The Empty Crib
(Contains Spoilers for Bioshock Infinite: Burial at Sea)
Her head hurt, her arms hurt, her legs hurt, all of her hurt.
A part of her brain started listing off the bones that hurt the most. 'Sternum, C3 and C4 vertebra, left clavicle, right ulna, 5th, 6th and 7th left ribs.' They didn't feel broken, they just hurt more than the others. She managed to stop herself before she started listing the muscles that hurt the most.
It was a very long list.
She tried to move her head. AHHHHH! The Pain!
'Left temporal and parietal feel cracked. Felt worse before, I can handle this.'
'When have I felt worse?'
The image of a large wrench hitting her head raced across her mind and vanished. It was followed by other images, something in her back, tied to a chair, a strange machine, something in her eye, someone shooting a gun at her, fire, but they made little sense, everything was disjointed, random.
"Shush, don't move." A deep voice said. "You've been hurt, but you're going to be all right."
Her heart leapt. That Voice! She knew it. She trusted it. It was going to be all right. She knew that, but whose voice was it?
"I have the light turned down. You can open your eyes."
Her eyes didn't want to open. 'Swollen. I must look terrible.' With effort she cracked them open and looked in the direction of the Voice.
Even sitting down he looked big, strong. Dark brown hair, green eyes, needed a shave, a red tie, no a kerchief, sleeves rolled up. The expression on his face was worried and relived all at the same time. It was a little funny somehow.
She knew him, she didn't remember him, but still she knew him.
Her mind started to dredge up more images. A city, clouds, water, a bird, angels, violence, a man with a long white beard, a cage, falling, the man sitting beside her, a lighthouse, blood on her hands, Doors. But they seemed distant. Fragments. Her mind felt like a library that had been emptied and all that was left were a few torn pages left scattered on the floor.
"Didn't expect you to wake up so soon. And yes, I am real." The man said with a slight smile. The tone of his voice turned concerned. "How do you feel?"
"F. f. felt better." 'I can talk!' "Head hurts."
The man smiled sadly. "You were hit in the head…very hard. But it's more uh, healed than it feels. Doctor said in a couple of weeks you should be up and around as it never happened. He didn't understand why though."
The pain was receding somewhat now. But the wrench came back to hit her again anyway.
"Where am I?"
"New York City. My home."
She looked around the room. A dresser, a large wardrobe, two small tables, chairs, a large writing desk, an empty bookshelf, several doors that might lead to a closet or bathroom. Everything looked well made, but not extravagant. Beside the bed on the left was a nightstand that held a lamp that was the only source of light in the room. The bed she lay in was a large four poster with the sheets and a light blanket drawn up almost to her neck. She struggled a little bit to sit up, but stopped when the wrench came back. Pain. Black. But something after it? A girl?
"Who are you? I know you, but can't remember..."
Again the man looked both worried and relived. "Sure you'll remember after you get some rest. You've called me a lot different things one time or another. You can decide what to call me when you feel better." The man smiled slightly.
"Oh, That's helpful." She tried to glare at him, but didn't think it worked.
'What's MY name?'
Several fragments came together slowly. Elizabeth, her name was Elizabeth.
No. That didn't feel quite right. It was right, but wrong. Like that name no longer fit her anymore. As if she wasn't quite Elizabeth anymore. Or never had been.
The wrench hit her. Pain. Black. A girl yellow eyes. She remembered seeing things. But she couldn't see them now. Then she saw nothing. Fragments of memories started to fall together.
"I died. You called me Elizabeth and I died." she stated flatly.
The man didn't look as nearly as surprised as he should have, only worried. Everything fell together, Columbia, Songbird, Comstock, Atlas, The Sea of Doors, Rapture, Lutece, Fitzroy. But they seemed cold, empty. As if it happened to someone else. The only warmth came from memories of the man beside her. She had called him Booker.
"Yes, you did." he said grimly.
The thought of her being something like Lady Comstock slithered into her mind. "Why am I still alive? HOW am I still alive? I DIED!" She started to struggle.
He reached out to grasp her hand. "Calm down, just calm down. You're fine, you're not a ghost or something from a tear. Would never do that to you."
"Then how?" she asked in a small voice.
The man looked down a little bit. "Guess you could say I cheated. When I found you, I realized I couldn't just barge in. Had to respect your decision, no matter what. Saw where it all was going and helped where I could. A few supplies here and there, made sure you got the Possession Vigor."
So that's why that guitar player had been waiting for her with the Plasmid.
"Also did a lot of looking around and found something called a "Vita Chamber." It can bring the dead back to life. Heals a person enough so they won't die from the injuries that killed them. Suchong had a prototype in his lab. So, made a trip through a tear and set the machine so it would work for you using the sample of your hair Suchong had."
The man's big hands curled in barely contained rage before he forced them to relax. "After Atlas… after he left, the Vita Chamber healed you and I brought you back here. That was earlier today."
"If I died, then who am I now?"
"Who do you want to be?"
The wrench in her mind vanished mid swing. 'Who do I want to be? Have I ever been given that choice before?'
"I still remember. Some of it. All of it. Too much of it. Not enough."
He smiled ruefully. "Know how you feel. Sometimes I remember the other ones. But memories are the past. They aren't who you are right now." He paused a moment to think. "You died so that Sally could escape that city. So she would have a chance, a choice. You have a chance now as well."
'I died to give myself a chance?' Too much. Change the subject. Think about it later.
"How are you still alive? I, what I did…?"
"After...it was done, I woke up in 1893. Was October 8th and your crib was empty, you… you weren't there."
"Had some trouble for a while, but was able to make some good investments. Even if things didn't play out exactly the same as before, was close enough to make a good amount of money." He paused. "Took years to build a tear machine." He waved his hand off to the right and down to indicating its general location. "And even longer to find you."
"How, how long?" Part of her was aghast at what he had done to find her, but also astounded.
"Today is March 28th, 1913. Meant what I said about never abandoning you."
It was a lot to absorb all at once, but better than the alternatives she had imagined. "Water, please? I think I can sit up."
While drinking the water, she tried to process it all. "What should I do?"
"Your decision. If you want to stay, you can stay. If you want to leave, you can leave. Paris, if you want. You'll not want for money."
Somehow Paris didn't sound as enticing as it should have to her. "How can I stay? People just don't just appear out of thin air." As she said it, she realized how many times she had seen people do just that.
"Tomorrow's headlines for the Times, Reclusive millionaire finds long lost kidnaped daughter! Happy Reunion!" He made a face. "Rather keep it out of the papers though."
A thought struck her. "The Tear Machine. What are you going to do with it?"
"Destroy it. People aren't ready for it, probably never will be." He paused, a look of concern, almost fear, crossing his face. "You don't want to use it, do you?"
She was having trouble keeping her eyes open.
"No, no. I do NOT want to use it. Sorry, tired."
He relaxed and smiled. "We can talk more after you get some sleep. If you need anything there is bell cord to your left. Or just yell. There's a nurse here to help. Something I have to finish, should only take a few minutes. Then I'll be back."
As light went out and she lay back, she realized what she wanted to call the man.
It was "Father."
'I have GOT to get him some new clothes.' And for the first time in nearly twenty years, Anna DeWitt closed her eyes to sleep and dreamed of a library slowly filling with new books.
…
Something that might once have been human dragged itself across the floor of the tallest building in a city at the bottom of the sea.
"Suckers. I'm not done yet. Play'n Possum. Oldest trick in the book. Got more ADAM. And when I get it, gonna rip those little brats limb, from limb. I'm gonna tear the whole place apart piece by…"
-click-
It was the sound of pistol hammer being cocked.
The thing that had once been called Frank Fontaine looked up to see a man in old style clothes looking down at him. The man's face was impassive, his green eyes cold. Then it realized that the man was holding a pistol and it was pointed right between its eyes.
"WAIT!" it cried. "I got…"
BLAM
Booker Dewitt emptied the clip into Atlas, Fontaine or whatever the hell it was just to be sure it was dead and would stay that way.
Booker had been fairly sure Fontaine would have died before long, but wasn't going to chance it. When he first stepped through the Tear, he planned to kill Fontaine for what he had done to Elizabeth. But then he realized Fontaine was not worth his hate, his anger. This… thing wasn't a man or even an animal.
It was a monster, a thing that had not been human for a very long time. He doubted it had ever been human at all.
Even so, Elizabeth wouldn't have wanted Booker to kill this thing in revenge. And he didn't think the young woman newly arrived in his home would either. And finally, surprisingly, Booker himself didn't want to kill it for revenge.
So he let go of his anger. He had tried many times before, but never really succeeded.
This time he had. It both easier and harder than he thought it could ever have been. Letting go.
Didn't mean he was going to let this thing live though.
Not for what Fontaine had done, but for what it would certainly do. Booker didn't need to look through a tear to be certain Fontaine would kill those poor girls if the chance. Elizabeth had died to save Sally and the rest from Fontaine and Ryan. He was going to make certain they could use the chance she had given them. He didn't know what would happen to them or to that Jack fella. He didn't want to know.
Let them live their lives free of Lighthouses, Cities and the Men who created them.
After reloading, he went to re-holster his pistol, but stopped to look at it. How long had he had this gun? He has used it to fight off the "debt collectors" that had been sent after him in the early days. Killers from the Black Hand had fallen to it. Sent more than one thug to his grave. Had used one much like it in Columbia.
Maybe it was time. She had left much behind in this place. Why couldn't he leave something behind as well?
Booker DeWitt walked over to a piece of machinery and placed the pistol on it. As he walked back to the Tear he could see the sledge hammer on the other side and smiled. Soon, the Tear Machine would be nothing more than scrap metal, its work done. He knew there would be other monsters to fight. People filled with greed, hate and fear. That was for another time.
Today, for both of them, the long shadow of Columbia was finally gone.
...
Notes: Contrary to what some people may think, Booker is far from being Dumb Muscle. He just does not have much of an education or the personality to be studious. But give him a reason to study and he should excel. In case Booker does run into something he can't figure out, he knows where to get help. A version of Robert Lutece should be around in this reality. Also one of the great minds of the period, Nikola Tesla had his lab five or six blocks from where Booker lived in 1893. (That's not a joke, I looked it up.)