Chris can't shake the feeling that something is horribly, horribly wrong. As he stands outside of the interrogation room, he steals a glance at Jill. She's calmly standing beside him, arms neatly folded across her chest as she stares through the one-way mirror that grants them a view of what's happening within. He doesn't see any outward signs that she shares the sentiment, but he knows that something just isn't right about this.
Al Lester's cuffed hands are covered in something dark and reminiscent of soil. Chris watches the restless movements of his hands and the way his fingers weave together and separate in a rapid rhythm. It's an expression of anxiety, he thinks, or maybe the guy's hopped up on some kind of stimulant. Regardless of the reason, he seems uncomfortable, and Chris thinks that's the least he deserves.
"Eric Andrews," Kevin sternly says, sliding a photocopy of the photo on the man's license across the table, "Where is he?"
Dr. Lester's dark, beady eyes clench closed and he laughs.
"Gone," he says, "Very useful."
Joseph glances at the one-way mirror with a bewildered look on his face.
"Useful for what?"
"Dorothy needs sustenance." He hisses, tugging on the metal restraints. The chain clinks and the table he's tethered to rattles. "She needs me. I need to go."
He notices Jill move in his periphery. She uncrosses her arms and straightens her body, stepping a little closer to the mirror to listen intently.
"Who is Dorothy?" Kevin inquires. "Your wife Dorothy?"
Al nods frantically, head swiftly bobbing up and down. His skin appears ashen under the fluorescent lights of the interrogation room and Chris wonders if his illness afflicts more than just his mind. The guy looks diseased.
"Dr. Lester, we looked into your history." Kevin reveals, leaning back in his chair and resting his hand on the edge of the table. "Dorothy died. She's dead."
"NO!"
He begins to thrash, tugging hard on the restraints and shaking his head. "Not dead, not dead, not dead."
Suddenly, he pauses. He stares blankly across the table, perhaps at Kevin, and then his thin lips curl into a smile.
"Dorothy is immortal." He mumbles. "But she needs sustenance. Alive, not dead. Alive, not dead. Alive. NOT DEAD."
The color drains from Joseph's face. His eyes are wide and he turns to the mirror again. Chris doesn't know what's running through his head, but he's sure it's fucking stupid.
"The mold." Jill whispers and looks back at Chris from over her shoulder. "Like the nurse at the hospital said. Is he talking about the mold?"
Chris thinks this might be one of the dumbest conversations he's ever had in his life. A man who believes mold is his wife. How is he going to explain this in the written report?
"I don't know. Probably."
She's thinking. He knows by the way her eyes narrow just slightly and the subtle movement of her teeth worrying the inside of her lower lip. This is pensive Jill, the one who keeps herself awake at night with a thousand and ten thoughts about the case. This is the Jill who makes him feel something that he's not sure he's ready to experience yet.
"I thought the hospital eradicated the mold."
"The man is crazy, Jill. Maybe he's hallucinating. Maybe he took it home with him. Who fucking knows?"
Oh shit.
Chris pulls himself away from the wall he's leaning against and moves to the window.
"That's what it is. He has the mold and he's feeding it with…"
He closes his eyes and the image of the cabin comes rushing back. The bones, the blood, the fur—it's all been seared into his mind. He can't figure out the logistics of what he's suggesting, but the entire case isn't making much sense anyway. Lester is mutilating bodies to feed his pet plant.
"...everything, I guess." He finishes with a grimace.
Jill wrinkles her nose and regards him with a skeptical look.
"Doesn't mold live on...I don't know, sunlight and water?"
Like he knows the answer to that. He'll ask Claire later.
"Probably, but he's fucking crazy. He probably thinks it's eating all the shit he brings it."
Chris realizes he's starting to sound like Joseph and he hates it. The last thing he wants is for Jill to peg him as a deranged conspiracy theorist. He sighs and diverts his attention back to the interrogation at hand. In his defense, the man thinks his damn wife is mold.
"And Michelle Sanders?" Kevin asks. "Is she one of yours too?"
He slides a photograph of the poor girl's body across the table. Al's attention flitters across it for a fleeting moment.
"Mhm." He grins. "Uh-huh."
Joseph has a disgusted look on his face as he asks, "Why? Why did you kill a nineteen-year-old girl?"
"For Dorothy!" He shouts. "Dorothy must live."
As much as he hates to admit it, Chris isn't convinced. He wants justice for Michelle Sanders, but something tells him that this isn't her killer. The girl was mutilated, but she was still relatively intact. This fucker didn't kill her to feet a fucking plant. The fucker probably didn't kill her at all. It doesn't fit his pattern.
"No," Chris quietly says, "He didn't kill her."
He wishes he wouldn't have said it aloud. Jill looks at him like he's just ripped her heart out of her chest and thrown it onto the floor. There's a particular solemn quality to her, one that makes her plummeting morale obvious. He thinks she knows he's right, but she doesn't want to admit it. Honestly, neither does he.
"I think you're right." She confesses with a wry smile. "Michelle doesn't fit."
Part of him wants to take it back. He wants to find some weak, bullshit link to tie Lester to Michelle's case, but he just can't. Jill is watching him with somber eyes and he assumes she's waiting for him to say something to make this all seem right. He wishes he could.
Chris tries and says, "Maybe she's the only one. Just a random accident thrown in with the rest of Lester's victims."
She smiles weakly. He shrugs. Neither of them buy it and he knows it.
The door loudly opens and he watches Kevin exit the room with Joseph in tow. Joseph hastily pulls the door closed behind himself, sucks in a deep breath, and boasts a look of genuine fear.
"This guy is so fuckin' creepy," he whispers, cupping the side of his mouth to muffle his voice as though Lester can somehow hear him, "Dorothy sounds like a…"
"Don't say it." Kevin hisses, sighing as he pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration.
"...like a zombie. I mean, like, brain-eating Romero zombies."
Kevin groans and covers his face. "I knew this was coming."
Chris isn't really in the mood. He doesn't bother to shoot Joseph down this time and turns to Jill.
"You ready?" He asks and she nods curtly.
"Good luck." Kevin offers as he steps away to permit them clearance.
"Remember," Joseph whispers, "He could still be a werewolf. Lycan until proven human."
The interrogation room is dark and cold. It instantly puts him in a bad mood, but he supposes that's the point. It isn't meant to be a comfortable experience and he hates the chilled metal chair he lowers himself into. Maybe Lester hates his even more.
Dr. Lester looks like complete shit. The dull blue glow of the lightbulb suspended above them adds to the dismal mood. His eyes are dull and sunken in, skin so stark in appearance that Chris imagines that it's frigid to the touch. Dr. Lester almost looks like one of his own victims—gaunt, waxy, and empty—and the irony of it isn't lost on Chris.
"Hello, Dr. Lester." Jill greets as she slides her chair closer to the desk. "I'm sorry we have to meet this way."
Chris grunts. Jill is always so much softer than he is. If he could greet the fucker with a kick in the teeth, he definitely would.
"If you don't mind, could you tell me a little about Raccoon General?"
"Raccoon General is a 556 bed facility located in th—"
"Cut the shit." Chris snaps. "That's not what she means."
Dr. Lester grins wickedly. The shadows between teeth seem exaggerated in the harsh light. He seems nearly feral and Chris wonders if this is the last face Eric Andrews saw before being slaughtered.
"I spoke to some of your former colleagues. I heard about what happened in room fifteen."
His expression falls. He hunches over the table, shoulders rounding as he leans in closer to Jill.
"You know about Dorothy?" He whispers with a sense of wonder in his voice.
"I know a little," Jill admits, "But I'd like to learn more about her."
Dr. Lester leans back in his chair and looks up at the ceiling. He seems to be thinking, but Chris thinks that classifying a psychopath's delusions as thought is a bit too generous.
"My sweet, sweet Dorothy…"
His voice is so quiet that he strains to hear him.
"My lovely Dorothy…"
He looks down at the table, twiddling his fingers together.
"Everyone wanted to give up on my Dorothy," he begins, "They wanted to let my poor, lovely Dorothy DIE."
Dr. Lester starts to laugh. It's loud at first, slowly fading into soundless, breathy laughter.
"But I saved her. Hahaha...I SAVED HER!"
"What did you save her from?" Jill gently asks. "Was she sick?"
His demeanor shifts. Dr. Lester falls uncomfortably quiet. Chris watches him carefully, unsure of what is to come. The man's face twists into an expression of agony and, for a moment, Chris almost forgets that he's fucking insane. The fleeting empathy that he feels for the doctor surprises him. Since when does he feel anything but anger and resentment?
"Cancer," Dr. Lester whispers hoarsely, "It was everywhere. Just...eating through her."
"That's horrible." Jill earnestly says. "I can't imagine what it was like for both of you."
Chris doesn't have anything to contribute. He allows Jill to take the reins because she has the patience and willpower to handle a criminal with kid gloves. It's something he's not even remotely capable of and, truth be told, he doesn't know what the hell to say to the motherfucker.
"How did you cure her?"
Of course. Even when she's beating around the bush, Jill is as direct as possible.
Dr. Lester stares down at his interlaced fingers with an empty, glazed-over look in his eyes. Chris isn't sure that he even heard Jill's question. He can hear the loud ticking of the clock poised high up on the wall in the silence. It makes him anxious.
"T. J. C, C, C…" Dr. Lester whispers. "2...0...3!"
"What?" Chris finally speaks up. "What did you say?"
"T-JCCC 203." Dr. Lester murmurs. "T-JCCC 203. T-JCC 203!"
Chris and Jill share a look. Neither of them know what the hell he's on about.
"What does that mean?" Jill prods. "Is that a drug?"
Dr. Lester appears appalled by the question. His eyebrows shoot upward, his eyes narrow, and his lips part in awe.
"Are you stupid?" He suddenly asks.
Chris clenches his fist. He wants to wring the fucker's neck.
"It seems that way," Jill admits with an amused smile, "What is it?"
"Dog eats dog. Dog eats dog. Dog eats dog. Fight fire with fire. Apoptosis...T-JCCC 203. Initiate death sequence...promote caspase activity. Dephosphorylation, dog eat dog."
Right. Of course. De...whatever-the-fuck. He doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about and it doesn't seem like Jill does either. It doesn't seem like he even knows what the fuck he's on about.
"What does that mean?" Chris demands, exasperation evident in his voice. "What are you talking about?"
Dr. Lester begins to laugh. It's harsh and sudden—a loud, cackling, coughing fit of laughter that subsides into an exhausted chortle.
"Dog eat dog, dog eat dog, dog eat dog." He chants, tightly entwining his fingers together and banging his joined hands against the table. "Dog eats dog, detective! DOG EATS DOG!"
He continues to strike the table with hard, rhythmic blows. His eyes roll back in his head to reveal his grey, bloodshot sclera, and he begins to gurgle. He tilts his head backwards and looks up at the ceiling. Spittle flies through the air as he speaks.
"Apoptosis. Dog eat dog. Dog eats dog. Cancer dies. Apoptosis. Human eats human."
It suddenly feels as though each and every strand of hair on his body is standing on end. A chill runs down his spine as he washes Dr. Lester gnash his yellowed teeth and laugh.
"Have you ever eaten a human?" He whispers. "The flesh...such tender, supple flesh…"
He can suddenly smell the damp earth and the tart taste of decay wafting in the air. When he blinks, Michelle's corpse is painted on the backs of his eyelids. He remembers the missing chunks of flesh and the exposed meat of her thigh. He realizes that perhaps those bites weren't so animal-like after all...
"...they eat the flesh. They tear and eat the supple flesh. No dogs eat dogs, you fools. Humans eat humans. No, no...not humans, no. Not humans...not anymore."
Dr. Lester's face falls. His brow creases.
"Oh...Dorothy. Dorothy must be so hungry."
He twists his neck, turns to look back at the clock and sighs.
"How much longer will this take, detectives? Dorothy...oh, she must be so hungry. My lovely, sweet Dorothy..."
Chris thinks he sees Jill's fingers tremble as she closes the file in front of her.
"Hopefully not much longer, Dr. Lester." She says, face stiff with an empty, feigned smile. "Thank you for your time."
The scrape of her chair against the tile floor is almost deafening as she stands. Chris follows suit.
"Not humans. Not anymore. Not humans. Humans don't eat humans. Monsters eat humans. Dorothy…"
A strangled sob escapes Dr. Lester.
"My Dorothy...she's not a monster. No. Sometimes...sometimes humans eat humans. It's a mistake. A simple mistake. The tender flesh. She's just so hungry. Humans eat monsters."
Chris nudges Jill's shoulder.
"Come on." He whispers. "Let's go back to the office."
"Monsters? Monsters? Monsters don't talk…"
Jill looks at the man chained to the table one last time. Dr. Lester laughs.
"Monsters...monsters walk, detective! The tender flesh! Protect your flesh…"
Chris gives Jill's shoulder a light shove.
"Come on."
Dr. Lester's laughter is still audible once the door has slammed shut and they've made it halfway down the hallway. Chris coughs to try to cover the fading sound as he repeatedly mashes the call button for the elevator. The cab's already there, but the doors part at an agonizingly slow pace.
Neither of them know what to say. They exchange glances. They're both too stunned to process whatever the hell is wrong with Albert Lester.
Their office feels different. Chris had grown accustomed to the tense, stern atmosphere that the stress of the case had created. This cheery attitude—the one created by Joseph bouncing around the office and Kevin smirking smugly to himself—feels out of place. He tells himself it's because of the sudden change in mood, but he knows the real reason. This case hasn't fully been solved.
"So, like," Joseph throws his hands up in the air, "Is that guy not the creepiest fuck you've ever met?"
Jill laughs quietly and says, "It's possible."
"Well, he's definitely the creepiest fucker I've ever met." Joseph nods to himself. "Like...like...what the hell, man? His wife didn't really eat people, right?"
The color drains from his face and his mouth falls open.
"Oh god...are we sure she's dead?!" He shouts. "Like, are we super sure she's dead? Like on a scale of one to sure, we're sure...right?"
"Pretty damn sure," Kevin tries to assure him, "Body was cremated. She's got a place in the mausoleum at the graveyard near Arklay."
Joseph seems skeptical. He purses his lips and squints.
"Cremated, huh? How convenient…"
Chris thinks it's time to intervene.
"You're focusing on the wrong thing." Chris sternly says. "We need to look at Michelle Sanders."
Kevin raises an eyebrow.
"What about it? He admitted it. Lester killed her."
He looks at Jill. She's looking at him. He can hear the faint sound of the toe of her boot anxiously tapping against the carpet.
"You really think so?" Chris inquires. "I'm not so sure. She doesn't fit the others. Lester didn't leave bodies behind. He...he sounds like he was using them to feed whatever he thinks is his wife. Why would he leave Michelle intact? We could very realistically be looking at two different killers."
The room is quiet.
"It's not impossible," Barry pitches in from his corner, "But statistically, it's very unlikely."
Brad's glancing around the room. Chris thinks he's surveying them all to figure out what side he should take because the dipshit can't ever make a decision for himself.
"You don't know that though." Kevin counters. "We've still got some outstanding people. Lester will crack and tell us where they are. They're probably all gnawed up like Sanders."
Brad's bobbing his head in an emphatic nod. Joseph strokes his chin in thought.
"If Dorothy is a zombie—"
"She's not." Kevin interrupts. "She's dead."
"Well, zombies are tech—"
"Stop."
Kevin's not his usual easygoing self. This isn't playful Joseph bullying. Kevin is genuinely irritated.
"I've just got a bad feeling." Chris admits, drawing the attention away from Joseph. "Maybe it was Lester, but we don't know for sure. I don't want us to celebrate prematurely and miss something."
Kevin glares at him.
"You want us to hold this up based on a bad feeling?"
Chris doesn't know what the hell's up with him.
"That's not what I said," he explains, "We just need to continue to be thorough with the investigation and make sure Lester really is responsible for all these missing people."
Joseph frowns. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the edge of his desk.
"If he really did kill them all, he probably forgot where all the bodies are. I don't think he's very reliable."
That's probably the most rational thing to ever come out of his mouth.
"Maybe you're right." Jill softly says. "And Chris is right too. We need to stay vigilant."
Kevin sighs heavily. He spins around in his chair to face both Chris and Jill directly. The tight grip he has on the arm rests of his chair seems excessive.
"Why can't you just let this case be solved?"
Chris can't believe the words coming out of Kevin's mouth.
"Excuse me?"
He feels like he's shaking. Why the fuck is Kevin not in his corner? Why the fuck is he challenging him? What the fuck is he trying to say?
"I just don't get why you can't let it go." Kevin waves his hand as he speaks. "Lester got caught. He admitted to the murder. Why can't you accept that?"
Chris thinks he's gonna snap. Of all the fucking assholes it could have been, why is it Ryman? Why is he turning on him?
"Maybe because I'm a good fucking cop?" Chris asks. "Maybe because I want justice for the families of the dead?"
"This is justice!" Kevin exclaims. "Lester said he did it. They have a man to hate now."
"And what if he's not the one? We just sit back and twiddle our thumbs while we wait for the real culprit to kill more innocent civilians? Are you gonna be the one to go back and tell the families, 'Oh, sorry, we jumped the gun on that one...your daughter's killer is still prowling the streets?'"
He's suddenly aware of how hard he's breathing. His chest almost hurts on account of how roughly it's rising and falling. He clenches his eyes shut, takes in a deep breath through his nose, and tries to lie to himself about it being cleansing or whatever the fuck Claire claims. His face feels hot and he feels everyone's eyes on him.
"You have a problem, man." Kevin grunts. "Get help."
"I don't understand what the fuck your problem is."
"My problem is that I want this shit to be over!"
"And you think I don't?"
"I don't know what the hell you think."
He's mad. He's so fucking mad. What the fuck is happening right now? Why the fuck aren't they listening to him? He's being perfectly reasonable. What the fuck is the problem? Did they all fucking forget how to be a goddamn cop?
"Chris."
It's Jill. Jill's saying his name and he's suddenly aware of the soft pads of her fingers that are resting against his wrist.
"Let's take a break." She gently proposes, but he knows it's not a suggestion. Jill's telling him what to do and he's strangely okay with this.
The beat of blood in his ears and the humming in his veins is growing quieter. He feels the heat dissipating from his face.
"Yeah," he says, "Alright."
He almost stops giving a fuck about Kevin's bullshit when she's tugging on his wrist and leading him out the door. She glances at him from over her shoulder, smiles, and he thinks that maybe the world is alright for a little while because at least she's in it.
He'll deal with that asshole later.
"We could be wrong, too."
Jill watches his chest rise as he takes a long drag of his cigarette and she wrinkles her nose at him to make her disgust for the habit known. She doesn't understand why Chris smokes the way he does. It's an erratic behavior, one that he doesn't seem to indulge in on a daily basis, and she doubts he's addicted to nicotine because of it. If he doesn't crave it, what's the point?
She's overthinking this.
"Yeah," he says with a long exhale, "We could be, but we need to be sure."
She watches the cloud of smoke slowly fade away. The smell of it bothers her.
"We could talk to Wesker about it."
Chris freezes in the midst of bringing the cigarette back to his lips. He's looking at her like the suggestion is completely outlandish.
"We're not involving Wesker," he tells her, "He's not going to listen."
Jill crosses her arms over her chest. How can Chris be so sure? If they have a rational argument, surely he'll entertain it. Logic outweighs their petty rivalry.
"How do you know?"
She thinks she sees his brow twitch. Is he mad at her too?
"Jill…"
He sighs and turns his head to the side, peering out at the parking lot. His jaw is set tight and his forehead is wrinkled with his stressed expression.
"It's all a political game. Wesker has Irons looming over him and all Irons gives a fuck about is the press." He looks at her. "Closing this case is positive press. Raccoon City rejoices and praises their heroic chief of police. It doesn't matter if we got the right guy."
She understands where the accusation comes from. Irons is a sleaze.
"Well…"
She looks down at her feet and toes at the dirt.
"I hope we got the right guy then."
Chris leans against the brick exterior of the precinct and tilts his head back. The sunlight across his face highlights the sharp, masculine edges of his face. She sees a lot of him in Claire—both physically and in personality—and she wonders what it's like to be close enough to someone for it to influence the way you are. Jill thinks they must have been close when Claire was growing up. She wonders if they're still that close now.
"I think," he begins, interrupting her thoughts, "I think we should go to Arklay."
"I thought you said Wesker won't let that fly because of Irons."
He looks down at her and runs a hand through his thick, dark hair. Is he anxious?
"I mean…"
He fidgets a little, shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
"We should go on our own time. Alone. No one has to know."
Jill isn't sure what to think about this.
"What do you think is in Arklay?"
"I don't know," he says with a sigh, "But it might make us feel better. I mean, it'll probably make me feel more at ease to look it all over one last time."
She's conflicted. If they find anything, it can't be used. They'd have to persuade Wesker and Chris made it sound like an arduous and uncertain task. If they don't find anything, maybe Lester was the guy after all. Maybe it'll bring them peace. Maybe it'll bring her peace.
"What if we find something?" She asks. "What if we are right?"
He shrugs.
"I dunno. We'll cross that bridge if we get to it."
It's all up in the air and Jill hates not having a plan. They don't know what they're looking for, what they'll find, or how they'll handle it. It stresses her out and makes her stomach feel like it's been tied in a knot.
Jill thinks about giving up on their hunch, but then Chris looks at her with those deep brown eyes and says, "You're the only person I can trust."
She mulls it over. If she's the only person he can trust, is the converse true for her as well? Joseph loves to gossip. Kevin seems dead set on believing Lester. Wesker's hands are tied. Brad is...Brad. Barry seems like a nice enough guy, but…
"You're the only one I can trust too."
The words come out of her mouth even before she's conscious of the realization. They surprise her a little and she feels her heart skip a beat because she's not sure that she should have said it, but the stressed lines in his face disappear and Chris smiles at her.
"Tonight then?"
He knows she has nothing better to do.
"Sure."
When did her life become addled with paranoia and conspiracies?
All she can think about is how uncannily quiet it is. The only discernible noise is the crunch of twigs and fallen leaves beneath their feet, sounds that are made almost deafeningly loud by the pervasive silence that surrounds them.
"Something isn't right," Jill finally speaks up, "It's too quiet."
Chris pauses. She strains to make out a single sound.
"I know."
It seems as though the entire forest is dead. The way the harsh light of their flashlights highlight the twisted, deformed trees ahead of them adds to the already tense atmosphere. Vegetation fills the gaps between them, rattled messes of thorns and rotting piles of damp leaves littering the ground for as far as she can see.
"I did some research." Chris tells her. "There's something here that I want to see."
She wonders why he didn't mention this sooner. Doesn't he trust her?
"What is it?"
"There's an old hospital out here that was abandoned decades ago. The surrounding area was evacuated because of rumors about high levels of radiation coming from nearby rock formations. I just wonder…"
She wonders now too.
"Are we even going to be able to find it like this?"
Chris pauses and looks at her with concern.
"You doubt me?" He asks. "I was a Boyscout, you know."
Jill can't even imagine him as a kid, let alone a Boyscout.
"Were you really?"
He laughs.
"No, but I grew up in Yeehaw-ville, U.S.A.. I've gotten lost in enough forests as a kid to figure out how to get through one."
After what feels like an endless trek through damp air and twisted trees, they stumble across a dilapidated, two-story building, one that's so overgrown with ivy that she can barely make out the bricks that create the structure. One side of the building has been partially destroyed, its wall damaged and cracked in areas to allow the petrified roots of some sort of plant to escape from within. The cracked window panes reflect the beams of their flashlights back at them and she can't see much through the filth that coats their surfaces.
The stone steps leading up to the building are crumbled and she half expects them to collapse into dust as she ascends them. A cool breeze gently flitters past, licking at the beads of sweat that have started to surface on the back of her neck, and Jill shivers slightly as she follows Chris inside.
The foyer smells damp, earthy, and ripe. Jill tries to ignore the pungent odor as she slowly surveys the room in the little light she has. The furniture nearby is covered in a thick layer of dust and it makes the uncannily clean reception desk seem even more out of place. It's polished to such perfection that the moonlight peering through the skylight above bounces back off of it.
"Chris," she whispers, "I think someone has been by."
She nudges his shoulder and gestures towards the desk. His shoulder stiffens beneath her hand.
"Might have been Lester."
Jill isn't necessarily convinced. If his cabin was any indication of his habits, he wasn't a particularly clean man. She doesn't give it too much thought and instead wanders to the directory nearby, wiping it clean with the side of her hand and grimacing at the grime that now covers her skin. It's a small hospital, one that only has three wards, and she's grateful that there doesn't seem to be much to explore.
They find themselves standing outside of the intensive care unit on the eastern side of the facility. Chris rests his hand on the surface of one of the swinging doors that separates the unit from the rest of the facility. The walls around them are stained with black.
"Be careful."
Chris pushes the door open and comes to a startled stop in the doorway.
The room has been engulfed by something that she can't identify. Long, root-like ropes of some sort of plant are stretched across the floor, running up the sides of the walls and disappearing through broken ceiling tiles. Tufts of soft, green moss are present all around the room, spanning the length of the walls and floor.
Jill turns, following the perimeter of the room with her light, and gasps.
"Is that…"
Nestled in the furry substance are rotting shards of grey bone. Part of a human skull is visible with a thick bundle of moss protruding from the eye socket. She thinks she sees part of a ribcage, maybe the edge of a pelvis, and as she follows it all with her light, she thinks she's going to be sick.
"Are you here to visit Mrs. Dorothy?"
The sound of the voice nearly makes her leap out of her own skin. She spins around to find herself face-to-face with a young woman. Jill presses a hand against her chest, right over her racing heart, and the woman smiles.
She's holding a lamp that glows with an orange light. Jill notes the pale green scrubs she's wearing.
"Who are you?"
She looks at Chris with the same warm smile.
"I'm Mrs. Dorothy's caregiver," she introduces herself, offering him a small hand, "My name is Yoko."
Jill looks back over her shoulder at the skeleton that appears to be sinking into the wall.
"Is that her?"
Yoko nods.
"She's been lonely lately. We haven't seen Dr. Lester in a while. She'll be so happy to see you."
She quickly shuffles past them. Jill looks at Chris and he shrugs as he mouths, what the fuck?
Yoko's standing on her tiptoes and sweeping the moss back with gentle strokes of her hand.
"Wake up, Mrs. Dorothy," she whispers, "You have visitors."
Chris awkwardly clears his throat. Jill isn't sure how she should respond. Should she play along?
Yoko turns around and she catches a glimpse of her profile in the poor lighting. She swears that something isn't right. Something is off.
"I'm sorry, but Mrs. Dorothy says she's too tired for visitors right now."
Chris snorts.
"Yeah, sounds about ri—"
"That's okay." Jill interjects. She's still not sure how to handle this, but she knows letting Chris open his mouth is the wrong thing to do. "Do you mind answering a few questions for us?"
Yoko nods.
"Can we do it in the foyer?" She asks. "Mrs. Dorothy is trying to sleep and I don't want to disturb her."
Yoko is already walking past them towards the foyer. Jill gives Chris a stern look.
"What?" He hisses. "She's fucking insane."
"I know," Jill whispers back, "But we can't tell her that."
"Why not?"
Jill doesn't have an educated answer for this. It just feels like the wrong thing to do.
"If we piss her off, she won't talk to us."
Chris sighs.
"Fine."
Yoko is hurriedly wiping down dirty furniture in the waiting area with an equally filthy cloth. It doesn't seem to be accomplishing anything and Jill interrupts her.
"That's okay, we don't have to sit."
Jill steps to the side as subtly as she can. She wants to see the side of her face again, but it's so dark.
"How long have you been taking care of Dorothy?"
"Umm...my whole life, I think."
That can't be. Dorothy died in her thirties.
"How old are you?"
"20."
"You've always worked here?"
Yoko scrunches up her face as though thought is somehow painful for her.
"I really can't remember. I'm sorry."
Jill feels incredibly uncomfortable. Something is very, very wrong.
"How long have you known Dr. Lester?"
"Since my surgery...one of his friends did my surgery."
"If you don't mind me asking," Jill gently says, "Do you mind telling me about your surgery?"
When Yoko pulls her short, dark hair away from the side of her face and turns to the side, Jill struggles to hide her shock. The side of her face is discolored, covered in spidery, vein-like streaks of green that have begun to take over the edge of her cheek and jaw. It might be the flashlight, but the skin beneath them almost seems to glow.
Yoko pushes her ear forward to reveal a thin, vertical scar on the edge of her hairline.
"One of his colleagues did my brain surgery. Dr. Lester took care of me afterwards."
Yoko steps back and smiles.
"I'm very grateful for their help."
Alarms are sounding in her head. Jill swallows.
"Where do you live, Yoko?"
She points to the staircase behind Chris.
"Upstairs."
This woman isn't safe.
"Do you have any family?"
She shakes her head.
"Dr. Lester said they died when I was a teenager. I can't remember much since my surgery."
Her mind is rapidly cycling through all the things Dr. Lester could have done to Yoko and Jill feels nauseated for even thinking of a few of them. What motive does he have for taking this woman? Why can't she remember anything?
"Yoko," Jill lets out a shaky breath, "We came here to help. We work for the police."
Yoko's almond-shaped eyes widen.
"Did I...do something wrong?"
"No, no, not at all," Jill quickly explains, shaking her head to be as clear as she possibly can, "Dr. Lester is in trouble and we need your help."
"Is he...okay?"
"He's okay. Can you come with us?"
Yoko nods and says, "Anything to help Dr. Lester. He's such a good man."
Jill doesn't understand what the hell is going on in Raccoon City, but she's starting to wonder if the job is even worth it anymore.
"You what?!"
Chris swears he can see spittle fly through the air as Irons shouts. His face is flushed red and his skin is slick with a light sheen of sweat as his beady eyes dart from him to Jill and back. He drops his meaty hands against his desktop with an audible thunk and sighs. Wesker stands beside him, arms crossed over his chest in his typical stance, and Chris wishes he could slap those fucking shades right off his fucking face.
"Redfield," Irons bellows, "Why are you allowing this woman to make such stupid decisions?"
He gestures towards Jill. Chris feels his blood pressure rising.
"Her name is Jill Valentine," Chris petulantly says, "And she has just as much authority as I do. We have the same job title."
Irons covers his face with his hand and sighs again.
"This isn't what I hired her for."
Chris glances at Jill. Her hands are balled into fists against her thighs.
"What did you hire her for?" Chris asks. "Because I'm pretty confused here, Chief. She's a member of S.T.A.R.S. Alp—"
"She's a woman, Redfield. What the fuck do you think I hired her for?"
"I think you hired her as rear security for Alpha team."
Irons whines in frustration. Chris wants to give him something to really fucking whine about.
"So let me get this straight," he says, "You allowed this woman to convince you to go to A—"
"No," Chris interrupts, "I convinced her to go to Arklay."
"Regardless," Irons continues, "You went to Arklay after hours to conduct your own investigation and brought back some fucking psycho girl? This is not the R.P.D.'s responsibility."
Truthfully, he doesn't give a fuck about Yoko, but Jill does and he stands by his partner.
"No sir." He can't suppress the cheeky smile on his face. "My partner and I were doing some recreational hiking in our own free time and we found a woman in distress. As police, we are supposed to protect and serve the comm—"
"Shut up." Irons grunts. "That's bullshit and you know it."
"Wasn't S.T.A.R.S. founded to—"
"Cut the crap, Redfield. Do you know how much paperwork I have to do now? There is no Yoko Suzuki on record. This bitch doesn't even know her own name and now I have to fi—"
"Enough."
Wesker is looking right at him through those dumb fucking shades. He knows it.
"This is unacceptable. I am removing you from this case."
"You're making a mistake," Chris warns, "Something else is going on."
Wesker uncrosses his arms. He must have struck a nerve.
"What is it that you want, Redfield?" He coldly asks. "Are you upset because Ryman and Frost made the arrest? Do you crave attention that badly?"
What the fuck? He's not even going to entertain that fucking comment.
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Chris leans back in his chair and glares at Wesker, "But I'm just trying to do my damn job. Something else is going on and Raccoon City isn't safe."
He hates the way Wesker laughs. It sounds so unnatural and forced.
"You want credit so badly that you're fabricating evidence that does not exist."
"Doesn't exist my ass!" Chris shouts. "That woman isn't evidence of some weird shit going on?"
"That woman never should have been found in the first place. You went to Arklay to fulfill your own agenda."
"I don't have a fucking agenda! Are you two even listening to yourselves? Fuck!"
"I will not allow you to continue to poison the well."
What the hell does that mean?
"Poison what well? What the hell are you talking about?"
"I am separating the two of you. Valentine, you will work with Burton from now on. Redfield, you will be with Vic—"
Oh hell no.
"Like fucking hell I will. I'll work alone."
"I'm able to make decisions for myself."
Everyone's attention falls on Jill.
"I'm a woman, not an invalid." She defends. "Chris doesn't force me to do anything."
Irons rolls his eyes. Chris wants to wring his fat fucking neck.
"Leave, Miss Valentine." He commands with a lethargic wave of his hand towards the door.
"Chief, I—"
"Do you want to lose your job? I said to leave."
Jill rises from her chair, but hesitates at the doorway. Chris knows she's biting back a smart comment.
"Just go, Jill." He mumbles. "It's not worth it."
He hears the door click shut behind him and lets out a long breath of relief. Irons regards him with a scowl.
"Why must you always be such a pain in my ass?" He grumbles, breaking his eye contact with Chris to stare at his desktop.
Irons is a coward. Chris smirks.
"Gotta make sure you work for that money you're laundering."
Irons slams his palms against the desktop.
"What is it that I have to do?" He bellows. "Money? Do I have to pay you to keep you in line?"
Chris laughs humorlessly.
"I don't want any of your dirty money."
"Chris, you are walking a very thin line." Wesker hisses. "If I had it my way—"
"You'd fucking fire me, I know." Chris snaps. "Why don't you? Go ahead."
"No! No one is getting fired!" Irons hurriedly shouts. "Just...god dammit, Redfield. Do better."
Chris pulls himself out of his chair and steps close to the desk, towering over Irons.
"No promises, Chief." He grunts and promptly walks out the door.
Jill's face is still stinging with embarrassment when she takes reprieve on a bench in the upstairs lobby. It feels as though she's been slapped in the face and, in a way, she has. The obvious disrespect that Irons harbors for her is insulting. She wishes she had said more, but the fear of losing her job was too strong.
She's worried about Chris. The vitriol that passed around the room between the three men was painful despite not being directed towards her. She knows he's been treading on thin ice and she wonders if he'll lose his job. What would S.T.A.R.S. be like without Chris Redfield?
The conclusion surprises her. It's hard to see herself in her current role without Chris. He's become a strange fixture in her life, one that she realizes she has come to rely on to some degree. She had gotten used to him and his idiosyncrasies. Maybe, in some warped way, he had become a form of comfort in the midst of all the chaos.
How would she even define the relationship that they have? If Joseph was her colleague, Chris was certainly something more than that. She'd been able to confide in him and he trusted her. He went out of his way to support her when her apartment had been broken into. Hell, he worried about her and brought her into his home. Is that something he would have done for Joseph?
What the hell were Chris Redfield and Jill Valentine?
"Excuse me."
The voice is so soft that it's almost lost beneath the volume of her thoughts. Jill thinks the woman standing in front of her looks familiar, but she can't place where she's seen her. The roundness of her face and the wide, deer-in-the-headlights look she's wearing make Jill question if she's an employee or civilian.
"Are you Jill Valentine?"
"Yeah."
The woman lets out a sigh of relief and claps her hands together excitedly.
"Oh geez, I'm so glad! I was looking everywhere for you!"
Her confusion must have been evident on her face because the woman suddenly changes her demeanor. She stands straight and thrusts her arm forward, offering Jill a clumsy hand.
"I'm Rebecca."
Jill accepts her hand. The handshake is weak and limp.
"You're S.T.A.R.S., right?"
Jill glances down at the patch embroidered onto the sleeve of her pale blue shirt. Rebecca's face flushes.
"That was a stupid question." She sheepishly admits. "But, um, I'm S.T.A.R.S. too. I'm...new. I'm on Bravo team…"
"It's nice to meet you."
Rebecca grins and nods. The redness in her cheeks doesn't fade.
"I'm a medic. I specialize in biochemistry and…"
She pauses and laughs nervously.
"Well, that's all boring. You don't care about all that."
Jill can't help but smile at her awkward behavior.
"Sure I do. That's really impressive."
"T-Thanks." She stammers. "But, um, I was called in to help with the case you're working. I was evaluating Ms. Suzuki. I mean, you surely saw her face, right? Well, um, they called me to look at it and…"
She's speaking so fast that she has to stop and take a breath.
"I just wanted to ask about where you found her. Was there anything strange there? Or maybe she mentioned something to you?"
Jill pats the empty space on the bench beside her to persuade her to sit. Watching her anxiously bounce back and forth on one foot has started to distract her.
"This all sounds really crazy," Jill admits, "But Dr. Lester apparently thought mold was his wife. We found Yoko at the closed down hospital he used to run in Arklay. She was...taking care of the mold?"
Is that the right way to explain it? Jill thinks it'll all sound stupid regardless of how she phrases it.
"Yoko said she lived upstairs. I'm not sure if she ever left the facility. Her memory seems to be bad."
Rebecca's eyes widen.
"That's it!" She says. "I didn't really know what it was. It looked kind of like Rhizomucor pusillus under the microscope, but it can assimilate glycine. It doesn't make sense…"
She shakes her head and starts to laugh.
"I'm sorry, I get carried away sometimes. Um, Ms. Suzuki and Dr. Lester both have the same infection and—"
"Infection?"
"Oh!" Rebecca begins to wave her hands. "No, it's not like that! You couldn't have gotten it from that. It takes really long periods of exposure and the host has to be immunocompromised and…"
She has to take another breath.
"I took samples of the spots...the one on Ms. Suzuki's face and the one growing on Dr. Lester's body."
"I didn't realize he was ill too."
"W-Well, it's the same as the one Ms. Suzuki has. It's some kind of fungal infection, but I can't identify it. It doesn't make sense. It can utilize carbon and assimilate glycine? I didn't think anything like that existed…"
Jill doesn't quite understand what she's talking about.
"So Dr. Lester and Yoko are infected with the same mold from the hospital?" She tries to clarify and Rebecca nods.
"It's possible! But...I'd need to collect a sample to be sure. I need to talk to Enrico and maybe—"
Rebecca sighs.
"A new fungus. This is all so weird…" Rebecca whispers quietly.
An infectious mystery fungus, a woman without any memories, and a man who thinks mold is his wife.
"Yeah," Jill mumbles, "No kidding."
"Rebecca!"
Jill watches the blonde man approach. He's waving a gloved hand and panting a little from what Jill assumes was a rapid ascent up the staircase nearby.
"There's a…" He pauses, rests his hands on his hips and sucks in a breath, "There's a doctor looking for you."
When he makes eye contact with Jill, his face seems to light up.
"Oh! You're on Alpha, right?"
He laughs a little and gestures towards the S.T.A.R.S. emblem embroidered on his peach sleeve.
"Can't believe they're letting us out in the daytime." He smiles and offers a hand. "I'm Richard. I'm on Bravo with Rebecca."
"Jill Valentine," she says as she accepts his hand, "It's nice to meet our other half for once."
Richard grins sheepishly.
"Too bad it took a serial killer to get Irons to let us all work together, but…"
He gestures across the span of the precinct towards the east office.
"That doctor's waiting. I think his name was Dr. Birkin? He had some questions about Yoko."
Rebecca shrugs.
"Sure, lead the way."
Jill isn't sure why she feels a chill run up her spine as the two of them walk away. Maybe Joseph's superstitious nature is rubbing off on her, but this feels an awful lot like the calm before a sudden storm.
If he has to hear Vickers say one more word, he thinks he's gonna drive the pen sitting on his desk right through his eardrum.
"Every third Friday is community involvement day." He chipperly says. "Tomorrow we're going to Raccoon high school to talk to—"
"No we're not." Chris grunts. "I'm not talking to kids."
"It's for a good cause, Chris." Vickers tries his best to persuade him. "We're shaping American youth and inspiring their futures! How does that not make you feel good?"
"Sure," Chris says, "I'd love to tell them all about their heroic police chief who siphons taxpayer money into his own bank account and gives no shits abou—"
"Why are you always like this?" Vickers asks. "How can you live with so much hate in your heart?"
Chris thinks he's gonna throw up.
"Well," he replies, "Consider it the consequence of having to see your face every fucking day. I was fine before I joined S.T.A.R.S."
Not really. He's had a problem since the day his parents died, but he's not about to talk about that with Brad fucking Vickers.
"I know you don't mean that."
He sure as fuck means that and he makes sure Vickers knows it before he stomps his way out the door. All he wants is to get the hell out of that precinct and pretend life isn't absolute shit for a few hours.
Claire knows something is up with him once he gets home. He can feel her staring at him through dinner, but he keeps his mouth shut in hope that it'll inspire her to do the same. Afterwards, he doesn't argue with her when she picks some shitty slasher movie for them to watch, and he thinks maybe that's what ultimately gave him away. He always complains about that shit because he hates campy horror movies.
"What's up with you?"
She's sitting beside him on the couch, knees pulled up to her chest and eyes glued to the screen as she idly twists a tendril of auburn hair around her finger. The flashing lights from the TV illuminate her face in a way that accentuates her rounded, youthful features and he thinks about how fucking young she is, how Michelle Sanders was barely older than his baby sister and now she's rotting in the goddamn ground.
"Nothing."
It seems wrong that something so young can die. Claire's not innocent by any damn means, but she doesn't know shit about anything either. Well, not anything that matters, at least.
"Something."
He sighs like it hurts.
"I'm just tired," he explains, "Stressed. Work."
"Fuckhead Irons said you all caught the big bad guy on the news."
"Of course he did."
Claire tears her attention away from the screen to look at him. Maybe he's remembering her wrong, but he thinks Claire's eyes suddenly look a lot like mom's did. He thinks mom must have looked pretty young when she died too and wonders if her corpse haunts another cop's memories like Michelle's does his.
"But you don't think so."
"I don't know what to think anymore."
She turns to face him, repositioning herself so she's cross-legged beside him.
"Well, what does Jill think?"
Why is she asking about that?
"I mean," she elaborates, "She's your partner, right?"
He can't explain why her words sting like the blade of a knife. Maybe because he hasn't told her yet.
"No." He grumbles. "Wesker separated us."
"What the hell for?"
"Because of the case. I…"
This time, the sigh really does hurt. Chris feels like he has a fifty pound weight sitting on his chest and he's ready to just call it quits and let Lester play the part of the big bad wolf. He wants some semblance of normalcy in this fucked up timeline.
"I don't think Lester killed them all. Some of it just doesn't really fit and...shit, Claire, I don't know. I have a shitty feeling about it. I don't know why I can't let it go, but something seems off."
"Okay," Claire says, "But what does that have to do with Jill?"
"She's the only one who believes me. She...I fucked up and got her involved with my stupid hunch and Wesker got pissed and separated us."
"Can't be that stupid. Jill seems too smart to believe the dumb shit that comes out of your mouth, so you must be onto something."
"Maybe, but…"
Fuck, why is he talking to Claire about this? Claire's just a kid. She needs to be thinking about university and boys, not serial killers and political corruption.
"I don't want to fuck her over. If anyone is gonna get fired for this, it should be me."
Claire looks surprised.
"Uh…"
She reaches forward to press her palm against his forehead as she asks, "You feeling okay? It's not like you to give a fuck about someone who isn't yourself."
He pulls away from her with a scowl on his face and she laughs.
"If she trusts you, then you should trust her too." Claire lectures him as she turns back to the television screen. "She doesn't need you to protect her."
He knows she's right and he absolutely hates it when Claire's right.
The sky is a foggy mess of fading grey clouds and slivers of orange sunset that manage to paint the rippling waters of the river red. It looks like blood, Jill initially thinks, and then she mentally berates herself for being so dramatic because river water doesn't look anything like blood at all. It's not dark enough, not viscous enough, and the lazy way it flows doesn't seem sinister in even the slightest way.
"Here."
Chris lands heavily in the space beside her on the bench and passes her a paper coffee cup.
"I talked to Branagh's guys." He says, pausing to take a sip of his own drink. "They said your apartment wasn't the only one that was broken into."
"That's a relief."
She pauses to cringe at her own words.
"I mean, not for the others." She clarifies. "But it makes me feel better to know I wasn't their target."
"Me too."
Jill watches the flowers in the planter beside them gently sway with the light breeze that picks up. She doesn't really know what to say, so she fills some of the quiet by taking a slow drink of her coffee.
"Working with Vickers sucks." Chris announces, pain evident in his voice. "He's annoying as shit. Always wants to run off to Wesker for approval for everything and—"
He abruptly stops to sigh.
"I miss working with you."
She's suddenly uncomfortably aware of the beat of her own heart. Chris reaches up to scratch at the side of his neck as he stares at the river in front of them. His hair has grown a little longer than she remembers it being and there's a faint shadow of stubble that peppers his jawline.
"Me too."
The corner of his mouth curls upward in the faintest hint of a smile and he leans back against the bench.
"Barry's nice," she tells him, "He's just…"
"He's a dad." Chris says with a laugh. "He gets excited about hardware store sales and crossword puzzles."
"Yeah, no kidding."
The flow of the river is quiet but audible. She watches a sedan slowly pass over the bridge.
"How are you doing?"
At first, she isn't sure what to say. Jill wonders if Chris is sick, if he's picked up the mysterious fungal infection that plagues Dr. Lester and Yoko, because she didn't even know those words were capable of coming out of his mouth. Once the initial shock wears off, Jill finds that she still doesn't know how to answer his question. How is she doing? It's not something she's thought about in a while.
"Okay," Jill eventually decides, "I guess."
The last couple of weeks passed as though she was on auto-pilot. Jill can't recall the details of the days and isn't sure she has left her apartment for anything but work. She's tired in every sense of the word and she's almost eager for a new case to come along so she can have some sort of excitement in her life again.
"How are you?" She finally asks, turning towards him.
Chris is staring out at the water with one arm draped over the arm of the bench. The orange glow of the setting sun gives his skin a warm color and he rakes his fingers through his dark hair as he seems to ponder the question.
"Annoyed," he grumbles and adds, "With life."
She didn't necessarily expect him to lie to her, but his honesty is unexpected. Jill still isn't sure what she and Chris are, but they're apparently somewhere where sharing personal feelings is acceptable. Not just colleagues. Maybe they're friends.
"I'm mad—"
Jill interrupts to teasingly ask, "What else is new?"
He smiles sheepishly.
"I'm mad at myself for getting us separated." He explains. "I'm mad about the way all of this went down."
"It's not your fault."
She means it. Chris doesn't deserve to bear the sole burden of all of this. If Lester isn't the only one responsible for the disappearances, the responsibility of failure lies with a lot of people.
Herself included.
"I'm gonna let it go," Chris sighs, "But I don't feel good about it."
Jill nods because she isn't sure what to say.
"I just can't stop thinking about Michelle."
Neither can she. She thinks about her often; thinks about the way bone looks when it's exposed to the air and how much skin changes when it's left in the water for too long.
"She...really wasn't much older than Claire."
Even though she wants to, Jill can't find the right words. She doesn't know how to respond. She doesn't know how to help either of them.
"Well," she clears her throat to alleviate the way her voice cracks, "Michelle didn't have a cop for an older brother."
Chris laughs in a way that seems forced. Jill's pretty sure it is.
"Things can be normal again." Jill lies to both of them. "It's just gonna...take time."
He nods, but the look on Chris's face suggests that he isn't convinced. She doesn't expect him to be.
"When Bravo gets back from their mission," he hesitates and swallows, "Maybe Wesker will let me take some time off."
She didn't realize Bravo had been deployed.
"That sounds like a good idea."
Chris sets his cup down on the bench between them. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his thighs as he looks down at the pavement beneath his feet. Jill watches the fabric of the white shirt that he's wearing strain across his back.
"Claire and I used to go out to this lake every summer," he starts to explain, "Just the two of us. We haven't gone yet this year."
"You should go."
Suddenly, he's looking at her. Jill's breath hitches in her throat when his eyes meet hers, warm and dark and compelling in a strange way that she can't describe.
"You should come with us."
She hears her heart pounding in her ears.
"I mean," he quickly says, "If you want. I just thought it'd be nice. Claire likes you and I know you could use a break and—"
"Sure."
He smiles so wide that it seems to light up his entire face. Maybe it's because she's so used to him scowling all the time, but Jill never realized just how handsome Chris Redfield was until now.
"Really? Cool."
Chris looks away, back at the pavement, but his smile persists.
"Claire will be excited."
He stops, nervously rubs the back of his neck, and says, "I mean...I'm glad too. I didn't expect you to say yes. It'll be good, I think."
Chris is looking at her again and she doesn't think she's ever been so anxious in her entire life.
"For both of us."
"I think so too." She admits. "It'll be nice."
The lamppost nearby comes to life, illuminating everything around them with an artificial yellow glow.
"Shit, it's probably late."
He stands and offers her a hand. She takes it without thinking and he helps her to her feet.
"I'll walk you home?"
Is he asking for permission? Who is this man?
"Thanks."
The walk back to her apartment is short, but it feels like forever. Chris walks a comfortable stride beside her and she can't help but occasionally steal glances at him along the way. He seems calm, as though inviting her on a vacation and walking her home is a typical and expected occurrence in his life, and she doesn't understand how things came to be this way. Colleagues don't walk each other home and vacation together, do they?
They're friends, she decides. Probably friends.
But then Chris is standing outside her apartment and he suddenly doesn't seem like a friend anymore. She feels something when he flashes her that bright, boyish smile from before and she wonders if he was always as handsome as he looks under those street lights right now. Chris just stands there, eyes soft and warm, and she wants to know what's running through his head.
"It's all over for now," Chris says, "Try to get some sleep."
It sounds like he means it. Why does he mean it?
"Thanks," she manages to reply, "You too."
He's still just standing there. What is he waiting for?
"I'll, uh...see you tomorrow." He nods towards the apartment building and shoves his hands in his pockets.
Is he waiting for her to leave?
"Yeah," she says, "I'll see you tomorrow too?"
He nods. She doesn't know what she's supposed to do. He laughs.
"Go." He tells her with that crooked smile that makes her nervous. "It's late."
"You go." She counters, nearly choking on her heart that feels like it's in her throat.
Chris shrugs and says, "Ladies first."
She thinks she's gonna die if she stands there for much longer, so she leaves. Jill waves goodbye and tries not to sprint inside because she swears she feels him watching her when she turns away. Her face feels numb and her legs seem shaky even as she's safe inside the elevator cab and she's sure Chris is already on his way home.
Is this how friends feel about each other? It's a question she asks herself again and again that night, even after she's tangled up in her bed sheets while she tosses and turns on her mattress.
Maybe this is how Chris treats all his friends.
She glances over at the clock. Friends don't keep each other up at one in the morning, do they?
Jill huffs and turns onto her side. She can't sleep because of Chris fucking Redfield and she doesn't understand why. Friends don't think about friends when they're trying to sleep.
She flips onto her back and stares at the ceiling.
Friends can walk each other home and vacation together. She finds comfort in that. Chris and Jill aren't colleagues, but they're just friends.
The phone rings and she wonders if it's Chris. Friends call each other in the middle of the night sometimes, right?
"Hello?"
"Sorry for waking you," Wesker deadpans into the phone, "Report to the office immediately."
Jill squints in the darkness to make out the fine numbers on the clock.
"Is everything okay?" She asks. "It's one in the morning."
"Do you really think I would be calling you in the middle of the night if everything was 'okay,' Miss Valentine?"
She winces.
"Okay," she says, "I'll be right there."
She wonders if Chris will be there too.
Thanks so much for all the kind reviews, views, and support. It's because of all of you wonderful readers and the Valenfeels that I'm able to keep functioning in these weird times. I appreciate you all.