A/N: Just so you know, despite the end of the first chapter, this story will not be told as narrated by Booker, nor will it be restricted to Booker's POV. I'n no good at anything more than third person omniscient. Also, I feel the need to apologize for this chapter. It is very hard to write with no dialogue. I hope this doesn't tunr anyone away from the story. It gets better soon. This chapter is chronologically the first. Chapter 1 is, unless I change chapters 14/15, chronologically the last.
Chapter 2: Sorry Isn't Good Enough
Never should have left. Never should have left. Never should have left.
The words repeated in her head endlessly, accompanied always by the haunting chorus; Too hot! Too hot!
I'M SORRY! She tried to shout. I never should have left you there!
I'm sorry. She wept as the sheer volume of those terrified, tortured screams overwhelmed her.
Too hot! Too hot!
"I'm-" Elizabeth opened her eyes and gasped in a shuddering breath. "-Sorry." She whispered into the cold silence. She woke alone in the dark room, trying desperately to forget what she knew she never could. Every time she closed her eyes she could see Sally and hear her crying out. How could she have been so cruel? So heartless, so proud as to take that innocent life just to satisfy her own desire for – for what? Revenge? Justice? It had not been worth it. She was such a fool. Not simply a fool, a killer. How could she ever have despised Comstock when she, herself had… she did not want to think about it. She had failed.
"I'm sorry…" She whispered to herself again as she pushed herself out of bed and to the small bathroom nearby. She bent down quickly and washed her face, but the cold water did nothing to wash off the horror of her dream.
She would not go back to sleep tonight. With her quantum superposition she was not sure she needed sleep any more, but she enjoyed at least pretending to preserve some form of normalcy in her life. It was something to keep her human.
Elizabeth resolved to search the possibilities again. There had to be a way. She had been over this so many times, searching for other options. What would become of Sally, and of Rapture, if she did not go back? She had seen all of those stories before. None of them ended happily. Nothing ever changed there. The cycle of brutality rolled on, growing ever larger, until the city was drowned from the inside out. No one ever fought back. No one ever saved them. And Sally? Those monsters tore out her heart and harvested everything they thought was useful. She was tossed aside like garbage after her protector was defeated and she had no escape. Nowhere to hide except the inferno Elizabeth had created.
And what if she returned? There was nearly as little hope even then. She knew what could happen. She had seen all that could be done. If she went back she knew she would meet him: Atlas, though that wasn't his real name. After that, it was chaos. The possibilities were endless. But nearly all of them ended exactly the same way. Nothing changed. The cycle was never broken. It was like being in the Comstock house over and over again. Booker never made it, no matter how hard he tried. Now she was the one who could not stop the endless brutality. Over and over again she had tried, opening different doors, running the numbers in her head. Almost nothing she could do could save them.
Almost. Elizabeth knew there was a way. She had seen him. Once. There was one unbelievable, unreachable chance that the little girls of Rapture could be saved. His name was Jack. Jack Ryan. The most unlikely hero anyone had ever heard of. But he would never reach Rapture. That chance was lost when Andrew Ryan sent Frank Fontaine down.
Then again, Elizabeth looked behind another door. If there was anyone who could help Fontaine, anyone who could help get Jack to Rapture, it was her. She could see all of the doorways. She knew exactly what to do. Which choices to make, where each splicer would be, and exactly what Atlas would ask. She knew what she needed to do to manipulate the situation. She knew how to get Jack Ryan back to Rapture. But it would never work, because Elizabeth knew the consequences of going back. And no matter how well she planned, it was a plan she could never fulfil.
She had died that night. She could not go back to that world, it was too close. Going back was suicide. Going back would mean the loss of everything that she and her father had both sacrificed so much to gain. Not only would she lose her powers, she would forget. She would forget everything that she saw behind the doors. Whatever plans she could make would be lost. She would be no better off than Booker was in that lifeboat. Creating new memories where there were none, forgetting what was really there. It was a risk she knew she couldn't take.
"I-I'm sorry, Sally." Elizabeth shuddered in the dark. Sorry is not good enough she thought as she looked back up and herself in the mirror. She knew she had to go back, but she was scared. The risk was too high, the odds impossible. Booker wasn't scared. She told herself. Booker had laid down his life; let himself be drowned to save her from Comstock. And had he tried to run away? Now here she was, holed up in an abandon lighthouse adrift in the multiverse running away from what was right.
Never in all her years, despite being cooped up in that tower for most of them, had Elizabeth ever felt so alone. She missed him. Her father. The only friend she had ever known. "Booker…" The name escaped her lips in a vain attempt to break the lonesome quiet of the night. "Booker, what do I do?" She sniffed.
She had never noticed how little she resembled her father. She did not have his eyes, his nose, ears, or mouth. Neither his chin nor his brow stared back at her in the mirror. But she was a DeWitt. And a DeWitt paid their debts.
"What do I do?" she repeated weakly, growing frustrated with herself. She could see so many possibilities, how could she be so lost? She had been running from this for far too long. But she was afraid. If Booker were here, he would know what to do. If Booker were here, she would know what to do. And he would save her. She didn't know how, but she knew he would. He always did. If anyone could fix this, it had to be him. She needed him back.
She thought back to the last time she had seen him. He had not even struggled as she held him under that river. But no, that was not the end, was it? She had seen him once since then. The night before she went to Rapture she saw him. She watched as he struggled to wrestle his daughter – to wrestle her – from her kidnapper's arms. Just before the door closed a moment too soon.
All weariness left Elizabeth as a wild idea came into her mind and for wonderful moment she dared to hope: She could get him back. If there was one last Comstock to steal Anna then there was one last Booker to mourn her. How had she not looked towards this possibility before? Was it shame at being present for her own death? Or had she really been that blind with rage at the last Comstock? It did not matter now. She had to find him.
But even if she found this other Booker, could he help her? He would not be the Booker she knew. He would not know her. But Elizabeth now understood the doors, the tears. She had walked her Booker back through his past. Could she not walk this Booker through her Booker's past as well? If that Booker could remember being the Martyr of the Vox, than perhaps this new Booker would be able to remember being the False Shepherd. It was worth a try. And there was no reason to delay.
At her command, a tear to 1912 New York opened and without hesitation Elizabeth stepped through.
