CHAPTER 7 – Lost and Found
And I never wanted anything from you
Except everything you had
And what was left after that too.
Florence and the Machine
She's touching his chest now
He takes off her dress now
Let me go.
I just can't look, it's killing me
And taking control.
The Killers
The hallway that she's running down is dark and smells damp.
The staccato of her heels goes together with the nervous beat of her heart and her breath exits loudly through her parted lips.
It's dark and hard to see what is before her and she realizes that she has no idea what her exact location is and how she should ever get off this maze-like ship.
Annoyed she shoves the hood of her cloak off her head and rips the tin mask off to shatter it against the wall.
Sweat is running down in drops over her face and sticks the strands of her hair to the side of her skull.
She badly wants to dive into the fresh air outside.
Anxiously she stops in motion as a massive rumble runs through the ship, caused by the monster that just awoke from its sleep and she has to try hard to remain her balance.
"Fuck you, Excella", she curses breathless and picks up the pace again.
She doesn't get far though.
The ceiling above her suddenly gets ripped apart and a thick black tentacle shoots through it and knocks her off her feet.
With her back she crashes against the wall and for a moment she sees nothing but stars dancing in front of her eyes.
Instinctively she puts her hand over her stomach with the child inside and she feels sorry for it.
Sorry for how much pain she has already caused it.
After mastering to regain a halfway normal breathing process she fiddles with the hem of her cloak until she gets in touch with her bare upper thigh and the knife that Wesker has given her strapped to it.
With growing fierce she rams it into the dark mass in front of her and is more than pleased to hear a distant wounded sound coming from the creature that used to wear tight silk dresses and golden high-heels.
But she knows she can't kill it nor can she stop it for long.
Using the few seconds of security she stumbles towards a door at the far end of the hall.
A door that will hopefully lead outside.
When she pushes it open the welcome cold of the night is hitting against her soaked body and she deeply inhales without ever stopping to race towards the docks. Towards safety.
The more she gains her distance from the inside of the ship the more she is starting to fear for Wesker. The more she is starting to regret to not have told him that she loves him.
Most likely it wouldn't have brought a change of the situation, but at least she could have left him with letting him know how much she actually cares.
That there is one single person on this planet, who takes him for who he is.
Now that she's back on the docks she dares to turn around for the first time and take a look at the leaving ship.
Almost soundlessly it glides away on the still water of the ocean, towards a mountain in the distance.
How it can still be afloat surprises her, at least mutated Excella has made sure to enwrap as much of it as she can.
She hopes, it can keep on carrying her weight and not drown everyone on it.
A male voice saying her last name, makes her turn around, startled.
The virus has put her into a state of alert, ready to run away or even to fight if necessary and for a spell her amber hues light up.
At first she doesn't trust her eyes, when she looks at the top of the soft, dirt covered slope.
"Jason?", she says in disbelief.
With an unexpected intensity all the emotions she has shared with him race through her and she can't believe to have truly forgotten about him, to have let her virus push the memory of him in the back of her mind.
Her humanity has been gone so long, she doesn't even remember what it feels like.
"That is my name, yes", he approves in a strangely neutral voice. "Our master has called me to make sure to bring you safely back to your chambers."
Her stomach twists. Our master … slowly her gaze wanders to his chest and to the roundly shaped thing hiding beneath the fabric of his shirt. P30. This explains, why Jason was gone.
"Oh god, Jason", she says and wanders towards him. "Do you remember who I am?"
"I don't believe we have met. I'm sorry, Miss Jones. Would you care to f-"
"Just shut up. Of course we know each other!"
Although she knows it's not his fault, anger takes over her.
She can't believe, how much Wesker has lied to her or at least how much he has done to destroy everything that has been holy to her. Even her heart. Even her loved ones.
It's clear to her that he hasn't called for Jason to bring her back safely.
There's a different meaning behind all of this.
But as usual she's not able to decode Wesker's current actions.
"Fucking fight against it! We both know that you are still yourself behind that god damn drug! So, fight it, don't let him do this to you. Don't let him destroy everything that I loved!"
The words are out faster than her brain can finish the process of thinking.
Jason, utterly confused, only keeps looking at this woman with the dangerous eyes closing the distance between them and when she has reached him, he can't stop her anymore.
Everything that Jill has taught her comes forth and with force she pushes him on the ground, where she mounts him and rips the top buttons of his clean, white shirt open – the shirt of a servant, she thinks weirdly enough – and as expected she finds the exact same construction that was attached to Jill's chest. Jill, who is gone now and hopefully safe.
"Oh, Wesker …", she breathes, suddenly feeling tired.
"Miss Jones?", Jason asks anxiously, not daring to move, not daring to touch her radiating skin.
He couldn't have done it anyway. His upper arms are pinned to the ground by the force of her legs.
"My name is Nebraska", she says softly and with a power that is quite the opposite of the din of her voice, her fingers enfold the red scarab and start an attempt to rip it off.
The tiny claws attached to his skin won't let go at first, but when they do slowly let go, she notices that they are attached to thin cables, appearing from under his skin and still it won't release him.
But she doesn't give up. After several tugs more the ugly insect lets go and with a scream of victory, hate, disgust and most of all release she throws it as far away as she can from them into the sea, where it drowns in blackness.
After she has gathered her breath she turns around and drops to her knees next to him, taking his head into her lap.
Momentarily he seems to be passed out from the pain, but she can sense the slow beat of his heart and the rising of his chest. Factors that prove her that he is still alive.
With caring fingertips she strokes over his dark hair, over the stubble on his chin and burning tears fill her eyes. He looks so young, so fragile at this very moment.
The tiny bleeding wounds over his chest don't decrease her pity for him.
"I'm so sorry, Jason", she whispers.
After an endless minute the first signs of him waking up are noticeable.
He looks like he's been lost in a terrible nightmare.
His blue eyes meet her amber ones and although he seems to be dazed it only takes a few seconds until the moment of recognition takes over his facial features.
Briefly he keeps resting on top of her lap, but with a sudden jerking movement he gets away from her.
"Nebraska …", he says warily and the disgusted look on his face doesn't hurt her.
It is his damn right to hate her.
She doesn't talk, only looks at him, while silent tears roll over her cheeks.
"Where the hell have you been all this time?", he blurts out. "Why have you left me? Why have you never at least attempted to save me?"
So many questions. Yes, why has she never looked for him?
Shame reddens her cheeks and she finds that he deserves the truth more than anything.
For the first time she's going to say it out loud …
"I think, I love him, Jason."
For some reason this causes her to cry even more, even though she's so sick of it. Sicker than anything else in this world.
"Love him? Just look, where this so-called love has driven you to" His voice is soaked with bitterness.
"Don't you think, I hate myself every single day for it?", she shouts louder than intended.
But right now she needs to let off steam. "Don't you think, it hurts more than anything else being trapped in his spell and do things that never even crossed my mind before?"
Her hands turn into fists and with her thumbs she strokes over the tender skin of her knuckles.
"The sad thing is", she continues. "I can't be without him anymore either. If only you would understand, what the virus is doing to me, when he is around …"
"It's not just that, Nebraska … look at the destruction around you. At all those dead bodies that are piling up on your account. Where has the intelligent woman gone … I know, you were infected against your will …" He shakes his head, not sure what to say next. As if a low creature like her doesn't even deserve his effort to keep a conversation up.
"The infection was against my will, yes. But … I was given a choice, Jason. He's not the only one to be blamed, because I was the one, who chose to follow him on his path."
"But why? I just don't understand it. You and I … we had a chance to get away from it."
Sadly she shakes her head. "Be realistic, Jason. We both know that it was nothing but silly fantasies that we shared to give each other hope."
"Maybe it felt like that for you … but not for me."
"Wesker would have killed us … or at least you. It turns out I carry the same blood like him", she says and a bitter laugh comes out of her. It's a strange effect on her tear filled face. "Isn't that another reason to go with him? He is the only one, who ever understood me, Jason. The only one, who ever made feel like I belong to this world … there would have been nothing anymore for you and I."
"Is that why you're having his child?", he suddenly spits out.
"How do you …?" To her surprise her voice is calm, even though a hint of fear squeezes her heart in its fist. But he doesn't need to answer this question, because she understands.
"Williams", she says through gritted teeth and wipes over her face. "I knew, I couldn't trust him."
"No, Williams kept his mouth shut. I was forced to work in the laboratory with him and saw your records … I guess, Wesker doesn't know any of it, does he? Why else would he throw you off the ship and leave you like that?" There's a sad laugh coming out of Jason. "He would have done it either way, right? And this is the man you describe to love. You're fucked up, do you know that? And what's even more fucked up … that I was desperate enough to love something like you. You're no better than him."
"No, I'm not better than him", she admits. "I can't even lie to you and say that I wouldn't have enjoyed a second of it. Having such power over someone … and being desired the way he desires me."
She lowers her gaze to the ground, scared that she might have revealed too much.
But being able to finally talk about what's going on between her and Wesker is a relief she can't quite explain.
Being separated from him allows her to think clearer than ever before.
It doesn't only let her see the good sides of their connection, also the truth of how he has cocooned her in a web of lies.
No matter if it was for her own protection or not, it will be hard for her to forgive him this episode.
Jason remains silent.
"So, you've been around all this time and Wesker never even …"
She finds that she can't speak anymore.
It looks like he made sure, she would never cross his way again. Until now.
"What the fuck ...", Jason suddenly utters, his stare transfixed at a spot in the far distance.
When Nebraska turns around she can see it too. The pillar of smoke that is rising from the volcano, several kilometers out in the Southern Ocean.
The inhabitants have named him 'Slaap Leu' which means 'Sleeping Lion'.
And just like everybody else, she knows it's a bad sign to wake one of them.
But too soon she realizes that the grey cloud coming out of it, isn't from the burning lava, it's from something that crashed into it.
Reading the signs of her aching body, it only leads her to one truth.
"Wesker", she says choked and under the force with which her heart crushes bitter tears fill her eyes.
There's something you need to know my lady … His last caring words enter her mind and she knows that she'll never find out, what he wanted to say to her.
Sinking down to her knees she lays her protective arms around her stomach, embracing the only thing of Wesker that is left.
The little thing that is capable of keeping him close to her.
Suddenly she is sure to have made her decision – she's going to keep it.
She can't tell how long she's been sitting in the cold sand at the beach, the growing waves soaking the fabric of her clothes with salt water, the cold creeping through her bones.
But none of it is relevant to her. Not even Jason's voice, trying to drag her back to reality.
She doesn't listen to him. His words only sound like fragments of a different language to her, while she drowns in purest sorrow.
The black sea, the darkness it has finally consumed her again.
She'll never forget the first time. He had opened the straps of her laboratory gown.
The cold temperature of the room crept over her snow-like skin and his body sent a radiating warmth over her shoulder blades.
His hands enfolded her breasts from behind and with his lips he drew an invisible line of kisses over her shoulder.
He had put the right dose of P30 into her to make her aware of his actions, to awake disgust and the urge to run away, but still enough to make her bend to his will and a hot shiver ran through her lower stomach, when he stepped in front of her, between her legs.
"I assume we have to make sure my orders are pound into your head, right Jill?"
She could only produce a gasp, when he placed his hand at the small of her back and pulled her towards him.
She turned her head away, but his gloved hand cupped her chin and so she was forced to look at him, when he thrust into her.
Every single agonizing second.
At first she held the sounds of pleasure back, then couldn't resist anymore to suppress them and too soon her traitorous hips matched the quick pace at which he was taking her.
She's staring at the white ceiling.
Her body is covered in white sheets. The windows are hidden behind white curtains.
Everything is unbearably white in here.
Her arm is itching and slightly red from the infusion needle they have shoved into her skin.
She wants to rip it out, but knows she has to resist.
The transparent liquid, slowly dripping away in a five second interval, is supposed to clean her system from the drug.
It may wash out that dirt, but not the memories imprinted on her mind.
They're still here, as clear as crystal.
She turns her head towards the man sleeping on a chair next to her hospital bed. Chris.
He seems to have aged a few years since they have brought her here one week ago.
There are dark circles under his eyes, his skin color is ashen and he hasn't shaved. Imprinted worry. But whenever he was awake, she could see it in his eyes. A look that goes beyond any partnership or simple care.
She feels sorry for him, sorry for herself.
If he would know half of the things she has done, things she has even enjoyed doing, his stare would turn dark, even hateful and disgusted.
She knows things that could break him, just like Wesker has broken everything inside of her. Irreversible mental destruction.
She doesn't even want to think of his name nor say it out loud.
Once more she closes her eyes, trying to get at least two or three hours of sleep, which would hopefully be without a dream or memory creeping up on her.
But when she slowly dozes off, it's back again.
It feels so real, she almost believes to smell the dust of the road and the sweat of fear of her victim.
She squeezed with all her power, crushing his throat with her bare hands.
The body of the man became limp and blood dripped down her gloves.
His voice purred right behind her. "Excellent."
A smile stole itself on her lips beneath the mask.
Warmth spread through her body like wandering snakes.
She liked making him proud and his complimentary words always made her mind wander into higher dimensions.
"Now let go of him."
Her fingers released their tight grip around the dead flesh and with a thud the body fell to the ground.
Sometimes it was his thrusts and his hands all over her, other times situations like these, killing people that kept her mind from completely escaping into a distant nirvana. And he knew it. He always made sure she was kept in gruesome reality.
"We're done for today."
Quickly she followed him into a corridor, where he shoved the hood off her head and ripped the mask off to kiss her lips, nip her neck.
She moaned and still driven by adrenaline from the kill the blood between her legs began to boil, when he crashed her back against the concrete wall behind them with a force that should have broken her bones. Only that they didn't. Her body was strong from the drug and all the training and her limbs possessed an agility they never had before.
She ground her hips against his, her shoulder blades the only part that kept her against the wall at this moment. And then she took all of him.
The scream comes from deep inside her lungs and she startles awake with a hurting throat and panic clenching her heart.
Early sun rays are falling into the room.
How long was she asleep? Five hours? Six hours? Time has no meaning in here.
The chair that Chris was sleeping upon is empty.
Sweat is clinging her hair and her hospital gown close to her body in an unpleasant way.
She believes to be tasting blood and the taste of 'him' inside her mouth.
Heavily panting and fighting against the tears pressing against her tired eyes she grabs for the glass of water next to her bed to down it in one go.
With a shivering hand she puts it back, almost missing the surface.
She draws her sheets over herself, shutting everything out for a moment and it comes more than unwelcome, when she hears the door opening not two minutes later.
By the sound of the steps it can only be Chris.
She peeks out from under the cover, trying to put a normal expression.
"Hey, you're awake. I organized you breakfast."
She sighs and turns her back towards him. "I'm not hungry, Chris."
"You need to eat Jill."
Can't he understand that food is the least worry on her mind right now?
A nurse carrying a tray is following behind him.
By the look on her face Jill can tell that Chris must have commanded her around to get her into here.
Feeling not hungry at all she looks at the meal that is being put before her.
It consists of a loaf of bread, some oatmeal and coffee so thin it could rather be described as black water. Patient food.
The intensity of the dream returns to her and even though the nurse complains she rips the needle out of her arm to get out of bed and rush into the bathroom to vomit it all out.
She's so sick of it. Sick of it all.
Of having no privacy, of having to think of him, of having to answer psychiatrist's questions and most of all she's sick of Chris watching her 24/7 like a little child.
She knows, he's trying to calm his conscience for having failed her, but the way he does it is more of a burden to her than he could ever imagine.
She's not the same and she won't ever be the same anymore.
No matter how intensely he watched her, no matter how helpful he thinks he is.
When she washes her mouth out with clean water, she avoids looking at her reflection in the mirror.
"Everybody get out!", she snaps, when she returns from the short safety inside the bathroom.
Both are stupidly staring at her like goats.
"Miss Valentine -", the nurse begins reasonably.
They probably teach them that tone at school, in a course called 'how to deal with crazy people', Jill thinks and for some reason this angers her even more.
"I said get the fuck out!"
To underline her wish she shatters the tray of food to the floor, the porcelain mug of coffee breaks into several shards that strain under the bed.
The bowl, made of sturdier material, just breaks in two and the slimy consistence of the oat mixes with the black liquid creating a sweetly disgusting smell.
The nurse startles, but doesn't bend down to pick up the mess.
Instead she adjusts the white cap on her head, even though there's nothing to adjust and then walks stiffly out of the room.
If she's going to call for someone to come and pump sedatives into her doesn't bother her right now.
Dangerously she glares at Chris, who is still here.
"Are you deaf?", she hisses. "You're not making it any better by standing around! Can't you just leave me alone for a second?"
For a moment she sees pain flashing in his eyes, words about to form on his lips that should calm her.
But he lowers his gaze to the destroyed breakfast on the grey hospital floor.
"Alright, if that's what you want", he quietly gives in and then leaves her.
Silence.
For the first time she's standing in it. It looks like she really hurt Chris.
Restlessly she starts pacing up and down the room, trying to sort her thoughts.
Should she go and apologize to him? At least he meant no harm.
"God", she says choked and falls down on the edge of the bed to burst out in tears.
Why is Chris even hanging around? Can't he see that all she can do is hurt him? He deserves better than that.
Bitterly she keeps sobbing until someone comes in again.
She doesn't peek through the hands she has put in front of her face to see who it is.
She doesn't even bother anymore.
She feels a sting right into the muscle of her upper arm, someone covering her with the strangely smelling hospital sheets, someone thrusting the infusion needle back into her arm and then she drifts off.
The late light of the afternoon fell into the room like golden silk, when he entered.
"Master", she obediently said and lowered her cold gaze to the floor. "Any new orders?"
"Yes", he said in that smooth voice that only he could master.
It made her head swoon, but the room started to lose its stability, the ground gone from underneath her feet, when he made himself busy opening her suit.
She believed to vomit.
But her last dose was only ten minutes old and therefore it was powerfully swimming in her blood.
So she assisted him in taking her clothes off until her naked skin rubbed against his.
Her legs automatically leaned themselves against his waist, when he pushed himself deep into her.
She laid her lips greedily upon his and arched her back to feel him even more intense.
She wanted to please him in here just as much as she wanted to please him by killing all these innocent people.
She remembers their accelerated breathing, his rough hands all over her body and most of all she remembers the din of her voice.
The voice of a stranger when she moaned her old Captain's name when he drove her closer and closer to her release.
She knew she was only a beautiful weapon he was designing.
Only existing and breathing for desecration. And she liked every moment of it.
Another week has passed in the blink of an eye and the digital clock standing next to him on a small round table shows ten minutes and thirty-one seconds. And time keeps going.
Jill doesn't look at him, nor does she put any effort into acknowledging his presence.
Dr. Samwell.
The psychiatrist with all the diplomas on the wall, with the fancy black glasses, with the expensive pen in his hands - how could he ever be able to understand what it feels like to be turned into a bioweapon, a killing machine, a willing sex toy?
He only studied books and ordinary humans and their ordinary psychotic breakdowns.
That's what she thinks at least.
How could he be any different than the other two head doctors, who have tried to talk to her the week before?
On her first session with Samwell she stared at the clock in silence until the obligated sixty minutes were over and then ran out of the room, fiercely shutting the door that made the wood frames of his diplomas on the wall shake for a moment.
Today she repeated the procedure. She walked into the room, let herself fall on the sofa without even greeting the man sitting opposite of her and ever since her entry she has been staring at the carpet. It is a sickly green color that makes her think of poisoned meadows.
Samwell, used to this pale, mute woman already, picks up his pen and crosses his legs to study a magazine before him.
At first she doesn't get, what he's doing, but then she realizes that he's solving a crossword puzzle.
She decides that this kind of makes him likeable.
At least more than the others, which is an improvement.
He gets that she doesn't want to talk and so he leaves her be, while the others always urged her to open her mouth.
The reason, why Samwell is different is because he doesn't pretend to care about her.
He is only there in case she needs him. Finally she speaks up.
"Shouldn't you be asking me questions?"
Slowly Samwell looks up from the riddle he was focused on and eyes her with interest from under his black framed glasses.
"Well, Miss Valentine, do you know a river in South America with …" His pen taps against the page several times. "Eight letters?"
Jill can't hold back a brief smile, but still she wants to test him.
"Who are you trying to convince, Doctor?", she asks sternly and looks at him directly.
He notices that her eyes have the color of frozen ice.
"Excuse me?" The question takes him aback, but his face stays unmoved. "There's no need to convince anyone, but yourself."
She huffs. "That doesn't answer my question."
"Then tell me what answer would make you content."
Silence falls over the room again.
He sighs and hopes to not have lost the brief connection they've built up.
Maybe he should take a step back.
"I know that solving crossword puzzles would be more convenient for you right now, but you would be surprised how much talking helps. Even with things you have ticked as hopeless. Suppressing what's luring inside of you is no solution. We can untie this knot, thread by thread."
"Is that so? Maybe I'm just protecting those around me", she answers coldly. "If you would have lived through the things I've seen … the things I've done. No one would ever look at me the same again. Have you ever heard the saying that silence is golden?"
"I have heard the saying. They also say that speech is silver. Still a precious metal, isn't it? Miss Valentine, It's not about the others, but about you. We're in a confident session right now. No word you say will ever leave this room. I'm not claiming that I can make the past undone or even change the way it went. That is out of power to everybody. These things that have happened are irreversible and the only thing we can do is to learn to cope and to learn to get on with it."
"Everything was so much easier, when everyone thought I was dead", she says quietly. "Especially when he thought I was dead …"
"When who thought you are dead?"
She swallows. "Chris …"
"What was your relationship to him?"
After he was done with her, he eyed her in an unnerving way.
"Do you pretend that I'm him, when we're doing it?", he asked her.
His words triggered a shadow of a man inside her delusional mind and she couldn't tell anymore, who he was, even though her heart ached at the thought of him.
Wesker always did this, asked her about this man, she was supposed to know.
Nothing but a mind game.
She knew, she wasn't the only one Wesker manipulated by getting physical.
He might have believed at this moment that she didn't know he was fucking this other woman too.
He believed that she didn't hear them, didn't see them, when they dared to unleash their lust in a corridor, where tiny cameras were hidden.
That look of pure dedication Jill saw on her face every single time.
She hoped, she never used the same expressions even though he was the only one, who could ever give her enough at this point.
In answer she uses his words in return.
"Why? Do you pretend that I'm her?"
He hit her hard and left her. He didn't like his toys talking back to him.
She utters a sound, almost a laugh that sends a shiver down Dr. Samwell's spine.
"We used to be professional partners. What our relationship is or was, I don't know … all I ever feel when in his presence is that I must mean something to him. He hasn't left my side since I was brought here."
"What do you feel, when he's sitting next to you?"
"I don't know …" She furrows her brows, which momentarily gives her the look of someone, who is trying to find a solution to a very difficult problem. "That he loves me?"
"No, Jill. Only focus on yourself. What do you feel, when he's sitting next to you all day?"
At first she hesitates and focuses on her immobile hands on top of her thighs.
"A little bit of anger", she says. "But mainly revolt against myself. And when not that, I feel nothing."
"Why revolt?"
"Because Chris should stop playing the hero and take care of me", she says and a glint of frustration is visible in her eyes. "All that I am is damaged good. I hate how he tries to lure back the woman I used to be. But I won't return to be the same anymore."
"Are you sure that this emotion of revolt should be directed towards you and not your capturer? Ask yourself who the true victim is?"
"Then tell me what emotions I should feel, Doctor?", she challenges with narrowed eyes.
She is starting to get a bit impatient with him.
She doesn't want to talk about Chris, she doesn't want to talk about Wesker.
"Well, you're under medical treatment. It is normal that the pills usually put you in a state of emotional emptiness or that they bring forth negative feelings concerning your environment or yourself. But also it's not up to me to dictate, what you should feel and what you should not feel."
"You know, what's the strangest thing? That I'm probably not even able anymore to have any emotions myself. It still feels like my body is awaiting his commands."
A flush of shame runs through her, resulting in two hectic stains on top her cheekbones.
"I really don't know, what to do with myself right now. I bet, you think I'm crazy."
"If I would get a dollar every time someone said that to me."
She finds, she should find his words insulting, instead she chuckles, surprised about the unfamiliar sound coming out of her throat. She can't remember the last time, she truly laughed.
"I'm not here to judge you", he continues. "What you have just said is simply one of the main reasons why it's difficult for you finding back to a normal life. Your body might be here, but you brain hasn't proceeded the fact yet that you're free. It always takes longer for the brain than for the stomach to realize changes. Suddenly being aware of your body, of all the influences around you is something you have to get used to again. I'm not saying it has to happen from one day to the next. Take baby steps and remember that none of us", he winks in a joking way. "is here to tell you what to do."
After this session she decides that she has finally found a person to open herself up to.
Chris is in her room, when she rushes in. He lifts his hands in a defensive manner.
"Don't worry, I'm gone."
She takes a look on her bed and sees that he has put a pile of books on it.
"I've been to the library. Maybe you'd like to read one of them.", he says and then walks towards the door.
Jill shuts her eyes tightly and inhales deeply. "Chris, wait …"
His steps come to a halt and he turns around to look at her backside pointed at him.
She looks small in her wide, white hospital gown and she has lost a worrying amount of weight, because she doesn't eat enough.
But when her blue eyes meet his, he can see something in them that almost reminds him of her old self.
They're free of fear at this moment, free of the terrible memories.
"Thanks", she says sincerely.
He gives her a nod of courtesy and reaches for the door knob once more.
"Why don't you stay? This afternoon, I mean."
"Do you want that?" He knows, it was hard for her to ask him.
For a moment he believes to have lost the connection to her once more, when she doesn't answer, crossing her arms before her chest.
"I guess so."
They were in the control room.
"It seems your prince on the white horse has arrived", Excella purred and pointed her manicured fingernail at the monitor to the right of her.
Through her red lenses Jill saw a man hurrying down the corridor of sector C of the experimental facility, followed by a young African woman.
"And his slave too", Excella added.
Although a foreigner herself, the Italian woman has always been a racist.
That's why she never even had to think twice about using Africa as their playground for testing bioweapons.
Jill gave a sound of disgust from under her mask, demonstrating her disagreement about Excella's words.
Jill also didn't like the way Excella always exaggeratedly rolled her r's.
Why should those two be here for her? Her head started to hurt, when she tried to figure it out.
"You don't remember him, do you?", Excella mocked. "Poor child."
Jill knew she only treated her in this demeaning way, because she was fucking Wesker and every attempt she tried to start from her side ended in refusal.
"Let's make sure, I'll give him a nice welcome. Just stand in the corner and shut up, little dove."
"Chris", she says on an early Wednesday evening two weeks later. "There's something I'd like to ask you."
"Anything, Jill."
"Are you in love with me?"
She's sure he didn't expect this kind of question, because it takes a moment for him to answer.
"Yes", he eventually admits.
"I was afraid you would say that." But she smiles. "Have I ever been in love with you? I think, I've been. I can't think of another reason, why Wesker would have used me to hurt you?"
Chris is startled for a moment, it's the first time she said his name out loud.
"I don't know, Jill", he sincerely answers. "Neither of us will ever completely understand his actions ... nor what you used to feel for me."
"I guess, so", she quietly says, drawing invisible lines on her white hospital pillow.
The dim golden light in the room makes her look skin warm for once and not white like untouched snow. "Have you been with other women, when you thought I was dead?"
He sighs. "Sorry", she apologizes quickly. "It shouldn't be any of my business."
"No, you can ask, don't worry. At least it's the time of honesty, right? Yes, I've been with other women during that time. But … it never lasted long, because you were all I could think of, Jill. I think it sort of pissed them off not having my attention."
She shows him a soft smile.
"Nothing ever felt right", he continues. "You can't imagine what went through me, when I heard that there is evidence of you still being alive. It was like …"
Carefully he throws a look at her to check if he could go further.
It is so easy these days to step over the line with her. But his words seem to enthrall her.
"It was like waking up from a terrible nightmare."
"I know, what it feels like", she answers. "Being trapped in a nightmare."
Chris shifts into a more comfortable position on his chair and focuses on her, trying to not give her the impression that he's putting pressure on her.
It's a hard role to keep up.
It's not only her first time saying Wesker's name, but also her first time she openly speaks to him about what happened after the mansion incident.
"He created the nightmare. Wesker. And you were always a part of it, although I couldn't exactly tell, who he meant. He talked about you all the time Chris. He poisoned my mind with your name and then trained me to hate you. That's why I acted so distant. I was afraid you would hurt me, if you figured out the things he did to me. Or the things I did for him …"
Suddenly her voice is soaked with bitterness. Hatred. Self-accusation.
"I have killed for him, Chris. Dozens of innocent people. I squeezed the life out of them with my bare hands. "
Tears are glittering in her light blue eyes now and she wipes over her nose just to go back to endlessly scrape over the rough texture of the pillow with her nails.
"I have fucked him. Whenever he wanted me, I allowed it. I could understand, if you're disgusted with me now."
"It wasn't you, Jill. It never was", Chris presses harsher than intended.
The mere thought of Wesker fucking her, is permeating like deadliest acid in his stomach.
"It was the drug."
"But what if it wasn't, Chris! Alright, maybe the drug was responsible for it, maybe his influence was responsible for it, but what if there was also a placebo effect! A little part in my brain that stayed untouched and I used it as an excuse that explained to me, why I enjoyed doing it all. And you know what's the worst? Even now, I have a feeling of owing something to him, because he actually saved my life. Death would have been the better option … but while in his hands, I never felt regret to still be breathing."
There's a silence of a few seconds between them.
"I bet you probably hate me now", she concludes.
"No, Jill", Chris answers, watching his hands on his lap.
His knuckles have turned slightly white from the restrained pressure he's using on his upper thighs. But still his tone is honest.
"Nothing could ever make me hate you."
"He has desecrated me", she starts another attempt to pound into him. "Our enemy …"
"Who is dead now", he interrupts her. "Who got what he deserved. Whose insane plans have finally been put to an end."
"But didn't he get what he wanted by handing me over to you in that state I was in? Wasn't that what he wished the most for? To break you with it?"
His answer is immediate and she can see his shoulders slump.
"I was broken already anyway."
At this moment she believes every single one of his words, because it is visible on his face.
Never has he looked so drained like right now and the urge to console him awakes her heart.
But she's still scared of sharing physical contact with him. Instead she lets him do it for her.
She thinks she's ready to at least receive some of it.
Slowly like trying to touch a shy deer, he reaches his fingertips to her forehead, letting them linger in mid-air a few inches away.
Although she was upset before, she doesn't react alarmed or tries to move away from him.
So he strokes a few loose strands of her fair hair out of her face and then lets her go.
A simple touch with a lot of meaning.
"That makes two of us", she whispers in return.