CHAPTER 9 – Monster
I'm starting to forget just what it was you said exactly
The love is gone
Only to spawn disastrous memories
I'm starting to forget
I'm starting to forget
I'm starting to forget …
Drop Dead Gorgeous
Seven devils are around you
Seven devils in your house
See, I was dead, when I woke up this morning
And I'll be dead before the day is done.
Florence and the Machine
"You're slowly dying away, Nebraska."
The smell of Lucky Strike cigarettes.
"Slowly dying like some stabbed animal."
The feeling of hell on her skin, when he touches her shoulder.
"Isn't breathing nothing but an automatic process to you?"
Nebraska Jones. Thirty-five years old. Skin like alabaster. Flesh almost starved to the bones.
Carrier of an aching heart. Copper hair put up into an untidy knot.
"Let it go. Close that book. You have forgotten anyway, who it is about, haven't you?"
She closes the diary with the dozens of filled pages. The cover is plain black.
She read through them. She can't remember, who the author of these pages is.
They are about a woman, who has lost her baby. And a man, who has left her.
She must have loved him.
She could almost taste it in every single line. Every single word. Every single letter.
"Just … let it go."
She grabs for the razor blade next to her. Lying ready on the mattress.
She throws one last glance to the corner of the room, where he is sitting.
The creature with the yellow eyes. Her only companion over all these months.
He nods. Encouraging.
"Do it. Then you'll be free."
Cold steel kissing the inside of her wrists.
He has told her to do so. He has always been reasonable.
A throbbing in her head.
Pounding like a hammer on stone.
Jill Valentine is slowly finding back to her senses.
Her sight is blurry, the room filled with a pale light.
She tries to move, but she can't. A piercing pain runs through her shoulder blades, when she tries to do so.
The reason is found rather quickly. Handcuffs are holding her against a bedframe.
Now she is wide awake. Fighting against the prison around her wrists.
"Stop it, Valentine. You'll cut your hands off."
Wesker.
"Shut up, motherfu—"
Looking up she can see her old capturer's face clear for the first time.
It stops her breath. And the curse she was just about to let out.
"Your … face."
Unable to hold back.
"I can thank your little lover and his African bitch for that."
The left side of his face is covered in scars, coming from a terrible burn.
They run down over the side of his neck as well. Jill knows that they probably continue on his chest and shoulders as well.
A field of destruction. A failed war imprinted on his skin.
He is not what he used to be. Not as threatening. Proof that he is in fact vulnerable.
She could not see him properly, when he paid her a visit in Chris' kitchen.
It feels like years ago that she woke up next to him. Content. After sex.
The strange wish to say that she's sorry comes up, but she catches herself early enough.
"Would you care to untie me? You know, I can't run from you anyway."
He doesn't question her logic. In a matter of seconds she's free.
She tries hard to not stare at his deformation. This netting of red and white lines.
Groaning she rubs her raw wrists.
"Where the fuck have you taken me this time?"
The room doesn't look familiar to her.
"Antarctic Base", he answers, falling back down on the chair he has placed at the end of her bed.
"Oh …"
Horrible memories get back to her. Cryogenic sleep. Needles in her arm. Experiments.
Ungentle hands on her body. His hands.
"The only place on this planet your lover won't ever sniff out."
Now she understands, why he didn't find it necessary anymore to tie her to a bed.
Nothing but a hell made of ice and snow around them. For miles and miles and miles.
"If you think so then you underestimate him. We both know that."
Sharply she eyes him. Frozen hues. Fitting to this continent.
"Sooner or later he will find me. Or better, us. And prepare to be finally killed, Wesker."
Gingerly she places her bare feet on the stone ground, testing the strength in her knees, trying to figure out, if she can get up. It works. Briefly her muscles complain, but she stands.
"You're a fucking mental case. Why don't you just give up? Look at yourself. All that this project has done for you is leave you with scars that won't ever disappear."
"What about you, Jill? Will your scars ever disappear?"
She's disarmed. Tears burning behind her eyes. Daring to overbear her.
The scars under the fabric of the shirt she is wearing suddenly burning to gain her attention. To remind her of their ugly existence. To remind her how Chris' mouth has wandered over them, while she took him slowly.
"Fuck yourself", she spits. "Get out, you monster."
His head wanders under the sheets, nipping his way along her naked stomach. She laughs.
"Someone is ticklish it seems", he mumbles from under the covers.
"Maybe. But I didn't' tell you to stop, Leon", she giggles.
"Well … let's hope I can make it good again."
Their lips are on the verge of meeting. Her hands about to dig themselves in his hair.
Then her phone goes off.
"You left your phone on?", he moans.
"Just a second. I'll turn it off", she says and pecks his cheek. "Don't get mad about it."
On any other occasion Claire would have just rejected the caller and turned the phone around on its display to focus on the more pleasant sides of life.
But tonight something tells her that she at least has to check, who the caller is.
The name on the display makes her frown.
"It's my brother. I have to take this. Sorry."
"Can't that wait?"
"No, it can't. It's my turn to make it good, hm?"
"I'll take you by your word, Claire", he winks.
She answers. "Chris. Why are you calling at this ungodly hour? Did you and Jill run out of milk?"
Leon watches Claire's face going from amused to shocked in a matter of seconds.
"Wait, what … Chris, slow down … How do you mean she has disappeared? … Hasn't she maybe gone to the 24-hour store to get something? We both know, you're pretty disorganized, when it comes to shopping groceries." She rolls her eyes. "Yes, I am serious … Wesker? But Wesker is dead … okay, okay … I'm on my way to yours right now. Just … don't lose it, big brother."
She charges out of bed, grabbing for her clothes that have been thrown into all directions. Carelessly. In expectation to not get back into them until the sun would announce a new day.
"Claire, what has happened?", Leon asks, getting up to get dressed as well.
"Jill. She has disappeared again. Chris thinks Wesker is behind it. But this can't be, Leon … Wesker is dead."
Leon huffs. "From what I've heard of him, it wouldn't surprise me."
"So you believe what Chris claims?"
Leon wishes he could have said no. To calm her.
But he only shrugs.
He flips through the diary. Nebraska's diary.
He has taken it with him, when he found her in the mental ward.
Bleeding to death. She was bleeding to death because of him.
Page after page after page.
It's unbearable to read these words. Written in her hasty handwriting.
Sunday, 31st of March
I feel stupid writing all of this … but Charlotte, my nurse, has given me this book to keep track of my thoughts. As if getting rid of them on these pieces of a dead tree would help.
What is there to say? It's raining? I had my dose of pills?
I wish, I could say more. Wish I could write about you.
And how you make me feel now that you're gone.
I don't even know … I think my heart has been ripped out.
I won't ever be able to love again … at least not the way I loved you.
I loved you, yes. Loved you with all my heart. Loved you from the first day we got aware of each other.
Funny how I can tell this a book, but could never say it straight to your face.
It's so funny that it's tragic.
Wednesday, 3rd of April
I dreamt of you last night. I had tears on my face.
I never cry in my waking state … why? Have you made me this numb?
He skips ahead.
Thursday, 15th of May
I believe the baby has kicked me today. It scared me.
Wesker's breath comes to a halt.
She was pregnant. Pregnant with his child. And he left her. Careless. Ignorant.
It's not possible though … this little thing is only two months old.
Could be the superficial blood it is carrying … maybe it makes development faster.
All just assumptions. I don't care. I really don't.
Why aren't you full of joy? The nurse's faces seemed to scream at me.
Ugly masks. Fake friendliness.
I don't want this child … I don't even want to live.
Why go on, when you're even too tired to keep on breathing?
Monday, 10th of June
I have lost the baby. The life inside of me … just gone out like a candle in the wind.
Blood on my sheets. Blood between my legs. The hateful white has finally been dishonored.
I felt nothing.
He turns the pages, almost ripping them out in bitterness.
Sunday, 14th of July
You think, I didn't know you were sleeping with her … I heard you two fucking almost every night.
How was it for you? Not being able to tell me how you truly felt for me … but she probably gave you what you were seeking for. Complete dominance.
Well, I'm glad, I could keep on smiling.
But never forget that you have destroyed me with it …
This is where her entries end. And probably also her sanity.
So, this is how she truly thought about him then?
He throws it back into his drawer. Shutting it close fiercely.
She must never see this book.
Ever again.
Chris is a wreck when they arrive. Skin pale, eyes tired from lack of sleep.
"Fucking son of a bitch", he curses, while restlessly pacing up and down the living room.
"Chris, calm down. We've got no proof yet that Wesker is behind all of this."
His jaw tightens with suppressed anger. Nervousness.
"Ah yes, Claire? Then explain to me what sense it would make, if Jill decided to go for a walk in the middle of the fucking night!"
"Hey" A conciliatory approach from Leon. "No need to raise your voice."
"Who invited you anyway?", Chris growls and takes a warning step towards him.
Chris could never stand him. He didn't like the thought of his hands touching his little sister.
"I wanted him to come with me", Claire says, her voice going soft. "Please, Chris."
Surrendering he falls down on the sofa and lets his hands run over his hair.
"We understand that you are upset and we are here to help you. So please, let us."
"Okay …" Chris nods. "Okay. Sorry, Claire."
Claire sighs, sitting down next to him. "Has she taken her phone with her?"
"No, she has left it here. Don't you think, I've tried to reach her on it already? Her jacket is still here. Even her clothes. It must be Wesker … must be. I can't find another explanation."
"But Chris, how …?" Claire sighs. "Do you think we should involve the B.S.A.A into this?"
"Fuck the B.S.A.A. Where were they anyway, when Jill was missing the last time? And when I did go back to them they left me and Sheva standing alone against a whole horde of town people gone crazy. Jill means nothing to them. At least not without any evidence of a bio-terroristic megalomaniac behind all of this."
"Doesn't Wesker count as bio-terroristic megalomaniac?", Leon suggests.
"I declared Wesker as dead. What the hell are they going to think, if I suddenly claim the opposite?"
"Then what are we going to do?", Claire throws in. "You know, you can't look for her without any support."
Chris raises his brows. "Can you still handle a gun, sister?"
It is Thursday. And the heating hasn't been working properly the whole day.
Jill put on three pair of socks and her thick boots. The black coat Wesker has given her. A layer of shirts underneath.
And still she is freezing. Cursing Wesker and his damn facility under her breath.
He has it good. Not caring about low temperatures. Not caring about being human.
He has been sitting in the laboratory all day already. Reading through that black little book.
Or doing nothing.
Just sitting there, staring at the computer screensaver bouncing from corner to corner.
She knows the reason for his apathy. Nebraska.
She seems to be the only worry on his mind. Or the fact that he has no one to assist him in creating that goddamn virus. It turned out that there are no records left. All destroyed in Africa by the B.S.A.A.
"How is she?" Jill is leaning against the doorframe.
His shoulders stiffen and he doesn't bother to turn around to look at her.
"She is suffering from amnesia, Valentine. That's how she is doing."
There was no sign of recognition visible on her face when she woke up yesterday.
No trace of love or happiness to see him. Not even anger or accusation about him leaving her.
Only strangeness. Unfamiliarity. Every second he had to hold that questioning gaze was unbearable.
Then she screamed. Afraid of him. Telling him to get out. To get the hell out, while throwing every thing after him she could get.
She should ask him. Jill knows, she should.
"Wesker?"
"What?"
"Are you …" alright? Is there anything I can do? She finds that she can't bring it over her lips.
"Nothing. Forget it."
Nebraska can see him sitting on the chair in her room. Yellow eyes. Red skin. Black hair.
The devil finds his way inside anywhere. He is smoking his cigarette. His Lucky Strike.
"You're not dead, I see."
Calculating. Not content.
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm here, because I need to be … what are you doing here, Nebraska?"
"I'm reading … I have no time for you. Not now."
"No, that's now what I'm talking about. You know exactly, what I mean. This man … he is not good for you. Don't you see that he will only bring misery?"
She presses the book against her chest.
Dragonfly in Amber by Diana Gabaldon. Amber. Like her eyes.
"How can you know? He has saved my life."
He flips the Lucky Strike to the ground. A burning stump. Cold ashes sprawling.
"Are you seriously defending him? He is the reason you even need someone like me. But if you have changed your mind … fine, go ahead, spread your legs for this son of a bitch."
Suddenly he is behind her. His fiery breath against her neck.
She is clutching the book fiercely against her chest. Her nails cutting into its cover.
"Get out of here. I don't need you."
"He is rotten. Rotten to the core."
Nebraska keeps staring at the empty chair. Shaking like a leaf. The novel in her hands is forgotten.
They are sitting at the table together. The heating is finally back to working again.
Jill is eating some vegetables and rice. Chicken that is on the verge of going cold.
She is not very hungry. But at least he allowed her to eat, whenever she wanted.
He won't let her starve. Just like he won't fail her, when it comes to her dose. P30.
Twenty milligrams. Not more. Not less. Right into the vein in the bend of her arm.
The low amount allows her to remain her own will.
It is just enough to still the craving. The hunger. The pain.
All she needs. All she asks for.
He is working on his journal. Then his laptop. Just to go back to the journal again.
She knows that he is trying to recreate Nebraska's work.
"How do you imagine it to be?", she asks between small bites. "Will you wander over each continent to pick up everyone, who has survived?"
"Eat your food, Jill."
"Then you'll gather them around you and tell them that they are the chosen ones and that you are their god." Jill hides a mischievous smile by taking a sip of water. It's dangerous to show it down here.
"They will think you've escaped from a ward, Wesker. They all think they're Jesus. Or god."
She expects him to get up. Maybe shout at her. Grab her by her throat.
But instead he closes his laptop, grabs his journal and leaves her.
Leaves her and the food to go cold.
He is surprised to find her in the laboratory, when he enters.
The foul mood Jill has caused is immediately gone.
"Nebraska?", he says cautiously.
Caught she turns around, holding a small glass tube against her chest.
"I … I was looking at the … things you are growing in these tubes. Sorry, I can go, if you like."
He can see her eyes staring at the exit he is blocking. Yearning. Afraid.
But he won't step away. In hope to prove her that there is no need to have such emotions.
"No, stay. It's alright."
"What are these?", she asks then.
The woman she has been the past few weeks isn't around at the moment. He is glad about it.
"They're supposed to turn into a certain virus. But it looks like I'm only failing at trying to accomplish it. You were the only one, who was ever able of stabilizing it."
"Me?"
"You were remarkable on your field. One of a kind, I dare to say."
For a moment it is silent between them, the small test tube turning warm under her palms.
The black thing growing inside of it pulsating in a disturbing manner.
"What are you?", she suddenly asks. "You're not human, are you?"
"No, I'm not."
"I have guessed that." Not afraid. "Are you real?"
He frowns. "What do you mean?"
"What has happened to your face?" She ignores him. It's like she's following an inner protocol of compulsory questions she has prepared in her room before.
"It's … I had an accident. You think I'm a monster, don't you?"
"I'm not sure about that yet … usually I rely myself on the fact that monsters can't talk. But I live in a different world."
"Don't we all", he replies.
"Why have you saved my life?"
"Because …" He steps into the room and puts his laptop and his journal on the laboratory table. "Because you mean something to me. You always have. You just don't remember it anymore."
She shakes her head. "No, I don't."
Quickly she rushes past him. Finally the exit is free.
"I remember Jill telling Dr. Samwell something about being with him at the end of the world… I ask myself if that's an indicator to where she could have disappeared to?"
"Isn't Dr. Samwell her psychiatrist? Have you been eavesdropping, Chris?", Claire asks accusing.
Her brother's earlobes turn slightly red. "Not exactly eavesdropping ..."
With a wave of her hand she puts the subject aside. "It doesn't matter where you got the information from. As long as we have a first indication."
They are sitting together in his living room. A few weeks have passed since Jill's disappearance and still they haven't come across very useful information yet. Until now.
"Although it doesn't really minimize the amount of possible places, where she could have ended up at", Claire sighs frustrated, rubbing her temples.
"I'm not finished yet", Chris says. "She said more. Something about how cold it always was. How she could never go outside. A frozen continent."
"Probably the Arctic? Or Antarctic?"
"Well, they are both places, where hiding wouldn't be that much of an effort."
"And it fits to Wesker's attitude", Claire says strained. "Even though it's not very polite to peek into others private psychiatric sessions, I'm glad you have done it this time.
"I'm here to serve", he says nonchalantly.
"I ask myself, how you couldn't think of it any earlier, Chris. But never mind …"
Claire gets Leon on the phone. "Hey darling. It's me …"
Chris rolls his eyes. Why did she have to call him like that before him?
He doesn't want to be part of their intimacy. Before he gets the urge to run to the kitchen to not listen to their teasing words, she gets to business. Fortunately.
"The reason why I'm calling … have you heard of any strange occurrences happening in either the Arctic or Antarctica recently?"
"Three point seven Dimethylocta. Two point six Hexyl Cinnamal … Jill, are you following?"
The sound of fast scribbling on a piece of paper.
"Slow down, man."
He sighs. Annoyed. "You have learned to write at school, haven't you?"
"Yes. I've learned human vocabulary. Human words. Not that fucking non-sense you're babbling about. I am not HER, Wesker!"
"Well, she isn't herself either. So, off we go."
Jill throws the pen on the table.
"I quit."
"Not if I fire you first."
The atmosphere is charged. Only for a moment.
Then she laughs. Even Wesker manages a smile. Impish. But a smile non the less.
They have been working for another two weeks. And his project is still stuck in square one.
On top of that she is stuck in this frozen hellhole with Wesker. But what could she do?
He has the needle. The needle that contains what her body is finding more important than freedom.
"I can't fill in her position", she says. Calmer. "All I can offer are anti-bodies."
"But I need assistance with this. Get Nebraska then."
"What? Why? You know, she can't-"
"Get Nebraska!", he snaps.
Is he expecting her to suddenly remember everything, when she is working on something?
The trigger that might bring her memory back? Jill has to swallow. She prays inwardly.
Prays that Nebraska's memory ever won't come back.
As unfair as it sounds, it's probably the only thing that can save this planet now.
Nebraska looks tired. Probably she has been up all night. Talking to her invisible commander.
"What's the matter?", she asks.
"Come over here", Wesker demands. "There's something I'd like to show you."
Watchful she walks over to him, stopping by his side, paying attention to not get too close to him.
She doesn't feel comfortable near him. He can sense it.
It hurts being aware of this. The words from her diary are constantly on his mind.
"Take a look through this microscope and tell me what you see."
He wishes he could have placed her on his lap. Like back then in Africa, when they were working together. She was always such a tease. Often he ravished her right in the laboratory.
In hope for Excella to enter at this one delicious moment.
But today he moves away from her. Offering space, while she bends over the instrument.
She takes a long look. Jill and Wesker both stare at her. On edge.
"Black dots …", she finally says. Her tone containing a hint of a question.
Jill and Wesker both wait for a flow of more words. But they're not coming.
"This is all, Nebraska? Can't you be more specific?", Wesker grumbles.
"Wesker …" Jill's voice carries a warning undertone.
"It used to be your work", he continues. Jill doesn't deserve his attention right now. "We have talked about this already, for god's sake!"
Insecurely her eyes wander over the whole laboratory and its equipment.
Wesker's petri dishes. Wesker's test tubes. All they are carrying is worth as much as dirt on the ground. And just as useful.
"It looks … complicated", she concludes.
"It's not", he says impatiently. "You were so brilliant on your field. Why can't you remember? Or better ... do you even want to remember?"
Startled she steps away from the microscope, almost bumping into the counter behind her.
"I'm sorry, if you expected more from me."
Her cheeks burn. He can't tell why, but today he is angry with her. Very angry. It's like the words from her diary have completely reached him. How she lied to him. How she hasn't told him about her pregnancy. How she has lost their child. And she wanted it. Wanted it all to happen.
"Yeah, you better be sorry."
Like this the project is going to take another seven years.
Time he doesn't have.
"Wesker", Jill interferes again. "Can I talk to you for a second?"
After the laboratory door is closed behind them she pushes her flat palm against his chest.
"Don't talk to her in this tone! It's not her fault she can't remember anything!"
"But I fucking need her to remember", he snaps back. "You know, I need that virus."
"You do, yes. But not the rest of the world, you bastard."
"That's your opinion. And your opinion means nothing."
He takes a step towards her. To intimidate her.
She firmly stays on her spot. Holding her gaze with his.
"Be realistic, Wesker. Your plan is dead! It won't work anymore! And even if Nebraska finds back to herself, you can't pull this woman down the same path like you have done already. Don't you see that you are the reason, why she even belongs to a mental ward? You've ruined her!"
The touch of leather on her cheek. The taste of iron inside her mouth. He has slapped her.
Hatefully she looks at him. Nebraska has opened the door. She heard their argument.
"Son of a bitch", Jill hisses and walks away.
Nebraska follows her. Throwing a last fearful look back.
Maybe the devil is right about him.
Jill shuts the door to the bathroom close. The water is running, when Nebraska steps inside.
Cold water. Jill takes it into her mouth and spits it out. It's slightly red.
"Oh, you're bleeding", Nebraska says affected.
"I'm fine", Jill answers strained, washing the ugly iron taste out.
She looks at her pale reflection in the mirror. She'll have a bruise tomorrow. She knows it.
"I'm sorry", Nebraska says. "It's all my fault this happened."
Jill dries her face with a towel. Carefully. "It's not. He has always been like that."
Nebraska sits down at the edge of the bathtub.
"I'm afraid of him, Jill. He keeps warning me about him anyway."
Jill frowns and then joins her, taking Nebraska's hands into hers.
"Who warns you from him?"
Nebraska's eyes slowly wander to the bathroom door.
He is standing there. Leaned against the door. Blowing out smoke.
"Tell her. Tell her about me. She wishes to kill him just as much as I do."
The room is empty for Jill. But for Nebraska it is occupied by the devil.
"I can't tell you who … but he said that Wesker only wants to do me harm."
Jill feels like telling her how cruel and cold-hearted he is. How power-hungry and manipulative.
But recently she has gotten to know a different side to him as well. He doesn't show it often.
It's only there, when this woman is around. The woman, who has lost her memory.
And today she might have overstepped the line. She admits it. But still it is no reason to get physical.
"There's no need to be afraid of him", she says soothing. "Especially not for you. Believe it or not, he cares about you. Very much."
"Does he?" More questioning than convinced.
Those amber eyes reflecting how broken her body is. How lost her soul.
"Yes, he does. You and he used to be-"
Jill hesitates, tucking a lose strand of Nebraska's copper hair behind her ear.
"Forget it", Jill concludes.
"You and he used to fuck. No need to be conservative, woman", he throws in casually, bellowing a weird laugh.
"Just remember that there is only one reality. Which one you choose … is up to you."
"He fucked you like you were an animal, Nebraska. A fucking stray dog."
Her grasp around Jill's hand doesn't loosen. It intensifies. Just like her focus on her.
"Which one have you chosen?"
She can't listen to him. Not this time.
His words are too much to bear. Jill the only anchor that keeps her sane at this moment.
"Listen to your heart. Not your head. Then you'll find out."
"Are you sure, Chris?"
"Yes, I am, Claire."
"I'd come with you, you know that."
He lays his arms around her. Holding her tight. "I know."
"Just ... don't fall into any crevasses. You've always been a little bit clumsy."
"Not true", he replies smiling and lets her go. "You're the one, who keeps falling over her own feet."
They both wished, they could have laughed. But the atmosphere is carrying something sad in it.
Chris Redfield is back in uniform. This time none of his clothing is carrying the B.S.A.A emblem.
He is on his own mission.
He stretches his hand towards Leon. They shake hands.
"Thanks for preparing everything, Kennedy. It's much appreciated."
Leon nods. "I hope, you'll find her."
They have agreed to split up. Chris is flying to Antarctica, while Leon and Claire would go down to the Arctic to look for Jill. The only two continents on this planet covered in eternal snow.
"We'll stay in touch", Chris says and then boards the chopper.
Having been in the air force it is no problem for him handling planes and everything related to it.
"Take care, big brother", Claire says and he briefly salutes.
Then their voices are gone. All noises faded into nothing.
Only him and silence. And the hope to find his partner alive. Once again.
A piercing scream startles Jill awake in the middle of the night.
Never losing her old senses from the days of fighting bioterrorism she gets out of bed.
There's no gun she could have taken. No knife. Only her courage. Adrenaline.
With a pounding heart she carefully walks out of her room to track down its origin.
It comes from the laboratory. The sound of splitting glass makes her jog.
The sound of an inhuman growl run faster.
And when she arrives at the laboratory she finds Nebraska on the floor.
In a puddle of blood. One of Wesker's Uroboros abominations on the loose.
"Well … fuck", she curses under her breath and then calls for Wesker.
At the top of her lungs.
Wesker comes prepared. A magnum in his hand he shoots the crawling thing with the tentacles.
Three shots. His facial expression doesn't change at one of them. No mercy.
Jill has to put her hands over her ears from the echo the shots drag with them.
"Holy shit …", she pants and then runs over to Nebraska's limp body. "Is she dead, Wesker?"
Panic rises in her throat. Threatening to suffocate her.
"Jill", Wesker says surprisingly soft. "Go and prepare everything in the medicine room. Please."
"Okay." She swallows and slowly gets up. "Okay."
His lips are a straight line. The fear in his eyes clearly visible, but still he forces himself to remain calm.
Nebraska's white gown is soaked with blood. Dark red. A growing stain on the side of her upper body.
A sigh of relief comes out of him, when he finds her pulse. Weak. But it is there.
He hasn't even noticed how he was holding his breath until now.
Little worms of the failed Uroboros virus are crawling along her ivory skin. Desecrating her beauty.
Disgusted he shoves them off and stomps them with his boot. Black slush on the ground.
He wishes, he could have spit at them.
Some of them are sucked to her skin and he carefully removes what he can before taking her limp body in his arms. He doesn't want to see the damage he has done yet. He wouldn't bear it.
He is glad Jill could pull herself together, because everything is prepared, when he arrives.
"Cut her clothing open, please."
Jill, even paler than usual, nods and grabs for the scissors.
She doesn't believe to have ever heard him using the word 'please' so often. She's not sure, if it's even the first time she can hear him using it in her presence.
The ripping sound of fabric.
Carefully Jill takes the gown off and throws the soaked remains into a silver bowl.
Both stare at the wound that has come to light.
"Is … is that her bone?", Jill says weakly, hoping to not vomit.
A big gash is stretching itself from her ribcage down to her hips.
The flesh is torn. A part of her ribs visible.
"Yes, it is", Wesker says. Still in that strangely neutral voice. It sends a shiver through Jill.
It's like he became a machine. Turning every emotion off, when he starts working on her.
Giving her a blood transfusion. Asking Jill to hand him the instruments for the operation.
More than two hours they spend on doing first aid on her.
Silently Wesker falls on the chair next to her bed, hiding his face behind his hands.
Smearing it with blood. He doesn't care. He doesn't even realize it.
"Go to bed, Jill", he says quietly. "I can handle it from here on."
Jill is momentarily unable to move. She stares at him.
Wishing she could have told him that everything will be alright.
Give him words of consolation. Hold him in her arms.
But still. Suffocation in her throat. She wouldn't bring out a single word.
So she only nods and prepares for a sleepless night in her room.
And a night full of tears.
Six days.
Six days she is lying in the medicine room already.
There are strange words in a strange language constantly coming out of her.
Sometimes she is also talking to someone, who isn't there.
Her eyes, usually a dim amber, have turned pale silver.
She can't keep the food down someone keeps shoving into her mouth.
She vomits it out after a matter of minutes.
She would cry afterwards. Cry. Because she is disgusted by herself.
Whispering voices next to her. All the time.
Then silence. But still there is always someone sitting next to her.
The monster. Not the devil. The monster with the scars.
The brunette woman comes in. She recognizes her scent. White musk.
"Could she keep the food in this time?"
Wesker shakes his head.
"How about fluids?"
"I've inserted a needle with a solution."
"Wesker … she needs serious medical help. We both know it. Her wound is infected."
"I have everything that is necessary. Also the skills, Valentine. Get out if you can't handle it."
"Can you?"
A strange heat is radiating from her skin. Still she feels cold under his touch. Too cold.
"Shh", he says soothing and wipes the sweat on her face away with a washcloth.
Her eyelids close, but her struggling for breaths continues. They sound painful.
"I have to handle it. I will fix her. I must."
Jill leans against the wall, arms crossed before her chest and watches Wesker treating her.
She can see something on his face, she has never seen before.
Worry. Fear of loss. Purest dedication.
She has never seen him bothering about another human being.
Never seen him bringing up so much patience. Never seen him so caring like at this very moment.
"You love her, don't you?"
Wesker stops in motion and throws a side glance towards her.
"Better go and see if you can find some antibiotics, Valentine."
His voice is stiff, his face gone back to the expression it usually carries. Distance.
He doesn't like dropping his shield in front of others. He shouldn't let it happen again.
But for a moment he had forgotten about Jill being there.
"Okay", Jill quietly answers and walks off.
She doesn't feel like putting up a fight.
Because she pities him.
The shower is running for over twenty minutes already. And she is getting worried.
Mildly surprised she finds the bathroom door unlocked.
Nobody cares about privacy down here anyway.
The air is steamy. Wesker's hands are leaned against the shower wall, his head tilted down.
"You're using up all the warm water", she tries to start a conversation, snap him back to reality.
She doesn't believe to have ever seen him suffering so much.
Without much thought she peels herself out of her clothing and steps behind him into the shower. Pressing her upper body against his back, embracing him with her arms.
Skin on skin. The only thing that is left between each other. The only thing that could mend.
For several minutes she remains in this position, holding him tightly. Her cheek resting between his shoulder blades. He doesn't refuse her. And so her right hand slides over his hard abs to find him.
She enfolds him, starts working on him in her own rhythm.
Closing her eyes under the soothing sound of the falling water.
She can feel his breath intensifying, while her lips keep brushing over the scars on his back.
He comes. Right into her palm.
She can feel him go tense, getting ready to turn around and grab her. Maybe he will fuck her against the shower wall. Maybe he will take her from behind, while her hands would desperately try to find a steady grip on the wet tiles. Maybe … but instead she steps away. Suddenly scared.
"Jill …" His voice. Satisfied. Needy. Full of want.
It feels like ages ago and still like yesterday, when his voice sounded like that for her.
She wraps herself in a towel and runs out of the bathroom.
Skin and hair soaked. Just like she is soaked for him.
The next day they are avoiding each other. As much as it is a possibility down here.
Only exchanging the most necessary words, while treating Nebraska.
Her fever has gone down fortunately. The silver in her eyes has faded.
Wesker removes the bandage on her wound, trying to not grimace from the terrible smell of it.
Pus and disinfectant. But it looks better. That little bit of the virus that is still left inside of her, has done great pre-work in fixing. He knows that without it, she would be dead.
The thought of a world without her. He wouldn't know what to do. He would be lost.
Carefully he cleans the closing gash.
"Get a new bandage, will you Jill."
The tension between them is almost palpable in the air, when she hands it to him.
That night Wesker is alone. He is always alone.
He might believe there are thousands of people, who will follow him into a new age.
Unless they're worthy. But to her he is the loneliest person on the planet.
All that his mind is focused on is the woman in the bed in the medicine room.
Wesker might not have realized it yet, but Jill knows that she is his life now.
Everything that he puts his dedication into. All his effort. All his love.
Wesker has it all before him, while she would be waiting for her love. Her Chris.
The dose of P30 is slowly wearing off and the thought of her partner robs her sleep.
She knows that Wesker won't give her another dose until the next morning. He is very strict about it.
She wishes for Chris to be there. Chris, who would hold her, soothe her, distract her from the craving hunger for the drug inside of her.
She wants to sleep with him. Make love. Feel loved.
She kicks the blanket off her body and pulls the shirt she is wearing over her head and throws it to the ground. Together with her shorts.
Wearing nothing but her black underwear she opens the door to his room. Wesker.
She needs meaningless sex. She needs pretended affection. He sees it on her face.
They are no strangers to one another and so he wishes her welcome in his arms.
Kissing her the way he has done hundredths of times already.
There are no questions necessary. No denial.
He knows it's not about him. He knows that it's about Chris Redfield.
They hate each other, but they need to feel wanted. Only if for an unholy hour.
He lets her down on top of his bed, moving between her legs and she digs her hips hard into his.
Her midst pressing against his erection. Impatient and wet.
She gasps softly, when he finds his way inside. Like she always did back then.
Some things never change.
Her thighs lean themselves against his waist, allowing him to take her even deeper.
They both find each others rhythm almost right away.
"Can you hear them fucking?"
Tonight he decided to sit down at the end of her bed. Still he is smoking his Lucky Strike's.
She hopes, he would die from lung cancer. A funny thought to wish death on the Devil.
"I ask myself who the true fool is, sweetheart. You or him."
Nebraska is covered in sweat. A slight fever engulfing her. Pain gnawing on her flesh.
"Go … away", she forces out. "Please … not tonight."
"Don't you see it? They're just making use of you being in this state. I bet they have set this thing free on purpose. To finally fuck each other's brains out without you being aware of it. Just how stupid do they think you are, sweetheart?"
Don't call me sweetheart, she wants to say. But she can't.
Instead she swallows. With effort. When would she wake up from this nightmare?
But through the fog of delusion she can hear it. Jill's undeniable sounds of pleasure.
But she can't hear him. Not once.
"You'll be getting well again. Don't worry. And then they will get to know what we are truly capable of. That brunette slut isn't any better than he is. I can't stand the primitive sounds she is making. Just listen to her…" Pleasurably he takes a draw on his cigarette. "Mmm yes, she is a good faker."
He laughs dirtily and then leans over her bed. Over her feeble frame.
"Isn't silence what we wish for? Silence and peace. If you can't die, we'll reverse it, sweetheart."
She believes to feel his claw wander along her cheekbone.
"We'll kill them. Both."
He takes her hard. Without any mercy.
She's nothing but writhing limbs below him, on top of him, before him.
Changing positions every few minutes. Just to not have to look at each other for too long.
No need to build that kind of intimacy.
He makes her come twice in an hour and she can't prevent from crying out as it happens.
Tonight he doesn't even bother about silencing her like he has done so many other nights before.
They part from each other. Covered in sweat, heavy breathing. Gaining their senses.
"This has never happened", she concludes, searching for her few pieces of clothing in the dark.
Suddenly Wesker speaks up. "Did you know that she knew about us? Back then in Africa?"
Jill can feel her heartbeat in her throat. "No, I didn't", she says quietly. Almost ashamed. "It was different though. Different than this. This meant absolutely nothing."
"Right", he answers. "If this meant nothing … then what was it before?"
"A game of dominance." Without another word she dresses herself and then disappears.
Just another ghost in his life.
Chris Redfield has been looking at nothing but fragments of dirty landscapes, large forests turning into dark blue water. Wildness. Before finally the color he has been yearning for the most has appeared before his eyes. White. Endless white.
No matter the cold he hungrily gulps in the air after stepping out of the chopper.
Finally being rid of this artificial air is heavenly.
He pulls the black scarf he took with him over his nose and the hood of his warm jacket over his head.
The sky is a clear blue today. It looks like it could shatter into a thousand pieces like a mirror.
Leon has prepared a map for him that suggested possible areas, where people like Albert Wesker could probably find safety from too nosy authorities.
Chris Redfield starts moving, adjusting the backpack on his back, making sure his gun is in reach.
He doesn't want to become dinner for a polar bear. Nor the victim of Wesker.
If he really finds him, he will kill him. No compromises this time.
"Here you are … I've been looking for you."
They're surrounded by a huge glass façade.
A high tower that offers the only look out on the white endless surface of the Antarctic.
Seeing her sitting there. Knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped her around her legs.
It reminds him of that memorable night on the roof back in America.
What did he say to her back then? I don't understand this witchery you've created.
Witchery. And chemistry. The only words to describe what's ever been going on between them.
And he still wants her. Even now. Just that he can't approach her anymore without making her want to run away. Destruction all around them.
Under the knitted sweater she is hiding the bandaged wound. It's almost healed.
But to not risk another infection Wesker insisted on covering it until he would see no danger in it anymore.
"It's nice up here", she says. "So quiet."
He briefly nods, letting his gaze wander towards the infinity of winter as well.
Frozen beauty. And frozen love.
"If you could change something about the world, what would it be?", she suddenly asks.
He has to hold back the urge to laugh. She is so pure and unaware.
"I'd have to think about this", he lies. "Why. What would you change?"
Softly smiling she shrugs. "I don't know … I think, it's perfect how it is."
"Every rose has its thorns, Nebraska. Nature is taking revenge. Humans getting closer to self-destruction each day. At some point it's getting enough, don't you think?"
"Well, that's a negative way to look at it."
"The negative way is always more realistic, trust me."
"Have you always been like this?", she asks, eyes never losing focus on the snowflakes falling down.
"Like what?"
"So … cold and … careless? You remind me of the landscape out there."
He knows, he should feel offended. But he doesn't. It's Nebraska. His Nebraska.
"Maybe", he admits. "You never seemed to mind … you still took me for who I was."
"So you and I have been together."
Silence. Only the sound of a generator running. The mute dancing of the snow. He doesn't answer.
It's no necessity.
"I haven't thanked you yet … for saving my life. It looks like I can be careless too at times."
"How about reckless?", he says not unfriendly. "Would you like to go outside?"
She nods. "Yes, very much."
The Antarctic breeze hits her in a welcoming way. The landscape before them consists of massive ice mountains. Soft curves of snow. The sky is white. Its blue beauty hidden behind a layer of winter clouds. The mandatory coat she wore a felt eternity ago got a bit too big. Her loss of weight starts to show its signs.
Nebraska leans her head backwards and lets the little snowflakes fall on her face. Resisting the urge to stick out her tongue and trying to catch them, while running around. She always did that as a child.
He watches her. Mournfully lingering over memories.
How she took his hand after one of their typical fights, when he brought her here for the first time.
How she tried to seduce him almost every night in the facility. How often he rejected it.
Nostalgia is taking over his mind a lot recently. He hates it.
Isn't nostalgia nothing else but the pain from an old wound? A twinge in our heart far more powerful than memory alone? It takes him to places, where he aches to go again.
To a place he loved. To a woman he loved. And still does.
She won't become what she used to be. Ever again. And he alone is responsible for it.
The brutality of his actions, they make him pay now. With their full force.
She turns around, smiling at him.
"Aren't you coming?", she shouts from her spot further away and throws a snowball in his direction.
The first one misses. But the second one crashes against his shoulder.
She puts her hands before her mouth and laughs.
"I'll get you for that", he smirks.
"Well, catch me if you can."
He tackles them to the ground. Playfully. And she has to gasp for air before bursting out in laughter.
What a good sound it is. Hearing her so free. And careless. Without worrying about her demons.
His upper body is on hers and he captures her wrists with his hands. Right above her head.
"Are you surrendering, Miss Jones?", he says teasing.
"Yes … yes, I am, Mister Wesker", she giggles.
There are snowflakes in her messy hair. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold.
Her amber eyes glowing in the white halo of the snowstorm.
His creature. His fairy with the amber eyes.
He can see how she slightly parts her lips. She wants him to kiss her. And he will.
Slowly he bends down, noticing how she is holding her breath.
She doesn't move, only awaits what she desires.
"Go ahead. Kiss that liar. Maybe you can still taste the other slut on him."
This time he has appeared right next to her. In a crouching position. Smoking as usual.
A Cuban cigar. She wonders, how he is not freezing with barely any clothing on.
"Why don't you spread your legs a little bit more? Maybe he will rape you in the snow."
Wesker sees the change on her face. And he knows he has lost her. Again.
To those demons. Invisible and therefore unreachable to him.
He wishes, he could destroy them.
"I'd like to go back inside", she says quietly. Scared of meeting her old lovers gaze.
He gets off her, offering his hand to help her up. But she rejects it.
And this hurts almost more than the fact that she rejected his kiss.
"These feelings I have for you … he doesn't like it."
"Nebraska …" He is exhausted. So drained. "Don't listen to him. He only wants to do you harm."
"I know. Like you."
She walks away from him. The snow crackling under her boots.
Out of sight. But never out of mind.
"I'm fed up with you, do you know that? Fucking fed up!"
Nebraska throws the wet coat into the corner and falls on her bed.
"You ruin everything."
"Ruin? I'm saving you, unthankful whore."
"He is not bad. He is good to me. Like Jill said.
"You're listening to the brunette, who fucked him? I see … I bet you fantasize about it all the time too. How his cock would feel inside of you, don't you? But don't come running to me, when he throws you away like garbage afterwards. Which he will."
Nebraska lowers her gaze. "You know nothing … It's my own fault it got this far."
"Nothing but poor excuses. You'll drown in your own stupidity, if you keep on walking along the path of rebellion."
"Be quiet", she says angrily. "Leave him out of this. Until now you have been the one, who has spit the poison at me. So go the fuck away!"
Nebraska digs her hands in her hair, trying to pound out his voice.
Suddenly Jill is standing under her doorframe.
"Nebraska?", she says worried. "Are you alright?"
She is pale. A sleepy look on her face. She was probably taking an afternoon nap.
"I'm sorry, Jill. I didn't know, you were around."
Jill crosses her arms before her chest. The fact that this woman belongs to a ward doesn't even scare her that much anymore. It's part of daily life now. "Is he bothering you again?"
Nebraska sulks. "I wanted to kiss him before. But he only says nasty things about him."
Jill raises her eyebrows. Curious. "You tried to kiss Wesker?"
"Yes", she answers quietly.
"Well …" Jill clears her throat, uneasy and sits down next to her. "Tell me what happened?"
"I'd rather ask you too", she says bland. "You slept with him the other night, didn't you?"
"How do you …" She blushes. "Okay, I wasn't very discreet, I guess. Listen, Nebraska. I take full responsibility for this. I was the one, who went to him."
"And he didn't refuse you", she adds, a strange tone in her voice. "It always takes two."
"It had no meaning at all. I guess, I needed physical contact. Lame excuse, I know." Jill shrugs. "You know, I'm together with someone … back home."
"Do you love him? This other man?"
"Yes", Jill says and unexpected to her tears fill her eyes. Even the strongest ones become weak.
"I'm sorry. It's just … I miss him so much. You don't even understand."
Nebraska feels helpless.
"Believe me", she says, inhaling deeply to get herself together. "Wesker loves you. I've never seen him as caring as he is with you. And I know him for a long time already. Give him a chance. He'll give you the world, trust me." Jill smiles bitterly, too aware of how true her words are. "The world and everything on it."
That night he wakes up and finds Nebraska next to him. Asleep.
Even now he can see her struggling with her own nightmares.
He wishes he could have held her. But any movement, any touch would end up in scaring her off.
So he just watches her. Never letting her out of his sight.
Until morning dawns.
Two nights later she lays down behind him. It looks like she only joins him in the dark.
Her new friend.
He acts like he is asleep.
She doesn't stay long. Her mind seems to be too restless.
He can feel her weight shift. She is gone.
The next night she comes to him, while he is awake. Still up, writing in his journal.
Insecurely she looks at him from under the door frame.
"Would you like to sleep here again tonight?", he asks.
Trying to sound cautious, neutral. Anything but desperate.
"I shouldn't have …", she answers, turning around. "I'm sorry."
"Nebraska, wait", he says and gets up to catch up with her. She can be surprisingly quick.
She looks up to him. There are freckles of dark brown in her eyes. He is not sure, if he has ever noticed that before. If he has ever paid so much attention to her true beauty, when she was actually still aware of what he is to her. How ignorant he was. How blind. Only him and his plans.
He presses his nose against her hair. Taking a fistful of it into his hands. Trying to not lose control. Trying to not force her head towards his to kiss her lips.
Since when does he yearn so much?
"I miss you", he whispers. "I wish, you would come back to me."
Her arms remain to her side. Her body is stiff. The voice in her head overbearing.
When she doesn't answer, he holds her even tighter, not letting her go.
"Say you will."
Begging. Her heart seems to shake to the depth of its roots.
"Say you will. Please."
Her breath turns shallow, almost disappearing into non-existence and she closes her eyes, wishing she could have said yes. That she could have returned his embrace.
"I can't …" She shakes her head, while stepping away. "I can't right now. I'm sorry."
The door to her room closes behind her.
He would have never thought there would be someone on this planet who could destroy him without using a weapon. Someone that could hurt him without punching him. Someone that could make him feel his heart in the way that she does.
He can hear her crying.
Jill is right. What has he done to this woman?
That one moment they had in the snow together, where she almost was her old self for a minute, suddenly seems surreal. Like it hasn't happened.
She is beyond repair.
And for the first time in his life he has to admit defeat. He doesn't like that word.
It doesn't belong to him. Albert Wesker can't be defeated. Especially not by invisible forces that are only the product of a busy mind. But the proof it is right here. Crying herself into exhaustion behind closed doors. And he can do nothing but wait.
And hope to be the one to wake her up from her nightmares.
One day.
She comes back to him.
Almost soundlessly she lies down beside him.
Resting on her side. Covering herself up with the sheets.
They look at each other for a while. And then she inches her way towards his body.
The dark chasm that has been keeping them apart closing. The voices in her head momentarily gone quiet. Like they are holding their breath. Awaiting her next step.
"What would I do with you, when we were in bed together back then?"
Tension. No sound, no breath, no movement for a few seconds.
"You would touch me."
Then her fingertips gently brushing along his collarbones, his throat, his injured face.
There's so much going on inside of him. It's a strong fight he has to hold up with himself.
A shiver runs through him, when she lets them wander over his shoulder blades.
Gently brushing over the scar tissue on his back.
Her touch as light as feathers, caressing destruction, following the lines of every injury.
He enfolds her wrist. Placing her palm on his chest. Right above his heart. Her territory.
"I should have tried harder to save you." Real self-accusation in her voice. "I did a bad job, didn't I?"
"You didn't …" I was the fool. Too blind to see that it was always you, I should have chosen.
The scars that she is carrying on her soul, he is carrying on his outside – two different wounds caused by love and madness. Fate that is forever intertwined.
"And then you would kiss me", he continues.
Eyes closed. Breath calm. Tingling.
Their lips meet. Kissing in the dark. Savoring every single minute.
"Why do I feel so good near you?", she whispers.
Her body in his arms. Her heartbeat against his. Her warmth on his skin.
It's all so familiar and yet so strange.
"Witchery", he answers and she smiles before locking him in another kiss.
The passion inside of him is fighting to be released. But he holds back.
Allowing her what no other person was ever allowed before – control over him.
"And then?"
They both know what came next.
But he decides to slightly change the course that things always took back then.
"I would tell you that I love you", he says, stroking her hair. True lies.
Her eyes meeting his. Crimson and amber.
"Liar", she smiles.
Ironic how she said the same thing to him back then. One side of hers that hasn't changed.
"Maybe I used to be one", he admits, placing a kiss on the back of her hand. "But I mean it now … I love you, Nebraska."
Her clothes part from her body. Her wound burning under his touch.
Just like her heart burns for him. In agony. And sweetest resurrection.
"And I you", she answers.
Jill could hear them. Having sex.
They weren't loud. Not at all. But these walls could have been made of paper.
Wesker's voice was soothing. Yes, he was soothing her, probably driving out all those demons in her head. And soon she softly moaned.
Although there was still something like slight fear detectable in the sounds she let out. Something like bittersweet pain.
It was almost unbearable becoming witness of something so incredibly intimate.
It made her think of true love, of real affection. Of Chris. And unwanted tears filled her eyes.
She missed him so much. Asking herself, if he was out there looking for her. If he would ever find her. If she could ever lie in his arms again.
Chris would come. Chris must come.
More than a month has passed. Still no sign of rescue. Still no sign of him.
But still, he had also found her in the god forsaken continent of Africa.
"Where are you Chris?", she whispers.
The lovers both come and Jill pulls the blanket over her head.