Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu
By
Neil Stokes
This story contains some violence and bad language.
Thanks to Eva, Chris and Jess.
Tomb Raider, Lara Croft, her image and likeness are trademark and copyright © of EIDOS Interactive and Core Design. No infringement or challenge to these copyrights is intended.
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Chapter 3: The Child Inside
Lara Croft slowly rotated her hands at her sides as she floated beneath the surface of the water. Only her face showed, her eyes were closed and her hair had spread itself out around her head like a silken fan. She was the image of serenity, on the outside. But inside streams of slow anger crept and bubbled like lava, engulfing all her attempts at rebuilding the calm and contentment she had felt before her interview with Hurt. Lara took humiliation badly and she decided it had been very humiliating. Hurt had strummed upon her as if she had been a simple instrument; he had exposed and manipulated her fears and desires, forcing her into a basic decision that perfectly coincided with what he wanted her to do.
Her swim wasn't working. Flipping over she plunged to the bottom of the pool and with arms outstretched turned and sped to the surface. Her perfectly toned body slipped from the water with the smoothness of machinery. As she hauled herself onto the poolside she remained poised for a second, exposing the tanned firmness of her limbs and the intricate pattern of old scars that traversed her skin like lace. Covering herself with a bathrobe she walked into the living room, almost colliding with Winston, who was at that moment tottering in the direction of the pool, his tray held before him as if he were grasping onto it for support. "Ah, Miss Lara," it took him a few seconds to remember why he'd been looking for her, "this package has just been sent," he said finally.
Thanking him she took the brown parcel from his tray and tore it open. 'It's from Hurt,' she said out loud while she began to leaf through the bundle of documents the envelope contained. There were letters, maps, poems, photocopies of parchments, and photographs. It was the usual tedious bumf to be read and memorised before the real business could begin. One photograph, however, particularly caught her attention: a large colour portrait of a blonde-haired child. The child was a girl and she was looking straight into the camera, smiling with her mouth open as if she were on the point of bursting into laughter. The smile was so appealing that Lara felt her anger slink away before this image of happiness. The other documents forgotten, she continued to stare at the picture, taking in the open happy expression, the healthy shine in the child's eyes and on her fair hair. She experienced a rare sense of joy that at the same time was tinged with a bitterness she was hardly aware of. She felt for a moment as if she should know this child, not recognising the bitterness as the disappointment of having nothing to do with the girl whatsoever. She was brought out of her reverie by Winston's light cough of interruption: "Will that be all, Miss?"
"Yes, of course. I'm sorry, Winston. Thanks for the parcel," she replied vaguely.
"It's just that I've got a few jobs to be getting on with, yer know..."
"Yes. I mustn't keep you away from your work..."
"...one or two things to do. But if yer need me they can wait..."
"No, Winston. Please get on with whatever it is..."
"...Not to say I don't know what my priorities are, Miss. Nigh on sixty years in service have taught me a thing or two. Now, I remember when yer father was a little boy..."
Lara was perfectly aware of the danger she was running by letting Winston reminisce and decided to cut it short before things got out of hand. "Actually, there is one thing I do need you for," she interrupted him desperately, racking her brains for a job to get rid of him with. "Could you...? Could you...?" He had stopped to lean forward in order to hear what she had to say but she knew it was only a temporary reprieve and if she wanted to avoid having to listen to her entire family history she had to think fast. "Could you...?" Nothing; her mind was blank. The seconds ticked past and she could see him about to launch into his treasure trunk of memories once more when all of a sudden the phone rang. "...answer the phone, please?" She almost sighed with relief as Winston, with a nod, turned and began to shuffle off in direction of the hall. Lara followed him, the parcel of documents tucked under her arm but the photograph still in her hands. She looked at it as she walked through the spacious empty living room and flipped it over to see if there was anything on the back. There was an inscription written in blue biro: 'Angela - Barcelona'. She had reached the doorway to the hall, the phone had stopped ringing and looking up she saw Winston making his way towards her with a cordless phone rattling on his tray.
"Mr Hurt, Miss" he said, handing her the phone.
Her face hardened when she heard Hurt's smooth voice say cheerily: "Lara, my dear."
"I wanted to talk to you, Mr Hurt." She felt uneasy once more, like back at the hotel, although a part of her anger returned and filled her with a feeling of unsatisfactory defiance.
"It has been a long time since a beautiful young woman wished to talk to me, Lara. I am very flattered."
Once again the lava bubbled, but it now felt like the petulant anger of a child. Lara rolled her eyes and continued: "I haven't had time to look at the things you sent but there's a photo here of a young girl called Angela. Who is she?"
"Angela, my dear Lara, is a key."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"When you have time to read the notes you have received it will become clear."
"Tell me now." Lara could not seem to resist the temptation of trying to ruffle Hurt's slick composure; his smooth tone provoked her. He seemed to find it amusing and with a light laugh replied: "Your eagerness does you credit, Lara. Angela is the surviving child of Humphrey Cotting..."
"Surviving?"
"Yes, I failed to mention Mr. Cotting earlier. He was found dead in a hotel room in Barcelona three weeks ago."
"Who was he?" inquired Lara.
"Humphrey Cotting was a failed archaeologist who stumbled upon a find out of all proportion with his abilities."
"Let me guess: The Pleasure Dome?"
"Surely you hadn't thought that I alone had unearthed Xanadu? Why, now you do flatter me, Lara. No, that was when Cotting came to my attention. Not knowing what to do next he had been touring the major European cities trying to peddle his discovery. Evidently he bumped into the wrong people. In return for providing for his daughter, a task let me assure you I would have been more than willing to assume for nothing in return, poor child, I was given all the information he had so far collected on Xanadu and the Pleasure Dome. In his final notes he wrote the words and I quote: 'Only Angela can unlock it! Oh, God help me.'"
"Why 'Oh, God help me'?" she asked.
"I have absolutely no idea," he replied. "That's why I have people with Angela right now. They will ascertain whether she does have any important information and if so it shall be passed to you straight away."
Lara's distaste became alarm. She had felt an unfamiliar spontaneous affection for this child; something about her smile in the photo had latched onto Lara's imagination so that she found herself saying: "I'll do it. I'll go to Barcelona and interview her."
"I didn't have you down as the babysitting kind. I'm not sure you're the person for the job, my dear." Hurt laughed. His teasing made Lara feel uncomfortable because she knew he was right and yet a strong, undeniable instinct forced her to repeat her offer but still laughing he answered: "No, I don't think so..."
She interrupted him, "I said, I'd do it. This is my project and I'll do it my way. I want to talk to the child."
There was a pause, then a sigh. "Very well," said Hurt, "if you insist." His voice had suddenly taken on a displeased tone and this more than anything convinced Lara she had made the right decision. "I'll make sure you are sent a ticket..."
"No. I'll make my own arrangements. Just send me the address in Barcelona and I'll make sure you get the bill."
"Oh, how I do look forward to that," replied Hurt, his voice laced with sarcasm.