Tomb Raider: The Legacy

Chapter 18: Pain

(...)

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."