18. Pain

They say that those who suffer many wounds, or bear a long illness, end up getting used to the pain. That's not true. Pain is always something new, no matter how familiar. Pain does not generate tolerance. One suffers, because there's no other choice. But there's no chance of getting used to it. Pain is pain.

Lying face down on a stretcher, with a tube in one arm and another pumping foreign blood in the other, Lara noticed how they worked inside her wound. Beside her, Anna was holding her hand tightly, even though she had told her it wasn't necessary. Although it was highly irregular, given the circumstances, she'd been allowed to be with her.

Lara had rejected general anaesthesia. With the local it was more than enough; she had told them. The counterpart was noticing how they threw, opened, sewed, rummaged in her flesh and tendons; she even felt the scraping of the surgical instrument against the shoulder blade bone. It was unpleasant, but at least it wasn't pain.

"How does it look?" She muttered, looking sideways at her daughter, the only way she could look at her.

Anna stared in horror at the carnage on her mother's back. "Great." She lied in a hoarse voice.

But both knew that the wound was no longer problematic. It would heal. She would live to tell the tale. Appearances were deceiving, and Lara had been through much worse stuff. Even so, it was an unpleasant vision, for those who weren't used to surgery.

"You shouldn't be here." Lara said. "Wait outside, go see the others."

"I want to be here." Anna replied, laconically, and pressed her fingers tighter.

Slowly, conscientiously, they got rid of the corpse.

She wanted to help, and Kurtis found no reason to refuse. He needed a good extra pair of arms, and although Barbara's were not the strongest, it was better than carrying all the work alone.

He didn't stop to ask if she was going to have a stomach for that. Actually, they were acting against the clock and there was no time to lose. The longer they let a dead man in their hands, the worse for everyone. However, he didn't have to worry. Some things never change, and she had a stomach for that and for worse.

With the rats removed, they took what was left of the man who had been Adolf Schäffer and dissolved it in an acid tub. All protective measures were taken. They worked with efficiency and dedication, despite which, she could not keep quiet. "You had all this ready... from the beginning?" Of course, she hadn't counted on the obvious; that Kurtis was not a talkative man. He just ignored her. "I find it hard to believe that you have hunted and starved all these rats just for... this." Silence. "Shouldn't we have burned it?"

There he answered. "That would be foolishness. Slower. We would generate smoke, they would see us; charcoal and ashes, which they would end up finding, not to mention the smell of burnt meat, which takes months to part with everything. The acid leaves no trace. And it's faster."

"No doubt you've experience in this." Silence again.

She came to vomit a couple more times, vomit that she had to scrupulously clean, as she did with her first. Kurtis didn't flinch. He did what he had to do without his expression altering in the slightest.

The body dissolved relatively quickly, but the result was an unnamed disgusting mass. They poured it into a metal can, and then, without any pause, made fresh cement by hand in the same tub in which they had poured the acid. Then, they poured the paste inside the can, where it was mixed with its repulsive content. Finally, Kurtis sealed it.

They spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning all the remains, and finally, he wrapped the materials and equipment used, put them in another can and sealed it too. It was getting dark when they collapsed at the entrance of the cave. None had exchanged a word in hours.

Pain is pain. Marie Cornel knew it, and like any other human being in the world, she couldn't get used to it. But she knew it well, and knowledge was power. When the enemy is well known, you stop fearing it. Respect it, yes, of course, but not fear it.

Marie had survived, and that was what disturbed her most. By falling together with her own chair in the middle of the crowd, the people underneath her had helped to cushion her fall. And then, the blast had swept everyone, but not reached on its full. Broken bones and bruises were all they had collected on that side of the stage, and they could be considered lucky.

And what did she have? A broken wrist. That was all. Selma Al-Jazeera had saved her life.

Sitting in a wheelchair, with her arm bandaged and behind a vinyl tarp, she watched with unhappy expression at the care the Turkish woman was receiving. She was critical, not able to require anything but general anaesthesia; for that cure was the epitome of the most intense pain, and no one deserved such suffering.

With her heart in a fist, Marie stared as the careful, dedicated fingers of doctors and nurses worked on Selma. Her back was burned. Skin and fat had melted with the remains of the dress. When they lifted the cloth to try to separate it from the body, skin and flesh detached along with the cloth. God, thank heaven she was completely sedated.

It's not right, Marie thought, feeling miserable. It's not fair. She should've jumped. She should've saved herself. Who I am? An old crone meant to die anyway. This is wrong. She shouldn't have saved me...

So much useless suffering exhausted her. It was taking the last of her will to live.

Marie was tired. Very tired.

Kurtis unscrewed the bottle cap, put it to his lips and took a gulp. And other. And another. Noticing the familiar fire coming down his throat, he threw back his head and closed his eyes. And again, that insidious voice: "Is that what you do after killing someone? Getting drunk?"

The ex-legionary stretched his arm with the bottle. "Shut up and drink."

He thought Barbara was going to protest, but instead the woman took the bottle and tasted the liquor. Almost immediately her eyes filled with tears and she began to cough uncontrollably. When she caught her breath, she set the bottle aside. "This is disgusting. I don't know how you can drink it."

"Hmm-hmm." Then the man rummaged through his coat and took out another cigarette. He lit it while watching the stars.

"Shouldn't we come back? They might be looking for us." She inquired, snatching in her jacket, too big for her.

"We can't." Kurtis exhaled the smoke slowly. "If we approach now the cops will interrogate us, ask where we've been, what we've done. And I dunno about you, but I always try to avoid the cops. Doesn't suit me."

"Why doesn't surprise me." She murmured. Then she looked around. "I can't believe what we have done."

Kurtis laughed softly. "You've done worse."

Maybe it was the tone with which he said it, or maybe because it was absurd to keep delaying the moment. Barbara got up and faced him. "Now what?"

"Now what, what?"

She put her arms in a jug, but Kurtis realized that it was nothing more than a ploy to appear calm. Her hands were shaking. "He's gone. We reached the end of the deal."

He watched her for a moment, then crushed the cigarette on the rock and sat up slightly. "Smartest thing," he said, "would be killing you and get you into one of those cans soon on the way to the sea. Not something I usually check with anyone, but I doubt I can blame myself for it."

Barbara blinked slowly. "As long as you don't feed me to rats..."

Kurtis stared at her for a moment, then looked away. "Leave."

For a moment, there was no more than the murmur of the night crickets. "W-hat?"

"Just go." He repeated. "You're free, aren't you? Then turn around and get out." He leaned back on the rock. "I promise I won't shoot you in the back or else."

She watched him silently for a few seconds, and then, instinctively, she snuck up again in her jacket. "So, this is it? This is the end?"

"What else do you want? Congratulations, you survived. And now, bye."

Barbara nodded solemnly. "Thank you, Kurtis Tr-"

"Don't thank me." He cut abruptly. "Don't get mistaken, you and I are not, nor will we ever be, friends. We had a deal. Deal fulfilled. You have what you wanted and so do I. In exchange for that, I let you go."

She changed the weight from one foot to another. "It can't be just that."

"No." He admitted calmly. "I know perfectly what I owe you. Without you, I couldn't have defeated that monstrous thing you, on the other hand, invoked. Without you, I wouldn't be alive, nor would Lara and my daughter. You brought us back as much as me. Without you, I wouldn't have been able to capture that son of a bitch either. And yesterday you saved my life." Then he jumped up and went to her, placing his face a few inches from hers. She didn't move. "But don't get mistaken, Bathsheba." He muttered his old name as one spits a curse. "I guess what other men think when they look at you, but my guts stir just at seeing you. Your face evokes horrors. I look at you, and I see Lara bleeding on the floor by a gunshot. You delivered her to a gangster boss for killing. I look at you, and it's the face in front of me while I was tortured and humiliated endlessly. I look at you, and I remember how you left Lara in the claws of that hellish being, and how you ripped my daughter out of her womb to feed her to your repulsive goddess. I look at you, and it's all I see."

She had looked down. "I thought you had forgiven me."

He turned away from her. "Forgive is not forget. So, here's my gift: you're free, and you're alive. Go and live your life the best you can - but I don't want to see you anymore. Gotcha? Now disappear."

In silence, she collected her things, with apparent calm, without fear, without sadness. But before walking away, she still turned one last time. "In spite of everything, you're a good man, Kurtis Trent. I wish you good fortune."

He shook his head. "I am not a good man." He replied. "I am a man of my word. I don't want to see you anymore, much less close to my daughter. We're even now, but if you approach her again, it will be the last time you do it."

She nodded quietly, and then turned around, and walked away.

"So... when will she wake up?"

Marie shrugged. At least, as much as she could with a bandaged arm. "Hard to say. The burns are serious, and very painful. Doctors will keep her sedated until she gets better, but it will be a slow process."

Releasing a deep sigh, Zip sat beside her and rubbed his face. If he expected a shower of reproaches from the old woman, she surprised him by keeping silent. Even so, he needed to atone for the feeling of guilt, so he started talking: "Dunno what failed, Marie. Everything was controlled. We'd checked the perimeter thousands of times. Kurtis had checked the stage just fifteen minutes before... fifteen minutes!" He whispered in a low voice, driven by rage. "There was nothing there. There was nothing!"

Marie sighed. "Don't torture yourself. That man was one of a kind. The Cabal always hired the best, and he'd the worst: personal reasons." She turned to him. "How's my son?"

Zip sighed again and rubbed his eyes this time. "Mad as hell."

"I can imagine. Then he's not badly hurt."

"No, ma'am. Only minor injuries." He omitted to say that Schäffer had almost strangled him with a wire. "Lara? The lil'monster?"

Marie looked straight ahead again. "Anna doesn't have a single wound, she's unharmed." But nobody is talking about her wounds inside, she thought discouraged. "And Lara will recover. They have sewn the wound and put blood on her."

"Croft always gets on. Didn't expect less from her."

And none spoke of the ten casualties and more than forty wounded who were also there, in that makeshift field hospital. Because it wasn't worth talking about what was obvious.

Collateral damage, they called it. Marie had another name for that. Death of innocents.

She arrived at Ankara's airport a week later. With little more than a backpack and a purse, the woman named Barbara Standford got her boarding pass for Paris. She would start there, then... the sky was the limit.

She bought a newspaper and sat down to wait for the call for her flight near the boarding gate. The news still spoke of the Göreme attack, which had not been claimed by anyone. Twelve casualties, now. And dozens of wounded, including the famous British explorer Lara Croft, who, however, would survive.

How not, she thought. Then she realized that there was someone before her. She looked up slowly, this time calmly, without fear. He was gone. Forever.

A young man was staring at her in that way in which men stared at women, and how disgusting it was. She wondered if one day she would stop retching at it.

"Get lost." She snapped when he opened his mouth to speak. "Now". He held her gaze for a few moments. The sly smile died on the young man's face. If you knew what I am... what I've been, you would be on your knees, shaking with fear. Disgusting maggot.

Something must have read in her eyes - the boy turned and walked away, perplexed.

Releasing a sigh, Barbara leaned back in the seat and relaxed. Leaving the newspaper aside, she looked toward the horizon.

A new life began for her, and she didn't plan to live it with fear. Never more.

He noticed her trotting out the front door and look around expectantly. A thin, cold rain had begun to fall, but she seemed not to notice it. Then she saw him, hidden in a garage entrance and her face lit up. She ran across the street, ignoring the horn of the vehicle that almost crossed her and the expletives in Turkish of the driver she ignored.

She threw herself in his arms. "Dad!" She shouted, sinking her face into his chest. "You alright?"

He had no idea how much he needed to hug his daughter until then. He embraced her tightly. My brave girl. He stroked her brown hair, now wet. "Hey, c'mon." He patted her head affectionately. "It's fine." Then he crouched before her and watched her carefully: "How are you?"

Anna shrugged. "Nice and neat, I guess. Mom covered me." She sighed. "But don't worry, she's doing great. Grandma Marie has only one broken wrist. The worst is for Aunt Selma. She's burned." She rubbed her eyes to hide the rising tears. "But she doesn't suffer, they have her asleep because Uncle Zip says that if she was awake, she would be howling. Poor Uncle Zip, he's broken."

Kurtis nodded. "I'll talk with him later - but now I want you to tell me how you feel." He stroked her cheek. "Things didn't turn out smoothly, kiddo."

When moving, the girl noticed the patch in his throat. After two days, his hoarseness had improved, but the realization didn't escape her. "You're hurt." She murmured.

"Just a scratch. There was a fight. That's it."

"And the…?"

"We don't have to worry about him anymore."

"Did you kill him?" Silence. "Dad, I'm not a baby."

No, you're not. Not anymore. "I did what I had to." He replied, much to his regret. "He won't harm us anymore."

Anna nodded. Then she muttered: "I, huh... I'm sorry... I failed..."

"Doesn't matter. It's in the past now."

"Maybe if... if I just..."

Kurtis waved his hand in front of her face. "Forget it, Anna. The Gift is very harsh to control, and the farsee is inaccurate. Even I didn't fully came to master it. What happened to you is the most probable. But I will train you to do your best. Now I don't want you to feel guilty, because it wasn't your fault. It was not your responsibility, and it could hardly have come out otherwise. Ok?"

"Ok."

"Attagirl." He got up, but then he noticed she was holding his arm. "What about Bathsheba? Where is she? What happened to her?" Anna was reluctant to call her by her new name.

"Well, she made it unharmed, like you. She's gone."

"Gone?"

"She had nothing else to do here. I've sent her away."

The girl watched him with a frown. "Really?"

"Anna Croft, you won't say I'm a liar, right?"

"No, no, I just..."

"I just let her go."

"Alright."

And that was it.

He still had to wait two days for the police to clear Göreme's hospital, where they had moved the injured after the primary healthcare taken place at the makeshift campaign site. In those two days, Kurtis was responsible for making the cans containing the evidence of his guilt disappear. Then, he dressed as a civilian and finally went to meet Lara.

He found her next to Selma. The archeologist had been moved to a single room. She still couldn't lie on her back... and it would take a long time to do so. From what Kurtis knew about burns, and some idea he had, it would be months before a sort of new, reptilian, leathery skin formed on live and exposed flesh. And that skin would never look nice, but it would be skin. It would be life.

He stood a few seconds standing at the lintel of the door, watching the woman he loved to bow down and touch the hair of the burned woman. Lara didn't look bad outside the paleness and dark circles under her eyes. Her left arm was bandaged and immobilized on the torso, but it was not the arm what had been injured: everything was aimed at not forcing the shoulder joint, and by extension the shoulder blade, at all.

Then he cleared his throat discreetly, and she looked up, and smiled at him. God, the things he was able to do for that smile. But it was involuntary, more for the relief and joy of seeing him, although it was enough for him. Then her expression hardened and she made an attempt to rise.

"No." He said, and approached, putting a hand on her shoulde. Then he critically examined the thick bandage on her back. "How are you?"

"Fine. I'm a lucky girl after all." Lara couldn't help a bitter grimace. "Just a few stitches and a bag of blood. The next donation campaign, I'm in."

"Are you in pain?"

"Overprotective fool."

She released that unwittingly, force of habit. Those words were like a trigger for Kurtis; they simply activated him. He leaned over her, put an arm around her and kissed her. Hard.

Lara got carried away. It wasn't the right thing in those circumstances, but God, how she needed it. She let herself to be kissed. Slowly, sweetly. She had missed his taste.

"Whoa." There sounded a weak, brittle voice next to them. "That's a nice sight to awake at."

They parted, Breathless, to meet Selma Al-Jazeera's face, eyes wide open, staring at them, mouth parted in a mischievous little smile. Lara couldn't help blushing. There she was, another one activated at the minimum nonsense.

Kurtis knelt beside her and gently squeezed her arm full of drippers. "How are you doing?"

"Dead inside and everything hurts." The Turkish laughed softly. "I think someone has peeled my back with a cheese scratcher. Other than that, I'll survive. How's the others?" And then her eyes widened, terrified. "Oh my God, your mother, Kurtis... I pushed her..."

"My mother's fine." He cut. "She has only a broken wrist. You saved her life, Selma. I'll never be able to repay it. And I have failed you. Forgive me."

Selma blinked slowly and tried to focus her eyes. She was still under sedative effects. "Oh, Kurtis..." She sighed. "It wasn't your fault. Does he... you know...?"

"He didn't get away with it." He cut again. "I've taken care of him."

She closed her eyes. "Then you haven't failed, silly."

"Don't mind him." Lara smiled. "He's always enjoyed to blame himself for everything going wrong. It's his personal kink."

At that moment Zip entered carrying a bag with hamburgers and fries. Does he eat anything else? Lara thought. When he saw Kurtis leaning over Selma, he dropped the food on a chair and ran to her side. "Hey, princess... my princess." He stroked her hair, not caring that Lara and Kurtis were watching. "How are you? Does it hurt? You shouldn't be awake. Gonna call the doctors..."

Selma tried to stretch an arm. "Wait, wait... not yet. I wanna know... Anna's fine?"

"Yes, princess, lil' monster is with Mrs. Cornel. Both are fine."

"Then just one more thing." She took a deep breath. "Kurtis, I'm sorry about the memorial monument. Your father's statue and that stuff. I know you hated it."

Kurtis looked at her, perplexed, for a few moments. Then he ran his hand over his face and laughed. Lara joined him later, provoked by him. It wasn't usual to hear him laugh. And soon, there were three laughing, except Selma, who looked at them confused. "Hey, well, I... I don't get it."

"That memorial was ugly as balls, princess" Zip said at the end, shrugging. "Shame our local terrorist is sleeping with the fishes, shoulda thank him. I woulda put a bomb on that crap too."

The laughs got louder - and finally, Selma laughed too. Yeah, you're not gonna get rid of it, she swore silently. As soon as I get out of here, I'm having that memorial built.

Kurtis reached Zip in the hallway, when he was going to tell the doctors. "Wait." He stopped him, taking him by the shoulder. "Gotta something to tell ya."

He turned and faced him. What was in his look? Fear? Guilt? Ironically, Kurtis and Zip were almost the same age. The ex-legionary was only two years older - but they were different. Kurtis conveyed an aura of mature, tanned, aged man; while Zip would always look young, vital, little serious. It was weird to see him so affected. But, on the other hand, who could blame him. "Spite it out, boss."

"I owe you an apology for what I did in Göreme." Kurtis put his hand on his shoulder. "Forgive me."

"Hey, boss." Zip put his hand on his and squeezed it hard. "No hard feelings, 'kay? We screwed up big time, but coulda been worse. I'm sorry, I swear I did my best."

"I know. Forget this. We've been lucky. I couldn't have done it without you." He withdrew his hand. "Don't be afraid of me. Whatever I said, before and now, I'd never hurt you."

Zip stared at him for a moment, and suddenly, wrapped him in a big bear hug. Kurtis let out a grunt of pain. Under his clothes, he still had his torso full of cuts, bruises and bruises. But Zip didn't seem to remember. "I know, boss." He murmured in his ear, his voice broken by emotion. "That fucking Gorgon. You remember? In the sewers of New York. If you had wanted to kill me, you woulda done it there and then - but you didn't. You're a fine lad, Kurt."

You're a good man, Kurtis Trent. Bathsheba's voice returned to him.

There was nothing else to say, so he let Zip hold him until he released him and patted him animatedly on his arms, forgetting that he was still full of cuts. "Attaboy." The Afroamerican man said, festive. "Now let's forget all this crap and focus on the good shit, 'kay? And if you want some advice, you're a mess. You need a bit of joy, man. Got a great idea. The princess told me you were biting Croft there..."

"Zip?"

"... and it was about fucking time, shit, dude, you ended with the marriage fight. So, if you want good advice from a pro, leave all this shit behind, take Croft..."

"Zip!?

"... and fuck her like there's no tomorrow, man, fuck her until they hear her moans in Jakarta, it'll be good for ya both, dude, because..."

"ZIP!"

"What?"

"Get outta my sight. Now."

He made his last visit to his mother, but it was the most disturbing one. He found her sitting in a wheelchair by the window of her room. He saw her hunched over, cowering, as if she were slowly dwarfing. He saw her exhausted and consumed. He didn't like it at all.

Beside her, Anna talked to her softly as she helped her pick up the balls of colored wool. It seemed she'd tried to crochet for a while, but had ended up giving up, of course.

When she saw him enter, Anna smiled and went to kiss him, then, cleverly, got lost in the hallway. They had taught her to be absent when she sensed a personal conversation - and her intuition was on her way to being like her mother's: one of the best in the world.

"Mother..." Kurtis took his healthy hand. Although it wasn't healthy, either. "You look bad for just a broken wrist."

Marie Cornel looked at him with glassy eyes. She seemed about to cry. "It's nothing." She murmured. "I'm just tired, very tired."

She seemed to have aged a thousand years. Kurtis had a bad feeling. Still, he tried to cheer her up. He talked about the others. He told her that the threat was gone. But for once, nothing seemed to encourage that unbroken woman.

"I knew you would do it." Marie smiled and stroked her son's cheek, now with a few days stubble. "You always do it. But I'm very tired, Kurtis. All this is too big for me. I can't anymore. The dead, the wounded... poor Selma, with her back burned. Why did she so that? I'm just a useless old woman, who's still dying anyway."

Kurtis frowned. "Selma did what she thought correct. She's still young, she'll recover."

"That girl already had too many scars because of us. She didn't deserve this."

"She's alive, mother. It's much more than others can say."

Marie sighed and lowered her head. Then, Kurtis said: "I don't like seeing you like that. You have to rest. We'll go back home."

She raised her red eyes to him again. "Oh yes." She sighed. "Home. Take me home, please. I don't want anything else from here."

And that was what he did. In two days, everything was ready and agreed. Kurtis took Marie back home to her ranch in Utah. The last events had been too much for the old woman. She'd already seen, and obtained, what she wanted. Despite monuments and memorials, Marie took the bones of Konstantin Heissturm, her late husband, her only love back to the United States. The great martyr of the Order had been a stateless person, like his son; as most of the Lux Veritatis had been, but he would rest in his wife's homeland, with her people.

They agreed, too, that Anna would go with them. The girl looked sad and absent. A little fresh air, a break from such tension, a few days of calm, was what she needed. She accepted, tempted by the prospect of being able to ride Niyol and see her Navajo friends.

But Lara didn't go with them. "I wish I could." She told Kurtis, the day they said goodbye at the airport. But it was clear: it didn't fekt right that she left Zip and Selma alone at that point. Of course, her bank account was running with all medical and hospital expenses, as she'd always done when it came to her friends and allies; despite the protests of well-meaning hearts. However, it was one thing to run with expenses, and another to run away and leave behind a confused Zip and Selma, sedated again while the painful healing process continued. Everyone understood. There was no problem.

So why did it hurt so much to be separated again?

"I have a bad feeling." Kurtis murmured, while gently pulling a lock of Lara's face. She didn't reject him. She no longer rejected him.

The British explorer frowned, but instead of questioning him, she muttered: "Me too." She looked sideways at Marie, who was waiting patiently next to Anna near the boarding gate, the two pretending they were not looking sideways, too. "As soon as I can, I'll go."

"Will you?" He murmured.

She turned to meet his gaze again. He seemed alone, helpless. Broken.

Which would have been ironic if she'd known what he was thinking.

Dammit. Shoulda taken Zip's advice. Take her to a hotel. And let everyone hear us in Jakarta.

But no. It was up to her to go to him. He'd promised so. That was how it worked. She would go to him... or not at all.

"Of course." Lara frowned. "Who'd you think I am? They need me too."

She said goodbye with barely brushing his mouth with her lips, and then quickly left, as if fleeing.