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Optio	By : Ripsi Category: +M through R > Resident Evil Views: 8319 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Resident Evil fandom/franchise or any of their characters. I make no money from this fanfiction. It is merely a piece of fiction written by me.

Chapter List
- 1-Annus Novus
- 2-Domus
- 3-Calor
- 4-Posco
- 5-Ludus
- 6-Felix Dies Valentini
- 7-Desiderium
- 8-Dormientes
- 9-Curre
- 10-Gravatus
- 11-Vita
- 12-Vigilo
- 13-Arcanum
- 14-Phasma Phasmatis
- 15-Possessio
- 16-Mutatio
- 17-Anniversarium
- 18-Monstrum
- 19-Lues
- 20-Vita Post Mortem
- 21-Iterum
- 22-Eam
- 23-Fidelitas
- 24-Veritas
- 25-Pacisco
- 26-Mundus Novus
- 27-Febris
- 28-Chemia
- 29-In Aeternum
- 30-Frater
- 31-Historia
- 32-Familia
- 1
- 2
- 3
Optio
Chapter 2: Domus
January 2, 2001, Tuesday 8:57 AM
I found it hard to leave behind so much stuff, all the clothes I loved to wear and the things that were worn into the point that I was comfortable in them. Wesker gave me a credit card though with a fake name in the bottom right-hand corner, and instructed me to go online at a coffee shop or library and buy all new things to be shipped to a different address than the one we'd be headed to today, but if it was going to make it there on time I was sure it had to be pretty close to where we were going. We had a nine-hour drive ahead of us through Wyoming until we would reach a place I never even heard of until last night so believe me when I say his bill was going to be pretty high. Hopefully, he hired someone to take a look at the place before we arrived because it was below freezing up there, although he told me that no one in the town had ever even seen him before which meant that we'd most likely walk into a cold home.
Who am I kidding, it was a house. And it would remain house for the duration of our stay because we were two people who didn't like each other, didn't trust each other, and therefore we'd bring no warmth to the residence. Being that it was a small town though (in the middle of God knows where) most likely we would be expected to throw a housewarming party for ourselves, giving the neighbors an excuse to nose around. That meant we'd need a cover… Uncle and niece? Step-father and step-daughter?
A small knock interrupted me, and I zipped up the red, rolling suitcase with black trim. Red was my favorite color by the way if it wasn't obvious enough, it brought out the highlights in my dark brown hair. Releasing a deep breath, I headed for the front door, carrying my suitcase by the strap; sometimes I think Alexei Sidorov listened for noise. I never understood why he was such an angry old man, but maybe he'd been in the military during the Soviet rule. As a soldier who knew what he had endured?
The soles of my brown boots were so worn that they barely made a sound as I walked over the wooden floor, and as soon as I opened the door Wesker ducked inside while some snow that managed to survive on his black, leather jacket finally began to melt. Though I wore a red poncho with small, black vertical stripes, my jeans and worn boots made me appear less formal than he did. He wore a black, turtleneck sweater that hid the now vulnerable flesh of his neck beneath his leather jacket, black slacks, and black dress shoes. At least I didn't look suspicious.
While he looked over my attire I threw my hair up into a high ponytail, leaving a few strands out and making sure that my part was decent. He showed no emotion as he picked up my suitcase for me, not even bothering to see if I would reject his courtesy. We didn't really speak much after last night other than a few words before he handed me the credit card with instructions on how to buy a new wardrobe. Maybe he wanted to save it for once we were on the road. Downstairs there was a 7 series BMW Sedan, and since it was black I correctly assumed that it belonged to Wesker.
After unlocking the car he threw my luggage in the trunk and we got inside.
That's a lotta buttons, I thought to myself, not daring to introduce any informal conversation. With a man like Wesker, you just knew that with every word of idle chatter he was gritting his teeth in vexation. No, I'd keep those peasant thoughts to myself and continue to admire the car that I couldn't even afford with two minimum wage jobs. The interior was black, and there was wooden paneling, the seats were heated (thank God), and there was plenty of space between Wesker and me. Though he was human for now, I really didn't want to piss him off during the ride, and so I continued to remind myself to keep any and all comments about the vehicle or our destination to myself. If anyone would initiate conversation, he could only blame himself. We were silent until we hit the interstate.
Staring at the road ahead, very mindful of the traffic, Wesker instructed, "Open the glove compartment."
I threw him a questioning glance before doing so, and inside along with little booklets and a black box that I ignored there were two wallets. Throwing another glance in his direction, I pulled them out slowly and set them on my lap before closing the compartment. One of the wallets was made of red leather, and since the other was black I assumed that one was meant for him. I flipped the red one open, seeing a picture of me along with all of my new information. It was a driver's license. "Sara Ivanov?" I had taken offense to this; he hadn't even asked me what I wanted for my name to be. "First: How did you get this picture? Second: I'm Russian?"
"It was either that or LeBeau," he replied in a bored voice, completely ignoring my first question. "And you're not Russian, you're American. Your parents are from St. Petersburg."
The photo was actually from my school identification card. I'd been so excited to reenter school that I'd gotten pretty hammered just hours before taking the picture that had to be retaken several times because I kept raising my hand to drunkenly tell the increasingly annoyed student photographer, "Wait- wait, wait, wait! Again!" He'd finally managed to get one that was just right. I was in the middle of a laughing fit, my Joker grin and squinted eyes falsely portraying excitement over my future as a student. My red, rosy cheeks could have been confused for blushing by anyone that wasn't there for the real story. Fuck Wesker; he really was a master of making things seem like something else.
With a bratty scowl, I decided to explore the contents of my new wallet, finding another one of those handy, black cards with my new name on the bottom and one thousand dollars in cash. If this was his idea of pocket change I'd be Mother Theresa if he asked me to. Now that I knew my name I decided that I needed to get to know the man I'd be staying with. I carefully secured the contents of my wallet and opened his carefully, afraid that the slightest crease in the leather would be enough to earn a wrinkle his forehead at what he'd deem carelessness.
"Jeffrey Saunders," I announced, laughing a little at that. Of course, he did look a little like a Jeffrey, but the Saunders part was not very convincing. I deduced that I felt that way because I knew him, no one else did so they'd probably say to themselves that he looks exactly like a Jeffrey Saunders. I also noticed that he decided to put down forty as his age, no point in lying about that, although he could have gone for much younger. Honestly, the only thing about him that was old was his style. I figured he would take that as a compliment but I continued to remind myself that I would keep the idle chatter to myself. I could ask my mind's Wesker instead, right?
The thought of a little, Chibi Wesker nodding happily almost made me snicker to myself. To get my mind off of a comical version of him, I decided to start a conversation about our residence. "So we're on Saunders Lane." A private road for a private person. "Where's that?"
Without pause he answered, maybe he was glad that I wasn't asking annoying or irrelevant questions. "Farther out in the town. The woods."
"Knowing you, I have a feeling it'll be something… impressive."
And that's putting it lightly, I thought to myself. More than likely the place would be grandiose, gargantuan, vast, choose an adjective.
"Miss Ivanov," he began, smirking at his opportunity to call me by the alias, "We may be moving to the sticks but that does not mean that we shall live like-"
"Commoners?" I looked at him just in time to see him give an uncertain nod; apparently, my choice of word was a bit too blunt for a man who was so well educated in sardonicism and cynicism. To avoid judging a town of people I didn't even know further I decided to turn the attention to an explanation of our relationship. "So is this gonna be like a family thing? Us living together? It's a small town so we'll have to get to know people."
"Dear heart, we look nothing alike." He was right, none of our features matched and it would be pointless to even pretend like we were on the same page with that lie.
As much as I hated to even say it in a car that only the two of us occupied, I had to because I doubted he would. "Are we a couple?" Okay, that came out as a question rather than a statement, but it would have felt very bold of me to even dare to utter those words with firmness. My embarrassment would have only been at its peak had I allowed him to answer me. "So how do we explain being so high tech to the town?" I inquired, grappling with the proper term since "rich" sounded so cliché.
With a heavy sigh, he turned on his blinker to notify other travelers that we were taking the left exit. "Those people do not know us, and therefore they do not know what it is that we do Miss Redfield. It is none of their business how we acquired such success, but if they must retrieve an answer from either of us we work online and are the owners of many companies."
My nod served well as an affirmation that I understood, and there were no other questions to ask except about his being human temporarily. I hypothesized that the man who was out to kill him had achieved this by means of some sort of drug and that he knew there was no way he could kill him without it. Though this would have been the perfect opportunity to tell Chris that his chance was now, I figured out that Wesker still had enough clout to have people watching my brother. Though he was now weak physically, he was still a very powerful man with powerful connections, but that ass kicking he got last night had caused him to proceed with caution around me.
For the rest of the drive, we were silent, not speaking until we stopped at a gas station and he asked if I wanted anything. I declined. It was most uncomfortable to be on a nine-hour drive and being full of gas station food and snacks didn't make the journey any easier. Plus, I'd eaten a big breakfast before he got there just in case he was horrible enough to not offer me anything. He got himself a little bag of potato chips though, and he ate them slowly as though the taste was strange to him.
I didn't ask why he'd looked at the chips as though they were something foreign to him, I just assumed that he hadn't eaten in a very long time and if he had it was probably space food.
Welcome back to being human Albert Wesker, I thought evilly to myself. Immediately after though, I felt perhaps just the tiniest, tiniest bit of what was reminiscent of guilt.
January 2, 2001, Tuesday 6:43 PM
At some point, I'd fallen asleep, but the lights of sparsely scattered street lamps interrupted my nap. Rubbing my eyes, I tried to catch a glimpse of the area, and there wasn't much to look at. It looked like a Western town with bricks that had been used to cover up weathered wood. People were out and about because despite it being dark it was still early, but their faces were hard to make out. I could see their heads were turned in the direction of the BMW that Wesker and I both occupied though, curious as to why such a fancy car was making its way down their humble streets. One glimpse at Wesker told me that he didn't really care who looked, and also that he was tired from the long drive.
Children called out to their parents excitedly, covered up in puffy coats and beanies with poof-balls adorning. Silhouettes and outlines of winter wear were all that could be made out as the town was shaded in a darkness that seemed to have settled ages ago and never left. Shop lights were already being extinguished and signs flipped to signal that they were closed. In the cities, most things stayed open until at least ten on a weeknight, but here it seemed that you needed to wake at the crack of dawn to get some things done. Here and there I could make out a Walgreen's that was still brightly lit, and a few fast food joints were holding out until curfew in their designated plots that seemed segregated from the boutiques and Mom and Pop's places that seemed to heavily litter the town.
After the town was out of sight we headed down a long road under the simple yet suitable name of "Long Street," and he made a right turn down Saunders Lane. With an exhale of relief I sat up in my seat, but there was only a lamppost out in the vast yard and the headlights of the car were the only source of light that allowed me a glimpse of the cabin-or was it a mansion? I could see that there were two floors, and I saw exactly how far back it stretched. Then I realized that Wesker merely called this place a cabin; cabins were small and simple but this thing was only designed like one on the outside.
The place was fucking huge.
Wesker parked the car around the back of the house in a shed that served as a garage (a mechanical garage wouldn't really mesh with the wilderness look) and opting for silence he got his new wallet from me and got out of the car. This was so weird. He got my suitcase once more, lugging it up the steps of the back porch, still not speaking to me.
In a sing-songy voice, I said mostly to myself, "This is not a cabin." Still, he remained silent as he fumbled with the keys in the dark without the aid of those eyes that were once partly hidden by the shades that he continued to wear. It was about a minute before he found the right ones, and we stepped inside the large structure together. Once he flicked on the lights I thought I'd just landed in Disney Land, and much to my elation the heater was running here. We were in the kitchen, and just looking at the size of it I said to myself, He better know how to use it.
Everything was stainless steel. The refrigerator was to our right with two doors and a freezer at the bottom, and from the side of it a cabinet ran into the corner and continued a bit until the sink interrupted its flow under the window but after that, it continued to where we were standing. To the left, there were more cabinets to come with some overhead ones for the storage of glasses and china. In the center of the left half of the kitchen, there was another little area set up for chopping and preparation of food; I knew this because there was actually a chopping board sitting there. It took me a while to realize that the pantry door was a white door set into the wall on the way out of the room.
Then the scenery suddenly changed once we stepped down over the threshold into the den which was all wooden with a black, leather couch that formed half a circle in front of a plasma screen television that was well over sixty-five inches. To the left of that, by the window set into the front of the house was a computer desk with a new CPU, but once I actually paid attention to the appearance of these items I began to pay attention to the smell that my nose was recognizing: everything in this house was new. Before I could see what other rooms were on the bottom floor of the house, Wesker jerked his head in the direction to the right of the couch and television, to a flight of stairs that led up. I assumed that he was hinting that it was time to go to bed, not exploring time, and when I pushed down a yawn I admitted to myself that I agreed. Once we got up the wooden staircase we traveled down a long hallway, passing by rooms with closed doors that I would definitely be running through tomorrow afternoon just to know what was not being hidden to give myself an idea of what was.
The blond stopped at the last room on the left of the hall, opening the door and though he was still quiet as ever I assumed that it was expected that I follow. He turned on the lights and my eyes shot wide open despite my initial grogginess tugging them down. The floor up here was wooden also, as were the walls, but it was a much darker color than downstairs. Dark enough to compliment the plush, white rug that was beneath the queen-sized bed whose headboard rested against the right wall. The sheets were a deep red that was dark enough so that they wouldn't make it look like a cheesy Valentine's Day suite, and a canopy the same shade hung down over the sides.
Had he really known that red was my favorite color? If so why did he care so much to do this for me? Well, he did need to keep his "cover" happy. I paid no attention to the walk-in closet opposite the bed, or the make-up area to the left of me because my eyes were fixed on the open doorway to the right of the closet. If my room was this nice, then the bathroom must have been amazing. I stepped forward to go check it out, but a cool, gloved hand caught me gently by the arm just under the bend of my elbow. My stomach jumped in an unsettlingly pleasant way at Wesker's touch, and since I was grateful for all his trouble and effort I turned to him with no hint of my usual scowls that were reserved only for him.
Not seeming to care much that I approved of the setup, in his own way he bid me goodnight without actually saying it. "I will retire for the night. My bedroom is the last door on the right at the end of the hall. If you need to go into town tomorrow morning for anything the keys to your vehicle are on the nightstand to the right of your bed. It will be parked in the front."
And I got my own car.
Just as he turned to leave after releasing my arm, I decided to do the courteous thing. "Thank you. You didn't have to do all of that." I only said it because it was the truth, although knowing that he would go through all of this, hell I wouldn't have had it any other way.
He paused at the doorway, his stiff and frozen posture making him appear even more statuesque than normal. I'd thought that maybe he'd say something that was outside of the ordinary in turn to my gratitude that was more than likely unexpected. Instead, he decided to keep going, shutting my door on the way out. My suitcase was next to the door, but the only things that were in there were underwear, some sneakers, my knife, and my gun.
I would leave it, because even though it was barely seven, right now I just wanted a bath, and to follow Wesker's example of getting to bed. After all, the earlier to bed, the earlier to wake.
January 3, 2001, Wednesday 8:30 AM
I couldn't remember the last time I had gone to sleep at 7:30, or the last time I'd slept for over ten hours. The bathroom did not disappoint last night, although I was faced with the difficult decision of shower with settings I didn't even know existed, or bath in what was basically an indoor Jacuzzi? Of course, after that, I had to check my closet and I found everything I'd ordered, and then some. There were formal dresses although I didn't know why, workout clothes, and underwear that I don't recall asking for. These apparent liberties that he'd taken with my wardrobe would be overlooked; a woman was a difficult being to please.
When I woke up this morning I'd decided to put on some jeans, some black boots that were perfect for this weather and a t-shirt under a heavy coat that I left on my bed until I was ready to go. First I needed to explore some more and see what we needed from the grocery store, and it was nice to find that Wesker had left directions to all of the stores in the town on the computer desk.
In my brief exploration of our abode I found that there was a decent sized gym on the ground floor with a living room between that and the kitchen and those were the only other things I got to check out other than the dining room which was accessed through the kitchen, but I did not really explore that room. All of the other rooms upstairs were locked, and I wasn't sure why, but the only locked door that bothered me was the one in the living room. Most likely it led underground. Umbrella liked doing that, and since Wesker bought this place when he was working for them it was safe to say that he decided to use that trick for himself.
I decided to linger around until 8:30 though, just to see if he would be up by then, but he didn't come out. The refrigerator was pretty bare and all there was in the pantry were some crackers (so maybe someone had been here for a short period of time) so I thought I'd stay put for a bit just to see if he wanted anything in particular from the store. However, my stomach was talking to me, so I threw on my coat, got my keys and headed out the front door. In the driveway sat a Silver Trailblazer, and I may have liked red but that wouldn't have looked nice on this vehicle.
The closest store would have to do, I was famished, and since Wesker was locked in his room, sleeping like a tired human I expected him to eat like a hungry one. I tried to be inconspicuous as I shopped, but this being a small town made that hard to do. Although no one came up to me they looked at me whenever they thought I was unaware of their stares which kept distracting me from what I needed.
There was no list so I got whatever I saw and knew I would want. I stocked up on produce: lettuce, spinach, broccoli, apples, oranges, and whatever else I could grab before I felt like farm-grown food was taking up too much space from the artificial stuff. I needed junk food! I bought plenty of TV Dinners since I knew I wouldn't be cooking every day, and I wasn't sure if my host was much of a chef himself. Cereal and oatmeal were a must have along with two 28-packs of water and some sodas.
I got juices, ice cream, packs of fun-sized candy bars and after I threw a few feminine items in the overly-full cart I figured that I had done enough damage. I estimated the bill to be about three hundred and I was right, but that was nothing for Wesker I was sure. When I handed over the black card (I wanted to keep as much cash on me as possible just in case) the young brunette took a look at the name on the bottom, but she did not greet me at all which I thought to be pretty rude. It only served to irritate me further when I realized that she only wanted to see who this rich-bitch was coming in flashing her brand-new clothes and card that indicated that I was privileged.
Newsflash sweetie, I've never dropped that much money in one day in my entire life not counting when I bought my bike and paid for classes of course (the latter which the taxpayers picked up the bill for anyway).
After she helped who I assumed to be her manager bag my mountain of items she muttered a, "Have a nice day," to which I didn't even bother to reply to since she wouldn't think much of my kindness anyway. The manager, whose name tag read Wilson, helped me load the SUV up, and I decided to give him a very generous tip for his trouble. I couldn't help but smirk when I saw the brunette staring out the window as her boss stood there gaping at the bill.
January 3, 2001, Wednesday 10:23 AM
Once I saw the house I decided to park around back next to Wesker, and I opened the trunk to get out at least two bags. Inside the kitchen I found him staring into an empty fridge, but when he saw me he shut it.
I stood there for a while and bit my bottom lip. He was acting so strange because I was seeing him human, and he still had to readjust to being so weak and susceptible to things such as fatigue, hunger, and possibly a bit of social anxiety. "‘You hungry?"
His stomach answered the question, and he placed a hand on it as if to silence it.
"Well, I got quite a bit of stuff. I got fruits, vegetables, frozen dinners." Trying to smile I continued in an attempt to coax him out of whatever shell he'd locked himself into since the other night. "I got a bunch of these frozen dinners and they're mostly Chicken Fettuccini with broccoli. They're really good."
As if he was checking my honesty, he cocked his head to get a better view through the brown, plastic bags that I held.
These held tampons and razors though, so I said quickly, "The other stuff is out in the car. You like pasta right?" I asked when he remained silent.
"Yes Claire," was his simple reply, but him saying my first name made it seem somewhat complex. It felt as though saying my first name was a hurdle for him; informality equated to equality, and I doubted that he had come to see me as an equal. As he passed by me, in the corner of my eye I saw a tiny smirk appear. Maybe he was getting back to normal- human. Whether that was good or bad, I couldn't tell you.
Together we unloaded the bags of groceries and put things away, and we even organized the refrigerator together. I liked things in certain places, plus it kept the refrigerator from becoming cluttered and also it helped with keeping me from having to complete the tedious chore of finding and throwing out expired items.
After everything was put away I heated Wesker up a frozen dinner before doing the same for myself, and went into the dining room I had managed to look over the night before. There was no door, just a space for one in the wall next to the refrigerator that led into the large room with the same colored wood walls and floor in the den. The window ran the length of the room and Wesker had pulled back the curtains to allow some natural light in.
The table was a long rectangle, and since he sat at the end to the back of the room I decided to sit on the opposite end. It was awkward enough being in a house with him so sitting next to him like we were enjoying a nice breakfast together was definitely out of the question. With a nervous glance, I looked up at him before I began to eat. In silence, we finished our first meal at the house, not even looking at each other as we ate.
"Why me?" I blurted the question out without thinking, but I couldn't allow myself to feel regret over it. It was a question that begged for an answer because I still didn't fully understand what was going on.
Sitting up straight in his chair, Wesker removed his shades, rubbing his eyes before once more allowing me to glimpse them as a normal color. "Because you have dealt with people like this before Miss Redfield." I was back to being a surname. "And because you do not exist in the files of the man who is after me, although you were captured and recorded by Umbrella he has no access to the files of the survivors from Rockfort or Antarctica."
I figured the subtext read, "Thanks to me."
"But," he continued, lifting a finger as if to silence me before I even thought of interrupting, "even if he did have information on you he would not expect me to come to you since our main connection is Chris and it is not a positive relationship I have with him. And I knew you wouldn't kill me," he added quietly.
Wesker had predicted that I would let him speak his piece if I ran into him, and he knew that any other enemy would have killed him upon the realization that he lost his status as whatever the fuck he was post Arklay. I listened to him speak, still as though he had so much power and others possessed so little, yet I could hear the doubt in the tone of his voice. He may die. He knew that I was a poor substitute for a professional bodyguard, yet he turned to me because I knew how to defend myself, and now if he was in trouble, I was in trouble.
"Wesker, how did he do this to you?" I may have sounded sympathetic but in truth I was afraid. If someone managed to get to him and render him helpless then how could we expect to survive? Had I signed my own death warrant by agreeing to offer protection to the one man that never needed it? Had I so desperately wanted to prove to Chris that I could save him that I had chosen to take up a battle against an enemy that I had underestimated from the moment that I did not demand his name?
"I was administered a drug without my knowing and I do not know how it was made." I could tell that his last admission that was thrown onto the end of the sentence irked him; being a scientist he was supposed to know everything. "For now you are the only reason that I am not in a World War II bunker surviving off of canned-goods."
Along with humanity came harshness when he spoke of himself. He hated being human again, to need someone to have his back when he could have been a freak of science that could crush men's skulls without flinching from the effort. And now here I was feeling bad for him because he couldn't continue to plot and scheme to ruin lives.
Damn, I hated this.
January 3, 2001, Wednesday 2:46 PM
The day inched along slowly, painfully slow to the point where I decided to hit the gym with the hopes that a nice jog on the treadmill would help me through the next hour at least. I had gotten to five miles finally, so that meant I managed to pass an hour, but that just wasn't enough. I decided to take a break and just before I could go pick up my water that sat in front of the mirror lining the entire back wall I thought I heard the doorbell ring.
I don't know if annoyance was the reason I was frowning or confusion, but the doorbell ringer began to knock when it seemed that no one was going to answer. As if I had x-ray vision I looked up at the ceiling, wondering if Wesker was going to get that, but I didn't hear the sound of his heavy footsteps. It was odd to think of his footsteps as heavy when in the past the only things that alerted me to his presence were explosions, attacks, or that thunderous voice that he'd first greeted me in. Rolling my eyes, I walked to the front door, not caring if I was only in some bicycle shorts and a sports bra, but I did wish to stop the person outside from banging on the door like they were the police.
"Yes?" I asked, swinging the door open and allowing a whoosh of freezing air in, but I tried to pretend it did not bother me. An older couple stood on the porch, smiling happily at me as if I'd just won some contest. I estimated that they were in their late forties, early fifties, and from the fur coat and leather gloves, the woman wore I assumed that they had some money.
"Hi we're Mary and Frank Luoma and we noticed that you're new here in Red Lodge," the woman announced, her bright red smile getting impossibly wider. I was so mesmerized at how far her lips were spread across her face, she sort of reminded me of the Joker.
I extended a hand to her and reminded myself that here I wasn't Claire Redfield. "Sara Ivanov." Her grip was soft whereas her husband's was firm, a little too firm. Mary's eyes widened a bit, giving me the hint that it was cold outside so I stepped to the side and ushered them in. Once we'd left the foyer, the couple looked around the den as though it was a spectacular sight to behold, but I honestly felt that this was Wesker's taste "watered down."
"So," Mary began, peeking over my shoulder at the kitchen, "Do you live here alone?"
"Oh no. I live here with someone. But let me change, make yourselves at home," I said hurrying up the stairs before I finished the sentence; I would rather have Wesker down here doing the explaining than me. The anxiety I felt had me panting when I reached the end of the hall, and I had to calm myself down to keep from banging on Wesker's door. It took a few seconds but I heard what I guessed to be his bathroom door closing before I could hear his muffled footfall from behind the locked door.
The lock clicked and he stuck his head out to see what was going on, and through the crack in his door, I saw that he was only in a towel with steam still rolling from his toned skin that glistened from the condensation that clung to him. His muscles bulged from beneath his skin, almost armoring the sensitive flesh of his rib cage, flanking him only from damage that was now merely humanly possible.
Claire, stop looking, I warned myself. The virus had managed to keep him in shape, so I wondered what half a year without the perks would do to him.
"Yes?" He asked while using one had to keep the towel up around his waist.
"Some people are here," I whispered. His eyebrows were raised after I said this, but in a reassuring tone, I said, "They're some locals who noticed us moving into town. Mary and Frank Luoma."
He nodded a few times and looked down to the wooden floor beneath his bare feet. "I'll be down in a few minutes."
It would've felt odd to tell him okay and alert him that I was going to change, so chose to just end the conversation with a barely noticeable nod. I turned to go to my room and changed in record time. I threw on some black boots, a black tank top with a red and black plaid shirt, and some jeans. Now the real chore would be trying to ignore how icky I felt from sweating earlier while Wesker got to sit comfortably after a nice, hot shower.
Five minutes later I was heading back downstairs to the den, but there was no one there. Then the sound of laughter erupted from the living room, so I followed Mary's high pitched voice that rang throughout the house, finding it to be rather forced and well, annoying in all honesty. Wesker sat in the couch facing the entrance to the living room while the Luomas had their backs to me. The shades were once more back on his face, and he was dressed in a black, long-sleeved tee and black jeans -the most casual I had ever seen him-.
His lips curled into an inviting smile that I knew had to be phony, however, it may have charmed the pants off of Mrs. Luoma, but I read it as, "Get your ass over here now."
Putting on a smile that was equally as fake I walked over to sit next to him, hoping to put at least a good half a foot between us, but before my ass hit the seat he pulled me so close that I had to cross one leg over the other to be comfortable.
"There she is!" he announced, his deep voice sending a chill through my body until it resonated in my bones. I'd never heard him speak of or to me so warmly. Was he ever this way? No, Claire, it was always an act if he ever did.
Patting his thigh I said, "And there you are," my smile becoming even phonier by the second, though it was the only thing keeping me from vomiting over the fact that I was practically on his lap.
Eying us suspiciously and possibly with some jealousy, Mary cleared her throat. "So how old are you Sara?"
"I'm twenty-one." My answer was given without uncertainty so the Luomas had no reason to doubt my response, but I did see her grow uncomfortable once she found out that in comparison to everyone else in the room, I was a baby.
I didn't understand why my age mattered much though unless they had already asked Wesker his and noticed that I still had a bit of baby fat in the face. Still, I hoped that Mary was confident enough in herself not to care much about appearances; she was very pretty in a mom-ish kind of way. Her brown hair was parted to the side and twisted in the back of her head with enviously perfect bangs that swooped a bit over her forehead, she possessed few smile lines and a lovely set of dimples, a pair of forest green eyes, and an outfit that may have been for a board meeting but the red stilettos were to die for.
She didn't do too badly in picking out a husband either. Frank may have had a head of silver already but he looked very handsome in a Frank Sinatra fashion with his suit and twinkling eyes that were gray rather than blue. His smile lines indicated a jovial attitude that was at the moment being subdued.
"So," she began after taking a sip from the mug that was sitting in front of her on the coffee table, "How did the two of you meet?"
"Very long story!" I enthusiastically said, hoping that I could beat Wesker to it before he said something he'd definitely receive an elbow to the ribs for. I knew he'd say something like, "Her brother," and that was a definite no-no.
"We actually met in South America," he said, his arm was around my shoulder so he gave a tight squeeze to let me know that my behavior was strange. This whole thing was strange though so my ability to gauge what was considered appropriate was somewhat inhibited.
Mary's eyes flew open at Wesker's response, and for a minute I thought they'd say in unison, "Oooooooh!" Instead, she said, "South America? That sounds lovely. Was it vacation or…" She trailed off to allow one of us to fill in the blank.
This time I answered, but now the smile I wore was especially for Wesker. Hopefully, he noticed how upset it made me to recall the events of Rockfort. "It's funny actually, it was kind of a forced trip for me, but it was work for Jeffrey. Chaotic," I added, remembering how he bombed the island which was actually what was responsible for the deaths of many –if they were not already undead-, but while I tried to make him feel bad I found myself realizing that had he not attacked Rockfort then I would have most likely died. Forgotten in that cell and left to waste away just as the dead beyond that concrete prison had, except it would be the end of the line for me. It took me a while to figure it out, but my smile had disappeared once I saw that I was giving Albert Wesker credit for my escaping.
"Are you all right?" It was the first time Frank had spoken since I came in the living room, but I gave him a small smile to let him know that I appreciated his concern.
Easing up his grip on me Wesker said, "It wasn't the ideal time." The explanation for my abrupt change in demeanor seemed to suffice, so our visitors did not speak on it again.
"Well, we do hope the two of you will throw a party to celebrate your arrival here in Red Lodge." Signaling that they were about to head out, Frank stood up, offering his hand to his wife. "We just thought we'd come to meet you; our daughter wouldn't shut up about the new girl in town."
I stood as well, hands on my hips. "Daughter?"
"Stephanie," Mrs. Luoma replied as her husband helped her into her coat. "She works at the store down the street."
So the cashier was their daughter. I see she inherited none of her parents' social skills. I figured they were telling us about her because they wanted her to be invited to this possible party.
"She's nineteen, not much younger than you Sara," she added like she was thinking about it, and her face screamed, "The two of you could be best friends!" Her following sentence helped me realize that friendship was exactly what she was hinting at though. "Most of her friends went away for college, but she stayed here to learn the ropes of our family oil business."
I raised a brown brow. Huh, so they did have some money, and oil usually meant it was pretty much spouting out of their asses. "Yeah, I met her."
"Well, Mr. Saunders shall soon as well," she said in an assuring tone, like the fate of the party was in her hands, and I had a feeling because she wanted it that this gathering would happen one way or another. I felt that she was up to something though, and it was something that I would just have to be apprehensive about it until she was ready to reveal her ulterior motive. And even though he claimed to be truthful, I knew Wesker had one too.
A/N: I'd like to credit this update to this chapter as being possible because of Peter Gundry's music. Who would've thought that instrumental music would contribute to inspiration? I also would like to credit the readers that did not give up on this story.
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