Chapter 9: A New Genesis
"I've never felt so alone in my life, as I drank from the cup which was counting my time.
There's a poison drop in this cup of man. To drink it is to follow the left hand path…"
Claire watered the newborn rose and began gently misting it with a spray bottle of cold water. She'd nosed around a bit and learned from Dr. Connors' that the rose's native environment was often foggy due to an influx of cold air dropping down from the mountains and clashing with warm, damp air rising up from the surrounding valley. The old woman had been misting the rose for years with little success and Claire had no idea why it seemed to be working now, but it obviously wasn't hurting. The rosebush still looked as though it was in rather poor health, but the black spots had faded dramatically and Claire noticed several clusters of new, bright green leaves getting ready to unfurl.
Claire distantly heard the door to the greenhouse open and Dr. Connors' lilting voice floated through the plants as she conversed with one of the coed's. Setting down her things, Claire sprinted through the greenhouse, her hands shaking with excitement. Coming around the corner, she saw the doctor talking with a tall, dark-haired guy in khakis.
"Dr. Connors!"
"Well, good morning, Claire. Aren't you just a chirpy wee bird this morning? What ever is going on?"
Claire pushed loose strands of hair out of her eyes, grinning so broadly her face was beginning to hurt. "Come see," she urged. "It's your roses. I got one to bloom!"
Dr. Connors' brown eyes went wide. "…What? How?" She hurried through the greenhouse after Claire, leaving the guy she'd been talking with to blink in confusion, a Styrofoam cup of coffee forgotten in one hand. Claire skidded to a halt beside the tray of rosebushes, pointing to the single flower. Dr. Connors stared at it for a long time, one chubby hand moving to touch the unfurling blossom. "This isn't right," she whispered, staring. "It shouldn't look like this."
Claire anxiously explained what had happened, starting with the pollen. "I figured out which ones were resistant to this disease, then I went around and got pollen from them," she explained. "I didn't think anybody would mind, and I thought it would be fun to just… I don't know, play around. And I've been misting them just like you told me."
Dr. Connors reached inside the planter and pulled out a muddy Popsicle stick on which Claire had scribbled the word Orchid. "An orchid? But I… I don't understand. Their families are so terribly far apart!" She glanced at the rose as if trying to see some telltale characteristic to indict that it's parentage was part orchid. "Do you remember which one you used? You did keep track better than this, didn't you?" She waved the Popsicle stick.
Claire felt small thrill of panic. "No," she admitted, "but there was only one that came up on the computer. It was from Brazil," she added helpfully.
By now, several other people had come over to investigate the commotion. They were murmuring, pointing, and looking at Claire as if trying to ascertain that yes, they had indeed seen her before. One woman had her cell phone out and was snapping pictures. Dr. Connors told one of them to check the computers for an orchid from Brazil, peppering Claire for exactly what she'd put in the search field. It didn't take long for them to narrow things down.
Dr. Connors put her thick glasses on and bent close to see, her lips moving as she read the description on the monitor. "You're a genius, lass!" she exclaimed. "Cross-species pollination almost never works, and to think… a rose and an orchid! How did you do it?"
Claire flushed and tried to convince Dr. Connors that she'd only been messing around and really didn't have a clue what she was doing, but nobody was listening. Despite her repeated protests, the greenhouse staff was gazing at her with mingled expressions of awe and jealousy, and a few even gave her conspiratorial winks. Someone asked her what school she'd attended. Claire was trying to find a way to answer without getting rude when the crowd behind her parted and she felt a cool chill go down her back. She figured this was exactly how a rabbit felt when a predator was nearby.
"Dr. Connors? Yes, I got your message. What is so important that you thought it required my personal attention?" As always, Wesker's voice was polite, if cool and noticeably impersonal. A cop's voice, or how a doctor sounds when he really couldn't care less about you, Claire thought, resisting the urge to hide as Dr. Connors animatedly pointed out the rose. There was a heavy pause.
"…It's magnificent," Wesker breathed, striding forward. As he bent over the rose and examined its unusual blooms, Claire felt her excitement peter out like a deflating balloon. The crowd began to murmur in earnest and Claire didn't have to hear what they said to know what they were talking about.
"How did you accomplish this?" Wesker asked, looking at Dr. Connors.
The old woman smiled and Claire felt as though a vault was closing over her head. "Well, as much as would like to take credit for it, considering how long I've worked on the wee things, I had nothing to do with this. You need to ask Claire."
Claire felt her heart spasm as Wesker turned to look at her. "Is that so?" he purred, his voice resonating on so low an octave it sent a profound thrill through Claire's body, settling in places she'd rather not think about. "Well, then, dear heart, would you kindly explain to me what it is that you did?"
The entire world slowed down to an agonized crawl. Claire's mind reeled. Fear and embarrassment kept her utterly still, frozen like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car. Was Wesker planning to kill the rose just out of spite? She couldn't let that happen. It was hers. She'd saved it! She'd worked for it! Claire swallowed, trying to read the gleam in Wesker's eyes, but before she could figure it out, she suddenly identified the tone in his voice and it made her body clench all the harder.
It was satisfaction, and it only increased the elation she was trying to deny herself. Claire considered herself a humble person, but at the thought that she'd done something that nobody else had been able to do… well, she was allowed to feel some kind of pride, wasn't she? As if someone had thrown a switch, Claire suddenly realized that Wesker was still waiting for an answer and she panicked. How long had she stood here without saying anything? But his eyes were still fixed on her face, his expression unchanged. No more than a few seconds had passed.
"It… it was sick. The rose, I mean," Claire managed at last. "I felt bad and I wanted to do something to help, so I looked up the plants that were immune to the disease and I pollinated the rose with them." It sounded so stupid Claire blanched, trying to maintain eye contact despite the squirming in her stomach. "I'm not sure how it worked."
"Neither do I, quite frankly," said Wesker, looking at the rose again. "Unless…" His eyes moved back to her and Claire felt sure they lingered more than necessary on her hand. The partially healed cuts started to itch as though reacting to his scrutiny. Over the whisper of the crowd, Dr. Connors asked what Wesker intended to do with the new rose.
"Give it the best care this facility can offer," he replied, "since it is now the rarest flower in existence and I expect it to be treated as such. Towards that end, I wish to have a word with Dr. Redfield."
The crowd didn't move.
"In private," Wesker clarified smoothly, though his tone left no room for argument.
Shooting glances at Claire – and some of them were decidedly resentful – the mob dispersed. Claire straightened, her heart unconsciously beating faster as she realized that she was now alone with Wesker. "I'm impressed, dear heart," he said, his voice unnervingly deep and mellow. "Even my head botanist never came close to this kind of achievement. May I ask what you're going to call it?"
"…What?"
Wesker smirked at her. "The rose," he said. "You created it. The species is yours to name as you see fit."
Claire felt a wave of heat climb into her face. "It was an accident," she muttered, trying to protest. She didn't want Wesker's praise… or did she? Why did listening to him spark such a fierce glow of pride?
"Are you so sure?"
Claire worked hard to swallow the lump in her throat. She'd never thought this would happen, even in her wildest dreams. Wesker had called it the rarest flower in existence, and it was hers. All at once, things felt strange and twisted, and absolutely unbelievable. Some distant part of her brain was waving a red flag, trying to tell her that Wesker's noticeable interest in the rose stemmed from something other than simple curiosity. That was when she realized why he was acting so obviously satisfied with her.
It's because I did something Umbrella would be proud of. I played God and ended up creating Paradise, Claire thought, the sudden epiphany sweeping over her. Facing Wesker, she realized that they were both wearing pristine lab coats with the Umbrella logo stitched over the breast pocket like a badge of allegiance. Claire unconsciously twisted her hands, trying to find some measure of revulsion for her situation, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it right now. Fear stabbed her, knowing that was exactly what Wesker wanted.
"I don't know what to call it," she said, deliberately forgetting about his other question.
"Then think about it. I'm sure it will come to you. In the meantime, would you mind if I took a sample?"
Claire lifted her eyes to his face. He was hovering over the rose, waiting for her permission. Claire nodded slowly and watched as Wesker crammed a petal and a few leaves into a vial. Then the entire container disappeared into his coat pocket. Turning, he closed the distance between them until he was just under arm's length from Claire, forcing her to tip her head back slightly in order to keep her gaze on his face. She was slightly taller than average for a woman, but Wesker was taller still.
"Why did you call me Dr. in front of those people?" she demanded, needing to say something to break the silence. "I nowhere near smart enough to be a doctor of anything!"
Wesker smiled. "Would you like to be?" he purred, sounding amused.
Claire was shocked into silence. What was Wesker implying? That she could be a one of Umbrella's scientists? "If you're asking what I think you're asking, then the answer's no," said Claire, trying to make her voice sound icy. "I'll never be a part of Umbrella and that's final."
"Why not?"
Claire opened her mouth to give him a whole slew of reasons, but before she could, Wesker placed his finger over her lips, making her taste the leather of his glove. "Ah, now think about it, dear heart," he chided. "Before you answer, I want you to ask yourself if what you've done today is so very despicable."
Claire didn't say anything at first, and it took her the better half of a minute to realize that she hadn't jerked away from Wesker like she should have. The heat of his hand – since his temperature seemed to run several degrees higher than a normal person – molded his leather glove to her lips, and she was uncomfortably aware that Wesker had begun to gently move his thumb back and forth under her chin. She pulled her head out of reach, her cheeks burning.
"I'm not sure what to think," she said at last, failing to devise a witty comeback.
Wesker smirked and Claire frowned at him as he turned away. So far, hurling candy dishes at his head was the only thing that really got under the man's skin. Everything else only seemed to amuse him and it frustrated Claire to no end. She licked her lips without even thinking about it, tasting the foamy tang of saddle soap. It was still warm where his finger had been.
Vehemently shaking herself, Claire went back to staring at her rose, forced to admit that – true to her worst fears – she was secretly filled with pride. Wesker had given her an honest compliment and she found herself savoring his words in some dark, forbidden place deep within her soul. For the first time in nearly a week, Claire almost felt happy.
Later that day, after narrowly escaping a mob of people wanting to congratulate her on her "success" and/or wanting to know every aspect of her personal life, Claire was just coming out of the bathroom when Wesker beckoned her over to his desk. With her emotions unraveling from the day's events, Claire irritably came over and folded her arms. "What?" she demanded crossly.
"Watch your tone, dear heart," said Wesker. "Speaking with your brother is a privilege, but I won't have any qualms about revoking it."
That threw Claire for a loop. She stared at Wesker, blinking owlishly. "…You're going to let me talk to him again?" she asked, stunned. She'd assumed Wesker had allowed her on the phone the first time for no other reason other than to remind Chris how powerless he was. "Aren't you worried I'll tell him something?"
Wesker picked up the phone and began to dial. "Go ahead," he stated mildly. "Just don't forget the consequences."
He held the phone out to her, the line ringing ominously in the stillness. For a moment, Claire faced him over the receiver and their eyes locked, issuing a silent challenge. It'd been just over a month since the last time they'd done this, and although things had changed somewhat the issue of trust, i.e. control was still a sore point. Indignant and uncertain, Claire took the receiver and held it to her ear. The line clicked after the fourth or fifth ring.
"Hi, there!"
"Jill," said Claire, relieved. "Hey, it's me. How's—"
"You've reached the home of Chris and Claire Redfield, and me, Jill Valentine. We're out right now, but feel free to leave a message after the beep."
Claire's heart fell. This was so unbelievably typical. Wesker had given her a chance to talk to her brother and she got the goddamn answering machine. Heaving a sigh, she waited for the beep. "Hey, uh… Chris? It's Claire. I just wanted to tell you and Jill that I'm okay and—"
Suddenly, the line picked up and Jill's frantic voice – her real voice, not a recording – filled Claire's ear. "Claire? Oh, my God, is that really you?" she gasped.
"Well, I'm not sure. I know my brother wears SpongeBob boxers, so what do you think?" said Claire, relief swelling in her chest. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Wesker raise an eyebrow, but she couldn't bring herself to care. On the phone, Jill sounding like she was stuck in between laughing and crying.
"When we didn't hear from you, we thought… Oh, who gives a damn?" she exclaimed. "Chris! Chris, get down here! It's Claire!" Judging by the sound, Jill was holding the phone slightly away from her face. There was a distant pounding, the sound of somebody running– no, hurtling down the stairs, and the phone changed hands.
"Claire-bear?" Chris sounded wild and out of breath. In the background, Claire could hear Jill yelling at her brother to please wrap a towel around himself and she started to laugh. "Did… did you just get out of the shower?" she giggled, trying to picture Chris standing in the buff.
"Damn straight," said Chris vehemently. "Are you alright? What's that bastard been doing to you? I swear, if he's touched you I'll tear his goddamn head off!"
Claire was momentarily taken aback by the force of her brother's hatred. "Chill out, Chris," she said, uncertain how to describe the feeling that suddenly coursed through her. "I'm okay, and I'm feeling much better, too."
"Yeah? You still taking those shots?" asked Chris darkly.
"I have to. And no, they're not tranquilizers or anything like that. I think I'd know if they were," said Claire. She was getting stronger and she wasn't sleeping nearly as much during the day. That pretty much ruled out the possibility of sedatives, at least in her mind. "Anyway, I've been eating a lot more and getting plenty of sun in the greenhouse," she said, sitting on the edge of Wesker's desk. The blond tyrant was typing on his computer, but she knew better than to think he wasn't listening in.
"A greenhouse? What the hell would Wesker need a greenhouse for?" Chris demanded.
"Chris, will you please throw a blanket on or something! Your tic-tac is not that exciting!" Jill's voice echoed distantly through the phone line. There was some grumbling, followed by the flap of cloth. "So, what about the greenhouse?" Chris asked, sounding mildly embarrassed.
Claire explained what she could, unable to deny that she'd formed an unlikely attachment to the place. It was strange how quickly she'd gotten used to it, but she liked the greenhouse, the blazing sun and the heavy smell of plants. "You wouldn't believe everything that's growing in there, Chris. There's palm trees and orchids and medicinal herbs, and all sorts of endangered stuff from around the world. There's even roses."
Especially roses, Claire thought, warmth ballooning inside her. She wondered if she should tell Chris.
"So he just lets you wander around on your own?" asked Chris. "Are you kidding me?"
"No, but the ID card he gave me only works for one or two levels, and the isl– this place is built like a fortress. I couldn't go anywhere even if I wanted to," said Claire, but even as the words left her lips she realized that "not going anywhere even if I wanted to" was a far cry from "not going anywhere even if I tried". The concept was a frightening one.
"So you're sure you're alright?"
"Give it a rest, will you? I already said I am," said Claire. "Anyway, Sherry's here with me. Isn't that great?"
"Sherry? Aw, man… are you sure?"
"Well, yeah. Geez, do you think I've gone blind or something?" Claire demanded crossly. "I met her in the greenhouse about two weeks ago. She's grown a lot since the last time I saw her. It's seriously scary. Anyway, we talked and hung out, and all that happy stuff. She's doing fine as far as I can tell."
"Huh. For being a prisoner," Chris grumbled.
"Oh, get real. Her dad's here, too."
"You mean that guy… aw, crap what's his name? Birkin!" Chris exclaimed, clicking his fingers. "Didn't you tell me he turned into Godzilla and chased you all over the goddamned city?"
"Go figure, huh? I swear, people are cropping up all over the place around here. So, what's happening with you and Jill?"
Chris paused. Claire could almost see him blinking. "Huh?"
"You heard me," said Claire. "I don't know how long I've got to talk to you," she glanced sidelong at Wesker, "and I don't want to spend it all talking about if I'm feeling better than yesterday, alright? I just… I just don't want you to worry."
"Yeah, well, until you're outside washing your motorcycle that's not gonna happen," said Chris sourly. "You're acting like you're just at some rehab center or something! Stop pretending that you're safe, because you aren't and don't forget it." His voice was dark and angry, laced with bitterness.
Claire's stomach twisted. "Chris, come on," she pleaded.
There was a testy word from Jill and a dull thud. Claire got the feeling her brother had just been elbowed. Grumbling, Chris relented by giving her a quick verbal replay on all the insignificant little things that had occurred during the past month.
"There's really not much to tell. I get up, I sit on the couch, Jill goes shopping, we eat, and I go back to bed. Rinse and repeat," said Chris, his words followed by another bout of indistinct background chatter. "Jill says to tell you somebody discovered some old Spanish castle or mission or whatever the hell you call it up in the mountains about eighty miles outta town. It's been all over the news."
"Really? Sounds cool," said Claire, her interest piqued.
"Whatever. I tell you one thing, though. It's riled up some crazy-ass church group. Talk about nutters. They're all over town pasting flyers on any flat surface they can find, including my windshield," Chris muttered. "Took me an hour to get the glue off, and by then I think I knew their stupid bulletin by heart. Judgment Day's coming, don't you know?"
Claire sniggered. "That's what you get for not parking in the garage," she said.
"The garage? Have you looked in there lately? It's turned into Jill's personal storage barn!" Chris exclaimed.
At that moment, something in Wesker's pocket began to ring softly. Shifting, he pulled out a sleek black Palm Pilot and tapped it with his thumb. Claire saw a short burst of words pop up on the screen. Test complete. You need to see this. –Will
Wesker replaced the device in his pocket, turning his attention to Claire. "Alright, dear heart. Say your goodbyes to Chris. There's someplace I have to be," he said, getting up from his chair.
Claire nodded mutely. A sharp pain cut across her chest at the thought that she might not hear from Chris again for another month, but pushing her luck was not an option. She was having a hard time believing Wesker was being this generous to begin with. "I gotta go, Chris," she said quietly, her throat tightening. "I love you."
"What? Claire, come on! Don't go!" Chris cried, and Claire's heart wanted to break.
"I'm sorry, Chris. I'll try to talk to you again real soon, alright? I miss you guys a lot."
"Claire-bear, I…" Chris swallowed, cleared his throat. "I love you, too. Please, be safe, okay?"
"I will," Claire whispered and she hung up the phone, coughing slightly to mask the sound of her wanting to cry. Shivers raced across her skin as Wesker's casually stroked the curve of flesh where her neck met her shoulder. "It is regrettable that things are like this, dear heart," he said quietly. "Don't make yourself miserable."
Claire swallowed a very, very hard lump in her throat. Go away. Please, just go away.
He squeezed her shoulder, showing her the barest hint of the strength he was capable of, and then moved towards the door. Claire looked around the room, at the granite walls and massive bed, at the heavy drapes and leather sofa set. It was simultaneously a haven and a prison to her, just like the greenhouse, just like the island. Just like her rose. And as this thought occurred to Claire, part of one of her favorite songs came floating up to great her, coming out of whatever forgotten place such things are kept.
"Nightwish," she said suddenly, and Wesker turned to look at her. Claire faced him squarely, though she did not get up from her seat on his desk. "The rose. I want to call it Nightwish," she told him. "Unless that won't work."
A smile coiled itself around Wesker's lips. "It's perfect," he rumbled.
A/N: I made another illustration for the story! Whoo-hoo! :) I've been working on this one for a while and I'm very pleased with how it turned out. Beware Wesker's smexy smirky-smirk. We all know what he's thinking. It goes something along the lines of "Come to the dark side, dear heart. We have cookies."
A great BIG thanks goes out to everyone who's taken the time to review! I can't describe how much I appreciate you guys for providing my weekly inspiration. ^_^ And in case you're wondering, the song Claire is referring to is quoted at the beginning of the chapter. I thought it reflected her current feelings towards Umbrella and Wesker.