Author's Note: Okay, updates like they're due. This is a shorter chapter, but one that shows where things are going. Just so you know, there will be poll in my profile with one vital question for the continuation of this story. You'll see which, and I'll leave five days for you guys to vote (those who read and review and those who only read), so there will not be an update next Tuesday. But, in return, next Friday may come with a two-chapter special, all depending on your votes and opinions. So, enjoy!

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

XIV

Reason IV: Memories of Death

]Trapped[

When Jill woke up, she swore she hadn't felt worse in her whole life.

She shifted uncomfortably, relieving her muscles from the strain, and she blinked a few times before getting fully accustomed the sight around her. Pain seared through her whole body and she couldn't avoid an exclamation when she heard her ribs crack, and loudly. What had happened?

Tackling Wesker out of a window, falling down a cliff, then excruciating pain and the feeling of freezing water enveloping her body. She didn't remember anything else, only that, which was more than enough to make her wonder something.

Shouldn't she be-?

"It's good to see you're awake, Miss Valentine."

Even though the voice gave her the chills and made a killer instinct kick in, she couldn't move as fast as she would've wanted to. Instead, Jill turned her head with a slow movement, getting used to feeling her body again, and the first thing she did was gasp and stare at Wesker, who in spite of his words had a menacing scowl on his face.

"And no, you're not dead," he continued as if nothing, "thanks to me, that is; you would've been if it hadn't been for my... resistance to long falls. I'm quite resilient, as you can see."

"What do you want from me now?" Jill asked, her voice surprisingly strong. "Haven't you had enough?"

Wesker shook his head, calm. "If you want me to be honest, I haven't, certainly. Besides, you will play a very important factor in my future plans."

Ignoring the pain, Jill sat up and, after registering she was lying upon an examination table, swung her legs over the table's side and stood up, her knees trembling under her weight. She scowled at him, her jaw tightening, and she watching him stand up, his gaze still fixed on her.

"Screw you! I'm not part of any plan!" she screamed at him, enraged. The sudden surge of rage and adrenaline numbed her body of all kinds of pain and she was left only with courage... pointless courage as she soon found out.

"On the contrary, you are."

"I'm not afraid of you. I can- Ugh!"

The pain came back as soon as it had left, and Jill was forced to lower herself to her knees. It was then when she heard Wesker's steps approaching her at a quick pace and that was all she needed to stand up again, ignore the goddamned pain and break into a run to get away from him. The question was: where would she run?

"Still fight?" He chuckled. "Don't make me laugh; look at your condition. You don't expect to run and get away, do you? Where would you go, if that were the case?"

Jill tried not to listen, but he was dead right. Where would she go? She was as blind as a bat in broad daylight, unable to discern where she was going. She only cared about getting away, as far as humanly possible. Her legs couldn't hold her standing much longer, and she fell down with a thud and a grunt.

No, please...

"You're as stubborn as me, I'll give you that much. Yet another one of the many things we have in common."

Then, a hard boot stepped on her back and pressed with unimaginable force, which made a cry escape from Jill's chapped lips. It was the most intense pain she'd ever felt; of course, she'd just been saved from almost a hundred-feet fall or even more, and thank God she hadn't died.

Wait, did 'thank God' involve thanking Wesker? No way in Hell!

"Your attempts are futile, and you know that very well."

Ipso facto, Wesker crouched, turned her around and his hand closed around Jill's neck, so strong he threatened to crush her windpipe, triggering a painful exclamation from her. Jill struggled to free herself from his grasp but the more she did, the more Wesker pressed and the more remarks she got from him.

"You bastard, let me go!" she exclaimed, her voice hoarse. Wesker didn't ease his grip on her, but what was surprising was that he was not strangling her in the least, just keeping her against the floor to make sure she couldn't escape.

"That's not the proper way to say it, Miss Valentine," he chastised, sarcastic, with a smirk. "Besides, it surprises me that I don't get any 'thanks' from you; you were always very polite."

"Go to hell!" she shouted back, still fighting against his iron grip.

"I'm not in the mood to go back, to be sincere," Wesker replied, seemingly finding some amusement in Jill's dire situation. "It's time you experienced what it means to be there, and then you'll know why do I so desperately want to kill you and Chris. But for now, you'll do just fine... oh yes, you will."

Jill felt a shiver bolt down her spine and she knew she was trembling. She couldn't keep the tears from leaving her eyes, and that is when she could do nothing but cry and wait for whatever fate was about to befall her. Why was she accepting a fate she could fight against? Why was she surrendering? This was Wesker she was facing; she had to be strong!

"There's no need to shed those tears."

"Please, just... d-don't..." She remained staring at him, unable to swallow the lump in her throat, her eyes wide and filled with tears. It was the first time Jill had been truly afraid for her life, since she knew Wesker could take it away in a mere blink of an eye. Judging by how his lips curved into a crooked smirk, Jill knew she could start praying right that instant.

"Will I make this end, you mean?" he asked, very possibly having read the question that was going through Jill's mind, reflected on her eyes. He brushed a few locks from her sweaty forehead, a gesture which would've made Jill scream if it wasn't because of her dry throat. "Oh but Jill, dear, we're just getting started!"

"NO!"

XX

]Locura sin nombre[
-The Nameless Madness-

If it wasn't because of the blinding darkness, he would've thought he was dreaming.

As he walked through that darkness, he couldn't feel more than coldness under his feet and warmth surrounding his hands. His pace was that of someone tired, even exhausted: it was slow, calm, unconcerned and, to make matters more quaint, effortless. His steps were heavy, forced, uneven, but there was nothing he could do about it, and kept walking down the endless, tile-less path he had in front of him.

Then, it all changed.

He was still in the dark, his hands still felt warm, his feet still felt cold, but there was something rough under his fingers. When he wanted to notice, he had lifted up his right arm, the rough feeling still under his skin, and absently traced his fingertips up and down the rough surface, up and down, up and down, here and there, to and fro...

Endlessly. He thought it was senseless, stupid, foolish and all adjectives that could describe his actions.

But it all had a purpose. All of it, it had a purpose, it had had it, and would always have it.

At last, he stopped moving his arm, and so did his legs. He stopped in his tracks, unable to do something else than looking back at the rough surface: a wall, a cold and rough grey wall. But there was something that stood out of all that grey: crimson, crimson smeared across the wall in what he thought were words. Almost feeling lazy, he scanned the wall, his head tilted to one side.

The crimson was blood.

Not his blood.

But their blood.

But who were 'they'? Why would 'their' blood be smeared across the wall?

Because his hands were stained with it. Because his hands were stained with the blood of the people he had killed. Those people were they. They were his victims, killed with no mercy, killed without sparing them one second of the life they had remaining.

Then, it all changed.

One second he was standing, the other he was still standing, yes, but all reeked of blood's deadly stench. He dared to glance down and found a large claw piercing his stomach from side to side, the claw shining with his blood. He understood: the wound was fatal, and he would die. As one droplet of blood fell, he heard the echo of its faint noise. One, two and three...

I'll close my eyes and breathe in deep,

I'll open my eyes and I'll be free.

I'll stay awake, I won't fall asleep,

'Cause the Nameless Madness took over me.

In sudden, inexplicable horror, he stared at the wall as screams and voices transformed from a simple cacophony to a full-fledged, high-quality reproduction of the sounds at their total intensity. As soon as it had come, he wished for everything to go away, for the voices to die off, for the screams to cease; the more he pleaded, the more intense it all turned.

Despair took hold of him, clenched his heart in its icy hand, and then it was all like before. He returned to the time when all was blood and suffering, pain and disconcert, sanity and insanity, sadistic joy and inevitable sorrow and anguish. Suddenly Wesker understood what it was all about, yet he could find no explanation for it, no name to define it with.

Because the Nameless Madness took over him.

XX

]Possession[

"Tell me, Jill: who is it that you hate? Is it you, because of what you're about to do, or is it me? Your answer is quite predictable but I'd like to hear it from you; I want to hear you scream it with all the despair and rage you can muster. Because that is what'll keep me going."

There was no way she could fight. She was trapped inside a shell over which she had no command, she was in a cage of which she had no key to open the lock. She had tried everything to get rid of that horrible device in her chest, but she couldn't reach for it and tear it off; she had tried everything to escape his clutches, but he would defeat her and beat her again and again, making all her chances of escape plummet somewhere near zero. She knew she couldn't escape, yet she could still try.

And now, she had realized everything had been in vain. Every idea led to a plan, every plan led to its performance, and every performance led to inevitable torture. She was in a maze without an exit.

There was no way she could fight.

"Or how about this: is it hate what you really feel? Oh, I know you can hear me; I know you're still conscious. Keep hating me and I'll only grow stronger and stronger; hate me and you'll soon realize how wrong you are."

She remained looking at him, more like staring, and he did the same. She saw him tilt his head in light amusement and a very faint smirk spread across his tanned features. She knew he was delighting in her pain; it was all that kept him going.

"Oh, he's not coming," he told her. Of course, she knew who that 'he' was but for some reason couldn't think about his name.

He wasn't coming alright. She didn't have any more hopes: now, she could only rely on her own strength, and she doubted she still had it. Two years of fighting without results, two years of enduring pain and agony both physical and psychological, two years of madness. They were wounds that would never close.

"Because you're mine."

XX

]Tu fui, ego eris[
-What I was, you are. What I am, you will be-

A look in the mirror was all he needed to know what he was made of.

With no doubts, he knew he was made of only one thing: ice. It could be seen in everything: his face, his skin, his voice, his words, his personality and, last but not least, his soul. No emotion had never been shown, no emotion apart from wickedness or amusement, if those could even be called emotions. And so he had remained for the rest of his life, like a pillar made of ice that would never crack, no matter what.

But now, it was different. He knew he could change, he knew he could feel. All because of his enemy, the man he hated the most, the man he feared the most. He, fearing his enemy? That couldn't be: there was only hatred to be felt towards an enemy, not fear or compassion. Despite those essential facts, it had only taken a glance at the mirror to see the reason behind that senseless and rightful fear.

At first, nothing had been unusual: he was alone in his reflection. In just one blink of his eyes, everything changed, took a turn for the worst, and he froze in perplexity as he stared into the eyes of the man who was now in place of his reflection. This man's gaze was intense, almost to an inhuman level, and he found himself unable to look away from him.

The man in the mirror smiled. Cruelly. Wesker could do nothing as he stared into the man's eyes in the same way his enemy stared into his. Again, that inexplicable fear took hold of him and rendered him immobile, mute. He could only see and hear, and the words the man spoke were like daggers to his heart... the heart he thought that had never existed.

"You've lost. I won the game now."

He shook his head hastily, refusing to believe what he'd just heard. The words kept being repeated, coming out of a mouth that spoke solely of evil and with a tone he found surprisingly familiar. The realization dawned upon him sooner than expected, like a sick and morbid joke, like an illusion which had found its means to be real.

That tone was his own. Chris Redfield's voice was Albert Wesker's, and Albert Wesker's voice was Chris Redfield's.

Wesker spoke once again, serene. "Tu fui."

Chris gave the deadliest of grins so far. "Ego eris."

And everything changed.

The man in the mirror, Chris Redfield, was no more.

And the man in the reflection, Albert Wesker, was neither himself or the man Chris Redfield was. Because he didn't know who he was anymore.

The mirror shattered, the pieces falling down and resting at his feet. He felt pain the same moment the mirror had cracked; would he be able to put the pieces together?

Would he be able to put his pieces together?

"You can't. You've already pieced them together."

XX

]Poison[

For a long moment, her heart stopped. His hands upon her waist, his breath against her skin, his chest against her back; nothing else was necessary to make panic course through her. Then, her heart quickened all of a sudden, uncomfortable with such closeness. What was he trying to do? Seduce her?

"You've got control now, not me..."

Poison, deadly poison coursing through her veins, the poison of the deadliest of snakes. She was ablaze, bittersweet pain seizing her. Impossible, it was simply...

So short. Then, it all vanished.

XX

]Indicios[
-Signs-

"But please, I'm not doing anything, Jill," he mocked with a caustic tone. Jill clenched her teeth in rage and scowled, balling her fists to calm the tingling sensation in her arms that would lead her to beat him up. "Could it be a problem with your mind?"

"Horseshit!" she spat, furious. Wesker spread his hands, a gesture Jill misinterpreted. "Don't touch me!"

"I haven't touched you... yet," Wesker said in return, crossing his arms. "Aren't you imagining things? What's your problem?"

"You are my problem! You always have been! You won't get away with this, I swear!" she exclaimed, her sense of the ridiculous not kicking in. She didn't care if he saw her as a pathetic being locked inside a room with him; Jill would confront him.

"Such a hollow threat," Wesker thought aloud with a disapproving shake of his head. "Tell me, what will you do?"

"I'll fight and resist; you won't see me collapse," she hissed. "And I'm sure that was your purpose, right? To keep torturing my mind? You're not gonna make it, I guarantee that."

Though her determination was genuine, the predator-like grin he flashed her made the blood in her veins run cold. "Then I'll try harder, if that's the case," he said with simplicity.

"I'm not afraid of you!" Without even thinking, Jill gave two long strides towards him and stood merely half a metre away. Her bravery could get her killed, sure, but it was time someone faced him without fear. At her statement, Wesker said nothing and lifted her chin up with one finger. Jill held his gaze despite the surge of horror that had coursed through her at the feeling of his touch.

"Then why do your eyes gleam so much?" he asked her, and Jill blinked in surprise. "The eyes are the mirror of one's soul, so they say. Look at mine and you'll understand."

Jill watched with oppressing awe as Wesker willingly revealed his gaze to her, and she stared at it long and hard, feeling tiny compared to his imposing figure. Indeed, just as he had said, she understood what he meant and could even picture her own gaze having the intense gleam Wesker's lacked.

"What's the most strange thing?"

But Jill couldn't reply. She felt her knees starting to shake, the colour draining from her face, all because of something such as a gaze. In its own way, it could be called fascinating, but that didn't hide its coldness and what was more important... the lack of empathy it mirrored.

"I asked a question, Miss Valentine, and I expect an answer," he urged calmly. At last, Jill found strength to speak.

"They... they don't gleam," she uttered in shock. Wesker's grin faded to a smirk and remained looking at her. Courage pushed shock away, and Jill said, "Then it means you're not human."

In that moment, Jill was sure her heart had stopped.

With a slight tug at her chin and a barely noticeable movement, Wesker leaned down and placed a kiss upon her forehead, full of icy gentleness. Jill felt as if her lungs had been deprived of all oxygen, found it difficult to breathe; she felt her skin ablaze with fear, all because of the feeling of his lips against her skin. At last, Wesker withdrew to gaze down at her, a smirk drawn across his features.

"Foolish little girl," he then whispered against her ear. "What makes you think I am inhuman, heartless and cold? I can allow myself to savour emotions like... fear or hate, especially when they come from others."

"You're insane... you're insane, you're-" Jill was suddenly interrupted by one of his fingers upon her lips and a somewhat patronizing shh.

"I am all but insane, Jill, all but insane. You should do well in remembering that."

XX

]Sub silentio[
-In Silence-

A hand had closed itself around her wrist, its grip tight and iron-like. She stopped in her tracks, not looking back; she didn't need to do that to know who was behind her, keeping in her in place.

"Let me go."

"But you are the one holding me. What are you doing?"

Bewildered, Jill swivelled around and was face to face with Wesker again. Seconds later her gaze drifted to her hand and she found that his words were true: it was her hand the one which was clasping his wrist, and not vice versa. The meaning of it fell upon Jill like the heaviest of rocks.

She was still holding on to his memory.

"Why can't I let go? Why can't you let go of me, dammit?! Why can't you disappear?!"

He observed her with curiosity, finding amusement in her rage and despair. She was staring at him, wishing with all her strength that everything ended there and then. He tilted his head, she blinked with surprise; she soon understood, he lost all rationality; they both asked questions, they both answered them.

Like reflections on a mirror, they lifted their hands and attempted to touch each other, but only her hand made it through the thin pane of darkness that separated them; his hand stayed on the side from which it had attempted to cross.

Now, she tilted his head, he blinked with surprise; he soon understood, she lost all rationality; they both asked questions, they both answered them.

What has he done to me?

What has she done to me?

All in a dreadful silence.

Semper sub silentio.

Always in silence.

xx

The first glance Jill and Wesker exchanged after those bizarre dreams of their own was like the verdict of the sentence. . It told them what they needed to know, it gave them they answers they sought; it made them understand. To know of each other's intentions had been their objective.

Now, both of them knew.

They avoided talking to each other during the next two days: there was nothing that needed to be said. If they talked, they talked; if they acted, they acted; if they felt, they felt; if they understood, they understood.

Semper sub silentio.

xx

August 15th, 2009

[…] Keeping in mind who I am has been hellish these days. Around him, I feel different, driven by some kind of uncontrollable force, and it all seems irrational. It looks like I'm not thinking, that I'm acting only out of impulse. I keep a cold demeanour, sharp and occasionally caustic, but it's killing me. I want to be at ease, but it's impossible with Wesker around. I'm not sure if I will stay true to my words; this seems like an endless chase after the unattainable.

And those dreams I had... They were flashbacks, I know, but they were very different. There were details which I would've surely remembered, but why didn't I do so before? The last one wasn't like a flashback; it was something... something very strange, I can't explain it. A sensation of eagerness still lingers, and I don't know why I fell that eagerness in the first place; I can't tell. I guess that only time will.

XX

Jill laid the pen down, rubbed her temple and shook her head to keep the drowsiness from taking her away to dreamland so soon. Out of instinct, she glanced at her left, finding Wesker's seat empty; of course, he'd left an hour earlier, so there was no point in wondering where he was. In spite of that, one specific detail came to Jill's mind, a detail that made her think about her current situation: the dreams of that night. It had all been so different, every dream showing her a past moment of her life, each moment more different than the other. What was weird? He was in all of them.

When it came to antagonistic concepts, she didn't know if to call her dreams that. In one she had relived the moment when she had tried to escape from Wesker after the Spencer State, in the next she'd heard him claim her as his possession, in the next it had all gone topsy-turvy: the unimaginable had happened. Jill remembered the only words spoken in the dream, the words that triggered a light throbbing in her head.

"You've got control now, not me..."

What was she in control of?

Her eyes caught sight of the chess board upon a shelf, and Jill shook her head, remembering how well -and as how Wesker had put it, fairly- he had won the game. Her defeat had left her with a bitter taste in her mouth not because of just losing the game, but she had the nagging feeling that he'd taken a step closer to... closer to what, exactly? Jill felt as if Wesker was many, many steps ahead of her and the only thing she could do was keep catching up with him; even so, she knew she would never reach him.

She decided it was time to get some rest; after all, she'd spent the last few hours awake and in spite of not seeing the outside world, she could tell it had gotten late. And so, Jill made a brisk exit from the office and walked up the hall, heading to her quarters... the quarters of the late Excella. It still got under her skin to be lodged in the same room Excella had, but unless she wanted to sleep on the floor, she would have to keep her complaints to herself. Better not look a gift horse in the mouth, right?

Jill had just gone -quite absentmindedly- past a door when she heard a loud noise from inside, a noise that had sounded much like the groan of someone in pain. Frozen in place, Jill stared at the door in sudden disbelief: was she right in front of Wesker's room? It had to be; if not, this one would also be empty. It looked as if he was suffering because of some reason she didn't know; was it because of a dream?

Although why would that affect him? I've never heard him so distraught before... What's happening?

Ginger, Jill placed a hand upon the handle before berating herself for doing that: what was she trying to do? Go inside and see if he was alright? Why would she do that in the first place?

If there's a time to obtain more answers, this is the time. On with it, Jill!

With renewed resolution, she carefully opened the door as another groan cut through the silence, and she approached his figure on tiptoe. For a moment, she was surprised: never in her life had she seen Wesker in such a state. His features contorted with pain and despair without relent, his skin was drenched with sweat and when Jill laid the back of her hand upon his forehead -still ginger- she was horrified to see how feverish he had turned: he was literally burning up.

Go, do something, Jill!

I can't, I can't, he's my enemy! I'm not taking care of him! I shouldn't be concerned in the first place!

Stop with the foolishness: it's either him or Chris! You chose! Snap out of it, Jillian, and follow your instincts. What do they tell you?!

To help Wesker.

Without thinking it twice, Jill spun on her heels and made for the door; she hadn't moved an inch when a hand stopped her, gripping her upper arm tight. In that moment, Jill was completely sure that she'd pass out sooner or later. She remained in silence, unmoving, hearing his calm, slow breathing and letting out a sharp breath when the grip loosened a bit. Jill closed her eyes tightly without resisting the urge of closing them, even though she had to keep them open in case something happened.

Before nothing else took place, Jill half-turned, only to find Wesker staring at her with his piercing blue gaze. Jill held it with slack courage, feeling as if she were about to start shaking at any moment, but what he did left her even more shocked than she already was: with a smirk that showed what little sense of humour he had at the moment, Wesker said,

"Since when have you been stalking me?"

Jill felt her cheeks warming up at a fast rate, but kept silent.

This is NOT gonna be good. Let's hope death is pleasant.

A/N: So, any guesses? xDDDD This is not going good, right? *sarcastic* Let's see your opinions in your reviews and the votes. I'm up to put up the poll!

Reviews are appreciated!^^