Okay, so, first of all, this chapter is pretty long, and I KNOW that it took me a while to get it up, so I apologize for that in advance. Second, I'd like to thank my friend Jared for helping out with this chapter-I couldn't have done it without him! And third, I'd like to thank all of you for your reviews and your continued support! I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Jack moves out of the bathysphere first, holding his hand out for Elizabeth to take. She does so, letting Jack help her out.
"So. Where to now?" she asks, side-eyeing her companion.
Jack shrugs. He repeats the question to Atlas, who says, "You're almost there. The sphere to Ryan is up on ahead."
"Ryan's handed the keys to Fort Frolic over to a guy named Sander Cohen. Cohen's an artist, says some. He's a Section Eight, says I. I've seen all kinds of cutthroats, freaks, and hard cases in my life, but Cohen, he's a real lunatic, a dyed-in-the-wool psychopath…" Atlas continues.
Elizabeth shudders at hearing that name. She remembers Sander Cohen, all right. Those were not pleasant memories.
"I take it you knew the guy," Jack comments, and it's a few seconds before Elizabeth realizes he's talking to her.
"Oh. Yeah….let's just say he's not the best person."
"Rise, Rapture, rise!"
Both of them look at the radio in Jack's hand.
"What the hell…" Jack mutters. He turns some dials and knobs, and the music cuts out.
"That was...weird."
"Uh, yeah. Yeah, that's one word for it."
They wait for a little while, but neither Atlas or Ryan speak through the radio, as they had expected. Instead, it stays silent.
Jack sighs, pocketing the radio and turning to Elizabeth. "I guess we're on our own, then."
"Again. Yay."
"What was that?"
"Oh, no. No, no, no."
"What-no. Oh, hell no."
"Someone must have beaten us to it." Elizabeth watches as the bathysphere sinks into the ocean, taking their hopes of escaping with it.
They stand there for what feels like hours, just staring at the empty bathysphere dock.
"We could try summoning another one," Elizabeth suggests, looking for the lever that would do so.
"No, there's no way. The lever is on the other side of the gate, which-" He pulls at the iron bars for emphasis. "-are locked."
"Damn," she curses. "Well then, what now?"
"Ah, that's better. Atlas, Ryan, Atlas, Ryan, duh duh duh, duh duh duh. Time was, you could get something decent on the radio. The artist has a duty to seduce the ear and delight the spirit, so say goodbye to those two blowhards, and hello to an evening with Sander Cohen!"
The radio goes silent, leaving a surprised Jack and an uneasy Elizabeth in its wake.
"Great. Now I've got to deal with him again. Just when I thought it couldn't get worse."
"You really don't like him, do you? What's up with that?"
"Just-let's find this guy and make him give us the damn key," she grumbles, before stomping away, leaving Jack no choice but to follow his disgruntled companion out of the metro.
"Now, I haven't seen a sign of real life down here in months. Let's see if you're just another Johnny-come-lately, or maybe something more delicious…"
"Damn him."
"You keep saying that."
"Who cares?"
"I do. What's up with you? You've been tense since we got here. Real uptight. More than usual, anyways. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. But I'll be better when we're out of this sorry excuse for a theater."
"Yeah, well. Same here. This place is creepy."
On that, at least, they can agree on, Elizabeth thinks.
"Should we stop her?"
"We've tried that before, haven't we?"
"Not in this universe."
"Hm. I suppose you're right. But we have a history with failed experiments, you know."
"This isn't a failed experiment."
"Again, I suppose you're right."
"If she tells the boy everything, who knows what might happen."
"What WILL happen. And we do."
"But she doesn't."
"I think she very well does, she just doesn't care. Selfish, if you ask me."
"No one did."
"Hm."
"So...I'm sure you're probably wondering why we're heading to Hephaestus in the first place. Right?"
Out of all the ways he could have started that conversation, that was the way he decided to go. Elizabeth mentally shakes her head before turning to look at him.
"Not really, no."
"Go figure. Anyways-"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. Anyways-"
"Anyways, we aren't getting out of here until we photograph some dead corpses for a crazy guy, so we'd best get to work."
Jack looks at her with a mixture of irateness and worry. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Yeah, you keep saying that. Doesn't make it true, though."
Elizabeth frowns at her friend. "What do you mean?" she asks, though she already knows the answer.
Jack doesn't answer her right away; instead, he simply stares at her. When he does speak, however, it's quiet; so quiet that she almost misses what he says.
"It's just...you know what, nevermind."
"No, tell me. What?"
"You're just…"
"Just…"
"Weird, I guess? I don't know. There's just something off about you. Doesn't add up."
"What doesn't add up?"
"You."
She scoffs indignantly. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Jack doesn't respond to that, instead fiddling with the camera in his hand while avoiding her gaze.
"No, seriously. What makes you think-"
"I'm not an idiot, you know. Anyways, you're right, we aren't getting out of here if we don't do this thing, so we'd best get to work. There were four until Fitzpatrick, right? Do you think we should split up? I could maybe take down Rodriguez and Cobb while you take down Finnegan."
"Why do I only get one?"
"Well, one of us is going to have to have only one. Okay, so, we'll meet back at the Quadtych. Sound good?"
"Listen, I really don't think this is a good idea."
"If it's me you're worried about, I'll be fine. Honestly, I'm more concerned about you."
Elizabeth frowns, taking her eyes off of Jack and looking around the seemingly abandoned area. She really hates the idea of Jack going off by himself. If he goes off by himself, he could either get himself killed or, worse, Atlas would make a move. She doesn't want to risk it, but right now, it's all they've got. Besides, she reasons, she can't very well say 'no' without him getting suspicious.
And there's another problem. She's got to tell Jack everything. Though she's not so sure how she's going to tell him (and then get him to believe her), she knows that time is running out, and he is not dying, damnit, not if she can help it. She just needs a bit of time; but she knows that time is something she can't afford. If she's going to tell him, she has to do it quickly. She'd rather not see his head cracked open by a wrench. She shudders at the mental image her thoughts provide, suddenly feeling a bit sick.
"Liz!"
The nickname jolts her back to the present, where the first thing she sees is Jack's worried face only inches away from hers. Noting the odd look in his eyes, and realizing that she'd been gone for more than a few seconds, she quickly extracts herself from his strong grip on her arms and says, with as much annoyance as she can muster, "It's Elizabeth. I hate nicknames." In all truth, though she does dislike nicknames, this one is starting to grow on her; but of course, there's no way she's going to tell Jack that.
"Are we splitting up, then?"
Jack raises an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't want to split up."
"I don't. But, if you're going to be this stubborn about it, I might as well go along with it."
"Well, we can't just sit here."
"And do nothing? Brother, we are doing plenty."
"And yet we are doing nothing at all."
"I suppose you're right. But what makes you think she'll listen to us?"
"What do you mean?"
"She didn't the first time."
"Hm. Quite right. But, constants and variables. Perhaps this time."
Jack really isn't the type to trust someone when he doesn't know who they are or what they want.
So it's kind of surprising that he's trusting her.
Granted, it's a sort of free-for-all down here in this hellhole, and she's the only other sane person (at least, as far as he knows) down here, so really, her tagging along was never a choice.
That doesn't mean he has to trust her, though.
But he does. For some reason.
She's weird, though-sometimes, she'll look at him funny, like she knows something isn't quite right with him. Sometimes she'll mumble to herself about "constants and variables"-though when Jack asks her what that means, she just shrugs and busies herself with other things. Sometimes she'll say or do things that make no sense-and when asked about them, she ignores him. It's annoying and intriguing at the same time.
He gets the feeling that she's lying to him, though-and maybe she is. She certainly doesn't seem like a prim and proper woman who's had a stroke of bad luck and wound up in a power-hungry dystopia. She's far too knowledgeable about the usage of weapons and close combat, and she's far too calm for someone who should be freaking out over their current situation. Something just doesn't add up about her-and Jack doesn't know what, but he's going to find out.
He slows his footsteps as he approaches the entrance to Rapture Records, hearing a delusional Splicer complaining about the song playing inside. Jack takes a moment to ready himself before stepping inside.
Martin Finnegan. Elizabeth remembers the man well-but she wishes she didn't. The guy was a total sleazeball, spending every spare moment he had trying to get underneath her skirt. She had always turned down his advances, of course, but he could take a hint about as well as he could dance a waltz. She had practically rejoiced leaving his company when she was able to retire from Sander Cohen's employ after finding Sally's whereabouts. At the time, she had thought that that was the last she would ever see of any of Cohen's disciples-and yet here she now was, forced to track down the damn creep-and under Cohen's orders yet again. She groaned as the memories rose to the surface of her mind, none of them pleasant.
"God, it's freezing in here," Elizabeth complains to no one in particular. "Out of all of the places he could have gone…" she grumbles.
Her high heels click ominously against the icy floor of Poseidon's Plaza as she makes her way to Martin Finnegan, her crossbow loaded and ready in front of her.
She stops when she sees the dead body hanging-no, frozen-frozen on the ceiling. She swallows and looks away, noticing an Audio Diary next to the corpse. First looking around to make sure that no one is going to get the jump on her, she presses play.
"You think you gonna finish me in here, you old fruit? The other saps you tossed in this meat locker all panicked like rabbits. I just watched and waited. And when they started to kick, I started to scavenge. Made myself a little Splicer cocktail, I did. If you can't come in from the cold, then you gotta grow ice over your heart. And the iceman cometh, Sander baby. The iceman fucking cometh."
The recording cuts out then, leaving Elizabeth to ponder exactly who the hell that was. She turns the audio diary over in her hands and reads the name Martin Finnegan scribbled neatly on the back.
She kneels down and places the Diary on the floor before heading down the tunnel once more, making sure to avoid being hit in the face by the poor woman who'd become a permanent fixture to Rapture's architecture.
She moves cautiously down the hallway, making sure to listen for any sign of movement that didn't come from her. As she steps through the door, she nearly slips and falls on her face, but manages to catch herself at the last second. As she's getting up, her heart immediately seizes in fear at what she sees.
Splicers.
On each side of the small hall, there are Splicers. Elizabeth readies her weapon, ready to fire, until she realizes that they're all frozen. Taking cautious steps, she makes her way down the hall, looking all around at the various poses that the Splicers have found themselves in.
For some reason, she feels the urge to linger here-never a good thing in a place like Rapture, where enemies lurk around every corner, waiting for their victims to make a faux pas. Ignoring the feeling, she continues down the hall, looking all around her at the numerous displays of living "art," as she knows her former employer would call it. She wonders, briefly, if they are still alive, still aware beneath the shell of ice that imprisons them. As she passes yet another, she stops suddenly, a chill running down her back that has nothing to do with the temperature. Could she be next?
The hairs on the back of her neck rise almost immediately in response, and Elizabeth barely has time to turn around before she's face-to-masked-face with the one person she least wanted to see.
"Hello, Songbird," he coos, just before Elizabeth feels the sharp pinpricks of cold slowly beginning to spread from the surface of her skin. She stares in horror as she watches the ice creep up her arms and cover her torso. Realizing too late what is happening, she tries to make a run for it-only to look down and see that she's been handicapped. She barely has enough time to look back up at Finnegan before she freezes completely.
In hindsight, Jack thinks, as he just barely manages to dodge a flaming ball thrown his way, it might have been a better idea to come with backup.
He'd seriously underestimated the tall, lanky figure standing in the corner of the room, waiting for him to come near. Jack had foolishly thought that this would be easy-a quick bullet to the head and, boom, he's down. But no-some higher power was determined to make this as hard for him as possible. As he ducks behind an overturned desk to avoid being roasted alive, he checks to make sure his machine gun is loaded before he opens fire on Silas Cobb.
Cobb, of course, being the sly bastard that Jack has come to know him as (in the ten minutes that they've been "acquainted"), dodges nearly all of his shots, lobbing another fireball in Jack's general direction. Although Jack does dodge it, it sets the desk he's been using as cover on fire, so he has to find more cover pretty quickly.
Cobb's demented laughter as the desk is engulfed in flames gives Jack just enough time to grab a nearby crossbow bolt and load it into his empty weapon. As he prepares his shot, his thoughts drift to Elizabeth, and he finds himself hoping that Elizabeth somehow got the better end of the deal.
"Guess the old grape finally sent someone. Sonofabitch...left me to freeze...oh, I've got a pose all picked out for you…"
It's freezing. Oh, God, it's freezing. Her face, her hands, her entire body-it's all frozen, covered in ice, and Elizabeth can't move, can't do a thing about it. All she can do is listen to the madman in front of her as he drones on about-
"-I gotta tell you, sweetheart, I didn't think I'd see that pretty face of yours ever again," he says, which catches Elizabeth's attention at once. "The old kook all but forgot about you after you bailed, but not me...oh, I remembered. I think...we all remember you…"
And with that, Finnegan waves his hand and Elizabeth is covered in a fresh layer of ice.
It's cold.
That's the first thing she notices.
The second is that she's not dead.
She's not frozen anymore, either-Finnegan's Plasmid must have worn off. Glancing around, she can see that some of the other Splicers have started to defrost as well-which is not a good thing. Checking to see if Finnegan had been smart enough to take away all of her weapons-and thank the Lord above, he hadn't been-she quickly grabs her crossbow and takes the thawing Splicers out, one by one.
"Well, that was easier than it should have been," Elizabeth mutters to herself, searching the last defrosted corpse for ammo.
She stops when she hears the crunching of boots on ice behind her. She holds her breath, not daring to move as the figure moves closer, muttering under his breath.
Slowly, she lifts her left hand to the crossbow, notching in the ammo and cocking it quietly. As the crunching of footsteps grows closer, they suddenly stop.
Elizabeth whips around, weapon at the ready, but there are only statues behind her.
"The hell…" she murmurs, right before she hears a demented scream.
Startled, she accidentally fires her crossbow, sending the bolt somewhere beyond her line of sight.
Cursing, she reloads it quickly, and takes another look around. All she sees, however, are the still, unmoving figures of the fortunately still-frozen Splicers before her.
Wait a second.
Maybe not all of them...
Finnegan may be mad, but she knew he still had a sick sense of creativity. She'd bet anything that one of the "statues" was him.
Taking a deep breath, she scours the area, looking for any telltale signs of Finnegan. She hadn't been able to get a decent look at him through the ice. But maybe the good old-fashioned process of elimination would work...
Before she can train her crossbow on her first target, she hears the loud and sharp snap of fingers.
Elizabeth dives out of the way as the space behind her ignites into flames, instantly melting the ice frozen against the wall, and the ice encasing two Splicers. One of the far statues suddenly moves and begins walking towards her, revealing himself to be Finnegan. He catches sight of her and grins.
"Hello, sweetie!" he screams, and with that, he locks onto her and extends a hand. Before he can move, one of the unfrozen Splicers suddenly lunges at him with a vengeful scream.
Catching him off guard, the Splicer manages to get a good swipe at him before he disappears in a flash of red to the other side of the room. Meanwhile, the second Splicer gets up right in front of Elizabeth, and looks directly at her.
She tenses, and prepares for fire, but the Splicer looks away and shouts towards the direction of Finnegan, leaving Elizabeth and joining the other.
"Guess I'm not the only one with a grudge," she says beneath her breath, the corner of her mouth twitching up a bit.
As she runs over to the other side of the room, careful not to slip on the ice, Finnegan appears to throw off his attackers, not even bothering to set them in a pose.
Growling, he throws a hand out towards Elizabeth, who quickly throws herself to the side to avoid being set on fire. It's only as she starts to get up that she realizes she wasn't completely successful-the hem of her skirt is flaming, and the fire is quickly spreading.
Oh, crap.
That old feeling is coming back into her chest, which freaks her out even more. She closes her eyes and thinks for a second, trying to ignore that particular feeling of impending doom.
Books.
Think about your books. What did your books say about fires?
Well, her books had said all kinds of things about them. One thing in particular, however, stands out in her mind.
"There is, of course, more than one way to put out a fire. Dry ice dumped on a fir will quickly turn to carbon dioxide gas. This is good, because fires need oxygen to continue. Flooding a room with dry ice will surely put out a massive fire, but for a small one it's best to just put a little bit on it. However, it is not a good idea to do so in large, open spaces."
Alright. Dry ice. Where can she get dry ice?
She looks at her hand.
Charging up her Plasmid, she draws her hand back and fires Old Man Winter at the small fire inching up her skirt. It almost immediately dies down, allowing Elizabeth to get up, brush herself off, and aim her crossbow at Finnegan's head.
She fires.
She misses.
She does get his attention, though.
He turns to look at her and screams, sending another fire her way. She ducks behind a pillar and barely has enough time to reload before she has to move to avoid being set on fire again.
"Stay still!" Finnegan yells, "This is no way to treat an old friend!"
Crouching behind a large lump of ice leaning against the wall, she prepares for another shot. This time, she takes a breath, listening to where Finnegan had launched the assault. Counting to three in her head, she makes sure she has a good grip on the crossbow.
Gathering herself, she jumps out from behind the mound of ice and fires again. She doesn't hit his head, but she does hit him clean in the shoulder.
He gives a loud yell, flailing his arms for a bit as her shot embeds itself into his icy skin. Elizabeth knows he took damage from the Splicers' assault, and must be near the breaking point.
But as she steps forward to finish him off, she finds that one of her foot won't leave the ground. She nearly stumbles, looking down to see her left foot being slowly encased in ice, mid-step. Then ice begins to creep up her right foot in front as well.
No, no, no….
Halted in place, she looks up at Finnegan, who had activated his Plasmid and is now convulsing violently—no, wait. He's laughing at her. Elizabeth feels her face go hot despite the cold temperature.
"You can't fly away this time, little Songbird," he cackles, watching her internal panic with a grin on his grotesquely disfigured face.
The ice is reaching her torso.
Her heartbeat rises as she reloads, taking advantage of the seconds she had left of free arm movement. Then she lifts up the crossbow at Finnegan as he laughs and laughs, his body shaking.
She fires, praying for a miracle.
It happens so fast, she nearly misses it-but she watches with a hint of delight as Finnegan's cackling finally stops, his corpse slumping to the floor. The shaft of Elizabeth's arrow sticks straight out the front of his mask.
The ice stops as it reaches her neck, shattering instantly and Elizabeth exhales gratefully. Unfortunately, as she soon discovers, the ice containing the rest of the Splicers had also broken apart, leaving the final two unshattered Splicers free.
"Ah, crap…" Elizabeth mutters, raising her crossbow again before they can come to their senses. She picks off one of them fairly easily, but the second recovers fast enough to whirl around and face her. With an angry yell, the Splicer charges, but through backpedaling as she reloads, Elizabeth takes it down as well, before it can even lay a hand on her. They both seem like child's play compared to Finnegan.
Finnegan…
Elizabeth makes her way to the man's body over the remains of shattered Splicers. Wordlessly, she takes out the camera she had found earlier and snaps a photo of his corpse.
Almost at once, a soft voice coos, "Yes. Now put the picture in the frame, my dear Songbird. Let's see what we've got here…"
"Don't call me that," she snaps immediately. "I am not your Songbird. Not anymore, anyways."
"Why do you deny such exquisite art, my dear? Like the flame that draws the moth, you shone above all the rest. You were my favorite, I think...you would have done quite well as my one, true disciple…"
"I'm not interested," Elizabeth growls. She's really getting tired of his bullshit. "My friend and I are getting you your damn photos, and then we're leaving. Is that clear?"
"Perfectly. But perhaps...you need to be reminded..."
"Of what?"
But the radio doesn't answer.
"He was a nasty one...and my second favorite one. I think I like him better this way. Take his damn photo! Chop chop!"
Eve's Garden was a pigsty.
Bottles littered the stained floors, chairs were overturned, and a few corpses were strewn across the area around the stage.
Jack shuddered.
After looting the corpses for ammo and EVE (and thoroughly checking the place for any sign of Rodriguez), he heads to the stage, pondering whether he should check out the private rooms or wait out here for Rodriguez to show his ugly mug.
Deciding that scouring the whole place is the best idea, he climbs onto the stage, trying his hardest to ignore the suddenly strong odor of alcohol and sweat.
His vision blurs suddenly, and it isn't until he whips around to find himself face-to-face with a transparent woman that he sees why.
"Well, if it isn't the long-lost Andrew Ryan," the ghostly figure murmurs in a seductive tone. "Mm, mm, mm, come here, tiger…"
He watches as the woman turns and struts down the hallway behind the stage, curling a finger in his direction as if to beckon him closer. Jack follows, mystified.
"I thought you had forgotten about poor Jasmine," the woman continues, continuing down the hall. "But I am so glad you didn't."
She walks through the closed door at the end of the hall, and Jack's vision goes back to normal. God, he's starting to get a headache from all this stuff. He's about to open the door when he hears the woman once more.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Ryan, I didn't know…"
Gone was the low, seductive tone of the woman's voice. Gone was the easiness with which she had spoken only moments before. The tone with which she now spoke was filled with fear and sorrow-as Jack listens to her speak, he hears the panic in her voice growing as she pleads with Ryan, how she begs for his forgiveness. Somehow, Jack knows what's going to happen before it does.
"I didn't know Fontaine had something to do with it, I-wha-what are you doing? No! No, don't please! I loved you, don't, don't, please, no, no!"
The woman screams, and Jack winces. Even though he knows that it's too late now, that's she's long gone, he can't help but feel like bursting through the door and saving her.
He opens the door, and immediately he sees the image of his mother in one of their family photos. The complete unexpectedness of it sends him reeling, but he quickly recovers, shaking his head to dispel the splitting headache he now has.
There's not much here, he soon realizes, except for a safe and a body on the bed, whom Jack takes to be Jasmine. He wonders if she's this "Jasmine Jolene" that he's been seeing on posters everywhere.
He suddenly notices the Jasmine Jolene poster above the bed.
Guess so, he thinks to himself.
He looks at the corpse on the bed again, frowning.
Who was this woman to Ryan? And why on earth would he kill her?
He sighs, looking around the room as if all of the answers are right there. There aren't any, though-at least, not in here. In other parts of Rapture, perhaps-but Jack doesn't have the luxury of exploring the whole damn city right now. He knows that he should keep moving, but something is keeping him here.
He looks at the woman's corpse again.
Her face, Jack can tell, was beautiful once-although he doesn't know what it might have looked like. Her skin is a sickly green color, and her clothes are covered in blood-no doubt from the likely beating that Ryan had bestowed upon her. Her nails are chipped, and her face is obscured by the stringy mat that was once her hair. Her mouth lay open, slack from the scream Jack had heard from the ghostly event, her eyes rolled back in her head behind her half-open pupils. Her body lay in a limp and unnatural position on the mattress, which was still stained dark red. Her right forearm lay strewn over her forehead, likely unmoved since the moment of her death—no. Since the moment of her murder.
By Andrew Ryan.
The stories about that man just keep getting better and better…
Despite it all, Jack can't help but feel that maybe he should do something about her now. Granted, he can't very well go back in time and save her-but perhaps…
Perhaps he can do something else.
He's suddenly distracted from his current train of thought by noises coming from outside. Looking at the woman one last time, he sighs, resolving to come back before cocking his shotgun and heading to investigate.
An hour.
That's how long she's been waiting for that damn man.
She wonders if it's actually been an hour, or if she's just so impatient that it only feels like it.
"Where the hell is he?" she asks the wall.
The wall, obviously, doesn't respond. Elizabeth is a bit concerned that she sort of expected it to.
She sighs.
"Well, if he won't come to me, then I guess I'll have to go to him," she grumbles. "Where did he say he was going? Eve's Garden, right," she reminds herself. She takes out her pistol and makes sure it's loaded before heading off in the direction of the strip club, praying to a God that she really doesn't believe in that Jack is alive, or at least not dead.
Actually, not dead is better than nothing, she decides.
"There's no hope for her, is there?"
"What makes you say that?"
"This whole experiment. It's going to fail."
"I thought you were supposed to be the optimistic one. And weren't you the one who said this wasn't a failed experiment?"
"I am, and I did. But there's no point in pretending that everything is going to work out for her, and there's certainly no point in still having hope in the experiment."
"Hm. I suppose you're right. Still, though, we have done our part. There's not much else we can do."
"How do you mean?"
"My dear brother, things get set in motion. The boy will fulfill his 'destiny', however silly that may sound-and the girl…" Rosalind trails off.
Robert looks at his sister, an idea suddenly forming in his brilliant mind. "Perhaps it's time we did one thing more?"
Rosalind returns the glance. "Hm. Perhaps..."
"'Jack, we need to talk.' Wait, no, that's not right. Hm...okay, how about, 'Jack, Atlas isn't who he says who he is.' Ugh, that's even worse. Okay, just...play it cool. Play it cool. God, why is telling the truth so hard?"
"...Fly the ocean in a silver plane…"
At hearing her own voice drift through the halls of Rapture, she stops in her tracks.
That can't be right...
"...See the jungle when it's wet with rain."
Oh.
"Just remember, 'till you're home again…"
She shuts her eyes, hoping that the song is almost over.
"You belong to me…"
It's over. Elizabeth breathes a sigh of relief, looking up at one of the radios on the wall.
"So that's what he meant, "she says to herself.
That's what Cohen had meant when he'd said that she needed to be reminded. He no doubt thought that she'd forgotten how "great" it was working under him, and probably thought that if she heard one of her songs, she'd come crawling back to him, begging to be a part of one of his "masterpieces." She makes a face at the idea, repulsed by the very notion.
With the song over, the halls of the forgotten city are eerily quiet, something that makes Elizabeth extremely nervous. She almost wishes that the song would return.
Almost.
She finally finds him ten minutes later in one of the back rooms of Eve's Garden, building-something. She's not sure what. When asked, he merely shrugs and holds out a piece of wood, taken from the floor.
Elizabeth helps him build what she realizes is a funeral pyre-but for who, she doesn't know. Jack isn't talking right now, and Elizabeth wonders if maybe he'd somehow become mute since the last time they spoke. It would certainly explain why he hadn't answered his radio.
"Jack?"
He looks up.
"What are we doing?"
He looks at the pyre. "What do you mean?" he finally asks.
Well, what do you know. He can still speak, after all. "I mean, why are we building a funeral pyre?"
"Oh."
He doesn't say anything else for a while.
Elizabeth, realizing that she's not going to get anything out of him until they're done, doesn't speak, either.
He watches as the flames rise up, up, up into the air. They dance and lick at the wood pyre the corpse was placed upon, illuminating both of their features. He turns to Elizabeth, only to find that, for once, she isn't looking at him-rather, she seems transfixed by the stranger burning on the pyre.
The flames light up the tiny space, and allow Jack to get his first good look at his companion. He hadn't had much time for staring, back in the pandemonium that was the rest of Fort Frolic-but now, when there's nothing trying to kill them, no Atlas or Ryan or even Cohen to ruin it, he can stare as long as he wants.
The firelight makes her face look haunting. The shadows make her cheekbones seem deep and hollow, casting a dark shade over her eyes and making her fair skin seem deathly pale. Her long, brown hair frames her face, making it, with her faint blush and red lips, look more like a delicate theater mask than anything else. Her blue eyes are transfixed on the burning corpse of the woman, seemingly cold and distant. Jack can imagine why she's feeling that way-she doesn't know this woman, doesn't know what Ryan did to her-all she knows is that they've taken precious time to do this for her, time they could have used to get out of here.
"Ryan," he says, but immediately realizes that that's not enough when she looks at him curiously.
"What?"
"Ryan," he repeats, not knowing what else to say.
She makes a face at the name, turning back to the pyre. "What about him?"
"He did this to her."
That gets her attention. She turns to look at him fully now, making Jack nervous. He's always nervous when she looks at him-he thinks, briefly, that maybe it has something to do with the weird feeling in his stomach.
"What do you mean, he did this to her? Who is she?"
"Her name is Jasmine Jolene, I think. She...did something to make him mad. I don't know what. And he killed her for it."
She's staring at him strangely now. "How do you know all that?"
He taps his head as if that will answer her question. When he sees the look on her face, however, he says quickly, "Ghosts."
Elizabeth nods, seeming to understand. "But why are you doing this for her, out of all people? That doesn't make any sense. You don't even know her."
Jack shrugs. "I know, but...I don't know. It just...felt right, somehow."
"It felt...right."
"Yeah."
They're both silent for a while before Jack speaks again. "We have to stop him, Elizabeth. No matter what it takes."
Elizabeth hums. Jack's not sure if it's a noise of acceptance or disappointment.
He doesn't want to find out.
"That...was not there before."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. I'm positive."
"How do you know that you just didn't notice it before?"
"Because I would have torn it down."
Jack squints, looking at the poster for a moment before his eyes widen and he turns to Elizabeth. "Is...is that you?"
Elizabeth huffs impatiently. "Does it matter? If you've forgotten, we're kind of in the middle of something here, Jack."
He turns to face her fully now, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "You said you were on that plane with me."
Crap. Crap crap crap. "What?"
"When we first met, you said that you were on the same plane as me. If that's true, then why is your face plastered on that poster?"
Think, think, think. Damnit, think! You can do this, you can do this…
She actually looks at the poster this time, noting that her name is scratched out. Thinking quickly (which is hard to do while having a panic attack), she tilts her head and says as casually as she can, "Oh. That's where she went."
"What?"
"I had a twin sister," she lies. "On the surface. She...disappeared a few years ago. Never found out where she went, but...well,, now I know."
Her gut twists unpleasantly at the lie-damn it, she's supposed to be telling him the truth. Why wasn't she telling him the truth?
Jack looks from her to the poster and back again, looking not quite convinced, but nodding all the same. "Okay. That makes sense, I guess. What was her name?"
"Anna," she replies without thinking. As soon as the name is out of her mouth, however, she sombers.
That little white lie must have finally won him over, because his face softens and he gives her a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry."
"It's alright. I've already come to terms with it."
She looks at the poster again,, resisting the urge to tear the damn thing off of the wall and burn it.
Jack seems to notice her uneasiness. He gently touches her shoulder and says, "We should keep moving. Come on."
"Have you remembered, my little Songbird?" Cohen coos, startling Elizabeth and causing her to bump into a plaster statue.
She checks to make sure that Jack is still busy at the vending machine before bothering to answer Cohen.
"I am not your Songbird, Cohen. I'm not your anything."
"Why do you deny such musical genius, child?"
"I don't. It's your fanatic nature and twisted sense of 'art' that I can't stand."
"Oh, but your talents would have gone unnoticed if not for me. The world out there is cruel and unforgiving, as I'm sure you've seen first-hand. Why not live out the rest of your days in the spotlight?"
"Under your spotlight, you mean. And no thanks. I've seen your spotlight, Cohen. And I'd rather not stand underneath it again."
"Liz?"
Elizabeth turns to see Jack staring at her from where he is next to the vending machine, looking worried. "Are you talking to Cohen?"
"Yes."
"What's he saying?"
"He's-"
"My dear Songbird-"
"I am not your Songbird!" she yells at the radio, startling both herself and Jack.
She suddenly realizes what she just said, and adds, loud enough for Jack to hear, "I'm not my sister. Leave me alone."
"What?" Cohen sputters over the radio, clearly confused. "What on earth are you-"
Elizabeth switches the radio off angrily.
Jack walks over to Elizabeth then, looking at her questioningly. "What the hell was that?"
"Nothing," she says dismissively, "… Cohen just thinks I can replace my sister."
"Ah."
The gut-wrenching feeling is back. He believed her so easily-he trusted her and she-
"...Should we get going, then? The Rapture Metro is open again. We-"
"Yeah," Elizabeth says, nodding. "Yeah, we should-"
"Go," Jack finishes for her. He nods too. "Yeah, we probably should. Nothing left for us here, except-"
Jack's radio crackles to life at that precise moment, cutting off what Jack is about to say. The angry voice of Atlas shouts, "What happened to you? I've been trying to raise you for a dog's age. Never mind. Would you kindly leg it over to the 'sphere and head to Hephaestus? It's time to settle up with Ryan."