The events Grayson references are only covered a little here, but MidoriLaboratories and I are co-writing a story for their short fiction anthology Paper Tigers that'll cover the events more in-depth. Also, check out their work if you'd like more information on Marigold Ashford.
Now that the pills were in hand and Grayson had some time to reflect on other things, he thought about the woman who'd charged Nosferatu. No way that could have been her. He hadn't seen Marigold since he was thirteen-years-old, and he'd been told she died. But, something with his voice said, they also told you Alexia was dead. Grayson fiddled with the amoxicillin in his pocket, frowning.
Jill must have seen the look on his face, and said, "You look pensive."
"Just think I saw a ghost," he told her.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," said Grayson, deciding it was probably best he didn't go into too many details. Jill was PABS, and the Ashfords had their fingers in a lot of illicit business. "And another thing bothers me," he added, because he needed to talk to someone about it, and Jill was the closest set of ears.
"The thing with the ant-zombies," said Jill, knowingly.
He nodded. "Why didn't they attack me?"
"Maybe the parameters were different," suggested Jill, with a shrug. When Grayson asked her what she meant, she elaborated, "Nemesis, this BOW I fought in Raccoon City, didn't actively kill other people. Just S.T.A.R.S. When non-S.T.A.R.S people died, they were collateral damage."
"So you think I was collateral damage?"
"Think back," said Jill. "What was different the last time they attacked you?"
"Claire and Steve were there," he said, suddenly realizing something: is that the variable?
"Maybe that's it," said Jill, as if reading his mind. Then, "Was anything else different?"
Grayson considered the question, then said, "I didn't want to fight them. I kept thinking to myself, 'I wish I didn't have to deal with these fucking things'."
She furnished him with an unreadable look. "Did you ever think that before? I know, dumb question."
"No," he said, honestly, "not like that anyway—not so focused, I mean. I really didn't wanna deal with them this time."
"Can you… control them?" There was a tinge of anxiety to the question.
"I don't think so," he said, the lack of confidence in his voice surprising him.
"You sure?"
Grayson frowned.
"I'm just saying, I've seen some weird shit," said Jill.
The conversation fizzled out, mostly because they were listening for threats, but also because a certain awkward tension had gestated between them. When he was sure things were clear, Grayson broke the silence. "So why were you in the infirmary?" It seemed to be a safe enough topic to discuss, something to lighten the air between them.
"I was the distraction," said Jill. "Chris and Claire went ahead to find Steve."
He looked at her, raising an eyebrow. "Steve's missing?"
"Yeah," said Jill, evasively.
"He's going after Alfred."
Jill peered at him with a frown. "That's what Claire thinks."
"Not thinks. Knows," said Grayson. He picked up his pace. "Shit, we need to find him before he reaches Alfred."
She sped up, falling into step beside him. "Alfred's a criminal, Grayson."
Grayson said nothing. What was there to say? Alfred was a criminal. Even so, Alfred was a friend. A very sick friend whom Grayson didn't always get along with, but whom he cared for nonetheless. Alfred had paid for his education, had given him opportunities he wouldn't have enjoyed had he never known him, and he'd taken good care of him, provided him with everything he could want or need—and Grayson had repaid that generosity by fleeing to Raccoon City, reducing their contact to phone-calls and e-mails, and the occasional visit….
Jill must have sensed he was finished with this particular topic, so she shifted the subject. "So tell me about this ghost of yours."
"She was like a mom to me," he said, remembering the last time he'd seen Marigold: on Rockfort with the twins, the three of them putting items into a time-capsule that would never be opened. Seemed like several lifetimes ago, and felt just as long, and Grayson felt old and tired all of a sudden. He boarded a lift, and Jill stepped in beside him. "I called her Ma. But she died. That's what I was told."
"And you think you saw her?"
Grayson nodded, thumb-punching the DOWN button. The doors rattled shut, and the elevator hummed down its cables. "She was Alexia's and Alfred's aunt." Then he frowned with a grim sort of determination, and said, "I gotta lot of questions for Alexia. Knew she was hiding something from me. Just didn't press her on it, because her business isn't mine." He grunted. "But now? Lucy's got some 'splaining to do."
"You always this intimate with your employers?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're clearly fucking her," said Jill, bluntly. Then, with a wry smile, she said, "That what butlers do these days? Fuck their employers."
"It's not like that," said Grayson.
"I get it." Jill pushed her hands into the pockets of her jacket, regarding him inquisitively. "And your girlfriend from Raccoon City's okay with it?"
Grayson felt as if someone socked him in the gut, and he watched himself grimace in the chromed paneling. Then he said, "My fiancée, Annette, died."
Jill's expression collapsed. She looked genuinely sympathetic. "I didn't—sorry, that was shitty of me."
"It's fine," he lied.
They ventured cautiously off the lift, their guns ready and pointed down the hall. No sign of Nosferatu, which was good, and they made it to the mansion's private-access lift without a hitch. Grayson fed his keycard to the elevator's slot. It lurched, began to descend, and Grayson imagined tinny muzak (he imagined, in particular, it was Deep Purple's Sometimes I Feel Like Screaming ) playing to ease the awkward quiet between them.
The elevator stopped, spat his keycard back out. They stepped off into a dim hallway that, after a few hundred feet, cut sharply to the right, funneling them into the mansion's hydroponic yard (simulated daylight now, but the lighting was never accurate to any specific time of day, so it might have been morning, might have been afternoon). They cut across the yard, and Jill said, "This is fucking crazy. A mansion?"
"That's right." Grayson opened the doors, and they entered the foyer. He discreetly locked the doors behind them, then dropped the key into his pocket. "Stay here," he instructed. "Alexia hates unannounced visitors."
"You have got to be kidding me," said Jill, sourly. "This isn't some kinda social call, Grayson. I wasn't 'in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop by'." She started toward the stairs. "I'm here to find Steve before the kid does something stupid, not give the Ashfords a housewarming cactus."
Grayson put out a hand to stop her. "Steve can't get in here without a keycard," he told her, gently nudging her away from the stairwell. "Same goes for Claire and Chris. Just sit tight, okay? I won't be long."
"What's stopping me from snooping around?"
"Nothing," he said. "But you're not gonna find anything important. The Ashfords don't just leave their dark secrets lying around on coffee-tables."
"Even in a place that's supposed to be inaccessible to anyone without a keycard?"
"The Ashfords are real paranoid," he said, and before Jill could reply, Grayson was already upstairs and shouldering through the door to the drawing room.
The first thing that struck him as deeply wrong was the silence. A silence that was quickly broken by a violent thump from Alfred's room. Grayson hurried. Alfred had Alexia pressed up against the wall, and he was choking her with both hands.
"Who are you?" demanded Alfred, in his approximation of Alexia's voice, his pupils the size of pinpricks. Alexia's face started to purple. "Why is Grayson sleeping with you? My brother saw you with him—saw you naked in his bed. You're not me. You're not Alexia, you fucking whore!"
Grayson grabbed Alfred's shoulders and yanked him off Alexia, and spun, hurling him over an ottoman. Alfred sprawled backward, putting a hand out to catch himself and finding purchase on a bookcase. His downward momentum, however, brought the bookcase with him, and several tomes tumbled down onto his head. Alfred swore explosively and staggered to his feet, and he rushed Grayson, tackling him to the bed and pinning him there, pummeling his head with his fists.
Grayson brought his arms up to block the onslaught of blows, and Alexia came up behind Alfred and seized him by the neck, tearing him off Grayson and heaving him away from the bed. Alfred tripped on the drift of books, and Grayson heard a visceral thud as his head connected with the wainscoting. He went limp as a ragdoll, lying in a motionless heap on the carpet. Grayson, his head throbbing with pain, stumbled over and checked for a pulse. Oh, thank god.
"He's out cold," he told Alexia, trying to ignore the deep ache in his skull. Then, "Are you all right?"
"I'll be fine," she replied, rubbing her bruised neck with a wince. "He's absolutely barmy, Grayson. Just lost his bloody mind and attacked me. But never mind that right now. Are you all right?"
"I'll be okay." Grayson fished the amoxicillin out of his pocket and pushed the bottle into Alexia's gloved hand. "Here," he said, "I found what you need. Also found a former S.T.A.R.S member. Chris Redfield's here, like I said he'd be."
Alexia twisted the cap off the amoxicillin bottle, shaking a pill into her palm. She inspected the pill, satisfied it was the correct medication. Then she asked, "Did you bring him?"
"No, I brought his partner. Jill Valentine. She's in the foyer."
Alexia dropped the pill back into the bottle and capped it. "I'll give this to Alfred when he's awake. His wound's doing a bit better now that I've cleaned it. Should be fine for now." Then she said, "Why would you bring Chris's partner, and not him?"
"Opportunity knocked," he told her.
She pursed her lips.
"Look," he said, "I dunno where Claire and Chris got off to. Jill said they took off after Steve Burnside. They could be anywhere in the facility. So I brought Jill. Better than nothing, right? And we can still use her to get to Chris."
"I suppose," said Alexia, skeptically.
"She's bait, Lex," he said. "We keep Jill here, use her to parley a deal with Chris. I can bring him to the mansion after letting him sweat a little." He paused, then said, "But I have something else I wanna talk about. Valentine's not going anywhere, not without a keycard—or the key to the front doors." Grayson leaned toward her, staring into the ice blues of her eyes, and said, "I think I saw Marigold. Maybe tell me what you've been hiding? Because I'm real sick and tired of being kept in the dark."
Alexia glanced at Alfred, then said, "Get this one onto the bed, and let's go to my room. We'll speak there."
"Sure," he said, and he stooped to grab Alfred and, very carefully, transfer him to the bed. Then he gestured at the door: after you.
Inside Alexia's room, they sat on her bed to talk. "She came here with Alfred," Alexia told him, primly folding her hands in her lap. "She's looking for something of Alexander's. Research. You remember the roses?"
Grayson couldn't forget those roses even if he wanted to, and told Alexia so. "They nearly killed me on Rockfort. That wasn't long before your dad permanently moved us to Antarctica."
"Alexander was working on something with those roses. Remember the epipen that saved your life?"
"Prototype. He made a better version?"
"I believe so," said Alexia. "I don't know why Auntie Marigold wants this medicine, but I reckon it has something to do with her condition. You know how private she is. You have to prise out her opinion of the bloody weather." She was quiet for a moment, staring at the showcase of dolls opposite her bed, at the lobotomized stares of the porcelain Victorian girls. Then, "I wasn't sure how to tell you."
"You and Alfred told me she was dead," he said.
"We thought she was."
"So where was she?"
"Arklay."
"The mansion lab?"
Alexia nodded. "She was a specimen, apparently. Placidia."
Grayson felt his brain lurch. "What?"
"They were studying her. Do you remember Spencer's expedition to Africa? The one my grandfather accompanied him on." When Grayson said he did, Alexia continued, "She was exposed to the Sonnentroppe, the flower the Progenitor was extracted from. Do you understand now? Why she kept her distance when we were children."
"And she's after your dad's research to treat it, or something?"
"I'm not sure yet," she said. "She simply told me to keep an eye on Alfred."
"Yet you were gonna kill him earlier," he pointed out. "Back outside the stasis room."
"Yes, well. I have a temper, and you bloody well know that."
"Things just keep piling up," said Grayson, stretching out on her bed and staring at the coffered ceiling, at the fresco of dragonflies darting among rushes fuzzed by summer haze. He'd always liked the fresco, found it calming to look at. He folded his hands behind his head. "Started out as a simple escape, and now it's this… tangle of weirdness."
Alexia settled her weight on his chest, tucking her chin into her arms and watching him. Grayson stroked her hair, and she smiled. "You know nothing is ever simple when it comes to this family, Grayson."
"Just hope Spencer doesn't bring this place down around our ears."
"He hasn't yet," said Alexia, reasonably.
