November 19th, 2014
Fear was intoxicating. The sweat, the wide eyes, and the rush of blood just beneath the skin were all worth coming back for more. Fear was the basest human emotion there was, bringing to the surface the very essence of a human being. What boiled to the surface was everything they sought to bury under the thick, artificial composure that they slathered on for their intimidation tactics. When humans were truly afraid, they showed you what they were capable of, what they were when you stripped away the carefully woven tapestry of "composure." You ground out who was a liar, who was a thief, and who was a downright murderer. I made humans act on what their conscience denied them and forced them to look at themselves and recognize what they really were. They could either be weak and undeserving of their space on the mortal coil, or they could be cruel and self-aware.
Existence was something that should have been constantly earned, not granted because everyone was too afraid to be anything but nice or moral.
The sound of the sniveling was becoming maddening at this point, so much so that I decided to yank the bag from over my captive's face. The sight was not pretty. A man in his late forties, no matter his level of fear should ever sob for his life in the presence of someone with my appearance. Though my form was a façade for my nature, Johnathan Hogue didn't know whether I was a friend or a foe, and he didn't know the damage I could inflict upon him either. As I held the cloth in my hands, I took a step back, allowing his wild eyes to take in his surroundings. There was nothing for him to see other than an empty, cement room built for nothing but circumstances such as this.
He tugged at the restraints that kept him bound to the metal chair that looked anything but comfortable, and when he could not escape he looked at me pitifully. The fluorescent light overhead buzzed once, causing him to flinch, but he quickly came back to me. Smart man. "Wh-who are you?" Pleading was not how I expected him to sound. Desperate, yes, but we had yet to get to the begging.
Skipping the formalities, I asked, "Dr. Hogue, what do you know about Umbrella Incorporated?" After a few seconds of silence, I asked again, "So… what do you know?" I leaned my head to the side, providing a physical cue for him to give an answer and that I expected one.
"They- they're a pharmaceutical company! International," he stuttered.
With a smile, I asked, "What else?"
Terrified and dumbfounded, he shook his head, signaling that he was truly in the dark when it came to Ozwell's extracurricular activities behind the shade of Umbrella.
"It's now mine," I said. I walked around him and reached for the handcuffs securing his hands behind his back and to the bars of the chair. With my thumbs, I cleanly snapped the steal one cuff at a time.
He seemed frozen in the spot as he did not move an inch, almost as though he were still being held in place. Even when I made my way back to my position in front of him, he still sat there, possibly unsure of what had just occurred. With a smirk, I stepped back, turning on the heel of a blue stiletto to exit the door in the corner. I looked back to him, a signal to follow me, and with incredulity he finally brought his hand forward, staring down at his freedom that was returned with two snaps of my fingers. "Oh," I began, holding the door open, "have you ever wanted to work for Umbrella Incorporated?"
Standing, he rubbed his wrists, his mouth slightly agape. Damn, it felt good to be a god.
"I-I don't know."
With a single laugh, I stepped through the door, leaving behind a quite unappetizing stench of death that Dr. Hogue did not possess a strong enough perception or sense of smell to notice. As I stepped into what might as well have been another world, I heard Hogue's feet shuffling behind me.
When he let out the smallest gasp, I knew that he'd seen what I was looking at. It was a live Umbrella lab. Busy, colorful, and dangerous. It was the best way to describe the scene. Scientists of different genders, cultures, and ethnicities walked vigorously in a generous two-story lab with every wall and countertop covered in stone. Steel and other such metals were reserved for railings and were stored upstairs and away from the hazardous material below.
"What is this?" he asked, still in complete awe. To a scientist, this was heaven, but depending on his morals, after he found out it could have easily become hell.
Simply, I responded, "A lab." I took a few slow steps, attempting to further entice him by offering a free tour. "This is where the best of Umbrella work on Batna."
"Batna?"
"Say yes. If you do, with the work you do here you will have your own college named after you, Dr. Hogue. Vanity would prove to be the undoing of so many men but for you, it will make you."
His brown eyes met mine, and though I could feel his trepidation, he posed a question that doubled as his answer. "What would I have to do?"
The setting felt entirely like high school, but I had only graduated less than a year ago, so it was fitting. Al and I couldn't keep our hands off one another since we first kissed, but we proved capable of keeping things PG-13. As we made out on his couch, every now and then, we'd part to make sure Alex hadn't snuck back inside. A few days ago, he had perched against the wall, eating from a box of Raisinets as he watched us pant and moan while we struggled to keep our hands outside of each other's clothing. An obvious solution would have been to go upstairs, but we both agreed that it would only further tempt us beyond the physical contact we'd been sticking to. He knew I wasn't a virgin, but his maturity was proven; he was old school and knew the importance of courtship. No, we weren't going out in public, but that step was excused because of our situation. It would be the next phase.
His lips were swollen now; we'd been making out for a solid five minutes, but I knew better than to give him a break by kissing his neck. I'd leave a mark. It was a theory that if we moved more slowly that this time we'd have no problem not tugging at shirts, but the sensuality of our slow and deliberate actions killed that idea. Our tongues danced against one another, and his body began to shift from his cushion of the couch to mine. I allowed my eyes to open for a second to see him bringing an arm forward to rest behind me. We needed to stop.
Abruptly, he moved from my lips to my neck as he kissed and nipped at my skin.
My mouth was now free to protest and to sensibly suggest that we cool things down, but I only gasped at the feel of his tongue now flicking at my earlobe. I began to fall back, and his hand slid beneath me to cup my behind. For some reason I parted my legs slightly, giving him access to a new part of me that was initially withheld until the right moment. Now holding myself up on my elbows, I found his lips once more.
His weight on me increased, and I felt him fidgeting with his belt.
After managing to break our kiss, I panted, "Wait, wait, wait."
Al exhaled sharply, resting his forehead against mine. "I'm sorry. I just…" Then he sat up just enough to look into my eyes. Unblinking, he confessed, "It's just getting so hard to stop."
The compliment took me off guard, but I smiled nonetheless and tried to ignore the sudden swell of passion that nearly led me back to his lips. "We said we'd wait and figure something out." Raccoon City was a small town despite how populous it was becoming, and his face was national news since the Spencer Estate fiasco. I didn't want this -whatever it was- to meet our acquaintances through the mouths of strangers. There was no way either of us would be comfortable with me becoming his secret lay, and sooner than later we'd be publicly exposing ourselves with outings. "Believe me, I want to, but we both know that sex would complicate everything too early."
With a single laugh, he glanced down at my thighs before looking back at me and asking mischievously, "Who said anything about sex?"
Oh my God, that made it even more tantalizing. "How far from sex are we talking?" I inquired, failing to resist his soft suggestion.
Before he could answer, we heard knocking at the front door, and he shut his eyes in annoyance and released a sharp breath from his nose.
"I thought Alex had a key." His brother had "borrowed" Al's and gotten one made without him knowing. Perhaps the youngest Wesker had chastised him so badly that he'd decided to knock before entering, but then we didn't hear the door open.
The knocking grew louder and almost angry which made Al jump up and hurriedly secure the tail of his belt. "What?" he yelled, rolling his eyes before he swept back in to give me one more kiss on the lips. "We'll finish this conversation momentarily," he whispered, winking as he pulled back to head to the front door.
To steel myself, I took in a deep breath through my nose for a count of four and held it for a count of four the way Dr. Hartman instructed me to. Then I held released the breath through my mouth for four seconds and held my breath once more for another four. Dr. Hartman told me to do this six times in a row, but before I could reach my second rep, I heard the banging again.
"I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME OUT HERE ALBERT!" It was something that I'd feared hearing. Though the concern was at the back of my mind -Al seemed truthful- I always readied myself for the possibility of a woman showing up. This house and his status pointed to him having a groupie or two, but I didn't want to see it as a possibility. Did I think I was so special that I wouldn't have any competition?
For some reason, I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I couldn't breathe. I panicked.
Then, I heard that voice again, this time threatening to alert the whole neighborhood. "IF YOU DON'T OPEN THIS DOOR, APPLEWOOD IS GOING TO FIND OUT WHAT A SORRY SON OF A BITCH YOU ARE!"
Absentmindedly, I walked to the foyer, and I was in a daze as I saw Al shamefully look back at me. "Who is that?"
More banging on the door.
After glancing at the source of the commotion annoyed -not nervous- the blond answered honestly. "My ex."
Incredulously and with tears springing to my eyes I asked, "Seriously?"
Despite the continued banging on the door and the screams, he met me in two strides to cup my face in both of his hands. "It's not what it looks like. I promise," he added after more banging on the door.
"Open the door," I whispered bravely, but it was only so because my mind was already made up.
With a pause, Al looked into my eyes, and for a moment I thought it was pleadingly, but when I gave no reassurance, he turned back to turn the locks over. Before he could turn the handle, the door swung open violently, barely missing him.
A brunette in her early thirties swept into the foyer, echoing my sentiment from earlier at the sight of me. "Seriously?!"
In my life, I'd never backed down from anyone, but this manner of confrontation was so foreign to me that I found myself crossing my arms and taking two steps back. I must have looked frightened and confused, and it's because I was. Such hostility was uninvited after the mansion incident, and I wondered if this is what PTSD felt like.
"Melissa," Al began warningly, "you need to leave." Where I backed away, he stood firm, but this was not heroic or comforting. This wouldn't have happened if he had been honest.
The woman identified as Melissa attempted to bolt forward, possibly in my direction, but surprisingly to both of us, Al grabbed her wrists and gave her a quick push to stun her into standing still. "No, she needs to leave!" In her moment of shock, it was possible to take in that she was attractive, but her actions made her appear so ugly. Her chocolate brown hair fell in loose curls, reaching just below her shoulders. Obviously, she never missed a salon trip; I'd never seen such lush, hydrated locks before that had been clearly manipulated with dyes and heat. She had a cleft in her chin, a dimple on one cheek, and thick, manicured brows. A pair of hazel eyes sat above cheeks that had been reddened by both blush and the cold, and her light makeup failed to cover the freckles littered over the bridge of her nose. Melissa was a few inches shorter than me, but from her build, I could ascertain that she weighed almost as much as I did.
Still, she looked solid, and I could see that her petticoat was clinging to an hourglass shape. Undoubtedly, Melissa was fit, and once I had a moment to take in that she had an ample bosom and perky rear I felt insecure. She's a woman, I reminded myself. Indeed, Al's ex was what I wasn't. My hips had yet to fill in and my breasts had been the same size since I was a sophomore in high school. My hair was typically thrown into a ponytail or a bun because I had so much free time that self-care wasn't a thing on my calendar yet. As I went over the things that made us differ physically, I gloomily remembered that she was also free to be with him whenever she wanted.
"Look," Melissa purred, bringing me back from my haze of self-deprecation. My miasma of self-pity had distracted me from their argument, and it didn't even matter what key points I may have missed. "I'm sure you've been helpful, but I'm here now."
"Claire!" Al barked, still just barely pulling me from the fog of confusion I'd been lost in.
"Yeah?" I asked as I began to feel dizzy.
"Don't listen to her. Just wait a moment-"
I reached for the coat rack that was within reach and got my jacket. If I correctly recalled, my keys were in one of the pockets. "I don't know what this is, but-"
"Claire." Al started, stepping forward to reach for me.
I held my hands out defensively. "You obviously have things to handle." If he said anything else, I didn't hear him. Like the child I was, I sprinted from the foyer, and I didn't look back once.
As Claire drove off, I could only stare after her, barely hearing Melissa's nagging as she hurled out insults towards the departed teen. Teen, I thought to myself, for the first time ever confronting the reality of the relationship that I'd contemplated pursuing. I didn't care. I thought about going inside to grab my phone to call her, but I knew that she wouldn't answer. Perhaps with a little time, she would hear me out and at least read a text? With the brunette on my heels, I walked up the stairs, slowly making my way to the front door that had been left ajar when my most unwelcome guest interrupted. How did today go so wrong?
I hadn't spoken to Melissa in months, so what had prompted her to suddenly show up at my home unannounced? The shooting occurred a month ago so why did she suddenly feel the need to express concern for me?
As her voice droned on I entered the house, not caring that she was still blabbing on about some imaginary rivalry between her and Claire. "What are you going to do with a child anyway? You see how easily she was intimidated by a real woman..."
Her voice then faded, replaced by a long, drawn-out hum, high in pitch but not so much that it pained me. It was almost hypnotic, offering relief to Melissa's gripes. I felt myself come to a complete stop, hearing a voice that wasn't really a voice but a feeling so strong that it was almost given one. As Melissa's complaints somehow made their way to me I felt a compulsion that would have horrified me had that feeling not told me that it was normal. I turned on my heel quickly, grabbing hold of her so fast that she barely had time to react. Burying my face between her neck and shoulder, I tore into her flesh with my teeth. The sound of her screams was being muffled by that calming hum. Instinctively sucking, I almost came out of whatever had taken over me; I expected the taste of blood to disgust me so that I'd pull away as I should have.
Instead, I tasted a fluid so sweet that I forgot why I would fight the voice. Nothing had ever been so thoroughly satisfying to my palate that I lost all control of myself. It was honey to me, perfection, and it felt like everything that I'd been missing since I sat down to eat after the mansion incident. I'd never tasted something so delicious that I could feel every fiber of me being satisfied. I felt her twitch in my arms, her muffled screams were no more, and as I continued sucking I felt the flow of her blood come to a stop. Reluctantly, I let her body fall, not even hearing its thud as it hit the floor. For at least 5 minutes I stood there, lulled by the euphoric sensation that flowed through my veins, giving me the greatest pleasure that I'd ever felt.
Then, as the minutes ticked by I remembered what I'd done. My eyes fell to the floor, and I began to feel panic as I looked upon the limp body to my left. Melissa's mouth hung open, frozen to project the long-silenced screams that I couldn't hear. Brown curls partially covered her face in a tangled mess. The pallor of her skin was impossibly frightening, so unnatural that I knew better than to lean down to see if she was still alive. Just as I almost began to dissolve into a mess of shaking hands and sweat I heard the front door opening, leaving me no time to disappear.
My head snapped to the mirror on my wall, displaying me with a deep, crimson smeared around my mouth. I looked back to the door, unsure of what to expect, but for some reason, I was bracing myself.
As the light from outside poured in it shadowed the figure, but I surely heard a familiar voice groan out, "Aw shit!" Before I could react, Dr. Joseph Brown stepped over the threshold, setting his suitcase on the floor before hurriedly closing the door. "You couldn't wait fifteen minutes?!" he yelled, falling to his knees to press his fingers to the neck of the presumed corpse on the floor. As he realized what I'd already known, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "God-fucking-damn it!" He paused, only to exclaim, "Shit!"
From what I'd gathered, Brown knew something about this, and upon this realization, I felt enraged. Knowing that this was the moment to get some answers, I flew at him, picking him up by the collar of his shirt and slamming his back into the door. "What is going on?!" I growled. No, I had actually growled. It sounded primal; it was a sound so animalistic that there was no way any human could possibly produce such a sound.
Not as fearful as I expected, he said, "Your father would kill me."
Still growling, I threatened, "I'll kill you!"
"Hey, hey, hey!" He grabbed my wrists, staring me down as though he were some handler. It was as if I was an animal that needed to be reminded of my place. "If you want this mess cleaned up, you'll let me go, Albert." His voice was surprisingly calm as if he knew that he had the upper hand the entire time.
I released his now wrinkled collar, moving back to allow the doctor space to move around me.
As he whipped out his phone, I looked back down to Melissa, then to the door. Fuck it. I grabbed my keys from the table in the foyer, leaving Brown to do whatever he planned. With a parting glance, I realized that I felt no guilt, no mourning for the loss of Melissa; the why was eating at me more than the result. Still infused with whatever vigor from before, I ran to the driveway, cranking up my car to speed all the way to the penthouse. Somehow, I knew that's where he'd be.
After parking and an elevator ride that took an eternity I arrived, and I almost found myself hesitating at the door. After what I'd done, what else was there that I wouldn't or couldn't do? With the side of my fist, I banged on the door, unapologetically loudly, roaring my father's name with the rage that came with the blame that I placed on him. Everything that happened to me that was wrong started the night of the Halloween party. It was his party, his qualm with Ashford, and therefore it might as well have been a bullet from a gun wielded by him. As my knocking grew louder and greater in intensity, I was prepared to go as far as to bang down the door.
Before it came to that though, I felt the surface of the door moving inward, away from my fist. Lowering my hand, I waited, not sure who I should expect to answer. For some reason, the sight of a relieved-looking Isabella startled me. She leaned against the door, looking up at me as though she'd been hoping I'd come, and with everything going on, perhaps she had. Her smile was the same all-knowing smile from before, and it still unnerved me even now. I could see that she was in a red, satin robe, an odd choice of clothing for four o'clock. For a while longer, we stared at one another, her face more assured than mine.
Then, without a single word having passed between us, no pleasantries or salutations, she moved back, pulling the door with her. Uncertainly, I crossed the threshold, being embraced by a separate and inviting ambiance from what the hallway offered. It felt as though I was meant to be here, and though I knew how odd it was I couldn't do the commonsense thing and back out. I should've left Raccoon City after what happened prior, I should have turned around, got in my car, and never looked back. I heard the door shut behind me, soon after seeing the petite woman walk towards the living room.
Upon the sight of Spencer seated on a black sofa in the center of the room before the stairs, I forgot my initial rage. Something forced me to take in the penthouse and the specificities of its decoration and furnishing. The television set into the wall behind me had to have been thousands of dollars and the abstract art that was set carefully on scattered stands and paintings that ornated the walls depicted eerie scenes that seemed to disturbingly suit my father. The Witch's Flight, The Massacre of the Innocents, and The Nightmare each had their own walls. But right next to the stairs was another stand that encased what was intended to take the appearance of a relic. Vaguely recognizing the original artwork, I had to stop myself from walking past the couch; it was a gold carving of the Burney Relief, more commonly known as "The Queen of the Night."
"Who is this girl?" This was the last time I'd ask him, I told myself as I returned to the floor before him.
With the smile of a man who'd had all the power in this confrontation, he said, "She's no girl." What a bold and incorrect assumption he'd just made. Though I was younger than he, for the entirety of my life I'd possessed the opportunity to watch him, learn him better than he'd learned me. After all, everything else came before me while nothing took place before him in my world. No, for once he'd fail against me, that I was sure of. I wasn't certain what spell she'd cast on him, but I would not allow myself to fall prey to her.
With a more normal, genuine smile than usual, she twisted up to me. Chest to chest -well, forehead to chest- we stood, and I did not appreciate that she'd approached me as though we were both men on the same level. "How old do you think I am?" Her posture was unwavering, and very unlike that of a young woman, no matter how idiotic. This is where things became somewhat murky, however, that is not the only place where the lines blurred. Her lack of wrinkles, her tight body, and her apparent apathy to grave situations told me that she was a child to me. Her eyes, that quite frightening apathy to grave situations, and her aura of extreme importance told me that she was well beyond any of us in years. The amount of knowledge and wisdom she possessed was never reserved for the young at heart, but the visual that she presented me with would not allow me to see her as anything but a child.
Taking a chance, I shrugged. "Twenty-three."
Then, for the first time ever, she laughed. It was taunting and dramatic, and despite those attributes, it was authentic. Walking away from me, she continued to laugh, pausing only to shout, "You are too kind!"
My father remained seated, eyes half-lidded as he chuckled to himself either at the conversation or at me. In that time that I'd taken my eyes off her, she'd walked to the home, speaker system, and I heard Sympathy for the Devil begin.
"What is this?" I asked, vexed, not strong enough of a description for my mood.
Once more, Father gave a laugh, but his face portrayed boredom. "How old do you think I am?" His eyes finally opened fully as he awaited an answer that I wasn't sure he truly wanted.
In the background, Isabella danced along to the Rolling Stones, and my father threw a thumb in her direction to bring her back to the forefront of the conversation after slightly steering it away. "She's older."
I've been around for a long, long year,
Stole many a man's soul and faith.
Seething, I jabbed my finger in his direction, drawing a prolonged laugh from him. "Everything started happening when you returned!"
Pleased to meet you,
Hope you guess my name.
But what's puzzling you,
Is the nature of my game.
Holding his hands up as though all should've been clear, his voice grew louder. "Who do you think Batna is named for?!"
Isabella danced to the front of the couch, unbothered as one of my father's shriveled hands ran over her small frame. Somehow she seemed pleased that he was now salivating over her, staring up at her with an unknown vigor that Lord Spencer had never once demonstrated. "I still do not think he is ready," she whispered. Right now, I was somehow pulled to the sight of my brother standing against the wall, almost blending in as Alex never had done in the past. The usual center of attention had become as dull as a piece of furniture. This unnerved me almost as much as the unpleasantness of my father's gaze upon the young woman that continued to sway in front of him in an almost tribal manner.
Then I saw Father drop his hand, and his face disappeared behind Isabella's rolling hips. When she finally moved away, I almost felt my jaw drop in not disbelief but fear. Father was gone and had been replaced with the same man who appeared alongside the man that I now knew without a doubt was Alex in the photographs.
Alex finally looked towards me as Isabella joined him in his solitude, both leaving me to fail miserably to recover my composure.
I could find no words that could formulate an appropriate question. "What are you?"
The man who had previously presented as my father stood with an agility that Spencer had not known in decades, shaking his head and clicking his tongue in disapproval. "Oh, Albert. You were supposed to play by the rules and be the good boy that Redfield girl has been bringing out in you."
With a snarl, I responded, "You don't know anything about Claire." How odd that I thought of her when what could have only been a magic trick was pulled off before my very eyes.
"Never mind her." He began slowly walking toward me. "I told you that nothing would happen if you were good. But now it will only get worse."
"Or better!" Alex chimed in with an arm slung around Isabella and his distinguishable smirk.
"You'll need more," the man we had known as Father whispered with a new pair of bright blue eyes coming alive. "You won't be able to live without it now, but I just wanted to make sure that my son lived."
The music stopped and Isabella turned to whisper something to Alex in the privacy of their corner. Then she started toward me, walking a step past Father while holding an arm up before him. "Albert," she said clearly, almost without an accent. "You will never die of old age, and you will sustain yourself on human blood."
"What the fuck are you saying?" I asked, eyes darting between Alex's grin, and Father's youthful appearance.
In what came off as irritation, Isabella turned on her heel and headed up the stairs. "He is not as smart as you."
Then Father smiled jovially, closing in to grab my shoulders and give them a shake. "My boy, you're a god! We're truly linked! Forever!"
A/N: Been forever, but I just wanted to. I need to get back into the groove of things.