Chapter 6: Pin Pricks
Claire's face screwed into pain as she awoke. How many times could she get hit in the head before suffering permanent brain damage? She realized she was lying on a medical bed in a very white laboratory. A voice was talking somewhere nearby. Wesker?
"You're sure Nash was behind it? Hmmm. Find him, but don't kill him. I want to know if he had accomplices." Claire tried to sit up but fell backward in dizziness. She heard footsteps drawing closer, and Wesker's all black attire came into view. He pulled a rolling stool over to her and sat beside her. Claire flinched as he began disinfecting cuts on her arm. It stung, but at least she wouldn't get an infection.
"Would a blindfold have been too much to ask?" she grunted.
"It wouldn't have helped with your ears." Claire tilted her head toward him.
"I can do it myself," she stated. She hated feeling like he was taking care of her. Wesker immediately set the medical supplies aside and stood, walking away with a cold smirk. Claire frowned and gingerly righted herself. She wished she could lie down and sleep, but she didn't trust herself sleeping with Wesker so close. "I hate when you act like you care," she announced. "You can save yourself the effort in the future." Wesker had been busy staring into a microscope, but he glanced at her as he chuckled.
"I'm not acting like I care. If you die of an infection, which is quite possible in a biohazard disaster site, you're of no use to me." Claire noticed the briefcase on the counter beside him.
"Wesker, why do you need the third sample when you already have two?"
"They are three separate variants of the same virus. Just because they look the same doesn't mean they are, Miss Redfield." Claire would have ranted if Chris had dared use such a tone with her. She didn't even give a smartass reaction this time. Her body was sore enough without an additional beating. "They took months to process."
"They look like ones I saw on Rockfort," Claire commented, recalling the lab Alexia had been stored in. Wesker transferred a slide from the microscope to a case.
"You have a good memory," he continued. "They are indeed derived from Alexia's virus. Mr. Burnside may have died soon after his exposure, but I managed to gain a sample from him. With a bit of refinement, it will be ready for use."
"You're a damned bastard, you know that?" Claire exclaimed, catching Wesker's attention. "It's not enough Umbrella murdered him, is it? Now you'll use what's left of him to make more freaks! As if any of them have proven successes!" She felt the pain before she realized what had happened. Wesker had her shoulder in his hands, and he squeezed until Claire screamed, kneeling on the floor and trying to move his hand.
"What did you call me?" he coldly asked. Claire tried to resist, but the pain intensified. "I don't care what you think of me, Miss Redfield, but you are my prisoner, and you will show some respect. What do you say?"
"I'm sorry," Claire ground out, defeated. Wesker pulled her to her feet by the throbbing shoulder and set her back on the bed. His hands landed on either side of where she sat. His back was hunched to bring them to eye-level.
"The experiments serve their purpose and do their job in combat. These samples," he emphasized, "are for a more important goal than them. And there has been at least one success in this company." Claire had no idea what he was talking about, but her eyes had watered, because she could only think of Steve. Wesker watched, expecting tears to fall, but they never did. "Dear heart," he soothed mockingly, standing and putting one hand behind her neck to support her sagging head.
"He was a better man than you," Claire finally said, lifting her head. "You have no right to profit from his death." Wesker's grip softened and his hand found her cheek. His thumb rubbed over it, comfortingly, strangely enough. Claire almost leaned into it, and, when she jerked away, he smirked. It was just one more show of control, she thought, but that did not change how kind it had felt for that brief span. "I hate you."
"I'm sure he was a better man," Wesker agreed. "I've never claimed to be good." Claire huffed, and Wesker lifted her chin. "Claire, you can't right the wrong of the world; you're too weak." She stared at him, surprised both by the use of her first name and the lack of sarcasm in his voice. He returned to his work. "I'll be calling your brother shortly. If he keeps his end of the bargain, you'll be home within a few more days." Home, Claire thought warmly. She'd see Chris again.
"Is there a shower around here?" she asked, realizing how filthy she was. "And some clean clothing?" She sniffed her shirt and grimaced. "I smell like licker." Wesker smiled and led Claire to the lab next door. He motioned to the emergency showerhead used to rinse after chemical spills. Claire frowned. "You've got be kidding me."
"This is not a residential lab," Wesker explained. "The hand soap will have to do. There are lab suits in the cabinet over there."
"What if someone comes by?" Claire pressed, eyeing the large window looking into the room from the hall.
"We are alone, Miss Redfield. And I promise not to peek." He parted with a joking smile that made Claire squirm. She examined the showerhead and read the directions while undressing. She did so shyly at first, given the windows, but, of all the things she thought of Albert Wesker, she did not think he was a pervert. She grabbed the handle and pulled.
"OH!" she screeched, so loudly she was sure Wesker had heard. She hoped he hadn't. What if he came to see if something was wrong? "Cold water, cold water," she chanted, soaking herself and then turning the water off to soap. Her mind meandered toward her past and the people she had lost in fighting Umbrella. "Don't dwell on the past, Claire, not now." She had to focus on surviving.
She rinsed and found the lab suits. They were white sets of pants and shirts with optional hoods. She ditched the hood and pulled the rest of the outfit on over her bra and underwear. They weren't made for being worn alone, so she felt the chill of the room through them. She left her hair down and combed it with her fingers. It kept warmth around her neck and shoulders. She was annoyed the find the door was locked, which forced her to knock on the wall for Wesker to come get her.
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"Jill, should we let Chris see this?" Leon asked quietly. Jill stood behind him, transfixed on the computer screen before them.
"Let Chris see what?" Chris asked, rounding the corner into their living quarters. He was holding a cup of coffee and scrutinizing his teammates. Leon quickly stood and moved for the door.
"I'm going to see if everyone else is getting their gear ready for the raid. Jill, I think it's best you handle this."
"What?" Chris questioned harshly as Leon left. He did not particularly like Leon, especially when he had a secret. Jill was looking concerned as she moved so he could see the computer screen. "Is that Claire?" Chris dashed forward and sat in the chair. His sister's prostrate form was lying on a medical table, and she looked roughed up. Her clothing was battered, and bloodstains covered it. He played the video again. It only lasted about a minute, but it was enough. Chris slammed his fist onto the tabletop. "YouTube? He posted her on fucking YouTube?"
"Your phone was charging when the call came in, so I answered it. Wesker gave us the link and said that it was a reminder to keep his virus safe." She stayed away from Chris. He was too angry to comfort or confront. He needed to calm down first, and Jill would see that he got the space. "We leave for the raid in thirty minutes. The team will need you in control. I'll see you downstairs." Chris remained staring at the screen for a long time after she left.
"You'll be okay, Claire," he promised. "We'll get you back." His phone rang. "Hello? Wesker, you sick, twisted, freak! How dare you touch her like that!"
"My hands are quite innocent in this matter, Chris, at least this time. I can do much worse than that. Do you have the sample?"
"Yeah, I got it this morning."
"Good. If you want your beautiful sister back, be…" Chris noted the airport on a piece of paper. "Your sister will be seated on the bench closest to Gate 9. You will leave the package on the sink in the men's bathroom at Gate 20. If you do not do so before you go to Gate 9, I'm afraid Miss Redfield will remain with me. Understood?"
"Yeah, I got it, Wesker. Two days from now, two pm." Chris had never wanted to rip someone apart so badly. He had been Claire's protector since they were kids. He was always looking out for her, and not being able to…he sighed. He had failed her. He should have known Wesker wouldn't leave her alone once Chris got more involved with his affairs after Raccoon City. He hoped Claire remembered how to punch where it counted, like he had taught her so many years earlier.
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Claire sat on the table while Wesker continued to work. He frequently left the room for long stretches of time—probably to run further tests. She was eating a muffin—the last of her snack stash—when he returned at one point. He didn't acknowledge her as he busied himself, and that suited her perfectly. She immersed herself in the second book she had with her, a collection of Dostoyevsky. Unfortunately, it was dark and sorrowful, so was of little help for her mood. Her eyes kept flickering to Wesker.
She noticed that he tapped surfaces when thinking, and that he often stopped working to take notes from a computer screen. He moved smoothly and quickly, but not without caution, she thought. Her stomach growled, and Wesker smiled but said nothing. He was going to wait for her to ask. Claire frowned and kept silent.
"You're uncharacteristically quiet, Miss Redfield. Is the book that good?"
"He's always good, just freaking depressing." She tossed the book aside. "Have you read him?" Claire had to admit that she was sick of silence.
"I appreciate his grasp of psychology." Claire was not surprised. Her stomach growled again, and she swung her legs off the table. She had hidden a piece of paper inside her book, and she jotting a few notes down.
"Who's Nash?" she carefully asked. "I know that name. He has something to do with Umbrella, right?" She vaguely remembered a Nash being mentioned by Annette in Raccoon City. He was some type of agent? Wesker remained silent and considered what to tell her.
"He used to work for Umbrella, and he was very good at making people disappear." Wesker's mouth sealed itself, and Claire knew she would be pushing his tolerance with another question, so she simply made a statement.
"He's one of the thorns in your side." Wesker didn't respond, so Claire assumed she was correct. She cautiously wrote a note while her stomach rumbled. "I give up. Is there a vending machine around here?" Wesker smiled.
"Down the hall and to the left." Claire started to walk and stopped.
"Could I please have some spare change?" she asked as politely as possible, frowning the entire time. Wesker handed her one dollar. Her temper flared. She was way hungrier than that, but he only smirked. "How generous. Thank you," she muttered. She stormed out of the room, too ashamed to ask for further money from him. She easily found the vending machines and stared at the collection of honeybuns, pop tarts, Slim Jims, and other miscellaneous junk foods. "My health is disintegrating," she grumbled. She looked at the dollar in her hand, then the machine. No one was here, and it wasn't like she hadn't destroyed Umbrella property before.
"What the hell?" She smashed the glass front with her foot and raided the contents for all it was worth. For the first time in a week, she was elated. When she walked back into the lab and flopped an armful of food into her small corner—the only place Wesker allowed her to eat—he stared at her with an incredibly amused expression. "What? They can bill the company." Work continued in silence, but the mood was considerably lighter.