Author's Note: Hello everyone and welcome to Beyond Infinite. This is my first story and I'm quite new to this so let's just take it easy, yea? My grammar's not great and I'm not good with words, but fortunately I have a pretty good imagination so, please bare with me. This is a work-in-progress so I may add some bits and pieces in here and there. Another note is that, this might be the only part that has a very long read. So yeah, bare with me. But, please do enjoy the whole thing though... Please...
- Prologue
He remembered. He remembered everything...
He remembered only bits and pieces of things that had happened, or at least what he thought had happened. Although there was something that he knew for sure, was that of his death.
Before that, he remembered a familiar place. A place he knew so well. A place he thought that could wipe away all the horrid things he'd done. A place that could cleanse his sins and make himself a new man. A clean slate.
He remembered a flowing river under the bright and shining sun. A place where those who seek repentance and salvation would gather about and accept baptism from the preacher. Unfortunately for him, he didn't believe any of that. He couldn't believe that a dunk in the river could save a soul such as he.
Of course, he wanted to forget everything that he had done on that battle. His military career had scarred him for life, tainted his soul by the blood that he spilled on those days. The atrocities that he committed couldn't have immediately be cleansed when he received the baptism. He wanted to repent, but he couldn't have chosen that baptism. It made his stomach stir.
But this time, it was different. This time he knew that it must be done...
At that river, he was guided by someone. A girl that he didn't know anything about, or maybe someone that he once knew. Within the obscured memory, she insisted that he needed to take the baptism. Not only to cleanse him of himself, but to also cleanse every single probability that would take place in the future.
Between the bleary moment, he somehow understood what it meant and what he must do. So, with all his strength and courage, he followed along her. He didn't refuse nor did he fight against it. Instead, he accepted, with everything he had left, the choice that he must follow.
Choice might not fit within the narrative. Rather, it was fate or even destiny. But such things doesn't exist... Does it not?
When the girl dunked him in the river, he tried not to struggle. He kept himself under the water, suffocating himself as the girl aided him with his efforts. He could have fought and won. He could've argued on what must be done.
But deep down, he knew that this must happen. He knew he must take the baptism, not to save himself. But to save a girl.
A familiar girl he barely knew, but yet he remembered. A girl that was locked away in a tower for all her life. A girl that was innocent, kind and somewhat naïve. A girl who had no friends but a songbird. A girl that had save his life countless of times. A girl that was his daughter.
He put his hands on her wrist, adding force for her sake. Both of them must do the deed, but she was the one who must act. She was the only living being who could actually save herself. She was the most important part of the play.
While she did this, something popped up in his mind. Something that he had never felt before for a long, long time. A feeling that he desperately wanted to have. A sense of relief, content and a tinge of happiness.
Before his mind went dark and his body faltered, he could see her blurry face from under the water. He felt serenity, peace and within the last few seconds, he felt himself smile. His hands lost its strength to guide her and so, he embraced death who waited for him with his large scythe and aging skull.
And she was left all alone on that river.
But that wasn't the end of an individual such as he. He thought everything was finished. He thought everything he had done had bear fruit but he was dead wrong. Rather than death consuming all that was him, memories from his life came up in his vision.
His life, literally, flashed before his eyes. All the things experienced, all the things that he felt, all the things that he did came up right at him. An old memory appeared in his visage and it conflicted him. This memory brought him guilt, a feeling he knew so well about. He had no choice but to relive that regretful scene once more and so he went.
From darkness came light. The incoming light was so bright, his vision closed due to the non-existent pain from his eyes. He felt the warmth of the sun on his face. He didn't make a single move nor did he open his eyes. He only wanted to feel the sun's flaming warmth. After the tiring event he had been through, the sun brought him solace among the midst of things. He opened his eyes and saw what was left in his wake.
In front of him was a vision of an open pasture, covered in snow and stretched for miles and miles on end. Although the sight itself was beautiful, it was tainted by red blood. Countless of bodies riddled randomly throughout the region, giving a dark shade of red from the pure white color. A battle had befell this once serene place.
His brothers-in-arms, the 7th Cavalry, dug holes to bury the dead in one large pile. He didn't know if it was for his fallen brothers or for his slain Indian brethren. They were all busy doing what they do. Cheering, mourning, carrying their orders and whatnot. But he, he didn't partake on their activities. He wanted to be away, just for awhile. Left with his own thoughts and guilt to bear.
He was kneeling on the ground and thought of the things he had done. He fought people who were one of his own. He fought brave warriors who stood up only to defend their own. But the thing that truly weighted his guilt, was burning innocent women and children who were trapped in the crossfire and was held up inside their tents. He had innocent blood on his hands and truly he was conflicted inside. He didn't know whether to mourn for his fellow soldiers that he knew of or the people that he had committed massacre towards.
This victory that his cavalry rejoiced for, it took a serious toll on him. They didn't know what he was going through. The guilt that weighted him. He looked upon his quivering hands and saw the dried blood that covered it. His uniform was also tattered in the same liquid matter. He didn't know if he was quivering because of the cold or because of the waking trauma from the battle passed.
By the sleight of chance, someone took notice of him. A higher ranking officer whose actions had led him up to this god forsaken place. He took pity on the kneeling man. He wondered, What is going on that man's head? The former trainees were timid and often their choices were clumsy. But this one, this young man, he knew a lot about him. He also knew what he must be going through right now. Although this officer felt pride for the division that he led and all the deeds every single one of his cavalrymen had done, none would pale for the young man he was looking at.
"White Injun" they called him. An admirable feat that had got him for such titles, but at what cost? Sulking all on his own was not the action of a soldier who celebrate after a laborious battle. This one clearly wasn't cut off from the same cloth. So, he went down towards, him standing at first to admire the view. After awhile he sat down beside him sighing after a day's work.
"What a view, huh?" He started, unsure of what he was going to say. But that was good start. He didn't answer, just kept on brooding as he stared straight forward.
"When I went to my first battle, I was this scared and terrified young man. I didn't know what to do and the sounds of rifle shots made my ear deafen. All that blood and chaos on the field. Man against man, struggling for their lives. Taking a life... It made my stomach turn into a knot." The officer opened up.
"Seeing things now, though. It doesn't disturb anymore..." He sighed as he overlooked the field.
"I've been through a number of battles and every time one was finished, the horrors that used to make you want to throw up didn't startle you anymore. Your mind had been set so that you can handle the shit you're likely to see. Your senses begin to numb as you more of those things and you get better hiding what you initially feel."
"All the men I killed. All the lives I took. Battle after battle, it made me feel as though this is a way of living. The only way of living. We're soldiers after all, aren't we? We follow orders, hoping that what we do is for the betterment of our country. But sometimes, in only mere moments, you'd realize, why am I here? Are the things I do worth it? Is it making our lives better? In the early years, I questioned myself. But as time passes and I grow into the man I am right now, I know one thing. What we do is not for ourselves, but for the people back home. We're fighting off what they fear. We're fighting off what they're terrified off. We're fighting off for them. Because of that, we have to keep going, even if it doesn't feel right to us.
"What I mean, Corporal, is that you need to bury those thoughts of yours deep down. Don't make it trouble your mind. You'll still feel it, you'll still think about it, but make sure you don't show it. Not to me, not to the people back home and especially not to the men down there." The officer pointed his index finger towards the crowding soldiers. They were celebrating a hard-won victory. Their hearts soared as their enemies fell to their deaths. But one did not feel the same as they do.
"You've done something that made you better than the men under my command. Better than what you see before you! You were so driven to be accepted and so that you weren't going to be accused as a traitor. What you did not only saved your own skin, but it also inspired them and reminded them of their duty. Those men down there, they look up to you! They named you "White Injun"! They think of you as one of their own!"
"Corporal, let me remind you that you are a soldier. And as your commanding CO, I'm ordering you now to get up and get the hell over there. Get along with them, celebrate the victory with your fellow men, make yourself happy, even just for a few moments. You are one of them and you belong with them. Don't let anyone else make you think otherwise. Enjoy things when you still can, Corporal..." The officer stood beside him and took his leave.
"One more thing. If that burden of yours is still going to put you down, I know a preacher by the name of Witting. He's not far from here, just a few miles if you feel like walking. Just something to put your mind at ease." He sighed for a moment before continuing, "If you ever meet him, tell him that Cornelius Slate said hello."
Cornelius Slate, one of the most admirable, honorable and highly respected men within the 7th Cavalry. He's someone you could look up to. A sort of father figure for the soldiers who enlisted. Somehow, he thought of Slate as if he was his own father. Slate himself treated those under his command like a son as well. Strict, disciplined but most of all inspiring. His words could make his soldiers fight with all they have. A real charmer.
He couldn't help but like the man. When he's serious, he'll act as though everything is important. When he's relaxed, he'll act as though he's an old friend of yours. What Slate said to him, it made him reflect on what had happened. What he did was of course terrible but there's no changing that, is there? He just have to live with it.
Following Slate's orders, he got up, wipe the dried blood from his hands on his pants and walked over to the bustling group of men. Although the guilt is still there, he just needed to put on a face. Just for a few minutes or so. With a heavy heart, he moved on and in the following days, he did what Slate said so.
The memory of the battle had finally finish. The current thoughts going through his head as his soul drifted into nothingness were still strong. He couldn't feel a thing nor could he do anything. He could only witness his life from a fixed point of view. And without a minute less, another memory came up. One that he hoped would never appear. One that would forever hidden in the back of his mind.
The next memory conjured with another bright flash of light, and once again his eyes closed. The warmth he felt was not only from the sun but from his surrounding as well. From the heat of the day, he could tell that it was Fall. It wasn't hot nor was it cool. It was a balanced temperature for the time being.
His eyes opened and his vision adjusted with the current surrounding. He was in a fairly large white room, with several number of surgical equipment on metal trays and a basin with water but slightly changed due to the flowing red substance. The room itself had large windows that gave a view of the bright blue sky giving a good amount of light to the room.
It dawned on him. He knew where he was. He knew what he was about to go through. It was one of the memory he dreaded for. Upon him was the operating table, but a long white cloth covered it. Beneath the white cloth was a body of someone he knew so well. The only person who he was fond of. The only person who loved him back. The only person who was brave enough to marry a person such as he.
His wife had passed away. The only person he cared so much for had been taken away from him. As a husband he should have grieved for his own loss, but in those moments, his mind was still adjusting to what was happening. Maternal death, the doctors said. She had died due to giving birth to their child. His child from now on.
When the doctors came and told him what had happened, all his feelings suddenly numbed. He felt again what he felt back in Wounded Knee. All he had was void in his heart. The things that he had felt had now vanished along with the soul of his wife. After such a long time, he didn't know that this strange feeling would ever come back. Everything in his life for the past few years were fine. The past year was filled with memorable moments he had cherished and would be kept safe, deep down in his heart.
How the two met was a story worth told by a drunkard.
After Wounded Knee, he met Preacher Witting in a baptism ceremony in the middle of a flowing lake. Although the weight of the guilt still weighted him, he refused to take such ceremonies because of a single thought. No mere dunk in the water could save a man such as he. Of course, he wanted to repent, but the idea of his sins to be wiped clean without any major effort was ridiculous for him.
He retired early from the military life and settled within the big city. New York was a city of opportunity and he thought he could get a new start in his life. He had little money to spend, so the only thing he could afford was a small apartment in Bowery. After settling in, he didn't know what else to do. So with the skills he had mastered from the army, why not employ in such similar occupations? He thought that being an officer of the law didn't fit with his taste, but a detective would surely do the job.
Thus in 1892, he became an employee within the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Although the entrance wasn't an easy feat, he managed to pull through it all. At first, his fellow Pinkertons didn't take a liking into him, but the cases that he handled made him a very interesting topic of convesrations. In the next few months, the work suited him. He became a very talented investigator, able to end labor strikes with questionable acts of violence. But it was those times that he met her...
He was stuck in tough case. For the first time in his short career, he was stuck. He had been retracing his steps, rereading the available files, and recounting the case for days on end. His body felt torture but his mind was so set to crack the enigma before him. The clock ticked at nine. A fresh air and some few drinks wouldn't hurt a bit, would it?
He left the Pinkerton office in search for a fancy, yet affordable, bar not far. He didn't actually intend to find a particular one, he just went to any good-looking bar with no vagrants or low-lives within the vicinity.
Without thinking any further, he went into one. It was a nice place with few people inside. Few were the average dapper-looking gentlemen while many were considered to be the working-class. He sat in one of the stool next to the counter and ordered a small glass of whisky. He needed something to cool off but he also had to make sure he didn't lose sight of the case.
As he waited for his drink to arrive, he took a good look around. The bar was set in four different sections. One, for the higher-class individuals, two, for the more livelier folks who liked to set up a musical act or two, three, for the commoners like he who would come here after a hard day's work and lastly the bar counter.
Four gentlemen with expensive-looking apparel were smoking cigarettes and talking loudly enough it was disturbing the rest of the on-goers. Seven were the common-looking folk, playing a game of cards while four played while three bet. But then his eyes caught something very interesting. There was only one person who looked out of place.
A fair-looking young woman, probably around his age, was sitting alone in a corner table, playing with what's left of her drink. He looked at her intently, not because of her looks, but her purpose of being in this place of all places within the Bowery. She looked expensive, seductive and, for the untrained mind, approachable. All her traits led him to believe that she might be a con-artist. With those looks, who wouldn't fall into her trap.
As the thoughts crossed his mind, he didn't realize that she was looking back at him. Her eyes were the purest of blues. He could gaze deeply into them, not wanting to let go. She looked curious as well, she looked intently at him with those piercing eyes. What was so special about this girl?
When his drink arrived, he turned his head toward the bartender and gave him the money. He grabbed and drank the contents of the glass in one swig. When he had finished and wiped the remains of whiskey with his hands, the girl had sat beside him. Her eyes stuck at him and he only glanced for a second before ordering another one.
"What brings a handsome man such as you to this place?" He knew that her words weren't just a mere compliment. He remained silent for the moment.
"What's your name, huh?" The woman persisted, but he wasn't going to fall for this little trick.
"The silent type, are you? I've only met few people with your attitude, but they always break every time." Her words sounded like a seductress, reeling unwise men like fishes unto a hook. As attractive as she was, he felt quite annoyed than amused and he conveyed those feelings as polite as possible.
"Look lady... What do you want from me?"
"Ah, so he speaks. For a second there, I thought you were a mute."
"Look if you're going to bother someone, go bother someone else. I don't have the time for such... pleasantries." He let out a distasteful tone to hint her protruding presence.
"Well where's the fun in that, then?" She kept on. "Let's see... You must work for the Pinkertons, am I correct?"
"And how may I ask did you know such things?" This woman was really getting on his nerves.
"My source told me such information." She chuckled, "You're a very interesting individual, you know that? Everyone's been talking about the man who worked as a, shall I say, brute enforcer for the Pinkertons as of late. As a matter of fact, they also told me that you're stuck in a tough case."
"You should know that they always say, there's always a first time for everything..." She dramatically paused, "Isn't that right, Mr. Dewitt? Or your usual name, Booker?"
This woman wasn't playing at all. This was the first time he wasn't prepared for such encounter. A woman in the middle of the night, getting a few drinks in a bar like this, then suddenly approached him because he was there? There's no such things as coincidences and this wasn't one either. He was too focus in his case to take notice of any uninvited company. Well, he was paying it now.
"Goddamn it..." He gave a big sigh, "What do you want, miss..."
"Annabelle. Annabelle Watson. But please, you can call me Anna..."
The next chapter of that story followed the two people, investigating the mysterious case involving a missing little girls in a secluded warehouse in the wharf. As interesting story was, this tale would be told on a later date. Because although those memories brought warm moments, he was in a state where even the joyous of memories would not cure his aching heart.
He was stood over the operating table, his eyes didn't flinch on the sight of blood appearing from the lower abdomen. Blood was a usual sight for him, but coming from a loved one, it was very very different.
The doctors left him to his own devices, giving him time to process all of this. He didn't know what to say or what to do. Instead of giving a few words or so on, he left the room, entirely confused. One of the nurses who partook on the operation told him to follow her so that he could check on the baby. The baby... He had almost forgotten about that. Although his wife was forever lost within the land of the dead, there was this glimmer of hope that he felt inside. A tiny little ray of hope.
The nurse escorted him to this quite small room, where there were a number of small cradles neatly placed and within each of these cradles were sleeping babies. The nurse led him to one particular cradle where the baby who was lying down squirmed.
"She was this when we had finished cleaning her..." The nurse explained. "She's alright and all. There's nothing bad with her, but we think she needed a bit of attention."
In an instinct, he went over to the cradle, gently lift the baby up and carefully hold her in his chest. He tried to shush her and make her stop squirming and after a few seconds, she was still. She gave this happy and content smile that only a parent would tear up to. And as he saw this, he did just that.
All the pent up feelings, all the emotional barrier that he had was now breaking down before his own eyes. The hidden emotions that he experienced was being let out by this little bundle of joy. His bundle of joy.
He remembered all those good times he shared with the love of his life. The only love of his life. Now, there was this responsibility that he needed to take care of. He thought all the things he had to do, but there was one thing that needed to be done first.
"Anna..." He quietly said. "You'll be Anna..."
Anna then smiled.
With her on his hand, he vowed to get things right as it should be. He promised to keep her safe, give her what she needs and make her happy all the time.
It was a promise to himself and his wife. He'll try anything to right the wrongs he had done. There's a new hope and he was holding it in his hands. It was a memory that would last forever. A happy moment for the Dewitts.
With that final thoughts, the scene faded once more to the darkness. The memories that had passed was the eventful ones and he thought that was the last of it. But then, another scene emerged. One that made him regret all his terrible deeds.
The memory unfolded in a small little alley within the Bowery. It was raining and everything was soaking wet. He had been running, following the gentleman who took his daughter away.
He regretted his decision. What was he thinking? Why was he that stupid? What made him do such things? Was it because of his debts? Whatever it was, he had to take her back. He had to...
There were two people waiting from the alley and beside them was a wall with a hole in it. Another person waited from the other side, hurrying them to get over. The gentleman argued with the lady from the other side while another man waited for them to reach an agreement while holding his little Anna.
"Hey, hey!" He said, trying to get their attention. "The deal's off, you hear me?!" The three of them didn't hear him over the pouring rain and they were going to step over through the strange hole in the wall.
The gentleman from before had already got over to the other side and the other man, much older than him, went over. Before they could get away with it, he grabbed his arm and wrestled him for Anna.
"Give me back my daughter!" He shouted at the kidnapper, trying his best to get Anna. But the older man wasn't as weak as he seemed to be. The two of them persisted at getting the baby, none of them was ready to give up.
"Shut it down!" The man ordered, "Shut it down, now!" The hole began to slowly close and as he pulled, the older man pulled harder causing Anna to be taken away.
"No. NO!" Before the hole could close properly, Anna's body did not got over wholly intact. Something was left behind at his side. Something very little.
Her pinkie finger was severed. It was what's left behind of Anna. The only thing that would identify her very existence. But she's gone. She's lost.
Finally, the brief memory then faded. The last one had a tinge of sadness and depression, causing him to feel something uneven inside. It was all his fault. All that had happened, all that happens and all that will happen was all of his fault. The man that he was then caused all of this to happen. All the sadness, all the pain, all the suffering. It was all on him.
He wanted to make those memories to fade away, but it was hard thing to do. Those memories will always follow him no matter where he went and go. All his decisions defined him as a man. The things that you did and done will follow you, even on your deathbed. These thoughts made him sink. Into waters that he hadn't known before.
But, as he sank down, there was something that he can hear. Something that made him want to live...
"Booker..?" That voice. That so familiar voice. That voice that belonged to someone who was once close to him.
"Booker..?!" There was a sense of distress coming out from her, as if one moment he was there then he was gone.
"Booker, where are you?!" She cried out. He tried to answer, but his lips were sealed shut.
"Booker, I need you!" The distress on her voice increased as she tried so hard to find him.
"Booker! Please don't leave me..!" He couldn't stand the sound of her discomfort. He tried to gather much of his strength to help her. Or at the very least reply to her.
As he continued to struggle, he was able to escape from the confines of his immobile state. He searched the source of her voice and appeared before him was a door.
"Booker!!" He ran. He more likely sprinted towards the door. Everything else meant nothing to him at that moment. The only thing that mattered was her and her alone. As he closed in to the door and made a move to barge through. He remembered...
He remembered her name... "Elizabeth!!"