September 26. Raccoon City. Jill's apartment. 10:45 a.m.
"I'm ready," she said in a firm, determined voice.
John nodded, but his eyes never left her. Dressed like that, it would be impossible for her to go unnoticed, but his mind was already working on a new strategy. They would have to be quick.
He approached her. His voice, a deep whisper, cut through the air like a knife. "There are two cops downstairs, and they've noticed the one who was here is missing. They're coming up, it's only a matter of minutes."
Jill's gaze hardened. "Understood. What's the plan?"
"There are two options," John said, his voice emotionless, but the urgency was clear. "The first is deception. We need a neighbor to cover for us, we'll make up an excuse to buy time. The second is more drastic: if they detect us, I'll have to deal with them, but that will leave a trail that will complicate our escape."
He pointed to his waist. "I'm going to turn on the radio. I need to know how much time we have."
A static murmur filled the air as John fiddled with the device. The voices of two men became audible.
"He's still not answering. Where did this bum go?"
"He left the radio on. He's not answering. Something's wrong."
"Maybe he just went for a walk. We'll go check. He left the radio on like an idiot."
John turned off the radio. "They've given us little time," he said, the urgency in his voice becoming more tangible. "They're on their way."
Jill nodded, a little embarrassed, but with a determined look on her face. "I only know Mrs. Peterson. She lives two doors down."
"Perfect. The excuse is this: I'm taking her to a very fancy place, and she forgot her long coat. We'll tell her we need to borrow one." John pulled out a wad of cash and held it in his hand. "This should be enough to convince her."
Jill nodded, and the two moved quickly toward Mrs. Peterson's door. John guided her, his eyes scanning the hallway, his ears alert. A faint sound, the sound of shoe soles on the stairs, reached his ears. John stopped.
"They're coming," he whispered, the urgency now clear. "Now."
Jill knocked on the door. There was no answer. She knocked again, more urgently. The door opened, and an elderly woman with gray hair and curious eyes looked at her.
"Oh, but look who's here!" exclaimed Mrs. Peterson, her eyes sparkling as she saw the two of them. A mischievous smile spread across her wrinkled face. "Well, well, you two lovebirds! Where are you off to looking so smart at this time of the morning?"
Jill, her face completely red, tried to speak. "Mrs. Peterson, it's not what you think, he didn't..."
John, unfazed by the interruption or the insinuation, stepped forward, cutting off Jill's apology. He held the wad of bills in front of Mrs. Peterson. "Sorry to rush you, ma'am. My friend needs a long coat. I'm taking her somewhere fancy, but she forgot hers. This is an apology for the inconvenience."
Mrs. Peterson saw the bills and her eyes widened, her smile broadening and becoming more knowing. "Oh, of course, dear. How nice of you! Come in, come in! It's obvious you're more than friends. There's no need to hide it."
Jill and John entered, and the door closed behind them. John turned to Jill, his eyes reflecting the calm after the storm. "Now for the hardest part. Waiting."
Just as the door closed, John heard the faint sound of footsteps on the stairs. He approached the door and pressed his ear against the wood, listening to the sound of shoe soles. They were coming up. They were close.
"They're here," he whispered. "We've got them, just for a few seconds."
The seconds that followed felt like hours. Jill, her nerves on edge, paced back and forth in the small space, her hands clasped and her eyes fixed on the door. John, on the other hand, stood motionless, glued to the door like a statue. In less than thirty seconds, the footsteps that had been heard on the stairs grew louder, closer, indicating that they were now on their floor. Just as John moved away from the door to stand next to Jill, Mrs. Peterson reappeared, a nostalgic expression on her face. She was wearing a gray coat, very neat and elegant, and a black fedora hat, which seemed to have been well preserved.
"This coat was mine when I was a little younger," she said, her voice soft and full of memories. "And this hat... this was my late husband's favorite." Mrs. Peterson smiled, a sincere smile that made her look younger. "I'm giving them to you both because they remind me of us when we were young."
Jill felt the heat rise to her face, completely embarrassed by the situation. "Oh, no, Mrs. Peterson, I can't accept this," she murmured, her eyes darting from the coat to the hat. "It's too valuable. I could take something else, I don't want to cause you any trouble."
"Nonsense," insisted the old woman with an affectionate smile. "There isn't another one. Besides, this one will fit you perfectly. Accept these gifts, they are my most precious memories."
Before Jill could argue further, John intervened with his deep voice. "Thank you very much, Mrs. Peterson. You are very kind, but we have to go. The car is waiting for us, we'll be late for the restaurant."
Jill understood the warning. The word "restaurant" was a code, a sign that the police were about to arrive and time was running out. Reluctantly, she took her coat and buttoned it up quickly, while John put on his hat, adjusting it on his head. Mrs. Peterson looked at them with a smile of pure happiness.
"You look beautiful!" she exclaimed, her eyes shining with pride. "You look like a Hollywood couple."
"Thank you, Mrs. Peterson," Jill said quickly, her voice tinged with embarrassment. "But we're not... we're just..."
Before she could finish her sentence, John opened the door slightly, his eyes focused on the hallway. He could see two police officers, dark blue uniforms and caps, entering Jill's apartment. It was the perfect moment to leave.
Jill, seeing the urgency in John's eyes, fell silent. Denial could wait. Survival was the priority. With a quick movement, they said goodbye to Mrs. Peterson, who smiled at them as if they were her own grandchildren.
"Bye, sweetie! Bye, sir!" she called as the door closed.
They moved with the silent efficiency of two predators. John was the first out, with Jill right behind him, their footsteps light on the wooden floor. A quick glance down the hallway. The cops were already in Jill's apartment, the door half open, the sound of their voices muffled by the walls. They descended the stairs at a fast but controlled pace, a three-story descent that felt like a sprint.
When they reached the building's entrance, the lobby was completely empty. John didn't waste a second. He moved quickly, his figure elegant and dark in his hat, the silhouette of a ghost. Jill followed him, feeling the cool air of the street hit her face.
"Finally outside," she whispered, relief flooding her voice.
"We're not out yet," John replied, not turning his head, his eyes scanning the street, the passing cars and pedestrians. The tone of his voice was a warning. Jill nodded, her brief moment of calm evaporating as quickly as it had arrived.
They walked in silence, tension hanging between them. They had covered a couple of blocks when John stopped. Jill stopped too, looking at him, waiting for an explanation.
"We can't risk walking any further," he said, his voice a low whisper. "Someone might recognize you. A cop, an Umbrella agent. We're a moving target."
Jill nodded, her mind racing to analyze his logic. He was right. On foot, they were vulnerable. Her face was familiar, her name notorious. In the taxi, they would be just another couple in the vast city. It was the smartest and quickest choice.
John raised his hand, and a yellow taxi pulled up in front of them. John opened the door and motioned for Jill to get in. "To the Raccoon Hotel. The service entrance."
The taxi driver nodded, and John got into the car, slamming the door shut. Inside, the silence was different, less tense. The tension had turned into an uneasy calm. Jill looked at John's figure beside her, the dim street light reflecting off his stylish hat, the shadow it cast over his face, hiding his eyes. It made him look even more handsome, more mysterious. Her mind wandered for a moment, and all she could think about was how good he looked.
She realized she was staring at him too much and, feeling her cheeks flush, turned her head away in embarrassment. The situation was ridiculous. She still hadn't come to terms with the fact that there was a murderer sitting next to her, a man who looked like he had stepped out of a movie. She forced herself to focus on the street, but the faint sound of the engine and the faint smell of gasoline couldn't drown out the sound of her own heart beating.
When the taxi stopped, Jill got out first, her feet touching the asphalt. The hotel, an imposing Gothic-style building, stood before them. It was a familiar place for her, the site of several S.T.A.R.S. meetings before the city turned into hell.
John got out of the car after her, a hundred-dollar bill in his hand. "Keep the change," he said, his voice deep, the figure of a busy businessman. The taxi driver, with a dazzling smile, nodded and drove away.
They entered through the service entrance, which led them directly to the reception area, a brightly lit lobby decorated with antique furniture. Next to them, the counter was made of polished, shiny mahogany, and a middle-aged receptionist greeted them with a friendly smile.
"Mr. Wick," said the receptionist, his voice low and respectful. "It's a pleasure to have you back."
"The pleasure is mine," John replied, his voice as polite as the receptionist's.
The receptionist glanced sideways at Jill, his gaze lingering for a second on the girl wearing the long coat. Jill, her heart pounding, tried to maintain her composure. She felt as if she were being scanned, as if the receptionist could see everything going on in her head.
"I'd like to pay for the room next to mine," John said.
"For the young lady?" asked the receptionist, his gaze still on Jill.
John nodded. "Yes. And I'd like to pay for ten nights. That's how long she'll be staying."
The receptionist smiled, the warmth in his eyes returning. "My pleasure, Mr. Wick. It's an honor."
John handed him the money, and the receptionist took it with an elegant gesture, slipping it into a drawer. Jill, feeling as if she were acting in a play, could only nod. Her mind was confused, but her instinct told her not to ask questions, just to follow John. Naturally, she positioned herself behind him, imitating his gait, his calm demeanor.
The receptionist watched them leave, his polite smile fading into one of confusion.
Another girl? he thought to himself. Mr. Wick doesn't beat around the bush. One night is one thing, but ten... he must be really into this. And I haven't seen the other girl again, the one who seemed quite shy.
A sigh he didn't know he was holding escaped his lips as he marked John's room as occupied.
Without saying a word, John led Jill across the lobby. With every step they took, the girl felt more uncomfortable. She felt as if they were being watched, as if there was silent scrutiny in every person who crossed their path. She looked at John, but he walked at his slow, steady pace, his face expressionless, as if he were walking through his own home. Jill forced herself to calm down and walk with the same poise, to pretend that the silence didn't bother her.
In her mind, John was ignoring the silence and the stares. He was too busy processing the information Jill had given him. Umbrella, the pharmaceutical corporation. The same one that had been in charge of the mansion disaster. A plot to silence witnesses to their illegal experiments? It had to be. It was the only reason why a group like S.T.A.R.S. had been disbanded and its members hunted down.
John's plan was simple: find Umbrella's base in the city and take them down. If they had a main target, it was probably the base of operations itself. He could use Jill's information to attack. But he couldn't do it alone. He needed Jill's help, as she knew the city and, more importantly, the Umbrella organization.
They reached a long hallway. John stopped in front of a door, number 201. He turned to Jill, his voice a low whisper, filling the silence. "This is your room."
He pointed to the door next door, 202. "Mine is here. If you need anything, I'm just a few steps away."
Then his voice grew firmer. "Once you're settled in, knock on my door. I have an idea for attacking another of Umbrella's possible bases."
Jill nodded, her mind returning to the mission. The discomfort she had felt had vanished, replaced by renewed determination. "Understood. I won't be long."
With that promise, Jill entered her room, closing the door behind her. She felt like a soldier returning to her post, ready for a new mission.
John turned and headed for door 202. He opened the door with his key, entered the room, and closed it behind him with a soft click. The room was a standard hotel suite, with a large bed and a window overlooking the street. He ignored the luxury, his eyes resting on the small backpack he was carrying.
He placed it on the bed and opened it. With precise movements, he took out a pistol he had taken from the policeman he had tied up. He examined it carefully, his fingers running over the cold metal. The pistol, a Beretta 92FS, was a common model, but in John's hands, it became a lethal tool.
He checked the magazine, the weight, and the feel of the weapon.
After a thorough inspection, he stowed it in a compartment of his backpack, where other weapons were already stored, each one packed with meticulous precision.
Once the weapons were in place, he got up and went to a small refrigerator in the room. He took out two slices of bread and cheese and a bottle of water. With the speed of a chef, he made himself a quick sandwich. Hunger was a strange sensation, a reminder of the life he had left behind, a simple instinct he couldn't ignore.
As he bit into the sandwich, his eyes fell on the map of the city he had taken out of his backpack.
The map, a detailed replica of Raccoon City, was spread out on the coffee table. His mind, a maze of plans and strategies, processed Jill's information. The Umbrella laboratory, the place where the virus had originated. The data the girl had given him was enough to plot a route, a strategy to get in undetected.
His gaze lingered on the location of the school.
"I should go," he thought. It was a place where the infection could have spread, a place that the Umbrella Corporation could be using to experiment on children, something that made him frown, and a small image popped into his mind, that of a child being turned into a monster like Sarah had become.
He finished his sandwich in seconds and took a sip of water. He was ready. His mind, clear and determined, had no time for rest. Now, he just had to wait for Jill to be ready.
Silence filled John Wick's suite as he waited. It wasn't an unsettling silence, but the kind of calm that precedes a storm. It was a silence he knew well, one that was only broken by the sound of his own thoughts.
He finished his sandwich, his hunger satisfied, but his thirst for knowledge and a clear plan was insatiable. His eyes followed the map of Raccoon City, a network of streets, alleys, and buildings that had now become a battlefield. The location of the school, a possible second Umbrella laboratory, stood out like a red dot in his mind. It was a logical place for a second assault.
Suddenly, a soft knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts. The sound was a familiar echo, the same one he had heard in his own home before everything went to hell. He rose with his usual movement, his figure silent, his footsteps light on the carpet.
"John," he heard Jill's voice on the other side of the door. "I'm ready."
Without hesitation, he approached the door, unlocked it, and the door opened with a soft click. Jill entered, her figure gliding into the room, her eyes, filled with a mixture of embarrassment and urgency, resting on him. He immediately noticed that she had removed the coat Mrs. Peterson had given her, revealing her combat outfit: the iconic capri blue tank top with a white blouse underneath. Her legs were covered by grayish-blue jeans, the top of which were rolled up and unbuttoned.
Jill's gaze swept across the room, her eyes stopping at the coffee table, where the map of Raccoon City lay spread out like a spider's web.
John, without saying a word, gestured her to the table. "Sit down," he said, his voice calm and deep.
Jill sat down in the chair across from the small table, her eyes fixed on the map. "So... the plan is to use the map to attack another Umbrella base?" she asked, trying to break the silence. Her voice was casual, almost too casual. The awkwardness was palpable, but her curiosity overcame it.
"It's better to talk on a full stomach," John replied, his voice calm, as he returned from the small refrigerator. He approached the table, not with a map, but with a plate holding two sandwiches and a couple of glasses of orange juice.
Jill was surprised. Her eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and relief spreading across her face. She hadn't expected a sandwich, or juice, or even a meal. She had expected a tactic, a plan, maybe even an order. Not an act of kindness, a show of care amid the chaos.
John set the plate on the table, gently pushing it toward her. "Here."
"Thank you," Jill said, her voice a whisper. Her stomach, which had been crying out for food for hours, growled. She took a sandwich and took a bite, the taste of cheese and bread filling her mouth.
John, meanwhile, took a seat across from her, his eyes fixed on the map. "Now, let's talk." The calmness of his voice, the tranquility with which he ate, made Jill feel more at ease.
As Jill ate quietly, her thoughts became clearer. The sandwich was not just food, it was a symbol of the alliance that had formed between them.