Author's Note: Yes! This is another update and a very special on: it's a two-chapter special. Reason? First, because I felt like it; second, because you deserve it. I have gotten so many alerts and reviews that I can't believe my eyes and can't thank you all guys enough, so here you go! This time, you'll suffer from a horrible cliffhanger whilst you wait for Friday's update; yes, from now on it's going to be Tuesdays and Fridays. And believe it or not, this is going to go over the twenty four chapters, so you're in for a real treat... and there's a sequel planned already. Anyways, enjoy this read and thanks!

Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil or any of its characters, only my OCs

VIII

Ghost Of The Past

'We do not believe in immortality because we can prove it, but we try to prove it because we cannot help believing it.' Harriet Martineau

"This can't be happening..." she said, completely forgetting about keeping her thoughts to herself.

"Trust me, it is happening."

The pain the knot in Jill's stomach was causing her was almost unbearable and she had to gulp several times to keep herself from having a panic attack. If she had to write her experiences down as if it were an essay, she'd just fill the paper with one word: terror and, maybe, all of its synonyms. She could muster no energy to move or even talk and she remained there, staring into his hidden gaze and feeling all colour draining from her face.

"I heard the news. My condolences," Wesker said, his tone caustic and horribly sarcastic. This triggered a fast reaction from Jill -the reaction being putting one foot forward- but she controlled herself. This was what he wanted, whether he was alive or not: he wanted to taunt her, to see if she was as weak-hearted as before. To disguise how she felt, Jill scowled at him, silent.

This is all inside my mind, this can't be happening, it can't, it can't, it can't, it-

"I don't read minds, but I can tell you're forcing yourself to believe that I'm not real." He took one step forward, and Jill could hear the sound of his boot against the carpet. Great, he was there, whether she liked it or not. Still, she made no sound or movement. "Well, the official story is true: I was dead -was, mind you- but you didn't think you'd kill me so easily, or did you? Chris was naïve after all, and you of all people should've-"

"Don't you dare insult him," Jill seethed. "It was your fault this happened in the first place. Have you come to finish me off? Let me tell you I won't go down without one last fight."

"Let me tell you that I have no intention of killing you today," Wesker interjected. "It's not in my best interest, not yet. Also, it'd be good if you had in mind that it was me who killed him."

It clicked: Uroboros. What Chris had been injected had been Uroboros, and it had killed him.

"No..."

"Oh yes, Miss Valentine, I did. You know I had that goal set and I'd do anything to see it accomplished; now, it is. Would you care to hear how I did it?"

Jill, who was clearly not in the best mood to tolerate his words, didn't hesitate to move this time, and all because of the abrupt rush of adrenaline and anger that coursed through her system, the rush that led her to lose all capability of rational thought and deprived her of replying to:

What the hell was she doing?

"You son of a bitch!!" she screamed, lunging at him with a fierce movement. Wesker stopped her punch at midway, but Jill was quick enough to make him bend forward and she brought up her knee to his gut, landing a strong blow that made her enemy cough. For a moment, it struck her: had she just hit Wesker? She had never been able to put a hand on him and now she had!

Wesker wasted no time though and he sent Jill backwards with one of the kicks she'd seen -and received- too many times: the Jaguar Kick, and it didn't fail to leave her stunned this time either. Her vision was blurred because of the pain and Jill shook her head to make shrug the dizziness away.

'Ipso facto, Wesker crouched, turned her around and his hand closed around Jill's neck, so strong he threatened to crush her windpipe...'

That also happened, just like in the all-too familiar image that flashed through Jill's mind, but this time she wasn't injured, her legs weren't thrashed and riddled with cuts and bruises, her mind wasn't damaged either; in short: she was in perfect condition. As such, she pushed Wesker off her and imitated his action as she wondered how the hell she had managed to do so. Pinning Wesker down was something close to unimaginable... and then another realization dawned upon her.

He hadn't used any kind of superhuman ability to dodge her attacks or even immobilize her.

It was then that Jill heard a gasp but she was too concentrated on something else to realize it had come from her own mouth. She felt her expression changing into one of shock as her eyes widened and her brow creased, overcome by some sort of strange emotion that had bloomed inside her. What was it? Pity? Sure as hell not; it was something else, something indescribable, something close to grief but too far from it at the same time. What was it?

What she had focused on was Wesker's face, the something which left her unable to mutter even an exclamation. He looked much younger, many signs of age gone, yet that was the only positive thing of his condition, which was much more dreadful. The whole left side of his face -from the roots of his now darker hair to half of his jaw- was scarred, the ends which met his normal tone of skin irregular, jagged. Jill's eyes drifted downwards, only to find that the scar went even past his jaw and extended throughout his neck, a sight that led her to the conclusion that that scarred skin covered half -or even more- of his body.

There was one more thing that had changed, and it was by looking at it -also because of the absence of his shades- that Jill knew the reason of his lack of abnormal abilities: his eyes. They had recovered the same icy blue hue Jill remembered having seen many years ago and the humanly cold and impassive gleam that always made you think he was looking daggers at you.

That was the key word. Human, human, human.

All of this transpired in mere moments. Jill didn't even notice Wesker hadn't struggled to free himself from her grip and when she did, she tensed, knowing that in one moment or another that she being knocked out would perhaps be the upshot. No blows came though, only an intense, fierce and furious stare.

"What now?" she seethed even though her voice was calm. Wesker's came as calm as hers.

"Where's Chris?" he asked, and Jill tightened her free fist.

"Why do you want to know? You know he's dead; what else do you want?! Haven't you had enough already?"

"What are you going to do, finish me off?"

That was the last straw. With a swift movement, Jill took out the knife she always had hidden in her boot and placed it at Wesker's throat, suddenly driven by an urge to kill. Oh well, killer senses never leave people, no matter how benign they are.

"I could right now, and you know it. It's more than ob-"

"Then why don't you do it?" Wesker said, cutting through her words. "You have me right here, pinned against the ground, one hand and a knife against my throat and you still can't bring yourself to do it. I can see the hesitation in your eyes, it hasn't disappeared yet; why's that? Is there something you haven't realized yet?"

Indeed, Jill could feel herself hesitating. There was one question she had asked to which she didn't want to know the answer, but she was also positive on hearing it. What would happen next? Wesker was right: with just one movement, she could finish him off and put an end to his existence once and for all, so why doubt? Still, she asked,

"Why do you want to know where Chris is?"

"If you're so kind to let go of me, I'll reply to that question," he answered.

"How do I know you won't kill me?"

"I've told you already: I'm not going to do so."

Jill felt he knew she'd comply to his request, and she also felt Wesker had vital information. Well, it was always about who had the information and who didn't: right now, Wesker had it and Jill didn't, so it was in 'her best interest' -just like he always said- to be aware of it. On top of that, Jill wanted to know the reason behind Chris' condition of 'dead life', to put it like that. If he had been 'killed' by Uroboros, then why wasn't he really dead?

She took a deep breath and withdrew, standing up but not sheathing the knife. At the same time Wesker sat up, reaching for his fallen shades and putting them on again.

"Alright, I've kept my part. Now it's your turn," Jill said, edgy.

"I only wish to know about his condition, that's all," Wesker replied as if nothing had happened. Jill sighed, not taking her eyes off him, and pursed her lips before saying,

"I know you have information that I should have, and it's the same with me. You're not going away without an exchange, and I'm not either. I'll tell you about Chris if you answer the question I'll ask you."

Wesker only shrugged. "Very well. Tell me."

"Chris didn't really die; at least, that's what the paramedics told me. What really happened was that, after taking him in and five long hours, they told me they couldn't identify the viral agent he was injected. At the same time, Chris was still..." She paused, swallowing, "still alive, but he wasn't conscious. The day later, I was told that no body functions were registered but it was as if everything was working: every tissue, every cell, everything was alive. They evaluated his reflexes and his muscles still moved, although there was no brain activity."

Silence ensued, a silence during which Jill gauged Wesker's reaction. None came... for a moment. Then,

"Damn that little cockroach..." Wesker muttered, his tone furious. "I wonder why I didn't put a bullet to his head before, but oh well..." He lifted his gaze to Jill. "Out of this explanation, I've come to realize what is that question of yours: why can he still be alive, yes?"

"Something told me you knew about that," Jill retorted. "Tell me."

Wesker swallowed and took his time to reply. Also, Jill had the feeling he was hesitating for reasons unknown. "I have an assumption, although I'd like to see him first to say if I'm right or wrong. Just so that... I don't hurt your feelings if I come to the wrong conclusion. How about a bargain?"

And what the hell do you know about feelings, Wesker?

Jill scoffed even though she knew Chris' well-being depended on her answer. "A bargain? Since when do you make deals with someone like me?"

"This would be the first time, Miss Valentine, and with a good reason," Wesker said. "You take me to him and I give you the answers you're looking for. Yes, a very simple bargain, but the upshot of this whole situation depends solely on your answer. I'd recommend choosing carefully."

Jill lowered her gaze, thinking it through. There was no other way to deal with Wesker, and she was no expert on how Uroboros worked. She told herself over and over again: Chris' life was a single, thin thread and she had the scissors. She could either cut it or leave it alone, it was her call. Although making deals with Wesker wasn't on her agenda, Jill had to admit that she had the upper hand: Wesker had no superhuman abilities she had to deal with now. Either that or he hadn't used them yet.

Her answer came a few seconds later.

"Okay. I'll take you to see Chris, with only one condition... and you'd better agree to it."

"What made you think I wouldn't? After all, you're the one that has the first move in this game: either I agree or there's no start. What's that condition?"

"Don't lay a single finger on him. Even though he's still alive -and I know that's not been good news to you- I won't give you the chance to kill him," Jill posed, making no movements towards the door.

"You have my word, and mind you... I tend to keep it," Wesker replied without pausing to think.

"Haven't I seen that many times..." Jill muttered, her voice low but still loud enough for Wesker to hear. She wanted him to hear that, in fact, and she knew he did.

Without nothing more to say, Jill grabbed her jacket and strode to the door, opening it with a swift movement. She paused, sharing one last glance with him, and then made her way down the stairs with Wesker following closely.

For a moment, Jill wondered what the fuck -not hell but what the fuck- she was doing.

xx

"This is it. I'm warning you: one movement-"

"And I'm done for. Although where have I heard that one before?" Wesker snickered, rolling his eyes. Jill punched in a security code -one he did well in memorizing- and the door opened in a quick motion, letting them go inside. They did, and Wesker found himself similar to an Umbrella laboratory, though this was for a much different cause.

He followed Jill down an aisle, taking in all kinds of details that could prove useful for situations unknown and preferably avoidable. There came a moment when he stopped in his tracks for a second, right when he caught sight of Chris Redfield lying unconscious upon a bed, surrounded by machines that kept track of his vitals. Needless to say, they were of no utility.

As he approached his nemesis, Wesker felt himself as the north pole of a magnet approaching the north pole of another: there was no way he could get any closer. Just the sight of him, being aware of Chris' presence fuelled his hate and his resent, and he felt tempted to grab whatever utensil he had at hand and plunge it deep into his heart to finally put an end to the psychological torture that knowing Chris was alive was. Still, he had made an oath; also, he was there to answer both his and Jill's questions... mostly his own, though.

Wesker took in Chris' appearance, absorbing every detail that could help him elaborate and confirm his theory. His skin had taken a very light shade of grey or close to white and, as Jill had told him, there seemed to be no signs of activity. Judging by the colour of his skin, Wesker knew his assumptions were far from wrong, and that was exactly what he feared.

"Are there any reports on his state?" he asked, and he received a shake of Jill's head as a response. "That complicates things a tad. Is-" He interrupted himself when he caught sight of a black mark on Chris' ashen neck, and he extended a ginger hand to lower his enemy's jacket and examine it a bit better. "Typical."

"What's typical?" Jill intervened, taking a few steps forward.

"If you come here, you'll see it. These erosions on the skin are common in Uroboros' infectees and also the flesh's and the muscles' decay. They only disappear when the virus' initial phase of adaptation is near completion, which is slow and complex."

"What would it mean if the erosions healed?" Jill inquired, frowning. By some reason, Wesker interpreted the question in the typical way: she knew the answer but she was afraid of it. She didn't want to come to the conclusion all by herself; she needed someone else to share her fears with.

All of a sudden they heard a wet sound and saw something wriggling under Chris' skin, something Wesker had already seen many times. He heard Jill gasp beside him and he would've done so too if it wasn't because of his iron leash on his emotions. Following the wet sounds came Chris' grunts in pain and he started tossing in his unconscious sleep as he clenched and unclenched his fists. What was the most surprising and horrible thing of all: he still wasn't breathing.

And then, he did, he started taking short breaths. In moments, Chris' breathing had turned to slow and calm to rushed and irregular, as if he were hyperventilating.

Wesker remained impassive, watching with clenched teeth and fists how the answer to Jill's earlier question manifested itself through the changes Chris' body was undergoing. A black pustule burst out from his jugular and writhed in the air as if celebrating its escape from its host's body.

"Oh God, Chris!"

Wesker did nothing. A voice in the back of his mind kept telling him to stay still, to watch Chris suffer as he whimpered and cried out in pain, but he obtained no pleasure in that. There was a reason behind that numbness in his soul, and that reason was Wesker was preparing himself for the rage that would assail him sooner than later.

"Wesker, he's-"

"Not going to die!" he shot back, his head perking up. Jill fell silent, the gleam in her eyes telling Wesker she had figured out the answer. Wesker was so engrossed in his thoughts, so busy in letting himself be drowned in his own sea of hate that he didn't pay any attention to anything else, only to Chris' agony.

He felt so very tempted to kill Chris right then and there, he found it so very difficult to control the killer instinct he'd kept on a leash for many years and so very cruel what was happening right now. It was impossible, unnatural, ironic. It was as if whoever was in Heaven -or Hell, for that matter- was making fun of him and telling him 'Suck on this!'. For once, the irony had come back to bite him, and it hurt.

A sudden chill ran down his spine and his lip curved up in derision.

"Miss Valentine, I really hope you can stand irony."

It was all so fucking unfair.

A/N: Aha! Go on, get on to the next chapter!

Reviews are appreciated!^^