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Apicem Rapax	By : Ripsi Category: +M through R > Resident Evil Views: 2156 -:- 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
- 5
- 6
- 7
Apicem Rapax
“The bird of Hermes is my name eating my wings to make me tame.”
November 5, 2014
I was not yet ready despite my physical wound being nearly closed. I’d collapsed during my elevated pushups, and I now lie on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. This feeling of vulnerability was unwelcome, and the letters and cards sent to me were only making things worse. I was never one to be pitied. Though not common knowledge I was the son of Lord Ozwell E. Spencer, a scientist, one of the youngest permitted to work with Umbrella, and at 38 I had yet to have to worry about my future. Whether my plans succeeded or failed I was sure to live my life out comfortably, although life in my father’s shadow proved to be quite too cold. That thought alone should’ve forced me up, to ignore the physical exhaustion that had brought me to the floor, but instead I could still only lie there both enjoying and cursing the pleasant aches brought on by euphoria. If there was a reason to work out this was it.
The sound of the doorbell ringing saved me from thoughts that had demonstrated themselves to be uncharacteristic. Through the peephole I saw an unfamiliar face, a mustached man in a lab coat.
He stared back through the hole before knocking a few times. “Dr. Wesker!”
Umbrella, I thought angrily to myself. Before he could alert the neighborhood to my title –something neither of us really wanted- I opened the door and stepped back to allow him in. When I shut the door behind me and turned around he’d already extended his hand in anticipation of a proper introduction.
“Dr. Joseph Brown.” With a firm shake he gave an obligatory smile.
Since he knew who I was already I skipped the pleasantries. “What do you want?”
“I’m just here to give you something I’m sure you’ll want.”
Without instructing him to follow but sure that he would, I walked to the den and took a seat on the couch. On the table before me he set down a silver briefcase I hadn’t noticed until he made it the focal point.
He kneeled down and unlocked it, the mechanism unseen to me as he had it facing away, and after a short hiss it opened. “Tell me Dr., how has your appetite been?”
Unsure of what he expected to hear, I shrugged. Since the incident I hadn’t been eating much; my appetite had decreased significantly, however, due to my reduced level of activity I thought it was nothing but proof of years of research on the human body being true. I’d expended less energy and so I’d taken in less.
“What have you been eating?” he asked.
“Beef, pork, and of course vegetables.” Usually I ate healthy because I needed to. Downing greens had been seen as more of a chore throughout my life, but I wouldn’t put Walmart oil in my luxury car now would I?
Smirking knowingly he accused, “More so meat though right?”
“Why does any of this concern you?” Casually I swung my arm around the back of the couch.
With that same smirk, he dared to inject a scoff into the already pompous aura surrounding him. “It concerns your father; it concerns me.” He reached into the case, retrieving a container that was designed for storing liquids. The metal exterior was a bit much, however, upon the opening of the lid I felt my eyes open a bit wider.
Without meaning to I leaned in, eyeing the container, focused on the powerful aroma that was slowly beginning to float through the air. I don’t think I’d been this hungry since I first returned home, but no matter how many dishes I’d thrown together, no matter how many servings I wolfed down, I couldn’t satisfy that constant ache in my gut. Eventually it just went away, either because I’d filled whatever nutritional need my body required or because I just couldn’t feel it anymore. Now though, I was brought back to that feeling of intense hunger, and it was all due to the contents of that container.
With an amusement that I could ignore only because of my sudden hunger, the strange doctor said, “It seems this got your attention. Your father instructed me to give this to you. He said you’d need it by now.” When I failed to reply he added, “And it looks like you need it.” Slowly, he reached over the table, offering the silver vessel to me with what seemed like trepidation, but I couldn’t concentrate on his unwarranted fear just now.
I snatched up the container without thinking any further on the matter, forgetting that in the past my physicals had caused me to feel a deep suspicion, yet somehow in this moment I was incapable of being frightened off by even stranger circumstances. Whatever this was it was thick, sweet, and delightfully warm. I wasn’t sure how long I had been drinking, but it seemed too soon when the flow stopped, leaving me disappointed. Never before had I found myself extending my tongue to retrieve the last remnants of anything from any cup or bottle, almost as pathetic as a scavenger picking at the bones of a corpse to gain the tiniest of morsels. As I turned the container up even more I heard movement from the doctor, and I soon felt the container being snatched from my hand. I wanted to pounce on him, fight him for whatever was left inside, but immediately I recognized how insane it sounded.
My sanity returned to me, I noticed that the hunger I’d felt before was completely absent. Wiping my mouth shamefully I turned my gaze upon Joseph who seemed both terrified and interested in whatever change in character he’d witnessed. Rather than stay to sate his inquisitiveness, he began packing away the now empty carrier, quickly taking his leave without another word or warning from my father. I’m sure that wasn’t a part of their initial plan, but whatever he’d provoked today had probably scared him into contemplating an early retirement. What was happening to me?

My surprise house call had warranted my hasty trip to the lab, and once there I was incapable of hiding that I was very much bothered as I paced back and forth. I’d hoped that William could come up with something but he could find no mention of a Dr. Joseph Brown in the database. This should have been expected; he’d been sent directly by Spencer and if he wanted no trail left then there’d be no trail left behind.
For the thousandth time, Will asked, “Are you certain that you’ve never seen him before?” His demeanor betrayed the strength in his voice, proving that he was more bothered than I. However, it only made sense for him to be worried if I was myself.
“Never.” Shockingly I’d managed to keep calm despite the irritation I usually felt creeping up. I hated repeating myself.
“Well was he checking up on you?”
Finally deciding to stand still, I stared down at the incredibly, dull concrete floor, hands on my hips as I thought back to the bizarre visit. “He asked me about my diet.”
“And?”
For a moment I’d almost considered keeping the next bit to myself; he’d ask more questions that I didn’t have the answers to, and I’d want to punch him in the face. “He gave me something.”
Alarm audible in his voice I heard his chair creek beneath him as he sat up straight. “An injection? Oral meds? What was it?”
Staring directly into his eyes I said, “Something to drink. It seemed familiar but I don’t know exactly what it was.” In defeat, I sank down in the chair across from him, finally able to hear the infernal and incessant ticking of the clock above the door. Whatever I drank seemed less like medicine and more like the nutrition I’d been craving.
“You drank something… without knowing what it was?” Disappointment complimented his already condescending tone, the very reason I considered omitting that one detail.
Rubbing my forehead to combat the headache that was making itself known behind my eyes I threw out, “I can’t explain it.” There was something about the contents of that container that had forced me to throw reason out the window and foolishly dive headfirst without knowing if I’d plunge straight onto a rock. Rather than that happen though I’d been swept away, and somewhere in that torrent I’d encountered a comfort that I had been without since the party.
“If you’re going to lap up anything like a big, dumb dog then I can’t help you Al.” He’d given up for now. The sight that accompanied his conceding was most pitiable, and it seemed that the frequency with which I caused this to occur with him was increasing. My intentions were never to cause him to feel so useless, however, it seemed that of the two of us, I was the one who found myself in these inexplicable situations the most. “Maybe you just need to go home. Get some rest. Heal, or pretend to,” he added with a scoff. “Read a book, adopt a kitten, or go on a date or something.” Finally sitting back in his chair he shook his head in lamentation before muttering, “Most of the office thinks you’re asexual anyway.”
My head snapped up instantly. “Will, no one here believes that you have sex with Annette.”
Finger in the air he protested contrarily, “The existence of my daughter says otherwise.” The great sense of pride and accomplishment he felt was made evident as he beamed happily, his eyes closed.
“The existence of surrogacy would cause others to continue to think otherwise.”
Teeth clenched, blood easily visible underneath his pale skin he countered with, “My video evidence-”
In earnest fear of where this conversation threatened to go I jumped up from my chair, hands raised to tell him to stop before he took it too far. “No. Onto Batna.” I’d rather talk about that dead end than his sex life.
With a smug grin he picked up a pencil on the table next to him only to begin playing with it, just like he was going to enjoy playing with me. “Back-burned,” he sang.
He couldn’t be so foolish to trust this decision? “Why?”
“No clue,” he admitted, his mood becoming dismissive. In true William Birkin fashion though he remembered his true personality, not letting himself get lost in one of his humorous attempts to go toe-to-toe with me. “I did take some extra time to sequence the DNA from of one of the samples though. Al it predates any human DNA we have on record while possessing shared DNA with our own.”
Eyes narrowed I said, “I don’t follow.”
“Neither did I, seeing as this being that originally was infected with one of the components of Batna is also female, another part of this that makes no sense because women can’t survive it.”
Ignoring that bit and chalking it up to being the exception I reversed the conversation just a bit and started to ask, “When you say predates-”
As if I’d already known the answer he irritably and hastily replied, “I’m saying that the specimen is so old that its age is indeterminate. Intact as the sample may be I can’t pin a number on it. Not even a rough estimate is possible.” This was a major wrench in our plan. How could I confidently do anything with Batna if its origins remained obscure? “Also, I looked into the signature on the letter. It matches Alexia’s.”
With a heavy sigh of annoyance I asked, “You’re still on that?”
“Look at the signatures Al!” Angrily he jumped to his feet to toss a nearby, manila folder at me.
Inside there were a few copies of waivers and agreements with the signatures circled at the bottom. Every, single one was identical, including one on the copy of the cute threat Alfred undoubtedly sent. “Alexia signed these documents as a child William, over time her handwriting would have changed slightly rather than appear as an exact replica.” Hoping to close this case I tossed the folder down on the desk next to me.
Desperate to gain an audience for his asinine, conspiracy theory he loudly proclaimed, “Alexia might as well have been a fully-grown woman in a child’s body! There have been reports over the years of sightings of a blonde woman on Rockfort, Albert.”
Ah yes, the old sightings made by soldier who were deprived of sleep and aware of the happenings on the island. None of these sightings had been confirmed by anyone who’d made a quick and easy visit. Mental disturbance was running rampant amongst those unlucky enough to be stationed on Rockfort for even as short a duration of three months. For the sake of his need to be heard though I’d bite. “Bye who?”
“That- that… fellow with the name!”
HUNK. I’m very sure that was the fellow he was daring to refer to as a credible source. I preferred not to think of that particular agent of Umbrella. His survival in every situation he’d encountered was nothing short of miraculous, however, his disinterest in accolades pertaining to such amazing feats was disconcerting. No man did such things to be crowned the best lapdog. If survival was his main goal then he would have never even enlisted or he would have chosen to opt out of field work a long time ago. If rewards or self-preservation did not constitute reason enough for him to continue, then he was an anomaly that could not be trusted. Inconclusive his motives seemed to remain, and therefore he would remain off of my radar for as long as I could allow. “You would take the word of a man who calls himself Mr. Death,” I mused.
“Usually he doesn’t speak on matters so personally but don’t you find it odd that he actually speaks on this in one of his letters? And the prisoners have seen her as well!” William seemed to not care that he was speaking boldly on intercepted property of Umbrella, but he knew the risks involved so I wouldn’t take up precious time in reminding him of the pot he could find himself in.
I would settle for continuing to point out how ludicrous he sounded. “The prisoners… You’re right, what damning evidence.”
“Al-”
Starting to lose my patience I ground my teeth together. “Don’t cherry-pick from your sources Will. Mr. Death also noted in his documents that he’d been inside that shitty mansion on the hill of Rockfort and inside there are dolls, decay, ugly dresses strewn about, and a room dedicated to Alexia Ashford. Except there is no Alexia Ashford. Because amongst the mess of a young woman there is also an immeasurable amount of lipstick and wigs.” HUNK may have at one time sworn to have seen Alexia Ashford, but he also attested to the strange hobbies and subjects of interest that Alfred held.
Holding on to whatever insane idea he’d concocted he said with conviction, “He couldn’t have forged her signature-”
“They are twins William! He forged her signature.” The finality in my voice was made quite evident. I wished to no longer participate in this conversation no matter how much it seemed to bother my old friend. My arguments should have put his mind at ease if anything. I was the one who was gunned down by an Ashford whereas William had felt slighted for losing his title as the youngest, brightest mind that Umbrella had to offer. Real, undeniable bad blood existed between me and that mad man up on the hill yet I was not here attempting to dig up information to add to prison-yard rumors. Ashford’s time would come and though I had no plans eventually he would come into my crosshairs once more, and when he did I would be sure to return the favor. The effects of my retribution would last him just a little while longer though. If there was anything that I learned from my father, it was to make a siege a memorable one, and this would go down in Umbrella’s history books.
It pained me that I would not be able to openly take credit, to let the world know that the slighted Captain Albert Wesker proved that he was not a force to be reckoned with, but Umbrella would know that the son of its last, remaining founder had refused to follow in his father’s footsteps. My path would completely devastate his, leaving behind no remnants, and I would not be seen as a legacy but a separate entity that earned his place in this world. Nothing was going to be able to stop me, not even whatever was happening to me now.

I hadn’t anticipated company today, and so when I heard my doorbell ring I was on edge. The last time someone had come over they’d given me something I was unable to resist, and even now I didn’t know what it was. With an uncharacteristic caution I looked through the peep hole to find that a hoodied, anxious Claire Redfield had been the person responsible for the unexpected ding. For a moment I was unsure as to what I should do in this situation; I wasn’t even sure of my condition so was it wise that I permit her entrance when things were becoming much worse? Before I allowed myself enough time to answer that question I was opening the door. The young girl that had been so full of life before the party was gone, leaving me with nothing but a pale, thin shell that barely resembled my subordinate’s younger sibling. Her eyes had lost their innocent appeal, instead appearing weathered and weary. Her hair was limp and haphazardly parted to the side, her jeans were no longer as clingy as I’m sure they’d been before, and her lips were chapped and dehydrated.
My assessment persuaded me to finally ask her, “Are you all right?” and I removed my shades.
Slowly, she shook her head no. In a sad whisper she said, “I could’ve died.”
Reason no longer with me, my concerns for appropriateness forgotten, I stepped over the threshold and took her into my arms. At first she was unresponsive, her shoulders tense as if she was unsure how to proceed, and when she finally relaxed I felt her reciprocating the embrace, nestling her face into my chest. This was unexpected, yet not unwelcomed for some reason, and I found myself confounded by the strange and undeniable bond that I’d been forced to acknowledge existed. This drive to protect this girl had been planted from the start and it had nothing to do with pissing off her brother. It was something innate, something primal, and in turn I knew that it would end up being something dangerous. These thoughts ricocheted in my head long after their inception, and the only thing that could break my train of thought was the sad sight of her taking up the mug of warm tea I slid across the counter to her long after I ushered her into my home.
As she sipped uneasily I could tell that it had a bit less sugar than she’d prefer, but if she’d not been sleeping as I’d suspected, sugar was the last thing that she needed. Beneath her eyes were tale-tell signs of sleep deprivation, or more likely a sign that she was incapable of sleep. To break the ice and prevent myself from coming off as the doctor no one but Umbrella colleagues knew me to be I asked, “How are you?”
Without pause she set the mug down, probably mistakenly showing relief that she could begin opening up to someone. “I can’t sleep.” Playing with the porcelain handle she added, “As a nineteen-year-old college student that shouldn’t be a problem except…. There’s a difference between not sleeping and not being able to sleep.”
I was very sure that she was also probably refusing to sleep at this point. “Why?”
Understanding the question she scoffed, “Because dying over and over during an eight hour period isn’t appealing to me.” In exhaustion she rested her head against her hand, gently kneading her forehead as she did so, but I doubted that she had a headache and I figured it was more so for some form of relief. “You’re the one who was shot,” she whispered more so to herself guiltily. “How are you?”
“Better.” Simple was the best way to keep it.
Now employing the use of her previously free hand in massaging her forehead she asked in exasperation, “How do you do that?” I was sure that her mind was alive with questions that were further exhausting her mentally. In truth I suffered no PTSD because I’d been mentally preparing myself since I was seventeen for some attempt on my life. In short, it didn’t happen. I was shot but not killed, and though I most surely could have been, concentrating on hypotheticals could result in the job being completed. The ghosts of yesterday were just that, meaning that my focus needed to be directed to tomorrow, and honestly I wasn’t very concerned about a repeat attempt from him or a brazened copycat.
Surprising myself even I said, “I need you to sleep.” Though phrased in the form of a request, I was truly commanding her, almost made evident by my tone.
Still in question of her own mental strength, she refused to look up at me, but I got to my feet and rounded the counter to encourage her to stand. She followed me without question upstairs to one of the spare bedrooms. As she took a seat on the bed she stared at the floor, most likely not even seeing it, and I decided not to push her.
Wordlessly I backed out of the room, closing the door behind me, trying not to bring her back from whatever thoughts she was having. My hopes were that she’d eventually get tired of thinking about everything and kick off her shoes. She’d wind up getting beneath the sheets, telling herself that she would only be able to lie there and nothing more. Then she’d be asleep, unaware of even that, and maybe she’d dream mundane dreams that she would later only recall as darkness in her slumber. It seemed that this was the order that things progressed in because she remained upstairs, quiet… for about five hours. Then there were screams.

His hold had calmed me, though not instant the relief was welcomed, and even after I stopped screaming he still kept me close. When I finally felt that my eyes had run out of its reservoir I pulled back from his chest, our gazes meeting, and I felt a pleasant chill from within. My heart fluttered, the disturbance taking me away from his gaze only for second, but it had felt like I’d been torn away for longer.
“You’re okay,” he assured me, breaking the silence that I never wanted to end. It lacked that emptiness that it held when I was alone, as though he had commanded the air around us to imbue me with that sense of peace that I had been desperate to get back. How many nights would I be rendered restless, given no option but to travel to the one place where I felt an iota of safety just to sleep during the day? Although if those horrible dreams would all end like this it was worth it. It was akin to the endorphins you felt after a heavy workout or a wound, and in the end it almost made the endurance feel like the path that was the most rewarding. Despite this moment though, I couldn’t say that the tradeoff was fair. My dreams had gone from replays of that night to original crafts of the mind in which Alfred Ashford would storm the Spencer mansion while I hid in rooms that were generated to mimic the mood of the nightmare. Alone, I would hide in closets, under beds as that maniac cackled and shot wildly as he taunted me with his condescending tone.
“Redfield!” he’d spat with disgust; my name had been a displeasure to even think to him, and so he reminded me time and time again with his regal accent that my life barely rivaled that of a maggot’s. Then after I would get caught traversing rooms he would shoot without hesitation, missing the first time and giving me a false sense of hope that was snatched away as a bullet entered my torso. In my personal hell he didn’t even use a handgun but a rifle more suited for hunting, and he was hunting Redfields. As I shut my eyes tightly he held me so firmly that we were completely still. I felt horrible for ruining his plan to get me to rest, and I wanted to ease the disappointment he may have felt by revealing to him that falling asleep was an accomplishment. For so long there was blackness and silence, and I think I managed to achieve some rest. Sadly that peace was shattered by the appearance of Alfred.
“Please don’t make me talk about it,” I pleaded, though no such request had been made of me. Early on I wanted it to be clear that I couldn’t be expected to continue to recall the nightmares without them causing the same fear, if not more, than the actual night had. As he shushed me I was still determined to echo my last wish so that he’d understand that my decision was final. We sat there for a few minutes in silence as my heartbeat finally returned to a normal pattern. No matter how calm though, I wouldn’t be able to ever forget what I’d seen, real or not.
As he pulled me closer, slowly rubbing the palm of his hand against my back, he whispered to me, “Let’s get you something to eat.” There was a question in there somewhere, and it was unnecessary. As far as I was concerned he’d saved me again, and whatever he thought was best to do I’d do it.
After another brief moment of silence I was following him back downstairs, returning to the counter we’d sat at earlier. I didn’t expect much from him since I doubted he was leaving his home much if at all, and so when he revealed that all he really had was breakfast foods I didn’t protest or question it. Suddenly my stomach was letting me know that anything would be appreciated, and I decided on cereal, noticing the small tinge of guilt within his expression. He was feeling guilty that he didn’t have much food to offer me? Before I was able to process that he was filling of a bowl of Mini Wheats with milk and sliding it over to me. At least it was healthy, and right now I needed something substantial. Living in a developed country meant that I had no reason to not be getting everything that I needed nutritionally, and that was very true until that night at the mansion. I couldn’t think about it again, and so I picked up the spoon already in the bowl, stuffing my mouth with milk and hardened biscuits.
I ignored the awkwardness I felt about eating cereal in his kitchen since I was quite hungry and it had been established that he’d failed to do any grocery shopping as of late. I stuffed a spoonful of Frosted Mini Wheats and milk into my mouth, ignoring the urge to engage in my odd ritual that usually freaked even myself out so much that I avoided buying them. Usually I’d eat them one by one, biting off the frosted side and enjoying the sugar before swallowing the rest of the mass. Today though I behaved in a manner that astounded me: like a girl around her crush. I was too worried about freaking him out that I was even sitting with my back straight despite the pain that was persistent in making its presence known to my spinal cord.
“My apologies for the limited choices.” He’d been watching me the whole time, sometimes he’d smirk, others he’d just stare as though he feared I would suddenly break.
“It’s okay, I came over without letting you know anyhow.” I kept my concerns about his wellbeing to myself though; he obviously didn’t wish to make his eating habits a topic. If he was hungry he’d be digging into a bowl of clumpy wheat and sugar himself. It still bothered me that he wasn’t interesting in restocking his fridge, but then again maybe he feared going anywhere. The protection that Chris swore was outside his house the day he returned was yet to be seen by me, but I wouldn’t dare ask about that when Wesker had such an odd reaction to me questioning his paternity.
His arm extended over the counter, his hand out he ordered, “Unlock your phone.”
For a moment I wasn’t sure what to do. In 2014 everyone knew better than to expect such a request to be fulfilled. However his show of hospitality could not be taken lightly, and so if this was his request in exchange then I’d comply. To keep my passcode safe I touched my thumbprint to the sensor and handed the device over.
Almost as soon as he had it in his hand he was tapping the screen, and shortly after he was using both hands to type something in. It became obvious what he’d done though when he paused to look down at his own phone. The generic iPhone ringtone sounded for a brief period from the speakers of his cell before he dismissed the call and set my phone before my half-eaten bowl of cereal. “Now you can let me know.”
I’d feared that blood had rushed to my cheeks in this moment, so I pretended to be concentrating on my soggy breakfast food to avoid eye-contact. Then stupidly I said with the intention of snooping, “As long as you let your girlfriends know I’m just a kid.” Almost instantly I felt like kicking myself; he’d told me when we met that he had no one. I justified my idiotic statement with the thought that there was a chance that he had someone who meant nothing but a warm hole to him. Of course that would ruin his character in my eyes so it was best to call myself stupid.
With a deep chuckle he shook his head. “If I had girlfriends you wouldn’t have been allowed to feel so comfortable showing up unannounced.” He sat back in his stool and looked thoughtful. “Women today are… quite aggressive.” Smirking down at me he asked, “And since when were you a kid?”
Rather than answer I managed to smile a bit. Shifting gears I set my spoon down to sink into the now empty bowl. Frosted Mini Wheats always made sure milk wasn’t wasted. “So when are you going back to work?”
Seeming rather uncomfortable with the subject he looked around for a bit. “When I’m deemed ready,” he answered, voice laced with both uncertainty and perhaps vexation. He seemed to be the kind of man who’d get anxious without a job to do, and right now he was being forced to just sit around and wait on a phone call to give him permission to continue his life.
“How’s your head?” Somehow I’d forgotten to ask him. This could have been blamed on his apparent desire to pretend it didn’t exist, but perhaps I wanted it to not be real either. His wound not being real would mean that this was all a nightmare, all except for these moments of course. In the time spent with him I could somehow forget all about Ashford and the night of the Halloween party. “I see you’re covering it pretty well.” I giggled nervously.
“It’s better,” was his short reply. In what I thought was an innocent move I hopped down from the stool and went around to try and get a look, but as soon as I tried to peek through his blond locks he jumped up from his seat. “I’m fine,” he muttered, going to collect the empty bowl and setting it in the sink.
Silently I went back over to my stool and sat down, not pushing what just occurred as he did the same across from me. The buzz of my phone demanded our attention and I hated that I’d forgotten to disable the text display. It was a message from Amanda that read, “My place tonight. Party. Ratchets. Bitches. Drank. You should already be dressed and ready just from that ninjas.” Embarrassed I snatched up my phone, sure that if anything could destroy the awkwardness created from my presumptuousness a minute ago this was it.
“Have fun,” he said with a small smile. Not a smirk, a smile, and though tiny I knew that it was genuine.
Anxiously, with a few shakes of my head I said, “She’s insane.” This bitch seriously couldn’t just say that she was having a party tonight?
Thoughtfully weighing it over in his head he said, “Ratchets. Bitches. Drank. It sounds like a real party.” Once again I couldn’t believe how casually he could speak about underage drinking. Whenever I brought it up though he seemed to be telling me with his eyes that he truly gave zero fucks about what we chose to put in our bodies. This may have been disconcerting when other cops were concerned but for some reason I was only able to laugh off his lack of outrage.
When I realized I’d been clasping my phone to my chest I pulled it back, noticing I’d accidentally unlocked it and entered my Recent Calls List. At the top was an outgoing call to AW. The level of comfort I felt with him was only climbing and it pained me as I stood up and told him, “I’d better go.” For some reason I lifted up my phone, a hint to him that I would be indulging in tonight’s festivities. “Thanks for everything.” My sincerity was genuine as I stared over at him, pushing the stool up to the counter. It would have been so much more polite of me to mention everything I was grateful for but at the same time I felt it would be overly dramatic to recount it all.
As he got to his feet I stood in place, expecting him to walk me to the front door where he’d wish me a safe travel and night. Maybe he’d throw in a joke about me getting into trouble tonight or acknowledge that I’d be drinking but he’d let me know that he didn’t care. Instead of walk ahead of me though he stopped just before me, standing still as a statue as he stared down expectantly.
After a while I noticed how tense he was, almost like he was being held back by some unseen barrier and I questioned whether or not I should be the one to cross it. Rather than invade his space I instead asked, “Are you okay?” His eyes were fixed somewhere on me, but I wasn’t sure where. Some part of me wanted to close the gap between us, yet another part begged that I maintain a safe distance. Why was I considering it safe? Maybe because I feared that I would do something I shouldn’t. “Al?” I immediately realized what I’d called him, and before I could recover he seemed to come back from wherever he’d gone.
“Let me know when you get home tonight.” This anticlimactic farewell was disheartening. What more could I have expected from the situation though, other than something that would have been highly inappropriate and possibly an assassin of whatever strange little friendship we had? Would one more hug have really been such a dangerous act or would it have cemented the possibility that we were capable of having platonic relationship?
Willing to find out now rather than drag this on, I closed the space between us, shattering the imaginary barrier. As I began to raise myself up he immediately intercepted me, pulling me into an embrace that I could only define as completely enveloping. I hadn’t really thought of how much larger his 6’3 was to my meager 5’5. My arms were around his waist to keep the moment as innocent as possible, and he followed suit by closing the hug around my back. I didn’t attempt eye contact as it would have inferred that I was looking for something more, and I didn’t want to chance that; being a man he’d readily accept an invitation. It was important that I remembered not only who he was, but what he was. It was also imperative that I remembered that we were both humans who were going through something, and in this time we didn’t need to turn to one another to cope. However, it seemed to me that I was the only person having a hard time coping.
Unwilling to follow my urge to look up at him I merely whispered, “Thanks for making me feel safe.” I could’ve imagined it but I swore that I felt his body tense up in response.
Then he did what I feared he’d do in the first place. As he leaned back slightly, cupping my cheek in his hand and tilting my head back I pursed my lips nervously, afraid to make eye contact but given no choice. “Things will get better.”
I nodded. Letting go of him that night seemed like the hardest thing I’d done all day. Maybe this infatuation or whatever it was that I had with him was a clever way my mind chose to distract me from the reality of Halloween night. In that moment I think I’d unintentionally made a decision: I would flirt with this potential disaster. I would allow myself these small moments of happiness even though… the only thing dangerous about this was Chris. So why was I so afraid? My mind was already churning out these insane scenarios, every one of them tantalizing and very real possibilities. I’d done this before and nothing happened, I allowed myself to have these fantasies and urges without guilt in the past so why was it so hard now? It wasn’t. Strip away the title, the connection to my brother, and all you had left was Al.
A sudden burst of noise from my phone jerked me away from those thoughts that had been previously restricted for nonsensical reasons, and without checking the display in my car I hit the button to answer. “Hello?”
“Bitch did you get my fucking message?!”
I immediately identified the voice as belonging to Amanda. “Yes.”
“Are you coming tonight?”
Remembering the conversation I’d just had in my own head I realized that the best way to follow up something so bold would be by engaging in some bold behavior tonight. Also, the faster tonight ended, the sooner I could commence this texting relationship. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
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Apicem Rapax