Disclaimer: Resident Evil and the characters associated with it belong to Capcom. Any supporting characters that make an appearance in this story that are not seen in the franchise belong entirely to me.
Chapter Six: The Enlightened Ones
Of course Sherry hadn't slept well that night. After the apparent suicide of Natalia Reyes, the village was alive with chaos - the kind Sherry had seen in Raccoon City just as the first signs of infection reached her neighborhood. Many in the village did not doubt that Natalia had indeed committed suicide, but that did nothing to quell their current fears. The rest of the night was filled with the sounds of hammering, shouting and midnight labor as the desperate and paranoid villagers of the pueblo built a perimeter of lumber around the sections of the town they felt were not protected enough.
She had been able to rest for about an hour before the soft rays of the sun peeked through the tiny space between the closed curtains in her room. Her eyes felt heavy but remained wide as they watched the window from her position in the bed; the covers drawn up past her neck so that she could quickly hide herself from whatever happened to enter. It was childish, yes. Hiding under the sheets would do nothing against a zombie, or Hunter, or a vicious Cerberus, but Sherry also clutched the handgun close to her as she tried unsuccessfully to sleep.
I'm probably going to need more bullets than what I have, she thought tiredly. It wasn't the first time that she thought about survival preparation since last night. Sherry's memories of Claire desperately searching for more guns while she followed the woman around in the police station was a bold-faced reminder of her how ill-equipped she currently was for an emergency. Back then, there was always a need for more bullets, and while the police station stocked a healthy amount, there were also a lot of zombie cops, most of whom had already spent the last of their ammunition fending off the infected before turning as well. While Claire was able to gather many weapons, eventually it proved to be insufficient when they finally left the Raccoon City Police Department. There was just so much more that Claire had to shoot at.
The more Sherry remembered Claire, the more convinced she became that she would never be safe enough in the event of a crisis on the scale that had been Raccoon. Sherry even spent a few hours thinking about what possible escape routes she could use in case things got really desperate. For that she would need a map. If she couldn't get one in the village, she could go back to the wrecked car, where she was certain one was located in the glove compartment where she found the handgun. With any luck, the GPS might still be functional…
Eventually Sherry decided that she couldn't take lying in her bed any longer, waiting for something to happen. It was impossible to go to sleep. Though she'd only slept an hour, there was some kind of pent up energy she felt she needed to release, perhaps some kind of adrenaline that was prematurely building up. Bare foot and in her sleep clothes, she tried pacing about in her room for a few minutes, but the only thing she got out of that was the chill of the early morning hours seeping up her partially bare legs. It was a coldness Sherry used to associate with the holidays, so much so that she even remembered a lonely Christmas in a cabin up in the Arklay mountains with her parents. Her mother used the rare reprieve from work to catch up on sleep. Dad had spent the entire morning on the phone, arguing in hushed tones with someone. Probably Wesker, now that she thought about it. Sherry, being about seven or eight that Christmas, sat in front of the unlit fireplace in her pajamas, shivering while holding a still-wrapped gift in her lap.
Sherry threw her clothes on before allowing her mind to turn to imagining something much more troubling in regards to her parents. She would have traded Raccoon City for any number of Christmas's up in that cabin…
The only way she could effectively carry the gun on her was in the inside pocket of the only coat she brought with her. It was black, made of some faux suede and reached just past her hips when worn. She didn't have a holster, and keeping the gun in her bag like before would be too limiting for when she would need to take it out quickly. Hearing the wind from inside the room, she opted to wear a headband to keep her blond hair from blowing into her face. Apart from dressing, she also made sure to hide the laptop and carrying case under the bed before departing downstairs.
Maribel and Isabel were already there, cleaning up what was left behind of last night's festivities. Clearly, the twins hadn't slept either, as one of them still wore her hair pinned up, and did nothing about the strands that had fallen loose around her face. The other had dark circles under her eyes that made Sherry wonder what she herself looked like at the moment.
"I don't think we'll be able to have breakfast ready in time," Isabel murmured apologetically as she wiped down one of the tables. "La Misa is going to begin shortly, and we promised we would help with the charity afterwards."
"Mass?" Sherry questioned, and the twin nodded.
"Sí, today is Sunday."
Her eyebrows rose slightly in surprise, having lost track of the weekend completely. "Is the church far?"
Isabel stopped wiping down the table and finally pushed away the big piece of hair that had fallen out of her bun. "No. If you want, we can show you."
Sherry agreed. After all, there was not much else she could do inside an inn that was full of exhausted guests. Though the twins were stubborn about letting her, Sherry took part in helping them with the morning cleaning before they left. It felt better to be involved in some kind of work than to wait and drift back into anxiety or worse.
As they walked to church, the Bella sisters made sure to give her a quick tour of the village, pointing out the houses belonging to friends and family. Aside from many shacks and barn houses, there were no special landmarks other than a lookout tower in the busiest section of the town. Sherry and the Bella sisters came across many of the barriers that the villagers had created late into the night before; tall wooden gates that separated each section of the town. They had also been purposely built to be difficult to open, the bottom of each gate digging into the ground rather than opening smoothly.
Thanks to these newly built gates, they were late to Mass. Sherry, not being very religious, opted to remain outside while the twins rushed through the doors to catch the ending. Sherry waited alone, sitting on the church's steps and barely listening to the murmuring lecture coming from inside. After a few moments, a young mother came out with a crying infant and sat beside Sherry to calm her baby down.
The small old church sat atop a hill alone with no other buildings or structures. A lonely graveyard lay some ways in front of it, inactive for the most part, save for a squawking crow on top of one of the tombstones. Sherry avoided looking at the graveyard and concentrated instead on the architecture around her. The church appeared to be far older than most of the houses in the village, certain features suggesting an age of at least a century or more. Buildings that old, especially churches and cathedrals, were not uncommon to Europe, so it didn't surprise her very much.
Then there was a sudden loud approval from the church audience – exclamations of agreement, 'ahhs,' and clapping. The woman sitting beside her sighed in frustration as her baby began to cry once again after having just been quieted. Sherry gave her a small sympathetic smile, which the young woman tried weakly to return.
"She never like noise," said the mother in her very thick accent. She wore a stain drape over head that was the traditional norm for many European Catholic women.
Sherry nodded and replied, "It's almost over though."
As if on cue, the doors behind them opened up, and she and the young mother stood quickly to move out of the way. With the opening of the doors came a blast of music, played either by a pipe organ or the recording of one. The priest who gave the Mass walked out first, with a line of robed monks following behind him, one of which who held up a tall staff bearing the sign of the cross. The man in front was elderly, dressed in the typical garb of a Catholic priest, and smiled benevolently at Sherry and the woman as he and the monks passed.
The crowd that spilled out of the church was hardly the neat single file line that had preceded them. The lonely quiet of the little churchyard was suddenly louder than what she heard in the inn last night. It seemed that the entire village managed to fit into the tiny church. Sherry wasn't exactly sure when it had happened, but as she moved further and further away from the growing population, somehow she found herself at the bottom of the hill by a storage shack, watching the animated crowd go by. The frantic and paranoid energy that kept her awake that night seemed considerably more relaxed. Some of the mothers actually looked relieved.
"They seem in much better spirits, no? I am glad."
Sherry jumped slightly at the sound of the voice next to her, but relaxed when she saw that it was just the elderly priest from before. He was waving and smiling pleasantly as people passed. Some of the villagers approached to shake his hand as well as offer their thanks. Some ways away, she found the Bella twins busy with incoming contributions for the charity they spoke of earlier.
"They could just be heavily caffeinated," Sherry answered, more to herself than to the older man. The priest heard her regardless and chuckled heartily.
"Perhaps, dear. Perhaps." His voice was also accented, but it wasn't nearly as thick as some of the other villagers. Sometimes, it didn't sound Spanish at all. "However, I could never compare coffee to the power of faith. That is why I have the twins handling the charity I have put together. The families that have lost their young ones need to know that we care. We support them in their times of need. Reyes needs it especially. He will not be at peace until he is assured that his wife and son's souls are at resting peacefully as well."
Sherry crossed her arms and knit her eyebrows together. "I thought people who committed suicide were supposed to be condemned in the Catholic faith?"
The priest nodded. "Yes, you are right. It is… deplorable when someone takes a life, even if it is their own, but Carlos Reyes is convinced that Natalia did not throw herself from the inn. There are others who think so as well. She did not leave a note. Until we are absolutely sure, we cannot yet give her the proper sending. Poor Natalia's soul hangs in a place between this world and the next."
Sherry wasn't sure what to think of that. She never really thought about the human soul, not when both of her parents had been scientists with no real personal reasons to replace virology with theology. Suddenly she wondered what became of the souls of the infected? Those thousands of people in Raccoon City? If people really had souls, what happened to them when they became the undead? If she were to visit the remains of her birthplace now, what would she find? Would Raccoon City be haunted? Though she had seen the dead walk in her lifetime, never once had she thought about ghosts or hauntings. When it came to the afterlife, or at least a dead existence that didn't involve being a zombie, Sherry knew next to nothing. For some reason that scared her.
It dawned on her then that there was no possible way she could've ever approached her parents about the subject when they had been alive, even if she wanted to. Life and death for them had been black and white – and gray, for when one was infected with the T-virus. She imagined that they would have called her childish and immature for asking.
Obviously, I still have a lot of growing up to do, she thought bitterly, glaring at nothing in particular. Occasionally there were moments like these, when thinking about her parents only made her angry rather than sad.
She glanced back at the priest, who had been giving console to a dejected looking Carlos Reyes. The widowed husband looked like he hadn't slept in ages, and the look in his tired eyes suggested that he would be happier to have joined his wife and child, wherever they were now. Sherry's momentary anger at what her parents might have said to her when she was only twelve was replaced by immense pity for the man as the priest sent Reyes off with a reassuring pat on the depressed man's back.
"I apologize dear child," the priest said to her. "Where are my manners? I haven't bothered to introduce myself." He took her hand and shook it enthusiastically. "I am Padré Saddler."
"Sher-," she almost uttered, not thinking. "Andrea Strait. Pleasure to meet you."
"Yes, I have heard of the young student joining the excavation. I must say I am impressed by your ambition."
Sherry was surprised by that, and did her best not to show it. She never really described herself as ambitious or tenacious, but she supposed that Andrea Strait must come off that way to some people.
"Well, thank you," she said politely, not knowing how else to respond. Should she start bragging about her accomplishments? Where was the fine line between Sherry-the-traumatized-Raccoon-City-survivor, and Andrea-the-determined-student-with-the-4.5-GPA?
"Ah, Mendez," Saddler suddenly said, sounding slightly amused. Sherry turned and felt the color drain from her face at the sight of the approaching village chief. He looked as menacing as he had last night.
Sherry quietly took some steps back, hoping a conversation started by Saddler would give her the chance she needed to escape, but Mendez' dark eyes immediately fell upon her, freezing her in her place. "You must tell me about your guide."
Sherry didn't breathe. Why was this man so interested in Wesker? It wasn't like he was the one going around killing children-,
- don't even go there, she thought, her mind in half-panic when other possibilities briefly sprang up. Things were complicated as it was without having to contemplate Albert Wesker's secret agenda.
Mendez's glare was boring into her, his long shadow over her suddenly oppressive. She jumped as she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders, but they were only Saddler's.
"Oh, Bitores," he said with a chuckle, "you are quite the character. You protect our community without a fault, yes, but she is only a child after all; frightened over this entire ordeal. Do not worry Andrea," he reassured her as she turned to face him with wary eyes. "Mendez is concerned that these killers have found your friend and are thus targeting you as well. We wouldn't want an international incident to be caused now, would we?"
Sherry looked away from him. It was Mendez who denied that their car had been attacked in the first place. He only seemed interested in Wesker. If she had to start naming suspects, Sherry's first pick would be the Rasputin look-alike.
"I will talk to her, Mendez," Saddler declared. "What young Andrea needs now is safety and reassurance. It is with our faith that we will find her guide and it is the Lord in Heaven that will bring justice to the killers."
Mendez's scowl seemed to deepen, but he did not object. "As you wish, Padré." Sherry let Saddler lead her back to the church as the village chief followed the remaining crowd down the road back to town.
Inside the church was even smaller than how it appeared on the outside. It was plain, with only enough rows of pews to seat maybe half the village. The others would have been forced to stand in the corridors and in front of the entrance. The place of worship had a simple interior design, with only a few stained glass windows and a minimally decorated altar. For the most part, there was no one else inside.
Saddler sat with her in the pew nearest the exit. "It is a shame that you have had to visit our peaceful home during such trying times."
"You don't have to apologize for it," Sherry replied. "Trouble just seems to follow me around."
Saddler cocked his head slightly in inquiry. "How so?"
Sherry blinked, almost stunned. She wasn't sure what possessed her to say that, as she had no intention to tell anyone in the village about Raccoon. With everything that was happening, however, she felt the need to talk to someone.
"Well, in Florence I was pickpocketed during the first day of my abroad program there. The bag that was stolen from me happened to have my research paper inside and I had to spend an entire day begging my professor to give me an extension on the due date." Sherry was surprised at how easily the lies seemed to form, but she based the story on Leon's experience in Raccoon City, remembering that it had been his first day on the force as a police officer.
Then she recalled hearing years ago about how Umbrella imprisoned Claire Redfield for some time for infiltrating one of their bases. "When I was in Egypt, the dig site collapsed around me and I was trapped for hours on end in the dark with only some old mummies to keep me company."
"And now on your third trip you are attacked during your commute," Saddler remarked.
"Mendez doesn't seem to believe we were attacked," Sherry told him, frowning.
"Chief Mendez goes only by the evidence he has acquired, basing his decisions upon it as well. Having survived the tumultuous civil wars decades ago, he does all that he possibly can to protect our people," explained Saddler. "That was how he lost his eye. He was a resistance fighter in opposition against Franco."
Sherry found herself lost in thought, the information she just learned causing her to automatically turn the pages inside of her head. Names and dates crossed her thoughts, and for some moments her mind was only a history textbook. If Saddler was correct, Mendez was in opposition of the fascist leader that ruled Spain while the rest of civilization was engaged in the Second World War.
"When I woke up from the crash," Sherry slowly admitted, "there was a dead body near the car. It wasn't my guide's."
Saddler looked at her seriously, his face seeming a bit older than a moment ago. "You didn't mention this to Mendez," he stated, not as a question.
Sherry shook her head. "I didn't know what to think at the time. When Mendez told me they didn't find anything, not even the arrows that had been shot into the tires, I wasn't sure who to trust."
Saddler's smile was comforting. "You can always trust in the Lord, my child."
Her smile was rueful. As Sherry reached into her coat pocket, she explained, "There was a note on him, written in Latin. It talked about sacrificing tourists that came near the area. My guess is that they're sacrificing the children as well."
Saddler's expression was strangely unreadable, but he said nothing. Sherry hesitantly pulled her hand out of her coat pocket, this time gripping the hand-sized talisman she found on the robed man the day before. She left the note itself back at the inn with her things.
The priest took it from her, his hands carrying it with extreme delicacy as he studied the strange symbol. Sherry did not miss the look of recognition that crossed his eyes.
"I… did not think they still existed…" he murmured, more to himself. He had a faraway look that made it seem that he had forgotten that Sherry was there at all.
"What is it?" Sherry asked.
Saddler blinked and looked at Sherry again, back in the present. "This is very ancient, Andrea. Los Illuminados."
Sherry raised an eyebrow. "The Illuminati?" Suddenly she was beginning to feel very skeptical. Even though her whole life was centered around a real living conspiracy, secret societies were a little too James Bond for her liking.
Saddler chuckled. "I know what you are thinking, child. Do not concern yourself over the Hollywood movies. I do not speak of the society often seen in works of fiction. The Enlightened Ones that I know of were once part of the Church. They were a small yet influential organization that was concerned with preserving the Word of God. In your studies you must have certainly come across the conflicts brought about by the Reformation, correct?"
Sherry nodded. Martin Luther. The Holy Roman Empire. King Henry VIII separating England from the Catholic Church… Saddler was taking her back to the Renaissance. Spain had been one of the great world superpowers at that time.
"Los Illuminados believed that the Protestants were corrupting the Word for their own personal and political reasons. The group did not engage in direct conflict, but as a result, their influence waned over several decades until the end of the era. With the wars between the faiths across all of Europe, they were eventually forgotten, even by the Church."
Sherry glared. "Was it in their usual practice to sacrifice children?"
Saddler shook his head slowly. "I really am not sure. I only know what I know because they are the ones who built this church. Their insignia is on this building, and it marks some of the older graves outside. The Salazar family may also have been old enough… in fact, the excavation may be the perfect opportunity to learn more about what really happened."
She stood from the bench. Suddenly, Sherry couldn't wait to start digging.
Osmund Saddler stood outside in the churchyard, watching the girl leave with Luis Sera, who had come to ask her to join him for lunch with his cousins, the twins. Saddler was pleased with the information he had managed to wean from the young American. Now Bitores Mendez stood beside him, anxious for that same information.
"The man is a liability," said Saddler. He handed Mendez the Los Illuminados talisman that young Andrea had discovered. "If a child was able to find this…"
"…then her guide could destroy everything," Mendez finished for him. "Whoever he is…"
"Indeed," Saddler remarked, scowling.
"And the girl?"
Saddler's smile was enigmatic. "She can read the dead tongue, which may pose a problem, but as long as I have her trust, we have no need to worry."
"Ramon is being reluctant again," Mendez growled. "He wishes to delay the excavation, due to the incident."
"Leave Salazar to me," Saddler said confidently. "It won't matter once I remind him what his entire family owes us. For now, find the man, before any more of our brothers turn up dead before the initial awakening."
Mendez departed, walking away from the church with new purpose. Neither of the two Europeans noticed the figure crouched on the roof of the church, and as Saddler entered the building, Andrea's guide pushed his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose.
Author's Note: That update took longer than I had originally intended, but for some reason Saddler's introduction was giving me difficulty. I probably had to rewrite this chapter like three or four times, and even now I'm only partially satisfied with it. Hope you all enjoyed it. Next chapter: Sherry intends to dig up information on the Los Illuminados as she and the other researcers (Luis Sera and Gabriel Marquez) are taken to a castle...
And now, for some shameless self-advertisement: For those of you who might be interested in a Resident Evil roleplay forum, check out the link on my profile!