Chapter 12: Crimson Masquerade. Pt. 1

Lying on her stomach with a pillow shoved under her chest for support, Claire was busily writing in her journal. The small notebook was growing dog-eared and worn, and smelled faintly like ink. Post-It notes in nearly every color of the rainbow were stuck to the pages, sometimes poking out like colorful little bookmarks.

Wesker's Castle (aka, Mont St. Michel)

It's been almost two months since I got here, and this'll be the seven-millionth time I've mentioned my rose in just this past week alone. Wesker came by a few days ago and we tried to make some more of them, but I'm still not sure if it worked. They've lost all of their flowers, but I don't know if that's good or bad (probably bad) and Wesker hasn't been around long enough for me to ask. I know he's in a good mood, though. Not that he shows it. At least not to me, anyway.

We kissed and made up—

Claire made a face and hastily scratched out the words.

We settled our disagreement in the greenhouse last week (why I did that, I'll never know) but I really haven't seen him since. I can't tell if he's really busy or just avoiding me, and I can't figure out why I care, either. I wish I knew what to think of him. I really do! After I heard him mumbling about Alex, I've been thinking about him a lot. Wesker, I mean. I want to just ask him about what really happened, but

A knock at the door jarred Claire from her thoughts. Swinging her feet around and putting them on the floor, she got off the bed and went over to open it, taken aback to discover it was Wesker. It was if she'd conjured him up just by thinking about him and Claire resisted the urge to furtively glance down the corridor, certain that she'd spot Rod Serling leaning against the wall with his customary cigarette.

"I trust I'm not interrupting anything?" Wesker asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"No," Claire fumbled, jerking her eyes back to his face. "I was just thinking about you."

"Oh? And what exactly was I doing in your thoughts, dear heart?" Wesker's eyebrow seemed to have suddenly gained the ability to hoist the corner of his mouth, because that's exactly what it was doing.

"No, that's not—" Claire started to vehemently disabuse Wesker of whatever dirty notions had entered his brain when she realized that saying anything would only dig her grave deeper. She favored him with a murderous frown, heat blooming on her cheeks. "What do you want?" she demanded, changing the topic.

Wesker smirked, the diabolical bastard. "I thought you'd like to know that our experiment worked," he said. "Your blood took and the roses are well on their way to becoming fully-fledged hybrids. Congratulations."

Claire's indignation evaporated on the spot. "Really? That's great!" She froze, realizing that such blatant excitement over Umbrella's latest triumph was probably not a good thing, least of all for Wesker's ego. "I mean, I'm glad it worked… for you I mean," she amended, feeling her face glow even hotter. Damn it, why was nothing coming out right today?

Wesker chuckled. "I'm glad to hear that," he said, "but that's not the only thing I came to discuss with you. Umbrella is about to release a new product and the unveiling is scheduled to happen tonight. Or course, I'll be leading the conference," he said, unconscious arrogance in his voice.

"Ergo, some new wonder drug with a big fancy name? Channel 7 will want an interview!" Claire deadpanned, not quite sure where Wesker was going with this. Why on earth would she care what he had planned for the evening?

Wesker's smile widened. "Would you like to come, dear heart? That is what I'm asking, after all."

Of all the shocking, off-the-wall questions Wesker could have asked, that one took the cake. Claire gawked at him with a mixture of astonishment and suspicion. "And just why would you want me to come?" she demanded as soon as she found her voice. "What kind of screwed-up game are you playing now?"

Wesker cocked his head at her. "Dear heart, you wound me," he laughed. "I merely assumed you would enjoy the change in scenery."

Claire stared at him for a beat. She knew next to nothing about fancy corporate parties, but she was pretty sure that showing up in jeans and a sweater would be frowned upon. "I haven't got anything nice to wear," she said, trying to cut him off at the pass, so to speak. Surely Wesker would see the problem with her wardrobe and decide that he didn't want to be seen with her after all, thus relieving her of having to make the choice for herself. She really didn't want to think about going with Wesker, because then she'd have to actually examine her current set of feelings towards him.

Disconcertingly, however, Wesker merely waved his hand. "I foresee no problems with your wardrobe," he said.

Claire suddenly realized that he'd already planned ahead. She frowned at Wesker, trying to discern his ulterior motive, but his smug expression gave nothing away. That alone triggered all kinds of alarm bells, but Claire was deeply compelled to accept his offer even though she was probably traipsing headfirst into a well-laid trap. She gulped, caught in a terrible tug of war as the two halves of her mind – or heart, which one was it really? – went to war over the matter. Wesker ran his finger down the side of her face, leaving a trail of heat.

"You can always tell me your decision later," he offered.

With that, the last of Claire's stubborn resolve wore away. It was the petting that had done it, the manipulative bastard. But of course, Claire was just in it for the chance to escape. She'd be in a crowd of people, so there'd be ample chances to break away from Wesker. He couldn't try to choke her in public or just toss her over his shoulder. Yeah, that was it. That was why she was going to accept.

"No, that's okay. I'll come," Claire told him, but the note in her voice betrayed her real thoughts on the matter. Stupid, treacherous brain. It was far too easily influenced by the flood of hormones triggered by Wesker's touch… and voice… and smell. Damn it, Claire. Get away from him. Get away from him NOW!

Claire stepped back, probably a bit too quickly. Wesker didn't seem to notice. "I'll send somebody to assist you around 8:00 this evening," he said, turning to go. "Kindly be in your room at that time, dear heart. I don't want to be late."

Yes, go. So long, prick! Claire glowered at his retreating back, then shut the door and leaned her back against it, trying to sort through the whirling mass of her thoughts. A feeling of anxiety – Claire refused to use the word excitement – settled deep in her stomach and as the day dragged on, it was exactly like being a kid again and counting those agonizing minutes to Christmas morning, or a trip to the carnival. At 7:15, Claire was biting a hangnail and trying to come up with a way to get out of her predicament. She could always tell Wesker she was having female problems, but she wasn't ready to stoop to that level just yet.

At 7:30 she was in the shower nervously trying to wash her hair, figuring she might as well be clean for her trip to the executioner's block. Wrapping her hair in a towel, she made herself a cup of tea and wished for an outbreak of T-Virus or a brain aneurysm, anything to save her from attending Wesker's so-called party. There was a knock at the door and Claire's heart leapt into her throat. "Uh… come in," she managed, tearing her hair out of the towel.

A tall Asian woman came into the room. Her beauty was exotic and sensual in a way most supermodels would sell what little remained of their souls to achieve. She was wearing a short black dress with a pattern of sequined red butterflies spilling diagonally from her left shoulder to her right hip. They flashed and glittered as she walked, her high heels clacking on the floor. Standing in sweats with her wet hair starting to soak the back of her shirt, Claire felt like a gangly teenager by comparison. She resisted the crazy urge to crawl under the bed.

"And you must be Claire."

Claire forced a smile. "Yeah, that's me," she managed. In a sudden flash of recognition, she realized that she'd seen this woman from a distance at least once during her stay on the island. "Sorry, but, uh… who are you?" she asked, thoroughly embarrassed.

The woman smiled. "I'm Ada," she said, her dark eyes gleaming with— what exactly? Amusement? Curiosity? She crossed the room with the grace of a dancer, her silky black hair bobbing with every step. "I heard you're going to a party tonight."

Claire blanched. "Yeah, I guess," she muttered. So this was the woman Leon had told her about, Umbrella's private Mata Hari. No wonder Leon was still infatuated with her.

Oblivious to her thoughts, Ada's perfect red lips curved upwards. "Nervous?" she asked, a teasing note in her voice.

You have no freaking idea, thought Claire, her thoughts going to Wesker.

"Well, don't be. We're going to doll you up so nice, you won't even recognize yourself," said Ada, and for the first time Claire noticed she was carrying a plastic shopping bag. She eyed it suspiciously as Ada put it on the bed and reached inside. A moment later Claire realized that she was WAY over her head.

Ada didn't just pull out one dress. She pulled out three, carefully spreading them out of the bed. Claire's jaw unhinged as she looked them over. Two black, one red, and all of them cut to reveal a lot of skin. Her skin. Claire gulped, thinking about Wesker's predatory smirks, and lost her nerve right there. She took a deep breath, but Ada beat her to it. "So, which one do you like? Or would you like to try them all on?" she asked.

There was nothing else for it. Claire couldn't think of a way to escape without either becoming extremely rude or running screaming from the room. She self-consciously undressed and stood in her underwear as Ada worked the black cocktail dress over her head. Claire turned to look at herself in the mirror. Oh, no. No, no.

The dress itself wouldn't have been so bad if not for that provocative slit running the length of one side, revealing one of her legs. Claire had an image of Wesker's fingers gliding along the length of her thigh and she hastily started tugging the dress off. "Too tight," she lied and as Ada carefully folded the dress and put it away, Claire selected the red one to try on next. Even lying on the bed, Claire could tell that the other black one was cut way too low in the front. Looking that sexy in front of Wesker was the last plan on her agenda.

As Claire slipped into the red gown, however, she couldn't help letting out a soft gasp of delight. The dress was sleeveless and open in the back, exposing the creamy expanse of her back and dropping low enough to hint at the soft mound of her derriere. Claire swallowed, running her hands against the gown. The deep red silk felt expensive and it made her uncomfortable just being in it. Yet the dress was undoubtedly very beautiful, alluring in a very physical sort of way, as if the gown straddled the border between modest and provocative

"Mmm. It looks gorgeous on you," said Ada.

Claire turned slightly in front of the mirror, watching the gown shimmer in the light. "It does, doesn't it?" she murmured, feeling strange, but she agreed to wear it anyway. Ada seemed pleased with her choice and produced a pair of matching red heels. Claire was relieved to find that they fit her well and weren't too high. Thank God for small miracles.

"Sit down," said Ada, patting the bed. "Let's dry your hair and put it up."

Claire grudgingly sat down, watching as Ada procured a small hairdryer and several combs from the shopping bag, leaving her to wonder what else the woman had stashed in there. A blast of hot air rushed over the back of her neck and Claire nervously shut her eyes, letting Ada work without interrupting her. The Asian woman clearly had a lot of experience with this sort of thing and Claire couldn't say she was surprised. Butterflies churned inside her stomach, a sensation only heightened when Ada finished with her hair and brought out the makeup.

Even though she was pretty, Claire had never been overly concerned with her appearance. Jeans and a blouse were as dressy as she got, and she never wore any makeup except for very special occasions. As Ada rapidly pumped the mascara brush up and down, coming at her with a very predatory air, Claire shrank back a little.

"Is that really necessary?" she begged. She was already uncomfortable enough.

Ada looked at her as though she'd gone mad. "Oh, come on. I'm not going to bite, I promise," she said, bending forward until she had Claire at her mercy, a helpless Barbie doll. Claire forced herself to put up with the mascara, but flat out refused to put lipstick on. To her intense relief, however, Ada agreed, but only if Claire used lip-gloss instead. Looking at the dark red tube of lipstick versus a mostly clear, pinkish gloss, it was an offer Claire couldn't refuse. Now more than ever, she wished she'd never taken Wesker up on his offer.

At last, and only after Claire threatened to take off her shoe and club Ada to death with it, the Asian woman finally relented. Claire got up to survey herself in the mirror and gasped. She didn't know the woman staring back at her, but she was absolutely beautiful, her inferno-colored red hair knotted elegantly at the back of her head, blue eyes accentuated by dark, glossy lashes. The effect was striking but not overdone, simple but not underplayed. Filled with a kind of electric shock, Claire reached up to stroke the gown and the woman in the mirror did the same, but it didn't dispel her uncertainty. In fact, it only made it worse and something on her face must have shown it.

Over her shoulder, the satisfied grin on Ada's face began to fade. Suddenly, Claire realized that the Asian woman was touching her arm. "What's bothering you, Claire?" she asked. "You don't want to go, do you?"

Her tone was so beguiling that, against her better judgment, Claire found herself answering despite the fact that she was talking to a near total stranger. "It's complicated," she muttered. "For one, I've not used to dressing up like this or going to fancy parties. For two, I don't know if it's a good idea going with him. Wesker, I mean."

Understanding suddenly gleamed in Ada's dark, slanted eyes. "You're afraid of him, aren't you?" she asked, startling Claire with the how quickly she'd seen through to the heart of the matter.

"You'd have to be insane not to be," said Claire, not sure what else to say.

"True, but what do you really think about him?" Ada asked. "Do you love him?"

Claire scowled. "No," she said quickly, vehemently.

"Do you hate him then?"

Claire opened her mouth, but nothing came out. "I… I don't know," she said after a minute, and it was the God-honest truth. The Wesker she'd been forced to interact with this past month was nothing like the cruel, cold-hearted bastard she'd expected him to be. No, she didn't love him, but she'd didn't think she hated him anymore, either. Ada sat down on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs with a provocative grace Claire had a feeling would drive most men wild.

"Then I think you should go," said Ada simply. "He loves to play games with people, but you're more lucky than you realize."

"Yeah, how so?" Claire demanded.

"I've known him for a long time now and he's never asked me to go to parties with him, not unless he needed me to sneak away halfway through the night and hack some unlucky CEO's computer," said Ada, but not bitterly, In fact, she seemed to view it as amusing, as if she'd long since resigned herself to the fact. Claire gawked at her. With her exotic good looks and easy confidence, Claire couldn't picture Ada having trouble finding a lover, but Wesker had never given her that kind of attention, something Claire realized that she'd actually been expecting.

So he invited me when he could have just gone alone. Why? Claire swallowed, the butterflies in her stomach redoubling their efforts to flutter up into her mouth. Ada smiled, knowing that Claire had gotten the point, and stood up to dig through the shopping bag again. Claire stood frozen as the woman handed her a soft black overcoat and red satin clutch.

"Here, you're going to need these," she said. "You might have people sticking cameras in your face and all that, so unless you really know how to answer without embarrassing yourself or the chairman, the phrase "No comment" is going to be your best friend tonight. Oh, and try to have fun, all right?"

Claire mouth moved soundlessly as Ada gathered up her things and drifted out of the room. How the hell was she supposed to have any kind of fun after a comment like that? She heard a man's voice just down the corridor – Ada had stopped to talk to someone – and Claire hastily shrugged into the coat. A moment later, Wesker came into the room and Claire stared at him in surprise. Wesker was dressed in an expensive dinner jacket and Claire got the feeling that the garment had been tailored especially for him, accentuating the lean, angular lines of his body. A glint caught her eye and she noticed he wore a small enameled version of the Umbrella logo pinned to his lapel.

Claire gulped, her mind blank of anything to say. Overtop everything else, Wesker was also wearing a long leather coat, the collar turned up to frame his sharp chin, and Claire had always had a perilous weakness for leather. She shook herself, turning her attention to what Wesker was taking out of his pocket. "Take these," he said, handing her two syringes. "If you start feeling ill, you'll let me know immediately. Do I make myself clear?"

Claire nodded and slipped the syringes into her handbag. Now she knew why Ada had given her the little purse. Was she really in that much danger of relapsing, or was Wesker just being overly cautious?

Wesker held out his hand. "Now if you're ready, it's time we were off," he purred.

Claire went to him as though she was asleep, painstaking trying to walk straight in high heels. Wesker escorted her through the facility and up a narrow flight of stairs she'd never been to before. The helipad was dark and wet, and nearby lights reflected on the ground in dappled splotches. A large black chopper sat idling its engine, rotor blades turning lazily in the cold night air. A small strobe light illuminated the ubiquitous Umbrella logo painted on the tail. Turning her head to look towards the horizon and the dark ocean far below, Claire forget to concentrate on walking and stumbled in her heels.

At once, Wesker's arm deftly encircled around her waist and pulled her close. "Careful, dear heart."

Hastily regaining her footing, Claire's senses were suddenly overwhelmed by Wesker's close proximity— the unforgettable smell of leather, that alluring cologne he always wore, the solid feeling of his arm around her waist. Hoping the darkness would conceal the blood rushing to her face, Claire slid into the chopper. Seconds after Wesker had closed the door, she felt the engine gun to full and the deep throbbing of the rotors filled her ears. Within moments they were flying over the dark Atlantic, leaving Mont St. Michel behind, but Claire knew that she hadn't escaped the monster.

It was in the helicopter with her.

A/N: Sorry, folks. I'm going to have to cut things short here. It was originally designed to be part of one whole chapter, but by the time I'd finished it was encroaching on 9,000 words, far too much for one update, and this was the only good stopping point. Don't worry, though. You'll get the lion's share of this chapter next week!

Oh, and I've made another illustration!

THANK YOU for all your reviews on the last chapter! ^_^