*puts on thick Transylvanian accent* I bid you velcome, my peeps! Listen to it – the sound of my keyboard. Vhat music it makes! LOL! Here's hoping you enjoy some long-awaited chapters. Yes, you heard that right. Chapters. Plural. I didn't get any DeviantArt stuff done for these chapters, but oh well. I blame my non-existent weekend. On a minor side-note, my muse says I probably should do a Disclaimer, so here you go:
Resident Evil and all places and characters therein are copyright CAPCOM, Nintendo, and whoever else. I own nothing except the plot and a motley crew of retarded OCs. WARNING: I recommend donning protective clothing before reading. It's all gonna hit the fan this chapter and I'm not held liable if any of it gets in your hair. Heheh.
Happy Summer Solstice, and THANK YOU all for hanging in there! I appreciate it greatly, since it's ultimately your kind reviews that kick me in the ass and get me writing again. You've probably figured out my modus operandi by now – i.e. post a new chapter, then slink back to my crypt for several months. Aiiieee! The sun! It burns us, my precious! We dares not update too often. LMAO.
Oh, and one more thing. Would you mind going to my profile here on FanFiction and taking the poll there? I'm curious to see how most of you are finding my story! ^_^
Chapter 24: Separate Ways
Claire felt like she was trapped in a bad dream. Twenty minutes ago she'd finally given in to her upset stomach and gone to throw up in the restroom, wishing that she'd never eaten. Somebody in the next stall hurried out without washing their hands, and Claire wondered if she really sounded that bad. She staggered over to the sink to rinse her mouth, not at all surprised to realize her hands were shaking. So much for that famed Redfield toughness. Stepping out of the bathroom, Claire tensed as she heard alarms going off in the room down the hall. Only when the overhead speaker paged a doctor to room 235 did she relax. Chris was in room 266. Walking forward, she saw Wesker standing near the window where the cell reception probably didn't suck as bad. He stood rigidly, phone pressed to his ear.
"Grounded? For how long?" Wesker growled, frustration clearly showing in his voice.
Claire didn't know what he was talking about, but she could guess. Hugging herself, she glanced out the window. If nothing else the storm seemed to have doubled in intensity, smothering the hospital in an all-encompassing blizzard. Highway traffic was inching forward in the wake of a large snowplow, orange beacons flashing. Claire was suddenly certain that Wesker had landed on the tarmac mere moments before they'd started rerouting flights to other airports – assuming, of course, that he simply hadn't gotten on the horn and announced that he was coming down anyway, with the added threat of a substantial lawsuit if there was so much as a beat cop at the gate.
Further up the hall the double doors bounced open. Claire glanced over her shoulder to see a team of doctors push her brother's gurney into a private room, a dark-clothed man following them at a distance. He disappeared quickly into an adjacent hallway, but not before Claire glimpsed the combat boots he was wearing. It struck her as strangely out-of-place – one more thing to add to the list, she supposed, a chill skating uncomfortably down her back – but she didn't get the chance to investigate. Snapping his cellphone shut, Wesker moved to intercept one of the doctors.
Glancing inside the room, Claire found herself unable to tear her eyes from her brother's face, which was nearly as white as the sterile tape they'd used to hold his nasal cannula in place. He was breathing normally now, but still unconscious. Claire swallowed hard, a rustle of paper drawing her attention back to Wesker. He'd pulled several charts out of the folder, including an x-ray film at the very bottom. He held it up in front of the light fixture without pausing to look at anything else, frowning at the milky white and black image. Claire had no idea what he was looking for.
"Is he going to be okay?" she whispered.
"For now," said Wesker quietly. He lowered his gaze to her, papers clutched loosely in his gloved hand. A strange, fragile quality seemed to hang between them and Claire was struck by the irrational fear that if she blinked, Wesker would suddenly disappear. He was wearing a black suit over an equally black turtleneck, his presence weighing so heavily on his surroundings Claire felt as though she was liable to start orbiting around him. She swallowed tightly, unable to find anything to say.
"You almost called me earlier," said Wesker, and it wasn't a question. It was a declaration of fact.
Claire's belly twisted a little, color rising to her cheeks. So he had seen the Caller ID. "I, uh… I thought…" she awkwardly cleared her throat. "Well, it wasn't this bad before," she added lamely, trying for something in her defense even if she had no real idea why.
"If you were sure about that, you wouldn't have called. You were scared," said Wesker flatly. Embarrassed by his characteristic bluntness, Claire felt a sudden flash of anger, but it faded as quickly as it'd come. Wesker was right. She was scared, and doing her damnedest not to show it. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. "It's complicated," she admitted finally, her eyes instinctively going to Chris.
There was a protracted moment of silence. Both of them knew an explanation wasn't necessary. After a minute, Claire turned her gaze back to face him. "Do you know what's wrong with him?" she asked, indicating the papers Wesker was holding.
"It's nothing you need to worry about."
Claire gave him a black look. "He's my brother," she reminded him sharply. "If there's anyone who needs to worry, it's me!"
Wesker was silent for a moment, as if trying to decide how much he should tell her. "Your brother's contracted a rare parasitical infection," he said at length, keeping his voice low. "The trauma of it hatching inside the body is enough to shock the host into violent convulsions, and later unconsciousness." He studied Claire for a moment, waiting to see if his words were sinking in. She gave him an openly horrified look. That's exactly what happened in the kitchen!
"Afterwards, the parasite can place a massive amount of stress on the body as it attempts to mature," Wesker continued, not bothering to sugarcoat his report. "It causes a dangerous increase in the host's white blood-cell count, which can lead to further convulsions as the body tries to fight the invader. A weaker person would likely assimilate the parasite without difficulty, but the stronger and healthier the body, the worse the strain. I believe mindset plays an important role as well, so it's hardly a surprise he went into shock again… although I doubt the performance enhancers are helping," Wesker added frostily, glaring at Chris.
Claire's head was spinning. Infection? Parasite? She swallowed, feeling the discomfort in her throat give way to actual pain. She couldn't believe she was actually hearing this. "That… that doesn't make any sense! How do you know all this stuff? And what the hell are you doing here? What did you give him?" she exploded, waving urgently at Chris. "And why is it every time one of us gets sick, you come storming through the door?"
She didn't mean to sound so accusing, but if Wesker noticed he didn't say anything. Instead his hand rose to grip the back of her neck: hot, solid and reassuring. "Being chairman of Umbrella has its advantages," he said quietly. "I received an email early this morning alerting me to your presence here, but I assure you I wasn't planning on getting involved."
"Then why did you?"
"Because I've encountered this type of infection before," Wesker answered darkly. "As I said, the parasite can trigger severe septic shock, and fortunately for your brother I was correct in assuming the same thing would happen to him. I gave him an injection to stabilize his immune system and help suppress the growth of the parasite. That's all."
Claire frantically shook her head. Not denying what he was saying, but desperately trying to make sense of it. How had Chris gotten sick in the first place? Had something bad from the island gotten on her clothes? The entire plane could be sick. And Jill, too! Wesker's hand tightened on her neck. "Don't go there. It's nothing you did," he assured her calmly, as if he'd read her mind.
And it's nothing you did, either. I know. We're past that, she thought, sensing what Wesker wouldn't say aloud. She cleared her throat roughly, fighting the convulsive sob trying to crawl up it. "Then what happened?" Claire asked, struggling not to fall apart as Wesker's intense heat seeped into her personal space.
"I'm not certain," he said. "I'll know more once I get him to better facilities."
Claire felt as though the world was crumbling beneath her feet. It was bad enough Wesker was involved, but if he was considering taking Chris back to Mont St. Michel… no, she didn't even want to think about it. "Is it that serious?" she croaked. Please, please just say he's going to be alright!
A sigh escaped him. "His chances will be better on the island. Just trust me."
Just trust me. It was the straw that broke the camel's back. Whatever Wesker wasn't sharing, it was bad, but she'd known that all along, hadn't she? She knew his tactics, his habit of dodging the subject. Claire angrily dashed tears from her eyes. "Why do these things always happen to u-us?" she demanded, her voice cracking. "Why?"
"I don't know, dear heart."
And Wesker pulled her tightly against him. Claire's hands instinctively fisted in his jacket, her shoulders heaving as Wesker rested his chin on top of her head. His whole body was taut with a fierce kind of tension, fingers digging painfully into her as if he forgot, or perhaps didn't care to control his awesome strength. Claire gulped back a sob, clinging to Wesker as though he was the last stable thing left in the world. She hated breaking down like this. It felt too much like giving up, an invitation for the little boy to pull his finger out of the dike.
Claire tilted her face up, suddenly desperate to say something, anything, but she was cut off as Wesker's mouth abruptly descended on hers, the startling red flash of his eyes burning through to the back of her brain. It was nothing like the passionate encounters she'd experienced before. It was impulsive and bruising, making no other movement other than to effectively silence the words tumbling from her lips. It was all the assurance Claire needed, because in that one instant she realized that she didn't need to say a damn thing.
Somewhere in the distance she could hear Chris' EG monitor – was it beating faster than before? – but it was only a peripheral detail. She forced herself to concentrate on the feeling of Wesker's sweater and the pressure of his mouth, because that was all that mattered right now. Everything's going to be okay, she told herself, repeating it over and over like a mantra. Everything's going to be okay… She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with Wesker's scent. A moment later his hands moved to rest on her shoulders, giving them a reassuring squeeze before pushing her back to arm's length. Uncomfortably aware of her runny nose, Claire grimaced and wiped it on her sleeve. Yeah. Real mature, Claire. God, I must look like hell.
"I want your brother's care officially turned over to me," said Wesker. "There's some paperwork you need to sign."
"Hospital giving you a hard time, Mr. Chairman?"
"Hardly, but it'll save me time in the long run."
Claire's watery laugh was without humor. Apparently even the chairman of Umbrella fell victim to his own regulations. It was almost kind of funny. Almost. Nodding, she stepped sway from him and went directly to the nurse's station to ask for whatever paperwork Wesker had wanted her sign. As per the usual, it amounted to a weighty stack. She hated the way the nurse kept staring at her, but she took a deep breath and ignored it. On the wall behind the counter, a small TV was playing at low volume.
"…widespread power outages have been reported all over the area, including most of downtown Harvardville. Reports of an explosion at the police station have not been confirmed, but if you'll look just over here… this giant tree toppled onto several power lines just hours ago. Scenes like this are being reported all over the city, and local power crews are saying it's likely that over a thousand residents will be without electricity for—"
There was a loud, muffled thud. Claire glanced up at the TV in time to see the camera hastily swing around to focus on a flash of light in the distance, the pale sky rapidly giving way to the fiery smear of a small explosion. The startled reporter hastily resumed talking off-screen. "We've just witnessed what appears to be a small explosion coming from downtown… possibly from another gas leak or a downed transformer," she added. "We'll bring you more on this story as it develops. As you can see, this storm clearly has a few more surprises in store for today…"
Annoyed by the distraction, Claire returned her attention to the paperwork. She hated hospitals, she was sure of that now. She hated the constant movement of doctors rushing from one room to another, the never-ending hiss and beep of machines and monitors. And most of all, she hated that stale, salty reek of sickness that no amount of disinfectant seemed able to cover up. Their overall function was the same, she supposed, but it was nothing like the clean, orderly, almost welcoming feeling of security in Wesker's labs.
There was a slight breeze at her elbow, smelling of alcohol and soap. Claire glanced out of the corner of her eye to see Jill step up to the counter. She'd stripped down to a light blue t-shirt, shivering slightly and rubbing her arm. Between her fingers, Claire noticed a patch of gauze. "You okay?"
"He made me get tested for… for whatever, I guess… which I'm assuming means this isn't the flu," said Jill, starting slightly as Wesker suddenly turned the corner.
"Hnn. That goes for you as well, dear heart," he said to Claire. "As soon as you're done."
Claire nodded mutely. It was scary how well she was attuned to Wesker's mannerisms, aware of how he slowed – no more than a brief hesitation between one step and the next – to glance at Jill, the sparks of his eyes meeting hers from behind his shades. Jill paled, but met his gaze squarely, unconsciously reaching for something beneath her sweater. Wesker's lips twitched into a sharp smirk. They faced each other for no more than a second, but Claire could almost feel the tension radiating between them like waves of heat distortion. Then suddenly Wesker was gone, stalking down the hall to disappear into an examination room. Jill exhaled sharply, a faint cry escaping her lips. Claire didn't know whether it was out of relief or dismay.
"Claire, did you… did you call him here?"
"No. But even if I did— you know what, never mind. He's here now, so deal with it," said Claire shortly. She wasn't trying to be angry, but she was too tired to even think about having that conversation right now. Jill snapped her mouth shut, her throat bobbing uncomfortably, and Claire felt a sharp flash of regret. She shoved the clipboard across the counter and braced her shoulders. "Sorry, Jill," she whispered. "I'm just…" I'm just what? Scared to death about Chris? Wishing I could tell you what's really going on?
Claire swallowed hard. "I'm just tired. Let's leave it at that, okay?"
Jill looked as if she was about say something, then seemed to change her mind and nodded instead. Claire nodded back, fighting the uncomfortable tightness in her throat as she asked Jill where to go next, trying not to sound like she was looking for an excuse to leave. Jill didn't say anything about it, however, and simply pointed back down the hall. Claire spent the next few minutes sitting perfectly still on an examination table as a doctor drew blood from her arm. The clock on the wall said it was only quarter past noon, but the hours felt more like days.
Claire winced as the doctor placed a cold stethoscope against her back. She wanted nothing more than to curl up somewhere and sleep, but… no, she had to stop thinking about that. Claire exhaled roughly, focusing on the icy metal pressed between her shoulders. It was uncomfortable and that was good. It cleared her head. It was hard to believe right now, but things could be much worse. She needed to stop thinking about Mont St. Michel as a bad thing and remind herself how lucky she was that her brother had that option at all. Wesker had things under control for now, so the least she could do was cowboy up and help wherever she could. Claire took a deep breath, trying to think rationally. If they were going on an extended trip, her brother needed clothes – jeans, shirts, underwear, whatever – and so did Jill. And I forgot my injections, thought Claire, remembering the little backpack she'd left in the living room. I probably need one by now.
It wasn't much, but it was a plan and right now she needed something to focus on. The doctor taped a piece of gauze over her arm and sent Claire on her way. She headed straight for Chris' room, figuring she'd check on him first, then get the car keys from Jill and make the 45-minute drive back home. But the storm… Claire glanced out the window and felt a twinge of doubt, wondering if Chris had put chains on the Subaru. She couldn't remember. Maybe it would be better to wait it out for a few more hours. She put her hand on the door and heard a voice inside the room. Chris, most likely. Jill's voice countered. She sounded agitated. Claire opened the door.
"—saved your life. That's got to count for something!"
Jill broke off and turned to look at Claire as she entered. Chris was sitting on the edge of the bed tying his shoelaces. Why is he dressed? Are we getting ready to leave? His head jerked up, impaling Claire with his eyes. Her breath caught. She had never seen Chris look so angry, rage etched into every line of his stark white face. "You!" he snarled. "What the HELL do you think you're doing?!"
"I— what? What are you talking about?"
"You know damn well what I'm talking about, you stupid bitch!" Chris roared, getting to his feet. Claire's mouth fell open. Dread coiled in her stomach like a poisonous snake. "After everything I told you," her brother continued, "everything that's happened, you go and tell him we're here? What were you thinking?!"
Wesker. He's talking about Wesker. Claire swallowed the pain in her throat. "Chris, please, it's not—"
"It's not what? 'Cause from where I'm standing— Get off me, Jill!" Chris angrily wrenched his arm out of her grasp and pushed her away, glaring venomously before rounding back on Claire. A muscle was leaping violently in his neck. "I saw you," he gritted. "I saw you and him. I was hoping when you got back, praying you weren't this stupid, but I should have known. I should've just let you go out with that rookie, but no! Now I have to watch you… watch that bastard… How long did he hold a gun to your head before you agreed to hump him the first time?"
Dread crystallized in Claire's lungs, suffocating her like folds of heavy plastic. Chris filled her vision until she felt miniscule in comparison, a piece of flotsam caught in the ferocious gravity of a sun going nova. It's not supposed to happen like this. The tender marks on her arms where Wesker had dug his fingers throbbed accusingly, her lips burning with the memory of his bruising heat. Her throat closed off, swollen with a mixture of anger and helpless panic. "Chris, I…" she desperately fumbled for words. "Wesker didn't… he never—"
"Save it," Chris growled, cutting her off again. "Damn it, Claire, how could you let him do this to you?"
"He didn't do anything to me! If you knew half the stuff I do about Arklay, about Alex—" She broke off, infuriated by the utter unfairness of it all. She wanted to tell Chris so badly, and a sadistic, less than pretty part of her wanted to smear it in his face, too, but she just couldn't bring herself to betray Wesker's trust. Chris' expression was positively ugly.
"Oh, so it's Alex now, huh?" he taunted. "That your cute little name for him while you two screw around?"
Claire was horrified. To hear Wesker's worst demon mocked like that… it was beyond just being unfair. Her stomach twisted into sick, slippery knots. "You wouldn't say that if you knew the hell he's been through," she said, her voice low and cold, and shaking with rage.
"The hell he's been through? Oh, that's right: 'He wasn't in his right mind, he had a fever, he's not really a bad person!'" Chris flung her words back at her like knives, his voice disgustingly shrill and mocking. Claire's face burned. "He just saved your life, you asshole!" she hollered. Her fists clenched. She was going to bloody his stupid face.
"Yeah, how convenient. This shit doesn't happen for years, then I magically get sick and he just magically shows up. And then you walk straight out there and start signing me away to him! He plays you like a pipe and you're so stupid, you waltz right into it. How could you DO this to me?" He viciously stabbed a finger at her. "We're done, Claire. Do you hear me? You and I are done!"
A gasp escaped Claire. She fought for words, her heart stuttering painfully. "You- you don't mean that! Chris, I'm trying to help!"
"I don't need your help," Chris snarled. "Yours, or his!"
"Chris, please!" Jill interrupted, suddenly grabbing hold of his arm. "Sit down!"
"No, I'm outta here! Whatever he shot me full of, I'm not being his experiment, you hear me? She can sign all the goddamn papers she wants. I'm leaving right now, so get out of my way!" Chris started forward; Jill stubbornly tried to pull him back. "I said—"
"That's enough, Chris," said a cold voice. Claire gasped as Wesker brushed by her in the doorway. "You're making a scene."
For a nerve-racking moment, the world seemed to freeze on its axis.
"YOU SONUVA BITCH!" Chris lunged forward with roar, hands outstretched. Seemingly without any effort, Wesker slid beneath Chris' arm and came up behind him. Alarmed by the sudden breech of his personal space, Chris simultaneously tried to spin around, punch Wesker in the face and sidestep out of the way, stumbling as his body received conflicting inputs. In one quick motion, Wesker snaked an arm around Chris' throat and hauled him upright against his chest. "I said enough!" he ordered.
Wide-eyed and trembling with fury, Chris tried to throw his weight forward with the intention of hurling Wesker over his shoulder, but the taller man firmly held his ground. The arm around Chris' neck tightened with the crushing strength of a python. Though she was only a couple feet away, Jill stood frozen in place, a worrisome glint of understanding in her eyes as she made no move to prevent what was happening.
"N-no! You can't keep me here!" Chris choked, thrashing wildly.
"Watch me," said Wesker. His arm tightened even further, cutting off the precious flow of blood thrumming in Chris' arteries. Frantic now, Chris' struggles increased, but his knees had already begun to unhinge, darkness oozing into his vision, and Wesker still didn't release him. Chris blacked out with a strangled groan, his heavy arms dropping limply to his sides. Cold and frightening in his efficiency, Wesker held him for a moment longer before depositing him back on the bed, handling his massive bulk with near inhuman ease.
Claire felt like she was dying, suffocating, an engine trying to rev on bad fuel. Hot tears prickled in her eyes. She never thought she could feel so angry, so utterly helpless. No wonder Wesker had never tried to explain things to Chris. She knew her brother had been hurt and betrayed, but how could he be so impossibly dense? A nurse poked her head into the room and demanded to know if everything was all right since she obviously hadn't seen a thing. It would have been funny if it weren't so pathetic. Claire's head was pounding now, tiny voices screaming and playing tug of war. She glanced frantically around the room, saw Jill's car keys gleaming on the side table. Without saying anything, Claire grabbed them and bolted, escaping down the corridor without looking back. Doors and examination rooms flashed by to either side in a meaningless blur. She reached the front entrance, and suddenly she was outside.
A blast of frigid air sliced through her clothes, invading her lungs as though it wanted to freeze her pounding heart. Snow whirled down from the white sky, pelting her face with big wet flakes and clumping under her boots as she strode across the parking lot. The Subaru was exactly where Jill had left it, now buried under a foot of snow. Claire raked it off the windshield with the side of her arm, too upset to worry about the cold. In half a minute, she'd cleared the entire car, unlocked the door, and gotten inside. Ramming the key in the ignition, she turned the engine over and flicked on the wipers. The wail of a siren suddenly drew her attention as an ambulance swung under the marquee. Two EMTs jumped out of the back and pulled a gurney out, blood bags and IV lines in hand as they wheeled their patient through the doors and into the hospital without breaking stride. A third EMT quickly shut the door and jumped back inside the cab as the ambulance pulled out to make way for a second one. In the distance, Claire could hear the wail of several more en route.
She put the Subaru in gear and he backed out of the parking lot, feeling snow chains bite into the road. The freeway was grey, slick and wet, but the snow wasn't deep – barely an inch or less. Wipers flailing, Claire turned down the first exit and merged with traffic. Another ambulance flew past with a screech, followed closely by a patrol car. Claire tightened her grip on the steering wheel with a cold, almost manic fervor, her heart beating frantically against her ribs. She didn't know why she was running, only that it was important that she did so before she did something she'd regret. Like hitting her brother in the face, or screaming at Wesker for being so goddamn… well, Wesker. Claire grit her teeth and refused to cry. She had to be able to see the road, after all. The last thing she needed was to cause a twenty-car pileup. She wondered if she should have stopped Wesker, or said something to him. Was putting Chris is a headlock really necessary?
Yes, it was, she thought vehemently. He wasn't going to stop and you know it. He'd have walked out and gotten himself hurt or killed, or had another heart attack and died. Her brother's accusing words sliced through her like knives. Why the hell wouldn't he just listen? She'd never let anybody hurt him! How could he possibly think otherwise? A clump of snow broke loose from her sleeve and plopped onto her lap. Suddenly Claire realized she was shivering. Reaching across the dash, she flipped on the heater and knocked the snow from her jeans. The Subaru sped down the highway as fast as she could convince herself was safe. Bright blue utility trucks sped by in the opposite direction as Claire piloted the car down the next off-ramp, and within minutes she was leaving the chaotic city behind.
She told herself she didn't have to feel ashamed for loving Wesker, but still… she hadn't wanted Chris to find out like that. She wanted to work him up to that somehow; she hadn't been stupid enough to think it'd be easy, but she'd been so sure he'd at least listen first and yell at her later. Apparently not. And now he thinks I betrayed him, too. Claire roughly cleared her throat, fighting another wave of tears. Was it really so selfish of her to have hoped they could work things out? She'd thought Chris would be happy to hear the real story behind Arklay. He'd looked up to Wesker once. Worshipped him even – like a substitute father. Claire had been so sure he'd want to hear how hard Wesker had tried to save them, even going so far as to sacrifice his own life. Now Chris is sick, and he thinks Wesker did that, too. God dammit, why? What the hell kind of karma do we have to deserve this shit?
Claire smacked her hand on the steering wheel. A sliver of icy-cold air knifed into the car from the open window, but Claire didn't mind. Time slipped by, as did the cold white world outside the car. She'd left the city far behind and was now driving along a deserted mountain freeway. The sky was a little darker now, the woods a little grayer. Claire raked the heel of one hand across her cheeks, ridding them of the moisture slowly freezing on her skin. A shrill chime suddenly pierced the silence and she jumped, a full five seconds passing before she realized what the sound was. Without taking her eyes off the road, she dug a hand into her pocket and took out her phone. Lifting it up, she checked the glowing LED display, knowing even as she did so who it would be. She swallowed hard, then took a deep breath and flipped it open with a finger.
"Tell me, why is it Redfields have this self-destructive urge to do stupid things?" Wesker demanded.
"Genetics, I guess," said Claire weakly. "Shouldn't you be used to it by now?"
Wesker snorted, his voice pitched low and intense, maybe even a little angry. "Where are you?"
"On the highway heading home."
"Why?"
"Because I needed to get out of there before I did something stupid," said Claire, forcing the lump out of her throat. She knew she didn't have to mention the fiasco with Chris – or Wesker's part in it. "I just need some time to clear my head."
Wesker growled deep in his chest, and Claire knew exactly what that meant. "I don't think that's wise," he said tightly. "The roads aren't exactly in the best of conditions right now, especially since your brother decided he needed to live in the middle of nowhere."
"Actually there was a place even higher up that he wanted to move into, but Jill talked him out of it. It didn't even have electricity," said Claire, trying for a stab of humor, but Wesker didn't seem impressed. Just like she knew he wouldn't. She heaved a weary sigh. "I'll be fine, Albert," she said quietly. "The roads aren't that bad right now, and I've driven them enough winters to get the hang of it anyway. November in Raccoon City wasn't exactly the sub-tropics either, remember?"
"Claire…"
"I'll be on the plane when we leave," said Claire. She was used to her brother being overprotective, so Wesker wasn't all that different. "I'm just going to throw some stuff in a suitcase and drive back down – two hours tops. It's not like you're going anywhere right now. Not with this storm."
There was silence on the other end of the line, as if Wesker was weighing his options. "Two hours," he said shortly. "I want you back down here before nightfall."
Or you'll march up here and carry me back down. "Before nightfall," said Claire. "I promise."
She hung up and set the phone on the seat next to her. She continued north, the storm slowly getting worse as she climbed in elevation. Claire nervously leaned over the steering wheel. Maybe Wesker was on to something with his "stupid Redfield" theory. Suddenly her own obituary flashed in her head: Stupidity linked to genes! Claire Redfield, age 23, proves hypothesis beyond a doubt after wrapping herself around a tree. Claire snorted without humor and downshifted. The Subaru slowed to a crawl.
It took Claire an hour and fifteen minutes to make the supposed 45-minute drive. Encountering over a foot of snow in the driveway, she stubbornly plowed the Subaru in as far as it would go and trudged the rest of the way to the house. The front door was wide-open, the carpet dusted with snow. She'd obviously forgotten to close it during their hasty exodus the previous evening. Feeling irritated, Claire went inside and shut the door. The house was dark and freezing cold. A quick flip of the light switch confirmed what Claire already suspected. What a surprise; the power's out. The pipes have probably frozen solid by now.
Claire went into the kitchen, the cold reek of garlic assaulting her nose. The dinner dishes were still on the table, half-empty glasses of Coke sitting exactly where they'd been left. A hard lump rose in Claire's throat. Even her worst days on the island hadn't felt this hopeless. All right, that's enough. Wesker's expecting you back in two hours and you've already burned enough time getting up here like the idiot that you are. Claire shivered violently, her teeth clacking together. Goddamn it was cold in here.
Spotting her vest and sweater on the back of a chair, Claire gratefully threw them on before piling all the dishes in the sink – mostly because she just couldn't stand looking at them any more. Good. Now do what you came here for. She grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen drawer.
It was even darker upstairs than it was downstairs, the ashen-yellow light throwing odd shadows onto the walls. Claire grabbed a suitcase from a closet and went into the room Chris shared with Jill, throwing it on the unmade bed. Finding his clothes was the hard part. Everything was either stacked haphazardly on a chair or wadded up at the bottom of the closet with more of the same packed into the dresser. Poor Jill. He drives her absolutely insane. Claire laughed suddenly, thinking of Chris wandering around like a lost dog looking for his jeans while Jill hollered something about him forgetting his dick if it wasn't attached. She shook her head fondly. Everything's gonna be alright, she told herself, her spirits lifting a little. You'll find a way to work things out with Chris. You didn't trust Wesker in the beginning, either.
Comforted by the thought, Claire folded a couple of shirts and put them in the suitcase. Ten or fifteen minutes later she heard a noise that made her pause, cocking her head in an attempt to try and locate the source. It was the sound of an approaching car – going slow, wheels struggling a little to find purchase in the snow. Who the hell would be all the way up here in a storm like this? Besides me, of course. Had Wesker decided to come and babysit her after all? Feeling insulted, Claire went to the window and inched the curtain aside. At the end of the driveway, she could just make out an unmarked black Chrysler. Four men in long cassocks got out of the car, moving together in a stiff, eerie sort of harmony.
Claire suddenly felt uneasy. What are these people doing up here? They can't be this hard up for followers. The priests made their way up the driveway, three of them ascending the porch steps, one staying behind in the yard. A sudden gust of wind made the blood-red fabric of his cassock snap around his ankles. Claire could hear the chimes on the porch dancing eerily. His death-white face slowly rolled around, his gaze fixed on the upper window Claire was looking out of. She started slightly. The curtain twitched.
The priest raised his arm and pointed. "Conseguirla!"