A/N: Here's another story of mine that I finally decided to post. Let me
make it clear that this has no connection to either Into The Dark or Fallen
In Light. It's a completely different story. So no confusion, ok? ( I know
this first part is a little confusion-and you'll just have to wait until
the next chapter to figure it out. Ha! Muhahahahahahahahaha!! :D
Prologue
___________________________________________________________________
Danielle Henshingly's Apartment
London, England, April 13th, 2003
10: 52 P.M.
In the background, her television blared softly, its screen wavering slightly, static consuming the entire picture for a moment. Cerulean illumination stole quietly across indifferent verdant orbs, flaming to life within both eyes. The picture blinked into existence once more, flickering a moment before fading inevitably to black oblivion.
*Bloody cheap set.* she thought, and scowled.
Her gaze strayed to the nearby window, precipitation pearling against translucent glass, droplets clinging tenaciously a moment before plunging from the young woman's sight. The barest sliver of moonlight, a single spear of effulgent silver, thrust through gloom and blackness to dance lightly across thick carpeting.
She brushed a hand nervously over shining mahogany curls.
Moonlight tread thin features with the lightness of a passing spirit, painting her face in fleeting brilliance before skipping lightly onward.
The silence tightened around her, its presence raising sudden fear in her chest.
She rose, and felt her way to the light switch, fumbling a moment before grasping its outline and hastily flicking it upward.
Golden radiance fell glistening across the room's interior, temporarily alleviating her unnatural terror. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief, glancing around her familiar surroundings, seeking anything out of place.
Nothing. Her favorite armchair remained before the TV, the couch beside it in the same position as always, the small table buried beneath a stack of periodicals untouched...and yet something felt different. A slight darkness tainted the room, a hidden evil lurking beyond sight.
*No more late-night horror movies for you, Danielle.* the young woman thought sarcastically.
Her heart took up a thundering beat within her chest, thrusting against the confines of her ribcage, pumping unnaturally fast.
*Something is wrong. Something is really, really wrong.*
She tasted the acidic tang of bile, its bitterness lingering against the warmth of her tongue. Her nostrils flared, scenting the air, sensing the unwelcome presence lurking somewhere close.
Death.
A hand closed hard over one softly rounded shoulder.
A startled shriek thrust her lips wide, and she spun, tearing from the powerful grasp, falling gasping against the wall at her back. She caught a brief glimpse of dark hair, cold eyes, and then agony ripped all throughout her, and she arched beneath its furious touch, screaming.
His hand drifted into view before her, its masculine outline tainted by carmine fluid, her gore twining in meandering rivulets down strong fingers, flowing from the pulsing object resting in his palm.
The world blurred before her, erupting the hand and its grisly prize into indistinct lines.
"Oh God...Oh my God..." she moaned, sickness and terror seizing her trembling figure.
She touched quivering fingertips to the hole in her chest, feeling its ragged outline, her dead horrified gaze fixated on the heart clenched in his fist, severed veins and arteries dangling slashed and grotesque from its gruesome exterior.
Another scream rent the heavy silence, reverberating high and long, shrilling on even as her brain slowed and died, her glazed eyes shredded by scrabbling fingers.
* * *
The British Museum London, England, April 13th, 2003 11:03 P.M.
She fingered its chill surface as she walked, the move an unconscious one, a habit she'd developed in the three months since her final battle with Karel and Kurtis Trent's disappearance. The Chirugai dangled motionless against one shapely hip, silent, no trace of his presence suffusing it.
It had moved, once. In the arena where the Lux Veritatis warrior had fought his last battle with the mutated Boaz, she had discovered it, lying saturated and thick with gore, the only remaining sign of her companion. It had stirred in her hand, straining against Lara's forceful grip, yearning to return to its master, trembling with power before finally slackening and revealing no more.
During the passage of three months, it displayed no sign of life. She kept it with her at all times, another weapon added to her immense arsenal, though she had no idea how to activate it and doubted that she could control it. Something about it compelled her to keep it within sight; a reminder of the man who'd proven himself to be her equal, a kindred spirit of sorts.
They rose on all sides, silent and watchful, eyes frosted in blankness beneath thick glass. She touched a gloved hand lightly to the display case nearest her, and paused, hesitating before dropping her boot to cold marble.
She turned, and regarded the case from beneath thick dark lashes.
Unbidden, a slender finger darted out to skim the steel plate embedded in the container's cool surface, caressing raised letters as her gaze drooped to the figure waiting below.
She crouched, leg muscles uncoiling slowly, lethargically, as she lowered herself to eye level with the statuette, its surface glistening beneath soft overhead illumination.
"Statue of the Egyptian God Horus, discovered and retrieved by Lara Croft." she whispered, voicing aloud the words on the plaque.
Coldness seized her body, a brief tremor passing through hardened muscles.
*Flashback*
"No more Set, Werner?"
*End Flashback*
*Flashback*
"My leg! My leg is trapped! Help me Lara!"
*End Flashback*
*Flashback*
Plunging rock obliterated all illumination, thrusting ancient dust across her slack figure. Swirling dust settled thick against parted lips, pushing insistently against chill flesh, clotting within the interior of her throat. She gagged against its presence, her body rebelling automatically, twitching beneath the strangulating atmosphere, ragged inhalations grinding painfully inside her chest. She felt fire flame to life within her lungs, searing them with its agonizing heat, the pain of being unable to breathe raising panic deep inside.
*End Flashback*
She eased her eyes shut a moment, leaning her perspiring forehead against cool glass, inhaling a calming breath.
Both hands bucked and twitched beneath sheathing leather.
Her thundering heartbeat intensified, strangely augmented within the silence of the nearly-deserted museum. Its powerful rhythm increased in tempo, accelerating wildly, forcing gasped breaths through full lips.
She clenched one slender hand to a fist, reigning in her emotions, regaining control, widened mahogany orbs slowly narrowing, hardness dancing within their depths once more.
*Yes, Croft, let yourself go to bloody hell over the sight of a statue.* Lara admonished sarcastically, and rose, still trembling minutely beneath the jeans and leather jacket she'd donned against the brisk spring night.
Her eyes lingered a moment longer, before she passed on, striding resolutely across the floor to the staircase retreating back down to the main level of the vast building.
She tread lightly, boots whispering near-silently over hard floor, her passage unnoticed by the few patrons still wandering the museum's interior.
The Chirugai swayed lightly with her movement.
Her quiet knock at an imposing oak door with the words Museum Curator emblazoned across the top roused him almost instantly, and the door swung wide to encompass her lithe figure. His face peered outward, small eyes contemplating her a moment before thin lips curved in a welcoming smile. "Ms. Croft! Welcome! I was hoping you'd received my message and would decide to come." the curator greeted her.
"My evening was a bit empty." she replied, smiling faintly in return.
"Come in."
She stepped inside the tidy office, sweeping a quick, furtive look around, observing only his desk, stacked with reference books, glimpses of its rich wood visible beneath strewn papers, and the tall bookcase overflowing with tomes positioned directly behind it.
"I apologize for the suddenness of my call, and I regret that I didn't provide much information over the phone."
"Like your name, for instance?" Lara replied, lifting one eyebrow and seating herself in the lone chair facing him, propping booted feet atop his desk.
"Um..." He trailed off, his gaze drawn to her feet where they rested against a pile of documents. "Uh, yes, my name." His eyes surged back to her beautiful features, and he attempted a somewhat weak, distracted smile.
*Pansy.* she thought, dismissing him immediately. "Did you forget it?"
"No. My name is Jonathan Downes. I placed a call to your residence earlier this morning in the hopes that you might be interested in offering your expertise on a few digs the museum is sponsoring."
"I work alone." Lara said firmly.
"Well, yes, I understand that's normally the case, but I thought perhaps these expeditions might catch your attention."
"And why would they catch my attention? Anything particularly special about them?"
"The team in Brazil uncovered the remains of something that appears to be a mammal, but it's nothing any archaeologist has ever encountered before. They're quite puzzled by it-"
"I deal with ancient civilizations and artifacts, Mr. Downes, not bones."
He extracted something from his jacket pocket, fumbling a moment before withdrawing it into the office's warmth, and tossed the square packet atop his desk, nudging it across to Lara.
"Photographs?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow. She remained unmoving.
"Yes."
"I'm not interested."
He caught his bottom lip between gnawing teeth, ebony orbs glittering within the soft fall of light. His eyes contemplated her across the desk's width, their gazes twining a moment, mingling with one another. He threaded slim fingers together, lacing them atop hard wood. "Ms. Croft," he said quietly, "I urge you to at least take a look at these. Quite remarkable, actually."
She perused him through narrowed eyes, keen gaze treading tousled sandy hair and slanted dark eyes, skimming across the clean-shaven planes of his face. Her eyes touched back on his a moment later, boring deep, penetrating the very depths of his soul it seemed. "I'm sorry. But I've no interest in whatever your archaeologists have uncovered. Lost the motivation, you might say."
She stood, and turned her back on him, walking resolutely to the waiting door.
"I see." he sighed, looking crestfallen. "Interesting object on your belt." he continued quietly, indicating Kurtis' Chirugai. "Something you picked up along your travels?"
"A loan. From a friend."
The door snapped shut behind her softly curved back, the finality of the movement reverberating within the small room, penetrating thick silence before finally dissipating into nothingness.
* * *
Croft Manor London, England, April 14th, 2003 12:01 P.M.
Its masculine purr transcended even drumming precipitation, ascending dark skies as she roared through the gate to her home. Precipitation streamed down apathetic features, beading against satin flesh, pooling within each folded crevice of material. She shivered lightly beneath its loathsome chill, and parked her bike just to the right of the front door, dismounting lithely and pocketing her keys.
The darkness rose to consume her, its presence prompting a chill throughout the normally stoic woman.
She paused just before her door, a gloved hand resting lightly against its surface, narrowed eyes probing undulating shadows, the spider-light prickling along the nape of her neck raising hackles.
She slipped a hand warily to the Smith and Wesson .38 revolver holstered at one voluptuous hip, loosening it.
The darkness surged all around her, through her, ambulant blackness wavering deceptively within each shaded corner.
Chill metal fit snugly within the palm of her hand, burning through leather to sear flesh. She cupped the pistol's butt tightly, watching, waiting, the pistol partially clearing its restraints as she scanned the Manor's landscape.
The door exploded open, thrusting her backward off balance, braid whipping in agitation.
His gnarled and wrinkled face peered out at her, puckered in concern. "Lara, dear, I thought I heard your bike drive up. What are you doing, standing out in this nasty weather?"
"It's invigorating, Winston." Lara responded calmly, loosened bangs sheathing the wildness lurking in both dark orbs. She slammed her gun back into place and stepped gratefully into the Manor's waiting embrace, warmth snaking through saturated clothing to heat frigid skin.
"I'll go and start a hot bath. You look a little tired, Lara. Is something wrong?"
"The hazards of unemployment, I suppose." she replied easily, and bestowed the old butler with a gentle smile. "Thank you, Winston. I think a hot bath is just what I need. I'll be upstairs in a minute."
He shuffled away to do her bidding, and she passed into the library, slipping from her jacket as she went, one hand reaching to loosen the belt strapped around a slender waist.
The jacket rippled to the waiting seat of a nearby armchair, pooling loosely against worn upholstery.
It took only a few moments to complete a thorough check of the windows, ensuring that they were all latched properly and could not be breached from the outside.
Then, roused from her perusal of the area outside the window by Winston's call from the top of the stairs, Lara slipped from the library, leaving her jacket and belt on a pile in the armchair, but opting to take her gun with her, some lingering apprehension disallowing her to leave it where she might not be able to reach it in case of an emergency.
The door clicked softly shut behind her.
* * *
Steam enveloped lithe curves, driving away the nighttime chill, curving full lips in a slight smile as she nudged the bathroom door partially shut behind her. "Thank God for hot water." Lara murmured, swiftly stripping her gloves free of perspiring flesh and tossing them onto the counter. Her gun thunked to the toilet's lid with a hollow thud, followed a moment later by two ensuing thumps as her boots joined the discarded items.
She reached for the hem of her navy blue T-shirt, crossing both arms at the waist in preparation to thrust it up and over her head.
A single creak permeated heavy silence, freezing her instantly.
Warily, Lara palmed her firearm, and pivoted slowly to face the hallway.
She thrust a cautious glance through the crack in the door, then wrenched it aside, padding barefoot out into the hall. "Winston?"
Nothing.
The creak sounded once more, rising high and long, wafting from the room at the end of the hall.
She tracked the noise to its source, weapon out before her, moving stealthily through undulating shadows, both brows merging over glittering eyes. *A guest bedroom.* she remembered, pausing outside the room's entrance, heart rate accelerating. A brief image lingered vividly before her, the Chirugai, lying alone and untouched, still clipped to the belt she'd left in the library.
*Kurtis? Come to reclaim his toy?* she thought, suddenly anticipating what would greet her beyond.
Her foot lashed out, thrusting with enviable strength, splintering wood beneath its force. The door buckled inward, plunged from brass hinges, its remnants lying mangled and ruined against thick carpeting.
Full lips parted in shock, a gasp rent unbidden from constricting lungs.
Her revolver drooped slackly in one hand, its muzzle targeting immaculate carpet, the fingers gripping it bucking against chill steel.
He lay spread-eagled atop her bed, the ruggedly handsome face she remembered so well tilted to receive her, thin lips thrust wide in a final scream of terror. Long dark bangs sheathed the remnants of beautiful cerulean orbs, his sightless eyes pockmarked and gouged by thrusting fingertips, gory pulp lying in shreds within nearly empty eye sockets. The hardness of his athletic body, the tempting muscles he'd once pressed to her back, sprawled beneath a shaft of metal, its dagger-like point impaling him through the stomach, pinning him to rumpled covers.
She felt the slick of bile rise inside her throat.
Carmine liquid congealed at either side of his mouth, flaking atop rough stubble.
His chest, where his heart had once pumped strongly, lay scored and ravaged by brutal hands, a frayed crater centered in the middle of his ribcage.
She lifted her gun again, approaching shakily, keeping an eye out in case whoever had committed this brutal act might still be lurking. "Kurtis..." she whispered, crouching in disgust and shock before his wrecked body, lying the gun beside his out flung hand.
Both eyes slipped closed, squeezing tightly, her chest heaving in rapid breath.
She blinked them slowly open again, and started violently.
He was gone.
Prologue
___________________________________________________________________
Danielle Henshingly's Apartment
London, England, April 13th, 2003
10: 52 P.M.
In the background, her television blared softly, its screen wavering slightly, static consuming the entire picture for a moment. Cerulean illumination stole quietly across indifferent verdant orbs, flaming to life within both eyes. The picture blinked into existence once more, flickering a moment before fading inevitably to black oblivion.
*Bloody cheap set.* she thought, and scowled.
Her gaze strayed to the nearby window, precipitation pearling against translucent glass, droplets clinging tenaciously a moment before plunging from the young woman's sight. The barest sliver of moonlight, a single spear of effulgent silver, thrust through gloom and blackness to dance lightly across thick carpeting.
She brushed a hand nervously over shining mahogany curls.
Moonlight tread thin features with the lightness of a passing spirit, painting her face in fleeting brilliance before skipping lightly onward.
The silence tightened around her, its presence raising sudden fear in her chest.
She rose, and felt her way to the light switch, fumbling a moment before grasping its outline and hastily flicking it upward.
Golden radiance fell glistening across the room's interior, temporarily alleviating her unnatural terror. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief, glancing around her familiar surroundings, seeking anything out of place.
Nothing. Her favorite armchair remained before the TV, the couch beside it in the same position as always, the small table buried beneath a stack of periodicals untouched...and yet something felt different. A slight darkness tainted the room, a hidden evil lurking beyond sight.
*No more late-night horror movies for you, Danielle.* the young woman thought sarcastically.
Her heart took up a thundering beat within her chest, thrusting against the confines of her ribcage, pumping unnaturally fast.
*Something is wrong. Something is really, really wrong.*
She tasted the acidic tang of bile, its bitterness lingering against the warmth of her tongue. Her nostrils flared, scenting the air, sensing the unwelcome presence lurking somewhere close.
Death.
A hand closed hard over one softly rounded shoulder.
A startled shriek thrust her lips wide, and she spun, tearing from the powerful grasp, falling gasping against the wall at her back. She caught a brief glimpse of dark hair, cold eyes, and then agony ripped all throughout her, and she arched beneath its furious touch, screaming.
His hand drifted into view before her, its masculine outline tainted by carmine fluid, her gore twining in meandering rivulets down strong fingers, flowing from the pulsing object resting in his palm.
The world blurred before her, erupting the hand and its grisly prize into indistinct lines.
"Oh God...Oh my God..." she moaned, sickness and terror seizing her trembling figure.
She touched quivering fingertips to the hole in her chest, feeling its ragged outline, her dead horrified gaze fixated on the heart clenched in his fist, severed veins and arteries dangling slashed and grotesque from its gruesome exterior.
Another scream rent the heavy silence, reverberating high and long, shrilling on even as her brain slowed and died, her glazed eyes shredded by scrabbling fingers.
* * *
The British Museum London, England, April 13th, 2003 11:03 P.M.
She fingered its chill surface as she walked, the move an unconscious one, a habit she'd developed in the three months since her final battle with Karel and Kurtis Trent's disappearance. The Chirugai dangled motionless against one shapely hip, silent, no trace of his presence suffusing it.
It had moved, once. In the arena where the Lux Veritatis warrior had fought his last battle with the mutated Boaz, she had discovered it, lying saturated and thick with gore, the only remaining sign of her companion. It had stirred in her hand, straining against Lara's forceful grip, yearning to return to its master, trembling with power before finally slackening and revealing no more.
During the passage of three months, it displayed no sign of life. She kept it with her at all times, another weapon added to her immense arsenal, though she had no idea how to activate it and doubted that she could control it. Something about it compelled her to keep it within sight; a reminder of the man who'd proven himself to be her equal, a kindred spirit of sorts.
They rose on all sides, silent and watchful, eyes frosted in blankness beneath thick glass. She touched a gloved hand lightly to the display case nearest her, and paused, hesitating before dropping her boot to cold marble.
She turned, and regarded the case from beneath thick dark lashes.
Unbidden, a slender finger darted out to skim the steel plate embedded in the container's cool surface, caressing raised letters as her gaze drooped to the figure waiting below.
She crouched, leg muscles uncoiling slowly, lethargically, as she lowered herself to eye level with the statuette, its surface glistening beneath soft overhead illumination.
"Statue of the Egyptian God Horus, discovered and retrieved by Lara Croft." she whispered, voicing aloud the words on the plaque.
Coldness seized her body, a brief tremor passing through hardened muscles.
*Flashback*
"No more Set, Werner?"
*End Flashback*
*Flashback*
"My leg! My leg is trapped! Help me Lara!"
*End Flashback*
*Flashback*
Plunging rock obliterated all illumination, thrusting ancient dust across her slack figure. Swirling dust settled thick against parted lips, pushing insistently against chill flesh, clotting within the interior of her throat. She gagged against its presence, her body rebelling automatically, twitching beneath the strangulating atmosphere, ragged inhalations grinding painfully inside her chest. She felt fire flame to life within her lungs, searing them with its agonizing heat, the pain of being unable to breathe raising panic deep inside.
*End Flashback*
She eased her eyes shut a moment, leaning her perspiring forehead against cool glass, inhaling a calming breath.
Both hands bucked and twitched beneath sheathing leather.
Her thundering heartbeat intensified, strangely augmented within the silence of the nearly-deserted museum. Its powerful rhythm increased in tempo, accelerating wildly, forcing gasped breaths through full lips.
She clenched one slender hand to a fist, reigning in her emotions, regaining control, widened mahogany orbs slowly narrowing, hardness dancing within their depths once more.
*Yes, Croft, let yourself go to bloody hell over the sight of a statue.* Lara admonished sarcastically, and rose, still trembling minutely beneath the jeans and leather jacket she'd donned against the brisk spring night.
Her eyes lingered a moment longer, before she passed on, striding resolutely across the floor to the staircase retreating back down to the main level of the vast building.
She tread lightly, boots whispering near-silently over hard floor, her passage unnoticed by the few patrons still wandering the museum's interior.
The Chirugai swayed lightly with her movement.
Her quiet knock at an imposing oak door with the words Museum Curator emblazoned across the top roused him almost instantly, and the door swung wide to encompass her lithe figure. His face peered outward, small eyes contemplating her a moment before thin lips curved in a welcoming smile. "Ms. Croft! Welcome! I was hoping you'd received my message and would decide to come." the curator greeted her.
"My evening was a bit empty." she replied, smiling faintly in return.
"Come in."
She stepped inside the tidy office, sweeping a quick, furtive look around, observing only his desk, stacked with reference books, glimpses of its rich wood visible beneath strewn papers, and the tall bookcase overflowing with tomes positioned directly behind it.
"I apologize for the suddenness of my call, and I regret that I didn't provide much information over the phone."
"Like your name, for instance?" Lara replied, lifting one eyebrow and seating herself in the lone chair facing him, propping booted feet atop his desk.
"Um..." He trailed off, his gaze drawn to her feet where they rested against a pile of documents. "Uh, yes, my name." His eyes surged back to her beautiful features, and he attempted a somewhat weak, distracted smile.
*Pansy.* she thought, dismissing him immediately. "Did you forget it?"
"No. My name is Jonathan Downes. I placed a call to your residence earlier this morning in the hopes that you might be interested in offering your expertise on a few digs the museum is sponsoring."
"I work alone." Lara said firmly.
"Well, yes, I understand that's normally the case, but I thought perhaps these expeditions might catch your attention."
"And why would they catch my attention? Anything particularly special about them?"
"The team in Brazil uncovered the remains of something that appears to be a mammal, but it's nothing any archaeologist has ever encountered before. They're quite puzzled by it-"
"I deal with ancient civilizations and artifacts, Mr. Downes, not bones."
He extracted something from his jacket pocket, fumbling a moment before withdrawing it into the office's warmth, and tossed the square packet atop his desk, nudging it across to Lara.
"Photographs?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow. She remained unmoving.
"Yes."
"I'm not interested."
He caught his bottom lip between gnawing teeth, ebony orbs glittering within the soft fall of light. His eyes contemplated her across the desk's width, their gazes twining a moment, mingling with one another. He threaded slim fingers together, lacing them atop hard wood. "Ms. Croft," he said quietly, "I urge you to at least take a look at these. Quite remarkable, actually."
She perused him through narrowed eyes, keen gaze treading tousled sandy hair and slanted dark eyes, skimming across the clean-shaven planes of his face. Her eyes touched back on his a moment later, boring deep, penetrating the very depths of his soul it seemed. "I'm sorry. But I've no interest in whatever your archaeologists have uncovered. Lost the motivation, you might say."
She stood, and turned her back on him, walking resolutely to the waiting door.
"I see." he sighed, looking crestfallen. "Interesting object on your belt." he continued quietly, indicating Kurtis' Chirugai. "Something you picked up along your travels?"
"A loan. From a friend."
The door snapped shut behind her softly curved back, the finality of the movement reverberating within the small room, penetrating thick silence before finally dissipating into nothingness.
* * *
Croft Manor London, England, April 14th, 2003 12:01 P.M.
Its masculine purr transcended even drumming precipitation, ascending dark skies as she roared through the gate to her home. Precipitation streamed down apathetic features, beading against satin flesh, pooling within each folded crevice of material. She shivered lightly beneath its loathsome chill, and parked her bike just to the right of the front door, dismounting lithely and pocketing her keys.
The darkness rose to consume her, its presence prompting a chill throughout the normally stoic woman.
She paused just before her door, a gloved hand resting lightly against its surface, narrowed eyes probing undulating shadows, the spider-light prickling along the nape of her neck raising hackles.
She slipped a hand warily to the Smith and Wesson .38 revolver holstered at one voluptuous hip, loosening it.
The darkness surged all around her, through her, ambulant blackness wavering deceptively within each shaded corner.
Chill metal fit snugly within the palm of her hand, burning through leather to sear flesh. She cupped the pistol's butt tightly, watching, waiting, the pistol partially clearing its restraints as she scanned the Manor's landscape.
The door exploded open, thrusting her backward off balance, braid whipping in agitation.
His gnarled and wrinkled face peered out at her, puckered in concern. "Lara, dear, I thought I heard your bike drive up. What are you doing, standing out in this nasty weather?"
"It's invigorating, Winston." Lara responded calmly, loosened bangs sheathing the wildness lurking in both dark orbs. She slammed her gun back into place and stepped gratefully into the Manor's waiting embrace, warmth snaking through saturated clothing to heat frigid skin.
"I'll go and start a hot bath. You look a little tired, Lara. Is something wrong?"
"The hazards of unemployment, I suppose." she replied easily, and bestowed the old butler with a gentle smile. "Thank you, Winston. I think a hot bath is just what I need. I'll be upstairs in a minute."
He shuffled away to do her bidding, and she passed into the library, slipping from her jacket as she went, one hand reaching to loosen the belt strapped around a slender waist.
The jacket rippled to the waiting seat of a nearby armchair, pooling loosely against worn upholstery.
It took only a few moments to complete a thorough check of the windows, ensuring that they were all latched properly and could not be breached from the outside.
Then, roused from her perusal of the area outside the window by Winston's call from the top of the stairs, Lara slipped from the library, leaving her jacket and belt on a pile in the armchair, but opting to take her gun with her, some lingering apprehension disallowing her to leave it where she might not be able to reach it in case of an emergency.
The door clicked softly shut behind her.
* * *
Steam enveloped lithe curves, driving away the nighttime chill, curving full lips in a slight smile as she nudged the bathroom door partially shut behind her. "Thank God for hot water." Lara murmured, swiftly stripping her gloves free of perspiring flesh and tossing them onto the counter. Her gun thunked to the toilet's lid with a hollow thud, followed a moment later by two ensuing thumps as her boots joined the discarded items.
She reached for the hem of her navy blue T-shirt, crossing both arms at the waist in preparation to thrust it up and over her head.
A single creak permeated heavy silence, freezing her instantly.
Warily, Lara palmed her firearm, and pivoted slowly to face the hallway.
She thrust a cautious glance through the crack in the door, then wrenched it aside, padding barefoot out into the hall. "Winston?"
Nothing.
The creak sounded once more, rising high and long, wafting from the room at the end of the hall.
She tracked the noise to its source, weapon out before her, moving stealthily through undulating shadows, both brows merging over glittering eyes. *A guest bedroom.* she remembered, pausing outside the room's entrance, heart rate accelerating. A brief image lingered vividly before her, the Chirugai, lying alone and untouched, still clipped to the belt she'd left in the library.
*Kurtis? Come to reclaim his toy?* she thought, suddenly anticipating what would greet her beyond.
Her foot lashed out, thrusting with enviable strength, splintering wood beneath its force. The door buckled inward, plunged from brass hinges, its remnants lying mangled and ruined against thick carpeting.
Full lips parted in shock, a gasp rent unbidden from constricting lungs.
Her revolver drooped slackly in one hand, its muzzle targeting immaculate carpet, the fingers gripping it bucking against chill steel.
He lay spread-eagled atop her bed, the ruggedly handsome face she remembered so well tilted to receive her, thin lips thrust wide in a final scream of terror. Long dark bangs sheathed the remnants of beautiful cerulean orbs, his sightless eyes pockmarked and gouged by thrusting fingertips, gory pulp lying in shreds within nearly empty eye sockets. The hardness of his athletic body, the tempting muscles he'd once pressed to her back, sprawled beneath a shaft of metal, its dagger-like point impaling him through the stomach, pinning him to rumpled covers.
She felt the slick of bile rise inside her throat.
Carmine liquid congealed at either side of his mouth, flaking atop rough stubble.
His chest, where his heart had once pumped strongly, lay scored and ravaged by brutal hands, a frayed crater centered in the middle of his ribcage.
She lifted her gun again, approaching shakily, keeping an eye out in case whoever had committed this brutal act might still be lurking. "Kurtis..." she whispered, crouching in disgust and shock before his wrecked body, lying the gun beside his out flung hand.
Both eyes slipped closed, squeezing tightly, her chest heaving in rapid breath.
She blinked them slowly open again, and started violently.
He was gone.