry under his thumb. After all, he hadn't treated her badly during her stay with him.
"You do mean Wesker when you talk about your uncle, right?" Claire fumbled helplessly, praying that it was some other Albert. Yeah, right. There's so many of them, it's easy to get confused.
"Well, he's not my real uncle, but he's been around so much he might as well be," said Sherry. "Why? Don't you like him? I guess I can see why you'd think he'd want to hurt me after he killed all those guards, but it's not like they were going to let me come back, so they deserved what they got."
Claire's mouth moved soundlessly. "Sherry… you don't really mean that, do you?"
"Of course I mean it! I didn't want to stay in their building like a prisoner. I'm not stupid, you know. I know they were using me to get Leon to do their dirty work. My home is with daddy and Uncle Albert, and that's the way I wanted it," said Sherry, her eyes flashing. The cold gleam died quickly, though, and was replaced with sorrow. "Can you… can you tell Leon I'm sorry, too? I never wanted you to worry about me," she added in a much lower voice.
Claire bit her lip. "Sure, Sherry. I can tell him that," she said. If I ever get the chance to talk to him again.
"Thank you." Sherry gripped both of Claire's hands, looking imploringly at her. "Um… do you think I could ask you something else? I don't want to bother you or anything."
"You're not bothering me," said Claire, suddenly catching a glimpse of the shy, unconfident little girl she'd rescued in Raccoon City. "What is it?"
"…Would you come to dinner tonight? There's so much I want to tell you about everything! Please?"
Claire smiled. "I'd like that, Sherry, I really would, but I'm not sure Wesker…" she trailed off, unsure how to say it.
"What about me, dear-heart?" asked a deep voice and Claire's stomach jumped into her throat. She spun around to see Wesker standing just a few yards away, his arms folded across his chest. Claire gulped, hating him more than ever, but Sherry's face broke into a wide grin. "You're mean, Uncle Albert! You didn't tell me Claire was on the island."
Wesker shrugged. "I had more important things to think about. What a happy coincidence you happened to be in the greenhouse today, my dear," he said to Sherry and something dark, something smug slid though his expression, gliding beneath those jet-black sunglasses.
"That's okay. I was just asking Claire to come over and have dinner with us."
Wesker twitched a smirk. "Were you now? And what did she say?" he said, looking at Claire.
Claire felt something cold and uncomfortable settle into her stomach, but she couldn't very well say no to the pleading in Sherry's eyes. "Sure, why not?" she answered, watching Wesker closely. "What time were you thinking?"
"Oh, I don't know… around 6:00, I guess," said Sherry. "Will you come, too, Uncle Albert?"
"No. I'm afraid I'm much too busy," said Wesker.
"Oh." Sherry's expression fell slightly. "Maybe another time?"
"Maybe another time," Wesker agreed. "I was just about to leave the greenhouse and I assumed Miss Redfield wouldn't enjoy being locked in." His gaze moved from Sherry back to Claire, who wished he'd take off those damned sunglasses and at least give her a chance to read what he was thinking. "However, I'm sure Sherry wouldn't mind retrieving you later this evening if you'd prefer to stay," he added, almost as an afterthought.
Claire weighed her options. She didn't want to test the limits of Wesker's so-called generosity, but she really didn't want to go back to his room, either. "I'll stay," she said at length, choosing her savor her freedom while it lasted.
Wesker nodded and turned away, surprising Claire with his lack of hostility. She watched him until he disappeared into the tangle of foliage and was lost from view, leaving her with more than a few unanswered questions. She pushed them aside, however, as Sherry timidly offered to take her on an extended tour of the greenhouse. She accepted gratefully, suddenly remembering why she'd called out to Sherry in the first place.
"Just one question. What's wrong with that rose?" Claire gestured towards the dying plant.
"Oh, that," said Sherry. "The botanists call it a Black Magic rose, some kind of rare variety from Austria or something. Nobody can quite figure out how to properly care for it, so all the shipments end up dying. I don't know. It's just finicky, I guess."
Claire felt total sympathy. She knew exactly how the poor rose felt, getting abducted and flown to God-knows where to be kept prisoner. She briefly wondered if there was something she could do for it, maybe give it fertilizer or something, but Sherry was already taking her arm and leading her away. She started by tentatively pointing out a few of the more interesting plants, and with some coaxing she soon relaxed and grew more talkative. Claire found that she enjoyed the girl's company and spent the remainder of the afternoon absorbing everything that Sherry had to say. However, Sherry ultimately had to excuse herself, saying that she had to set things up for dinner, among other things that kept her on a strict schedule. When pressed for what these things were, Sherry's only response was that she'd tell Claire later.
Left alone in the greenhouse, Claire wandered around a bit longer, feeling suddenly lost, so when she came upon a door that lead out into a small, adjoining courtyard, she gladly took the opportunity to investigate. Minus the greenhouse, the courtyard completely boxed in by three massive stone ramparts. A well-trimmed hedge ran along the perimeter, as did a collection of wooden benches. Feeling a deep weariness settling in her limbs, Claire went over and sat down. The sunlight was very warm, a nice offset to the cool, salt-smelling breeze. If she listened very carefully, Claire thought she could hear the crash of the ocean and she suddenly felt very alone. She still had so many unanswered questions about Sherry, about Wesker, about her eventual fate. Would Wesker ever let her go back to Chris, or was she doomed to spend the rest of her life as a prisoner like Sherry? Feeling sick and suddenly very tired, Claire lay sideways on the bench and used her arm as a pillow, not caring if people stared. She only meant to shut her eyes for a few moments, but the warm sunlight and the far-off crying of gulls soon lulled her into a heavy, dreamless sleep.
A/N: Bet you weren't expecting that one, were you? :P Okay, maybe you were. It's kind of obvious. How will Sherry's presence affect Claire's opinion of Wesker? There's more going on around here than what's immediately apparent. What kind of juicy, earth-shattering revelations await Claire at dinner? Tune in next week to find out! I already have that chapter mostly written.
Unfortunately, I haven't been very inspired to write lately. We're getting ready to repaint the kitchen, and I'm currently afflicted with a serious crush on Prince Nuada. As a result, I have given in to my fangirl desires and have been spending a lot of my free time reading fanfics centering on him. Blame Hellboy II for being on Dish Network the other night. If anyone here is a fan of the Prince and sympathizes with his ideals as I do, you need to go read the story called Orchid by Ariana Lussier. (I would post the full link, but FF keeps chopping off the first part. Stupid formatting.) Anyway, the story's got an amazing plot and is extremely well written! Just use the search.
Congratulations to midnighrunner for being the first person to correctly guess what Wesker's "actions" were in the previous chapter. Cookies and kudos! A great big thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed so far, and that includes the anonymous ones. ^_^