Chapter 22
Bargain Part 3
Lay It On The Line
"Man is the blink of an eye on an evolutionary time line. Life is a primordial accident, fragile in design and elegant in construction. A vast, complex conglomeration of corruptible and, with recent advances in scientific knowledge, easily manipulated cells."
"From a purely clinical standpoint modern man is a biological revolution, and a sad footnote in the appendix of Earth's tome of existence. We are everything. We are nothing."
"Our species is the greatest destructive force in the Universe. This Planet is our commodity. It provides means of shelter, food, and the very oxygen our lungs consume, and in return we plumb her shifting crust for the power to fuel our vehicles and quell our diamond ring vanities."
"Like a mother it nurtured us. Gave us abundant forests to build our homes, fertile soil to feed our masses, and protein rich wildlife to lengthen our bones and clothe our skin. The world taught us where to live, where to hunt, how to survive. It revealed our grass is greener greed mentality, and consumed by this greed man learned how to jab sharpened, pointy sticks at his neighbor. More. More. More. Wanting ever more."
"Remarkable, is it not, this fascinating, almost coincidental and surprisingly fortuitous shift from single-cell organism to consciousness? Where once we crawled, we learned to walk. When we walked the wild grew tame, humanity begat society, and grunts turned into names."
There was wistful sadness in his words. Harsh facial lines softened in almost reflective reminisce, a rare glimpse into the fractured psyche of the Albert he was before the Wesker he became.
Where is a notebook when I need it, a tape recorder?
"How do you envision destiny, Claire?"
"I'm not sure I understand the question. Destiny as a concept? My destiny?" Leon's destiny.
"My apologies. Simple elaboration is best when engaged in discussions with all persons named Redfield. Vocalization of your inner monologue on your own destiny will suffice."
"I've never really thought about it much. Some days I wake up and I'm happy just to be. Other days..."
"You lack ambition. A definitive purpose."
"Being content with what I have is not a lack of ambition, Wesker."
"Are you truly content, Claire? Satisfied with mediocrity?"
"I'd rather be a plain Jane than..."
"Proceed. You have my permission to slander me in cheap, irrelevant comparison."
"A marauding Mary."
"And Dear Brother, do you think he will ever be content?"
"Can't we leave Chris out of this? Just for once. He's not here to defend himself."
"Good thing too, his defensive abilities make him agile as an elephant."
He rotated the laptop to face her and her gaze drifted from the tattered sheet to the screen.
My dream house. A bit weathered. Somewhat worn. Two stories. A pitched roof, oversize dormer windows, and a sun-stripped wrap-a-round porch with a swinging bench suspended from the slanted porch rafters. Jesus, is the man a mind reader too?
"After the mansion incident I fled to France. Angry. Resolute. Disillusioned. My destiny twined into my existence from my very un-humble beginning, I found it difficult to reconcile my failure in Raccoon city."
A circular drive framed in a grove of low-bough trees.
"I had an epiphany in France, a self revelation I have been powerless to shake."
Blue and white-checkered curtains.
"I went to purchase a two-seat Aston Martin nineteen forty-eight roadster with a three-part grille from a private seller in Auvergne, and to secure a warehouse to store my growing collection of vehicles on the European continent. I am a collector, Claire. I currently possess one hundred and ten of the most pristine, vintage automobiles to be found on the planet."
"So. Good for you. You dig cars. Your point?"
"I met a man, an uneducated, discreet man. He had nothing but volcanic soil to his name. Soil, and several garaged vehicles that had not seen the twist of a country road since his father sat behind the dash. The land and the cars were his heritage. His birthright. We sealed our deal over a bottle of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti and a Potée Auvergnate Casserole, a regional dish of cabbage and pork."
"How pleasant."
"It might have been, if the man had not been eager to sell his family history right out from under the selfish bastards he called his four ungrateful sons."
"Wesker-"
"The man had made choices, Claire. Un-retractable choices. Beneath the wane of candlelight, rain-sopped skies, and a generous consumption of wine, his tongue loosened. He spoke of long dead acquaintances. Lost loves. A bastard child sired from a mistress who knew him as his father and wanted nothing of an inheritance except for his name, a minute acknowledgement of a bloodline bond. And as he droned on, pondering the blight of his remarkably uneventful life, it came to me. My revelation."
"For all that I am, for all I have yet to achieve, for all of my knowledge, I am ignorant. I have never experienced life as an ordinary man. You, Claire, are the antithesis of my entire existence. The yin to my yang. The highway exit not taken. For every Bogart there is a Bacall. For every Hades a Persephone, or to phrase it in a more Redfield term, for every Barbie there must be a Ken."
"You are the moon that swells the tide, and I have been powerless to resist your lunar pull. Make no mistake, the thought of screwing you and by proxy screwing Christopher is not without a certain, undeniable, appeal. But, it is not the driving force that binds us together."
"Our destiny is inescapable. You were present the day I decided to rise above the depths of the rank and file common man, the moment I shunned the responsibility of husband and father. The moment I denied myself four ungrateful sons and a clump of soil to call my own. I suspect your presence will follow me to whatever my final outcome. You, Claire Redfield, are my personal loose end."
He'd said a mouthful, and then some. Wesker, a bona-fide stalker. Appalling as it was perplexing. She had to give him credit. Most men, eager to invade their dream girl's life, narrowed harassment to the basics. A few midnight, impromptu, house stakeouts. Random text messages and phone calls.
"You reap what you sow, Wesker. You wanted to harvest power and loneliness. Sounds to me like you got exactly what you wanted."
"A man can plant many crops. Choice is an unlimited reservoir. That being said, the bargain I propose, the reason you are here, is simple. Your time in exchange for Kennedy's life."
"You're joking. Please, tell me this is a joke."
"My agenda is sincere."
"No, really. You can't be serious. It's preposterous. Complicated. You went through a considerable amount of trouble to engineer a laughable farce."
His turn to scoff. "If I had come to you with a genuine offer Dear Brother would have greeted me on the front porch with a double barrel hello right between my eyes. Your ever to the ready middle finger would have been a follow up blast. I am afraid a firmer touch was required. Kennedy guarantees a yes response."
"There are women you can pay to spend time with you. They're called prostitutes."
"And miss an opportunity to drive a wedge between my two most favorite people in the whole wide world."
Claire stared down at the computer screen. "Miller's Cove...A great place to visit-"
"A better place to live. I took the liberty of transposing the adjacent town slogan on top of the house photo."
"It's...Charming."
"One might consider rustic a more appropriate analogy. For the purpose of our social experiment it is ideal, a thoroughly average, appropriately humble abode. Soon to be my home away from home. Our home away from home."
My, as in solo, didn't sound like much to worry about. If Wesker wanted to take a vacation from nefarious evil masterminding and troll a farmhouse, let him. The 'our', as in we, raised the hairs on her neck.
"Uh-uh. No way."
He continued as though her 'no way' had been a 'count me in.' "I must confess I look forward to a bit of reclusive solitude. My schedule has been hectic. Global domination consumes a surprising amount of resources and comprises a hell of a lot of work. Schemes do not hatch themselves." He dipped his head into the meager light to see her face and cracked a grin.
Claire shrank back, and his grin was slowly stripped away.
"Truthfully, Claire, I am exhausted. Weak as thrice brewed coffee. Non-stop travel has taken a heavy toll. I need rest. Recuperation. I need to rid myself of your nagging loose end once and for all."
"I hope you don't expect me to feel sorry for you, because I don't. I don't want to play house with you Wesker."
"What you want is oddly irrelevant to me."
A spiral blur spun Wesker toward the plastic sheet.
"You don't have to do this, any of this. Please Wesker, we can all just walk away."
He emerged out of thin air in a burst of black leather. "Excellent advice. Do make it a point to share the sentiment with Christopher."
"Leon is not part of this madness, this insane feud with my brother. He's never done anything to you." Rushing water. Motors. It'll be ok. Whatever he's done. It'll be ok. Let it be ok. He's ok.
"Perhaps, you had best consider what Prince Charming wants." He yanked the sheet from the rod with an exaggerated, bullfighter sweep of his arms. "Oxygen, for example, or lack thereof, might be an excellent place to start."
The airtight container resembled an upright coffin. The front part of the see-thru casing fashioned out of bronze-tinted, two inch thick, bullet resistant glass. The bottom and side panels constructed from polished chrome steel.
Enough electrical wires to power up a Nasa space shuttle running down the sides of the container. Two pump hoses encased beneath a metal grate snaked around the back of the case.
Leon's downcast head bathed in the eerie, somewhat ghostly glow of blue, plastic-bubbled, lights.
Water! Filthy, rust-colored water swirling around Leon's waist, sloshing against the glass as it rose higher and higher.
Claire scrambled across the table on her hands and knees and stumbled over her legs onto the floor. "You miserable son-of-a-bitch. Is he-"
"Dead? I considered putting an end to his misguided existence, but I found little satisfaction without a certain witness for his execution. Fear not, Claire, he has merely been given a sedative. I took the liberty of IV hydration as well after his unscheduled desert marathon. Although, it appears Agent Kennedy's lungs will have all the hydration they do not need when the water in the tank rises above his head." Wesker flicked his wrist to check his watch. "The pump system is on a timer. As the clock ticks down more water is fed into the chamber. According to my calculations complete submersion will occur in approximately two minutes."
Claire pressed her palms and forehead to the glass. Cold. Cold as Wesker's heart. Speechless.
He knew the risks. Men like Wesker are part of the risk.
Goodbye means forever.
I can't.
Can you wake up tomorrow, and every day after, and know he's gone.
"Two weeks, Claire."
He might as well have said two years. Damage control. "You'll let him go?"
"Provided you adhere to my conditions."
"How do I know you'll honor your word?"
There was the gentle vibration of the floor beneath her feet as another motor kicked into gear.
The dirty brown water surged around Leon's chest.
"Killing Kennedy to spite you does not an eager to participate captive make, and if the truth be known Prince Charming provides a security challenge unmatched only by your brother. The world is a far more interesting place with Captain Destruction and his wanna be commando sidekick stumbling across the globe and wallowing in their own stupidity."
An indirect answer and an insult. Both would have to suffice. The water was rapidly inching its way up the inside of the container. Next stop, Leon's neck.
"Name his price."
"You agree to accompany me tonight of your own free will. During the course of our mutual confinement there will be no attempt to escape, or contact to an outside third party for assistance."
"I can't make myself disappear, Wesker. I'm under house arrest. The authorities will discover I'm missing as soon as Agent James' accident is investigated."
"Negotiation and back door bribes are my specialty."
"And my brother? He's on his way. He may have already landed. I can't explain a prolonged absence. He'll think it mighty damn suspicious when I don't put in an appearance at his bedside."
"The extent of my influence applies to your government keepers. What you choose to tell Dear Brother is your own affair. Do what Redfield's do best. Lie. Oh, to be a proverbial fly on the wall at the brother and sister round table reunion."
"And Leon?"
"After we have departed my associates will transport Kennedy to the nearest major hospital. The sedative he was given will keep him down for several days. Kennedy awakens with nothing more than a nuclear size headache and a fuzzy memory. He will not remember his middle name, let alone our encounter before your arrival."
"How do I know your muscle won't kill him after we've gone?"
"Because Mr. Krauser is in need of a little miracle drug I provide that prevents him from parading his internal organs on the outside of his skin."
Claire squeezed her eyes shut. He knew the risks. I can't let him go.
"I should imagine a thank you would be in order. A comatose man will drown without the pointless panic of a struggle."
"You win," she mumbled.
"One more time. Louder."
The words belonged to him, dredged from a moment that seemed to have occurred a lifetime ago. "Are you willing to dicker, it means barter. You win. I will give you something you want, but I have a few conditions of my own."