So in honor of the release of the second episode of Burial at Sea, I've decided to post this oneshot I came up with a while back. I really enjoy the sensational things with lots of emotion packed in so be warned!
Booker watched with wide, surprised eyes as the strange portal closed. Its walls came snapping shut in an instant, pulling down on the thing caught in its middle. With the other man's pulling force gone, Booker fell backward, landing hard on his behind on the cold stone ground. His heart plummeted as he saw the child in his arms, or what remained of her.
"Anna...?" he spoke in a shaky voice. Booker's hand ghosted up to his daughter's neck. The head once there now lost on the other side of the portal. Booker could feel his throat constrict as hot tears quickly jumped to his eyes and spilled down his cheeks.
"Anna! Anna, sweetie!" he choked, uselessly shaking her limp body. "No, no, no, no! Anna! No!" Booker wept freely now, clutching Anna's small form to his chest. Still hot blood soaked through his clothes and seeped to his flesh. Though it was warm, Booker felt deathly cold, every inch of his body trembling and shaking, racked with sobs.
"Come back..." he muttered pathetically, the call useless, but he couldn't stop himself. How could this have happened? One moment of lasped judgement sent his only child into the arms of a strange man, but it didn't take long for Booker to regain his senses and come running after. The other man that looked so much like Booker tried to take his sweet daughter through that portal, and by the time he finally released her...it was too late. it was all his fault. Booker felt so disappointed with himself, so horrible, and utterly disgusting.
Booker didn't know how long he stayed there in the alley, his daughter's corpse in his arms and drops of regret rolled down his face. When he stood his butt was numb from sitting on the cobblestone ground and his body was sore from staying in the same position for so long. His throat ached and his eyes were puffy and irritated from the crying. His legs wobbled as he leaned his weight on them and threatened to give out. Booker pulled Anna's blue blanket up and over her torso, covering her completely, protecting her from the cold. Slowly, Booker trudged back to his small living space, his daughter held tight to his chest.
Returning to the detective agency, Booker found a small box and gently placed Anna's body inside it, regrettfully letting go of her. Booker himself sat down at his desk and considered what would happen now. Booker didnt' care anymore. His daughter had been the only thing he truly cared about and he'd gone and fucked that up. Now there was nothing that made Booker want to go on. Yet still it took him all night to finalize his decision and formulate a plan for it.
The next morning as the sun rose Booker was on a small hilltop overlooking a river far outside the city. He hunched over, stabbing his shovel deep into the earth, then heaved up once more, his shovel full of dirt. He tossed the dirt aside and went for another scoop. Again and again and again, he scooped and shoveled away a deep indent in the earth. Booker worked well into the morning until the small hole was dug to suitable demensions. He climbed down the hill to where he had parked his car. From the car he retrieved a box easily held in his arm, the one that his daughter's body laid in. Booker settled the box gently into the grave, as if the child inside could still feel being jostled. With a grim expression, Booker set back to work filling in the hole, scoop after scoop. Once that was done he hammered the makeshift cross he had previously worked on into the ground using his shovel. Booker stood back to examine the scene.
He felt tears sting his eyes again. Booker furiously wiped them away. He felt so miserable and angry over everything that had happened. It all went to hell so fast. His poor baby girl. His poor Anna. First her mother, and now her. Booker still didn't completely understand what had taken his daughter's life, how the portal could even exist or who exactly the people were who tried to take her, but he knew it was his fault. If he hadn't given Anna up, then she would still be here, alive and well, in his arms.
Booker didn't even realize that he had dropped to his knees crying in front of Anna's grave, his face buried in his hands and his shoulders shuddering with each sob. He forced himself to rise, however difficult that act was, and stumble down the hill. Booker shivered when he felt the cold water rush over his feet as he entered the river. He continued until the rushing water was almost up to his waist, wrapping its cold, wet fingers around his stomach.
Booker drew his pistol.
He thought about his daughter, Anna. About how he could have changed, made something of himself to give them both a change at life. But he blew it, and now it was Anna who paid the price.
Booker cocked the pistol.
Booker couldn't stand himself. He was such a vile monster that couldn't even stop drinking long enough to consider not giving up his own flesh and blood to some stranger that promised to wipe away his debts.
Booker fit the barrel in his mouth.
At least now she would be at peace, like her mother. She wouldn't have to grow up worrying if there would be food on the table or a roof above their heads. Anna could rest forever in tranquility here where Booker had once almost been baptized. And finally Booker would join them.
Booker pulled the trigger.