The quotation in this chapter comes from a fabulous and moving book called The Angel of History, by Carolyn Forche. If you love sorrowful elegance and historical subjects, this thin, poetry book is for you!

Chapter 4: Dear Heart

Claire tried to keep herself occupied. She stood in the open area beside the couches and crouched into a fighting stance. She had to keep busy or face sitting and contemplating doom. As she punched into the air, she wondered if Wesker was monitoring her. She sighed and sat on a couch. She was alone with nothing to do. By afternoon, even Wesker was looking like good company, and she did have a lot of questions. He wouldn't kill her until he got his sample back, she realized. She decided to risk his annoyance at an interruption. Of course, none of her reasoning kept her hand from shaking as she knocked.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It seemed that Wesker would ignore her, but then the door opened.

"Can I help you with something, Miss Redfield?" Claire stood her ground. She kept reminding herself that she needed to be polite. She glanced behind him toward the screens, seeing a string of numbers coursing over several.

"Do you sit in there all day?" she asked. Wesker stared at her questioningly. Claire quickly hurried to her point. "I was wondering if I could have a few supplies—nothing much, just something to keep me occupied. Maybe some paper and pencils, my MP3. It's all in my backpack."

"Be my guest." Wesker stepped back into the room and sat at his desk. Claire entered behind him and moved to her backpack. She checked the main compartment and found her food and notebooks. The next contained pencils, gum, music, and—she glanced furtively at Wesker—her phone, as well as a few books. She zipped it shut and slung it over her back. Wesker was busy typing, and she openly stared at him. "Yes?" he asked without turning his head.

"I've never seen someone spend so much time shut away in the dark." Wesker again swiveled and sat facing her. "You never come out to sleep or shower or…anything." He rested his head on his hand and tilted it to the side.

"Most everyday human tasks are no longer necessary for me."

"Oh," Claire said. "So you just work 24/7?" If she didn't need to sleep, the last thing she would do was sit in front of computer screens all day. She noticed a map of Brazil was still on a screen nearest Wesker. The man's lips twitched upward in the corners as he observed her.

"Are you really interested in my personal life, or is this an attempt to prolong your spying?" Claire shut the door behind her. She moved back to her former cell and sat on the cot. She flipped her phone open and quickly dialed for Chris, but the call never went through. There was no signal in this place. She stood and walked about the rooms, checking everywhere without luck. Wesker was a bastard stringing her hope along like that. Frustrated, she tossed the phone into her bag and removed potato chips. She munched away in the sitting area, eyes on Wesker's door. He just sat in there working? There were no other people, no distractions; he just typed and schemed away. She couldn't understand how Wesker could stand to be so alone. She had been here—she checked her watch—almost three days, and she had never felt so lonely and isolated in her life. But you're human, she reminded herself. Wesker cares only about himself.

She retrieved a book from her backpack and almost smiled despite her circumstances: The Angel of History. She curled up on the couch and opened the book, reading aloud to herself. Poetry always sounded better aloud. She did not see Wesker for the remainder of the day, but, come late night, he left his room. Claire was sitting on the kitchen counter, and he stopped, watching her. Her back was to him, and so she had not noticed him yet.

"You loved the shabbiness of the world: countries invaded, cities bombed, houses whose roofs have fallen in, women who lost their men, orphans, amputees, the war wounded. What you did not love any longer was a world that had lost its soul." Claire's voice trailed off as Wesker entered the kitchen. What was he doing here? He couldn't possibly need to eat again.

"I apologize, dear heart," he said. Claire's mouth almost dropped in shock, but then she recognized the mocking edge to his voice. "I mistakenly compared you and your brother too closely. You clearly distinguish yourself from him."

"Do you need something from me?" Claire cautiously asked, suspicious of his presence. Wesker was not known for acting without purpose. Jill had stressed that to her.

"Excuse me for leaving my dark, dingy hole." He leaned against the wall, looking like a relaxed panther. "I am curious as to how you would react to Chris leaving you here." Claire closed her book and set it aside.

"I don't understand."

"It's a hypothetical question, and quite simple. You don't want Chris to risk his life for you," Wesker reminded condescendingly. Claire's grip on the countertop's edges tightened. "But you know he won't take your advice. So how would you react if he didn't even try? Say he leaves you at my mercy." Claire lowered her vision and thought. She'd be relieved and sad at the same time, she decided, but she wouldn't admit that to Wesker.

"I'd die with the satisfaction of knowing he'd kill you one day. Even if he didn't come, Wesker, I'd know it was because he had no choice, not because he abandoned me." Wesker arched an eyebrow. "We're too close for that."

"What makes you think you'd die?" Claire shot him a disbelieving stare.

"Once I'm no longer of use, I doubt you'll keep me alive. Why would you?" Wesker smiled slightly at the truth of the statement.

"You underestimate your usefulness again, Miss Redfield. I could use you for any number of things. Surely you've realized that these corporations don't waste healthy bodies?" Claire's face paled considerably. "And you'll always be valuable simply because your captivity distracts your brother."

"You mean causes him intense anxiety and worry," she corrected. Distract was too neutral a word to describe what Wesker could make her brother endure through her. "That's why you were going to take me in the first place," she realized. "You wanted to hurt Chris." She renewed her inner hate toward the man as he nodded. They stood facing each other in a span of silence, during which Claire cooled her nerves. "Would you like to know what it's about?"

"Excuse me?"

"The book." She motioned toward it.

"Enlighten me."

"It's about all the people who have suffered throughout history—people who were victims of someone's callous ambition." Her voice held a hardness that caused Wesker to walk closer, reminding her of her vulnerability. "The ambitions of people like you," Claire finished. Wesker was now standing toe-to-toe with her. He released a small chuckle. "If you only came down here to taunt and laugh at me," Claire said bitterly, "Then I'd prefer to be alone."

"You cannot give me orders, dear heart." Claire did not understand why he had to touch her face so softly. "And I am not laughing at your words, merely your foolish insistence on throwing them in my face. People suffer all the time. They suffer while you live nicely in a rich country." Claire tried to protest, but he plowed over her words. "I am bringing nothing new to the world, and sacrifices have to be made for the end result. When I'm done, the world will be completely transformed." Claire hated him being so close. She could more clearly see his eyes, and they threatened pain. She wanted to tell him he'd lose, but the words caught in her throat as he pulled away.

"Behave yourself, dear heart." And he was gone just as suddenly and silently as he had come. Claire felt entirely out of the loop being trapped here, especially when Wesker was around. She could not fathom how many angles there were to his agenda. She doubted whether anyone really knew. He was cool, controlled, and unpredictable at the same time. And very dangerous, her mind warned. It wasn't just that fact that he was inhuman and accustomed to using physical force. It was that he had successfully tricked Jill, Rebecca, Chris, and the entire Stars force. He had been her brother's role model. No one suspected him of being more than the aloof alpha male of the squad until the killing began. Traitor, she thought distastefully, her mind remembering…

"You must be the lovely Claire Redfield," Wesker drawled. Claire spun. Her first impression was that this was not a man to be tampered with. He walked as if he owned Rockfort. She never stood a chance. She was quickly on the ground, staring up at him as he held her there with a foot. He pressed hard enough that she knew she'd have a terrible bruise, and she was sure he was going to unload his gun in her head. His head tilted, and she saw beneath the sunglasses. She gasped.

"Uncomfortable, Miss Redfield?" Yes, but not so much from the pain as what she was seeing. He pulled her to her feet and propelled her along the corridor at his side. The zombies were no match for him. Some didn't even seem to notice him. Claire remembered how strong his arms felt around her as he held her, ready to open the door and move into the cold, Arctic wind. He wasn't even wearing a heavy jacket.

"You're not human," she whispered, like it was a ghastly secret. Wesker turned her in her arms so they were face to face. That was the first time his hand gently held her cheek, and it baffled her. The soft touch, even through the leather gloves, was unexpected after the abuse. He came very close to her face.

"No, dear heart, I'm not," he said. "Brace yourself." The door opened and icy wind blasted her senses. All she was aware of was Wesker and his tight grip on her.

"Dear heart," she mouthed. She had not understood it then, and she still didn't.