The hot water in room 26 of the Apple Inn only lasted for about 20 minutes before Jill could feel the telltale signs of the boiler struggling to keep up the demand of heat. The pipes behind the tiled wall had given an awkward groan when she had first turned the tap on, and it had kept her expectations low.
Finding the sound charming then, she wasn't finding the charm any longer when she hastily began to scrub the last of the conditioner out of her hair.
The incoming bruises were showing their detail as the hot water expanded the capillaries in her skin. All along her forearms, biceps, thighs and shins, different patches from the contact were making themselves known.
The lather of the soap dipped down the slopes and valleys of her skin, and the memory of the encounter with her superior officer was something that wouldn't come away with the initial scrub. Among the many contusions that would display their final battle, the true marker for her trouble was the heat she was ignoring between her thighs.
"Angry as you sat outside of my office like the obedient officer you are?"
With a slap of her palm against the push-in water tap, Jill shut the shower off and hissed out a breath at his voice still in her head.
Their sparring match on the mats had been one of the best challenges she had ever faced. Captain Wesker was faster, more cunning, and could think a few steps faster than even her sharply honed skills.
And she wanted more.
You want more than just that.
Hands were gripping her towel a little too tightly when she hastily ran the cloth over her body in the steamy, tiny bathroom of the hotel. The soft sounds of a muffled TV could be heard from the other side of the bathroom wall and Jill found herself closing her eyes as she listened to the droning noise.
What she should want is a transfer. Conflict with her team or her commanding officer was a distraction that could easily sacrifice the job she was steadily becoming more interested in. Detective Edward's offer seemed more plausible now while her inner eye displayed the contorting form she cast over Captain Wesker when she had taken him down for the second time.
Relationships and fraternization were something she didn't do. It was a lesson learned early in the military and one that came with harsh reminders of how people could manipulate someone so hungry for physical contact. Her displayed aptitude in her field had drawn eyes of admiration.
It had also drawn something else.
Pushing the memory from her scattered mind, Jill pulled the bottle of lotion toward herself and began the skincare routine she was fond of before bed. The aroma of Bulgarian rose, peony petals, and warm amber wafted back into her exhausted features and the pulsing need she was ignoring began to tamper down into a gentle knock.
A rustling noise caught her ears and Jill froze with her lifted leg on the counter. The excess lotion pushed between the spaces of her fingers while her body went taunt with the sound.
It wasn't muffled as the TV was from the room next door.
It had come from within her hotel room.
Right outside of her bathroom door.
With the towel secured around her in a delicate fold beneath her armpit, Jill straightened slowly in the steaming atmosphere. The glimmer of her metal nail file caught her eye from within her makeup bag. Steady fingers closed around it before she padded softly for the bathroom door.
The sound had stopped.
The bathroom was set up adjacent to the hotel room door itself. If an intruder had entered, the sounds of the shower would have covered most of the sound, but she'd have a decent route of escape should she be unable to neutralize them. Her current dress code wasn't a situation of modesty as much as it was an error in protection. Even a basic level of clothes would have been better than the simple towel coiled around her now.
When she had stumbled into her hotel room initially, she had paced in the tiny space before eventually shedding her uniform to take a shower. Her clothes still lay near the foot of her neatly made bed.
The bathroom door had a squeaky hinge. There'd be no stealth with her exit, and so with her hand on the knob, and the nail file clutched like the weapon of a desperate woman, she whipped the door open and took in the empty space near the hotel room door. Stepping out, she turned her eyes toward where the bed, TV, and small sitting table rested in the open space.
There, in one of two lounging chairs, sat Captain Albert Wesker.
His posture was one of leisure; one leg was crossed over the other while his elbow was perched on the cheap wooden table. Fingers were pressed into his temple while those sunglasses she hated covered what she could assume was an amused stare.
"An interesting weapon choice. Had I not personally noted your skills for hand-to-hand, I would be skeptical of its ability to maim a target," he spoke casually into the growing silence.
"You can kill someone with pretty much anything," she found herself saying before the nail file lowered to her side. "If you cared enough."
"Indeed," he agreed before the silence filled the room again.
"What are you doing in my hotel room, captain?" That roaring demand in her blood caused her voice to hitch.
She needed him to leave. There was only so much she could take in their small amount of time interacting with one another. An application for transfer was definitely in her future.
He had fixed his hair sometime before breaking into her hotel room. It wasn't nearly as perfect as he usually styled it, but his fresh appearance irritated her in ways she wasn't certain she understood at the moment.
My interactions are meaningless to him. He knows what he is, and you're…
Young. Brash. Newly formed in the endeavors. The self-deprecating thoughts became a new bible of truth to her while she considered her older captain. He wasn't stupid. He knew how he looked, and he most certainly knew what whims to bid on when he wanted someone's attention.
His dress shoe lifted from the faded green hotel carpet, and it gently knocked against the full backpack near his feet.
"You forgot your things, Valentine. I didn't look inside but I figured you'd need them if you had any intention in becoming knowledgeable about your studies this weekend," he drawled.
"You could have knocked and given it to me when I was out of my shower. Or better yet, in the morning." Her hands were touching the damp towel around her body, and she broke his stare to glance around for some clothes.
"That was my intention at first." His hand lifted from his temple as he flicked his fingers for emphasis. "Until I found this outside of your hotel room." The crackling noise she had heard earlier. There was a fresh evidence bag beside him on the table that he touched.
"Hold on—" she cut herself off as she reached for the clothes that were the only things left clean in her suitcase now. "Let me put something on."
"That would be…prudent," his voice took on a slight edge and when Jill looked over at him, his face betrayed nothing but professionalism.
"I'm so sorry for the sight, captain, but you broke into my room, so you'll just have to deal with a few irregularities," she snapped with the flush returning to her neck.
Captain Wesker didn't respond to that, and Jill let the matter drop before she turned for the bathroom with the clothes clutched in her wringing hands. The door squeaked when she closed it with a little more force than was strictly necessary.
Jill nearly moaned in mortification at the sight before her. The R.P.D. had issued her green gym shorts along with a breathable mesh top for when they would be running P.T. drills twice a week. Aside from her six pairs of uniforms, she didn't have any other clothes that were clean.
The other article she had picked up was the S.T.A.R.S. sweatshirt he had loaned her on the first night and although it came down to nearly her knees, she thought the underlying message would be a little too close to home.
Wanting to end this night and to discover what he had found, Jill shoved her limbs through the P.T. uniform, and yanked the sweatshirt over her head. A quick few passes of her hairbrush had the wet strands of her hair touching gently on her shoulders.
With the decision to finish her face care routine until after he left, Jill pushed back out into the main portion of her hotel room and walked back toward her superior officer.
"For the record," his amused baritone lifted in the space between them. "I didn't break in."
"Oh, yeah?" she quipped with a little bite. She hadn't missed the tiny tug of his lips when he took in the sweatshirt and the bare legs that charged toward him now. "I could teach you how to do it if you're lacking, captain."
Jill stopped before him and held her hand out for the evidence bag. He picked it up and lifted his head to stare up at her.
"I would be delighted at such an opportunity, but I think you'll find I am quite adept at many things." The crease in his cheek deepened around his aristocratic features while he gave her that half smile.
This had become a game. A delicious game, but a game Jill didn't know if there was such a thing as a discernible winner. They were both barely talking about the break in anymore and his teasing was going to land him with much larger problems if she didn't stop herself there.
"If you didn't break in, then how is it that you're here?" she asked after clearing her throat.
His other hand, which had been gently poised along his thigh, lifted to reveal a keycard that was held between his pointer finger and his middle finger.
"They gave you a key to my room?" she uttered with anger touching her features once more.
"You'd be surprised what people will do when I simply ask, Valentine," he purred.
Jill snatched the key card from his hand before she tossed it toward the dresser with the TV.
"I'm certain of that. Now, what the hell is that?" Anger was perfect for many different aspects of what she needed in that moment.
Anger could transform an environment. It could provide courage in the form of adrenaline, solitude from a strain of grief, and power in the face of pain. The sinkhole at the end was hatred, and Jill had taken many steps in her life to decide when anger needed to stay as a tool or when it became an underlying code of resentment she would need to barricade herself from.
If she wasn't careful, the same would happen with the man before her.
"I was hoping you could tell me," he finally handed her the evidence bag.
The bag crinkled in her hands, and with a slight contortion of the plastic, Jill took in the sight of the poppy flowers along with sheaves of grain.
Raising the bag into the source of the hanging light over the table, Jill took in contrast in front of her. The poppies had been arranged with the sheaves delicately. A thin cord held the tiny bouquet together, but it was the poppies that really stood out in the light.
The poppies were dead while the stalks of grain were freshly picked.
"Does it mean something to you, or have you already picked up an admirer in your short time here?" Wesker asked below her.
Jill lowered the bag and looked down at her captain. The sight of the bouquet drove many thoughts through her tired mind, but the eyebrow she arched up at her commanding officer was telling enough to what she thought of that question.
"You really don't think this could be from him, do you?" she continued on about the case instead.
"Certain the murderer is a he?" Captain Wesker asked, his hand flicking for the bag.
Jill set the bag back down in his hand while she thought for a moment.
"Undoubtably if the theme of misogyny exists for the first victim too. Marcia was found on her knees in a submissive position, branded as a whore, and left with the power of her third eye destroyed before she was returned under a painting that depicted an ownership fathers used to have over their daughters." She met his covered eyes once more. "Have they profiled the killer yet?"
"They have," Wesker said patiently. "However, more work is being done on that given what you found with Marcia. That changes a few things."
"It does," she agreed softly while her eyes transferred over to the bag. "How would he know about me? It's been two days, and there hasn't been any hard information released about these women. You confirmed that in our interview."
Captain Wesker let out an uncharacteristic sigh then.
"You would have been correct a few hours ago, but that has changed once we pulled Carla Meyer's body from the ground and confirmed the same carved symbol on her toenail. The murders are connected now. We just need to analyze that further to see any other patterns between the two women." Captain Wesker stood, and Jill stepped back to allow him space to walk around her, but he didn't move.
"What do you mean by being correct a few hours ago?" She studied his stern face.
"The last two days found me in and out of meetings with Chief Brian Irons and Mayor Michael Warren. Once we exhumed Carla's body and confirmed the murders, our chief was notified of the impending case update, and he sought to inform the city mayor."
"But that's…" Jill trailed off.
"Foolish, yes," Captain Wesker agreed with his voice turning harsh. "There are many questionable things about Brian Irons but this one is rather unique."
"Was my name mentioned in the discussions?" She was picking at her cuticles in her anxiety and when Captain Wesker glanced down at her hands, she stopped.
"Of course it was," he said in a different tone. "That was your work that led us to this new finding, and I wasn't going to let that be glossed over. However, had I known that it may be leaked to the press…"
"The press?" Jill uttered.
"Turn on the TV. I'm sure there's still some reruns for the late-night shifts going," he said with distaste.
The remote control was still neatly settled on the dresser where the TV sat, and Jill picked it up along with one of the mints that the housecleaning staff had left for her after tidying the room. Jill settled on the bed as she hit the power button and tossed the candy into her mouth.
"Did you eat tonight?" The disapproving tone of her captain asked while she flipped through the channels.
"No, I didn't find time in between the sparring," she said before she glanced over at him still standing near the foot of the bed and the table.
He said nothing more before she finally landed on the channel 12 news station. The bars for the volume control flashed green on the screen before they both could make out the words being reported.
"…Along with the city-wide mandated curfew implemented by the Raccoon City Police Department and the Arklay County Sheriff's Department, several bodies of the missing hikers had been previously located and the details of their deaths have only been released to their families. Just a short while ago, Mayor Warren released a statement to address the further concerns and the real reason Arklay's citizens aren't able to enjoy their evenings if they are under the age of 25."
Jill pulled her legs up onto the bed and pressed her back into the headboard as she listened. Her thumb nail was in her mouth as she chewed nervously in her ongoing bad habits.
"I'll be right back." Captain Wesker was crossing the hotel room and moving for the front door. "Don't leave this room, Valentine."
"Wait," she uttered and dropped her hand from her mouth.
"Earlier this evening, channel 12 had been invited to the Town Hall meeting with Chief Brian Irons and Mayor Warren as they shared what's really happening in our town"—Jill muted the TV once more.
"Sir, just go home and get some rest. I'll stay in my hotel room tonight but"—Again he was lifting his hand to silence her.
Wesker's powerful frame was outlined distinctly by the moving images on the screen directly behind him.
"I'm not going anywhere, Valentine," he pointed toward the evidence bag on the wooden table. "What does that mean? The way you looked at it gives me the impression you know."
The TV switched to a stern looking man walking up to a podium. The Michigan state flag hung on one side and the American flag on the other.
"It could mean a lot of things to be honest," she said when she transferred her attention back to him. "The flower itself is a symbol of remembrance and hope. They used to be placed on graves to represent an endless sleep. Mythology finds them in several areas; Morpheus, Thanatos, Demeter, and the list goes on."
Jill set her hands on her thighs and paused for a moment.
"What do you mean you're not leaving? We're not bunking together, captain," she said with a rise of panic in her voice.
"No, we're not. Good thing too because I'm not tired." Captain Wesker shot her a look before he continued through the door. "Don't leave this room. That's an order." The door closed gently behind him.
"I'm not on duty!" she snapped at the empty room. She let out a frustrated sound before she hit the unmute action on the remote.
"We'll transfer now to Rick Green who was outside of the Raccoon City Hall earlier tonight," The newscaster said before the screen switched to a man with a powder blue tie cinched a little too tightly over his white button up. He stood outside with the lights of a tall standing building blurring behind him in a starry haze.
"We're outside the Town Hall gathering that's getting underway for what should be an interesting development to our quiet town. The Raccoon City Homicide Unit has apparently been working on these cases for weeks now, but the involvement of the R.P.D.'s Special Tactics and Rescue Service aided in the case, along with a young, and developing new talent."
"Fuck," Jill breathed.
The camera changed once more to the podium Jill had noted earlier with the newscaster shot. A plump middle-aged man stood before it now. It took the audio a moment to catch up while Jill surveyed the polished shine that came with city officials.
"We tell our children to be aware of their surroundings at all times. We teach them to not talk to strangers, and we hope when they become adults that these lessons will take hold and protect them from evil," the delivered words from Mayor Warren were measured and well-rehearsed. "But that has proved to be not enough for the young women who lost their lives to what we believe to be a string of connected murders."
Another stout man was walking up next to the podium now. The R.P.D. blues were immediately familiar to Jill, and she took the man to be the chief of her newly acquired profession. She had found it strange to not have met the man yet, however, many portions of her first week were proving to be an odd occurrence.
Her grey-blue eyes flickered toward the door where Wesker had departed.
Mayor Warren prattled on for the next 15 minutes about continuous safety precautions for citizens to take and gave more assurances that the matter was being highly investigated before Chief Brian Irons took the podium.
"You all know me." The keen eyes of the man looked around at the many faces of the press standing in the hall. "You know I have taken steps to assure that our city has come the furthest it can with community efforts and technology to boost our men and women of our emergency response system. I cannot disclose the names or even the facts of the case at this time, but I want you to know that we are taking every step possible to study and find the individual responsible for these heinous crimes."
The hotel door opened, and Jill glanced over for the key she had flung on the dresser earlier. Captain Wesker had taken it again before he left. He walked into view just as she heard her name addressed on the TV.
"Detective Elliot Edward and Captain Albert Wesker of the Special Tactics and Rescue Service are heading this investigation. Alongside them, we have recruited fresh talent that has made a major breakthrough in this case. The newly acquired Officer, Jill Valentine, is to be recognized for her efforts in this matter. As for the purpose of the citywide curfew"—Wesker's tall form approached her on the bed.
In his right hand was the case file she was becoming increasingly familiar with, and in the other was a plastic bag with what appeared to be a Styrofoam takeout box inside. He set the bag near her feet on the bed before he turned to view his chief on the TV screen.
Jill blinked down at the plastic and took in the aroma of food floating toward her now.
"You brought me food?" she asked skeptically.
Jill had been building her impression of Albert Wesker for a few days. Along with the cool demeanor, sharp words, and building presence he held among the rest of the people she had met, he had moments where he continued to surprise her. She didn't find him to be unkind necessarily, but he really did bypass the common decorum that came along with pleasant interactions.
"You constantly lack the foresight required in managing your time, Valentine," he answered without looking down at her. "This is not the first time you have forgotten to see to your needs prior to getting to your room at the end of the night."
And then he went and said things like that.
"Thank you," she grumbled with a glare at his side profile. Her fingers closed around the handles of the bag, and she dug out the box before she reached over to lower the volume on the TV.
"So, your name is now out there for all to hear," Captain Wesker said before he moved to the other side of the bed. He sat down on it and tossed the file of Carla Meyers onto the wrinkled comforter. "Granted, it will help build community trust, but it wasn't a fact I would have liked to disclose before you obtained a firearm of your own."
The spicey smell of the Chana Masala hit her nose when Jill flipped open the takeout box. The chickpeas and sauce had been laid over a bed of brown rice. Two spoons lay with a napkin tucked in the bag.
"It's not ideal," she agreed and pushed the takeout box between them. She handed him the other spoon. "But, I've had worse odds before, so"—she shrugged and wiggled the second spoon when he didn't immediately take it.
"That was only for you," he answered but took the spoon from her grasp.
"Well, fate decided that we're going to share this meal, captain," she snarked before she dug in and took a bite. She made a noise in the back of her throat. "Ah, damn. They know what they're doing; that's good."
She finished a third bite before she pushed the Styrofoam closer to him. With a hand placed on his knee, she pulled herself up and over to his side before she reached for the folder he had dropped on the foot of the bed. Jill's shoulder brushed his when she sat back down, let go of his knee, and leaned back into the headboard to crack open the case file.
His face was angled back at her as a result, and Jill kept the full smile from enveloping her face. She knew what she had done and if her captain wanted to play games, she could play too.
A transfer is what she needed to be considering, but the truth was that she was becoming too involved in the case to contemplate dropping it. If she could be even more honest, which she wouldn't be, she found herself thriving while under the tutelage of the alluring and precise man beside her.
From the side of her vision, Captain Wesker picked up the container and sunk his own spoon into the meal without commenting on the contact.
"Why the sunglasses?" she asked when she turned the page of the report. The abstract notes weren't nearly as long as Marcia Pennington's.
"Light sensitivity," Captain Wesker answered simply and didn't elaborate.
"You can shut that one off," she responded absently with a point toward the hanging light over the table. "The one near the bed is good for now."
Wesker huffed a laugh and took another bite of the food.
"You're proving to be an interesting woman, Jill Valentine." He stood and flicked off the light.
His sunglasses came off and were tossed in the middle of the bed with the remote before he reclaimed his spot on the bed.
"Why? Because I can eat dinner and look at dead bodies without causing a fuss?" she questioned while she took in the exhumation order that the judge had signed off only a few days ago.
"Among other things, yes."
"You broke into my room," she said, turning her gaze to his uncovered blues. "Claimed us as roommates." She nodded to the food between them. "And fed me. You know what this means right, captain?"
Wesker seemed like a man that wasn't usually caught off guard. He also appeared to be a few steps in front of every scenario, but when his eyebrows gently bunched at her words, Jill gave him a genuine laugh.
"I didn't break in," he said again with his features smoothing over once more. He seemed to enjoy her laugh for a moment. "However, I am interested in the deduction you have come to."
"I'll bet you are," she hooked a finger into the edge of the Styrofoam takeout box and pulled it back over. "It means we're friends now."
"Ah," Captain Wesker drawled before he sat forward to pull the double shoulder holsters from around his back. He set them on the small table on his side and scooted his large frame back into the headboard. "And who decided this liaison?"
"Well, we're sure as hell not being paid right now." She turned back to the file. "And yet here we are."
"I was concerned for your safety." His stern voice drew a line in the sand.
"Did you call Detective Edward and let him know of the development?" she asked before leaning in for another bite of food.
"No."
She glanced over at him and found the half smile on his features.
He had tried to draw a line.
And she proceeded to step over it.
"We'll tell the detective tomorrow." She gave him a knowing look before she pushed the food back over to him; ping ponging their engagement with ease over the meal. "Alright, let's learn a little bit more about Carla Meyers."
And so, they sat side by side on the bed and spoke quietly over the shared plate of food.
Often she would catch him staring over at her from the corner of her eye while she read. He didn't look away when she would turn to him, asking question after question. Despite the late hour, his eyes remained intense, and focused.
Jill had the passing thought that maybe she had been imagining their shared experience and it was actually one-sided until she shifted her bare legs on the bed. His eyes would catch and linger for a moment.
The whispered warnings in the back of her head seemed to be taking on a different sound every time she did it purposefully after that.
It was no longer her own voice reprimanding her as it was a rattle of sound. A reverberation of tone, like the segments of keratin in a rattlesnake's tail.
On September 3rd, 1997, Carla Meyers had been found in the Raccoon City Sanitary Sewer that was located in the underground tunnel system. The areas were maintained by the sewage treatment plant off of north Stone-Ville Road near the Mendez River. The plant had a crew of about 10 people, and the rotation that night found Timothy Ward studying various reports when he noticed a backlog for one of the tunnel reports.
The Sanitary Sewers in Raccoon were old, and overflow could occur due to blocked or broken sewer lines, infiltration of excessive stormwater or malfunction of pumps. In this case, a body had been blocking one of the lines. Climbing down there with a group of a few men, Mr. Ward had seen what he described as the body of a woman sticking up from the sewage and he had promptly left to call authorities.
When police officers had identified that the woman was in fact dead, it took some careful maneuvering of the crime scene investigators to get into the sewer and maintain an active investigation area. It had, understandably, been difficult for the crew to determine what was evidence around them and what was simply waste. Nothing, aside from the body, had come back in the evidence bags. There simply wasn't a way to discern what was viable evidence after the wastewater had come through.
The vaults in the underground part of that sewage pain were made of hard-baked brick facework. The curves of their geometric penetrations ended in precisely rendered round fittings and the crews had a bit of difficulty getting Carla out of the system without too much shuffling. That tunnel had been closed for approximately four days before it needed to regain its function.
The coroner had been careful to take as many photos and samples as he could before Carla Meyer's body had been cleaned to study the various different marks on her body. Many of the samples had been tainted due to the wastewater, but samples of her cut hair came back from the lab as simple pigments, binders, solvents, and additives found in common wall paint. Her hair had been dipped in black paint, but it did not touch her scalp.
One of the most poignant details, and one that had been whispered about among the crime scene investigators, were the slits that were cut from both corners of Carla Meyer's mouth. The act had elongated the ability to open her broken jaw and allow for the object wedged in her throat to be placed within; an apple had been stuffed down Carla's throat and it had caused a great bulging protrusion from her throat.
The apple itself had been moist from its position, time within the body, and from the humid air of the sewage system; however, the same lab came back with the second finding. Paint also covered the apple, but this pigment was gold instead of black.
Prior to finding her body, Carla Meyer had been estimated to have been dead for two days.
Unlike Marcia Pennington, Carla's body did not have the carving of identification on her wrist. Instead, her name, or the given name, had been written on the wall of the sewage above her head in the same gold paint. Various pictures had been taken of the writing.
Carla Meyer's cause of death was Hypovolemic Shock. Although her name hadn't been carved into her skin, large cuts, 7 inches in length, had been opened straight down her wrists. Whatever state Carla had been in before she had been dumped into the sewer, she had died when her heart couldn't get her body the blood it needed to function. This occurred from the cuts in her wrists and thus the large amount of blood volume in what was assumed a short amount of time.
Although this was common in suicide cases, the apparent scene and developing scenario wasn't going to let her be categorized as anything more than a homicide.
The Phobos symbol that Jill had identified on Marcia Pennington's toenail existed on Carla Meyer's as well. There hadn't been any polish, but the design had still been carved into the nail with a very sharp object. The experts within the homicide unit had determined it to be something close to a X-Acto Knife.
It was nearing 4 a.m. when Jill Valentine's vision began to double. True to his word, Wesker had remained alert and extraordinarily patient while she asked her questions and flipped through different areas of the case file while she learned about the first victim.
After coming back from a restroom break, Jill sat back on the bed and pulled the length of Wesker's sweatshirt over her knees with her back still propped up against the backboard of the bed.
"The apple," she croaked while she stared at the pictures of the partially rotted fruit. "That has significance, obviously. The natural assumption would be the apple in which Eve bit into, but that apple wasn't gold—At least I don't think so?"
"I know some of the detectives had researched the golden apple, but nothing came back clearly for it as a color and for being in the throat."
"Maybe that's the point though?" she tilted her head back to look up at his face. "For the second victim, the cuts to Marcia's mouth that depict the pigs, that was a creation centered around her lore, but that's what this murderer saw fit as Circe's punishment."
"That's feasible…" He trailed off while he stared at her.
"What?" she slurred.
"Your eyes are shaking laterally," he commented with some humor beneath.
"I'm tired," she said with a frown.
"By all means, rest, Valentine."
"But what about you?" Even as she asked, her eyes were already drifting closed. She was startled when his hands brushed hers from the case file still on her lap. He pulled it away.
"Don't worry about me," Captain Wesker said simply as he put the file on his lap.
"Not good for you to stay up all night," she murmured, her eyes closing again.
"I'll keep that in mind, officer." She could hear him chuckle from what felt like far away.
"Captain?" she managed before she truly drifted.
"Yes?"
"Thank you for staying with me, and for..." She puffed out a breath and let her head fall toward her shoulder. "And the food too…" she wasn't sure the last part came out intelligibly.
The blackness of the third night took her away and she heard his voice in her dreams.
The time wasn't apparent when Jill partially woke in her own sweat in a soft gasp. Night terrors were common in her sleep behaviors, and she had been dealing with them for years now. Her last doctor had detailed them as a symptom of her PTSD, but she hadn't wanted to explore that diagnosis.
The treatment for night terrors hadn't been simple either. Sleep aids were the simplest form; however, they never stopped the nightmares, only stopped the ability of her waking from them. She never liked how they made her groggy in the mornings either.
She awoke now in the darkness of the room that was unfamiliar to her and the sound that escaped her throat sounded almost inhuman.
A warm hand touched her shoulder.
"Hey," a voice toned beside her.
Jill grasped the hand, her thoughts confused. Had her father come home early? He never came home before the sun was up.
"It's just a dream. Go back to sleep."
"Will you stay here?" she asked the father that was never home.
"Yes," The voice said after a moment. A hesitation beyond words. "I will be here."
"Okay." She squeezed the hand and rested her face back down.
The surface of her pillow was hard but yielding. The underlying warmth briefly told her confused mind that it was a thigh she was resting her head on. When the hand stayed on her shoulder and she was assured he wouldn't leave, she pressed her face into the warmth and let sleep take her once more.
While she slept, she didn't hear the sigh of Albert Wesker above her, but his hand stayed on her for the rest of the night.