Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or parts from the movie "Minority Report" nor am I affiliated with the writers, directors, producers, ect. I am not making a profit from this story. I will say that I own the character Diana Warren, and that no one else can use her unless it's with my permission.
P/L: It is the year 2054. A so-called "pre-crime division" is working around Washington DC. Its purpose is to use the precog(nitive) potential of three genetically altered humans to prevent murders. But soon a Federal agent comes snooping around headquarters in search of flaws. Human flaws. And the main man on his list is John Anderton, a firm believer in the system, that is, before it came after him. With the help of one of his closest friends, Diana Warren, Anderton has to prove that he's innocent, even if it means that the system will be shut down. But there's a secret that's being hidden from them all, and it's right in front of them.
Ch. 9: In Too Deep
Witwer closed his eyes for a moment, taking in what all had happened. It didn't seem real. Only a few minutes ago she had saved his life. She saved him from not dying. But him, Danny Witwer, with the gun in his very hands, couldn't save her from dying. In fact, it was by his hands that this came upon them. He cursed himself, wishing he could take those things back. He slowly opened his eyes, turning to face Lamar. Witwer's face grimaced with anger and he stood up.
Lamar stared back, his cold watery eyes unemotional. He had won. Everything was working out for him, no matter who he had left bloody and bruised along the way. Or dead, Witwer thought to himself. "It was you," he growled, Lamar gave a pretended look of shock; "you killed her." The old man shook his head, "Oh I don't think so. Last time I checked it was you who held the gun that killed her." Witwer could feel the anger exploding in him and he began to charge forward when Lamar held up the very gun that had killed Diana. He stopped in his tracks and looked at Lamar with fear.
"I'm not going to let you try and kill me again." Then suddenly, there was the explosion of glass breaking, and as shards fell to the ground so did Precops. They swamped Witwer and two held him back as he began to struggle to break free. Lamar holstered Anderton's gun with a smile. "How? How could they have known?" Witwer cried. "Obviously," Lamar answered, "Agatha has finally been retrieved." Witwer glared, "You arrogant bastard! You won't get away with this!"—Struggling, he turned to Fletcher—"Gordon! Arrest him! He's the true murderer here! He's the one who framed Anderton!"
Fletcher shook his head. "Sorry Chief, but I believe it was you who we saw was about to kill Lamar. Why would Lamar want to frame Anderton anyway? They're almost like father and son!"
"Exactly," Lamar agreed, "And I have to say it is very upsetting to know that Anderton will have to face the Department of Containment…as will you."
Witwer lunged forward but was quickly pulled back by the precops. Lamar turned to Fletcher, "He seems to be in an unstable state. I feel like the desire to control Precrime has pushed him over the edge. Don't listen to whatever he tells you." Witwer began to glare at the old man.
"Gordon!" It was Knott. There was fear in his voice as he called out to the leader of the team. Fletcher turned to his voice and his heart jumped. There lying in front of Knott was Diana in a pool of blood. "Oh my God!" he exclaimed rushing over and knelt down. "Is she okay?" Knott shook his head, "I don't know."
"Well find out!" Fletcher stood up and turned back to Witwer and Lamar. "How did that happen?" he asked, pointing back to Diana. Witwer began to speak when Lamar interrupted him, "Diana had figured out what Witwer was trying to do, and came to stop him. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to stop his actions in time to save poor Diana's life."—He looked over at Diana sadly, and Witwer knew he was faking his emotions—"She was one of my best cops too." Witwer growled, "Liar."
The two cops holding Witwer frowned, was that truly right? Didn't Witwer love Diana? Fletcher couldn't understand it, why would you kill someone you cared for? But Fletcher didn't question, he trusted Lamar. So he pulled out the halo, pressing a button where the compact form spread into the shape of headphones. Then he spoke in a serious tone, "Danny Witwer, by mandate of the District of Columbia, Precrime division, I'm placing you under arrest for the murder of Diana Warren and the future murder of Lamar Burgess."
Although Witwer resisted, the halo still crept closer to his head and right before Fletcher clamped it on, he gave a glare to Lamar and said, "You will pay." Then with that, the halo made contact to his head and he felt a shock, everything going black.
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It actually seemed more like a dream as Witwer observed his surroundings. His body wouldn't seem to reply to what he told it to do, and it all seemed like he was merely the audience, watching as he was placed in his suit and strapped to the back of his Containment cell wall. He heard the click as the halo secured his head to the back. It all felt so strange though, he knew he was looking around the room, but his eyes didn't move. He screamed as loud as he could, cursing everyone he could think of, but no words would come out. His mouth didn't even move at all!
And then, he began to be raised to his confinement. "Don't do this Gideon!" He cried, hoping his attempts weren't completely futile, "It's Burgess! He did it! John was only framed because he knew too much! Then so did I, and Diana got killed because of it!"—Witwer could feel tears of frustration run down his face, even though nothing came—"Please, you've got to hear me!!"
But Gideon of course couldn't, he merely smiled watching Witwer be placed where he, as Gideon believed, rightly belonged. "Welcome Danny," he smugly said, "It's a whole new world on the other side, huh?"—he paused, almost like he was waiting for an answer he knew wouldn't come—"It's actually kind of a rush. They say that you get visions; that your life flashes before your eyes, that all your dreams come true." And then Witwer was fastened into what could be truly called his coffin, since that's where he would be spending eternity.
And right before the darkness came, as Witwer was turned and directed to his place in the towers of convicts, he saw a familiar face. Looking at the name it read: J. Anderton. It just didn't seem right, how evil would seem to win this time. Lamar had eliminated those who had known too much, those who would oppose him. After all, Witwer was a federal agent! He had chosen this job because he wanted to protect the innocent, to stop things like what happened to his father. And he had failed. His "coffin" attached to the top tower of the criminals and the light right above Anderton lit up reading: D. Witwer #1111.
"Gideon!!!" he cried with one last attempt as reality faded beyond his grasp, "Gideon!!!" But the grinding blast of the pipe organ drowned out any noise worth hearing, and Witwer returned to the vast darkness. The halo on his head lighting up to activate the life-system that kept him alive in this dream state, creating a golden ring above his head.
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"Danny?" a voice called out to him, "wake up, Danny…" He opened his eyes; everything seemed to come in so blurry at first, almost like he was actually seeing the world for the first time. And then things focused, and he saw Diana crouching before him. "Diana—" he felt a rush of excitement when suddenly he remembered all that had happened, "you're not real…you can't be! You're dead."
She smiled, "That you will have to decide on your own. Have faith, Danny."
Sitting up, Witwer reached into his shirt pulling out the rosary. He stared at it for a moment, his mind fading back to his father. He closed his eyes and suddenly once he opened them he was there again, back in Dublin. He was fifteen again, church service had just let out and he, his mother, and his father were smiling as they began to step down the cement steps. But then a black figure came out of nowhere, a gun in his hands. Then everything repeated again, Witwer and his mother were pushed out of the way of the bullets as his father moved in front of them. And then he fell, his body crashing to the ground like a rag doll. Witwer's mother screamed as he quickly rushed to his father's side.
Blood slowly dripped down the steps as he tried to grasp his father's last words. "Take care of your mother, Danny," the weak voice said, "and anyone else along the way. Remember me…and don't forget what you've learned…" His father's large hands placed his rosary into young Witwer's. And Danny held it tightly as he watched his father's body go limp.
"'When everything else fails…faith is what guides the future'," Witwer spoke as a small tear ran down his cheek, the world around him returning to a vast void of darkness, "And look where that's led me Dad! I've failed! I've failed you, my country, my love! Faith?"—he gave a small chuckle—"I believe it's a little late for that." Then he gave the rosary one last tender kiss, and then threw it into the darkness, hoping he would never see it again. "It's never too late," Diana spoke; she smiled, "I want to show you something." Witwer reached to grab her hand, but it merely passed on through. "Follow me," she continued.
The void around them changed again. Witwer looked around and found that they had come to a familiar place, a cozy little cottage down near Chesapeake Bay. Lara is talking on the phone with someone as Anderton pulls up in his red Lexus. She seems worried. "He's no killer, Lamar," She says into the receiver right before he hangs up. "I know," Lamar replies. The images weren't exactly complete, but the next image shows Lara allowing Anderton and Agatha into her house.
Now it was just Lara and Anderton, as they sat on a bench overlooking the bay. "They used Sean," he told her shaking his head, "They wanted me to think Crow killed him. But he didn't. No, he didn't." Lara frowned, "Well why would they set you up?" Anderton shook his head frowning, he wasn't even sure himself. Suddenly a light came on in his expression, "Because I found out about her."
"About who?"
John frustratingly brought his hands up to his head and winced, "How could I have not seen this?"
"Seen what?"
"Anne Lively." He quickly gets up from his seat and heads into the house with Lara following. The image moved to where Anderton, Lara, and Agatha were in Sean's room. "Dr. Hineman once said to me," Agatha explains, "'The dead don't die. They look on and help.' Remember that, John." She then begins to speak of their son, Sean, the light of the sun behind her giving an angelic glow. And Anderton and Lara begin to cry, to hear of their son's future, of what could have happened, was too much. "There was so much love in this house." Agatha concluded.
"I want him back so bad," John said in between tears, sitting on the floor now as he places a hand to his head. Tears swell in Agatha's eyes, "So did she. Can't you see? She just wanted her little girl back. But it was too late. The little girl was already gone."
"She's still alive?" Anderton asked.
"She didn't die, but she's not alive."
Anderton moved forward, placing his hands on the window seat Agatha was sitting on. "Agatha," he spoke to her, "Who killed your mother? Who killed Anne Lively?"
"I'm sorry John," she replied, placing a hand on his cheek, "but you're going to have to run again."
"What?"
"RUN!!!" She screamed, a held out yell.
And in that minute, precops burst in, and the images slowly change into something else. And as what Witwer just saw, he knew that was the past. This new vision that was coming, it was the future.
They were now on the balcony of the Willard Hotel, the very place the acceptance of Precrime was to be taken. Lamar appeared on the balcony as he walked with a seemingly casual stride. He stopped at the concrete railing, grasping tightly to it as one hand was held up to his ear. Leaning forward he looked down into the dark void below him, and then into D.C., highlighted by the lights of people in their homes. He looked back for a moment, then threw whatever was in his ear into the darkness below.
Something must have made a noise, for Witwer watched as Lamar quickly turned around. Then another person appeared, this one clothed in a black pullover, the hood covering his face, hiding his identity. They spoke for a while, but suddenly a fear and helplessness came over Lamar's face, and he seemed to be pleading with the man. And then, the dark man slowly drew his gun, and spoke the last words Lamar would ever hear: "Precrime is at an end, Lamar…and so are you, paid in full." And then, gunfire, point blank on the center of Lamar's forehead.
The dark man turned as the body fell limply to the ground and reentered the hotel. Then the image faded, and once more Witwer returned to black void. And there was Diana before him again. "Can you see? Remember this, Danny," she told him, slowly beginning to fade, "And remember me."
"No! Don't leave! Not yet!" Witwer pleaded, but Diana moved her hand and placed it on his cheek. And in that moment he wished he could remember how it felt for her to touch him, for he felt nothing. He moved his hand up to her translucent one, and it passed through to touching his own cheek. With a smile she leaned forward, closing her eyes as she began to kiss him. But as her lips came to reach his, she dissolved into the nothing that surrounded him. And Witwer was alone, again.
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"This is all my fault," Lamar Burgess explained, coming forward to Lara and embracing her. He was only wearing a white button up t-shirt and slacks, considering she walked in as he was in the middle of dressing for the gala ball they would be having at the Willard Hotel. Kissing her gently on each check she replied solemnly, "There was nothing anyone could do."
Lamar studied her eyes for a moment, making sure there was no hidden meaning behind what she said. "Lara…uh…" He began, then turned taking her hand and led her over to the couch in his office. On the coffee table right in front of it was a rather small white box, inside was Anderton's belongings. "I thought you might want to have those," Lamar explained as she walked up to the box and sat down onto the couch. Lamar paused for a minute, peering inside the box himself as he finished buttoning up his shirt. Somehow Lara's grave behavior unnerved him.
"I haven't worn this in years," Lamar told her as he motioned to his shirt which he was still buttoning, "Just wanted to make sure it fits before tonight."
"You look great," Lara told him, picking up one of Anderton's picture frames as he turned to move in front of his mirror. Lamar watched as he saw her reflection pick up Anderton's .45 out of the box.
"I knew he was having trouble for some time," he said, "but I did nothing about it." He began to continue on when his secretary walked into his office, "Excuse me but the guy from USA Today is here."
"Tell him not now."
"He just wanted a few minutes before—"
"Not now!" Lamar raised his voice rather agitated.
Nodding the secretary quickly left, leaving Lamar and Lara alone again. "I thought you were retiring," she told him as she lifted up yet another picture of Anderton's which had him, her, and Sean together. She couldn't help but wish that happiness could return. Lamar grabbed his overcoat and put it on, "I was, but this incident with John made me realize the fragility of all this."—he cleared his throat then held out his arms in an almost shrug-like gesture—"This is John's legacy as much as it is my own."
He turned and moved back over to his desk where he grabbed one of the pins to place on his overcoat, "Now I have an obligation to protect that." Turning back to her he walked over as he placed the pin on his overcoat collar, "Lara, I know how difficult this is for you but, maybe you can find some closure in the fact that John finally found the man who killed your son." He turned back to the mirror as he tried to place the back onto his pin.
"Who's Anne Lively?" Lara asked.
The point of the pin missed the back it was supposed to go through and stuck Lamar's thumb. The impact of the question hitting his like a two ton anvil. He sucked on his thumb for a second, the pain slightly dulling. "Who?" he questioned.
"Anne Lively," she repeated. "John was talking about her right before they took him."
Lamar turned to her and tried once more to place the back to his pin, "I don't know who that is."
"John said something about him being set up because he 'found out about her.'"
"Well, we know why John was tagged," Lamar explained moving forward.
"He also said Crow was a fake."
"What are you trying to say?"
She stood up and walked towards him. "Lamar, do you know the reason why John came here to work for you?"
Lamar placed his hands on his hips. "Sean."
"Yes. He came here to work for you because he thought if he could just…stop that kind of thing from happening." Her voice quavered as she tried to fight the tears.
"I understand."
"No, I don't think you do." She quickly moved over to look out of one of Lamar's windows. "Sir," his secretary returned, "they want to start the press conference in two minutes."
Lamar ignored her and moved behind Lara, "Lara, John was the best cop I ever knew. And in some ways also the best man."—he sighed—"But the scars he carried around, well… I know he'd want us to honor the good things we remember about him."
She wiped her eyes.
"And I also know why he married you:" he explained, "You're as stubborn as he is."
She gave a small laugh as she turned around and slightly smiled, "Lamar—"
He quickly interrupted her, "Lara, uh, do you know how to tie one of these?"—he motioned to his bow tie and chuckled—"Could you please give me a hand? I'm all thumbs you see!" She laughed too as he turned and sat down. Moving behind him she began to tie it.
"Listen," Lamar told her, "I'll tell you what I'll do. First thing Monday, I'll have Gideon run the containment files, hmm? See if anyone drowned a woman named—what did you say her name was?"
Lara paused, her hands failing to finish the bow. "Anne Lively, but I never said she drowned." The gentle smile on Lamar's face faded, and it was soon replaced with a stern look. Great, now she knows something's wrong, Lamar though. He stood up, there before Lara he was clearly a head taller than her, and in that moment she saw that as old as he was, the age should not fool you. He was strong, despite his appearance, but she held her ground. He moved closer, and rolled the chair in front of him out of the way. Slowly he moved right up to her, as they stared each other in the eyes. Silence. It was broken with the sound of his secretary's high heels clicking on the wooden floor.
"Sir," she told him, "the press conference is starting."
"I'll be right there." He replied, then looked back at Lara, "We'll talk about this later. Perhaps tomorrow? I'll come by the cottage." The gentle smile returned, though now Lara could feel it was almost forced. She frowned slightly, not sure if his visit would be good or bad. She returned the smile, and slightly nodded. Then with that, Lamar left. She waited to move once he was completely gone, and turned to the white box of Anderton's belongings. The light shining through it giving a silhouette of what it contained, and clearly at the top she saw Anderton's .45.
Things became clear, and she understood everything now. She knew what she had to do.
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Reporters crowded around the Willard Hotel, cameras flashing and film rolling lit up that dark Washington D.C. night. But the true excitement existed on the top floor, where applause covered the room as Lamar stepped up on to the banquet's stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, Lamar Burgess, director of the new national Precrime!" An announcer called out over the roar of clapping. The thunderous noise quieted down however, as Lamar raised his hands signaling he was about to speak. His secretary walked over to the side of the stage and handed him a present. With a smile she said, "On behalf of the staff, we would like to present you with this. Congratulations, sir."
Taking the wooden box he tenderly opens with a smile exclaiming, "My God…" A cheer rises up in the crowd as the secretary looked back out into the audience giving a small laugh. What Lamar saw in that little box was a pearl handled revolver with five bullets. "How did you get this?" he asked. "I padded your expense account for six months," she replied jokingly, which made everyone laugh.
Beaming, Lamar held the contents up for everyone to see, "Revolvers like this one were given to generals at the end of the Civil War by their troops. The cylinders were loaded with five gold-plated bullets to symbolize the end of the destruction and death that had ripped the country apart for six years. Ladies and gentlemen, with Precrime going national, maybe we can all look forward to a time when none of us will have to discharge another firearm ever again."—the audience applauded at this, and Lamar's wife, Celeste, proudly led a standing elevation—"Now enjoy yourselves! Enjoy yourselves! That's an order!"
As he stepped down off the platform Celeste came over to him and embraced him, "Does this mean we can use the lake house on weekends?" Lamar laughed, "I hope so." Though on their table, his ear piece cell phone began ringing. Over the clatter of greetings and pats on the backs Lamar's secretary answered the ear piece, plugging one ear so she could hear better. "Hello?" she said listening to the person on the other end, "Yes. Right away."—she moved over to Lamar who was swamped with people wanting autographs, interviews, opinions—"Sir? Sir, you have an emergency call on your private line."
Confused, Lamar took the ear piece and placed it to his ear. He adjusted it as he continued to move around the ballroom. "Yes, this is Burgess," he said into the receiver. The voice he heard reply, though, was not a pleasant surprise. "Hello Lamar." It was Anderton. The smile faded from Lamar's lips and he stopped dead in his tracks. There was a sinister sarcasm in Anderton's words, "I just wanted to congratulate you. You did it. You created a world without murder."
There was a tap on his shoulder as he nervously turned around. "Sir!" a man stood before him, "Everyone wants your name on a hat, can you sign these?" Taking the pen he was given he quickly began writing his signature over and over. Anderton's voice came again, "And all you had to do was kill someone to do it."
The phone rang in the Analytical room where the squadron of precops celebrated on their own. Though it wasn't much of a celebration; no one was in the mood to toast to Anderton's capture. Personally, none of them really cared what happened to Witwer. Jad spun over in his rolling chair answering the call, "A-room. Jad."
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The crowd in the ballroom was wild as Lara secretly watched from a window in the outer hall. Everyone was wanting at lease one word with Lamar. She turned away as she replied into her headset, "Jad? It's Lara. John needs a favor."
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"I don't know what you're talking about," Lamar told Anderton through the receiver as he began to hand the hats out to surrounding people. "I'm talking about Agatha's mother, Diana's mother, Anne Lively. Just a junkie who had a kid once and had to give her up. But, surprise, she cleaned herself up. And she wanted her daughter back, she wanted Agatha." Anderton explained.
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Wally looked over as Agatha let out a deep gasp as she twitched in the Temple, back in her chair surrounded by photon milk. He rushed over to her as she tossed and turned in fright. "Jad are you getting this?" He called up to Jad in the Analytical Room. Looking up on the screen Wally saw a vision playing, the vision of a woman beside a lake, waiting for something. "It's a single stream from the female only with no time or incident data," he explained, "Whatever this is it isn't the future, it already happened."
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Lamar's head spun. All these people crowding him! And that voice in his head…Anderton's voice, "You know the rest I'm sure. Not to mention what followed after Anne Lively's murder. What you did to Diana. It made such a smooth cover up to anger Witwer into shooting her, didn't it? Right after she had revealed all to both him and you. Why, you could say that you have Witwer to thank to be standing where you are now, signing autographs."
Frowning Lamar lost all focus on the chaos surrounding him. He worriedly turned about, wondering if he could find Anderton hiding in one dark corner. But he saw no one.
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"Jad, what are you doing?" Evanna asked as the squadron watched him take the memory slide out of the previewing screen and placed it in his computer. The memory slide containing Agatha's vision. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Jad, what are you doing with that?" another Precop asked. He ignored them though as he sat down and began pressing the screen buttons to transfer the data.
"What are you up to, Big Man?" one of the officers asked.
"Jad?" another moved forward, "Jad? Now let's think before you send that."
"Whoa, slow down."
But it was too late to back out now; Jad had already pressed the send button before the cop could finish his sentence.
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Immediately the screen behind the podium where Lamar had given his speech changed. Everyone turned to see a movie of some sort begin to play. It started off rather blurry, but soon came into focus. There stood a woman, her hair a dark auburn, her face worn and haggard, waiting. Smiling faces faded as silence came across the room. Everyone was soon entrapped by the silent movie, curious of its importance. Lamar was last to turn around and to his horror saw the complete vision of the murder of Anne Lively.
The haggard face soullessly stared out into the crowd from beneath her watery grave. The image backed up, it showed the masked John Doe drag her into the water, her arms and legs flailing to break free. But she wasn't strong enough. He kicked her, driving her closer to the water. "Things worked out in the end, didn't they Lamar?" Anderton came in again, "the only people who ever found out were quickly eliminated of ever causing a threat to your career. Witwer and me, we were locked up. Diana…killed."
The old man hurried out of the ball room, the small wooden box securely in his hand. He nervously looked about, making sure no one was near as he would make his getaway. Agatha was back, and Precrime could see once more. He had to be on his guard or he would hear footsteps up the stairs, a hover craft outside the window, the clickity-click of little spyders. He watched behind closed doors as the Precops quickly rushed forward grabbing the John Doe and haloing him. Anne Lively watched the future murderer be drug away with disbelief she had almost died.
Then Lamar came into the image, walking over the leave cluttered ground of the forest before the lake. Anne rushed towards him, tears in her eyes as she cried, "Where's my daughter?" Lamar took her by the arm and led her back towards the water, comfortingly patting her hand. Pointing out into the distance he told her, "She's right there."
"Where?" Anne asked ask the old man drew away from her, moving behind her. He took off his brown trench coat revealing black clothing that was exactly the same as the John Doe's.
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"Run," Agatha gasped from her chamber in the Temple, "Run!!"
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Anne turned around in fear only in time to see Lamar place on the black face mask. In this moment as the crowd watched a swell of gasps fell across the room, and Celeste fainted. They continued watching as the terrorized face of Anne Lively screamed for help beneath the thrashing water she was pushed under.
"There was one person you forgot about however," Lamar could sense a smile in John's face, "Lara. The one person I had told everything to."—he looked over as he heard a door open from the far side of the hall. And someone walked out, clothed in black with a black pullover, the hood covering their face. It wasn't heading for Lamar though, it was leaving. Anderton, he thought—"As you probably noticed she was able to piece the puzzle together once you lied about not knowing who Anne Lively is." With a malicious glint in the old man's watery eyes, he followed the hooded figure.
He followed it until he reached the kitchen. Walking in he had lost sight of it, which scared him more. Stopping by one of the kitchen shelves he opened his box, pulling out his revolver in which he placed the bullets. Anderton's voice came again, "So, what are you going to do, Lamar? What are you going to do?"
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Agatha jumped in her chair, her legs flying over to the side immersing themselves in the milk as she let out a gasp. The Red Ball alarm went off. "We got a red ball!" Wally called out to the team above him in the Analytical room. The sound of the wooden ball rolling down its tube came to the squadron's ears. Every one of them jumped as it hit the bottom of the tube, and shocked they read the victim's name.
"Think about the lives that little girl has saved," Agatha said, being the voice of Lamar.
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"Think about the lives that little girl has saved," Lamar said as he warily walked through the kitchen, making sure Anderton wouldn't come from behind and stab him, or anything of that sort, "Think about all the lives she will save. That little girl…could have saved Sean!" There was silence on the other line for a moment, Lamar could almost feel the anger rising in Anderton. "DON'T YOU EVER SAY HIS NAME!!" Anderton screamed into the receiver, making Lamar wince at the sudden rush of pain in that ear. But Anderton's voice wasn't heard anywhere else, just the receiver. Lamar sped up as he continued walking, the ear piece no longer attached to his ear.
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"You used the memory of my dead son to set me up," Arthur spoke right behind Agatha, the voice of Anderton.
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Lamar held it at a certain distance as Anderton raged, "You used the memory of my dead son to set me up!! That was the one thing you knew that would drive me to murder."
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"What are you going to do now, Lamar?" Arthur continued.
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"What are you going to do now Lamar?" Anderton's voice softened, a sinister glint under his breath.
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"How are you gonna—"
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"—shut me up?" Anderton continued. Lamar's pace had quickened even more, and the fear in the old man was rising. And then, the kitchen ended; and before him stood two tall, open glass doors. He slightly slowed down as he walked past them, paranoia surrounding him as he looked around the dark night sky on the balcony. Looking forward he could see the Washington Monument illuminated, standing proud among the dark buildings that cowered around it.
He stopped as he reached the rail, however, his old wrinkled hands firmly grasping it as he looked down into the dark void below. "Lamar, it's over," Anderton told him, his voice calmed down now, "The question to ask is, what are you gonna do now?" But Lamar didn't hear that last bit, for as Anderton said this his voice was fading into the blackness below, as Lamar threw the ear piece over the railing. And he gave a sigh of relief, hoping that was it, that Anderton was just a nightmare back from his containment.
But as he looked over the railing, the light from inside changed on his back, and he knew he wasn't alone. He spun around, and before him was a darkly clothed hooded man: Anderton. Lamar couldn't see his face, but he could tell Anderton was smiling. "John—" Lamar began but stopped as he slowly took off his hood. He saw in shock the man was completely bald, and below his thick dark brows were two grinning hazel eyes.
"Not John, I'm afraid," the man replied.
"Witwer?!" Lamar's hand fumbled in his pocket, quickly feeling cold metal.
Danny Witwer slowly moved forward. "Wasn't expecting me were you?" The cockiness and pride in his voice was sickening to Lamar, "It all adds up, though. You murdered the one person I loved! You—"
"I believe you were the one holding the gun as she fell to the floor," Lamar replied smugly. Witwer winced, knowing he was right. "Quit kidding yourself, Witwer," Lamar told him, "You and I are one in the same. We are both willing to kill for what we love, it's that simple."
"We are nothing alike!!" Witwer cried, "All I wanted was to protect the world from a mistake, a flaw, if you will. The last thing I wanted to do was kill someone! I must say you are one smooth criminal, Lamar. But it's over now, everyone knows what you've done."—Witwer slowly pulled out his gun, and Lamar felt his heart skip a beat, he couldn't pull out his own gun in time without getting killed first—"Precrime is at an end, Lamar…and so are you, paid in full."
"Danny, please," Lamar cowered, "think about what you are doing! Does this truly justify? The precogs can see—"
"Shh," Witwer replied placing a finger to his lips mocking Lamar, "Do you know what I hear? Nothing. No footsteps up the stairs, no hover craft flying up, and no clickity-click of little spyders. And do you know why I don't hear any of those things?"—he threw his gun to the ground right before Lamar—"Because I saw my future, and I chose."
Turning Witwer gave a sigh, he had done it. He had been able to walk away with his chest clear and a weight off his shoulders. He began to walk away when suddenly he felt the cold metal of a gun barrel to his bald head. There was silence for a moment, and Witwer was afraid he had made the wrong choice. "The precogs have seen this no doubt," he said unflinching.
"No doubt," Lamar replied.
"You see the dilemma don't you? If you don't kill me, the precogs were wrong and Precrime is over. If you do kill me, you go away, but it proves the system works, the precogs were right."
Witwer knew Lamar was stuck with this. He had to choose between Precrime, and his life. Lamar said nothing.
"So what are you going to do now?" Witwer asked. "What's it worth? Just one more murder… You'll rot in hell with a halo but people will still believe in Precrime. All you have to do is kill me, like they said you would."—he heard the gun cock, Witwer wet his lips—"Except, you know your own future, which means you can change it if you want to. You still have a choice, Lamar, like I did."
"Yes," Lamar replied, "I have a choice…and I've made it. Forgive me, Danny." Gunfire. Witwer's eyes grew as he jumped at the sound. But once again, there was no pain. Quickly he turned around to see a growing blood stain on Lamar's shirt as the old man slowly sunk to the ground. "Ask the others," he managed out weakly, "to forgive me too." And in that instant precops dropped from the dispenser above, only too late. Among them was Anderton, who pushed to the front to watch the man he once considered a father, die. Lamar's hand grew limp, and the pearl-handled revolver slid to the ground.
Bending down Anderton felt for a pulse, but he was gone. Despite the anger he had felt toward him, the murderer he knew he truly was, Anderton still felt sorry the kind man he once knew. It didn't seem right, and he wished it didn't have to end this way. Even Witwer felt a bit of remorse, knowing how much Diana also cared for the old man. Then the crowd from the banquet appeared, rushing forward to the scene of suicide, and Lara rushed forward embracing Anderton, tears in her eyes.
Witwer could feel his own eyes watering up as he watched Celeste frantically rush forward to her husband, fighting the man that was holding her back. She knelt down beside Lamar, and cried over him. Witwer knew the feeling, the fact that you couldn't bring someone back, even though they were still there, right there in you arms.
