Author's Note: I honestly doubt that anyone is still following this story as it hasn't been updated in nearly five years, but I decided to upload this missing chapter anyway. This is half of the chapter I was working on years ago. Unfortunately, I don't have time to make it longer, but since I'm sort of active on this site again, I decided I would publish it anyway rather than have it rot in my documents. Enjoy.
Booker began to doubt himself for making such a huge decision. Everything he once knew had been left behind. Life in New York may not have been elegant, or even basically suitable, but it was all he had known for a long time. Running away was easier for him. It was a dose of medication to heal the pain of loss. Unluckily, emptiness churned in the cavern of his stomach as he grew closer and closer to Paris. The truth that Booker had fought so hard to deny was growing clearer by every heart wrenching second. He wasn't really running away. He was going to the one place that would remind him of her presence constantly. It became unintentional, self-inflicted harm that was misguided by a lost soul.
The port of Southampton was overwhelming. Booker knitted his brows together while loud sounds boomed against his ears and strong scents filled his nostrils. The breeze had been the only comforting thing; even if the air was laced with the smell of dead fish.
The steamboat docked, and a loud horn blew to announce its arrival. A disheveled and stupefied Booker stumbled off the ramp with luggage in hand, only to be bombarded with a crowd of travelers and port workers. He threw out a few baleful comments to get people to move. Unfriendly stares were directed at him every time he pushed his way past someone. His carelessness was almost bound to get him in trouble, but everyone had their own tasks to tend too instead of confronting the rude man.
A clock tower in the distance struck noon, causing a noisy boom that had crewmen shouting over and dogs barking. This made the commotion increasingly worse. Booker flinched at the overwhelming drumming in his ears. He picked up his pace until he was almost running. His train to London would leave within the next hour and god forbid he missed it.
Booker hadn't reached the street yet when an earth-shaking roar echoed from beneath the ground. The crowd of hustling tourists who were eager to get to their next destination were taken aback by a violent movement beneath them. Screams and shouts penetrated the air alongside a clamorous cracking sound. A wide-eyed Booker turned to face the event that had everyone in such a terrified uproar. An entire building came crumbling down, docks pulling apart and a large crack in the earth came hurdling towards Booker's direction.
"Holy shit.." He spit.
Without waiting a second longer, Booker tucked his luggage under his armpits and took off running. The menacing crack followed close behind, growing wider and swallowing up debris and unfortunate souls.
Screams of terror echoed in the port. The entire environment was quaking violently, risking Booker's balance. One fall and that could be it. With a forceful jolt, Booker found himself and his luggage flying forward. He made an unpleasant impact with an abandoned carriage. His eyes shot open to meet the crack which had just stopped only a couple inches from his sprawled-out legs.
Booker's heart raced, his breath uneven. He racked through his mind to try and find any reasonable explanation as to what had just happened. While he continued to sit there, frozen from shock, others began to pull themselves up and investigate the catastrophe. People wept over those who were lost while others frantically scooped themselves up and sprinted from the scene. Booker on the other hand, continued to sit there, unsure of how to proceed.
An abrupt static hit Booker's vision, making everything go white for a second. He grunted and pawed at his face until he could see again.
"Sir, are you okay? Are you injured?" A young gentleman who appeared to be a dock worker was standing over Booker. His eye scrutinizing the man on the ground.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Booker waved him away. He understood that the guy was just trying to help, but Booker could easily take care of himself.
"You're bleeding." The gentleman insisted, his index finger extended to Booker's face.
"Wha-what?" Booker moved two fingers to his nose and pulled them back for observation. As expected, they were covered in blood. "It's nothing, I'm fine." Those were words that he wasn't even sure he believed.