"Booker!" Elizabeth gasped out, her breathing coming to her in ragged lungful's and sweat dripping from her face. She staggered against the wall and a hand rested on her chest, over her racing heart as she took in deep breaths. "Can we stop here? I need a moment."
Booker Dewitt took a knee at the end of the alleyway, carbine raised and panning for threats. Off in the distance he could see the explosions of battle as the Vox and police force waged an all-out war for Columbia. They were in an alleyway just off a fountain square in the upper echelons of Columbia. It looked abandoned.
"I think we're clear here." He motioned to the platform about a mile away, "We shouldn't stay long though." The sky burned with smoke and fire and it took a lot of willpower not to keep moving. Sweat dripped from Booker's face as he reluctantly agreed with the girl to rest. He glanced up at another platform – another floating city block wreathed in fire. Already a dozen airships from each side were converging on a single platform, a town square as far as he could tell. Handymen, automated patriots and vigor junkies were being deployed by the forces loyal to Comstock while the Vox rushed the squad with over a hundred conscripts and crazed civilians. The skirmish was escalating. Booker looked away, knowing it wasn't his concern. If the Vox thought Columbia was worth fighting for, they could have it. He just needed a way out of here.
"Booker, look." Elizabeth said as she placed a hand on his shoulder. He followed her other outstretched hand to the fountain in the center of the square. It had originally been a statue of the Founder, George Washington, resplendent on a marble white horse and raising a saber in defiance of an uncaring world. Now only the stunted legs and part of the chest of the horse remained; the rest of the statue was strewn throughout the square in piles of rubble, the result of a stray rocket from an airship. But it was the figure at the base of the fountain that captured their attention.
She sat calmly, reading and occasionally sipping from a cup of tea. She was an island of peace in a hurricane, as if there wasn't a war waging on all the other platforms. Booker recognized her immediately as half of the annoying pair of scientists that seemed to show up at the strangest of times. And he was certain she hadn't been there a few heartbeats ago.
"It's Miss Lutece." Elizabeth said and lightly jogged out of their hiding stop. Booker made to grab at her.
"Elizabeth!" He called but was ignored. He swore under his breath and followed, carbine raised and scanning the windows of the shops around him, but somehow he knew they would be empty. This woman, Lutece, only ever appeared in completely isolated spots and slowly Booker lowered his weapon. Elizabeth was already halfway to the errant scientist.
"Miss Lutece!" She called out happily, "Miss Lutece, over here!" The woman looked up from her book at the two travelers and offered a rare smile.
"Good afternoon Lady Elizabeth" She said with a nod and eyed Booker coldly, "and to you, Mr. Dewitt." She nodded to the gun still cradled in his hands, "You won't need that, I assure you."
"If it's all the same to you, I'll hold on to it." Booker said sharply. Rosalind raised an eyebrow and shrugged.
"Suit yourself." She said and sipped from her cup of tea. A moment of silence passed and Rosalind returned to reading her book. Elizabeth waited a full thirty seconds and coughed into her hand.
"Um…what are you doing here?" She asked hesitantly.
"Waiting." Rosalind said without looking up from her book. Booker sighed in annoyance.
"Waiting for what?" He asked.
"For whom." Rosalind corrected, glancing quickly at the armed man.
"Who are you waiting for?" Elizabeth sighed, annoyed.
"Robert." Rosalind said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "He should be returning in a few minutes with some refreshments."
"Odd place for a picnic." Booker grumbled and motioned to the blown out buildings all around them. Rosalind looked around as if noticing her surroundings for the first time.
"I didn't choose this spot." She said almost dismissively, "You did."
"What?" Booker asked incredulously, "Hey you were the one already waiting here."
"I suppose I was, but that doesn't change the fact you were always going to choose this spot to rest." Rosalind said and sipped again, "Now do sit down. It's the polite thing to do." Elizabeth did just that, sitting with her knees to her chest at Rosalind's feet, looking up at the scientist like a teacher. Booker remained standing, scoffing at Rosalind and glancing around, still wary of his surroundings. Off in the distance an airship exploded in an expanding ball of fire. He tried not to imagine how many innocent people died in those few seconds.
"Miss Lutece, do you mind if I ask you something?" Elizabeth said after a moment. The scientist in question placed her book in her lap and looked at Elizabeth curiously.
"The only thing I mind is you asking for permission." She said chided gently but firmly, "You are a woman and entitled to speak your mind. Do so."
"Okay." Elizabeth took a deep breath before continuing, marshaling her courage, "Why are you helping us?"
It was a question that had plagued Booker for days now. The twins showed up at the most random of times, either to perform some mundane, pointless test and stroke their egos or to give him an arsenal of weapons and ammo. Once she had even given him an elixir that charged his skin with an electromagnetic current, causing some bullets to ricochet off. They had been with him since the lighthouse off the coast of Maine and seemed to have no trouble moving from one location to another, and always he got the feeling they had been waiting for him. As if they knew where he was going to be and when and had planned for his arrival days in advanced. It was unnerving to think his actions were not his own and that these two, through some means, have divined his actions before he even took them. It struck a wrong chord in Booker; he didn't dance to anyone's tune but his own.
Rosalind was studying Elizabeth with a look of amused bewilderment, as if she hadn't expected the girl to ask such a question. Booker grinned at that. Not so ethereal, now eh?
"Hmmm…where to begin." Rosalind thought for a moment as if wondering if telling them the truth was wise. She gulped hard, looked at her pocket watch and nodded several times to herself, "Alright, if you really want to know."
"I do." Elizabeth clarified then looked to her protector, "Booker?"
"I learned long ago not to look a gift horse in the mouth." Booker shrugged then glanced at Rosalind, "Still… I'll admit to some curiosity."
Rosalind smiled; this was new. Elizabeth had never asked that question in any of the alternate realities. Perhaps that was a good sign…perhaps not. Time always told. But what to tell her? The truth? The girl deserved it, but she would discover it herself soon enough. Part of the truth then? Something she never uncovered in the other realities. Yes perhaps that would be best. A new answer for a new question.
"My brother insisted we help you to…alleviate his guilt." Rosalind said carefully.
"Guilt?" Booker asked darkly, "Over what?"
"Complicity." Rosalind said simply, "We were party to many of Comstock's schemes and plans. We are not blameless for a lot of problems that have occurred in Columbia." She eyed Elizabeth sadly, "We aren't blameless for your captivity, either."
"You kept me locked in that tower?" Elizabeth said, scooting back from the scientist.
"Comstock did that." Rosalind said firmly, "We merely studied you and your powers, but more importantly we took no steps to see you freed."
"And that's what your brother feels guilty about?" Elizabeth looked down at her hands, studying them, "For not standing up to Comstock?"
"Among other things, yes." Rosalind sipped from her tea before continuing, "He does what he can."
"What about you?" Booker eyed the woman warily, "Why are you helping us?"
"Because of the tower?" Elizabeth guessed, hoped.
"No." Rosalind said firmly, "No, your powers were unpredictable and dangerous. The potential damage a tear can cause in incalculable. I'm sorry that it was you we had to lock up, but I won't apologize for the necessary safety measures we took. My brother feels guilty. I am not quite as noble as he."
"So what then?"
"Simple, Mr. Dewitt." Rosalind sipped from her cup, eyes locked on Booker, "Revenge. I'm out for blood."
0000000
-Flashback-
"You're sure he was here?" Rosalind asked the shopkeeper. The man was heavy set, with a bushy mustache and thinning salt-pepper hair. He wore thin wire spectacles and his uniform looked painted on to his rotund form. When he spoke, his words had the unmistakable accent of a Missourian native.
"Sure as I see you here, miss." The man said as he used a rag to clean a small silver display holder. Today had been a special day and instead of their normal cold cut sandwiches, Robert had insisted on cooking her a proper meal for their anniversary as it were. It was on this day seven years ago she had dragged Robert through the tear into her reality and he had wanted to celebrate. Rosalind had seen no harm in such an act and gave him a list of ingredients and while she finished in the lab for the day, Robert had left to get groceries for their dinner. He was supposed to stop by the baker's shop and place an order for a loaf of bread then get ingredients at the grocer for a Sheppard's pie. They had to start cooking early as potatoes took some time to boil and lamb needed to marinade before frying.
That had been three hours ago.
At first Rosalind had not minded a little wait. He may have gotten side tracked by a new store or a sudden flash on genius would see him walk in the door with twice as many ingredients as needed and a new dinner fully planed. When the ninety minute mark had passed, she was annoyed. At two hours, concerned. Now approaching three and a half hours, Rosalind was seriously worried about her brother. She had gone to the baker and grocer to see if they had seen him. They had, and her heart sank. Robert had gotten a nose bleed while chatting with the grocer.
"It was the queerest thing." The grocer, one Mr. Herald, a St. Louis native by birth, said "At first he just said it was the pollen in the air. They say when the flowers are in full blooms, people develop allergies. Why just last week my brother had a wicked hay fever from the rose bushes in the gardens out by K-Street. Put him up good and proper for two days it did! Poor Robert started bleeding all over his shirt and jacket."
"Then what happened?" Rosalind pressed. This was not good. Robert hadn't had an episode in almost a year and certainly not one this bad.
"He started acting…" Mr. Herald scratched the back of his neck nervously, "Well he stated acting like he had been hitting the old bottle too much, if you know what I mean."
"Robert is not a drunk." Rosalind hissed. The man held up his hand in apology.
"Ain't sayin' he is! Just with the way he was staggering and mumbling to himself…seen me plenty of drunks what acted the like." Mr. Herald finished polishing one display and picked up a second, "staggered right on out the door. I called to him, I said 'Hey Mr. Lutece, you forgot the groceries!'." He motioned to the bagged food on the counter, "Paid and left he did."
"Did he say anything?" Rosalind asked, trying not to notice the bloody fingerprint on one of the bags.
"Just nonsense. Something about debt and a girl." He leaned forward conspiratorially, "He doesn't have himself a new girlfriend does he? Or gambling problems? I know how you rich like to play with money…" Rosalind snorted.
"Hardly. Robert would get kicked out of every casino in town."
"Cheating?"
"Too smart." She said, "As for a girl, I'd chew up any shrill harpy that tried to sink her claws into him."
"Ha! Gotta' look after family, eh?" Mr. Herald shrugged, "He also said something about music…Uh what was it…it was…" He snapped his fingers several times, "Oh yeah! Said something about seeing that new musical at the theater."
"The Broadway?" Rosalind asked, backing up towards the door. Of course! Music kept Robert grounded in reality and had stopped his nose bleeds before. Lost and disoriented, his mind must have fallen on a protective instinct and sought out music to heal it. Robert you stupid genius…She almost grinned. Almost.
"Nah, the new one. Over on Clark Street at Colefax." With that Rosalind was out the door, moving as quickly as it was proper for a woman to move. She hated that she couldn't run in a full length skirt and heels, but if she didn't want to draw attention to herself she needed to look the part.
0000000
Rosalind's mind raced as only her mind could. If Robert was delusional, she dreaded to think what could befall him. Together the Luteces were the top scientific minds in the city, but they had more than their fair share of contractors. If the shop keeper thought Robert was drunk, it was highly probably others could come to the same conclusion. Drunk in public was a serious crime and the police were lenient, but not forgiving. In his fragile mind, Robert would be completely unable to interact with a constable. And there were others who might take advantage of the situation; reporters salivating for a juicy front page article, politicians Robert and Rosalind had refused to support or fellow scientist and university rats looking to further their careers by destroying the Luteces. But those bastards, as persistent at they were, were mere annoyances. The true threat, as always, lay in the shadows.
The mobs and rebellions that controlled the underworld, the Hounds of Abraham, Vox Populi and Order of the Raven were brutal, monstrous organizations. The fanatics in the Vox were particularly violent and vocal in their disdain of the upper class. In truth Rosalind agreed with their ideals; whether born white, Negro, oriental or Indian, a human was a human. All equal, no exceptions. Her best lab assistant had been a young black maid, Grace Freeman. She had fallen in love and married the Lutece's personal guard, Christopher Sunderland and last Rosalind had heard they were preparing to leave Columbia. Rosalind had personally given several thousands of dollars' worth of bribes to keep the police away from the Sunderlands. But for all her secret support of the cause, it was just that – secret. The Hounds of Abraham or the Vox would sacrifice a lot to kidnap or kill someone as prominent and important as Robert Lutece. It was almost common for a prominent white supremacist to be found skinned alive, or shot a dozen times in a night club. Though Robert was the single best man Rosalind had ever met, his true feelings towards the lower class were as secret as hers. Because they refused to openly take sides, the Luteces were as suspect to the Order of the Raven as the Vox and Hounds. With him so incapacitated, he would be easy prey for a Vox operative, or Raven fanatic.
Rosalind felt bile rising in her throat as she imagined the headline of tomorrow's paper; Head scientist Robert Lutece gunned down in gutter by Vox assassin. She wanted to scream. It would be just the thing the Vox would do and Comstock would allow to happen. The Vox get their blood and in return are painted as bloodthirsty. And with Robert dead, her world would shatter. Could she ever forgive an organization with such progressive ideals for such a crime? Never. Rosalind Lutece was many things, but she was not forgiving. Robert could attest to that from all the nights she had made him sleep on the couch rather than their bed. She did not blame people for their mistakes, but she did need them to pay for it, in blood if necessary. Killing Robert, however well-intentioned the Vox were, would see Pandora's Box open. Rosalind would do everything in her power to destroy them. She would build a machine to harness the lamb, young Elizabeth; though barely ten years old, she would take the girl's power and create an army to crush the Vox. Then the Founders. And then, the world. There could be no end to Rosalind's pain if Robert was taken from her. She would end the very world to sate her rage and anguish, if that's what it took.
It took her a further fifteen minutes to get down to the Sacred Scroll Theatre and the whole time her panic grew. She faintly heard people whispering to one another, about her, her brother and whatever destination she moved so quickly towards. She paid them no mind. Her mind was lost in thoughts about Robert. Even her exceptional brain had a hard time keeping track of all the twists and turns of Columbia. Twice she had stopped at roadside maps and once asked for directions from a local constable. To think Robert's painfully induced child-like mind had navigated these streets. It almost defied possibility. But Robert had surprised her many times by doing the impossible, not least of which melting her icy heart and bringing a small part of her humanity back to love him. She owed everything to her twin and so she pushed on, determined to find him even if she sacrificed her reputation at a proper lady in the city.
When she arrived at the Theatre, she was dripping with sweat and panting for breath. Her heart pounded in her chest as she staggered to the ticket office. The man behind the counter, a boy not older than twenty, looked wide-eyed and aghast at the panting woman in front of him.
"Give *pant* me *pant* the *pant* attendee *pant* list." Rosalind gasped out as she gripped the wooden counter with shaking hands for support.
"The…the what?" The boy stammered and Rosalind growled in annoyance. She snatched at the leather bound book on the counter. It was a sign-in list of the current theatre occupants, though theatre may be a misnomer. It was more accurately a gentleman's club, with gambling tables, lounges, a lavish study, live music and a stage for plays. Guests, whether first timers or reoccurring, always signed in. Rosalind skimmed the list of names quickly, sweat dripping from her brow and smudging some of the ink. Robert wasn't among them. She flipped the page, not finding his name there either. She tried the next page and the page after that. Her brother had not signed in. She slammed the book closed and gripped the boy by his lapels.
"Robert Lutece." She snarled in the boy's shocked face, "Did he come here? Did he sign in?"
"N-n-no ma'am." The boy stammered in shock, "No one by that name has signed in today."
"Did you see him?" She asked, "Which way did he go?!" the boy was shaking, completely terrified of the raging woman in front of him. A hand rested on Rosalind's shoulder and she glanced over, seeing a stern-faced Columbian constable glaring at her. She released the boy and turned to face the officer, straightening her dress as she did so.
"Yes officer?" She asked as calmly as she could, "Is there a problem?"
"I was about to ask you the same thing, miss." The man said sternly, yet politely. "You seem to be causing quiet the scene." It was then Rosalind noticed that over a dozen people were watching her, aghast and curious in equal measure. Rosalind gulped and took in a deep breath to calm herself.
"I am looking for my brother and time is a factor." She eyed the constable coldly, "So it would expedite matters if you did not interfere." She made to turn away from the man but he took her arm in his iron grip.
"Perhaps we should look for your brother down at the station." He said firmly, "Come on." Rosalind pulled away from him.
"No look here Officer-" She reached for the badge on the officer's uniform and read the name there, "Richards. I am a very important woman with friends in very high places. If you value your job, you will assist me instead of arresting me."
"You dare threaten me, lady?!" The officer's hand twitched in anger.
"I am Rosalind Lutece!" Rosalind screamed in a sudden fit of rage, "There is nothing I cannot or dare not do! I gave Columbia its wings and I am more influential than your small mind can possibly imagine! Now either help me or get out of my way."
A moment of dreadful silence followed as everyone in the small square watched, mouths agape, at the proper scientific lady and her outburst. Rosalind bristled with anger and indignation. The officer was growing redder and redder by the moment, but she couldn't yet tell if it was anger or embarrassment. Probably an even combination of both. After a long, hard moment the officer gulped hard and straightened his thin tie.
"How may I assist you, Miss Lutece?"
Rosalind smirked.
0000000
Rosalind shivered in the rain as she pounded on the gilded door. It was a work of matchless wonder, crafted by a master artisan over half a decade. It truly was a wonder, depicting a gold plated relief of Father Comstock atop a horse, proudly defiant against the snakes of the orient. The people of China were depicted as they normally were, bucked tooth and squinty eyed. They ran in fear from the proper white man and his forces. Rosalind had heard it said that when the artisan master Comstock had hired finished their work, they had laid down their tools and wept. Such was the blind faith the people of Columbia had in their so-called prophet. Rosalind knew better and knew that Comstock knew she knew better, but kept her tongue silent on such matters.
Only a few heartbeats passed before one of the golden doors swung open and a figure in a heavy coat and top hat almost stumbled into her. From his staggering gate and stench, she guessed the man was drunk.
"Sorry there, love." The man's breath reeked of whiskey and Rosalind stepped back, realization dawning on her. The man got his first good look at the woman, "Rosalind Lutece, as I live and breathe."
"Good evening, Mr. Fink." She said neutrally, "Though it would appear you've already had quiet the evening."
"Oh you have no idea, love." The man grinned disgustingly and adjusted his hat. It was then Rosalind noticed the welts and general bloody state of his right hand. She frowned.
"Your knuckles are broken." She said with a sneer, "Drinking and fighting? I guess there is no bottom for you, is there Fink?"
"Oh I can think of a few more ways of enjoying myself tonight, Rosalind." He leaned forward, smiling lustful at her. Rosalind sneered in disgust.
"Not if you were the last man in the world, Mr. Fink." She made to shove passed, "Now excuse me, I have urgent business with Comstock." Fink's arm shot out to bar her way and he leaned forward so his lips were inches from her ear. She tried to struggle but his other hand rested on her back, effectively pinning her. When Fink spoke, his voice was low, dangerous and much more lucid.
"You should enjoy life while you can, Miss Lutece." His warm breath made her shiver and squirm, "You only live once, and sometimes not for that long."
"Are you threatening me?" Fink had never made his lust for her a secret, but he had never been this bold. This blatant. Rosalind clenched her fists as the urge to strike him rose in her gullet.
"Comstock and your brother won't always be around to protect you, woman." Fink snarled and Rosalind managed to dip under his arm and out of his grasp, "You of all people need to learn that nothing is permanent."
"I'll bid you goodnight, Mr. Fink. Try to get mugged and murder on your way home, would you?" Rosalind turned sharply and entered the inviting warmth of Comstock's estate. Outside Fink laughed, then looked down at his ruined hand and laughed even harder.
Rosalind put the disgusting man from her mind as she approached the first servant she saw and requested Comstock. The maid looked nervously at Rosalind for a moment before nodding and scurrying off to find her master. Rosalind took the time alone to examine her appearance in a hallway mirror. She was an absolute soaking mess; hair out of place, dress wrinkled and mud-stained. Her heels had long since been discarded and she socks were black with dirt. The deep circles under her eyes gave testament to the ravaging search she had been leading the police on. Fourteen hours…
"Rosalind?" The warm, hard voice of Comstock called out from down the hallway. She glanced up seeing the Prophet in the doorway to one of his many studies. The maid stood awkwardly by the door, her gaze cast to the floor as if in fear. Comstock motioned for Rosalind to come forward. "You may go." He said to the maid and she quickly – a little too quickly – scurried off. Rosalind half staggered half jogged down the hallway. Her left foot throbbed where she had stepped on a piece of glass five hours ago. She had pulled the object from her foot and wrapped it, but the pain never subsided.
"Father Comstock, I need your help." Rosalind said when she reached the man, "Please."
The prophet held up his hand at the shaking woman, "Of course, of course. But my dear you look dreadful. You need a bath. You look exhausted. Have you eaten?"
"No no, that's not why I came." Rosalind said quickly, "Please just listen."
"First things first my dear." Comstock said in his firm, almost heavenly voice, "Let's get you cleaned up and fed."
"No!" Rosalind said as the man made to lead her away, "There's no time."
"Another experiment?" Comstock asked, his eyes suddenly alight with the zeal of a true believer, "Have you found a way to help my Lamb?"
"I…no." Rosalind hesitated. She and Robert had been tasked by Comstock to find a way to harness the natural tear making ability the girl in the tower had. Rather than create one in a lab with thousands of dollars' worth of equipment, the girl, Elizabeth, seemed to have the ability to make them out of thin air. Though completely unable to control them as of yet, there was great potential in the subject and Comstock had order them to find a way to harness that potential. Certain…conversations between the twins had seen the progress slow to a trickle, with no completion date scheduled. Comstock sighed.
"I'm trying to be patient, Rosalind." He rubbed his eyes and turned to look out the window, "I asked almost two years ago to work on harnessing my little Lamb." He turned back to her, "I have spent thousands of dollars and waited patiently and I have nothing to show for it."
"With all due respect, Prophet." Rosalind sneered, "If you think making such a device is easy, then by all means-"
"I'm not the one paid to invent! That was the deal. But if you won't invent, I may have to reconsider that deal." Comstock snarled and gripped her shoulders tightly. He was hurting her and knew it, "You are supposed to be the brightest mind in all of Columbia."
"I am." Rosalind said between clenched teeth.
"And yet you've done little since you first created the rift machine." Comstock released her and Rosalind was sure she'd have bruises in the morning. He walked to his liquor cabinet and poured himself a measure of red wine. He sipped, not making eye contact with the woman. Rosalind knew better than to speak first. Comstock was calm most of the time, but when his blood was up he was the single most dangerous man she knew.
"When you first approached me about your discovery, of the other worlds…I was skeptical." Comstock sighed heavily and placed his glass down, "Even when you showed me that atom you used to communicate with the other side, I didn't understand. The Lord has blessed me with many things, but the mind of a scientist was not one of them." Comstock played with the signet ring on his left hand – a memento from his time in the army –
"You swore to me that if I let you bring your 'brother' over, you two could create anything." He finally made eye contact with Rosalind, "Despite my misgivings at having a person not of this world here, I agreed. And I have yet to reap the benefits of allowing that."
"We brought you your Lamb." Rosalind snapped back, "It was Robert who traveled to the past and brought you Anna."
"Elizabeth." Comstock corrected coldly.
"Of course." Rosalind sneered and coughed, "Look Robert is missing. I believe he…" She trailed off, realizing she had never spoken to anyone save Robert's physician about his episodes. Comstock sipped from his glass, eyes dark as he studied the woman. She felt not unlike a lab rat being watched by a hawk.
"You believe what?"
"I…well…sometimes Robert gets confused. It's a result of crossing to our world. Instead of his atoms attempting to occupy the exact same place as mine, they try to force a new place for themselves in this world. His mind tries to create memories that explain his belonging here."
"Belonging here?" Comstock echoed with a dry, humorless chuckle, "Interesting choice of words."
"They are apt." Rosalind crossed her arms over her chest, "He is as central to Columbia's continued existence as I am." Comstock's eyes narrowed.
"You believe yourself indispensable?"
"I believe that without our expertise, Columbia will soon find itself in anarchy. Tell me Comstock, if one of the city blocks begins to fail and float back to ground, what would you do? I know exactly what I would do to fix the suspension field of the atoms, but I curious what you would do. Would you pray?"
"I would. I would offer humble prayer to the Lord that He takes the souls of the falling to His eternal glory quickly."
"As I suspected. The point remains then that my brother is missing."
"And you said he gets confused?"
"He was out getting groceries and never came back. I suspect he grew confused and wondered off."
"A dangerous thing for someone of such high renown to do."
"I have been looking for him for hours. I enlisted the help of a few constables, but so far we've found no trace of him. Few people saw him and those that did simply said they thought he was acting drunk as he staggered about. I initially guessed there was no way he could get out of our district, but I turned that Glittering Gardens inside out looking for him. Comstock…I'm at my wits end over this. I…I need you to organize a city wide search."
"And what would I tell the people?"
"That the Vox kidnapped him, for all I care. You're always looking for a reason to blame them. I'm only looking to get my brother back."
Comstock sighed deeply as he mulled this over in his head. His eyebrows narrowed as they always did when he was in deep thought. "You want me to organize a city wide search for your brother, blame the Vox and risk any incrimination at such lies being uncovered…and all the while you refuse to invent for me."
"I'm not refusing anything. I am looking for the man who operates the laboratory with me. My brother, partner, clone – whatever phrase you want to use."
"How about pet?" Comstock dared and Rosalind stood in indignation.
"Robert is not my pet! He is a human being, a citizen of Columbia!" Rosalind clenched her fists tightly and took several burning breaths, "I'm tired of talking Comstock. Are you going to help me or not?" Comstock sipped the last pooled liquid in his glass and sighed deeply. He mulled the drink in his mouth, as if considering its vintage and flavor. When he stood, it was a sudden, almost violent movement that caused Rosalind to flinch back. She cured under her breath for showing such weakness.
"Come with me." Comstock said confidently and walked to the door leading to the hallway.
"Where are we going?" Rosalind asked, not moving from her spot, "Are you going to help me?"
"As you said, I am tired of talking too." Comstock said without turning to face her, "Come and be illuminated."
0000000
He led her into the dark. Into the deepest levels of his mansion, which Rosalind was quick to realize was more a fortress or facility than a house. They passed basements, kitchens, living quarters for staff, and security sub stations manned with grim faced guards. Rosalind wondered how and when Comstock had such additions done and what was the purpose. The top – the mansion – was only the tip of the iceberg, so to speak. His house was almost a castle of old, such was its scale and size. And how was she, Rosalind Lutece, head scientist of Columbia, not aware of these facilities? What could be down here that Comstock would keep hidden from her and more importantly why?
"Where are we going, Comstock?" Rosalind asked after several long minutes of traveling.
"Wait and see." Comstock said as they reached the end of a long hallway. There was an elevator waiting for them and Comstock ushered her inside before following and activating the mechanism.
"When did you have these facilities built? And why wasn't I informed?" Rosalind asked but the look in Comstock's eyes silenced any further questions.
"I do not answer to you, Rosalind. You answer to me." Comstock growled, "Is that clear?"
"Crystal, prophet." Rosalind tried to keep the sarcasm from her voice, well aware of Comstock's short temper. If the man noticed her tone, he chose not to comment on it. The elevator ride was awkward, the air thick with tension. When they finally reached the bottom, Comstock stepped into an echoing darkness and Rosalind let out a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding. The lights in the hallway flickered on by themselves and Rosalind wondered what type of technology was employed her.
"This is taking time from searching for Robert." Rosalind said to Comstock's retreating back. He paused and glanced over his shoulder.
"Robert is not lost." He said coldly.
"What?!" Rosalind's heart skipped and the color drained from her already gaunt and pale face.
"Come. Be illuminated." She jogged to catch up, heart pounding in her chest. They walked to the end of the hall, to a great glass window overlooking a darkened room. Rosalind gulped – a prison cell.
"You already found him? Is he hurt? What happened?"
Comstock ignored her and threw a switch on the wall. The lights in the room beyond the glass flickered on. It was circular, featureless room of grey stone and thick brass pipes. Steam coughed from leaking valves and the hum of engines filled the air with an almost palpable miasma of noise and industry. Rosalind gasped and felt her heart stop. There, in the center of the room, on his knees like some broken animal, was Robert. Rosalind glanced furiously at Comstock who only nodded to a flight of stairs that led down. Rosalind quickly dashed down the metal stairs to a near identical observation floor, but this had a thick pressurized door leading to the cell. Rosalind grunted as she twisted the hatch and pushed the massive door open.
Robert was chained to the floor by a collar about his neck. He knelt, shirtless and bloody, on the cold floor. Rosalind dashed to his side, and cupped his face in her trembling hands. His skin was cold and blood leaked from his split lip and one swollen shut eye. The other swam for a moment before focusing on Rosalind. She could see the madness and pain in his eye and tried to fight the tears rolling down her face.
"Robert?" She kissed his forehead, "Oh sweet Robert."
"R-Ros…" He trailed off as more blood leaking from his mouth and dripped onto the floor.
"Hush." She made to stand, taking him by the arm. It was then she saw the disgusting series of bruises and lacerations across his torso. She wanted to cry. Wanted to vomit. "Let's get you out of here."
"Robert is not going anywhere." The voice came over the broadcast array built into the walls of the cell. Rosalind glanced up at Comstock, still watching coldly from the observation window.
"Comstock!" She yelled, "What the fuck is going on here? What have you done?"
"Insurance, my dear." Comstock replied coldly, "I am tired of waiting. Tired of my lamb locked in that dreadful tower. Tired of not brining redemption to the Sodom below. We were to cleanse them, Rosalind. Redeem them with sword and fire!"
"You kidnapped Robert…" Rosalind trailed off and looked at her mangled brother. One eye stared hopelessly at her. She could almost feel the pain he was in, such was the agony in that look. "Tortured him, beat him and for what?"
"To illustrate my conviction. That…creature you even now coddle in your arms is no man. He is not of our world, he was not made by the Lord. He is no son of Adam. I can do whatever I want with him, and there is no sin." Comstock broke off and spoke to someone Rosalind couldn't see, someone that must have been waiting down here. A door on the opposite side of the cell began to open.
"No…nnnoo." Robert managed through his bloodied lips, "N-not a-a-again."
The shriek, when it came, for it could only be called a shriek, was near deafening. It was inhuman in its wail of agony and Rosalind fell to her knees, hands pressed tightly over her ears. Robert, music sensitive Robert, had a much more violent reaction. He screamed and writhed on the floor, thrashing about and howling in pain. Blood began to leak from his eyes, ears, nose and mouth. He coughed, blood spattering against Rosalind's clothes as the dreadful noise sent him into hemorrhages. Through the pain Rosalind saw a figure stumbling towards them through the now open door.
"No sins evade his gaze."
Rosalind looked up through the tears. Before them was a hunched, dreadful thing. It was human but only in the most strict, literal sense. It was no larger than a child, wearing immaculate blue clothing. Its head was covered by some sort of helm, cast in bronze. Two massive horns stretched out on either side, like elongated ears. Its mouth and nose were covered in featureless bronze and she saw no eye sockets.
"W-what is this?" Rosalind asked and the boy-thing reeled back as if struck and its hands went to his head. Underneath the helm the human mouth screamed in pain and it shot up at the two scientists, metal mouth open in a silent cry. Only it wasn't silent at all. That dreadful shriek came again, louder and more painful. Rosalind staggered and fell beside Robert, her twin twitching and writhing in absolute agony at the sound. His head shook violently, as if every atom was resonating with the noise. For a dreadful moment Rosalind was sure his head would explode at the sound.
"Do not talk. Listen." The boy-thing looked up sightlessly at Comstock and several shadowing figures that had appeared at his side, "Did you really think I did not know about you and your…pet sibling? About your disgusting incestuous affair? Of those long nights you spend trapped in the carnality of your sins? I let it slide, for I am a man of the Lord and does the Lord not forgive? But the days turned to weeks, to months and to years. This pet…Robert, had proven to be a distraction. You spend too much time in the sheets, in his arms, and not enough inventing for me."
"My personal life is none of your concern!" Rosalind yelled.
"Though in truth, it is a poor shepherd that blames his flock." Comstock ignored her, "I am guilty of the sin of indulgence. I indulged you and your wicked desires and I will atone."
The boy-thing began to back off, shuffling and dragging its feet back towards its holding cell.
"My men found Robert on the streets, mad and bleeding. I brought him in, to care for him if you can believe that. But even as my physicians looked to him, I saw not a man in need, but an animal. A rabid animal that must be corralled. I would know what this animal knows and why it has yet to construct for me. I had Fink and his enforcers put your sibling to the question but he was…uncooperative." Comstock looked down at the boy-thing as it shuffled out of sight, "Such a shame for a mother to be cursed with a child like that. An idiot boy, though I think the more scientific term is autistic. The helm amplifies what he hears, causing him such pain that he lashes out in kind. Robert proved uniquely susceptible to the sonic waves the helm can produce."
"You will not be leaving with your pet, Miss Lutece. You will walk out of this place alone and return to your lab. There you will invent a machine to harness the power of my Lamb. Men will come in one week to claim it and only then will your sibling be returned to you. If you cannot produce, I will have him killed."
"You can't!" Rosalind snarled in anger, "He's a Columbian citizen!"
"I AM Columbia!" Comstock roared and the broadcast device snapped and shorted for a moment, "I am Jury, I am Judge and I am Executioner."
"You're a monster, Comstock!" Rosalind snarled, "I won't let you do this!"
"You cannot stop me, Miss Lutece. No one can stop me."
"G-go Rosalind." A soft voice whispered next to Rosalind. She looked down with disbelief and outrage on her pale features. Robert had recovered somewhat from the Silent Boy's sonic assault and struggled to his feet. Rosalind was quick to help him up and stared imploringly into his one good eye.
"What? Robert, you can't be serious!" Rosalind hissed. Robert put a shaking, blood hand to her cheek and despite their situation she leaned into him, convincing herself his skin was warm.
"Y-you have t-t-to." Robert managed through blood laced lips and stained teeth. He gulped hard and began to falter but Rosalind caught him by the shoulders.
"Robert, he will kill you." Rosalind managed and Robert had the gall to smile at her.
"He'll k-kill us both some-d-day." Robert whispered, "We already knew that. We're prepared for that."
"I can't leave you." Rosalind tried desperately to convince her sibling but he gently shook his head. Damn that man and his stubbornness! Tears began to well in her eyes but she stringently refused to give them release.
"Y-you w-w-will." Robert whispered, "D-do wh-what he says."
"I thought we agreed we'd have no more part in his…lunacy?" Rosalind argued but she was wavering. The desire to get Robert back, to see in to safety, was strong. Stronger than her fleeting morality in helping a mad man commit genocide.
"L-looks like we w-we're wrong." Robert said with a dry, bloody chuckle, "Do it."
Rosalind gulped to fight back the tears and nodded her head slowly. She cupped Robert's bruised chin and pulled him into a kiss. She tasted his blood on her lips, the blood that she shared and yet didn't. She tried to get as much of Robert in that kiss as she could. When she did finally pull away her face was smeared with her twin's blood but she didn't care. Robert nodded grimly to her and she nodded back. She turned to glare up at the shadowy figures watching them and felt the warmth in her heart turn to ice.
"Okay Comstock. You win."
"I know."
0000000
In the days since her reluctant departure from Comstock's dungeon, Rosalind Lutece has thrown herself into her work in a way she had never done before. It hard started simple, with the complete destruction of everything in her house in a fit of blind rage. She tore down photos, ripped apart cushions and smashed her kitchen ware to the flour. She even tore apart the beautiful ice blue dress Robert had gotten for her on her birthday last year. It had been a true work of beauty and she had worn it to the Marriage of Figaro preformed at the Opera house. She tore it to ribbons. And then tore Robert's perfectly tailor suit, the one he looked so damn handsome in, the one he had escorted her to the opera in, to shreds and screamed as it fell to the ground.
Then the work furry set in. She worked straight through the night, surviving on slices of bread and coffee for days on end. Though desperate to work, she knew she had to be pragmatic and slept sparingly, if only to keep her mind sharp enough. Her dreams were plagued with her tortured brother and she always woke screaming, drenched in a cold sweat. She worked tirelessly afterwards, pouring over all the research notes she and Robert had made in their studies of Elizabeth and her abilities. She tried not to cry at seeing Robert's pathetic excuse for handwriting, knowing he hated hers just as much.
She worked through sore limbs, exhaustion and injuries. Several times in the construction of her great device she would hammer her finger instead of a nail. Three of her fingernails were split down the center and she quickly wrapped them in gauze, shot back a glass of whiskey to dull the pain, and went back to the work. What she built was something she and Robert had long ago designed and worked out the calculations for. Only their hesitancy to continue Comstock's plans had seen their work trickle to as slow as they thought they could get away with. Turns out they had been wrong in assuming Comstock would be patient. The girl Elizabeth was barely ten years old, surely he could afford to wait a few more years?
What she couldn't build, she wrote precise and exact blueprints for. Her house turned lab was only so big and she only had a few supplies readily to hand. On a normal project, she or Robert would simply place a requisition order with the university or Fink's metal shops. But that would take time – precious time she could not spare. She built what she could and would leave the rest to Comstock and his insanity. It was little more than a conductor, writ large and tuned specifically to the empathic frequencies that allowed Elizabeth to tear open the space/time continuity. It would require a tremendous amount of energy to power and operate. That baroque tower Comstock built all those years ago would serve as the ideal conduit with which to power the device.
Thoughts began to grow hazy and time ceased to have meaning. There was only the now, the bolt that needed to be tightened, the wires to be sodded and the plans to draw. Rosalind wiped the sweat from her brow and forced her shaking hands to concentrate on the task at hand. Her vision began to swim and she shook her head clear. She had to concentrate. For Robert. Rosalind glanced at the clock but the hands meant nothing to her, so she glanced out the window. The sky was the deathly blue of early morning. What day was it? Was this the fifth? Or the sixth? She didn't know; she had relied on Robert these last few years to keep her grounded in life. Without that guiding light, she was completely lost.
Rosalind cursed as she found her mind wandering again and fought to regain control of herself. She didn't have time to wax poetic and pine for Robert, who was most likely already dead. No! She couldn't afford to think like that, she could only afford to work. The wrench fell from her trembling fingers and she gripped her hand tightly to fight back the shivers running up her body. She felt sick again but knew it was pointless. There was nothing in her stomach to void, so rushing to the bathroom would do her little and waste time. Rosalind ignored the tightening of her throat and a few dry heaves and she glanced at her work list. It was too long. Always too long. She continued work, mindless as a machine, for that's what Comstock had reduced her to. Without Robert in her life to guide her, she was reduced to a single-processed automaton.
When the knock on the door came, Rosalind was startled out of her revive. She had been staring at the flame of her soldering gun for a full five minutes, her mind blank and eyes lost in the burning white flame. She staggered to her feet, swaying like a drunk. She glanced at the clock but saw only a blurry after-image. Was the sky brighter? Was this really the seventh day? Rosalind felt her gut tighten in her chest as she answered the door. Two dark suited men stood on her doorstep, faces grim and emotionless. Rosalind felt the urge to kill them rise in her gullet.
"What?" She managed.
"We're here for your device." One of them said, his thick New Yorker accent grating Rosalind's already stretched mind. She nodded, no longer able to care. She pointed at the mess of parts on the living room floor.
"It's mostly over there." She said and one of them stopped in the doorway.
"Mostly?" He asked, "Comstock's orders were for a complete-"
"I don't have enough space to build the entire damn thing!" She snapped, "I built the core and synapse relays, if you can understand that. The rest is in the blueprints on the desk. Let Comstock worry about where to put it." One of the thugs examined the blueprints on the desk for a moment and nodded to his companion.
"Where's my brother?" She demanded, "Where's Robert?" one of the thugs, the one with the ugly scar across his face, walked outside to the row of robot-horse drawn buggies outside. Rosalind eyed the black windows on black leather buggies and wondered if Comstock himself was among them.
"Bring him out!" The man next to her called out and the last buggies' door opened. Three figures stepped out, or more accurately, two figures dragged a third out. Rosalind watched with a cold detachment as they brought her bleeding brother to the doorstep. She tried not to show any of the heartbreak as she checked his vitals to make sure he was still alive. His heartbeat was weak but it was there. His already pale skin was deathly pale and dark sickles of grey skin lined around his eyes. He looked for the entire world like a walking corpse.
"Set him down on the couch." Rosalind ordered and the men grunted in acknowledgment as they carried the bloody heap that was Robert through her threshold. Rosalind watched them go, her face a mask of icy detachment. She wouldn't show a single emotion in front of these men. She'd never give them the satisfaction that they had broken her. "And hurry up and get out of my house!" She called out to the four burly men man-handling her equipment. She made some space as they carried the capacitors out. She watched them go with all the friendliness of a Nun schoolmistress.
A man came up behind her; she felt his presence more than saw it.
"Messy business, eh Rosalind?" She turned sharply. Fink wore an immaculate black tailored suit and top-hat, with that smug 'I beat you' grin on his face. Rosalind wasted no time in slapping him as hard as she could, taking a small victory in knocking the hat from his head. Fink staggered for a moment and grinned evilly. When he touched two fingers to his lip he saw blood on them and chuckled. Slowly – too slowly – he retrieved his hat from the ground and put in back on. Then he lunged, quicker than Rosalind could react. He gripped her throat and lifted her off the floor an inch or so.
"I'll chalk up to your obvious lack of sleep, little whore." He sneered, his face inches from hers. He reeked of whiskey and tobacco and she would have gagged if she had air to do so. Instead Rosalind gasped out in defiance, "You know when Comstock told me of your debasement with Robert, I didn't believe him. Not Rosalind, I said. She'd never fuck her brother, no matter how lonely she got. I thought something of you, Rosalind. I never liked you, but I respected the work. Now…" Fink looked at where the men had laid Robert and then back to her, "I enjoyed beating the truth from him. Know that, for the rest of your life. I beat your incestuous brother senseless and I laughed while I did it. I cut him, beat him, stabbed him and watched him bleed. You and him are but pigs for the slaughter, Rosalind. And your time will come, and soon."
He grinned at her and wrenched her into a painful kiss. Rosalind fought back, feeling the man's disgusting tongue dancing across her lips and trying to get into her mouth. Rosalind relented for a second and bit down hard. Fink yelled and stepped back.
"Whore!" He slapped her across the face, sending her to the floor. He winced at the pain in his mouth and turned to the men he had brought with him "We're done here."
The men filed into the series of buggies, Rosalind's latest invention strapped firmly to the roofs. With a barked order Fink led them away, watching Rosalind struggle to her feet and laughing.
Rosalind struggled to drag herself through her doorway and close it. Damn that Fink – who knew he had such a right-hook? Rosalind could barely feel her jaw through the swelling and she gagged on the aftertaste of his tongue. She pulled herself up and rested against the closed door. She felt it then – the last excision of mercy and hope. She felt a calmness as cold as the grave wash over her. She would kill them, all of them. There was no turning back, not from this. Comstock, Fink, the Founders, the Ravens…she would kill them all and she would feel nothing.
Rosalind glanced over at her unconscious brother, wondering if just for a minute if he was dead and she could just die in the doorway. That would be a nice, easy way out. But even as she closed her eyes she heard his labored breaths. She groaned and pulled herself over to his side. He was bloody and bruised and his face was twisted in pain. She managed to get to her feet, and stagger to the kitchen. She quickly filled a pan with cold water and a cloth. When she got back to her brother he was groaning in his sleep, twisting and turning with the pain. Rosalind sighed as she sat down next to him and began gently washing away the blood that caked his face.
"I lied to you." Rosalind whispered to her unconscious brother. She dabbed the cool cloth on his forehead and wiped away the caked blood from his handsome features. "You made me promise not to open a tear to your reality anymore. I told you I had no reason to, that my curiosity was sated." She dipped the blood cloth into a pan and wrung out the still warm blood. She replaced the cloth on his feverish head and unwrapped a pair of syringes and a rubber tube from a medical case. She wrapped a band around her arm and flexed her fingers and her bicep, to get the veins bulging. She took a moment to inject Robert's arm with the opposite end of the tube and hissed as she pierced her own arm. Blood began to flow effortless from her arm to his body. Rosalind began to squeeze a small ball to keep her blood flow up.
"I lied because I did have a reason." She watched her blood race to his body and smiled sadly. Well that was one benefit from having identical DNA, "I had to know if I had made the right choice when I pulled you over. In those first few weeks, when you were practically comatose on my bed, bleeding out from those God awful nose-bleeds. I considered sending you back, Robert." She looked down at his sleeping form, "All the memories we've made, the life we have together. I considered preventing all of it from happening if it would save your life."
"So I opened the tear – or at least a near identical one. One where you had been making tea the exact moment I was studying our little atom, and thus missed it. Missed me. We never found one another and I never pulled you over." She gulped hard and leaned back in her chair as she felt the blood loss get to her. "I watched your life…what could have happened. I had to know if your life would be better without me." She took a deep, faltering breath as the emotions finally began to overwhelm her, "You continued your studies, made some remarkable discoveries, but you made enemies. You never reached the potential you deserved, and lived in the limbo of a doctorate student at Oxford. Too smart to expel, but not enough political clout to excel."
"But the new age dawned. The age of machines, of industry and the inevitable march to war." Rosalind hesitated, wondering if the blood loss and exhaustion was making her loopy. She imagined so. She swore to herself she would never tell Robert what she had seen on the other side, but somehow that didn't seem to matter anymore. "When the Archduke was shot, you knew there would be war. Damn your bleeding heart, Robert, but you knew it would be bloody and terrible. A war to end all wars."
She imagined she could see a smirk on his face and she scowled even now, indigent, "You volunteered, damn you. You volunteered to go. A field medic. 1st Lieutenant Robert Lutece of His Majesty's 19th Western Division. Oh you were so God damned handsome in your uniform." Rosalind smirked at her clone, "Damn you Robert, why did you have to go? Why couldn't you have stayed in London or taken a position as a surgeon as a rear-echelon hospital? You had to go to the Western Front."
She sank back in her chair, "You died Robert. I watched it. At Somme, during the German offensive at Fromelles. You and seven thousand other good British men, all dead inside a day. I cried out as you chocked, clutching your ruined throat as your lungs filled with shrapnel and mustard gas. A new and terrible nerve agent, sulfur dichloride with ethylene. Horrific. You burned to death from the inside, Robert. I watched your lungs fill with blood and your eyes melt. Your skin blistered and fell off, you bit your tongue off in pain. You screamed for help."
She paused, realizing she was gripped the railing of her chain too tight and tears of rage poured down her face. She almost threw up having to relive the memories. "When the Germans found you, they shot you. You were already dead and they shot you over and over and over."
"I knew then, that whatever happened to you and us, I made the right choice." Rosalind sniffed back a few tears, "So seeing you like this…I'm not sorry for it. I will do whatever I can to heal your wounds and we'll find a way to kill Comstock and that bastard Fink. But I won't regret saving you from the trenches."
Robert groaned and Rosalind was at his side in an instant, ignoring the swooning in her head from the blood loss. She brushed the damp cloth across his forehead and wrung it out into the bloody basin of water at the foot of the couch and replaced it.
"Robert?" She whispered, barely daring to hope, "Can you hear me?"
-End Flashback-
Rosalind set her glass of tea down and reached for the pot, hoping it hadn't cooled since she started talking. Booker and Elizabeth were watching her, eyes wide in disbelief. Silent tears trailed down Elizabeth's youthful features and Booker's jaw was locked tight and his hands gripped his rifle so tight they were white. Rosalind poured herself a generous helping of tea and raised it to her lips on shivering hands. Reliving those days always overwhelmed her and she was grateful for the warm liquid running down her throat to sooth her. It was several long minutes before someone spoke.
"That really happen?" Booker's voice was hard as granite and Rosalind had to fight the urge to glare at him.
"Indeed." Rosalind sipped again, "It was…unpleasant."
"My God…" Elizabeth whipped her eyes on the skirt of her blue dress and hugged herself tighter, "He's…he's a monster."
"Yes. He is." Rosalind nodded in agreement, "Now do you understand?"
"Yes." Elizabeth squeaked out and Booker put a reassuring hand to her shoulder. Rosalind raised an eyebrow at the display of almost fatherly affection. That was new too – this trial was proving interesting.
"Is…is there anything I can say…" Elizabeth began suddenly and Rosalind fixed her with a cold stare, "anything that can fix-"
"No." Rosalind interrupted coldly, "What is done is done. I hold nothing against you, child. You are not party to your father's insanity, though what was done was done in your name." At this Elizabeth flinched and Booker stepped forward.
"Now wait a minute." He pointed to the shivering girl, "She had nothing to do with this! She was just a child back then! She didn't know anything about what was going on."
"Forgive me if I implied the contrary." Rosalind soothed, "I did not mean to insinuate Elizabeth had blood on her hands, so to speak. The only men I blame are Fink and Comstock. As Fink is already a bullet riddled corpse on his factory floor, my ire falls to no one but Comstock." She spat the name as if I were a curse, "I hate him, Mr. Dewitt. I hate him with a burning, mad passion and I would see him dead if I could!"
Both Elizabeth and Booker stared at the flustered scientist in mild shock at her outburst. Rosalind adjusted her jacket and sat up straight again, like a lady.
"But I cannot. I am not of the physically empowered sex nor do I have a mind for combat and tactics. I am a scientist, Mr. Dewitt. When someone needs to die, I help others to do the work for me."
"You want me to kill Fr. Comstock?"
"Was that not your goal all along?" Rosalind asked with a cold smirk, "He will never stop hunting you." She looked at Elizabeth, "He will never let you see Paris, my dear." She looked back at Booker, "No, the only way to live a normal life after today will be to kill Comstock."
Elizabeth pondered this for a moment, her innocent face shifting between a daughter's sorrow and a disgust that only family could feel for one another. Indeed it had been that there was no greater hatred than that existed between family. Rosalind sipped from her tea, studying the two intently. Booker rubbed his stubbly jaw and sighed.
"Mr. Dewitt?" Elizabeth looked up at her guardian but he refused to meet her imploring eyes.
"Okay." He said firmly to Rosalind and she inclined her head gratefully.
"Gratitude, Mr. Dewitt." Rosalind said guardedly. Behind the two heroes another man materialized as if the light had condensed to form him. Where before there had been naught but rubble and dust, billowing in the wind, stood Robert Lutece in his spotless three piece suit and that trademark smirk of his. His eyes met Rosalind's and she could see the light of life dancing within them. He eyed the two, Elizabeth and Booker, with a mixture of endearing sadness and cautious optimism. Rosalind made a show of reaching for her gilded pocket watch and smirked.
"Ah." She said and set her cup down, "Right on time, as always, brother!" She called out and Elizabeth and Booker turned to face the newcomer. Elizabeth was the first to react, launching to her feet and throwing her arms around Robert in a sudden expression of grief. The man was flabbergasted and Rosalind took a moment to cherish the surprised look on his face. It wasn't often her other-worldly sibling was caught off guard and she would cherish this moment. Robert spread his arms wide so as not to drop the paper bags he carried and slowly wrapped them around the silent woman clinging to his neck.
'What's this?' He mouthed to Rosalind but she shrugged noncommittally. Elizabeth gently untangled herself from Robert and stood a few feet away.
"That was unexpected, Miss Elizabeth." Robert said with a chuckle. Booker gave a shrug.
"Girl's emotions run high, Mr. Lutece." He said casually as Elizabeth just nodded, still a little overwhelmed to trust her voice.
"Indeed they do, Mr. Dewitt." Robert offered one of the bags he carried to him, "Would you for a moment?" Booker took the bag with a slow nod and Robert reached into his remaining bag. He shuffled around with its contents for a moment and produced a white paper parcel, smudged ever so slightly with grease.
"I believe this is for you, Miss Elizabeth."
"What is it?" Elizabeth asked curiously. She looked at Booker who shrugged, just as lost as she was.
"A Pain-Bagnat" Robert said with an absurd French accent. Rosalind sipped from her cup, watching closely, as Elizabeth tenderly took the offered wrapped sandwich and sniffed it. "It's French."
"Oh!" Elizabeth exclaimed happily and eagerly unwrapped it. It was a simple concoction of chopped tuna, lettuce, tomato, minced olives and a hardboiled egg on toasted bread. Elizabeth wasted no time in taking a bite and let out an extremely scandalous and delighted moan.
"Oh my God, this is delicious!" She said and held it out to her guardian, "Mr. Dewitt you have to try this!"
"No, you go ahead and enjoy it." Booker said with a dismissive wave and eyed the Lutece twins warily.
"Where did you get this Mr. Lutece?" Elizabeth asked between bites. Without asking or thinking she reached for Rosalind's discarded bottle of lemonade and sipped. The twins shared a brief glance and Robert almost smirked at the girl's predictable behavior.
"Oh I know a place." He said casually with a wave of his hand in some direction. Elizabeth nodded, evidently satisfied with this vague answer. Rosalind glanced away and sipped from her tea to hide her smirk. He neglected to mention the sandwich came directly from a café in downtown Paris, not some cheap Columbia knockoff. It was one of the joys of being transdimensional. They didn't need to eat for sustenance, but they still enjoyed the act and found comfort in it. Just as music had kept Robert grounded in Rosalind's reality, so too did the simple, familiar act of eating ground them in reality itself. Rosalind particularly enjoyed thin crust pizza, a strange dish from the 20th, 21th and early 22nd century. Elizabeth was all but inhaling her sandwich, enjoying this little taste of French cuisine. This last little mercy…
"Rosalind, this one is for you." He produced another paper-wrapped sandwich and gently tossed it to his sitting twin. She snatched it from the air with ease.
"I do hope you got it right this time." Rosalind said with a mock sneer and he winked back.
"You are simply too picky, dearest." Robert shot back and Rosalind scowled.
"I like what I like." She said and took a bite of her BLT. It was perfect, fresh from a café in downtown New York from the late 1980s, but she would never let Robert have such satisfaction. "It is…acceptable."
"From her, that is high praise indeed." Robert said to Booker who gave a rare chuckle. The two ignored Rosalind's death glares and Robert fished one last meal from the contents of his bag.
"Corned beef on rye?" Robert held out the third little parcel and Booker eyed it warily. He looked from the wrapped sandwich to Robert, to Rosalind and finally to Elizabeth. The younger woman sighed.
"Oh just take it, Booker." She said exacerbated as she chewed. It was very unlady like and Rosalind felt her growing admiration for the girl raise. Booker relented and took the offered food and sat down at the foot of the fountain, leaning his carbine against the stone fountain and resting his pistol on the ground in easy reaching distance.
"There's a good lad." Rosalind said with a smirk. Booker eyed her but her glance was elsewhere.
"It's your favorite, isn't it?" Robert asked as he brushed an apple on his lapel and studied it intently. Booker glanced at him as his hands undid the knotted lace.
"It is." He said neutrally, "And I've love to know how you knew that."
"We have our ways."
"And we're very good at them." Rosalind finished. Booker gave a heavy sigh. One thing that had remained constant was his barely contained annoyance at them and their deliberately mysterious ways. He tolerated them as long as they gave him stuff; weapons, ammo, health kits to patch himself up with, and now a sandwich. As Robert had correctly postulated it was very hard to hate someone who gave you a free sandwich.
"This taste just like one I had in New York once. O'Riley's I think the place's name was, in one of the Irish ghettos. " Booker said between bites, "I always wanted another one, but the place burned down during a worker's riot." Robert and Rosalind exchanged meaningful glances.
"That's interesting."
"Remarkably so." Rosalind took another bite and took a moment to study her companions. Elizabeth was reading the words on the wrapper her food had come in, enjoying the drawing of a French café in a busy square with the Eiffel Tower in the background. Half of her sandwich was already gone and she was taking a moment to recover from the excitement of real French food. Booker was chewing slowly and carefully, enjoying this meal as if it were his last. Smart lad…
Robert, bleeding heart and too convincing for his own good Robert, was staring off into the middle distance while munching on his apple. This little culinary exercise had been another of his ideas when he and Rosalind had simultaneously gotten nose bleeds. A snack, he had said, to keep them grounded. Then he had expanded the idea to include Booker and Elizabeth, his humanity once again shining through the bleakness of their lives. Rosalind had flocked to it like a moth to a flame. She would never admit it, but she needed these little asides. These reminders they were more than just transdimensional dead but not dead beings with unlimited time. They were humans and sometimes humans needed companionship. It had taken them a few tries to get the sandwiches right for the travelers. Elizabeth was essentially okay with any French food, such was her enthusiasm. But it had taken some actual work to discover Booker's favorite. Work that Rosalind had been loathed to do, but was now glad to see the positive results. Booker was, for lack of a better term, content. He would never be happy, at least until time was fixed. But in this moment all four of them were content to just be.
"Mr. Lutece?" Elizabeth asked carefully. They all looked at the younger woman who rested the remainder of her sandwich in her lap. She looked at Robert with sad, sympathetic eyes.
"Yes Miss Elizabeth?"
"I'm sorry for what my father did to you." She said softly but firmly. It was likely she felt shame simply being blood related to such a monster. Robert gulped hard and Rosalind noticed his face paled ever so slightly.
"H-how did you…" He trailed off, glancing at his twin. Rosalind shrugged.
"They asked." She said simply, "I told them." Robert nodded several times to himself, deep in thought.
"That's…good." He said at length and Booker and Elizabeth shared a glance.
"Good?" Booker repeated, "Not the word I would have used."
"What he meant was" Rosalind began, eyeing Booker very coldly. She hated Comstock with all her body and found it more than a little difficult to separate Booker from that.
"You've never asked before." Robert finished. "That's new. That's good."
"Of course we never asked before…" Elizabeth said curiously and took another bite of her sandwich, "We've never sat down and had a chance to ask." Booker glanced at the two twins, knowing that wasn't what they had meant but let it be. The Luteces were strange and Booker learned long ago not to ask questions unless it was absolutely necessary.
"Of course." Rosalind echoed.
"Absolutely." Robert said and fell into silence. Rosalind was more aware of her twin's moods than anyone else and although he affected a calm, composed veneer on the outside, she could see the pain in his eyes. He rarely spoke of it and since the need to sleep was removed from them he never had nightmares, but she knew those days he had suffered under Comstock, Fink and the idiot-child still haunted him. Rosalind gripped her tea glass tightly, hearing it crack under her strength. Those days had been an impossibly long time ago but the memories were still fresh in her mind and she would never- could never – forgive Comstock.
The silence stretched for a few moments as they each finished their meals. Booker casually crumpled up his wrapper and threw it to the side. He made to stand and Robert offered his hand. Booker studied him for a minute before taking it and letting himself be helped to his feet. He turned and retrieved his guns and grunted a thank you. Elizabeth carefully folded her wrapper back up and tucked it into a pocket of her dress and slurped down the last of her lemonade, still blissfully ignorant it hadn't truly been hers. Rosalind sipped the last cooled pooled splash of tea and set the cracked cup aside, stood and brushed off her jacket and skirt. Robert tossed his apple core over the edge of the platform and wiped the juice from his mouth on the back of his hand.
"Back to it, then." Rosalind said firmly.
"Indeed. Enough chitchat." Robert said as he straightened his tie. They twins moved to stand next to one another as Booker and Elizabeth made to leave.
"See ya'." Booker said dismissively and Elizabeth elbowed him in the gut.
"Rude." She hissed quietly and offered the Lutece twins one of her breath-taking smiles, "This was wonderful. We should do it again…when we're not running for our lives."
"Agreed." Robert said quickly, "In Paris, I think."
"Yeah. Sure. Paris." Booker said and checked the load on his carbine. He cast one last glance at the two scientists before nodding to Elizabeth, "We should move. Got a lot of ground to cover."
"Right behind you." Elizabeth said, all business now. As they moved across the square Booker stopped and cast a look back at Rosalind. Their eyes met.
"I'll get him for you." He promised.
"Thank you, Mr. Dewitt." Rosalind replied. The wind picked up, bringing the smell of smoke from the burning districts a few platform's away. Booker nodded once more and left without another word. Elizabeth lingered for a moment, studying the two scientists intently. Their faces portrayed nothing of their thoughts and Elizabeth eventually turned away, resigned she wouldn't learn anything more about them today.
"Elizabeth!" Booker called out when he lost sight of the woman in blue.
"Here, sorry." She said as she caught up. Booker was crouched at the edge of the platform, binoculars in hand as he studied a fortified position up ahead. He caught the telltale glimmer of several tears and counted no less than ten of Comstock's officers. He clicked his tongue, knowing Comstock was close. The airship docked at the opposite platform would take them to Comstock's floating island. The end, for good or for ill, was near.
"That was nice of them." Elizabeth said as she leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her chest and glance cast back where she came.
"Yeah…nice…" Booker mumbled and she glanced at him.
"Booker?"
"Look, I aint one to turn away charity." Booker said darkly, "But that wasn't no normal charity. That was a last meal." Elizabeth looked a little shaken and pale.
"You think we're going to die?"
"I think they think that." Booker said and stood, returning the binoculars to his belt and unslung his carbine, "But I've always been one for defying the odds."
"Me too." Elizabeth said with a forced grin, "Besides I want to see how much food I can get them to pay for."
"You're something else, lady." Booker smirked and activated the sky-hook around his wrist, "Let's go."
0000000
"I told you there was something about this one." Robert said when the travelers were out of sight. Rosalind took up a spot next to him.
"You did." She admitted then eyed him, "You also said that about numbers fourteen, twenty, twenty three, thirty five, forty two, sixty three, sixty four, sixty seven, eight one and one hundred through one hundred and seventeen."
"I hadn't been aware we were keeping score." Robert huffed, annoyed. Rosalind cupped his chin in her hand and smiled wickedly at him.
"Oh brother dearest…we're always keeping score." She said with more glee than he would have liked. Robert fidgeted away and looked at his pocket watch. He clicked his tongue.
"Two hours before the Songbird takes the airship down, then?" He asked and glanced at his sister. She had a faraway look in her eyes, staring but not seeing. He clicked his tongue again, "We'd best go get the piano then."
He began to walk away when Rosalind's hand shot out to him. He stopped in his tracks and cast a glance over his shoulder. To his shock Rosalind's eyes brimmed with unshed tears. She gripped his hand like a vice and pulled herself into his arms. Robert instinctively embraced his twin, clutching her to his chest. She didn't cry, for Rosalind Lutece did not cry. But she remembered. She remembered a time when she did cry, and weep and beg. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the memories. In the distance she imagined she could hear the cacophony of the silent child and Robert's screams of agony. She could smell the disgusting coppery stench of blood in her nostrils and hear the amused chuckle of Fink and his cohorts as Robert writhed on the floor. She looked up at her brother, her twin, life partner and soul mate. At eyes that were hers and not hers. Her eyes were almost uncaring they were so cold, but Robert's were sad and haunted. Rosalind had her fair share of daemons, but Robert's were an entirely darker shade.
"Robert I…" She gulped hard to keep her voice from quavering. She had never been the most romantic of lovers even before she met him. A lifetime of bitterness, desperation and questionable morals had hardened her heart but in rare moments Robert made her feel…human and it was thrilling in its addictiveness. He looked at her and didn't see her mistakes or the terrible things she had done in the name of science and a career. He just saw her, his twin, friend and lover, "Whatever happens, here or anywhere else…I'm with you. We're together in this, forever. I promise." She sealed her words with a tender, loving kiss and let her hands travel up his body and encircle his neck. When she pulled away she rested her head to his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. It was muffled through his clothes, but it beat strong and she felt centered by it. Grounded. Robert's arms pressed her tighter to his body but he didn't say anything; he didn't have the words. It wasn't often she could leave her clone speechless, so she relished the moment for all it was worth. "I love you Robert. So much."
Robert was still at a loss, seeing the pain in her eyes and knowing where her mind lay. He nodded and kissed her forehead protectively.
"But if you ever write down what I just said in your journal…" She glanced back up at him, eyes narrowing, "I'll make sure every time we cross a tear, you appear in ladies undergarments and nothing else."
"Wouldn't dream of it, my dear."
"Come. We're wasting precious time." Rosalind pulled away, business as usual, the emotions expressed and moment passed. She loved him, he knew it, and that was enough, "I have notes to write, and you have a piano to move."
"Love you too."