New York, May 1894
Booker DeWitt groaned, sliding into his chair in exhaustion. It had not been an easy few months – caring for his daughter and struggling to make ends meet as a single parent, particularly for one with specific skillsets such as his. He had found a job that suited both needs as a bouncer for a rather seedy bar down the street – it allowed him to work late hours when Anna was asleep, and for one who had served in the army, his combat experience and instincts gave him the ability to easily overpower and subdue drunk idiots. He had not wanted to go back to being a private investigator – those jobs often took him away for days at a time, and he could not, would not, leave his daughter behind again.
His thoughts, he found, often drifted towards this very topic. It was hard for him to do otherwise. He was not sure how, or why, but he had retained the memories of his adventure in Columbia. He could remember the many challenges along the way – he remembered breaking Elizabeth out of her tower, he remembered fighting their way through the Vox Populi revolution, and he even remembered his brief traipse into the distant future, where everything had gone very, very wrong.
But most of all, he remembered Elizabeth. He remembered all that she had been through in her life, more than anyone should have to go through. He remembered her naivety, her innocence, and how all that had been stripped away after her time in confinement when Comstock had tried to indoctrinate her via torture.
He remembered the look in her eyes when she pushed him underwater, and held him there until he ceased struggling.
He would never forget that look of terrible loneliness.
And so he had made it his goal in life to give Anna the life both she and Elizabeth deserved. Everything that had transpired had been his fault after all (or was it will be his fault?). He stopped drinking and gambling. He would get his life together. For his sake, and hers. She deserved no less.
Booker eyed the door in his office, the door leading to Anna's room, where he had tucked her into bed just a few minutes ago. His shift at the bar would start soon, and he had to get ready. Sighing, wishing he had more time to rest, he pushed himself away from his desk and was about to head to his trunk when a knock came on the door.
"Mr DeWitt?" Booker froze. He knew that voice. He had heard it many times, in his dreams and nightmares, and in his memories. But how could it be? The events that took place would never do so again, Elizabeth had seen to that. Was it just a coincidence then? The knocking came again.
"Mr DeWitt, are you there?" Booker stood still, unsure of what to do. Then he heard another voice.
"I do not see why we have to wait out here in this wretched weather, brother. We could simply open a tear into his apartment and be done with it." Booker closed his eyes. 'Tear'. It was not a coincidence then.
"Because that would merely confuse him, sister. This is not the same Booker DeWitt, after all. He is young now, and as we both know, brash. Who knows how he would react?" The knocking came again, and the male voice repeated its question, sounding a tad impatient this time. Booker frowned. So his memories of Columbia and Elizabeth were not meant to be preserved? He walked over to the door, yanking it open.
"Mr DeW-" Robert's voice trailed off. He coughed, switching to a lower volume. "Ah, Mr Booker DeWitt, I presume?"
"What do you want, Lutece? Come to take my daughter away again?" Booker sighed. He wasn't in the mood to be polite. And truth be told, he rather enjoyed the look of shock that flitted across the twins' faces.
"How… what? How could you…" Booker smiled at Robert's being caught off-guard. Now you know how it feels, he thought to himself smugly. "Why don't the two of you come inside?" He stepped aside, beckoning them into his apartment. He noticed the twins share a look with each other, and Rosalind give a tiny, barely noticeable shrug, before they took him up on his offer. Booker shut the door behind them, plunging the office into darkness, barely lit by the moonlight coming in through the window.
"Make this quick, if you please." Booker muttered, returning to his trunk and opening the lid. "I have a job to do."
"Indeed you do, Mr DeWitt, but not the one you had in mind." Rosalind stated. "We've come with a job offer."
"I haven't been a private investigator for some time now. You're asking the wrong guy." Even without Anna to care for, Booker scarcely wanted to get involved in something the Luteces had a part of. His past experiences were still raw, and he often thought of Elizabeth with a sharp pang in his heart.
"Even if the job is for Elizabeth's sake?" The lid clattered close. Booker straightened himself slowly, and when he turned to Robert, the male Lutece took an involuntary step backwards at the storm of barely concealed rage and other unidentified emotions on the young man's face. It was unnerving to Robert, for it was the look of a man who had seen far, far too much in his time, and yet Booker was no more than 20 in this age.
"What did you do to her this time?" Booker growled, his voice low and menacing. "What the hell did you do to my daughter?"
"I assure you, it was not of our choosing that Elizabeth is in her current predicament." Robert said slowly, raising his hands in an effort to calm Booker. "She chose to do this at her own peril, and you are the only one we could think of who can still save her." Booker glared at Robert, his fists and jaw clenched tightly. After a few tense moments, he let out an explosive sigh, and slumped his shoulders. Robert let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.
"What's happened to her?" Booker's voice was desperate. "What do you need me to do?"
"First, tell me, Mr DeWitt. How much do you remember of her?" Rosalind asked.
"I remember everything." Booker ran a hand through his hair, "The tower, the Hall of Heroes, Comstock House, the Hand of the Prophet… the Sea of Doors. I remember… remembering everything. About who she really is. What I'd done to her." His voice trailed off as a wave of guilt and shame overcame him. "I don't know if she'd ever forgive me."
"Hm." Rosalind made a noise, and Booker glanced at her, "The apple truly does not fall far from the tree. You DeWitts are all the same. So focused on redemption and forgiveness. Little wonder your lives are so miserable."
Booker scowled, turning to face her. "What do you mean by that?"
"Your daughter has been on a lone crusade to eliminate every last Comstock across all the universes, Mr DeWitt." Rosalind stated, almost disinterestedly. Booker felt his chest tighten. Oh no…
"No… did she get captured by Comstock again? How could Comstock even still exist? She… drowned me. Before I could become Comstock. He should no longer exist!" Booker didn't even realize he was shouting by the last sentence.
"Comstock existed in one last universe by virtue of a variable." Robert spoke up, "You, Anna, and Comstock are constants. The variable in this case… was your strength. When you struggled with Comstock over Anna, you proved the stronger of the two… but it was for naught. The portal closed. Where in most universes, Anna lost but a fraction of her finger, in this one…" His voice trailed off grimly, and Booker stared at him in horror. "Suffice to say, with the absence of Anna DeWitt, there would be no Elizabeth in his universe to set the events in motion to stop him from being baptized." Booker's eyes filled with rage again.
"So this last Comstock, he's got Elizabeth? I swear to God, if he's done anything to her again, I will…"
"Calm down, DeWitt. Comstock does not have Elizabeth." Rosalind interjected, a hint of annoyance in her voice as she dropped the formalities. "She succeeded. Comstock was killed. He no longer exists in that universe, or any other." Despite his worry and anger, Booker felt a sense of pride. Atta girl.
"So… what do you need me to do? What's happened to Elizabeth?" He asked.
"Despite her success, Elizabeth was torn by guilt over how she had manipulated a child, as part of her ploy to eliminate Comstock once and for all." Rosalind replied. "She made quite a big deal of it all, saying that she had to set things right. She's returned to the city where Comstock resided, to find the child and make amends. But that city…"
"It is a wretched place." Robert finished. "Far worse than Columbia could ever be. And Elizabeth is alone. We have seen what is to come. She will not survive the journey." Booker's eyes widened. "That is, if you do not help her."
"Tell me what I need to do." Booker's voice came immediately, without hesitation. "No matter what it takes."
"Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt." Booker froze at the statement, his mind reeling. Could he give up Anna for Elizabeth? As his mind started to agonize over the decision, he noticed Robert quietly chuckling. "Just a jest, Mr DeWitt. We require nothing of the sort." Booker stared, his mind clearing, and he resisted the urge to punch Robert in the face.
"Didn't peg you for the joking type." He grumbled. Robert smiled.
"Existing across all time and space gives you perspective like none other, Mr DeWitt. But that is of little consequence at the moment. To help Elizabeth, you simply need to follow us. I must admit that we do not much understand her rationale in embarking on this mission. And that may be a problem. We need to show you all that has, had and will transpire, that you may better understand her thinking." Booker nodded. Then he paused.
"Who's going to look after my daughter? I can't leave her behind, and I sure as hell can't bring her along…"
"That will be my task," Rosalind said, "And do not worry. Whether you succeed or fail, DeWitt, this will not take long at all."