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There was a bite to the air, the late October air wasn’t kind as it brisked through Chris’s apartment. Despite that, the window was left wide open, curtains twirled in a never ending dance in the wind. Pillars of light caught in them, the moon providing little visual to the dark room, surrounded in shadows casted from the little amounts of furniture in the room.
Overall the scene was.. tense. How could it not be— as its inhabitants sat in dead silence. Chris had his feet planted to the floor as one last act of stability, an anchor of sorts to keep him from floating away. There was an empty beer can amidst the file papers and photos , long since touched yet the sting of its contents sat bitterly on his tongue. Among other things..
He just couldn’t shake the grip the photo now clutched tightly in his scarred hands— made him feel. Anger? Sorrow? Loss? Maybe a mix of all three and then some.
Greif had a funny way of making all you knew disappear into thin air. The ugly concoction of emotions swirling around through the thick skull of his, a pounding behind his eyes where tears long since dried.
The man in the picture had a tall stature, almost robotic looking as the still life burned into the page. His hair slicked back at attention along with a pair of sunglasses secured to his face. How peculiar seeing as the photo seemed to be taken inside of a building. A long coat, business like.
Chris’s grip tightened each and every time his brown eyes scanned up and down on the man’s form.. he seemed to be at a loss— looking for something despite the picture being very straight forward. The edges of the paper crinkled under the weight of his clutch, battered in the sweat that had his palms clammy and wet.
“Have you found it yet, Chris?”
The voice echoed on the wind as if we’re so close yet so far away. A couple rooms away yet it reverberated in the shell of his ear. Tightening up, Chris screwed his eyes shut as if to will the sound away. Usually, he could shut them until the feeling of eyes on his back were no longer … but this was different.
Chris was trapped.
You could say he’d been trapped since the day he had joined S.T.A.R.S. Even though the title had come and gone, never did the intense shadow lurking behind every thought that came across his mind. In every action he carried out. It was always there.
He was always there.
Some days were worse than others. Sometimes just a looming shadow. A glance far to quickly. A figure in the distance that shriveled away if he neared. It has certainly gotten better over the years.
At least Chris wasn’t talking to a ghost any longer. Full on conversations that led late into the night like a lover. Captivating his waking moments and leaving behind dark circles and aches that wouldn’t budge from his bones.
Yet as he sat here, he could feel him. Hear him, but God did he not want to see him. A ghost. A man no longer. Dust.
The quiet ate away in the blank spaces around his apartment, and slowly did he open his eyes. What he saw before him was a crumpled photo, barely recognizable. He needed a smoke.
“Those will kill you , Chris”
This caused him to look up, finding himself tensing up. In all glory beneath the surface of moon beams , a figure , a man he once knew. Once looked up to.
“Wesker.” It came out weaker than he would of liked.
His eyes shifted, and his voice broke — holding onto something heavy on his windpipe, yet nothing sat there. His breath came in shallow , like the world around was thinning.
“You aren’t actually real .. no-“
Wesker, or — his ghost if you could call it that, never moved an inch. His gloved hands were crossed at his chest with purpose. Eyes hidden behind a darkened pair of shades , leaving his expression almost unreadable .
“Then why am I here , Chris.” The statement was cold, reserved.
Chris shook his head , and with any amount of hope he still had left, prayed this would rid him of this awful vision. Yet , his superior .. still stood.
“He.. reminds me of you is all..” why was he trying to reason?
The only emotion that cracked from the unshakable man was a silent scoff beneath his breath. It sounded almost offended.
“He could be your twin ..” Chris was not soon after cut off from continuing.
His body went rigid as the next string of words came from right behind him. Cold hands like they were plunged in ice water.. heavy on his shoulders as if they were real.
“I am not him .. not as much as you'd like him to be.”
Before Chris could defend his honor with lies through his teeth, Wesker was gone. Another illusion of his guilty subconscious…
He sat in the quiet, and found he hated it more than the familiar cadence of his ex-superior. The wind staccato in the night like wordless taunts. Soon it would be filled with smoke curls in abundance as Chris attempted feebly to wash away the feeling, the sight, the guilt.
The guilt that would eat him alive one of these days.