Chris was terrified. He couldn't move, he couldn't speak, he couldn't... do anything to defend himself. The knife slowly came closer at his throat within every passing second and he couldn't knock it off or dodge it. All that he could do was watch it come closer inch by inch and replay every possible curse word in his mind.
Even though he was already near panicking, there was still one simple question in his mind that was clear enough to keep the rising panic away.
...Where had the woman come from?
His every muscle trembled slightly, but with all his will power he was able to turn his head to the side. The blade came closer and the woman laughed like a maniac, as if she were enjoying Chris's fear and anxiety. Chris ignored her and his incoming death to focus on moving his head further to the side. He had to see behind her. He had to have his answer to his curiosity… and his fears.
There was an open door behind her and it didn't take much from Chris to know to whom it belonged. It was the same door where he had come out just hours ago. It was the same door to the apartment where he had spent his previous night.
How had she gotten the door open? How had she gotten in?
His fears soon got their answer. The old woman had noticed his gaze and obviously she guessed from his face what he was thinking and afraid of.
"Indeed, darling." She chuckled and withdrew the knife suddenly, as if she had other thoughts. She turned to look at the door that Chris kept on staring at intently. "Want to go in? It's always better with more company, isn't it?" She said, her tone running shivers down Chris' spine. He turned his gaze to glare at her instead of the door, already wishing that he could move and strangle her. Chris couldn't speak but his furious eyes told all. If she had laid a finger on him...
The woman took her grip from his vest and dragged him into the apartment, seemingly amused by Chris' anger. Chris yelped for the sudden move but no words came out. The woman was strong, a lot stronger than women her age were, and that fact made her even more dangerous than she already was with her knife and was able to kill a man with her bare hands. She didn't need her knife for that...or any help carrying her shopping bags, that's for sure. Chris should have felt devastated or afraid for what was waiting for him in the apartment, but he was only worried and nervous; the irony helped him to block his worst fears out of his mind. The fears which the woman said aloud as she stepped in:
"Don't worry, dear, he's still alive. He shouldn't have fought back, that's all." She mused and closed the door behind them after she had dragged Chris' numb body completely in. "Good that we came in, now no one can interrupt us."
The old woman let Chris fall back on the floor in the living room. He huffed as his back collided with the expensive carpet. It was hard for him to see his surroundings from the floor, especially because he couldn't move his head without unbearable pain and huge trouble, but that didn't stop him from trying. Chris noticed quickly that the woman didn't stand next to him any more - she had already walked over to the couch that was from Chris' perspective on the left side. The coffee table was blocking his view but he was able to see that there was someone lying on the couch.
Chris wasn't good at math but counting in situations like this had never been hard to him.
His captain was pale and lifeless. At first Wesker didn't seem to breath at all, but soon his chest rose slightly and came down. He breathed, but it was in minimal. He was unconscious and slowly dying from the overdose of the drug – with a structure they didn't know anything about at the moment.
The woman smirked when she was right next to her target that was lying on the black leather couch. Her free hand, the other was busy holding her bag, reached at Wesker, taking off the black shades from his face. She didn't say a thing but she seemed to be pleased of what she saw. Chris was on the contrary; he felt more and more disgusted. With his glasses Wesker had seemed restful, but now without them, his pain was obvious. His eyes were clenched shut and he had his brows furrowed, as if he was trying to concentrate on something. Something like staying alive...
"You crazy bitch..." Chris didn't notice at first that he had said those words aloud; it hadn't felt painful or hard. The words just escaped from his mouth, silent but strong. The woman turned to look at him, smirking even more widely than seconds before to Wesker.
"Oh, you can talk. Determined, aren't you?" she laughed and then, out of the blue, her smile fade away and she turned to look at the kitchen clock. "Oh my, I almost forgot to drink my coffee. I'm getting old," she stated and laughed again, walking to the kitchen and forgetting what she was doing or going to do before noticing her need of coffee.
Chris was confused: She was about to kill two special unit officers and all that she had on her mind was a cup of coffee? What the hell? Nevertheless, Chris didn't mind at all her sudden change of mind. He had noticed that his body was slowly getting rid of the drug, according to his ability to speak again, and that basically meant he would soon able to move. How soon, he didn't know, but every second counted.
"How fascinating that you can already speak. It should make you vulnerable for hours... maybe I was too careful this time. It's boring if I can't see you boys in agony... very boring," she said like she was talking about the weather. Chris was about to snap back something meaningless, but held the insults back and stayed quiet. He didn't want to attract her attention or waste his strength. He still had his eyes locked on Wesker, making sure that he kept on breathing, and for that reason he didn't mind turning his head to the right only to see the woman open and close the cabinets.
"You know, dearheart, I haven't always been this absent-minded, not even close! Once I was young, just like you, a great future waiting ahead of me," she sighed and almost sounded like a normal grandma when she talked: missing her youth and remembering her past. Chris remained quiet, encouraging the woman to continue her monologue:
"I was a great researcher;very good. I had many jobs, I worked in many companies... but the best employer I ever had was absolutely Umbrella," she sighed again and sounded happy, making Chris more and more curious. "I always loved to create medicine, but I loved the way that I was encouraged to invent something new even more, not just staying with the boring painkillers, first-aid, etc. Oh, don't look at me like that, sweetie." Chris wasn't looking but it didn't seem to be important to her, she was completely lost in her own thoughts. "They don't know about this little drug I invented. They were too greedy, all too greedy..." Chris had no idea what she meant by her last words, but it was obvious that she wasn't an idiot. Just crazy and ... well, out of her mind, but for what reason?
Wesker's condition was getting worse and worse; time wasn't on his side like it was on Chris'. But Chris had no other choice: he had to play more time for them. And hope that the time didn't kill the one he wanted to rescue.
Think before you act. That was what Wesker always said. How could keep the grandma speaking but how not to attract her attention? He wanted to ask why she did all this and insult her but he knew that wasn't wise thing to do.
What could he say? Staying quiet wasn't an option either, she knew he could answer if she wanted to ask something. He had to keep her talking before she would remember what she should have been doing instead of drinking her coffee. Chris didn't have any hurry to die.
"Do you have any kids?" He suddenly asked, his voice a bit louder than the last mumble. The woman was obviously surprised by the question: she didn't move or say anything at all at first. Soon she answered, her voice full of pure happiness.
"Yes, a daughter," she began. "She's the best girl in the world; beautiful and smart. She married a handsome man and built a family years ago. Ethan has grown so big already, it feels like it has been only days since he was just a little baby boy. He's in college nowadays." Then, out of the blue, her voice turned dark, dangerous, and loud. Her words were like a toxin, killing everything in her way.
"You freaks of nature infected him with the same disease that you have. My sweet little Ethan!" She screamed: "And that's in your genes? Ha! Lies, all lies to right your... lifestyle! I have to protect him... I have the medicine..." She sounded like a maniac, obsessed and furious.
"You think that killing heals? Fuck you!" Chris snapped back before he thought. The woman had made his anger come back like a wave and lose control. He hated her; she made him feel sick and disgusted. Her grandson was a homosexual and she thought it was a sickness? A sickness that could be cured by "protecting" him from other homosexual people? Had the men she killed had something to do with Ethan? Chris had always hated people, no matter whether they were racist or homophobic, but to Chris she was the worst of them all. She was crazy enough to accomplish what they wanted, not only think in theory.
She turned to look at him, looking surprised that he still was there. Then she smirked again like a maniac and came back to Chris, forgetting simultaneously the coffee she had been preparing.
"It won't spread when all of you are gone." Her voice was emotionless when she kneeled down next to her prey, a kitchen knife in her hand, which she had taken from the kitchen without further thought. She dropped her bag next to them to be able to take a better grip of the knife with both of her hands.
"This will be over fast," she chuckled and looked at Chris' furious eyes. She knew without saying that Chris was fiercely thinking something, "I'm feeling kind today, and don't worry, he will follow you to the hell right after I'm done with you..." she mused and aimed at Chris' heart, and this time she didn't go slowly. She had had enough of playing with Chris. And she wanted her coffee.
The blade was instantly stained by the blood. Everything seemed to stop for a moment: no speaking, no cries of pain, no laughing...
There was only gagging. The sounds of choking on blood filled the quiet room and covered the slight pants that come out of the killer.
The knife in Chris's trembling hands had gone through the old woman's ribs and tore her lung. Chris had dogged the kitchen knife just in time and reached into the bag that had been open - she hadn't closed it after putting the knife back in. Fortunately for Chris, she hadn't noticed that Chris had planned to use her knife instantly when he had seen the bag falling next to him. It had been just a matter of time whether Chris had succeeded to take the knife or not. Chris had, but not without an injury.
It all had happened fast and he had used all his strength - which he had been saving all this time - to make his move. He had waited for her to attack him: Without the element of surprise, Chris couldn't have been able to defend himself and he had known it. If he had reached the knife or moved even an inch too soon, she would have noticed it and ... the result would have been the same as the alternative if he had moved too late. Even though Chris' timing had been perfect, he hadn't been able to dodge the kitchen knife completely. The drug had slowed him down a bit and for that reason he now had a long cut on his shoulder, but at that moment, Chris didn't feel any pain. His veins were full of adrenaline and his mind was blank from the shock and exhaustion.
The woman tried to breath in, but every time she did so, she gagged on the blood. She was in panic, trying to breath in and out and doing so only made it worse. Chris knew she was doing to die but he didn't do anything for her. Helping was out of the option but neither did he twist the knife in the wound to make her feel more pain.
He didn't twist it for feeling kind. He was numb, unable to think or do anything anymore. Exhaustion, shock, the drug... all of them affected him at that very moment and he let go of the bloody knife, leaving it in the woman who coughed up blood and trembled above him.
He watched as she kept on gagging till she didn't gag anymore.
She fell on the expensive carpet right next to him in seconds, staining it with fresh blood. She died by her own knife; stabbed to death, unable to do anything about it or scream for help.
The woman had gotten what she deserved; she had felt the same agony that every one of her victims had experienced.
It was ironic, but Chris didn't smile. He took the phone out of the old woman's bag and called 911, feeling extremely exhausted but determined. He didn't have time for resting, even though his every muscle insisted for him to do so, or going through the fact that he had just killed a person. He still had to do something before losing his own consciousness.
There was still someone who was close to death.
-XXX-
Hello yellow! I'm back and this time with a beta! Hurray! :D All thanks to my lovely beta Tyrann for fixing these texts up ^^ We keep on working on the previous chapters and I try to publish the next chapter asap. Guess what? The next chapter will be the grand final!
I'm glad you have read this story this far and I hope I won't let you down in the next chapter. I admit that I've enjoyed writing this story but... somewhere we must end this. You see, as my favorite band Poets of the Fall sings: If there is no end, there is no beginning.