Final Memories

>Can a man be freed from the great chain of feels that bind us all?

>No

 

        Elizabeth finished packing her groceries and thanked the shop assistant. She usually carried her own things and never asked anyone for help. She never saw the need and most people knew her well enough to understand. Its been a while now and sniggers and gossip faded away, leaving behind pity for the older woman. As she walked down the street back to their apartment, she exchanged few pleasant hellos with her neighbours as they saw her, an old lady dressed in her trademark blue. DeWitts took their time to settle back in New York, as most people remembered the drunk ‘private investigator’ and steered clear off him. But when he returned with a beautiful young woman, almost everyone was shocked and surprised that he managed to find someone like her.

 

        However to most, Elizabeth was a strange woman. She always kept to the side, staying close to Booker. She was always polite, but never went out of her way to make friends. One day, when pressed about their relationship, Booker came clean and said that she was his daughter, although he never told anyone about their ordeal. That did calm spiteful tongues for some time, but it did not stop bad rumors about them.

        Elizabeth had quite few suitors and male acquaintances at first when she appeared with Booker, but underneath her withdrawn demeanor was a steely woman that blew them all off. She felt that she could toy with any one of them easily, but she spared them the cruel ordeal, as she knew only more rumors would follow. As years passed, sour hearsay turned into bitter remarks. DeWitt and his spinster, they called them, but they themselves knew better. She sometimes secretly wondered, what would happen if the rumors were true, what was Booker really thinking about them? He had his daughter back and cared for her, but she wondered how much of his guilt remained with him. She had tested and teased him after Columbia, when she brought him back for that last stretch of their road, but they didn’t talk much about what happened in Rapture. It seemed that Booker was happiest by merely having her company.

 

        Elizabeth returned home and begun unpacking her groceries. A lot has changed since they returned to that dingy one-bed office, which has been replaced by a comfortable 2 bedroom apartment long since then. They both worked and when Booker got weaker, she took care of him and slept near him. She carried on sleeping there afterwards too, in his bed.

        Last item to come out of the shopping bag was a small bottle of whiskey, the same kind that Booker used to drink for a long, long time. She was never overly fond of alcohol, but at the same time, she had a glass or so every day. It reminded her of him; his smell, his taste. She never had more than few sips, wetting her lips and the tip of her tongue. She poured the rest down the sink afterwards.

 

        They didn’t talk much about what happened, but they did keep their memories with them, a wall in the living room lined up with their pictures. They were in Paris, and Rapture pictures were there too; Kashmir Restaurant, a spectacle in Fort Frolic, Booker with his shirt undone, sitting in a chair in his Rapture office. He hated that picture, but she insisted on keeping it. He could never refuse her, but she never seriously pushed him. Sometimes she regretted that she did not get an honest word out of him until it was too late. Thats when she wept, regret gnawing at the gray-haired woman.

 

----------------------------

 

        From an ordinary perspective, Booker and Elizabeth led a quiet, although slightly atypical life. She became a primary school teacher - she exhibited more knowledge and talent than most of your average young women in the profession and the way she could reach out to children made her a sure favorite of both the pupils and their parents, earning her respect of the sensible citizens despite the unsavory talk. There was a degree of yearning in her that drove her to that job, partly because of the Rapture experience and partly because of a more fundamental need.

        She poured as much energy into teaching as she put into Booker, who for all her care and attention remained a rough man, although he slipped into the role of a doting father easily. He did not have to worry about school or nappies or boys knocking on their door to see her, but instead could relax in her presence and they would share the details of their day with each other. She felt that he embraced that role all the more after they left Rapture and she hinted that there was something more to her emotions to him. At times she wondered if Columbia didn't warp her too much, as she felt more at ease with children or him than with anyone else, including the feelings that she suppressed with time, for Booker's sake. But those same feelings held her back and hurt whenever Booker suggested timidly that she shouldn't feel bound to him, and that he didn't mind her out in the city on her own, with other people.

 

        She was a grown woman, both mentally and physically, yet she could never achieve the same intimacy with other people as she did with Booker. She was perfectly rational and had no reservations about interacting with strangers, but only with him she felt truly herself. Only he could understand her, and as years went by she continued to hope that he would give her a sign, but that never came. Their lives were so intertwined, so stuck together that to live apart was unthinkable to her. Ever since she dreamed of escaping from the tower, she also dreamed of a man that would whisk her away, a valiant hero just like in the books that she had in abundance in the tower. And finally, she got exactly what she wanted, but even she could not have it all, as universe teased her with vision of places and other realities where more was possible and where more happened.

 

As she mulled over her sorrow, she recalled the moments that hurt her the most, but the worst was not her own pain, but the regret that he left with her.

 

****

 

        "Booker, what do you think?"

        She spun around a a heel, showing off her new dress. She stuck to blue as her main color and even though she experienced the fashion of 1950's, she felt more at ease in her own time period, if she could call it that. She was still young, and her unblemished skin shone.

 

Booker changed his looks considerably since the last time too. He started wearing for waistcoats and proper ties, following Elizabeth's advice that good looks brought in business and made him look trustworthy. So far it worked.

       

        "You know exactly what I think," he said while sipping whiskey at his desk. He tried to avoid drinking ever since they lived together, but Elizabeth was surprisingly agreeable today and even poured a glass for him.

 

        "But I want to hear it from you!" she called out to him playfully, taking few steps forward.

 

        "Well, can you remember the stares these guys were giving you in Kashmir? I still feel silly when I recall being one of them."

 

        "There was nothing wrong with it, you couldn't remember who I was." She took a step more and sat on the edge of the desk, just like she did when she entered his Rapture office not so long ago. She remembered all the cues and looks Booker gave her and she worked to get those out of him now. So far it worked, and Booker only tightened his grip on his whiskey glass as he continued talking to her.

 

        "Well, you definitely know how to handle yourself, you don't need me to chaperon you around."

 

        "I can't imagine it would be that bad," she she carried on teasing him, "I would get to wrap my arm around yours and we would look like a couple."

 

        Booker looked at her sceptically. "Aren't you supposed to look for someone? I don't want to scare anyone away."

 

        She got up and walked slowly around to him. "What about you? I'm not a little girl anymore, you don't need to cuddle me, and it would be sad if a handsome man like you were to remain alone for the rest of his life..." she trailed off innocently.

 

        "I've already had my share of those, don't worry about me," he said wearily as he poured himself more to drink. Elizabeth was now behind him and laid her hands on his shoulders.

 

        "Don't tell me you don't get lonely form time to time." she ran her hands over his shoulders." You were over your heels once you saw me there. I still remember Arcadia," she said with a sultry tone.

       

        "I don't think you should be the one to worry about that." Booker retorted uneasily. Her constant reminders of Rapture brought back shallowly buried memories that even several miles of water and several decades of time could not make disappear. Booker shifted in his seat, moving away form her touch and gulping on his drink now.

 

But Elizabeth carried on. This was a rare moment for her. She was delicate but unyielding in her approach and the memory of Rapture brought out things in her too. There was more to it than Booker alone, but he made the memories bearable and more. She leaned on his back again, resting her head on his shoulder and whispered into his ear.

 

        "You know, I could go out there and live my life you you want to... or, I could stay. You wanted me to stay in your office, didn't you, once I gave you the job details..." she whispered huskily, running her hand across his neck and chin. She leaned in closer and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, giggling like a little girl. Booker exhaled and relaxed in the chair.

        "You'll never give it a rest, will ya?"

        "Nope." she withdrew her head and moved to his other cheek, planting another slightly longer smooch there. Booker played along, letting her do it while he kept up a grumpy face.

 

        When Elizabeth moved to kiss him again, she planted a not so familial kiss on his chin. He felt her lips move closer and closer to his mouth as her warm breath washed over his cheek. Thats when he jumped out of his chair, as if he sat on a bed of hot coals. That startled Elizabeth and Booker was now facing her, wide eyed and confused. His lips quivered for a moment, as he processed what just happened and had half a mind to say something, but he remained silent. She saw guilt in his eyes briefly before he turned around on the heel and went for the door, slamming it on his way out. He was in a hurry to escape the uncomfortable situation and Elizabeth was left alone .She sat in a chair and brought her hands to her face, tears welling up. She was confused and ashamed of herself. Pale blue light from outside illuminated her as she wept quietly.

 

---------------------

 

        After whiskey, Elizabeth liked to make herself a fairly strong, sweet tea. It worked like a charm on her old, tired body and gave her warmth and relaxed her. She brewed herself a teapot and carried it with one teacup to the table. She always had radio on while enjoying the tea and listened to the music. Most people of her age would listen to music of their youth and she was no different, having heard many of the modern songs decades ago already, although in a different execution. It was fun to hear each song on the radio and nudge Booker as she reminded him of the tears and music they heard in Columbia. It surprised everyone when she used to teach children tunes of songs that were yet to come out or whistled along to them as if she knew them by heart while the song was played on the radio for the first time. It was one of her little mysteries that added a strange aura to her. Those were warm memories, just like the tea she was now sipping.  It never made all memories taste sweeter, but there was a grain of comfort that she could take from her final memory of him, and it was that of him caring.

 

****

 

        Booker was too weak to get up now, and the doctor proposed to move him to the hospital, even though it would do little at his age. However Booker refused to be moved and Elizabeth did not question that decision. She was happy enough taking care of him at their home, feeding, washing and clothing him. It was inevitable, she reasoned, with her being almost 2 decades his junior. It was an unspoken truth of their relationship that Booker would always go into the night first, no matter what they did. For the amount of abuse he took and inflicted upon himself, he held pretty good for a long time. But the last week was getting worse and the doctor was helpless in face of inevitable mortality of all men, that now came knocking for Booker DeWitt.

 

        "Are you sure you don't want this?" Elizabeth asked. She sat in chair next to his bed, looking at his face, bruised with marks of time and hard life. His eyes, even though dimmer, still held their green color.

 

"I told you I don't need no priest." He sounded feeble but he was resolute in his demand. "Once I'm gone I'll have enough time for talking with the man upstairs. Its you that I want to talk to."

 

She embraced his hand, entwining their fingers.  "I'm always beside you."

 

"I've done a lot of things I should be remorseful for, but only two people in the world made me feel anything..." he coughed and Elizabeth was quick to bring a handkerchief to his mouth. "Ughh... made me feel anything and feel remorseful for."

 

She listened to him and smiled. His regret for selling her, still lingering with him on his deathbed.

        "Booker, you know I forgave you, I did so long time ago." She squeezed his hand reassuringly.

 

        "I know you did," he returned the smile, weak and wizenedm "but I wasn't honest with you and myself. I saw many times how you looked at me and spoke to me. I remember Rapture and... I felt the same. You are my daughter, always were, but the girl I saw in the tower and the woman I saw in my office underwater... they were..." he stopped, out of breath. But he said enough, and he saw a spark of hope in Elizabeth's eyes.

"How much effort it took to stay honest and normal with you, and you didn't let go off it."

 

        "Booker, you knew all along, why didn't you say so? A sign or a word?" The question was a charge against him, but she didn't mean any of it. She only wanted to know why. He understood that easily enough.

 

"I lived with one regret for 20 years before I was able to fix it. I wasn't going to blow it the second time, although... although I remembered these other times and felt nothing bad. I was scared of regret more than anything else and I know now I shouldn't have." He was breathing raggedly now, the confession was clearly taxing on him. But his expression lighted up ever so much, a great burden cast off.

 

        Elizabeth felt tears stream across her cheeks. She felt them dripping  but she didn't move or cry. She finally knew what he really felt. All those awkward moments, confused stares and conflicted things he said to her; Booker DeWitt was never an emotional person and had hard time in expressing himself. Only now he finally escaped his regret and became honest with her. She knew deep down that neither of them would mind, but Booker carried his burdens silently, his nature unchanged.

 

****

 

        Booker Dewitt departed several days later in his sleep. His funeral was attended by his daughter, few former Pinkertons and Elizabeth's teacher acquaintances. The day was sunny and cloudless, just like  when she escaped the tower with him and saw outside for the first time. She wept hard and long, inconsolable by anyone, but she never cried afterwards when she recalled that moment. She knew he loved her just the same throughout. That was enough of an acknowledgment to her and something that she would not mourn, but treasure despite their mutual pain that was now hers alone.

 

-----------------------------------

 

        The clock chimed several times and Elizabeth tore herself away from the writing to look at it. It was seven in the evening and in short few hours, year 1984 would arrive. Elizabeth only sighed and turned back to writing. Despite her advanced age, she held her pen steady, writing clearly and elegantly, not sparing the effort to make the writing look good. She was in no hurry, and she was pouring her innermost feelings into it.

 

        At the beginning she wrote long, detailed account, describing all those long years. She scrapped that after reflecting on the purpose of the letter. She wanted to avoid bringing those memories back, burdening herself with an account of things that may not occur. There was no guarantee that it would work, or that there was any point to it. but she felt the need to write it anyway, to leave a word behind. So she started anew.

 

        The current letter wasn't as long or as elaborate as the previous one, but she spared no detail that was important. She omitted nothing of his word or of her own confession. That was the only way to ensure that all this could be avoided. How would she know it was from her? The handwriting helped and the things she revealed, which no one else in the world would know. Well, apart from miss Perkins, who was a nurse and visited Elizabeth few times a week to keep her company and deliver the medication for her. Miss Perkins enjoyed the stories she told of Rapture and of Columbia, and of a dashing man who rescued her, and how she rescued him. But to the nurse it was just a fantasy of a frail old woman, completely lost in the memories of her youth.

 

        Elizabeth didn't know if the letter would ever make it to its destination, but she held a faint hope. Time rotted away everything, but the things she saw and experienced in her life made her strong enough to hold on just a little longer. A fit of coughing broke her out of her thoughts. She went back to writing, gripping the pen in her wrinkled hand, tracing letter after letter in a flowing motion of flawless calligraphy. Not much time remained, but enough to do this properly.

 

****

 

        "Was there anything else in there?" The ginger man asked.

       

        "Apart from the pictures and some odd personal trinkets? No," the man in a dark suit answered.  

       

        "Would you mind if we had a look around?" The ginger woman asked.

       

        "Are you her family..." The agent asked. These two looked odd to him.

       

        "You could say that," the ginger man replied. "We were close family friends."

       

        "And your names?"

 

        "Lutece." They both wore matching beige suits and looked harmless enough, but a strange aura lingered around them. The agent only nodded. "I recognize your name, late miss DeWitt mentioned you actually. Come in."

 

        They had a thorough look around the place, turning over most things. The place was being emptied by the city as they looked, put up for sale with no known relatives or any will left behind. They already attended a funeral, which was a solemn, formal process, but with no people apart from the officials and themsleves.  And now they had come to find it.

 

        "I swear I saw it somewhere in here..." Robert said as the turned over the drawers in the old, worn out desk, stained with ancient alcohol stains and innumerable scars in the wood.

 

        "They could have taken it away already in another piece of furniture. Incinerated it even by now." Rosalind recited her King Lear to Robert.

 

        "No, no, she knew we would come, it must be in the desk." Robert got to the last drawer and pulled out a small stack of papers. Rosalind approached the desk and observed with amusement Robert's frantic search. Finally, a big brown envelope, addressed to R.R Lutece.

        "Here you go, dear sister." Robert took the envelope and handed it to Rosalind, who opened it and took out two things from it. One of them was another, smaller envelope with a different name and a letter addressed to them.

 

        "Interesting, how she went out on a limb and assumed..." Rosalind spoke, as she opened the letter.

       

        "...That we will be able to come and do this for her." Robert finished the sentence.

       

        "Its a quite short note actually. Not much for us, bu then I doubt she would worry."

 

        "We are in the least need to be worried about, aren't we dear sister?" Robert grinned. "although I must say I've always had a weak spot for helping them."

       

        "If I weren't you, I'd dare say you had fallen for the girl and that was your only motivation." she mocked him.

        "Did she mention when should we deliver it?" Robert smoothly moved along the conversation away from the awkward subject.

       

        "She didn't give an exact time, but she wanted to make sure everything was settled. besides, she will know best what to do afterward." Rosalind stated dispassionately. "This time around, all should work out, even though I do not really approve.

       

        "People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, Ros. You know what happens to people when their loved ones leave them." Robert reminded her.

        Rosalind's mood turned sour as she recalled her own madness, jumping from place to place in search of Robert.

 

        "I think our job here is done, Its time we leave people here to do their work." Rosalind smoothly moved along the conversation away from the awkward subject. She put away the letter and the smaller envelope in her pockets and went for the door out. Robert nodded along to her statement and followed her out.

 

-------------------------------

 

        They were settling in New York just fine and despite missing the comforts of 1958, Elizabeth felt somewhat more at home in 1912. It was funny to think that she somehow found herself missing the sights and thrills of Columbia, despite pain inflicted on them there. The job at school was not really a novelty for her, having dealt with troubled small girls that were Little Sisters. Teaching ordinary boys and girls was almost a pleasure rather than work for her. Life here was setting up just perfectly for both of them... save for that one small detail. That nagging detail that ate away at her, but she understood Booker and his reluctance well enough.

 

        She carried her daily shopping back into Booker's apartment-office. Dark and musty before, Booker took care to clean it up and now the place bore fresh wallpaper, floors were scrubbed and the desk clean. The room where Anna was before was now her room while Booker slept in his in the corner of the main room, albeit on a new mattress and clean sheets. Home sweet home, for all intents and purposes. Definitely smaller than her tower, but she could come in and go as she pleased. Besides, she got used to normal life in Rapture, tasting the adult side of things and among them, tasted Booker.

 

        But that was the past, as she broke out of her dreamy thought and set the bags on the table in the main room.  Booker would be home anytime now and Elizabeth took her time to prepare something for him. As she set herself upon the task of brewing tea and preparing food, she heard footsteps outside. Was it him already? She expected the door to open but instead, the footsteps stopped outside and instead, she heard some shuffling and a small envelope found itself on the other side, slid underneath the glassed door.

 

        She looked curiously at the letter laying on the floor. Postman usually left things downstairs. Who and what could that possibly be? She walked over to the door and picked up the envelope. It was addressed to her, but all the envelope had was her name. No address, no sender, no post stamp. Her curiosity grew and she opened it. Inside she found a letter. It wasn't a very big letter, but her eyes went wide as she recognized the handwriting. It was a perfect match for hers, even though it was slightly wobbly in places, as if written with unsteady hand. Elizabeth walked over to Booker's desk and sat down on the chair, sinking her eyes into the message written for her.

 

****

 

Dear Elizabeth,

 

I write to you from a different place and time, to tell you things that might have been left unresolved. It will sound strange at first but you know and feel it. You feel it every time you look at him and think about 'what if's', just as I did for a very long time. I won't burden you with things and events that might not transpire and things that you might want to experience on your own. but I want to tell you one thing - Booker loves you.

 

He loves you in many different ways but at the same time, he carries his regrets with him s he thinks about you.

He thinks that what happened in Rapture was a mistake but he feels right about it and his fears eat at him. You forgave him long time ago, but there is one thing you and he can't resolve and it hurts you both. It won't go away and Booker will ache for as long as he doesn't speak out. But he does love you. Do not let him wait, or suffocate himself. Get him to speak, get him to act. Don't pressure him, but open him up. Talk to him honestly and he will open. How do I know? because he opened up to me. Don't make my mistake and don't wait until its too late.

 

Your dear self,

 

Elizabeth

 

****

 

        The letter was incredible, but it couldn't be a forgery. There was no date on it, but her handwriting was unmistakable and who else would know about her and Booker, or Rapture? She took in a deep breath, trying to control the thoughts and emotions now swirling in her head. The constant longing and worry she had to face since Rapture - it was all a false fear. She was certain now and she would get him to open up. All those days spent on hopeless sighs and thoughts, the looks and words aimed at him that were only deflected or absorbed with embarrassed face. But she knew now.

 

        She was no longer a naive, innocent girl that Booker met in the tower, but the wave of relief that she experience with the letter made her giddy with excitement. She was suddenly bursting with joy and wanted to embrace the whole world. She stood up and spun around, as if dancing to a tune heard on a beach long time ago. She turned few times and ran for the window and leaned out. The sunny, spotless sky only added to her jubilant mood.

 

        Thats when she heard another set of footsteps in the corridor and the door opened. Booker entered, dressed in his vest and scarf, although with a much cleaner and happier face. When Elizabeth saw him, she ran straight at him and threw herself at him, embracing him with all her strength.

 

        "Whoah, easy!" he said laughing. "I only went to work for few hours and you already missed me?"

 

"More than you can imagine," she said softly, her head buried in his chest as she pressed herself to him. Booker embraced her, wrapping his arms around her. But he felt something was up.

 

        "So, did something happen?" He said puzzled.

 

        Elizabeth looked up at him with her blue eyes, glistening like polished jewels. "Booker, do you love me?"

       

        He chuckled."Of course I do, you are my daugh-" She pressed a finger to his lips, stopping him from finishing.

 

        "Booker." she said again, this time more deliberately. "I know what are are to each other, but there is more to it, I know it."

       

        He tried to speak up again, but she kept her finger on his lips. "What happened in Rapture wasn't a mistake. You are not sorry for it and neither am I. There is nothing to be afraid of." She continued, her voice turning soft and affectionate.  

        Booker wasn't afraid of god but he sure as hell was afraid of her sometimes. But without her, he would be lost completely. He wanted to tear himself away from her, but something changed in her attitude. It wasn't pure lust or a simple longing for something that happened in the past that drove her now. This was a real thing and it was happening to them.

 

        It felt strange to break through the barrier that formed in his mind around the forbidden fruit that she offered to him, his own Eve. And just like Eve was formed of Adam's rib, Elizabeth was formed of Booker's blood. But Booker felt no regret as his lips met with Elizabeth's. It was strange to feel no regret in place where previously he feared retribution of his own conscience. Soon enough Booker forgot all about regrets and sins and forbidden fruits as his mind dissolved in the blissful kiss.