8. Bones

He'd been focused on the newspaper for a while, carefully reading the morning news - all plagued by the Monstrum crimes - when he noticed the woman moving around his bike, parked outside the cafe.

Not that it surprised him. Women loved his bike - it attracted them like flies, at least a considerable number of them. It had always been a great resource for flirting - among other of his personal qualities which, because of who he was and what he'd lived, he'd never had too much time or interest in developing.

Through the curtains that covered the stained-glass window of the café, he could barely see the woman's face - a tall, slender, and beautifully shaped woman, wrapped in tight jeans and a matching jacket. She had splendid long brown hair, braided in a ponytail that reached almost the end of her back. She moved with grace, like a feline, like a shoal in the sea.

Well, maybe her face was ugly, though that wouldn't decrease her merit at all.

The woman didn't dwell too much on admiring the vehicle, but instead suddenly pushed open the door and entered the café. At that moment, the phone rang and Pierre, that stupid bartender, approached to answer without paying more attention to the newcomer.

But the customer did pay attention. In fact, he was stunned.

He knew her. Who couldn't possibly know her? She was so famous he couldn't understand how that idiot at the bar hadn't realized. Forcing himself to look down, the man sitting at the corner table pretended to read the newspaper with interest, but over his eyelashes he carefully studied the woman.

She was even more impressive in person, if possible. Tall, slender, graceful as a gazelle, with that adorable body and doll face, so inconsistent with her lifestyle. Of course, that sticky poster circulating for years among the Legion's comrades did her little justice.

And then she turned and walked over. She came up to him in a straight line, taking three large but elegant strides to stand beside him, who had completely lowered his eyes to the newspaper again. What the hell…?

"Excuse me." She said. Her voice was clear, sounding, slightly singing, immensely feminine. "And excuse you too. Do you know a Louis Bouchard?" She had asked without hesitation, with a slightly pedantic - well, aristocratic tone in her case. He had no choice but to look up and stare at her.

And if possible, she was even more impressive up close. God, she was ravishing. And that was while being pale, looking tired and even having dark shadows under her eyes. But even so, her straight and noble nose, her thin eyebrows, one arched in a slight sarcastic expression, her large, deep and expressive eyes of hazelnut colour, and those thick, reddish lips he was already wishing to kiss – rather to bite - without wanting it, or maybe yes, wanting it after all.

And her womanly scent.

He realized he'd been staring at her for a while without uttering a word, and then his voice came out hoarse and monotonous, muffled, with the first thing that came to his puzzled head. "I'm a stranger round here."

She, who had leaned slightly toward him, clearly invading his personal space - not that it bothered him at all, he could smell her better, and God, she smelled so good - even resting her hand on the table, next to his, straightened suddenly like an obelisk and looked at him as if he was a curious insect.

"Don't let me distract you from your paper." She said with a certain sneer, and then she turned her back on him, her braid swaying to the rhythm of her graceful twist, and walked away in the direction of the counter.

Unable to avoid it, his eyes followed her firm buttocks - holstered inside her jeans - after the soft, stirring swaying of her hips, after the incredible elegance with which she moved away from him. The saliva dried in his mouth. Rarely had he enjoyed himself so much at seeing a woman moving away from him.

He forced himself to set his eyes on the newspaper, which suddenly no longer had any interest to him. Everything seemed futile now. He'd met the most desired woman on the planet, with whom he - and so many others - had often dreamed, and she didn't even know his name.

He could have had the woman he wanted - or several of them - if he had wished, if he had chosen to tie himself to one or several, if he had chosen to complicate a life that was already complicated enough, unhappy enough.

But for a woman like her... no, rather, for her, he would have risked everything.

While most of his overwhelmed subconscious was spinning, his fine instinct, always activated although the rest of himself was obfuscated, heard clearly that the woman was repeating the question. Louis Bouchard. Who was Louis Bouchard. Where was he.

Why would a woman like her look for that nasty runt, the head of the Paris Mafia, of that filthy ghetto? There were not many reasons, and he knew them all.

He forced himself to move a little - the tension was tightening his back - and then he saw her leave the counter and pass again in front of him, without looking at him a second time, and leave the cafe slamming the door.

Now he could look at her as much as he wanted, but it was only an instant, and she walked away until he lost sight of her.

He slowly let out the air he had accumulated in his lungs. He licked his dry lips.

"Lara Croft." He murmured, savouring those two words.

Lara Croft. Lara Croft. Lara Croft.

It seemed impossible, but there she was. Well, there she'd been.

And suddenly, he rose from the table, dropped some coins on it, and went to the counter. Pierre cringed at having him nearby. He was afraid of him, like so many others. One had to be an idiot not to see the huge gun wrapped under his arm - and that considering he didn't know, or would ever know, everything he could do with or without that gun.

Lara Croft was looking for Louis Bouchard, but he was going to find her, and find out what she was doing there, in that filthy place, someone like her.

He had a plan. Next time they met, everything was going to be different.

Very different.

Anna woke up soon, as usual. She had the poor sleep of youth, that is, she could easily fall asleep, sleep like a log and wake up too soon and too active. Of course, that had never been a problem for her parents. Neither for Kurtis and his chronic insomnia, nor for Lara, who could go from 0 to 1000 in a second.

Except that day. The girl was surprised to see her mother wasn't moving, and when she turned, she saw her still sleeping deeply, exhausted. Leaning over her, she pushed a lock of her hair from her forehead and examined her pale face and the dark shadows beneath her eyes.

Wasn't she thinner than usual? Was she ill?

It seemed that while she was struggling with her problems at school, the adults had messed up on their own as well.

Sighing, Anna jumped out of bed to pack her backpack, when she realized, annoyed, that her father had it. She had no choice but to take a shower and put on the same clothes.

When she stepped out of the shower an hour later - she used to get stunned under the running water, thinking a thousand irrelevant things at once - Lara was still deep asleep. Anna frowned. "Seriously?" She murmured. Lara always got up and was ready quickly, then she waited for her daughter snorting, arms folded and tapping her toes on the floor while Anna ran from side to side picking up her scattered things.

She must not have slept in three months, apparently.

"Mom." She pushed her gently on the shoulder. Lara didn't react. Anna pushed her a little harder. "C'mon Mom, we gotta go to Cappadocia." Nothing. Leaning until her lips brushed Lara's ear, Anna screamed. "MOM!"

Her mother had her face against the pillow, but Anna saw her eyelid vibrate and opening slowly. She turned her face toward her and peered at her through strands of unruly hair.

"Do that again," Lara whispered, "and I pack you back to England." Then she sat up slowly, her undone hair covering her face.

"Wow." Anna looked her up and down. "You look like you were crushed by a giant boulder." She discreetly pulled up the strap on her nightgown to rest back on her shoulder. "What's wrong with you?"

Lara stretched herself out of bed and said nothing. Then she stumbled toward the shower.

Anna straightened on the bed. "It's because of porn magazines?"

"What?!" Lara turned to her, puzzled.

"Just that… Kat's parents got into a fight too. Lord Kipling had porn magazines in the liquor store and one day Lady Kipling found them - and then they fought and Lady Kipling sent Kat to her grandmother and casted Lord Kipling out of their home."

Lara stared at her for a moment, puzzled, and suddenly burst into laughter.

Anna frowned, offended. "Hey, what's so funny?"

"It's not that."

"Ah. Ok. Because Zip says that looking at porn magazines is stupid."

"Really?" That didn't sound like Zip at all.

"Yes, he says that on the Internet you can already find everything you need and high quality."

Lara grunted under her breath and slipped into the shower.

Zip flung all the USBs like Frisbees onto the table before Kurtis, who sat with his arms crossed. When he was done, there must have been about five on the table.

Kurtis arched an eyebrow. "What about CDs and diskettes?"

Zip snorted. "You kiddin' me, man? This ain't the Stone Age. Nobody uses those anymore..."

"Selma is an academic archaeologist." Kurtis smiled. "Very old school. Surely, she made copies on CDs and floppy disks. Bring them out."

The hacker held his gaze for a moment. Then he shrugged, opened a drawer to his left and began to stack CDs and floppy disks, all with the name of Selma and her thesis. "I told her a thousand times this is older than a mummy's fart, but she doesn't listen."

Kurtis slowly picked up the diskettes and CDs and placed them in a cloth bag, as if he'd not heard anything. He didn't even ask where Selma was and why she wasn't present – he already knew. "Alright." He said, cinching the drawstring on the bag. "Not bad for starters."

This time it was Zip who raised an eyebrow. "For starters?"

"You think I was born yesterday, buddy?" Kurtis' eyes pierced him. "How many more copies do you have? How many have you sent to Bucharest? How many digital copies in your cloud? In your old computer? In your laptop? In your new com...?"

Zip was sweating under his T-shirt. "Dude, don't do this. This is her life. You're tearing her up."

"You forgot who actually did that? I thought it was you who watched over her when she was in a coma."

"Fuck, yes, I know. But the bitch who did that to her is dead."

"There are many more people who might die by the time this is published." Kurtis got up. "With this first round this is enough, but don't think you can fool me. You're the king of geeks. I'll go back for more backups and, if you care about Selma's life, you'll give them to me - or save me the time and destroy them yourself." For once, Zip was silent. But Kurtis wasn't done. "I need you to cooperate on this. You more than anyone else."

The hacker raised his eyebrows. "Geeeeez. What does Super Kurt want my help for?"

The ex-soldier tried to ignore the nickname. "Gotta catch that bastard hanging around. I've been trying for years, but he's good, very good; and smart, really smart. And now I don't have half of the resources I used to before." He made a vague gesture, touching his temple, to refer not just to ordinary means. "I need to catch him soon - and you're good at tracking information on unofficial channels. Even more than a double agent."

Zip was serious now - something unusual in him, but Kurtis knew, like anyone who bothered to know and appreciate that geek, that under all that goofiness in him existed a brilliant and competent mind. "Who?" He asked then.

"Adolf Schäffer."

The hacker frowned. "That son of a bitch... you sure?"

Kurtis nodded. "Anna described his voice to me, how it sounded, what ring he even had. He's not managed to get rid of the German accent - a flaw in his impeccable record."

"Could be anyone."

"There were only two agents in the Agency at the same level or slightly higher than me." Zip couldn't help but wince, though he knew Kurtis was not bragging. "One was Marten Gunderson, that's why he was the boss. Another was me. The third was Adolf Schäffer. Not surprised he became the boss after Gunderson died. It's him. After all these years, that bastard is haunting us."

"What could he want? Revenge? We smashed the business, after all."

Kurtis shook his head. "For a mercenary, all business is temporary. We go from one job to another without problems. We adapt to changes." Without realizing, he was speaking in first person. "If the boss is killed, we'll find another. If something goes wrong with one customer, we get out of the way and move on to the next one. If the business sinks, we move on to something else. In all these years, he's had plenty of time to make a new place for himself."

"But there he is, prowling around the lil' monster."

"He's not interested in Anna." Kurtis folded his arms. "If he'd wanted her, he'd already have had her." He tried to contain the bitterness when saying that. "He's searching for someone else. He called them a bitch, according to Anna. He's after a woman."

There was a thick silence. Zip had been thinking. "Maybe it's not related to us."

"And what is he doing here, just at a time when we're all reunited?"

"Dunno man. Istanbul is a huge city with plenty of people. Thousands of targets for that cutthroat."

Kurtis shook his head. "I neglected this for too long. I won't waste this chance." He leaned toward Zip. "Have you ever considered he might be after Lara, or even after Selma?"

Zip shuddered. "Probably Croft, more likely..."

"Why?"

"Damn, because she unleashed the British army on his island?"

"When he had her prisoner he never hurt her, never tortured her, nor mistreated her in any way. He even scolded that bastard Italian for trying to abuse her. He wanted me. Then he released her."

"Big fail on his part." Zip twisted his mouth.

"I'm telling you, he's not out for revenge over that. A mercenary moves on very fast. It's something else. It's another person - and he has other reasons."

"Okay man, but why Selma?" Zip shrugged impotently. "The princess is harmless. She's not doing anything wrong…"

"...apart from publishing a thesis not only exposing the results of her archaeological dig, but also describing in detail the history of the Cabal, the Lux Veritatis, and delivering names of all former members... including his own."

Zip licked his lips, thoughtfully. "But she claims them as mere legends, lacking evidence to refute..."

"You think Schäffer gives a shit about that?"

"Cutthroats use... different aliases."

Kurtis laughed. "And it pisses us off when someone burns one for us. He may no longer be named Adolf Schäffer and changed his identity - but anyone can trace identities... you, for example. Or me."

The hacker got up and began to wander around the narrow space full of computers. "Can't believe someone might kill for something like that."

"People kill for much less." Kurtis murmured, more to himself than to the hacker. Then he seemed to focus again. "Which brings us to the starting point. Selma's thesis must be purged of all compromising elements, and for that I need all existing copies. Don't make this harder for me."

Suddenly, Zip held up his hand, as if to stop him. "Hey, wait, man." The hacker turned to him. "Let's do this right." Kurtis raised an eyebrow, but Zip had begun to spin again, more and more excited. "Dude, we got a chance to do shit right." Kurtis crossed his arms over his chest. Zip had his attention, which was far more than he'd given in a long time. "Look, man. Selma's... planning a big event to present her thesis." He heard the ex-soldier grunt audibly, but didn't stop. "A really big deal. She's been working hard on it. Could be the golden chance to catch that bastard. If it's really Selma or her thesis pissing him off, he might show up - and then you'll fuck him up."

"You mean to set him up." Replied Kurtis calmly.

"Yep."

"So, who's the bait?" Kurtis couldn't hide the sarcasm. "Selma? Lara? My daughter? Or all of them at once? Is that what you mean? To use them as bait so that a professional killer has the chance to kill them all in one go?"

Zip ran his hand over his sweating forehead. "Look, man, I know it sounds crazy..."

"Fucking crazy." Kurtis muttered between his teeth.

"...but maybe it's the only chance to catch him. For years he got away with it. If he escapes now, he will be an unfinished business forever, we'll never get rid of him. Like a bag of shit floating above our heads, dude! Maybe he's going after Selma or maybe not, he might want one of our girls, or none, but we'll never know and we'll never be done." Kurtis was silent now. He listened carefully. "But if we take advantage of the event where Selma is gonna present her thesis... and the fucker shows up... we'll have him, bro. We'll grab him by the balls. You can get him – and then you can do whatever you like with him, boss. But we'll have got rid of him." He took another quick turn on himself, and raised his finger. "And that will only be possible, buddy, if you take your big hands off her thesis. We really need to attract him. To piss him off big time. Let her mention his name. May the Cabal, the Lux Veritatis, the whole gang be under the spotlight. Dude, Selma has planned a tribute to the Lux Veritatis and the other dead, all those we lost: Ivanoff... the Bedouin shaman..."

"Putai." Kurtis murmured. "Her name was Putai."

"That one. Geeez, she even wants to pay homage to old Von Croy, and that bastard fired me! And I'm cool with it. If that thug ex-mate of yours comes for us, he'll show up there and then. It's his best chance too."

Kurtis was staring at him. Zip didn't say anything else. He'd played all his cards.

"You're asking me to risk Selma's life," Kurtis murmured slowly, "Lara's life, my mother's and my daughter's lives, and expose them as bait in an event I don't even want to happen. Offer them on a silver platter to a guy who we don't know whether he'll show up solo or with a commando, whether he will go low-profile or look for a terrorist action, and who could arrive armed to the teeth or with a simple cord to strangle."

Zip ran his hand down his neck. "Sometimes in this shit life, bro, you gotta take your chances. You want to get that motherfucker? Only one way to find out. Besides," he exclaimed suddenly, "we got Croft. She ain't no damsel in distress. Damn, she wiped out the whole gang at the VCI headquarters all by herself! She's your girl, man, you know her well. She's scarier than a monkey with two pistols."

Kurtis was silent, staring at him.

"Hey, bro." Zip tried again. "Dunno what the flying fuck is going on between you two – not that I blame you. The babe is a hard nut to crack. But you better be quick in fixing that shit coz we gotta be a team, or we're fucked. We're totally fucked, man."

Suddenly, Kurtis moved. He picked up the cloth bag with the copies and threw it over his shoulder. "Alright." That was all.

Zip lifted his arms, exultant. "So, deal?"

Kurtis nodded. Zip threw his hands to his head in relief. But before he could say anything, the ex-soldier pointed to him with his finger: "I want you to know this, Zip, before we become friends again. You're in this, and you'll take your share of responsibility in it. Y'know what I mean?" Zip wasn't as stupid as he looked, so he remained silent and didn't even flinch when Kurtis continued, "It means that if my daughter, or Lara, gets killed because of this plan of yours," he stared at him with absolute seriousness, "I'll bury them first, but then I swear I'll kill you. I don't care how far you can run, or how good you are at hiding. If you make me bury my own daughter, I swear on the bones of my father that I'll spend the rest of my life finding you and once I get you, I'll fucking kill you. Do I make myself clear?"

The hacker stared at him in silence for a moment. Then he nodded slowly.

"Fine." Kurtis said, and walked away. But before he came down the stairs, he still heard Zip's voice again: "If I make you bury your own daughter, I swear I won't even run away. You have my word."

Selma had organized a small expedition to the archaeological dig in Cappadocia, which, in fact, wasn't far from Göreme and its fairy chimneys. The only way to get Zip off his keyboard and his screen was to get him behind the wheel of the Department of Archeology's van for fieldwork, and he did, bringing all the computer gear he could carry. Zip was still struggling with the coverage of the area, but this time, he was sure he was going to win.

After loading everything she needed, Selma arranged Marie in the backseat. Then she turned to Anna, who'd arrived on her mother's bike and was spinning around the car, nervous. "You want to come with us?" Selma offered. "You'll be more comfortable in the van."

"Nope." Replied Anna, jumping from foot to foot. Then she softened. "I mean, no thanks, Aunt Selma. I wanna go on Dad's bike."

Selma raised her eyebrows and looked at Lara. This one, still mounted on her own Norton, shrugged. "It's more comfortable and safe for her."

She was still talking as the deep, dense roar of another bike flooded the alley. The old Brough Superior made its appearance and Kurtis stopped it by the side of the van with a skill he'd never lost in years. He brought a small backpack hanging over his arm.

"Finally!" Anna ran to her father, retrieved her backpack and began digging in. "Hey, did you touch my thingies?"

"Each and every one of your pink panties."

Anna flushed. "I don't have pink panties!" She looked worried around her. "Liar!"

Although he joked, Kurtis was staring at Lara, who looked away, upset, and started the bike.

"See you in Cappadocia!" Selma shouted, before pulling back to give way to the rider, who disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

"Huh, pissed Croft." Zip muttered, pulling his head out the window. Selma glared at him.

"You ready? C'mon." Kurtis held out his hand to his daughter, who'd just adjusted the backpack, and helped her up. Anna hugged his back and waved at Marie, Zip and Selma, before Kurtis started the bike and disappeared on a trail of smoke.

"Please." Selma murmured to heavens, before going up to the truck next to Zip. "Please, make everybody behave."

"Ha!" Zip snapped.

Too many memories. That place brought too many memories back.

She'd always thought that Egypt would be her pain, her condemnation, her perpetual trauma. But it'd been easy to overcome Egypt. It'd been easy to go back there. What had hurt her, what still hurt her and she didn't know how to expel from her, like a twisted nail stuck in the pit of her stomach, was to have lost Werner and Putai.

They had died unjustly, and she'd not even been able to bid them farewell. Yes, she'd avenged them, but that hadn't brought her peace. Those who said that revenge wasn't enough were right. She still had that pain stuck in there.

Lara wondered if she could ever get it expelled.

As for the rest, she'd reconciled with Egypt. But Cappadocia brought more recent memories, more vivid, and now, moreover, more disconcerting and painful.

She'd found Kurtis back in Cappadocia - weak, slightly ill, but ready to fight. In that same place, in that same dig. There, too, she'd made love to him for the first time, not far from there, by the stream in the hollow. There they had conceived Anna.

How painful that was, at that very moment.

Lara ran her fingers through the rusted iron gate that closed the entrance to the underground excavation. Then she turned to the burning desert. Selma had transformed that place into a decent camp with wooden barracks, running water and electric lights, also equipment of all kinds.

Sighing, Lara sat at the foot of the bike and hugged her knees. She had to slowly reconstruct all those memories, put them in order and give them a new meaning.

We can't fight each other while she's vulnerable.

"I know." Lara murmured in the hot sun. "I know. Just… give me time."

In response to her plea, she heard in the distance the roar of the familiar bike.

"Here we are." Kurtis announced, and stood still as Anna jumped to the ground, holding onto his arm. Then he dismounted and began untying the luggage.

Anna scanned the landscape around her, but suddenly she turned toward him. "Dad."

"Mmh?"

"What the hell's going on between you and Mom?"

Kurtis sighed and stood up. His face was tired and sad. "You don't have to worry about that, Anna."

"Is it because of me?"

"No."

Anna kicked the ground. "You're such a bad liar." Her father just leaned back over the luggage again to untie it skilfully. Upset, Anna gave him a slight kick. "Answer me!"

"Hey." Kurtis turned to her. "Save that foot for kicking stones, kiddo."

"No one tells me shit! You treat me like a baby!"

"We adults fight." Kurtis grunted. "Not the first time, anyway. You should know already."

"You adults suck."

"Language, kiddo."

The girl let out a snort and turned away. "Fine!" She exploded. "I'm done with you!"

Indeed, her parents fighting wasn't new to Anna. They fought, and a lot. They were like two erupting volcanoes, like two walking timed bombs, especially her mother, who, under all that cold British stoicism, was like a boiling lava cauldron. Since being a little child, Anna remembered her parents fighting over anything, almost always related to her mother engaged in something insane or dangerous. But soon she stopped worrying about it.

First, because Winston, who'd looked after her the most while she was in diapers, didn't even flinch at those fights. Shouts and slamming doors could be heard in the manor without the old man stopping his soft humming as he put the food into her mouth. No one knew Lara as the old, caring butler did, not even her own parents. As long as Winston was calm, everything would be alright.

Secondly, because the fits of anger and fights were always short-lived and followed by passionate reconciliations that, now in her early adolescence, naturally embarrassed her – there was nothing wrong with kissing and making up like a whore and a drunk in a tavern, but your parents doing that felt very different. Anyway, those snippets were the proof, precisely, that they had never really been serious fights. Anna got used to them: it was normal for them.

As true as her parents couldn't live without each other, they also couldn't stand each other for too long either. That's why they weren't always together. Lara hadn't given up any of her adventures, her long exploratory journeys. Kurtis also spent seasons being absent, though Anna wasn't sure about what he was up to. She didn't care much – as long as he came back.

Her parents loved each other, but both in their own way were difficult to handle. Specially Lara, who always had to get away with everything she planned. Anna sensed, in her youthful age, that if her mother had been more tolerant or less stubborn, fights would've been reduced by half. It was often her father's patient attitude that avoided a fight.

Only this time it seemed serious. Three months without talking to each other and fighting at every encounter. She'd never seen her mother that broken - not even after that wooden ceiling in a Viking temple in Norway fell over her. May it be that, after all, her father's taciturn and sad attitude wasn't due solely to Marie's illness.

No, this time was serious. What a moment to fight again, now that she'd inherited the Gift, Grandma Marie was dying and Aunt Selma was about to make the presentation of her life's work on Cappadocia and the Nephili.

Indeed, adults sucked.

"Dear friends and colleagues..." Selma began, while looking around at those listening to her, or at least pretending to. She'd summoned them in front of one of the large prefabricated barracks, and after having ventilated and started up some of the supplies and services of the complex, she was ready to begin. Shame that she was the only one interested, for all she could see was Zip, well-intentioned, but rather focused on a pad in his hand and adjusting his headphones; Anna in a corner, crossed arms and sulking attitude; Marie, delicately seated on a stool but looking as if about to fly away if a light breeze blew, and finally, at both ends, well separated... Lara and Kurtis, both with an expression like sour milk. Specially Kurtis.

Oh, c'mon, Selma thought, disheartened. Then she cleared her throat again. "Dear friends and colleagues," she continued, "I summoned you here after so many years to show you the result of the work of my team in the university, which has consisted basically in the removal of the strata IV and V of..."

Anna yawned loudly, but closed her mouth as Lara glared at her. "While Anna remembers her manners," the British explorer muttered, "I'd like to ask you, Selma, to move this on a little."

The Turkish archaeologist sighed. "Alright. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. See it for yourselves." She turned toward the barracks doors and pulled out the key. "I must warn you it's not gonna be a pleasant sight."

Lara chuckled - but her laughter died as soon as Selma began to turn on lights inside the barrack.

"Oh God." Marie muttered. Kurtis frowned. Anna whistled long. Zip, not looking up from the pad, began to back away. "I'm out, pals. Don't wish to see that again."

The barrack was huge and spaced. Along several meters, a series of tables were placed in rows.

One hundred and twenty tables and boards.

One hundred and twenty skeletons on them.

The visitors had muted, except for Anna, who gave a long whistle again and began to move between the tables. Lara followed her, but she stopped at the fifth table as the child slid forward.

"So, you got them out." Lara told Selma, who, however, had stayed with Marie and Kurtis, both still in their place.

"We've recovered, cleaned, reconstructed and identified all of them." The archaeologist made a vague gesture towards some wooden boards placed next to each skull. "I must admit that the Cabal helped with the task. Each crucified had his titulus."

Kurtis's expression had grown darker as he tried to contain his anger. But Marie seemed suddenly serene. She turned to Selma. "Show me Konstantin. I want to see him."

Selma nodded respectfully and led her to a separate room. Opening the door, she led her inside.

Kurtis had not moved from his place. He glared at Selma. "What have you done?"

"Honor the dead." She replied, and stood up with dignity. For a moment Lara admired her. "I know you don't approve, Kurtis, but it's my job. There was a massacre here, there was genocide. The dead need justic..."

"…justice was served. The price was paid." Kurtis suddenly looked at Lara. "Did you know anything about this?"

She was slightly irritated by his tone, and opened her mouth to give him a sour retort. But suddenly she noticed Anna, still moving among the tables full of skeletons, and decided to shut her mouth, shrug and shake her head.

"Come, please." Said Selma, determined not to be intimidated by him. "You have the right to see him first."

"But not to be asked my fucking opinion before this madness, of course." He mumbled, and passed quickly, like a whirlwind, after his mother.

When Selma entered the room and closed the door, Lara gave a slight sigh and leaned against a table. Anna was still moving between the tables. Lara watched her delicate lips utter the names of the dead.

Konstantin Heissturm.

The titulus lay on the table, and beside it was a large cardboard box, closed with a lid. A tab attached to one of the sides had more information about its content, and even some diagrams. It was clear what it was.

Marie came hesitantly to the table, held by Kurtis, and silently stared at the closed box. Selma commented: "You'll have noticed, maybe, that the other skeletons are spread on a table and these rests are in a box." She swallowed hard. "It's because we weren't able to recover all of them. After the fire, they were detached from the crosses and I'm very afraid that they've been dispersed by some kind of rodents or wild animals."

"It didn't happen to anyone else?" At Selma's hesitation, Marie smiled bitterly. "Such a coincidence. Must be up to the manticores." Then she looked at the box again. "Open it."

"Marie, I..."

"Open it, I said."

Selma exchanged a worried look at Kurtis. He nodded in silence. Selma put her hands gently on the lid and lifted it.

As in the case of the other skeletons, the bones of Konstantin Heissturm, Marie's husband and Kurtis's father, had reddened after she herself had set fire to them years ago in a fit of rage and despair. When Selma and her team of archaeologists and forensics had decided to collect and catalogue them, they were blackened and partially disintegrated, but after cleaning only the slight redness remained due to the heat and the flames. And that was what they saw now, a pile of red bones stacked respectfully and neatly, with the skull, devoid of jaw, at the top.

Marie slipped her hands, deformed and shaken by the disease, by the edge of the box. Then she reached in and stroked the skull's forehead slightly. In other circumstances, Selma would not have allowed anyone outside the excavation crew to touch the remains, much less without gloves. But she was silent this time.

"It's weird." Marie said. Her voice sounded calm and composed. "Last time I saw him alive was like any other day. A man who talks, who walks, who breathes, who laughs and who smiles. It's difficult to relate him to this pile of bones..."

For a moment, there was only the distant rumble of the electric generator feeding the barracks. Then Selma murmured. "You want me to leave you alone for a while?"

"Yes," sighed Marie. "Alone with him... a little more..."

Kurtis moved then. He'd not uttered a single word and his face was absolutely expressionless. He looked around and took the chair that Selma offered him, and helped his mother to sit on it, in front of the box of bones.

"No," he said, refusing the chair Selma offered him too. "Gotta talk to you."

Anna reached out and put one finger inside one of the skull sockets.

"Stop it". Lara grunted. "Show a little respect for these remains."

"Is that what you do with the dead you plunder daily?"

"I plunder the dead because I need to see if they have anything useful or interesting to me. These have nothing. Stop it."

Rolling her eyes, Anna withdrew her hand and continued to wander down the hall, looking at the skeletons and reading their names.

Lara lost sight of her then, for another detail caught her attention. Kurtis and Selma had left the adjacent pavilion and he spoke to her in a muffled voice. For a few minutes, the Turkish archaeologist listened carefully to what he was saying. Suddenly her face lit up and, with a shriek of excitement, she put her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

"Whoa, look at that." She heard her daughter commenting. "Looks like her thesis' gonna make it. Dad's too nice."

"Weird." Lara murmured. Suddenly, she got uptight as Kurtis walked in her direction. In any case, she held his gaze steadily until he stood in front of her.

Anna turned her gaze to Selma and saw her waving her arms in silence, telling her to go with her. "Ehm, well..." She looked at her parents, who only had eyes for each other, "I think I'm gonna go with Aunt Selma. Bye!" And she left on the run.

They waited in silence until the door closed. Then Lara said: "So? What was that? Looks like after all Selma is not gonna waste her years of work."

"I have to talk to you." Kurtis said. "But it's important we do it outside, with Zip."

"Zip?" Lara raised her eyebrows.

"Yes, Zip." A slight smirk appeared at the corner of the man's lips. "Why? Did you expect something else?"

Lara held his gaze for a moment. Those eyes. Those eyes drove her crazy. "No, of course not," she said, gritting her teeth. "Let's go." And she walked past him toward the door.

Kurtis watched her for a moment. And again, how absurd, that flashback, that memory of the first time he saw her, in flesh and bone, in that Parisian café. She still moved like a queen. She hadn't lost any bit of her gracefulness.

The woman walked slowly back to her room, thinking, wondering, what the hell had that been. The hotel reception had called her down to let her know that she'd an important call, but they could not transfer it to the room at the request of the caller. It was weird for the hotel staff to comply with such demands. But it was even worse when, after picking up the receiver and saying "Yes?", whoever had called had hung up immediately.

She hadn't even heard him breathe. Weird, she told herself.

She left the elevator and walked down the hall to her room. And then, barely five paces from the door, she stood, nailed to the ground.

The door to the room was ajar.

A wave of terror assaulted her. She tried to move, but her feet were like glued to the carpet in the hallway. What was that? Had the door been left open? Had she forgotten to close it? Maybe someone from the cleaning crew came in? But it wasn't likely at that time.

"Don't be afraid." She murmured, trembling, the mantra with which she'd survived all those years. "Don't be afraid."

At last she made her way and finally pushed open the door and entered. The room was in order, quiet. "Anyone there?" She shouted, looking around, making use of her rudimentary Turkish. "Hello?"

Silence.

Sighing, she turned to the door and closed it. Then she walked to the bed, and out of the corner of her eye she saw something reddish through the half-open bathroom door.

The claw of fear was gripping her gut long before she decided to move forward and push the door open. Then reality hit her.

Someone had opened her makeup bag and took the red lipstick. With it he'd written, until he had completely worn the lipstick down, a single word. He'd written it all over the bathroom, covering the mirror, the shower screen, the clean white tiles, even the inside of the tub. It was everywhere.

WHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHORE

Her knees failed and she fell against the door. Then she looked around, her eyes almost popping out of their sockets.

He had found her. "It's you, right?" She shrieked, and her voice sounded strident. "Well, here I am! You already have me! Let's end this!"

Silence.

Kneeling on the floor, she crawled on the carpet and, with a flip, lifted the skirt of the large bed.

There was nothing.

There was no one.

The room was empty.

Snuggling into a foetal position, the woman burst into tears.