Chapter 6: Closer to the Truth
When Claire awoke again, it was because someone was shaking her shoulder. "Claire? Claire, wake up."
Claire jumped and sat up, nearly banging heads with Sherry. The blonde girl sprang back with a look of surprise. "Oh, Claire, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!"
"No, that's… that's okay," Claire mumbled, putting a hand to her head to combat the sudden spinning. Looking groggily around, she found that the sun had left the courtyard, leaving everything suffused in soft hues of blue and grey, with a tinge of rose glowing on the very top of the ramparts. Claire suddenly realized that she was uncomfortably chilled and she rubbed her arms, wondering how she could have possibly stayed asleep for so long. Her face felt unusually tender, and a noticeable stiffness permeated her muscles.
Sherry nervously helped her up. "Have you been asleep all day?" she wondered, her eyes wide. "You must have been really tired. Oh, no. Look, you're sunburnt! Do you want to go somewhere and wash up before we go?"
Claire nodded, embarrassed. "You sure you don't mind?" she asked.
"Yes, I'm sure. Where are you staying on the island?"
"Oh, uh… with Wesker," Claire forced out, flushing. She had no choice but to be honest, but it sounded dirty somehow, like she was sleeping with him or something equally perverted. The mere thought was enough to make her want to hurl, but Sherry didn't seem to notice or even care, so Claire awkwardly moved to follow her. With the exception of one or two people, most of the researchers had left the greenhouse for the evening. The cool air was heavy with the scent and sound of water, indicating that the sprinkler system was on. Claire's sneakers squeaked on the wet linoleum, and she had time to reflect on how much quieter things were in the evening. The hustle and bustle of the daylight hours was gone.
Leaving the greenhouse, they rode the elevator up a few floors as Sherry took her straight to Wesker's room, moving with the confidence of somehow who was intimately familiar with their way around the facility. Claire felt an abrupt thrill of panic upon realizing that she didn't have the card for Wesker's room, but Sherry reached into her pocket and swiped her ID without hesitation, opening the door and letting them into the room.
"How many people around here can go in here besides Wesker?" Claire asked before she could stop herself.
"Just me, daddy, and Mr. Krauser, the Captain of the Guard," said Sherry, stepping just inside the door, but no further. She clearly wasn't permitted, or didn't think she was permitted, in Wesker's room unless he was in it. Claire hastened into the bathroom, frustrated to see that the sun had indeed turned her face bright pink, not to mention her neck and some of her chest. Turning on the cold water, she splashed some on her skin and combed wet fingers through her hair, wishing she had something better to wear to dinner. She doubted Sherry would mind if she showed up in sweats, but still, it wasn't exactly proper. Putting her jacket back on, Claire tried to smooth some of the wrinkles out of it and was unsuccessful. Coming out of the bathroom, she hastily tossed it onto the couch and picked up one of the black sweatshirts Wesker had given her to wear. It wasn't much better, but it'd have to do.
"Sorry," she said apologetically. "I really didn't mean to sleep so long."
The two women left Wesker's room, with Sherry making absolutely sure to lock the door behind them. Claire expected to go back to the elevator and was surprised when Sherry took her down the hall in the opposite direction. She was wearing modest high-heels, and her footsteps clacked softly on the varnished floor. They passed into a large cloister off the main hall and Claire just had to gawk. There was no longer any doubt in her mind that she was in a castle, so she felt confident that the island was located somewhere off the European coast. Claire considered asking Sherry for clarification, but decided against it for the time being. She didn't want to ruin the evening with suspicious questions. Sherry took her down a small flight of stairs and into another corridor. This one had tapestries hanging on the wall in shades of green, brown and antique gold. Sherry stopped at the third door and turned to grin at Claire.
"You know, I'm really happy you could come," she said. "When I told daddy, he actually had the cafeteria make us something special. He said he's really eager to meet you under better circumstances than last time."
At last, something shifted inside Claire's head. She'd heard Sherry refer to her father more than once during the past few hours, but it hadn't actually clicked until now. Sherry was daughter of William Birkin, and it wasn't as if Claire was going to forget about Birkin, since the scientist-turned-homicidal-monster had chased her through Raccoon City and even injected his own daughter with a G-embryo. Remembering the scope of Birkin's mutation and the resulting loss of his intelligence and higher brain functions, not to mention how many times she'd shot him, Claire was at a loss to how he could have survived, barring the possibility of being a complete mental vegetable. Sherry had to be talking about another man, so the title "daddy" was probably honorific, just like "uncle" Albert.
Claire reminded herself to be polite in either case and looked around curiously as they entered the room, finding it very different to what she was used to seeing with Wesker. Whereas the floor in Wesker's room had been made of varnished wood, Claire's shoes made absolutely no noise on Sherry's thick, beige-pink carpet. From what she could see of the living room, the furniture was overstuffed and homey, and looked much more inviting than Wesker's sophisticated collection of mahogany and leather. The most obvious difference between rooms, however, had to be the bookcases. Wall to wall, they contained more volumes than Claire had ever seen outside a public library.
"Sherry? If that's you, I could use some help!"
Noise in the kitchen, which was partitioned off from the rest of the room, drew Claire's attention. Coming to stand just inside the door, Claire was faced with a tall, lanky man trying to pull some Tupperware out of a bag. The difficulty, Claire saw, arose from the fact that his right arm was in a sling. Sherry quickly moved into the kitchen and tugged the cumbersome plastic casserole dish from the bag, placing it on the table.
Sherry gave the man a kiss on the cheek, then turned to smile at Claire. "Claire, I know you've already met before… well, sort of," Sherry cleared her throat uncomfortably, "but I'd like to introduce my father. Daddy, this is Claire, the one I told you about."
Claire studied the man as he turned, recognition already kindling inside her. William Birkin was a boyishly handsome sort of man who looked like he was just hours shy of needing a proper shave, although Claire got the feeling that this was more due to fashion than laziness. However, Birkin's mutation had clearly not been without a price. A thick, ropy scar disfigured the right side of his face, dropping down and extending well below the level of his carelessly loosened necktie. Claire forced herself not to stare, instead meeting Birkin's eyes. For some reason they reminded her of the sea, bright, blue-green, and sparkling.
"So this is Claire, huh?" Moving forward, Birkin held his hand – his left hand – out to shake. Claire awkwardly extended the corresponding limb, feeling the man's soft fingers close around her hand with deceptive strength. "My daughter's told me so much about you," said Birkin softly. "You have no idea how grateful I am for what you did for her."
Claire flushed. "I… It was nothing," she mumbled.
"Somehow I knew you were going to say that," Birkin laughed. "But believe when I say that in my book, what you did hardly qualifies as "nothing". Sherry was a complete stranger to you, but you went out of your way to keep her safe, even risking your life to protect her from… from what I was." Birkin looked at her with a touch of sadness, as if he could communicate a thousand words with his gaze alone. "You are a very strong, very brave girl, Claire. And I'm very sorry for whatever hardships I caused you."
Claire swallowed, embarrassed and sad all at once. She gave Birkin's hand a squeeze, quite unsure what to think of the man. He was a top Umbrella researcher and very much to blame for the tragedy of Raccoon City, but Claire couldn't help but think that he seemed like a nice person when it came down to it. And he was a father. Arguably not a very good one, but a father nonetheless. "You don't have to thank me, Mr. Birkin," said Claire, trying to smile. "Sherry and I are friends, and since we're alive and all… well, let's just forget about it. No sense in bringing up bad memories."
"Spilled milk, huh? I guess that's fair," Birkin offered her a relieved sort of smile and turned back to the table. "I hope you like lasagna and garlic bread. I had it made special just for tonight."
Sherry smiled and leaned close to Claire. "Told you," she whispered.
Claire watched Birkin open a nearby cupboard and fish inside for plates, turning sideways to accommodate his good arm. Claire hesitantly moved forward. "Do you need some help?" she asked, trying not to be offensive.
"Nope. Sherry and I can handle it. You just sit down. You're the guest of honor after all." Birkin pulled down a stack of plates and set them on the counter, winking at her out of the corner of his eye. "Besides, I'm not as helpless as I look."
Moving with the ease of practice, Birkin flipped the top plate into the air and let it spin on his finger before depositing it on the table, grinning cheekily. Claire had no choice but to smile back as she seated herself at the table, knowing that any more offers to help would be rude. She wondered how Birkin had broken his arm, since it was apparent that it'd been in a sling for some time. Long enough for him to get used to it, anyway.
Moving like a well-organized team, Sherry and her father set the table in record time, and Sherry began dishing out food. Claire realized that she was really quite hungry. Not counting Wesker's devious omelet, this would be the first real meal she'd had in over two weeks. There was something about the kitchen that made her feel comfortable, though the term had become somewhat of a misnomer. Being "comfortable" of late simply meant that she wasn't in any immediate danger of having Wesker try to choke her, since that seemed to be his favorite little power fetish.
"Alright," said Birkin, sitting down and picking up a plastic wine glass filled with cider. "I hereby declare a toast. For Claire and for new beginnings."
Claire had to wonder at Birkin's choice of words, but she picked up her glass and touched it to his with a smile. The cider was so cold it numbed her throat on the way down and she got the feeling that it'd been in the freezer until just a minute ago. The lasagna was very good, served with thick slices of melted cheese and garlic bread. She'd fully expected dinner to be a strained and tense sort of affair, but something about Birkin made it easy to open up. The table talk was pleasant enough for a group of near total strangers, occasionally punctuated by Sherry's timid laughter. Claire could tell by the way she sat that the young girl was trying hard to just be herself. Throughout dinner, her hand kept straying to her pocket.
"It's okay, Sherry," said Birkin gently. "You can show Claire."
Claire looked at the girl, confused by the exchange, and couldn't deny a flash of curiosity when Sherry pulled out a folded piece of paper. "I… I wanted to show you this," she whispered, glancing sideways at her father for approval. "I've been taking classes in virology and got my first degree."
Sherry nervously handed Claire the paper and she unfolded it to find a photocopy of a diploma. An on-and-off college girl herself, Claire had no trouble recognizing the prestigious school. "Wow, Sherry. This is amazing!"
"I've got the original one framed in my room," said Sherry proudly.
Claire looked at the diploma again, then back to Sherry. "Geez, you're not even out of high-school and you're raking in degrees like this? That's mind boggling," said Claire, unable to explain the sudden pang in her gut. Another look at the diploma didn't change the fact that it read Advanced Virology and the Study of Organic Chemistry. Claire knew she should be happy for Sherry, but she couldn't help but feel angry somehow. Sherry was barely old enough to drive and the world of Umbrella had already set its claws into her.
"So, you're really into this kind of thing, huh?" Claire pressed carefully.
"Of course. I want to be just like my daddy and Uncle Albert. The things they do… they're great men, Claire."
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure they are," Claire managed, forcing a smile, but the way Sherry's expression suddenly fell sent up all kinds of red flags. "What's wrong? You don't approve, do you?" Sherry asked, and the cool look in her eyes straddled the border between disappointed and accusing.
Claire swallowed, unnerved by how easily the young girl had seen through her. "Sherry, I don't think there's anything wrong with what you're studying. In fact, I think it's great that you're smart enough to even do it," said Claire, feeling like she was trying to defuse a bomb. Across the table, Birkin had a very strained look on his face.
"Then what is it?" Sherry demanded, but when Claire didn't answer right away, understanding gleamed in those eerie blue eyes. "It's because of Uncle Albert, isn't it? You don't want me to be like him."
"Sherry." Birkin's voice held a very distinct warning note.
Claire gulped, fumbled for an answer. "Look, I'll admit that I don't like Wesker, but—"
"Liar. You hate him," Sherry corrected viciously. "So does that mean you hate daddy, too?"
"No! Sherry, please, that's not what I mean at all!"
"Yes, it is!"
"That doesn't mean I've got anything against you or what you're doing in school, I promise!" Claire shot back. "Wesker's done some bad things, Sherry, and if you don't want to see that than that's fine, but don't expect me to like him. I just want to make sure you're doing what you want to do, not what HE wants you to do."
Sherry abruptly stood up, snatching her diploma off the table. "Uncle Albert is not a bad man!" she declared, her voice rising shrilly. "Whatever you've heard, it's not true! And if I grow up to be just like him, then I'll be proud of it!"
Turning on her heel, Sherry stormed out of the room, her blonde hair flying behind her. Claire started to get up, desperate to call after her, but Birkin reached out and touched her shoulder. "No, let her go," he said quietly.
"Mr. Birkin, I… I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to…"
"I know you didn't. And please, call me William. Or just plain old Birkin if you can't handle a first name basis." Birkin glanced after Sherry and heaved a sigh. "Would you like a drink? You are old enough to drink, right?" he asked somberly, getting to his feet.
Claire hesitated a moment and then nodded, mostly because it felt like the correct response. Going to the cupboard, Birkin pulled out two fluted shot glasses, then retrieved a tall amber bottle from the next room. Sitting back down, he poured two glasses of liquor and nudged one towards Claire. Feeling utterly confused and guilty, Claire picked up the glass, but didn't take a drink.
"Sherry's always been a shy girl," said Birkin. "As a child, her mother and I were never around. Our work kept us from being what you would call normal parents, and the worst part was we didn't even stop to question it. There were times in Sherry's life when Albert was around more than her own mother and father, so you can't blame her for idolizing him."
Claire decided not to say anything and just let Birkin continue.
"After I," Birkin swallowed hard, "accidently killed my own wife, I realized how wrong I was on several accounts. When Albert saved me, I was determined to set things straight."
"But you turned into a monster," said Claire. "In Raccoon City, I mean. How did you…?"
"How did I survive? I only remember bits and pieces of the whole affair, but I do know that Albert had Umbrella's militia pull me out of the city before they dropped the nuke. He spent months synthesizing a way to reverse my mutation, so I'm grateful just to be alive. After everything, it's not like I care too much about my physical appearance."
Birkin rubbed his scarred face and Claire noticed for the first time that his right arm – the one bound in a sling – was actually severely twisted and deformed, the fingers of his hand curled rigidly inward. Claire suddenly had an image of that arm swollen and twisted with G-Virus, his mutation warping muscle and bone. The mere fact that Birkin was alive and well was a testament to the power of Wesker's twisted science. Claire tried to imagine him working to save this man, somebody he obviously had some feelings for, unless he'd resurrected Birkin purely for his viral know-how. It was entirely possible, after all.
"Look, if you're trying to sing Wesker's praises for him, I really don't care," said Claire. "Even I were to suddenly forget every other cruel and deceitful thing he's done, how do you explain kidnapping and murder?"
"If you're talking about what happened with Sherry, then the answer's simple. I asked him to," said Birkin. "I'd already lost my wife, Claire. Can you understand how badly I wanted my daughter? It would have taken years to get her back through normal channels. It's hard enough to wade through the trials and bureaucracy without being a man who's known to be associated with Umbrella, which at the time was being accused of truly horrible things. Albert gave me another chance to be with my only daughter and you expect me to fault him for that? I'm sorry, but I can't."
Claire was briefly at a loss for words. A new and unwelcome notion had just entered her mind. If Birkin had wanted his daughter back… and Sherry had wanted to return… did Wesker's actions still qualify as kidnapping? Or had it been a rescue? Claire was no longer sure. She lifted the tumbler of liquor and took a tiny sip. It went down smooth and thick, and tasted strongly of hazelnut. "That doesn't excuse everything else he's done," said Claire at length.
"No. No, it doesn't." Birkin agreed. "But, Claire… there are things about Albert that you don't know."
"Yeah, like what?" Claire challenged.
"It's not my place to tell you. If you want to know, you'll have to ask him. He… We," Birkin amended, "have done some questionable things in our lives. You know what happened in Raccoon City. I'm responsible for the deaths of thousands of people, and I have to live with that. Albert is no different. We have lived in this world – the world of Umbrella – for too long to change, Claire. Nobody can change the tragedies of the past."
Something about the unhappy way Birkin talked made Claire feel as though there was something he wasn't telling her. The unmistakable shadow of fear suddenly made his eyes seem very dark, but there was something else there, too. It gave Claire the impression of guilt, or maybe regret.
"What is it you're trying to tell me, exactly? That Wesker's really a good person?" she asked, trying not to let her sarcasm show.
"Yes, but I'm not trying to force you to change you're mind about anything. I'm only telling you that you don't have all the facts and without them you can't possibly form an accurate conclusion. That's the first rule of science. As for Sherry, all I ask is that you be gentle with her when judging Albert. She may be growing up on the outside, but inside she's still just a little girl who loves her uncle too much."
Claire sighed. "Alright," she agreed. "I guess I can do that."
Birkin smiled wanly. "Thank you. Well, seeing as dinner's pretty much over, perhaps it would be best if you headed back." He finished his liquor and stood up, extending his hand to Claire. "I truly am very grateful for the opportunity to talk to you. I hope you know that."
Claire shook his hand. "Me, too," she said, and strangely enough she meant it.
"Here. Take my ID. You'll need it to get into Albert's room," said Birkin, unclipping the laminated card from his jacket. Claire felt a surge of unease and didn't take it. "Mr. Birkin, I… I don't think..."
"Don't worry about it. I know you're staying with him for some type of medical treatment, so you don't have to explain anything. Albert plays his cards close to his chest, but I'm pretty good at prying on his fingers." Birkin gestured at the swatch of bandaging peeking out of Claire's sleeve. "You can just have him bring it back to me in the morning."
Claire took the ID card, realizing that Birkin had known far more about her than he'd let on. She swallowed, unsure whether to feel grateful or miffed. "Thank you," she mumbled, settling on the first.
"No problem. Can you find your way back alright?"
Claire assured him that she could. Wesker's room wasn't that far. Night had finally fallen out in the corridor, but by no means was the facility dark. The overhead fluorescents had been turned off, but a dazzling mixture of white and amber light poured in through the windows. Claire walked over and peered out, realizing that numerous spotlights illuminated the castle from below, no doubt to show off the grand architecture. The surrounding community was lit up, too, making the island seem like the only spot of light in the middle of a vast sea of darkness.
Claire looked down at Birkin's ID card, watching the light gleam on the smooth plastic. An imbedded strip of metal and a few short words designated it for Level 7 clearance. With it she could go anywhere and do anything on the island, but one glance out the window made Claire realize how futile such an idea was. It would be unsuccessful at best, suicidal at worst, and Claire was just too worn-out to try. Turning, she watched her sneakers slap on the flagstones as she made her way back to Wesker's room, an obedient little slave. Stopping at the door, she had to try the card twice before it worked. As soon as she'd stepped into the room, however, she knew Wesker was already there.
Lifting her eyes, she saw him seated at his desk, his features illuminated by the bluish light of his computer monitor. The brightness was turned down low, however, and was tinged with red around the edges. Claire felt her heart catch as Wesker turned his gaze towards her, his eyes glowing through the lenses of his sunglasses. "Did you have a good time, dear heart?"
Claire swallowed and kept her hand on the doorknob, ready to bolt back into the safety of the corridor. "Dinner was good," she fumbled, forcing herself to answer.
The corner of Wesker's mouth lifted into a slow, unnerving smirk. "Indeed. And how does it feel to have the evidence you've amounted against me slowly get stripped away?"
Claire's heart was beating so hard she was sure Wesker could hear it. She knew he hadn't been watching her discussion with Birkin, but the fact that he'd guessed it made her feel sick and weak on the inside. "You set me up," she croaked, suddenly understanding. "You knew Sherry would be in the greenhouse today."
Wesker's eyes gleamed. "Perhaps," he rumbled, "but don't deny that you're grateful in either case."
Claire opened her mouth to protest and found that she couldn't. She could only stare at the blond tyrant, fear and doubt churning in her gut. Wesker was right, damn him, and there was nothing she could do or say to the contrary. Gathering up what remained of her tattered courage, Claire pushed the door shut and forced her legs to carry her across the room, where she set Birkin's ID on the desk. "He… he wants it back," she managed.
"Of course. I'll see that it's returned," Wesker answered, mocking her.
Consumed by the growing urge to get away from Wesker, Claire hastily moved towards the bathroom, picking up a fresh set of clothes up on the way. She locked the door behind her and stood in the empty bathroom fighting the urge to cry. She wanted to forget everything Birkin had said and hinted at, but she couldn't and that was the absolute crux of her situation. As she turned on the shower and got undressed, she had a sudden image of Wesker watching her on some hidden camera, but she had to disregard the idea as being paranoid.
She walked into Wesker's large shower and started unwinding the bandages around her arm. Through the rising steam, she studied the ugly blemish on her skin, probing the swollen veins with a finger. It felt sore, but not unduly painful, and with that realization came the insight that she was only alive because of Wesker's charity. Claire bit her lip and twisted her hair around one hand, gripping it over her shoulder. The Albert Wesker she thought she knew would have turned Sherry into a test-subject, left Birkin to perish in Raccoon City, and laughed in Chris' face as his sister died slowly in her bedroom.
Claire was acutely aware that while Wesker hadn't exactly been kind, he hadn't mistreated her. Even when he'd grabbed her throat, he'd stopped just shy of doing any actual harm. And as she stood there, the hot water beating down on her back, Claire couldn't help but feel as though Birkin had been right. Some things about Wesker definitely didn't fit with her vision of a murdering tyrant.
A/N: Okay, so I've resurrected Birkin for the purposes of this story. And yes, I know he mutated into a blob of fangs and jelly totally unrecognizable as a human being, but let's pretend that his transformation didn't advance past the first stage, with the big grotesque arm and all that. Then Wesker sent the troops to collect him just before the city turned into a nuclear blast crater. Unlikely? Maybe. But this is AU. If you want to find out what really happened, go play the game. ;)
Cookies are hereby awarded to anonymous coward for reviewing the last chapter. He/she noticed all the subtleties and foreshadowing, and perfectly summarized exactly what I'm trying to do with Wesker. Thanks a million for the amazing feedback! I truly appreciate you taking the time to be so in-depth about my story! ^_^