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Apicem Rapax	By : Ripsi Category: +M through R > Resident Evil Views: 2155 -:- 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
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November 1, 2014
I hadn’t realized how early it was until after the limo dropped me off at home. Only eight in the morning and I still wasn’t getting any sleep. Apparently my parents had crashed, so I snuck into the house; right now I didn’t want to be bombarded with questions about what happened because frankly I wasn’t sure. Another problem that surfaced was Ty: he’d stayed up all night partying and because he was still drunk and high off his ass he decided it was a good idea to come by and “give me” my birthday sex. Of course I hadn’t asked for it, and honestly I wasn’t as into it as I pretended. Because my parents were asleep I was able to act as though I had no choice but to be so quiet, but he was probably so whacked that he didn’t even notice. I felt him squeeze my ass a bit too hard as I rode him, glad that I was facing away during the act. Could you blame me?
My mind was elsewhere no matter how hard I tried to escape, and thinking of Captain Wesker while having sex with someone else wasn’t the best idea. Yet, when I did think back to him it seemed that I began to enjoy myself a bit more. After what seemed like a half an hour Ty came, and I was happy that I could finally take a shower. My uninvited guest was excited about that until I shut him down and showed him out as quietly as I could manage. Today just wasn’t going to be a normal day. As I rinsed the conditioner from my hair I ran my fingers through my tresses, detangling as best as I could.
“Claire?”
In fear I jumped, trying to see through the clouded doors of my shower, unable to make out a figure that could have been responsible for it. I chalked it up to me just hearing things. There was no one there… As I turned to once more face the shower head I tried to enjoy the feel of the warm water against my skin, and I wished it could have washed away the events of the past night.
“Claire.”
This time I knew I heard it. “Hello?” My inquiry echoed somehow despite the heavy stream of water, and it made my bathroom seem as alone as it should have been. “Dad?” I called after realizing the voice sounded more male, but a whisper could be tricky to ID sometimes. This time I opened the shower door, peering through the steam of my bathroom, seeing no one, not even a crack in the door from my bedroom to let me know if someone had come in. Nervously, I let my hand drop from the handle, opting to leave the door open as I managed to ignore the cooler air of the room. Like a scaredy-cat, I refused to face the stream again, and even worse, every time I blinked I was anxious to open my eyes again. My fears were not entirely unfounded, and to an outsider this point needed to be made clear.
After last night I was sure I’d suffer lingering effects, and later today I expected my parents to pester me to reach Dr. Hartman. There would be sleepless nights, night errors when I could sleep, every many in a crowd would be Ashford, and every loud noise would be a gunshot. I was prepared for it, but I knew sometimes I probably wouldn’t be. Some days I’d give in to fear, unable to convince my brain that the memories were just that: memories that couldn’t’ hurt me. Without looking, I turned the handle, shutting off the shower, and tugged a towel from the rack just a foot away. I could do this…
Hands invisible to me were running over my skin, leaving behind tingling sensations that wrung a moan out of me. Fingers danced against my torso, an impossible number covering every inch of flesh of my breasts, creating a pleasure so great that I began to writhe. Warm breaths were being released against my neck, not like the shallow pants I was barely managing, and as I opened my eyes to locate this visitor I was met with darkness. I wanted to sit up but I couldn’t and when I attempted to struggle I felt a familiar sensation occurring near my clit.
Unable to stifle myself any longer I released a prolonged, “Ahhh!” A finger was stuck into my mouth, provoking me to suckle at it even though I’d no clue who was here. Was this a dream? Had Ty come back? Dream or not this visitor was working wonders, and I didn’t want them to stop anymore. “Please,” I begged as soon as the digit was removed from my mouth, feeling what I assumed to be an erection pushing against my opening. “Oh!” I yelled as my faceless lover tried to desperately to penetrate me. However, the difficulty posed was not being taken seriously. “Ow!” I screamed in protest, urgently attempting to get up now, but I was still pinned to my bed. “Stop!”
Abruptly I was free, free from that hold, free from those fingers. My sudden freedom had made my struggle seem so unnecessary, dramatic in a way, but as I searched around me for the perpetrator I tried to ignore my soreness and place my attention on focusing my eyes. Then, there in the darkness I could somehow see a pair of eyes that looked so familiar to me, but I couldn’t remember whose they were. As I reached out in an attempt to grab at whoever was there a hand reached out to mimic my own. It wouldn’t deter me. As I leaned forward I heard a growl coming from the entity, a sound that forced my heart to skip a few beats as it attempted to once again find its rhythm. Just a bit closer…
Suddenly a full-throated roar burst from the chest of whatever had been waiting in the darkness, throwing me onto my back once more. My wrists were pinned to my mattress, as I shut my eyes and kicked wildly at the air and screamed so loudly that my throat began to ache from the sudden strain on my vocal chords.
“Claire.”
That voice again, that whisper. How could someone be so calm when I was being attacked by God knows what?!
A throaty chuckle full of contempt boomed into my ear, and as I felt myself growing weak from my struggle I felt a sharp pain piercing my throat. It felt like fire penetrating my skin, tearing through the flesh with ease and enough resistance to let me know that it was happening. Somehow I’d freed my arms, flailing wildly and yielding no results as I screamed and thrashed at my attacker. I hit at my neck, catching nothing despite the fact that I was most certainly still feeling as though I was being bitten.
“Claire!”
As I heard the urgency with which my name was being called this time I opened my eyes, swatting as a form materialized above me. A familiar face was not keeping me from attacking, and as my father struggled with my hands I continued to scream in horror, the pain in my neck still fresh.
“Claire calm down, you’re okay!” Somehow he pulled me up, forcing me into an embrace that also served as a restraint for me. Rocking with my body, he continued to shush me, but I couldn’t say anything more. I didn’t know what I saw but whatever it was couldn’t be labeled, and it couldn’t be shaken. Whatever it was, I was sure it was still going to come for me again.
As I came down the stairs I could hear my parents and Chris talking from the kitchen in hushed tones. Perhaps they thought I had I gone back to bed after my father shook me awake from that nightmare, and I would have had I not been afraid to fall asleep again. I lied in bed for a while longer, pressing the palm of my hand into my forehead and occasionally I’d run my fingers through my still-damp hair. It took forever for me to catch my breath and I cried for at least three minutes as I stared up at the white, rippled ceiling above. Everything felt so real, the pleasure, the pain, the horror… Eventually I became tired again, but since I was so afraid that the nightmare would pick up where it left off I forced myself out of bed and slipped into a pair of pajama bottoms and some house boots. I took a moment to tie my hair into a fishtail braid that hung over my shoulder and figured it would give the illusion that I tried a bit before coming down. “Morning,” I muttered, grabbing a piece of bacon from one of the plates on the kitchen island.
“Way past morning,” Chris said back softly as if too much volume would cause me to shatter.
Shooting him a glare that was meant to initiate our usual sibling-shared snark¹ I shot back with, “You know what I mean.”
“Claire?” My mother’s tone was as soft as Chris’ had been, and she held her hands close to her abdomen. Something super motherly was going to come out of her mouth. “Maybe we should call Dr. Hartman.”
“Right on schedule,” I brought my hand up to my mouth to catch any piece of bacon that attempted to shoot out.
“Sweetheart,” she said quickly, knowing that if she didn’t get her point in quickly that it would never be presented. “You witnessed something horrific and you may be all right now-”
“Are we sure about that?” Too late. I looked to my father, silently addressing his success in extricating me from the hell my brain was stupid enough to subject me to despite the fact that it would have been healthier for all of me to cope rather than be subjected to something worse than the actual event. As a matter of fact the nightmare had nothing to do with the shooting, but who was I to question the way the mind chose to function? Right now my voice was heavy and deeper than normal due to fatigue and not being warmed up for the day, and I acknowledged that anything I said would come out sounding like I was underestimating the impact of the circumstances. I wasn’t though. “Look, I’m gonna give it a few days and then I’ll decide. Right now I just… I just wanna get some rest.”
Always the one to run from the problem, Chris said loudly, “We can take you somewhere for your birthday if you want. Last night wasn’t exactly the grand ball everyone expected.”
“No, it’s fine.” I was distracted as my father shuffled through the mail and something appeared to catch his attention.
As my mother peeked over to see what he was staring at she looked as if an old wound had been reopened.
My dad slid two envelopes over the counter to me.
With a furrowed brow I picked them up noticing there were no return addresses on either. When I opened the first I found a simple card inside that read, “For Your Birthday” on the front. Inside there was a message that was written in neat cursive that said, “Wishing you well on your birthday. Whatever dreams you choose to follow, I’m sure you will achieve them. –A. Wesker.” There was a check that was fastened with a paperclip that was for one hundred and nineteen dollars. Finally, something managed to bring a smile to my face.
Of course when Chris snatched the card from me I was left standing there like an idiot with my hands still in front of me. After reading the message aloud he said, “Damn, Captain Wesker just gave Claire one hundred nineteen dollars for her birthday. How clever,” he added sarcastically, prompting me to snatch it back from him.
Finally my mom seemed to calm down. “Well that’s awfully sweet of him. Who’s the other one from?”
With a little less haste I opened the second envelope; I wasn’t sure who else would have sent me something for my birthday. “From me to you,” I read aloud, flipping the card open, “Have a happy birthday. Thanks for attending my day on yours. I hope to see more of you. -Lord Ozwell E. Spencer…” The handwriting was flawless, like the kind that you would see from all those years ago that would be considered calligraphy… It was so intricate and perfect that I strained my eyes to make sure that it wasn’t typed out.
Once more, like we were kids again, Chris snatched this card from my hands and his eyes flew open. “Whoa!”
Angrily I slapped him on his arm as hard as I could, causing him to wince and hiss in pain. Taking back my envelope I wished that I had just let him announce what he’d found. It was a check for one thousand nineteen dollars, and the reason for the check was listed as, “collector’s item purchase.” He was helping me avoid the taxes too.
“What is it?” our dad asked.
“A thousand and nineteen dollars.” I’d intended to speak clearly but it came out barely above a whisper. I mean, my parents were rich but strangers never gave me money like this, especially not ones that were multibillionaires with better things to do in their spare time than write out birthday wishes to a college student they’d just met. Still in shock, I put the card and check back into the envelope, and looked back up to my parents who’d been staring me down so intently that I began to feel unnerved.
As if she struggled for words to break the silence my mom shook her head subtly before commenting with false amazement with, “Wow, you must have really made an impression on him.”
More silence settled in the kitchen as I fought the infectious phoniness that my mother exuded. There was no way that we could dead the situation if we didn’t talk about it. “No. I didn’t.” My plain declaration seemed to bring her act to a screeching halt and I was sure that the awkwardness couldn’t get any worse since I’d managed to block her attempts to inject some happy into the air.
For once it seemed Chris was the voice of reason and the only other person who cared to find out what was going on. “What happened?”
Aligning the envelopes in my hands and clicking them against the countertop I tried to remind myself to leave out the part about Spencer in the hospital room- the part that may not have happened. “The doctors said that Captain Wesker was cleared to leave this morning despite…” I trailed off, biting my lip nervously because I didn’t know what my family would think. “He died three times in the OR.” My voice felt so small as the weight of those words bore down upon me. Death was not met by the average person, casually parting with them so many times in such a short amount of time; usually he took someone with him. “After they removed the bullet from him skull he went into a coma. I saw him and-”
Don’t mention last night.
“He started to wake up. I felt him gripping my hand and he was looking like he was going to be fine.” As I heard the heart monitor blaring erratically like it was right next to me I realized that it was already starting, but I tried to pretend that nothing had changed. “Then the doctors said he went into cardiac arrest.” My tone had changed drastically from unsure and frightened to a tone that denoted casualness that was employed when talking about things as normal as the weather. “Then they said he was free to go. Apparently Spencer called a car for him and I went to make sure that he got home okay.”
“So Spencer’s awake too?” my dad asked with a frown.
“He must be,” I replied with genuine uncertainty. There was no other way he could’ve sent me money.
“Well,” my mom began, tucking stray strands of blonde behind her ear, “it’s highly irresponsible and unethical for a hospital to send him home after that. Actually it’s preposterous that they wouldn’t want to follow up on what Richard Dawkins couldn’t even deny was a miracle.”
“He seemed to have some problems with his equilibrium maybe. He wasn’t too eager to start flights of stairs.”
“Then I’ll be calling Dr. Davies later on today to question the hospital’s judgment.” Even though my mom was a plastic surgeon she had no problem reminding others that she had to attend medical school too. Ethics classes were a bitch from what I heard, and she was no fan of those either.
I didn’t want to talk about that anymore because the whole thing was messy, discomforting, and confusing. If I thought about it too much then I would end up thinking back to last night and… It never happened, I said to myself. It couldn’t have. “Chris what happened to Ashford?” My question surprised me even, yet it shouldn’t have; it was all linked, but I expected to flinch at the mere mention of that guy’s name.
“That’s the thing.” Chris’ mood changed, his brown eyes filled with disappointment.
“Chris what happened?” My dad’s tone was firm, probably an attempt to indicate that we all needed to get a grip.
“Alfred Ashford wasn’t there when we all went down to booking. Even worse: he’s not in the system.” There was a silence that had swept over the kitchen, worsened by the absence of any outside noise. No birds, no children, no cars. When he saw that no one else was bold enough to break that silence, my brother took a deep breath, preparing to drop another bombshell on us. “We went out to his house to put a security detail on him- just to make sure. But then the officers we sent said they were damn near attacked by some guys in black suits.”
“And they just let that happen to them?” my mom asked incredulously.
Chris chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. “They said they were assigned the detail. They were higher in power than the RPD.”
“What?” My mother’s voice was only getting higher. “Were they state police?”
“I don’t know.” Chris walked away from the counter, head down and hands on his hips. “I don’t know,” he muttered to himself while my parents and I exchanged glances. None of us were letting this go, but I knew that deep down we probably should have. Redfield persistence would do to us what curiosity did to the cat.
November 2, 2014
There were changes occurring within me that were abnormal, and frankly frightening. My wound was healing, the bleeding coming to a stop, and my headaches were lessening in intensity. After Claire left I’d gotten hungry, wolfing down at least six servings of whatever I could make. Yet despite my gorging, my voracious appetite would not subside. At some point though, my body gave up hinting that it required more sustenance, and I was able to leave the kitchen. Everything I’d eaten barely tasted good anyway. That left me with time to question what was going on.
“Umbrella Corporation this is Esmerelda, please provide your identification number.”
“A19197960,” I said clearly even though I was sure the stone-voiced woman probably knew it by heart by now.
“What can I do for you Dr. Wesker?” Her tone held a bit of annoyance; my requests were never simple.
“Personal call to Dr. Spencer.”
I heard her click her tongue disapprovingly. “Now, now Dr. Wesker you know how hard it is to get in touch with Dr. Spencer; there’s a waiting list and you may not get a call back for months. Did you want an appointment for a phone meeting?”
“No.”
Without a parting word I hit the end button on my phone and set it down on the counter, dreading the next move that had to be made. “Fuck,” I mumbled, snatching the phone up once again, prepared to dial Spencer’s cell. Before my finger could hit the green button on the glass screen, my screen brightened and the phone vibrated in my hand.
“O. Spencer,” the top of the screen read, and I swiped to answer.
For a moment there was silence, his breathing barely audible from his side of the line, but it was there. It seemed he was in the mood to hear me beg today, but I would not feed his ego any more than I already had. He had to answer for himself at some point, and that point was now. “How are you feeling Dr. Wesker?” As usual his voice was laced with its typical condescension, a mental tactic that he employed when he knew his intentions were being questioned. Of course, he would sometimes use that tone when he was doing something as simple as ordering a cup of tea.
Calmly I said, “Because of your actions -whatever they may have been- I’m exceeding my own expectations.” To control my temper I began preparing a cup of water for tea, coming to the conclusion that such a mundane task would somehow assist in maintaining a cool demeanor.
“I suggest you stop asking questions already Albert.” His response was not a snap; Spencer relished in living with the belief that he did not lose his composure.
Defiantly I asked, “What is happening to me?”
“If you behave yourself,” he paused for a moment. “Nothing.”
I saw the screen of my phone light up again out of the corner of my eye. He’d hung up. This time I let my cell drop to the counter, bracing myself against the stone surface. Before I could grow angrier I heard the doorbell ring, a nuisance that caused me to flare my nostrils and exhale loudly. Storming over to the door, I was incapable of thinking of anything other than that haughty tone and he dared to take with the ones who were responsible for keeping his head barely above the water. Without realizing it I had reached the door and I pulled it open so quickly that the person on the other side jumped in fear.
“Jesus Christ Al!” my colleague exclaimed, holding his hands out in front of his face.
Will was not my enemy, but today he would do. “What do you want William?” I turned away from him and started for the kitchen again, not sure why I was headed to that particular room.
I heard him trying to catch up with me. “Oh so I’m ‘William’ today?”
“What?!” I roared, twisting my torso to look at him, and the sight of the terrified man caused me to soften. Exhaling slowly, I went over to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water; it was the only beverage my colleague would accept. He stopped on the other side of the counter, taking a seat in the stool just across from me. I slid the bottle over to him and stood there while he took a few sips. After working with me for so long I’d expected William Birkin to be damaged, but surprisingly he had developed coping mechanisms to deal with the extremes that I presented. However, my extreme was mainly displayed when I was angered, and though it seemed to still scare him at times he knew that I would pose no physical threat to him.
“Are you done?” he asked boldly, recapping his water. I would let him have that. “Onto important matters: I don’t feel comfortable digging anymore.”
I’d figured as much. “I just got the call.”
“I have my family to think about Al. As much as I consider you a brother to me…”
Since it probably didn’t sound right to say aloud I finished his sentence for him. “Your wife and daughter come first.”
He nodded. “Spencer is pushing for a switch in our approach. Batna will be back burned.” Finally he said, “I just wish that I knew how you were still alive.” Spencer would not allow him that knowledge. “I could run tests of my own Al. You don’t have to be in the dark about what happened.”
“I know.” It was not a yes or no, but rather an admission that I wasn’t sure if it was the best idea. I doubted this was the only thing bothering my old friend; he was far too skittish today to have received word that we would be granted some clemency for our failures. I was sure that Spencer knew that we hated human trials; it was senseless killing that they’d been tricked into agreeing to. Not wanting to think of it in its true sense I asked, “What else Will?”
Prepared for the question, he pulled an envelope out of his jacket and tossed it down on the counter for me. “It was under our lab door this morning.”
I picked it up and opened it, pulling out a folded piece of white paper with flawless cursive filling the page. “The Ashfords will never forgive your actions against us. Ours is a name that will live on to surpass your own, and even if we were all to die out we would still be revered to the highest degree. Consider what occurred at the party to be merely a warning, and an actual attempt on your life would have resulted in the loss of it. Revenge shall still be taken because despite the fact that ‘An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind,’ without me there has been nothing to see.” Just as I was about to comment on the feminine form of writing I saw the signature in the bottom right corner, “Alexia Ashford.” I almost threw the letter down onto the counter, staring up only to find that Will was already awaiting my gaze.
In a low voice he said, “She’s back.”
Usually I didn’t drive the little Corolla my parents had bought me upon my high school graduation, but I had takeout today, and I didn’t want to risk it getting cold or falling off. I mean, it wasn’t like I had been invited or asked to bring takeout but I felt that I should. Quickly I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror, wiping under my eyes in any mascara was smudged beneath. With a sharp exhale I questioned my motives, and despite telling myself time and time again that I was doing this because I owed a debt I knew I was doing too much. Too much by my standards anyway. I was wearing mascara, my hair was down, I was wearing skinny jeans, and a long-sleeve V-neck with a push-up bra for Christ’s sake. I fanned myself quickly once I realized that I was about to psych myself out, and I needed to remember that this was not as serious as I was making it seem.
As I walked to the door I saw the light come on just above it, obviously he’d heard my car pull up, and I swallowed hard at the thought of him turning me away. Before I even came to a stop he opened the door, and I saw him standing there in all his blond glory. His hair was perfectly swept back, his eyes hidden by those shades he wore when we first met, his jeans not too tight but with that right amount of hang. He had on a black scoop-neck tee with short sleeves which showed off his muscles, and I mentally kicked myself for even letting my mind wander there.
“Hi.” My greeting was warm and friendly, but inside I felt like I’d already fucked up.
Wordlessly he stepped back to allow me in, and I took it as a good sign.
I heard him close the door behind me as I peered in the direction of the kitchen, hoping that he accepted what dinner I brought with me. Turning to face him I was surprised at how close he was to me, so surprised that I almost jumped, but I reminded myself not to be so dramatic. “I know it’s late but I just wanted to check on you. And maybe get you to eat Italian?” I added hopefully, lifting the white, paper bag up for him to see.
Finally he broke down and smiled, gesturing for me to head for that damned kitchen where it was impossible to find anything.
As I took a seat at the counter I pulled out two cardboard takeout boxes. I set one next to me, assuming he would sit in the stool next to me, and I opened one of the plastic pouches to access my black fork. Before I dug into my four cheese lasagna I looked up to see him pulling a bottle of wine from a shelf, pouring himself a glass before holding the bottle towards me to ask if I wanted any. “I’m not a wine person. I can do a water.” It was nice of him to offer but it seemed everyone was trying to turn me into a wino lately.
When he turned to grab a water from the refrigerator I saw those damned dimples again as his shirt hiked up just a bit. He took his seat next to me, setting my water down slowly.
“You’re not supposed to offer me alcohol anyway,” I teased, attempting to cut off a piece of lasagna.
“You’re not supposed to complain,” he countered with a smirk.
I could only smile back at him as I continued to struggle with the mess of cheese, pasta, sauce, and meat. “How are you?”
Something about the way he looked at me in that moment made my cheeks warm. “I’m fine. It comes with the territory of being a cop.” After his first bite he looked thoughtful, turning his body towards me a bit. “What about you?”
Swallowing down my mouthful of food I nodded, albeit hesitantly. “I’m good.”
“Are you sure?”
With a nervous laugh I countered with, “Jesus, Wesker you’re the one that got shot in the skull.” I looked away for just a second, but in that time his stare became one of genuine concern, a look that I should have had on my face for him. I wasn’t sure what he felt, how he processed things, or exactly how much he could take before he cracked. However, I was sure of one thing: I’d be there to see it. Albert Wesker was very interesting.
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Apicem Rapax