Months after the events at Helheim, Lara Croft finally feels the effects of her traumatic and devastating experiences. As soon as she comes to terms with the reality of her newly dismal life, the former adventurer finds herself haunted by the darkest parts of her past, throwing Lara and her companions into their most dangerous journey yet- one that will change their lives forever. **IMPORTANT NOTE: I am incorporating Tomb Raider 2013 into this story further on, so unfortunately if you have not played or seen the storyline there will be many spoilers. This goes for the rest of the Tomb Raider games as well.** *Cover image by Morcegan at deviantart. Used under their permission.*
* Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original Tomb Raider characters/names/references to franchise storylines etc. used in any area of this fan fiction, they are copyright and property of Square Enix, Eidos Interactive, Crystal Dynamics, and Core Design. I only have ownership rights over the characters and plots that I have created with the aid of my own imagination. *
"Sed fugit interea fugit irreparabile tempus, ..."But meanwhile it flees; time flees irretrievably, -
singula dum capti circumvectamur amore."
while we wander around, prisoners of our love of detail."
TEMPUS FUGIT
No Place Like Home
The sky was grey, casting shadows on everything that was once full of colour. The air was cold, biting unremittingly at our skin. The rain fell, pouring sorrow down on us, seeming like it would never end. It was the perfect day for the mourning of death.
The funeral was a dreary and downright unpleasant event. If it hadn't been for someone I personally cared for, I wouldn't have given a second thought to attending. But this was for my friend - he would have been disappointed if I didn't come.
But it seemed I was the only one there who wasn't in a complete state of shock and remorse. It was almost as if I weren't even there. I was just standing there, looking blankly at these people around me, these people sobbing their hearts out. Even good friends of mine stood beside me, yet I made no note of them. Too much had happened in the past two months for me to take in all at once. So much had happened that I couldn't even understand the real difference between life and death any longer. But I suppose that's what happens to people when you truly understand how it feels to lose everything you've ever loved.
"Lara? Are you okay?" I glanced up to see Zip looking at me curiously. I looked around me to notice everyone, clad in black, had already began to leave. I didn't even notice that the service had ended. I had been standing there, staring at the rain lapping into the muddy ground at my feet, thinking about so many things. My state of awareness had been completely void and almost in a trance for the past hour. Then again, it had been that way for weeks.
I mentally pushed my thoughts away. "I'm fine." I mumbled irritably to Zip without bothering to give him proper eye contact. I turned away from him and started back down the cemetery path to the parking lot without looking back.
I heard Zip come up behind me again, and he got in front of me. I stopped and let out a deep huff.
"You're in my way." I informed him in a monotonous tone. He didn't move.
"You sure you're okay?" he asked, ignoring my comment.
"Yes, for crying out loud, I'm bloody fine. Now can we leave?" I snapped. Zip remained silent, responding with only a puzzled look. I sighed. "Sorry."
He passed it off with a shrug. "It's alright." Zip said as we continued walking. "So, where'd our old rickety man go?"
I rolled my eyes, and motioned to Winston over his shoulder.
Zip glimpsed behind us and noticed the butler giving him a hard, serious look. He turned back to me with his notorious grin. "Woops."
-x-
By the time we arrived back home, the sky was pitch-black, and the rain was pounding harder and louder. Winston had already started dozing off in the back seat.
Zip and I got out of the van, and I went to open the back door.
I grinned slightly as I observed all the electronics and computers that were still there in the space where there would normally have been another row of seats. We had them removed to accommodate for Zip's devices. Nifty little place; it was like Zip's second office. Well, if you can consider it possible to have a van as an office. Though unfortunately, the one inside the house wasn't the best either. Much better than working in the back of a van, of course, but of much shoddier quality than the spacious tech room we had at the Manor back in Surrey...the mansion I had always considered my true home. But due to the explosion, most of it was still under construction.
Luckily, my father had been clever enough to entrust me with the other two estates, in London and in Oxford, which I had never actually been to before last month. So here was my chance to finally live in Oxford for a few months. It was a tad smaller than the other two mansions, but it was the easiest to pay for at the present time. I already had enough trouble with the authorities and the money for reconstruction of the Manor.
I leaned into the backseat and softly tapped Winston on the shoulder.
"Winston, lad, wake up." I whispered to wake him up. He opened his weathered eyelids and looked at me.
"Oh...my apologies, Lady Croft...I was..." Winston tried to explain but couldn't hold back a yawn.
"It's alright. It's been a long day." I smiled, keeping my voice low and gentle. "Here, let me help." I took Winston's arm and led him out of the van.
"Thank you."
"It's no problem. Go inside and get some sleep." I ordered. He hesitated, but then nodded and headed inside. Zip stood beside, waiting for me.
"So are we goin' or are you gonna make me stay out in the rain?" he joked.
I gave out a sound that was mixed between a sigh and a relieved laugh. "Oh, Zip, I'm not that terrible, am I?"
Once inside the mansion, I headed upstairs and turned left to my bedroom door. Zip remained downstairs, in his office which he also used as a bedroom.
I closed my door behind me at collapsed on the bed. I was exhausted, and on top of everything that had taken place today, I had developed a horrible headache.
I sighed and got up. I took a quick change into a silky beige tank top and shorts, and went back to my bed. I lost track of time. Perhaps it took an hour, or maybe only ten minutes, but before I knew it, I had fallen asleep.
-x-
I woke up to the sound of ringing. I opened one eye to see my PDA cell phone on the table. Then I took a glance at the clock beside it. Good lord, it was only five AM. What kind of idiot would call me at five in the morning?
But I suppose no one does ever call me often unless it's urgent, so I reluctantly grabbed the PDA and answered.
"Hello?" I asked quietly, not fully awake.
"Good morning, Ms. Croft. My apologies if I woke you up." A man's voice answered. An American voice.
"Who is this?" I questioned again. This sounded like something that wouldn't make my day any easier.
"Detective Anthony Bradford, FBI. Me and my associates have been visiting England for the past few weeks helping with a few important cases. It's a pleasure to finally hear from you, Ms. Croft."
I sighed. "Mr. Bradford, I don't mean to seem intolerant, but I'm not accustomed to being called at five in the morning, so I suggest you say what you need to say before I lose my patience." I told him demandingly. The agent paused and sighed before continuing.
"You've heard about the recent killings in London, correct?" Bradford questioned mysteriously.
"Yes...yes, I have." I answered warily. I thought for a moment. "What does this have to do with me?"
"Have no worry. You aren't wanted for any murder." Bradford laughed. But quickly he reclaimed his serious tone. "...but you were, around six years ago, if I'm not mistaken."
I was taken aback when he mentioned that last comment, my heart skipping a beat. Why in the world would he be bringing up such a thing?
"Seven, actually." I corrected him, practically holding my breath. "Why... "
"...Why do I mention it?" Bradford finished my question before I could get the words out. "I've heard many stories about you, Ms. Croft. I was told that six...or seven years ago, your mentor, Werner Von Croy, was killed in your presence, and you took the blame for it. Of course, I do also know that your name was cleared shortly after you discovered what really happened." he continued. "From what I hear, you're quite the intelligent woman, Lara. I believe your talents and experience can help my team figure out what's going on behind these crimes."
At first, I didn't answer. It took me almost a full minute to decide what to say. I honestly did not want to get caught up in a situation like this...I was confused as is. And I most certainly was not comfortable with the authorities using me as a tool to find their answers. But from the looks of it, I wouldn't be searching for any acclaimed artifacts or chasing after some ridiculous legends anytime soon. Perhaps I could be useful.
"Alright. Where and when?" I finally acquired.
"London police headquarters, anytime before noon. I'll meet you there and bring you to where I need your help."
"Lovely."
-x-
A few hours later, I was seated in Bradford's car, driving to our destination. But, to my misfortune, he hadn't told me exactly where we were going. This is why I never bother with the police...I thought to myself. As if on cue, we pulled up to a tall, odd-looking house that had bright caution tape around the border of the yard, reading Crime Scene Investigation. Of course. More police.
Bradford got out from the driver's side and walked around the car to open the door for me. I stepped out and briefly studied my surroundings. There were dozens of investigators, some excavating the area for evidence, and others questioning the neighbors. I took off my sunglasses, then turned to Bradford.
"I'm afraid the stories you've heard have mislead you. I'm not an anthropologist, Mr. Bradford. I'm an archaeologist. I can't help you identify anybody. Contrary to common mistake, there is a big difference." I reminded him in an irritated tone. I could swear at that moment he rolled his eyes at me.
"I understand, Ms. Croft. But you are not like the other archaeologists, now are you?" Bradford pointed out. I bit my lip to stop myself from interrupting. "You've discovered and done things that others have yet to dream of. These investigators and you are not too different in what you do. You, Lara, search for relics all over the world, buried in the tombs of the ancient peoples. You pay attention to the history behind the artifacts. The anthropologists are more interested in the history behind the people who lie in the tombs. But, in common, we are all looking for one thing; the truth."
I had to admit to myself that he did have a point. Finding the truth is exactly what I had devoted my life to…I just wasn't exactly, well, up for it anymore. But I wasn't up to holding an argument, so I kept my mouth shut and motioned for him to continue.
Bradford led me inside the house. He allowed me to have a look around. The residence was obviously not taken care of too well; by the conditions, it seemed those who had lived there couldn't afford it.
The floors were dusty, the furniture looked battered and old. There were food stains atop the counter of the kitchen. I opened up a cabinet above the stove, and a spider hopped onto my finger. My eyes widened as it started to crawl up my arm. I yelped in surprise and slammed my hand on the counter. When I lifted it back up, the gooey insides of the spider was splattered on the edge of the stove. "Ugh." I wiped the remains of the creature off on the side of my trousers as I walked along.
I walked out of the kitchen and into the living room again, where Bradford stood, quietly observing me. I avoided looking at him, even though I could feel he was still staring at me, like federal agents always do. That bugged me, but I tried to ignore him. I surveyed the room and noticed the carpet was darker at one corner than the rest of it. I went over to have a better look, and realized that it wasn't just a change of shade. It was blood.
Although I had seen blood spilled so many times in my life, I couldn't help but wince at the sight of this. It was a dark red puddle seeping into the carpet, and even some of it was clearly visible on the walls above. Then I took a glimpse at the area around it. It was only then that I realized it did in fact look like a fight had taken place. The screen of the television set in front of the sofa had been cracked through the middle, and a mug was shattered on the floor beneath the coffee table.
Once again, I looked back at the place where the body of the victim had once been. Although the house looked like it hadn't been cleaned or set foot in for ages, the blood was unmistakably fresh. The puddle had been big enough to make a stain on the wooden floor just beside the carpet. It hadn't all dried up yet. There were still tiny streams of red inching over the floor, and dripping down the bottom of the wall. It was painful to look at any longer.
I wandered back to the front door where the agent stood, waiting. The expression on his face just bothered me.
"What do you need my help for? Your handy little team here seems to be doing just fine on their own." I snapped at him. Bradford's expression didn't change. He just gave me a look...I wasn't sure what kind, but I knew he was serious and wouldn't take any more sassy comments. Then I looked down at his hands and noticed he was holding a folder.
"What's that?" I asked, gesturing to the folder. Bradford looked down at it, then handed it to me. I opened it and began sifting through the pages, listening as the investigator explained. The first page had a picture and profile of a young woman. She had straight, strawberry blonde hair, and glossy green eyes. She was standing between two other girls, who both appeared younger than her.
"The girl in the middle..." Bradford tapped the photo with his finger, pointing at the blonde haired girl in the profile. "...her name is Rosalie Fuller, 18. The other two are her sisters, Vivian and Aurelia."
I nodded. "And what about them?"
"Rosalie Fuller is dead."
I felt a sting in my chest. I looked back at the picture of the smiling sisters. I knew this would have some awful explanation to it. "This girl was murdered? Who would do something like that?" I thought aloud.
"After we did some research, we found that, like all the previous crimes that have been going on lately, Rosalie had been good friends with a victim of the Monstrum killings all those years ago."
I looked up from the folder again and stared at Bradford in alarm. "Are you telling me you think that these murders are linked to those? It's ridiculous, how is that even possible?"
"I'm not saying it is, Lady Croft. No need to have a fit. I do doubt the assumption, but I have no right to believe it isn't possible. And neither do you," Bradford said before I could start going on about it. I sighed and decided to keep the conversation moving.
"Do you have any plausible suspects?" I asked.
"No...no, unfortunately not. But there is one person..." he began. "...who has shown up frequently around the time of the crimes."
He opened the front door for a moment and tapped the shoulder of the nearest investigator. He ordered her to give him something. Bradford closed the door again and handed me another folder in exchange for Rosalie's.
Inside was mostly just pictures, but no profile. Only random and miscellaneous notes here and there. The first picture seemed fairly new; a woman probably only a few years younger than me, who had short, straight black-brown hair. The bangs were cut at an angle across her face. Her clothing was dark and well fitted...she actually did seem a bit intimidating, or at least tough. But her eyes seemed so meek and serene, it was strange to think she could be threatening.
"This doesn't seem too much like an official file. Is she one of the victims?" I wondered.
Bradford chuckled. "No, she is certainly not a victim. Her name is Angela...though we don't know her surname. The closest thing we have to a full name is Angela Black. She's only called that because she's always, as they say, in the shadows."
I raised an eyebrow at the agent. "In the shadows?" You've got to be kidding me.
He nodded. "No one knows where she's from, or where she lives. Angela's always on the move, roaming the streets...hiding in alleyways. Apparently she's traveled a lot, though. Not sure how, considering she has no license of any kind. Although we've been tracking her for years, still, no one can seem to figure her out. She's never been confronted, never been arrested...but we know there's still something going on with her." Agent Bradford clarified. "She has also been often spotted in bars, yet she doesn't talk to many people. She's a real mystery, that girl."
As I looked through the numerous pictures, I came across one photo that sparked my interest. It was probably the oldest out of all of them. It was ripped along the edges and looked like it had been through a lot. It was a picture of a young girl and boy, maybe around the ages of ten or twelve. Both had dark hair, light skin, and either blue or green eyes, the picture was too blurry to tell. Perhaps brother and sister.
I tried to look closer at the photo. I squinted to see more detail. I figured the girl was Angela when she was younger...but I couldn't tell who the other was, only that he appeared to be a bit more mature.
"Who is this, the boy in the picture?" I tilted the folder towards Bradford for him to take a look.
"We don't know. We tried scanning the photo and searching the database, but nothing came up. Neither of them show up, in fact. We're guessing he's a relative or friend..." then he paused. "Do you recognize him?"
"No." I said, half lying. He did look oddly familiar. "I was just wondering."
There was a slight moment of silence. Obviously the both of us were thinking. Then I had an idea.
"Do you know where Angela is at the moment?" I asked.
"Well...she was last seen around that old billiard pub early this morning and last night."
"Good. It was a pleasure talking to you, Anthony." I smiled and walked out the door, leaving Bradford with a baffled look on his face.
"What- wait!" He called after me, holding open the door before it shut in his face. I turned around quickly to meet him as he came toward me. "Where are you going?"
I handed back Angela's file and grinned. "To go see our...lady in black, of course."
Just before I could get away again, I was stopped once more.
"Lara." Bradford said in a somber tone. I looked over my shoulder at him. "Be careful. You never know what she's capable of. I wouldn't want you to get hurt." He warned. I laughed and slid my shades back on.
"Then obviously, Mr. Bradford, you don't know who I am." I gave my last remark to the officer, then headed down the street.
As I walked, I reached into my back pocket and took out a piece of paper. I smirked. I had taken the old photo from Angela's file. I had to find out who they were. I had to know the truth.