CHAPTER 1

The streets of New York were bustling with people, trolleys, and the occasional vehicle one beautiful autumn afternoon. Everyone was energetic and walking briskly about their business, especially one young man, who was jogging down the streets, around the tall buildings and dodging past the other civilians.

The man, not quite twenty-one years of age, was sweating slightly and panting from the exercise. He didn't slow down, however, giving out gruff apologies to those he bumped into. He could not stop until he reached his destination.

Upon arriving at an average-looking apartment building, the man finally stopped in front of the entrance of his residence and place of business. The glass pane on the door read:

BOOKER DEWITT

INVESTIGATIONS

Into Matters Both Public and Private

Sighing in exhaustion, Booker DeWitt unlocked the door to his apartment and went inside. His small and shady office offered a nice place to get away from the bright evening sun. Booker removed his dark jacket and hung it next to the door. He ran a hand through his light brown hair and wiped the sweat off of his slightly creased brow. Turning to a basin full of water below a small mirror, Booker washed his hands and face of any grime that remained. For a few moments, he stared at his reflection, trying to cool off after all that jogging. Booker, for a twenty-year-old man, was tall and well-built, and had an unusually strong and deep voice. His eyes were a dull and tarnished emerald green. Booker considered them windows into his dark and turbulent soul.

Suddenly, DeWitt shot up, forgetting momentarily about the darker times in his life. He had remembered why he had been hurrying home in the first place. He swiftly made his way to the door near the far left corner of his office. Opening it quietly, he snuck inside towards the wooden crib next to a small table and a basket of some of his possessions. Booker peered into the crib, his gaze softening and a small smile forming on his lips when he saw the infant, fast asleep.

Anna DeWitt really was the light of Booker's life. The baby was his only daughter and true family; everyone else had either abandoned or forgotten the part-time Pinkerton, especially after the tragic death of his wife. Even though she was born through death, Anna was sweetest and happiest infant Booker had ever known. The poor man always knew that he never deserved her, and that she deserved a much better life than being left at home alone for hours on end. While some of the neighbors were kind enough to watch over Anna for him, many held no pity for Booker.

Not wanting to wake her, Booker left Anna's nursery and sat down at his desk. On top of it was the file he had created for his latest and, luckily for him, rewarding case. It had all started just a week before, when a desperate and busy-looking police officer had entered his humble office and asked for his assistance. He had found a suspect related to a serious murder case, but was unable to find substantial evidence against him, nor did the officer have the time to. So, being the tough nut that he was, Booker had taken the case. All he had to do was shadow this suspect for a while and get the information the officer needed.

The investigator reached into his pocket and took out the fat wad of bills that had been awarded to him. He smiled in satisfaction as he counted them and stored them in the lockbox hidden under his desk. Even though Booker had to travel to sketchy and dangerous areas of New York City to spy on this murderer, it was all worth the payment he got. He could finally start paying off that accursed debt that hung over his head, and give Anna a better life.

Just then, Booker was snapped back into reality when he heard tiny whimpers beginning to grow louder in the other room. As quick as a flash, the young father went to his waking daughter. The little baby's sky blue eyes were opening, and tears were welling up in them as she began to fuss.

"Shhh...It's OK, Daddy's here." Booker spoke in an uncharacteristically soft voice, reaching down and caressing Anna's little head with his large and calloused hand. Pure blue eyes met hardened emerald, and Anna smiled and cooed, reaching for her father with her chubby limbs. Booker couldn't help but smile; those loving blue eyes were the same ones that her mother had been blessed with. Gently, but without hesitation, he took Anna into his strong arms and held her close. She giggled again, and Booker's smile widened. It seemed so incredible that in the very same hands that had ended many a life in terrible ways, was an infant more innocent and pure than any he had seen before.

Sighing, the father brought Anna close and kissed the top of her downy head. She giggled happily at the contact and the way Booker's stubble tickled her. Said man decided that he shouldn't leave his daughter alone anymore and brought her out of the small nursery, setting her on the desk in his office. The investigator was glad that he had done some spring cleaning beforehand; no gambling tickets or empty bottles were littering the desk, the floor had been swept, and the little furniture he had had been dusted off. He needed the small establishment to look as neat and organized as possible if he wanted to attract more customers. Also, DeWitt had no intention of raising a child in a pigsty that smelled of old whiskey.

Booker leaned forward on his desk, putting his head in his hands as exhaustion from the day's work took hold of him like molasses. He sorely hoped that things would only get better from here. He needed more real money soon if he wanted to finally get those gangsters off his back. Perhaps he could buy a bigger place somewhere else in the city, somewhere peaceful and calm where the neighbors were kindly and Anna could make new friends, go to school, play around to her heart's content...

Anna had been silently watching her father from her perch on the desk. She crawled over to where he mused and yanked lightly at his combed hair. Booker looked up, a small smile playing at his lips. Anna gurgled and tugged again, trying to get his attention. The young investigator brought one hand up to caress her sweet, round face. The infant grabbed hold of the hand tightly when it touched her, as if afraid her father would never hold her again.

"I love you, Anna. I love you so much." Booker chuckled sadly, thinking about what a terrible single dad he was, constantly failing his daughter. But things were looking up now, due to the extra money trickling in.

Wanting to break the silence of the grey room, Booker turned to a cheap little radio that sat near the edge of his desk, not too far from a paper calendar that stated "October 8, 1893". Turning the knob with his free hand, he listened to the static and warped noises of the frequencies until he could find something at least bearable to listen to. His daughter, from her spot on the desk, giggled at all the funny noises coming from the device.

"Welcome to...now playing...if I could...would you kindly..." the radio sputtered out to an unsatisfied Booker. "We wish...what do you think...the crowd is going wild! Lucky number 77 is gaining ground in this heart-stopping race!"

Booker's heart nearly did just that when he heard that number: 77. Where had he heard it before? His eyes widened as he realized he must have made some sort of bet on this number on one of his drunken outings. Ignoring the ecstatic radio announcer and Anna's confused gaze, he dove into the few drawers in his desk, looking for something that would put his fears to rest. Sitting on top of some old papers was where he found the culprit.

For a minute, Booker had a staring contest with that neat horse race ticket. His emerald eyes went wide in shock and disbelief. A bold number took most of the space on the ticket paper: 77. He could not believe that he had gone out and made a bet like this, especially when things had been going so well. He was destroying his future. He was destroying his daughter's future.

"...and it's all over! Number 77 takes first place in an unexpected turn of events! Even our top horses could not compete! The crowd is going wild! I'm sure there will be big dividends for the few who betted on our new champion!"

Booker's head shot up and he stared at the radio as if it was a blessing sent from the heavens. A flood of relief washed over his tense body. He began to laugh shakily as he realized what had just happened. The investigator was in utter disbelief; he couldn't believe that he had profited so much from this gamble. He felt like jumping up and down for joy, which he would've done if he wasn't such a serious man.

"...Holy shit..." It was all he could even say at the moment.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the old door in front of the Pinkerton. Booker, startled, forced himself out of his feeling of bliss and looked up. The door was knocked on again. Coming to his senses, the father called "Hold on! Sorry, I'll be there in a second!" He took his little Anna, who was busy pretending to write with a pencil, and put her back into her soft crib. Anna's big blue eyes looked up at him dejectedly. A frown was on her pudgy lips.

Booker quickly kissed her once more in reassurance. "I'm sorry Anna. Daddy has to go to work again, OK?" The baby giggled in response. Satisfied, the investigator strode out of the nursery, past his desk, and towards the potential customer waiting outside his office.