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They fell. The cold air whipped fiercely passed Jill, stinging her face like small pelts of icicles. Her stomach twisted, her organs flipping as she fell, and Wesker had retched himself free of her grip with ease. She tried to reach for him, but the force of the wind pinned her arms to her, and their speed increased, the rocky shore, the tongues of the gray ocean waves lapping up and spraying silver mist upward, growing closer and closer, and Jill was disoriented. Her body grew stiff, her bones rattling within her fragile frame, her mind frazzled and dazed, and her eyelids threatened to shut. Nausea seized her insides, and the edges of her vision began to blur and darken.
Jill managed to turn her head, her eyes scanning the empty space at her side, and it took her a moment to realize Wesker was gone. But she could not react. The ocean was roaring beneath her, its hollow mouth opening to consume her. And the darkness was creeping with each inch she fell.
Her skull burned from the rush of blood, her ears ringing shrill. The water whispered frozen kisses upon her lashes, her name in the air as darkness took her.
—
Rain dripped like needles on Jill’s skin. Her head ached and throbbed, a pain shooting through her spine, rendering her immobile. Her ears rung with a high pitched hum, and she struggled to open her eyes, her body like stones sinking in the soaked sandy shore. She wanted to move but the strength of her muscles failed her. Her head lolled to the side, a low moan escaping her, the soft hum in her ears slowly fading. And with the fade came another sound, muffled, louder than the gentle rhythm of the rain—the waves of the ocean perhaps. But the sound grew clearer and rose above the waves, a consistent call, a voice. And from the voice, Jill found the strength to open her eyes.
Her vision was laden with black smudges, and she blinked, attempting to clear her sight. She struggled to keep her eyes open, her lids falling closed against the pain in her skull. She could hear the gravel crunch and move, boots on the ground, and she heard someone call her name. Her eyes slowly opened again, slightly clearer than before, and letters appeared before her, “B.S.A.A.”
“Jill,” the voice was earnest. “Jill, can you hear me?”
Her vision had faded again, and she felt a rough hand cup her cheek. “Come on, Jill. Don’t hold out on me.”
From between her eyelashes, Jill recognized the dark hair and beard, the lovely hickory skin, and deep russet eyes. Wearing their agency’s vest, he was crouched over her, gently holding her face, his eyes riddled with concern.
“Carlos...” She said quietly. “Where...”
“We gotta go. The creatures coming from Spencer’s place took out most of my team. Communication’s gone too. We gotta get to the helicopter.”
Jill could not bring herself to speak, watching his hand as he pulled away from her cheek, not missing the red that coated his palm. Only then did she feel the sharp sting and warm wetness seeping from a wound somewhere on her head. He then went to pick her up, taking her into his arms as gently as he could, but every move he made to her sent spikes of pain throughout her body. She winced and yelled out against his touch, but he did not retreat. How many bones were broken? How much blood lost? Would she even make it to the helicopter? He stood up, holding her close with one arm cradling from her back to her shoulder and the other lifting her legs. Jill rested her head against his arm and shoulder, feeling his warmth as he began to move.
They rushed from the beach into the forest, the rain pounding against them from beneath the trees, and the wind whipped through the leaves. The trees groaned in response, the branches rustling and snapping against the storm. Lightning flashed as Carlos raced through the forest, his boots splashing over the mud and puddles of water as he went, clutching Jill to him. And as she stared out into the woods, she thought, between the flashes of light, within the cracks of thunder, she saw shadows. Shadows that shifted amongst the trees and shrubbery, but they were so quick and so brief that Jill questioned the integrity of her eyes, of her mind. And as she watched, she could feel Carlos’s chest heaving with every breath, and as much as she wanted to feel safe in his arms, that she would make it to the helicopter, she couldn’t ignore the gnawing instincts that burned from the pit of her organs out like weaving tendrils.
And then a sickening feeling rose in her stomach as she came to the realization, a cold freeze pricking up her skin. “Carlos, wait... Where’s Wesker?”
“What?” He passed a quick glance at her, panting, his feet unrelenting as he ran. But his grip on her tightened unbearably, and Jill grimaced and hissed from his hold.
“Carlos, please...” She gasped, sighing deeply in relief when he realized his mistake and loosened his grip, slowing his pace, “Did... Did you find his body?”
His expression hardened, “I didn’t. I only found you.”
Her adrenaline spiked, “We gotta go after him. He’s out there! He—“
“Don’t be stupid Jill.” His voice was firm between puffs for breath, and she did not miss the exasperation he tried to hide. “Your bones are broken. You’re bleeding, probably have a concussion. You can hardly stay conscious. You’re in no shape to keep going!”
“If we don’t do something he’ll get away!” Why was he even debating this with her? How could he not see reason?
“Then we’ll take him out later!” He retorted, his speed uncompromising as he huffed for air between his words. “I know what you’re capable of, Jill. But if you try to go after him now you’ll die. Kick my ass later but at least you’ll be alive to do it!”
She opened her mouth to argue, but as soon as she did a sharp pain shocked her head. Her brow creased and she shut her eyes, reeling against the pain. Maybe Carlos was right.
They could see in the distance the start of the forest’s edge. The helicopter wasn’t far off from there. Maybe Chris is there, Jill thought, suddenly anxious at the thought of Chris convinced she fell to her death. But they’ll reconvene. They’ll take on Wesker together, as they were meant to. Carlos just had to get her out of the forest.
They were close, mere meters from entering the clearing, and from between the trees, Carlos spied the pilot.
His mouth opened to shout, “Hey!”
And just then something snagged Carlos by the back of his shirt, choking him as he abruptly was stopped in his tracks. His nails dug into Jill to keep her from being flung from his arms like a rag doll, but before he had the chance to register what had happened, he and Jill were launched back, away from the clearing. Carlos’s body collided with a tree, and he groaned out as Jill did. He did not relinquish his hold on her even as he grunted and coughed, having taken the brunt of the slam from the attack. Jill hissed out from the pain, her bones cracking, setting her body ablaze. Her world spun and her vision blurred, but not enough to distort the hulking figure of Wesker who was making his way towards them.
Carlos removed his hands from Jill and whipped his pistol from his holster. Cocking the gun, Carlos bared his teeth, his nostrils flaring as he aimed at him. He yelled out, hatred like flames to turn his brown eyes bronze within the darkness as he fired round after round. Wesker moved as if his body vibrated, bullets passing through where his body had flickered before vanishing and appearing meters away, closer. Carlos’s steady hands were too slow, always trailing behind his target, just like Chris, just like her as they fought him in Spence’s estate. Closer and closer, Jill struggled to keep her eyes on him as she raised her own gun. Supporting herself up with one arm sinking into the mud, she aimed with one hand, struggling to concentrate from the black spots clouding her vision.
But then Wesker was above them before either of them could register, and he slammed Carlos’s head back against the tree.
“No!” Jill screamed as his eyes closed.
Wesker turned his gaze upon her, a smirk curling up the corners of his lips. Jill composed herself, steeled her gaze with fury in the blue of her eyes. And darkness consumed her.
—
Jill awoke on the cold, metal floor, groggy and disorientated. The air stung her nose, a stale and stiff musk that was heavy and dry. Where was she? Where was Carlos?
Carlos. Jill staggered to her feet, her head and body throbbing. She gasped out, groaning, pain like burning electric shocks through her legs, up her spine, and throughout her ribcage. Instinctively, she reached down for her gun. Shit. Her holster was missing, her gun gone. Growling out, she hobbled to the long metal bars before her and gripped them, leaning against them with the entirety of her weight. Her ribs burned, her legs were swollen, and she slid down against the bars, unable support herself from the pain. Her eyes pricked with tears and she huffed between clenched teeth as she dropped to the floor. Sitting upright, she leaned her back against the bars and lifted her hand to touch her head where she had been bleeding. The bleeding had stopped, the deep gash scabbed over but tender. Dropping her hand, she scanned her surroundings, panting for breath to soothe her body.
Jill was alone. Her prison was of metal and bars jutting from a stone wall, and beyond her cage was more steel walkways and beams, electrical wires and circuits, and hanging light fixtures, all of which encircled by stone. Her new home appeared to be built within a cave—a dark and gloomy enclosure despite the lighting, and from the ceiling of the cave just outside her cell was a monitor. She eyed it suspiciously, wondering its purpose. And then she saw the camera and its flashing red light positioned toward her cell. She scowled, damning those on the other side of that lens.
Where is Carlos? Her mind whirled as she looked for the door of her cage, trying to envision her escape, of what she would do to find Carlos and free them both. She refused to consider the possibility of his death; he was too damn stubborn to die, and she had faith enough to compete with his stubbornness. They would make it out of this together just as they had done before.
A snap of static from the monitor immediately captured her attention. Her heart sent her blood rushing, and she found the strength in spite of the pain to rise to her feet, her eyes fixed on the monitor beyond the bars. A pop, a spark of white, and a picture of shades and silver appeared on the screen, and that was when Jill saw Carlos sitting in a chair, his wrists bound by leather to the armrests. The camera was zoomed in to afford her a view of only him and not much else. His head hung down, his eyes closed, and he wasn’t moving.
“Carlos! Carlos!” Jill could feel her heartbeat quicken, swallowing against the lump of fear that threatened to choke her.
He did not move no matter how hard she shouted. She waited, watching as his eyes open of his own volition. He slowly raised his head, his eyes moving about the room, and Jill muttered, “Look at me, look at me.”
His eyes glanced over the camera. Did he not see it? Was it obstructed? But before she could consider the possibilities, the sound of a door opened off-screen. Footsteps grew louder from the speakers, and a shadow passed over Carlos as his eyes followed the figure.
“You know, I was thinking what I would do when I got ahold of you.”
Jill grit her teeth. She didn’t need to see the man’s face, recognizing that pretentious voice.
“I would have preferred Chris, but you’ll do just fine,” came Wesker who was just out of view.
“Son of a—” but Carlos could not finish as Wesker landed a hard blow to his jaw.
Jill’s lips parted in horror as Carlos took the punch, a low grunt erupting from his chest. He was once a mercenary, Jill reminded herself, built to handle fear and intimidation, an agent of the B.S.A.A. equipped to withstand torture tactics and abuse. Dark liquid pooled out of his lip and down his chin, and Jill turned cold. Don’t be stupid Carlos. Don’t antagonize him further. He spat it out in defiance, glaring up at Wesker who was nothing more than a shadow hulking over Carlos on the screen. Wesker punched him again, and Jill gasped out, her eyes stinging, baring her clenched teeth.
Why Carlos? Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the bars. What could Wesker want from him? Information against the B.S.A.A.? Carlos had years of training as a mercenary and an agent, an unwavering loyalty if not to the agency but to her. He would not give in. Information against Chris? He was lower rank within the B.S.A.A.; he knew little of Chris and was hardly part of any inner circle. Besides, Chris had been Jill’s partner for years. Surely, Wesker knew this. So why bother with him?
“How does it feel, to know the one you care for most is suffering?” Wesker said.
Her heart dropped to her stomach. The air was sucked from her lungs. He had never been talking to Carlos.
Carlos’s hand curled into a fist as his brow furrowed. “Where is Jill!” His bark was a deep, furious rumble with a look that, to anyone else, would terrify them.
Jill could hear that self-absorbed smirk.
“Don’t fret. Your time will come.” Wesker said, his shadow traveling away from Carlos, “And you’ll beg for anything as sweet as death.”
The door beyond the camera opened again. Carlos saw what Jill could not, but he showed no hint of fear, no shift in his empty expression, no twitch of his fingers to give note of his anxiety or worry. He was calm, almost disinterested as multiple shadows passed over and around him. That was when his eyes passed a glance at the camera, and for a moment, Jill thought he saw her. She thought she heard him say “Supercop”.
A click of an unknown switch and Jill’s ears picked up on a gentle hum of electricity, a snake presenting its fangs. And only then did she see the multiple wires that were attached to Carlos. Panic seized her, but she could do nothing as the machine hummed viciously, as Carlos began to twitch, quiver, and then convulse. He bared his teeth, his body jerking violently, and he growled lowly in his throat. Jill saw the muscles and veins of Carlos’s throat and where his arms were exposed from his shirt. She could see that he was fighting against the pain, fighting against the instinct to cry out, to scream, just as he was trained to do.
The machine whirled down, and Carlos gasped for breath, beads of sweat collecting over his face, as his eyes glanced over to the camera, his head lolling to the side. His eyes lingered there, and Jill struggled to swallow, her throat constricted and dry, tears collecting upon her lashes.
But she refused to look away. She would never give Wesker—he was undoubtedly observing her just as he was Carlos—such satisfaction. She watched as Carlos turned his head from the camera, fixating his gaze to whatever was before him, and the machine rapidly hummed again. Jill did not know how long they tortured him, how long she listened to his screams. His screams that tore through her, a pain like no other that settled into her mind, her bones, her core. But still she watched, her features composed to match Carlos’s lack of emotion. Just as she was trained to do.
When they took him, they didn’t even bother to turn off the monitor. A door beyond Jill’s field of vision opened, and she stepped back from the door. Three men dressed in military garb came down the corridor of the cave, two carrying Carlos by each arm and the other following behind. Carlos’s legs dragged behind him as he struggled to keep his head up, his eyes open. The door to Jill’s cell was unlocked and the men tossed Carlos inside. Jill rushed forward to catch him before he hit the floor as the door to their cage slammed and locked shut. The men walked away as Jill lowered herself and Carlos to the floor, cradling him in her arms.
“Carlos?” She held his face in her hands but he was unresponsive to her voice. His eyes remained sealed, his lips parted slightly. He had been stripped of his vest and gear down to everything but his civilian clothes that were now tattered, torn, and bloody. The acrid smell of his burnt skin and hair wafted up her nose, and she could see where they had peeled away his flesh. She wanted to kick, to scream, to destroy, but here she was instead, trapped, her bones broken, barley able to move, to do anything for her partner who laid unconscious in her lap. So she watched as his chest rose and fell, counting every breath, memorizing the way he felt in her arms.
When his eyes finally fluttered open, dazed, Jill found herself holding her breath.
“What a way to wake up.” His tone was lighthearted, as if nothing else mattered, and Jill felt the corners of her lips tug at his joke. But how could she allow herself to smile, how could he be making jokes after all he had just experienced? Carlos went to move but immediately stopped, his face contorting in pain.
“Don’t move, don’t move,” Jill said earnestly, placing an arm across his chest.
“Don’t worry,” Carlos returned, grimacing as he removed her arm from him, his body quivering from the movement. “Just help me over to the wall, would you?”
Hesitantly, Jill complied, and they shuffled over to lean against the stone at the back of the cell. Silence lingered over them, a weighted pressure upon Jill who wanted to speak, to apologize, to express her wrath, her hatred, a viper snapping beneath her skin. But, her stare turned upward upon the camera that, too, was watching them, Jill felt as if he tongue fattened in her mouth. What could she say? And what would their captor use against them? She could not trust her own thoughts let alone her voice. But she owed Carlos something. In her peripherals, she could see Carlos. His gaze was glancing over the camera just as she was. She wondered what he thought of it, if he understood what it was for. And then the earth of his eyes traveled to the monitor, and for a moment, Jill thought she saw his eyes flash molten. Surely, he understood now. He then turned his eyes downcast, his hair covering them as his head hung ever so slightly, his hands in his lap.
“I’m sorry,” Jill’s murmur was so low it hardly escaped her throat. “This is all my fault.”
Carlos waited a moment before asking, “Who is he?”
Jill chewed her lip, debating how much she should tell him. The flashing red above her, gave her the answer she already knew. “An old enemy,” she said. And that was all she could say, guilt and shame like poison through her veins. But she’d be a fool to put Carlos in further risk than he already was. She wouldn’t let her mouth damn him further.
Carlos, his energy depleting, did not press her on the matter, and resigned to sitting silently beside her.
She hated his silence. “I’m so sorry.” She whispered again as guilt ate at the edges of her heart.
Still he said nothing, offering her his hand instead. She took it gratefully.
—
Time slowed. Or froze. Or raced. Or evaporated entirely. Jill didn’t know. She didn’t even know when or how she’d fallen asleep. But she did sleep and awoke to Carlos’s head resting in the crook of her shoulder and neck, his breathing deep and heavy with a light wheeze from the back of his throat, greater evidence of the throes of his torment. His arm had laced around hers, his hand inches from hers. She did not disturb him,—he needed every second of reprieve—listening to every breath in fear of hearing the last.
When the guards came the next time, Carlos was still asleep. The muscles of Jill’s throat constricted as she tried to swallow, refusing to move, not with the weight of his body supported against her. But it was the jostling of keys that hitched Carlos’s breathing, startling him to awaken. He lifted his head from her shoulder, and Jill could see the red of his eyes, the deep, dark rings under them. Reflexively, Jill lightly touched Carlos’s hand as she rose to her feet, ignoring the burn of her broken bones. Three men had come again, standing before their cage. Jill stood between them and Carlos had remained sitting on the floor.
“Don’t touch him,” she snarled as they opened the door. Jill braced herself, lifting her chin, ready to submit herself as long as it spared Carlos. But they moved around her and grabbed Carlos by his arms, dragging him to his feet.
“No, not him,” Jill protested. “Take me, let him go!” She clawed at one man’s arm, desperate to pry the hand off Carlos. The other had come behind her as she fought and threw her off with a force that left her sprawled out on the metal floor.
Carlos then moved at the sight of her, an animalistic wrath consuming him as he fought against the arms that held him. Retching himself free, he slammed his body against the man to his left, ramming and crushing the man against the bars of the cell. And it happened too quickly, before Jill could process what was happening; a guard removed his pistol from his holster and, with the butt of the gun, smacked Carlos over the head. Groaning, he went to his knees, disoriented, and muttered, “Supercop...”
The world lost its color and cracked and roared, an echo within Jill that was thunder and lightning that rattled the earth and split the ebony sky. She didn’t even see the gun that was pointed at her, unable to keep her eyes off the blood that trickled from his hair down Carlos’s face. Sitting up on her forearms, she watched in disbelief and horror as the men said nothing, pulling Carlos to his feet and all three of them walked him out of the cell and down the long corridor. And all she could do was watch.
It was then she remembered Wesker’s words.
You’ll beg for anything as sweet as death.
—
Each time they came, prying Carlos from her hands, each time they forced him into that chair, his torment grew, and he could no longer rely on his training. She did not know when it was, the third time, the seventh time, the tenth time, but it happened. And when he gave in to the pain they inflicted, screams rippling through his lungs, that was when Jill could no longer watch. She paced her cell, her body burning with every step she took, her mind screaming with rage, with pain, with guilt, but it was Carlos’s cries that were killing her. She was unable to escape his screams, even when she pressed her palms against her ears. She would make Wesker pay, every one of them. Through blood stained teeth, she swore it.
When they returned his body, bruised, burnt, and skin flayed in new patterns, crumpled on the floor, Jill rushed to him, held him. He laid unconscious in her arms, his breathing labored, and Jill felt her insides tug and pull. She touched his cheek, feeling the roughness of it, his beard against the pads of her palms. She was careful of the gashes and the tender, swollen skin, watching the twitch of his features, waiting for his eyes to open. She found herself choking as she gazed down at him, struggling against the onslaught of tears. He did not wake for a long time.
Meals came to count the passage of time, and Jill found herself wondering—against the growls of her stomach—if the food was worth eating, if utter starvation was the better choice. The murky broth that was their soup and two slices of bread, stale with bits of blue, meager meals yet utterly mouthwatering, were enough that the innate human drive to survive won out. And with each meal, Jill could see the hunger in Carlos’s eyes, an unyielding sense of emptiness that more than matched her own. He was insatiable as he had every right to be, and guilt burned a hole in her stomach. She carried the tray to him as he sat propped against the wall, having recovered some strength. She hissed against the pain of her legs as she knelt before him, taking the bowl in her hands. She raised it to his lips. Carlos glanced at it and jerked weakly from it, refusing himself the offering.
“Ladies first,” he said groggily.
She rolled her eyes, anxious to see him fed first. “Cut the bull.” Her retort was clipped and firm, a harshness she didn’t intend. Pressing her tongue against her teeth, she exhaled, softening her voice, “You need to eat far more than I do.” The gentleness she intended.
He smiled lightly, “Not gonna humor me at all?”
She met his gentle gaze, her heart fluttering with a light tinge of life, a fleeting semblance of hope welling inside her. He was still her Carlos, and she couldn’t fight the curl of her lip, “Not until we’re outta here.”
He nodded wearily and tilted his head back as Jill wrapped her fingers around his jaw and nape of his neck. He opened his mouth as she brought the broth to his lips, and he drank eagerly. Placing the bowl back on the tray, she ripped the bread slices into small pieces for Carlos to manage. Raising the pieces to his mouth, Jill felt relief as he ate the pieces one at a time, slowly. Despite the pain that was written in the lines of his face, he was eating.
She alternated between soup and bread, and if Carlos let her, she would have fed him all of their shared meal, every time. But he never ate more than his fair share. And he never believed her when she feigned contentment, claiming that she wasn’t hungry. He saw right through her. “Cut the bull,” he’d echo back and threaten to never eat again if she didn’t. He’d never let her get away with it nor did he put up with her self-sacrificing bullshit, not at his expense.
This time was no different. When he was finished, Jill decided it best not fight him. She sat beside him and took her bread piece, devouring it in a single bite, her mouth salivating, welcoming the slightly sour flavor.
They sat in silence together as Jill finished her portion, forcing themselves to enjoy the quiet, neither realizing just how much they missed it. And as they sat, Jill felt her eyes growing heavy, and Carlos allowed her to find comfort against him. As she dozed, she laced her fingers with his, holding tight, afraid to awaken to find her hand empty.
—
Jill awoke with a jolt. The guards had slammed the door in the corridor, their boots clomping against the metal floor as they made their approach. Her lips parted in fear, she looked to Carlos whose eyes were fixed on their cell door. In spite of the hardness of his glare, he looked so tired.
“Please,” she begged when the three men appeared, unlocking the door. “Take me instead. Let him go, please.”
There was no curt response, no sinister chuckle at her expense. They remained silent and ignored her no matter how hard she begged. They ignored her as they did before and each time they came. Again and again, and the dozen times after. They wrenched him from her grasp, dragged him from her sight, leaving her to helplessly watch as he appeared on that screen beyond the bars. She was forced again and again to listen to his screams as they tortured him, and then he would return to her arms, broken, bloody, barely conscious. The red light chortled above her with each and every blink, the scarlet of Wesker’s eye constant, and Jill felt as if she stood above a great cliff, teetering on the balls of her bare feet, peering down the dark, endless maw.
And the worst of it was when they returned him in a fever. He curled in upon himself, his hands—the skin peeled back in random patterns to reveal muscle—shaking. His eyes were open yet unaware, and Jill lifted his head onto her lap, his face towards her abdomen. He was muttering something intangible to her ears, even as she strained to understand him. His ravings did not cease, his eyes tearing as his trance left him unable to blink. She touched his forehead with her palm. His skin was unbearably hot, beads of sweat pooling on his brow. She stroked his face, his hair, her lips tightening into a line, her breath catching in her throat.
“Carlos?” Her voice was a quivering whisper.
He was unresponsive, as if he never heard her, as if he was far away from her.
And she was alone. She was alone with the husk of the man she knew, uncertain if he would return. And as she sat, she watched his shaking hands as they began to clasp her shirt. Tears seeped from his eyes, over the bridge of his nose, down his cheek, and dripped onto her lap. His mumblings, his whimpers—a Carlos that was far beyond vulnerable, more than just broken—were louder in her ears than his screams ever could be. They were soft piercings of serrated blades, slow and precise, ripping chunks of her with each tooth. And the terrified look in his eyes, the look of a man who sees the black and cannot return from it, who has been swallowed by the abyss and drowning in it, left her heart shattered.
You’ll beg for anything as sweet as death.
Jill longed for death.
—
When that door down the corridor opened again, the hundredth, thousandth time, Jill scarcely cared to move, to tilt her head, to untangle her form that was draped across Carlos in the back of their cell. He was cool beneath her, the low, languished yet steady rise of his pulse against her ear. She lightly ran her fingers through his hair, careful to avoid the patches that were missing, and in sleep, he leaned into the softness of her touch.
She closed her eyes against the impeding footsteps, fighting to ignore it, to listen to his breathing, his pulse, anything of him rather than those damned footsteps. However, when the figure stopped at the door of their prison, his shadow covering them, Jill could no longer ignore the presence. Her eyes opened to gaze at the intruder, widening slightly when she realized who stood before her.
She rose to her feet and stepped forward, positioning herself in front of Carlos who remained huddled on the floor.
Wesker stood before them, “Hello again, Jill.”
Her mind flashed with all that she could say, wanted to say, insults and curses and spit to his face, but only one thought managed to tumble from her mouth.
“Let him go Wesker,” Jill said. “He doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
“But he does,” he returned evenly.
Jill grit her teeth, clenching them tight that her jaw ached. “He knows nothing of you and S.T.A.R.S., of that history. He has no value to you. It’s me you want!”
He raised his finger. “And that is where you are only partially correct. I guess I overestimated your smarts, Jill. I thought you would have understood by now.”
Her eyes flashed with indignation, murderous intent, but she said nothing.
“Carlos Oliveira is valuable to me because he is precious to you.”
She felt her heart drop to the pit of her stomach, her body turning cold.
“I know you, Jill.” He went on, “You’d never give in to me if only your life is at risk, self-sacrificial as you are. But with him...” He trailed off as if the sentence bored him. He slowly dropped his hand and stuffed it into the pocket of his trench coat. What he retrieved tinkled softly, metal against metal, and Jill peered at the pieces that dangled carelessly between his fingers.
“You see,” he said, holding up what reminded her of a large red mechanical beetle. “This pretty thing only works at full capacity when the participant is willing.”
Her eyes narrowed, “What do you mean by ‘willing’? What will it do?”
Wesker said nothing, and from his confident expression, she could see she would never have her question answered.
Jill eyed the metal suspiciously, an amulet pulled from the depths of a forgotten tomb, staring at the crimson glass of its center. She scoffed, turning her back to Wesker as she focused on Carlos. “Well, then your little toy is useless. I refuse to be part of whatever experiment this is. You’ll have to kill me first.”
“You’ve already been a part of it.” He returned, his voice low in her ear, sending a chill up and throughout her spine, as if he had reached through the bars and placed his hands on her shoulders, reaching in and seizing her heart. “Your friend has played his role wonderfully. But we can keep playing until you’re ready.”
Jill heard the words within the words, and she felt the tears, hot with the blood that boiled up her body and up to her tear ducts, and the tears spilled cold tracks down her cheeks; her eyes did not leave Carlos, who was conscious, listening, and staring back at her. He had pulled himself up when her back was turned, leaning against the wall. His lips moved weakly, the wheezing from his lungs like a deep whistle. His head shook, a brief movement as if pulled by string, but Jill saw it.
“No...” His voice was barely audible, far away.
She sniffed, blocking out his voice. He could not sway the decision that was forming, that she could not turn from. She wouldn’t allow it, not when his life was in her hands like a bloody, frail heart. Turning her head to the side, she asked Wesker, “You’ll let him go?”
“Jill, don’t...”
“Depends on you,” Wesker’s answer was nonchalant, stone.
That was all Jill needed. She ignored Wesker, ignored whatever rationality her instincts pelted her with as her heart set her muscles to motion. She moved back to Carlos, kneeling before him. Tentatively, she cupped his face with her hand and placed a shaky kiss upon his cracked and bloodied lips. She kissed him like a farewell, a token of what they once were to each other, to what was sacred between them, for all that that was worth, if it mattered anymore. She pressed her forehead against his and lingered against the touch.
“I’m gonna end this,” she whispered.
“No...” His eyes were pleading.
“It’ll be okay,” she assured though the quiver in her voice certainly gave her away. “Just come get me when it’s over. Promise?”
Carlos was too weak to respond, his mind slipping from the edges of consciousness. She stroked his cheek before rising to her feet, turning towards Wesker. Hardening her gaze, tightening her lip, Jill approached the apocalypse.
“Set him free first,” her demand faltered, a glass mask failing to hide the plea.
Wesker said nothing, his brows raised above his sunglasses as if to say, “You think me so stupid?” She knew she had to take his deal before he acted.
“Place it upon your chest, and I’ll order his release.” With a large hand, the steel insect came forward from between the bars.
Hesitant at first, Jill took it, feeling the weight of it in her hands. It shimmered against her touch, streaks like red liquid swirling within that silver and scarlet body, the cool metal seeming to warm, as if awakening, coming alive. Jill turned her eyes to Carlos, staring at his battered form. He was nearly unrecognizable, deep purple bruises, red, angry welts, long cuts and flayed flesh that painted his lovely skin a sickly color. His face was swollen, yet gaunt, hollow from starvation, and his hair, once thick raven locks were now frail and dried, patches torn from the roots of his head, leaving the rest in bloody clumps. But he still breathed. Persistent, defiant, stubborn Carlos. And despite his wretched form, he looked nearly peaceful, his long lashes brushing against his cheeks. Jill still found him beautiful.
Perhaps she should throw the offering back in Wesker’s face. Perhaps she and Carlos will make it through, that someone will come for them or they can escape. Or even, Carlos might recover. Or die peacefully in his sleep. The thought of his death was agony.
And Wesker’s generosity would not last forever. He could very well recant his offer, and it would all continue; Carlos would suffer while she was left to helplessly watch, unblemished, unbesmirched, and his death would surely ensue. But now, with this chance, he’ll live, just as long as she gave in to Wesker.
For a moment she pondered. She should rouse Carlos, tell him he was going to be freed, allow herself the chance to see a flicker of happiness in his eyes. But she knew him; he would fight her until his strength was entirely gone. And she could not have that. She wanted to kiss him again, to tell him how sorely she regretted what had come to pass, that she loved him. She wanted his absolution.
But she didn’t deserve it. Not as she brought this pain upon him, wrapped him up in her battles because of her own inability, her own failure.
She had asked him to come back for her, she reminded herself. He would never let her down. Whatever Wesker had in store for her, she would withstand it, endure it. She owed Carlos that much. So she turned away from him and faced Wesker. She said nothing, her eyes boring into the man she despised with all her heart. Raising the pendant, she held her breath and placed it onto her chest just beneath her collarbone.
Like a spider it came alive, its legs moving and digging themselves into her breastbone, a claw reaching for her heart. She could not hear Carlos’s calls as she screamed out, terror taking hold of her as she clutched the fiery steel. The harder she pulled the further it bored into her flesh, searing her skin where the large crimson metal sat on her chest, sending electric shocks throughout her body, centering upon her spine. She convulsed, shutting her eyes to the world, struggling against the pain as her mind spun, throbbed, burned. She became overwhelmed with memories of Chris, of members from their old S.T.A.R.S. team, of Carlos. But then as swiftly as they came, the pain and the memories vanished to darkness.
—
“Open your eyes, Jill Valentine.” Wesker’s voice was a pendulum, and she could not help but comply.
Her eyes opened to a blinding light and a ringing in her ears, the world on its side as she blinked to clear the spots from her eyes. She did not know how she ended up on the floor, her arm outstretched towards the man sitting against the stone wall. She lifted herself off the floor, rising to her feet with ease, without pain. Carlos watched her intently, concern for her emanating from the wideness of his eyes, plainly written across his face, and she felt her heart beat against her ribcage. Against her mind’s wish, her body moved, turning to face Wesker. That was when she saw the pistol he had been holding through the bars. Her unblinking eyes did not widen, nor her lips part in horror. She could not protest. All she could do was surrender to her movements and listen to the pounding of her heart, taking the loaded gun in her hand.
“You asked me to set him free. Well...” Wesker said, a wolffish grin spreading across his face, his palms open as if in presentation, “Set him free.”
Jill’s body moved at the sound of his order, turning her back as Wesker’s footsteps began to retreat from the cell, the corridor door open and closing. She stepped forward, standing above Carlos as he lifted his head, his eyes falling on hers.
“Jill...” Carlos whispered.
Her eyes burned with gathering tears. She could not move against her own limbs, and her tongue remained fat and useless behind her teeth. Not even could she will her vocal cords to vibrate. Wesker’s handiwork robbed her of that too. She raised the gun, cocking it. Carlos did not flinch, did not blink as he stared down the barrel, his eyes warm, gentle, forgiving. A moment’s pause, and Jill felt the bile churn in her stomach as she rigorously fought against the tapping of her index finger on the trigger. Her heart was hardening, no, dying. His eyes gleamed.
Carlos.
The world slowed, a midnight strike on a moonless winter night. Contently, he was smiling.
Carlos.
Frost filled her lungs, froze her bones, and turned her blood to razor blades. Agony. Her name was on his lips.
Carlos!
A spark, an otherworldly bang, a sickening groan. Carlos slammed back against the stone, blood strewn across the wall as he slumped to the floor, red bubbling up from the hole in his chest. His head fell back against the metal floor as he gasped weakly. He then wheezed, choking, blood seeping up from his throat to coat his mouth and lips, flashes of shock, pain, and fear as he struggled for air. Not even death came kindly.
Tears flooded over her lashes as Jill watched her worst nightmare unfold. Her hand lowered, and she desperately wished to take it all back, to cast off the steel upon her chest, to undo it all. Her body wouldn’t even allow her the courtesy to touch him, hold him in these moments as he stared up at her. He reached for her, his calloused fingers smeared with his blood, but his strength gave out. Her hand did not move, and his brown eyes shimmered, growing heavy.
Jill internally screamed. She couldn’t say goodbye, not how she wanted, no warm embrace, no gentle caress, no words of comfort to impart to each other. It was all wrong. Just let me hold him.
And, as if by some miracle, he heard her pleas, recognized the look in her eyes.
“I know. It’s okay...” he gasped, his voice thick and wet with blood. “I’m glad it was you.”
Tears were hot upon her cheeks. She wanted this to end but never without him.
“Jill...” He breathed between shudders.
She desperately wished to say, “I’m here, I won’t leave you.” But all she could do was watch.
His eyes did not close as he exhaled faintly, softly, a thin stream of blood seeping from his lip. Guilt, rage, despair, anguish, festered, overwhelmed her, consumed her, and turned her inside out, a torrent of miasma rotting her to the core. She was suffocating, falling into the mouth of the black, empty void. There was nothing she could do, unable to scream within the cage of her own body as she stared down at the man beneath her, utterly alone with the smoke of the gun and the spider upon her chest. His blood pooled at her feet. Her world was silent. He was gone, sweet darkness, and so was she.