Thanks for keeping the reviews coming. I've been putting a lot of time into editing. I hope you enjoy the psychological tidbits in this chapter. I'm really trying to properly portray character decisions, actions, and thoughts. That's difficult for Wesker at times, so I hope I'm coming close to your expectations.
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Chapter 11: Scars
The next day, Claire awoke in the characteristically groggy manner that always made Chris laugh. She'd been running through Raccoon in her dreams again, but she still felt surprisingly refreshed. Suddenly she jerked into a sitting position as she realized that Wesker was sitting at her desk, dressed, and holding a phone.
"Ah, sleepy beauty has finally decided to join us," he jested. He turned the phone into his shoulder. Noise was screaming out of it. "Miss Redfield, your brother and I are negotiating your return. Would you care to say hello?" Claire sprang from the bed and almost fell into Wesker's lap in the frantic process, which only furthered his amusement. He handed her the phone.
"Chris?"
"Claire, did that sick monster touch you? He was talking about how you sleep, and…and I have your jacket here. Shit Claire, I thought you were dead."
"I'm fine. But you're not going to be if you go through with this." Wesker held out his hand. "Hang onto my jacket, Chris," she ordered as she bore her eyes into Wesker's shades. "I'll be needing it again." Wesker threateningly shifted forward, and Claire reluctantly handed the phone back before he touched her.
"See Chris, I have been a perfect gentleman. I even let her choose which side of the bed she wanted." Claire balled her fists and struggled to keep herself under control. "Hmmm. Colorful. No, I'm afraid not. I don't see how I can morally return her to someone who so carelessly loses her. Suffice it to say that I shall be in contact with you." He closed the phone and tucked it into his shirt pocket. "Don't give me that look, Miss Redfield. You'll be returning to your brother as soon as my work here is finished." Anger pinched Claire's senses as she watched the smooth, patient man before her. He was so impeccably neat and assured that it was maddening.
"You mailed him my jacket, didn't you? You're a disgusting, soulless freak! How can you do that to someone?" She never finished her remaining thoughts, for Wesker had lifted her against the wall by the throat. Thinking better of it, he threw her across the room, where she hit the wall and sat up to lean against it. "You'll kill him," she said, squeezing shut watering eyes.
"I'll remove a nuisance," Wesker grimly stated while crouching in front of her. Claire's tears dried under his scrutiny.
"And what will you do with me?"
"That depends on you," Wesker assured and ran a hand over her cheeks to wipe away the few escaped tears. "You may force me to kill you by interfering too much, or you may return to a normal life."
"But without Chris, that's not really a choice, Wesker."
"Only if you see it that way. One death is a small thing to the world, and survival is a very strong incentive, after all. Will Chris even let you join the team once you're rescued? It might be straight back to the scenery for you even if Redfield luck somehow miraculously saves his life." Claire grimaced at the suggestion.
"I'll join your enemy's ranks either way; I promise you that," Claire swelled. Wesker wrapped fingers around her throat but not dangerously so.
"Then I should save myself some trouble now," he coldly contemplated. Claire glared. If she were going to die, begging would not be her last, earthly action.
"Go ahead." Wesker's face blanked in thought. "Is there any way for me to change your mind? To save Chris? I'd be willing to do anything." Wesker cocked his head slightly to the side.
"Anything is a dangerous agreement, Miss Redfield."
"I'll…I'll even be a lab rat if it means saving him," she ground out, but not without trepidation that he'd take her up on the offer. He gave her face one last stroke before standing and moving to the door.
"I'll consider whether there is not some way for you to be useful, Miss Redfield, but this is a deadly game you're playing. Being a hostage is far easier than becoming a player." And he left while digesting her devotion to her sibling. Such loyalty was rare, and it struck a man who trusted no one as a very risky and nonsensical attachment. He recalled some of his former Umbrella colleagues and how quickly the weaker ones had been weeded out. Those fools who trusted fellow researchers got stabbed in the back once their contributions were over, and he suspected that some researchers had selected underlings for that purpose. Disposable.
Meanwhile, Claire lay on her bed in thought. There was at least hope now—hope for Chris. She had meant every ounce of what she had said too, even if she feared the consequences. She wondered if fear would make her die in a pathetic manner when the time came, because, as much as she hated his ideas, Wesker was right when he said self-preservation was a powerful force.
She went to the bathroom, removed her shirt, and tossed it to the floor. A small collection of scars dotted her body. She could still remember where she had gotten each of them. The one on her collarbone was from slipping while rock climbing in high school. The jagged one on her elbow came from falling off of her bike even earlier. The thin one across her abdomen…she sighed. That was from Alexia's attack and a wound she received while fighting alongside Steve. Likewise, the barely visible one under her left breast came from fighting lickers.
She had long known she would never escape the horrors Umbrella had brought into her life. What she had learned since fighting for her life against monsters was unpleasant, even more so than the abuse she had seen her adoptive relatives inflict as a child. She still vividly recalled her aunt, who punished her by making her eat spoonfuls of paprika. Chris had always comforted her as children, but now…she frowned. Now she had Wesker, who could crush her with a single punch. His false sympathy is part of his game, Claire told herself, but then how does it feel so genuine at times? Part of her believed that it was possible Wesker had some compassion somewhere.
"Like hell he does," Claire stated as she stepped into the shower. "Buried so deep no one will ever see it again." She recalled everything nice or considerate that he had done for her and found a double motive. Still, there was always a chance. The boxed dinner had perhaps been a rare show of kindness, and he did provide her with books and other things to keep her busy at times.
"Men of stone," she recited. She recalled his warm touches on her face when she felt like cracking. She did not understand her captor, and she doubted whether anyone did. She again felt that pang of sadness that sometimes connected with Wesker's image. He sat in the other room and typed. If she weren't here, he would not take a break to talk and do something besides plan and work. What an existence, she thought. He could not possibly be happy, but she hardly thought that he deserved to be.
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"None of my contacts were very helpful," Leon announced. "But the government does have an operative team working on tracking Umbrella shipments, and I've got contact information that might be useful. They've tracked down and infiltrated two labs already, but they're having problems keeping out of dangerous hands now that they're on the radar. Perhaps we could team up at some point."
"The more the merrier," Rebecca offered.
"Yeah," Jill agreed, "but I don't want to get sucked into government agendas. Leon, you said these guys want samples and not to destroy the viruses like us."
"Exactly. No use pushing it," Chris warned. "We don't know them or who we can trust. I say we tell them as little as possible. If we work together, it's on single missions only. Any thoughts?" Again, the group came to a quick consensus. "What about this Brazilian lab?"
"I'm not finding any traces," Rebecca admitted. She was a technical genius, but she had been hard pressed to find electronic evidence of such a lab. "Whoever owns it is keeping it well covered with some legitimate business front."
"Wesker…" Chris thought aloud.
"He's behind more than even Umbrella knew or knows," Jill added, resting a hand on Chris's shoulder. He smiled at her. Work and relationships had become much easier with Claire's intended arrival being scheduled for the following week. Chris had been daydreaming of planting a bullet between Wesker's eyebrows since it had been arranged. Now they were on a train, heading for Romania, where the exchange was to take place. Eased tensions even allowed the group to joke about bio experiments again.
"I've been thinking," Chris began. "What about letting Claire join the team if she wants? She may get in trouble, but she's capable. I think she'd be able to lend a hand. She did tip us off about Brazil." Jill smiled reassuringly.
"The girls will outnumber the boys," Rebecca joked. Leon nodded his consent, having always been fond of Claire—not that Chris liked it. The meeting adjourned, and Chris and Jill found themselves sitting together and looking out the window. She leaned against his shoulder and wrapped an arm around him.
"That took a lot, I know," she told him. He shrugged.
"I can't treat her like a kid after everything she's endured. Hell, I don't think I'd hold up in Wesker's hands as well as her," he lightly laughed, but his mood quickly soured. "He better not have touched her in any way. It's bad enough what he did to his teammates." He squeezed Jill's hand.
"Chris, why does Wesker hate you so much? We were all part of the mansion incident, but he targets you."
"I honestly don't know, Jill. When we were in the office, I felt like he thought I had potential. He told me that once, but he never seemed to like me."
"He didn't like anyone," Jill reasoned. "He's Wesker." Chris smiled forlornly.
"Yeah. I thought about that when he started taunting me with Claire. He seemed to hate me more on Antarctica. I like to think it's because I keep kicking his ass." Jill stifled a short giggle. "I wanted to introduce Claire to him once, you know. I wanted her to meet the guy I always bragged about being my boss. I even told Wesker I was going to bring her by the office. It was after Thanksgiving, when I put that photo on my desk."
"The photo-shopped one?" Jill asked. She could still picture it. It had been a large, framed photo of Chris and Claire scrunched together and smiling. Claire had inserted text above Chris's head that dubbed him a loser while text over her head read, "Perfection."
"That's the one. And you know what Wesker said?" Chris shook his head. "He wanted to know why I was displaying my attractive sister's picture to a department full of single men. It was one of those rare times he felt like one of the guys. I thought it was funny then…"
"Promise me you won't be foolish with Wesker," Jill insisted. "You can't kill him, not yet. We don't know how, so don't push that Redfield luck of yours." Chris stared out the window. "Chris? Chris…?"