"Father? We need to talk."
"Why?"
"You've been acting... strangely lately."
"Oh?"
"I'm not quite sure how to begin..."
What could she say? That his recent purchases had raised many an eyebrow? The fact that he'd been far too overprotective of her for the past week, even more so than usual? She decided to start with what she could see. "Your recent... reading habits, for example." She pointed at the book that Booker was, even now, peering into.
"I've just decided to... broaden my horizons, is all. Just like you've always told me to."
"But, it's not really something that interests you, is it?"
"I'm reading it, aren't I?"
"Do you understand it?"
Booker looked at her briefly, with the queer gaze he'd given her continuously since his "accident". He sighed, closed the book, then chuckled. To Anna's own inquisitive look he replied "You've just reminded me of a theory in here," he nodded at the book as he put it down, "but you're already quite - boyish..."
Anna was puzzled at this odd remark and decided to try a different track. "Forget science then. Why the obsession with travel? It's not something we could afford any time soon." As always, money was a harsh topic for her.
"I just want to know more about the world around us, don't you?"
"Is that why you've spent a week learning how to pick locks?"
Booker stopped. Unable to give a proper answer, he shrugged. "So, do you have anything to say about me learning about codes?"
"That actually fascinates me as well. But, just one more thing." She drew attention to what she'd been holding in her hand for quite a while "Why cotton candy?"
It was odd. One day, once she'd returned from her busy schedule, her father had suddenly asked her to accompany him on a walk. He'd remained mysterious about it until they'd arrived at a cotton candy vendor, at which point he'd bought 2 cones with strangely childish glee. Anna would have been surprised, as he no doubt expected her to be, except she'd outgrown her sweet tooth as a child. Now they were seated outside a reasonably well-off cafe, drawing angry looks for the owner due to the "outside food" they'd brought with them.
Booker met her query with a second uneasy silence, and she got the sense that he was keeping something from her. The primary feeling his face betrayed, however, was guilt.
"Father, I'm not at all worried about what happened back then."
"About the- me shouting at you?"
"Yes."
"It's... not about that."
Having finished their snacks, they left for home. As Anna went to change into a new set of clothes, Booker sat at his desk and smiled to himself. Of course he had a reason for these strange behaviours and it was most likely the same reason he and Anna were together, but how could he expect anyone to believe him?
…
October 10th, 1983
"Where have you been DeWitt?" A strong hand clapping his back, Booker sat down at the bar. His friend, already surrounded by empty bottles, was in a cheery mood.
"I've... had a lot of thinking to do."
"Heh, anyone else want to break your fingers?"
"No."
"You've paid 'em all off, have ya?"
"No."
"Then what? Pink's want another favor from ya, Booker?"
"No."
To this, his friend laughed and passed the bottle he'd just opened to him. "Drink up fella'! That'll get you talking!"
"I've quit." Booker was met with a puzzled silence.
"Since when?"
"For about a day or two."
"What happened?"
"Don't want to talk about it."
"Well," Booker braced himself as his former drinking buddy leaned forward conspiratorially "remember the Oldies?"
Yes he did. Booker had often laughed at the expense of the childless couple who often drank away their sorrows. "What about them Frank?"
"Well. They're still open to that offer. If I were you-" At this point Booker had slammed his head into the table in front of him. Not wanting to answer to any of the accusatory glares in his direction, he quickly left.
…
"So."
"Not much more to say really."
"I think there is. You aren't exactly explaining yourself well are you?"
"Don't need to."
"You haven't even been here for two years, and you want to throw it all away?"
"Yes."
"And I'm expected to just let you leave?"
Booker casually tossed his badge onto the man's desk and walked away.
"Booker! What's this I hear about a debt? I thought you liked our salary?"
Booker paused at the door and sighed. He turned around and said "I'll pay it off. But not like this." He motioned around the room. When the door slammed shut, Harold Langston sighed and made a note for himself. Booker DeWitt (DeWitt of all people!) had just left the Pinkertons.
…
All for a noble reason of course. Booker sadly walked into his humble home. As he closed the door, he decided to put the gloom of his past behind him, and concentrate on the gloom of the future. He walked into the second room as he continued his train of dejected thought. At least he had someone to take him through the rest of his life.
He stood before Anna's sleeping form and smiled, despite himself. He pulled up a chair and sat over her, letting his thoughts overcome him, helping him plan a course of action. He unconsciously resumed his new habit of holding his daughter by her little finger, as if to see if it (as well as she) was there. Doing so, he let his recent nightmare come to the fore of his mind.
…
July 13th 1912
Booker quickly awoke from his reverie with a jolt. He glanced at the room around him and chuckled at the sight of the plants he'd bought for the window. Anna hadn't complained about that. He looked at the few shattered locks on his bed, as well as the various ciphers he'd tried to memorize. He thought about his newfound sweet tooth, an odd trait for a 38 year old. He looked at the book in his hand. She was right: he didn't care much for physics. At first he'd bought the book because he found the thought of a female Slate to be disturbingly hilarious, but now he felt a strange sense of familiarity regarding the author's name.
In the moments before Anna emerged, he cast his mind back to the previous week, when the phrase that had tormented him in 1893 had returned, hopefully for the last time.
"Bring us the girl and wipe away the debt."