Resident Evil 06 - Code Veronica by S.D. Perry

Author:S.D. Perry [Perry, S.D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-07-29T01:00:57+00:00

EIGHT

OH, WOW. THIS IS... WOW, CLAIRE THOUGHT. "Wow," Steve whispered, and she nodded, feeling entirely out of her depth as she took in their new environment. Had she said serial killer crazy? More like a serial killer convention.

There'd been another puzzle after the Lugers had opened the wall, having to do with numbers and a blocked passage, but they'd ignored it completely with both of them pushing, the passage wasn't blocked for long. Outside once again, they could see the private house, perched on a low hill like some brooding vulture in the pouring rain. It was a mansion, really, but nothing like the one they'd just left - it was much, much older, darker, surrounded by the decrepit ruins of what had once been some kind of a sculpture garden. Stone cherubs with blind eyes and broken fingers watched them wend their way toward the house, gargoyles with eroding wings, shattered pieces of marble underfoot. Creepy, definitely ... but this is so far beyond creepy, it's not even in the same category.

They stood in the foyer, unlit but for a few strategically placed candles. There was a smell of must in the air, an old smell like dust and crumbling parchment. The floor was plushly carpeted, what they could see of it, but so ancient that it had been worn threadbare in many places; it was hard to make out any color beyond "dark." What had once been a grand staircase was directly in front of them, sweeping up to second and third floor balconies; there was still a kind of shabby elegance to its time-blackened banisters and sagging steps, as there was in the dusty library to their right, in the faded, ornately framed oil paintings hanging from flocked walls. The word haunted would have described it perfectly ... except for the dolls.

Tiny faces stared out at them from every comer. China dolls of fragile porcelain, many of them chipped or discolored, dressed for high tea in water-stained taffeta. Plastic children with roll-open plastic eyes and pursed pink mouths. Rag dolls with strange button faces, bits of stuffing poking out of withered limbs. There were jumbled piles of them, stacks of them, even a few featureless cloth babies impaled on sticks. There was no sane order to their placement that Claire could see.

Steve nudged her, pointing up. For just a second, Claire thought she was looking at Alexia, hanging from the eaves - but of course it was another doll, life-size, this one dressed for her bizarre lynching in a simple party dress, flowered hem floating around her slender synthetic ankles.

"Maybe we should..." Claire started ... and froze, listening. The sound of someone talking filtered down to them from upstairs, a woman's voice. She sounded irate, the cadence of her speech rapid and harsh.

Alexia.

The angry voice was followed by a kind of pleading, whining tone which Claire immediately recognized as Alfred's.

"Let's drop in for a chat," Steve whispered, and without waiting for a response, he headed for the stairs.

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