Chapter Four: Admonitions and Advice
Lara slumped back in her first class seat on flight 1785 from Beijing to Paris. It had been
a long day, too long in Lara's opinion. And all she had accomplished was surviving another
deathtrap labyrinth and finding out that she had to go elsewhere first to attain her goal. It was so
infuriating when she was wrong! On the other hand, she would have a much longer adventure
now that she had to visit this Bartoli chap. An evil smile crept slowly across Lara's face and
scared the unsuspecting old lady next to her. Maybe this was a good development after
all . . .
****************************
Several hours later, Lara was walking through the Paris terminal where she had a three
hour layover. She hurried down the hall to the gate of her next departure. Lara had scheduled this
layover in Paris on purpose, so she could have a few hours to spend with her good friend, Jean-
Yves, before returning to England.
As she reached the departure gate, which also happened to be the place she had arranged to meet
her companion, she saw a middle aged man with sand hair and a slight paunch waving frantically
at her. "Bonjour, Lara!" The Frenchman cried as he ran to embrace her. "I have been waiting for
you such a long time. How are you, ma cherie?"
Lara grinned as she slung her backpack to the floor so she could return the hug. "Hello, Jean, it's
so nice to see you."
"Oui," replied Jean, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "It's fortunate that I was able to greet you
today, for I am traveling back to my crew's dig in Egypt tomorrow." He smiled warmly at her
before continuing. "So, where's the dagger? Tell me about your adventure."
"Not much to tell," Lara confessed as she swung her bag back on her shoulder. "I didn't get the
dagger. It was sealed in a vault protected by this odd thug who told me that I had to believe in the
sins and fortunes of Marco Bartoli in order to attain it. Then, he promptly swallowed some
arsenic and killed himself."
Jean's smile vanished and his countenance darkened. "This does not bode well, Lara," he began
slowly. "This man you encountered was most likely the follower of a religious cult of some sort,
and cults are dangerous things. They kill anyone who is not a member of their sect, and often kill
themselves if they think they have been untrue to their faith. Was this man Italian like his leader,
Bartoli?"
"I believe so. His name was Claudio Botticelli, according to his laptop computer, and comes
from Venice."
"Sacre bleu!" exclaimed Jean. "Lara, you must not pursue this crazy scheme. This Marco Bartoli
must be the leader of the Fiama Nera, the most deadly cult in Italy."
"Calm down, Jean," Lara countered. "I hardly think that any old religious cult can prove much of
a threat to me. Remember what I did to Natla's goons? I can do the same here, Jean. You just
have to trust me."
"But you do not understand," protested the Frenchman. "This cult is comprised of hundreds of
Italy's strongest men who are armed with the best weapons money can buy. Heed my advice,
mon ami, do not do this crazy thing."
Lara was deeply touched by her friend's concern, but she was also becoming irked by his
patronizing manner. "I am the invincible Lara Croft, Jean. I can handle everything. All I have to
do is drop into their headquarters in Via Caravelli, Venice-"
"Not Via Caravelli! That's the most dangerous neighborhood in Italy. It's like Bourbon Street*
on steroids."
"I understand your anxiety, Jean-Yves, but aren't you being a bit condescending?"
Jean threw his hands up in disgust. "I am sorry, Lara, but one of these days, I am going to wake
up to the terrible news that you are dead if you continue to engage in such suicidal missions.
Now, let us not part angry, but as friends, eh?"
Lara tossed her head and walked away, leaving Jean-Yves in a cloud of doubt and fear for his
young English friend.
************************
Lara pulled into her drive late that night. Her head was full of the disturbing conversation
with Jean-Yves that she had so foolishly walked away from. She never had acted so cruelly to
him in her life as she had that afternoon. All he had ever done was love her like a sister, and how
had she repaid him? By behaving like a stubborn adolescent and refusing to hear his kind advice.
Lara shook her head as she alighted from the vehicle and crunched up the walk to her door,
disgusted with herself for the way she had treated him. She quietly entered the house and was
about to tiptoe up the stairs so as not to wake Winston, when she heard his footsteps behind her.
"Welcome home, Miss Croft," he whispered, holding out his tray with a steaming pot of Earl
Gray set so tantalizingly upon it.
Lara smiled warmly at her grandfather-like butler and sat down on the steps to enjoy her
midnight repast. "You didn't have to wait up for me, Winston," she said as she helped herself to
the hot liquid, "you're getting on in years and need your rest."
"I know I didn't, Miss Croft," he replied, a smile playing lightly across his worn lips, "that's why
it was such a pleasure for me to do it."
Lara and Winston exchanged affectionate glances as she drained her cup. "Thank you, Winston,"
she murmured when she was done, "thank you for everything you do for me. I feel I take you for
granted far too often." She slowly rose, and her faithful butler followed her up to her room where
he bid her goodnight and graciously retired. Lara drifted off to sleep with a smile on her lips and
a prayer of thanks in her heart.
***********************
The next morning, Lara arose to the unwelcome news that Julia Kell* was on her way to
inquire about her favorite patient's exploits. She muttered crossly to herself as she changed from
her usual tank top and khakis to a more formal sun dress and hurried downstairs to eat breakfast
before the German intruder arrived.
Winston greeted her in the kitchen with a cheerful good morning and immediately began to fuss
over her morning meal. Lara sat down at the plain wooden table on the far side of the room,
contemplating whether or not she should convert part of her ballroom into a dining room later.
She ate her eggs and bacon in silence and was about to have seconds when a loud knock was
heard at the door. Winston dutifully trudged to the front door and admitted Dr. Kell.
Doctor Julia F. Kell was a slender brunette of about thirty some odd years with a figure almost as
stunning as Lara herself. She nearly always wore a neat, white business suit which made her look
even more attractive than she was. Her hair was usually twisted into a tight bun in the back of her
head, and her lovely brown eyes wore expensive contacts. Julia was as self-important as any in
her field and felt she had a right to her opinion about everything. She marched into the kitchen
immediately proceeding her entrance and stood in front of Lara. "I hope you are well today, Miss
Croft," she began coldly in her guttural Slavic tongue as Lara threw her fork down in annoyance.
Kell had spent her early days in Germany and though she hadn't been there for quite some time,
her German accent was still intact.
"Perfectly," Lara muttered as she glared back at the psychiatrist. "I trust you are feeling the same,
for the present anyway."
If Kell took Lara's comment as a threat, she didn't show it. Instead, she pulled up a chair and sat
across from the glowering tomb raider. "Tell me in detail of your expedition Miss Croft; did you
experience that abnormal subconscious fantasia again while you were away?" Kell peered at her
with deeply interested eyes.
"If you mean that recurring nightmare, just say so!" Lara snapped. "And yes, I did, on the plane
trip to China. After that, I didn't get much sleep, so I couldn't really have had it again, could I?"
Kell shook her head gravely and jotted down a few notes on her charts. "You are exhibiting some
very disturbing behavioral patterns today, Miss Croft. I suggest you collect your thoughts and get
in touch with your subconscious to subdue them."
Lara could fell her temples throb as she jumped to her feet in anger. "Listen, Kell, I don't have
time for this today. I have to register for a passport from the Italian government, book a flight to
Venice, check my Colts to see if they're in usable condition-"
"I want you to take one of these," Kell said as she produced a bottle of red pills from her bag. "It
will make you feel better."
"You want to know what would -really- make me feel better? Get the bloody out of my house!"
Kell rose slowly as one lost in a dream and stared her opponent in the eye. "I didn't want to do
this, Lara, but I'm going to have to call in a professional."
"You're finally admitting that you're a fraud then?"
"No, but there are some cases that even I can't, pardon the expression, 'crack.' I know of
someone who can help interpret your dream and solve your problems though. Miss Marina
Popov,* the most experienced trained hypnotist in the world, will liberate the data imprisoned in
your mind so that you will finally realize what your fantasies reveal."
Lara shook her head in determination. "I'm not going to any mesmerist. They do all manner of
strange things to your mind. Playing with other people's brains maybe your idea of fun, but not
with mine you don't."
"It is the only way, Lara," was Kell's icy reply. "Without her help, you can not possibly discover
what your subconscious is trying to tell you."
"I wouldn't know about that," she muttered huffily. She wasn't too proud to admit that she didn't
trust Kell one bit, but she decided it more convenient to hold her tongue. "Besides, she's a
Russian, isn't she?" she continued pointedly. "How do you know that she wouldn't brainwash
me with communist ideals?"
"She will only unlock the information inside you, not change it, I promise you."
"As if that means anything," Lara muttered, her bitter contempt for Kell cutting through her
words like a knife.
"I cannot force you to do it, Lara, but just answer me this: wouldn't you like to stop being afraid
every time you go to bed?"
Lara's eyes dilated as the full comprehension of Kell's proposal set in. If she went to this
hypnotist, perhaps she would finally be free from the gripping terror that haunted her mind
whenever she was living that dreadful vision. She licked her lips and faced Kell with renewed
determination. "Alright," she assented, "I'll do it."
To Be Continued . . .
* Bourbon Street is a notorious avenue in New Orleans.
*I do not even own Dr. Julia Kell and Marina Popov. They are from the game Clue Chronicles:
Fatal Illusion by Hasbro, All Rights Reserved.
Lara slumped back in her first class seat on flight 1785 from Beijing to Paris. It had been
a long day, too long in Lara's opinion. And all she had accomplished was surviving another
deathtrap labyrinth and finding out that she had to go elsewhere first to attain her goal. It was so
infuriating when she was wrong! On the other hand, she would have a much longer adventure
now that she had to visit this Bartoli chap. An evil smile crept slowly across Lara's face and
scared the unsuspecting old lady next to her. Maybe this was a good development after
all . . .
****************************
Several hours later, Lara was walking through the Paris terminal where she had a three
hour layover. She hurried down the hall to the gate of her next departure. Lara had scheduled this
layover in Paris on purpose, so she could have a few hours to spend with her good friend, Jean-
Yves, before returning to England.
As she reached the departure gate, which also happened to be the place she had arranged to meet
her companion, she saw a middle aged man with sand hair and a slight paunch waving frantically
at her. "Bonjour, Lara!" The Frenchman cried as he ran to embrace her. "I have been waiting for
you such a long time. How are you, ma cherie?"
Lara grinned as she slung her backpack to the floor so she could return the hug. "Hello, Jean, it's
so nice to see you."
"Oui," replied Jean, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "It's fortunate that I was able to greet you
today, for I am traveling back to my crew's dig in Egypt tomorrow." He smiled warmly at her
before continuing. "So, where's the dagger? Tell me about your adventure."
"Not much to tell," Lara confessed as she swung her bag back on her shoulder. "I didn't get the
dagger. It was sealed in a vault protected by this odd thug who told me that I had to believe in the
sins and fortunes of Marco Bartoli in order to attain it. Then, he promptly swallowed some
arsenic and killed himself."
Jean's smile vanished and his countenance darkened. "This does not bode well, Lara," he began
slowly. "This man you encountered was most likely the follower of a religious cult of some sort,
and cults are dangerous things. They kill anyone who is not a member of their sect, and often kill
themselves if they think they have been untrue to their faith. Was this man Italian like his leader,
Bartoli?"
"I believe so. His name was Claudio Botticelli, according to his laptop computer, and comes
from Venice."
"Sacre bleu!" exclaimed Jean. "Lara, you must not pursue this crazy scheme. This Marco Bartoli
must be the leader of the Fiama Nera, the most deadly cult in Italy."
"Calm down, Jean," Lara countered. "I hardly think that any old religious cult can prove much of
a threat to me. Remember what I did to Natla's goons? I can do the same here, Jean. You just
have to trust me."
"But you do not understand," protested the Frenchman. "This cult is comprised of hundreds of
Italy's strongest men who are armed with the best weapons money can buy. Heed my advice,
mon ami, do not do this crazy thing."
Lara was deeply touched by her friend's concern, but she was also becoming irked by his
patronizing manner. "I am the invincible Lara Croft, Jean. I can handle everything. All I have to
do is drop into their headquarters in Via Caravelli, Venice-"
"Not Via Caravelli! That's the most dangerous neighborhood in Italy. It's like Bourbon Street*
on steroids."
"I understand your anxiety, Jean-Yves, but aren't you being a bit condescending?"
Jean threw his hands up in disgust. "I am sorry, Lara, but one of these days, I am going to wake
up to the terrible news that you are dead if you continue to engage in such suicidal missions.
Now, let us not part angry, but as friends, eh?"
Lara tossed her head and walked away, leaving Jean-Yves in a cloud of doubt and fear for his
young English friend.
************************
Lara pulled into her drive late that night. Her head was full of the disturbing conversation
with Jean-Yves that she had so foolishly walked away from. She never had acted so cruelly to
him in her life as she had that afternoon. All he had ever done was love her like a sister, and how
had she repaid him? By behaving like a stubborn adolescent and refusing to hear his kind advice.
Lara shook her head as she alighted from the vehicle and crunched up the walk to her door,
disgusted with herself for the way she had treated him. She quietly entered the house and was
about to tiptoe up the stairs so as not to wake Winston, when she heard his footsteps behind her.
"Welcome home, Miss Croft," he whispered, holding out his tray with a steaming pot of Earl
Gray set so tantalizingly upon it.
Lara smiled warmly at her grandfather-like butler and sat down on the steps to enjoy her
midnight repast. "You didn't have to wait up for me, Winston," she said as she helped herself to
the hot liquid, "you're getting on in years and need your rest."
"I know I didn't, Miss Croft," he replied, a smile playing lightly across his worn lips, "that's why
it was such a pleasure for me to do it."
Lara and Winston exchanged affectionate glances as she drained her cup. "Thank you, Winston,"
she murmured when she was done, "thank you for everything you do for me. I feel I take you for
granted far too often." She slowly rose, and her faithful butler followed her up to her room where
he bid her goodnight and graciously retired. Lara drifted off to sleep with a smile on her lips and
a prayer of thanks in her heart.
***********************
The next morning, Lara arose to the unwelcome news that Julia Kell* was on her way to
inquire about her favorite patient's exploits. She muttered crossly to herself as she changed from
her usual tank top and khakis to a more formal sun dress and hurried downstairs to eat breakfast
before the German intruder arrived.
Winston greeted her in the kitchen with a cheerful good morning and immediately began to fuss
over her morning meal. Lara sat down at the plain wooden table on the far side of the room,
contemplating whether or not she should convert part of her ballroom into a dining room later.
She ate her eggs and bacon in silence and was about to have seconds when a loud knock was
heard at the door. Winston dutifully trudged to the front door and admitted Dr. Kell.
Doctor Julia F. Kell was a slender brunette of about thirty some odd years with a figure almost as
stunning as Lara herself. She nearly always wore a neat, white business suit which made her look
even more attractive than she was. Her hair was usually twisted into a tight bun in the back of her
head, and her lovely brown eyes wore expensive contacts. Julia was as self-important as any in
her field and felt she had a right to her opinion about everything. She marched into the kitchen
immediately proceeding her entrance and stood in front of Lara. "I hope you are well today, Miss
Croft," she began coldly in her guttural Slavic tongue as Lara threw her fork down in annoyance.
Kell had spent her early days in Germany and though she hadn't been there for quite some time,
her German accent was still intact.
"Perfectly," Lara muttered as she glared back at the psychiatrist. "I trust you are feeling the same,
for the present anyway."
If Kell took Lara's comment as a threat, she didn't show it. Instead, she pulled up a chair and sat
across from the glowering tomb raider. "Tell me in detail of your expedition Miss Croft; did you
experience that abnormal subconscious fantasia again while you were away?" Kell peered at her
with deeply interested eyes.
"If you mean that recurring nightmare, just say so!" Lara snapped. "And yes, I did, on the plane
trip to China. After that, I didn't get much sleep, so I couldn't really have had it again, could I?"
Kell shook her head gravely and jotted down a few notes on her charts. "You are exhibiting some
very disturbing behavioral patterns today, Miss Croft. I suggest you collect your thoughts and get
in touch with your subconscious to subdue them."
Lara could fell her temples throb as she jumped to her feet in anger. "Listen, Kell, I don't have
time for this today. I have to register for a passport from the Italian government, book a flight to
Venice, check my Colts to see if they're in usable condition-"
"I want you to take one of these," Kell said as she produced a bottle of red pills from her bag. "It
will make you feel better."
"You want to know what would -really- make me feel better? Get the bloody out of my house!"
Kell rose slowly as one lost in a dream and stared her opponent in the eye. "I didn't want to do
this, Lara, but I'm going to have to call in a professional."
"You're finally admitting that you're a fraud then?"
"No, but there are some cases that even I can't, pardon the expression, 'crack.' I know of
someone who can help interpret your dream and solve your problems though. Miss Marina
Popov,* the most experienced trained hypnotist in the world, will liberate the data imprisoned in
your mind so that you will finally realize what your fantasies reveal."
Lara shook her head in determination. "I'm not going to any mesmerist. They do all manner of
strange things to your mind. Playing with other people's brains maybe your idea of fun, but not
with mine you don't."
"It is the only way, Lara," was Kell's icy reply. "Without her help, you can not possibly discover
what your subconscious is trying to tell you."
"I wouldn't know about that," she muttered huffily. She wasn't too proud to admit that she didn't
trust Kell one bit, but she decided it more convenient to hold her tongue. "Besides, she's a
Russian, isn't she?" she continued pointedly. "How do you know that she wouldn't brainwash
me with communist ideals?"
"She will only unlock the information inside you, not change it, I promise you."
"As if that means anything," Lara muttered, her bitter contempt for Kell cutting through her
words like a knife.
"I cannot force you to do it, Lara, but just answer me this: wouldn't you like to stop being afraid
every time you go to bed?"
Lara's eyes dilated as the full comprehension of Kell's proposal set in. If she went to this
hypnotist, perhaps she would finally be free from the gripping terror that haunted her mind
whenever she was living that dreadful vision. She licked her lips and faced Kell with renewed
determination. "Alright," she assented, "I'll do it."
To Be Continued . . .
* Bourbon Street is a notorious avenue in New Orleans.
*I do not even own Dr. Julia Kell and Marina Popov. They are from the game Clue Chronicles:
Fatal Illusion by Hasbro, All Rights Reserved.
