Chapter 4: National Gallery
National Gallery
London
14 November 2003
13:00
Lara Croft
Lara strolled gracefully through the expansive galleries, each step echoing in the hallowed halls of history. The tantalizing allure of art and antiquity drew her like a moth to a flame, and among the many chambers she ventured into, the Amazonian gallery beckoned particularly strongly. The room was a treasure trove of creativity, adorned with an array of paintings, sculptures, and artifacts that she and her compatriot Liz had discovered in the annals of time, precisely in the year 1999. Astonishingly, four years had elapsed since that remarkable find, casting a sense of temporal vertigo upon Lara's contemplations.
The canvases depicted the legendary Amazonian figure, Lauren, a name that resonated with power and resilience. Her narrative, as chronicled in the eloquent inscriptions that graced the base of each frame, wove tales of tenacity against incredible odds. Within these masterpieces, a cosmic clash unfurled – an epic battle between Angels and Demons, vying for dominion over the ethereal realms.
Among the mesmerizing depictions, one portrait provoked a disquieting shiver down Lara's spine. Lauren's visage bore an uncanny resemblance to her own, an uncanny mirroring that whispered of uncanny connections bridging time and fate. The artwork captured Lauren poised like a warrior queen, her grip firm on a blood-stained spear, her other hand pressed to a wound seeping crimson life. Beside her, a valiant fighter knelt in defeat, while atop him stood a triumphant figure, his countenance etched with malevolent glee. Strangely, the woman, Lauren, bore an unsettling semblance to Lara herself, a mirror image that taunted the boundaries of reality.
"I stand before my reflection," Lara mused aloud, the words tinged with an eerie reverberation that seemed to resonate within the very walls of the gallery.
Adjacent to Lauren's depiction stood a warrior figure, bearing an uncanny resemblance to William, yet diverging in the contours of muscles and the fire of determination etched upon his features. A quirk of skepticism curled upon Lara's lips, for while William embodied numerous virtues, the mantle of a battle-hardened warrior didn't quite seem to be among them.
Lara's contemplations briefly shifted to the persistent tick of her wristwatch, its measured cadence underscoring the relentless march of time. The luminous hands had crept beyond the zenith of noon, inching past the boundary of 1 pm, a temporal reminder that tethered her awareness to the pressing world beyond the art-adorned walls.
"Where could he be?" Lara's thoughts murmured with a hint of worry, the enigma of William's whereabouts setting a note of disquiet in her heart, the dissonance a palpable refrain echoing in the chambers of her mind.
With a lingering glance at the gallery's current masterpiece—a tableau portraying the innocence of youth through four children engaged in play—Lara's focus veered to the inscription, a cryptic augury that cast the scene in an altogether different light. "They will grow apart but the war of good and evil will bring them back," the words read, summoning forth a labyrinth of questions that threaded through the fabric of her curiosity.
"What war?" she mused aloud, her furrowed brow betraying a mixture of intrigue and frustration as if this canvas concealed an elusive truth that eluded her grasp, a puzzle piece just beyond her reach, hidden in the folds of destiny's grand tapestry.
Amid her contemplations, a whisper of presence, an almost imperceptible disturbance, tiptoed into her awareness. Someone lingered behind her, an unspoken presence that materialized as a soft rustle, a cadence of breath intruding upon her solitude and beckoning her to acknowledge the intrusion.
"These children remind me of our childhood," a man's voice said, slicing through the air with a touch of nostalgia, pulling Lara's thoughts back from the labyrinthine corridors of her mind. With an instinctive swivel, she pivoted around, her eyes locking onto the source of the voice.
"William," she exclaimed, her lips curling into a genuine smile of recognition and happiness at the sight of her longtime companion. A cascade of familiarity washed over her as she took in his presence, his essence untouched by the passage of time. "I do not follow."
His appearance remained reassuringly familiar, a portrait of constancy. The azure pools of his eyes mirrored her own, and the rich chocolate waves of his hair cascaded over his forehead, a shared trait that had weathered the years. As he halted just a breath away from her, clad in a black shirt adorned with a demon's visage, paired with jeans and sturdy boots, his enigmatic demeanor spoke of a man forever poised on the precipice of the unknown.
"I guess you don't remember," he remarked, his gaze momentarily lifting to the captivating painting that held the pair in its thrall. "I've been studying it, the painting, and I came across a photo of when I was younger. Around the age of these children."
His words unfurled a cloak of curiosity around Lara, a tapestry woven from the threads of an enigma. As he extended a photograph to her, her eyes traced the contours of the captured moment—a quartet of children frolicking, their innocence an echo of bygone days. Yet, her attention was irrevocably drawn to the singular figure among them, a young girl whose face mirrored her own.
"That's me," she breathed, astonishment and perplexity mingling in her voice, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.
"How did I miss this? How did I forget this even?" The questions danced upon her lips, each word a reflection of her bewilderment, as her gaze alternated between the tangible image in her hands and the ethereal depiction on the canvas.
Lara raised her eyes, the looming painting as an intricate portal to the enigmas that threaded through their lives. A whisper of fate, perhaps, or an intricate dance of symbols meant to guide or warn.
"Are the fates trying to warn me of something?" she wondered aloud, the echo of her voice swallowed by the gallery's vastness.
In the weave of conversation, William's revelations spun a tapestry of their shared past, unraveling strands of remembrance. "I had forgotten that we used to be friends before our last year in high school. It was me, you, and my brother and sister."
The past unfurled its tendrils, conjuring fragments of memories that had been consigned to the recesses of Lara's mind, obscured by the relentless march of time.
"I can't remember them, William. Not even back in high school. What happened to them?" Lara queried, her gaze locking onto his, a search for answers etched in her eyes.
His tale was one of sorrow and parting, the siblings scattered by the hands of fate after an ominous day, their paths diverging into the vast unknown. It was a chronicle marked by the jagged edges of loss and the mournful cadence of unanswered questions.
"I'm sorry," Lara whispered, her touch gentle as she reached out to graze his arm, a comforting gesture born of shared empathy.
As the tendrils of the enigma wound ever tighter, their voices became a bridge spanning the abyss of the unknown. William's confession of the disconcerting congruence between the photograph and the painting forged a nexus of uncertainty between them.
"But why would this photo look the same as the painting? The same garden is painted, the same house, and even our clothes look the same but how and why?" The questions flowed from Lara's lips, the room's ambiance humming with curiosity.
William's gaze, laden with both hope and trepidation, met Lara's unwavering eyes. "Look Lara, I know as little as you; that's why I asked you to come to this gallery today. You have more experience in finding out puzzles like this one."
The riddle remained at large, a conundrum demanding a mind well-versed in unraveling the intricacies of history's web.
"You said you had something of mine," Lara interjected, a note of anticipation rippling through her tone.
The curve of his lips heralded a mirthful reveal, a glimpse into the forthcoming unveiling. He reached for his backpack, deft fingers drawing forth an object that gleamed in the ambient light. Once the artifact was revealed, he shouldered his bag, his gaze locked onto Lara's as if the very world held its breath in anticipation.
"This is yours," he declared, proffering the golden tiger, a relic of untold power and significance. Lara's hands cradled the weighty emblem, her fingers tracing its contours, the connection between them rekindled by the touch of history.
"You left in such a hurry when you went to stop Seth that you left it behind," William explained, his voice a melodic symphony intermingled with memory.
As the artifact rested within her grasp, William's voice wove a new thread into the tapestry, one laden with whispers of legend and destiny. "There's a rumor that this tiger is the key to opening the real Amazonian's tomb and its treasure—the Spear," he revealed, words that bore the weight of possibility and the cadence of the mythical.
With the artifact between them, William led her to the pivotal painting, where Lauren's strength resonated against the backdrop of a fallen warrior and a woman cradled in death's embrace.
"Why do you think so?" Lara inquired, her voice a cadence of curiosity that echoed through the chamber.
"The Amazonian's will to rise again," William began, his words a cryptic echo of a much larger narrative. Before his explanation could unfurl further, his gaze flickered beyond Lara's form, his attention arrested by a presence that materialized on the periphery of her vision.
National Gallery
London
14 November 2003
13:00
Kurtis Trent
Kurtis surveyed the imposing edifice before him, his gaze settling on the formidable structure with a resigned sigh. Somewhere within those labyrinthine walls was his elusive brother, the missing piece of an intricate puzzle that had captivated his thoughts and fueled his determination. Yet, the formidable expanse posed a vexing question: where exactly was William concealed within this architectural tapestry?
The contemplative frown etched into Kurtis' features was a testament to the depth of his concern. The magnitude of the building dwarfed him, its sprawling corridors a potential labyrinth that could easily confound his efforts to locate his sibling and, by extension, the secrets that dangled on the precipice of revelation.
"I need to use my Farsee," he resolved, his thoughts crystallizing into action. However, the manifestation of this unique ability, one that enabled him to see beyond the physical realm, necessitated a measure of solitude, a haven from prying eyes.
With swift determination, Kurtis scaled the staircase, each step an echo of his resolve. His path led him to the bathrooms, a sanctuary of relative privacy amidst the bustling gallery. His perceptive eyes swept across the marble floor, registering the array of six public restroom doors. Satisfied that the space was vacant, he secured the last cubicle, the heavy metallic click of the lock sealing his chosen retreat.
As the door provided an intimate cocoon of solitude, Kurtis shut his eyes, a prelude to the ethereal dance that awaited him. His arms rose, palms upturned, a gesture that beckoned his soul to disengage from the confines of flesh.
His awareness expanded as the vivid red hue of his otherworldly perception surrounded him, embracing his senses. With a focus on safeguarding his physical body, he left the bathroom and embarked on a spectral journey. He moved effortlessly through walls and barriers, defying the limitations of the physical realm with remarkable swiftness.
Navigating the intricate fabric of reality, Kurtis set his course with precision, guided by an unwavering sense of purpose that led him directly to his elusive brother's side. Amid a complex array of galleries and corridors, he identified William's unmistakable figure—a singular beacon amidst the crowd of people.
Kurtis fixed his ethereal gaze on the number 120 displayed above a doorway, a sign that provided him with the necessary guidance.
Returning to his physical form momentarily, he then proceeded towards the room labeled "Amazonian's story," a tantalizing clue that beckoned him forward.
As he moved swiftly through the hallways and corners, the surroundings became a blur, and each step was taken with innate caution, shielding him from prying eyes. The shadows became his allies as he seamlessly navigated through the complex tapestry of visitors and staff—a silent specter driven by a resolute purpose.
Before him, the room materialized, its significance evident in the very air around it. Kurtis observed the unfolding scene within—a tableau capturing a woman, her form partially concealed yet unmistakably connected to William, who stood nearby. Tension hung in the air, shrouding their intentions and affiliations in an enigmatic cloak.
William's gaze ascended, his eyes meeting Kurtis' ethereal form. The connection transcended the barriers between the corporeal and the spectral, a silent communion that spoke of shared history and a common destiny.
In a moment that unfolded with disconcerting swiftness, William extracted his firearm, the cold steel glinting with malevolent intent. Kurtis' instincts surged to the forefront, his very essence coiling into a defensive crouch as he sought the shelter of cover, the echo of footsteps scrambling for refuge punctuating the air.
Within the chaotic symphony, Kurtis' focus honed on the target of William's aggression—a man, a pawn in the convoluted machinations that had enmeshed them all. It was a fleeting acknowledgment, a testament to the threads of fate that intertwined their lives.
Kurtis' introspection briefly shifted, gratitude flooding his consciousness for the intervention that had saved him from a perilous encounter. "I could be dead if not for him," his internal monologue whispered in reverence, an acknowledgment of the debt owed to the unanticipated ally.
His perspective swiveled once more, the tableau shifting to encompass the chaos that had erupted in the room. The canvas was now splattered with panic, the captive audience fleeing in terror from the tumultuous spectacle that had unraveled before their eyes.
Amid the cacophony, William and the enigmatic woman vanished, swallowed by the maelstrom, leaving behind a vacuum of questions and a wake of uncertainty.
National Gallery
London
14 November 2003
14:45
Lara Croft
Lara's heart pounded against her chest, a wild rhythm that matched the chaos erupting around her. The acrid scent of gunpowder mixed with the tang of fear, filling the air as William's sudden movement yanked her from the present into a maelstrom of adrenaline. The sharp crack of gunfire reverberated through her ears, each shot a staccato beat in the symphony of panic.
Caught in the whirlwind of the moment, she felt William's fingers close around her hand, a firm and urgent grip that sent a jolt of electricity up her arm. Her fingers instinctively tightened around her firearm, the cool metal providing a reassuring weight against her palm. The world seemed to blur as William's strong pull propelled her forward, her feet stumbling to keep up with his determined stride.
Her heart raced not only from the sprint but from the shock of the situation. What had just happened? Who was the target of William's shots? These questions echoed in her mind like a constant drumbeat as they fled through the chaotic crowd, bodies moving in a synchronized dance of fear.
As they burst out of the building's entrance, the sunlight hit her eyes like an explosion of brilliance. The glare momentarily disoriented her, and she squinted, trying to make sense of the scene unfolding before her. The screech of car tires against asphalt assaulted her ears, joining the symphony of chaos. And then, they came to an abrupt halt, breathless and pulsating with a heady mixture of fear and curiosity.
A red Toyota stood before them, its paint glinting in the harsh sunlight. William's voice cut through the turmoil, his words an anchor amidst the storm. "Get in," he instructed, his tone urgent but strangely composed given the circumstances. His arm gestured toward the passenger door, a silent command that left no room for hesitation.
Lara's gaze flickered between the car and William, a myriad of emotions crashing within her. There was a trust that had developed between them, born from the time spent together, but this situation had caught her off guard, shaking the foundation of their partnership. And yet, a thread of determination wove its way through her apprehension. She knew that at this moment, her actions could shape future events.
Without a word, she opened the passenger door, her movements a blend of precision and haste. The seat was cool against her skin as she slid into the car, the door shutting with a resounding thud that seemed to signal a point of no return. Through the window, she glimpsed William's face, etched with a mix of concentration and fierce resolve.
He fired another shot, the retort of the gun sending a shiver down her spine. Her eyes followed the trajectory of the bullet, landing on a figure that emerged from the chaos, a mirror image of William but with an air of rugged experience that set him apart. Was this his brother? The thought flickered through her mind as she watched the scene unfold.
The man, whoever he was, seemed momentarily halted by William's gunfire, pinned down by the relentless assault. But even as the shots rang out, Lara caught a glimpse of something deeper in the man's eyes—a determination that matched William's. It was a battle of wills, an unspoken confrontation laden with history and emotion.
With a final shot, William seemed to have gained a fleeting upper hand, his shots landing strategically enough to keep the man at bay. And in that moment of vulnerability, William moved, his pace swift as he covered the distance to the car. The door swung open, and he slid into the driver's seat with a fluidity that bespoke years of practice.
Rubber burned against the asphalt as the car surged forward, the engine's roar drowning out the chaos left behind. Lara's hand instinctively found the door handle, her knuckles white as she held on, the rush of speed and the blur of the scenery outside a stark contrast to the stillness settling within her.
Beside her, William's grip on the steering wheel was tight, his jaw set in determination. She stole a glance at his profile, his features a mixture of focus and raw, unspoken emotion. The tension in the air was palpable, a thick fog that enveloped them both, and yet beneath it all, she sensed a connection, a shared purpose that bound them together in this tumultuous escape.
Minutes turned into miles as the landscape blurred past them, a tapestry of fleeting colors that held no meaning in their frantic flight. The rush of wind against the car's frame echoed the whirlwind of thoughts in her mind. What had they stumbled upon? What secrets were hidden in the chasm between William and his pursuer? The questions were as numerous as the moments that sped by, each one a puzzle piece in a larger enigma.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the road, Lara turned her gaze to William, the man who had pulled her into this whirlwind of uncertainty. She searched his eyes for answers, for a glimpse of the emotions that churned beneath his stoic exterior. Amid danger and chaos, there was an intimacy that had blossomed, a bond forged in the crucible of the unknown.
Their eyes met, and for a fleeting moment, the world seemed to be still. In that unspoken exchange, Lara glimpsed the weight of responsibility in William's eyes, the burden of a history that drove his actions. And in her gaze, she hoped he saw the reflection of a determination that matched his own—a commitment to uncover the truth, no matter the cost.
The road stretched ahead, an endless ribbon of possibilities, and as the miles ticked on, Lara knew their journey was just beginning. The conversations that had yet to be spoken, the emotions that had yet to be fully understood, all lay ahead, waiting to be unraveled in the tapestry of their shared destiny.
National Gallery
London
14 November 2003
14:45
Kurtis Trent
In a frenzied rush, Kurtis burst out of the dilapidated building, his heart pounding like a relentless drumbeat against his ribs. He sprinted through the chaotic labyrinth of exits, his breath coming in ragged gasps as adrenaline surged through his veins. Amidst the tumult, the shrill wails of police sirens reverberated through the air, casting an eerie symphony of lawlessness.
"I've got to keep moving," Kurtis thought, every nerve on edge, the weight of his outlaw status pressing heavily upon him.
The parking area yawned before him, a concrete expanse drenched in the harsh glow of overhead lights. And there, a jolt of recognition surged through him as he locked eyes on his brother, William. But the glory was swiftly replaced by shock as the crackle of gunfire sliced through the air. Instinctively, Kurtis ducked and weaved, a frantic dance to evade the deadly projectiles.
Yet, a strange realization settled upon him - the bullets were strategically placed, not aimed directly at him. Amidst the chaos, he deciphered the intention in his brother's actions, a chilling understanding that left him reeling.
"Step back for now," Kurtis reasoned, his mind a whirlwind of conflicted emotions. He retreated, each step laden with the weight of the surreal encounter, as William, still gripping the firearm, hurled himself into a waiting car. The engine roared to life, tires screeching in protest against the pavement, and the vehicle tore away, leaving behind a cloud of dust and Kurtis' racing thoughts.
"Frustration and disbelief," Kurtis muttered under his breath, straddling his motorcycle like a beast ready to pounce. He revved the engine, a guttural growl that reverberated through the air. The scent of gasoline and burnt rubber filled his nostrils, a sensory maelstrom that matched the turmoil in his mind. With determination etched into his features, he peeled out of the parking lot, a streak of determination and fury in pursuit of the elusive car.
Abruptly, a sharp crack pierced the air, the sound of a gunshot like a warning shot across the canvas of chaos. Kurtis' head swiveled, and his eyes widened as he identified the threat closing in – Gunderson and his henchmen, a ruthless pack determined to hunt him down.
"Of course, because it couldn't be easy," Kurtis grumbled, the tension coiling tighter within him. His foot slammed the accelerator, and the motorcycle surged forward, an embodiment of his unyielding will. The wind whipped around him, the cool caress of night air against his skin an odd contrast to the intensity of the chase. He bolted towards his brother's fading trail, a determined force hurtling through the darkened streets.
William's Apartment
London
14 November 2003
20:26
Lara Croft
Upon stepping into the dimly lit apartment, Lara's senses were immediately assaulted by the jarring disarray that greeted her. The air seemed to carry a tinge of chaos, a blend of scattered belongings and tension that hung thick. It was as though the very walls held their breath, mirroring the unease in her heart. William, casting a weary glance over his shoulder, softly shut the heavy door behind them, as if sealing off the outside world along with the disarray.
"Before anything else, how about a glass of water and some explanations?" Lara's voice wove through the air, her eyes taking in the clutter that sprawled before her.
With an almost defeated sigh, William turned his gaze downward and slowly trudged toward the modest kitchen area. The amber light from a single hanging bulb cast elongated shadows on the worn linoleum floor. Retrieving a glass and filling it with water, he seemed to be stalling, buying time before delving into the tempest of emotions that seemed to be swirling beneath his calm exterior.
He returned to the living room, placing the glass on the small coffee table between them. Taking his seat across from her, he braced himself for what was to come, preparing to peel back the layers of his tumultuous reality.
"The guy I fired at in the car… that's my brother," William's voice held a tremor as he laid bare the truth. His fingers wrapped around the glass, the condensation forming tiny rivers on the surface. He spoke with a mixture of resignation and regret as if recounting a story he had long kept hidden.
Lara's brows knitted together in bewilderment. The pieces of the puzzle lay scattered before her, yet the complete image eluded her understanding. "But if he's your brother, why did you shoot at him?"
His eyes met hers, revealing a tumultuous mix of sorrow and conflict. "I fired warning shots. You see, we haven't spoken in years, not since he went down the path of rebellion when he was just nineteen."
A rush of questions flooded Lara's mind, yet she held her tongue for a moment, allowing the weight of his words to settle in the space between them. The room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a confessional, the shadows elongating as they seemed to listen to the past unfold.
"Why? Why shoot at your own brother?" Her voice was a mere whisper, laden with a curiosity that only deepened with the ensuing silence.
William's gaze fell to his hands, which now clung to the edge of the table as if seeking an anchor in the storm of memories. "I don't want him to get involved in the mess I'm trapped in," he confessed, the words heavy with a resignation that spoke of sleepless nights and battles within his own mind.
"What kind of mess?" The question hung in the air, an invisible thread connecting them as Lara leaned forward, her eyes searching his face for a hint of vulnerability.
The room held its breath once again as if waiting for the confession that was bound to change the course of their lives. "It's complicated… and dangerous," he admitted, the weight of his past sins and uncertain future pressing down on his shoulders.
Lara, undeterred by the gravity of the situation, leaned in closer, her eyes filled with fierce determination. "William, no matter how complicated or dangerous it is, remember that you're not alone in this. I've faced my fair share of darkness, and I can handle more than you might think."
A fragile smile tugged at the corners of his lips, gratitude mingling with hesitation. He longed to unburden himself, to share the weight that seemed to grow heavier with every passing moment. "Lara, I appreciate your offer, I truly do, but I can't let you be pulled into the abyss that I find myself in."
Her eyes blazed with a fire that matched the intensity of her words. "Don't underestimate me, William. You can trust me, and together, we can find a way out of this darkness."
The words hung in the air, like an unfulfilled promise, when a sudden sharp knock disrupted the delicate refuge they had created. An unfamiliar and harsh voice broke through the silence, calling out William's name and cutting through it like a knife. Lara pondered on the identity, but it was evident that William recognized the voice.
Instinctively, William's hand darted to the coffee table, fingers closing around the cold metal of a gun. He turned to Lara, his eyes a mixture of urgency and desperation. She read his unspoken message, her own pulse quickening in response. With a resolute nod, she rose to her feet, her gaze locked onto his as if etching their connection into her memory.
He peered through the peephole, his heart hammering against his chest. On the other side stood a man whose features mirrored his own, a twisted reflection of shared blood and diverging paths. His brother.
Lara, her body coiled like a spring ready to uncoil, glanced at William, her intent clear in her eyes. A battle-ready resolve seemed to radiate from her very being, yet a silent exchange between them conveyed a different truth.
William shook his head, his lips forming the words that his voice couldn't utter. "Go, Lara. Get out of here."
Her own determination wavered for a fraction of a second before giving way to a fiery resistance. "Why would I run away from a fight?"
With a mixture of urgency and helplessness, he reached out and placed a hand on her arm, his touch pleading with her to understand. "There's no time for that. Please, the window—there's a fire escape. I'll find you when it's safe."
Lara met his gaze, a storm of emotions raging within her. She hesitated, her heart torn between the desire to stand by his side and the knowledge that he was pushing her away for a reason. With a final, lingering look, she turned towards the window, her fingers gripping the ledge as she began her descent down the fire escape.
The cool night air brushed against her skin, carrying with it a sense of urgency and uncertainty. As she carefully navigated the metal steps, each clang seemed to echo the tumultuous emotions that reverberated within her chest. Her feet touched the solid ground, and she cast a glance upwards, her thoughts a jumbled mix of worry and determination.
In the midst of the darkness, a whisper of doubt crept into her mind. Why was William so determined to protect her, even at the cost of his own safety? What secrets was he keeping, and how deeply were they entwined with the chaos that had enveloped his life?
As she faded into the shadows, the weight of those questions clung to her like a cloak. The night was far from over, and the echoes of their unspoken bond lingered in the air, an unfinished symphony of emotions and revelations yet to come.
