Epilogue - In our story, Rapture was only the beginning...
New York - 1912
Sarah woke up like she was crawling out of a deep dark hole.
“Whaa-” she mumbled, lifting her head and looking around blearily. The light that snuck in through the slats of the blind made her head ache even more. She rolled backwards on her desk chair, and the loud sound of glass bottles clinking together made her wince. She spun the chair around - slowly - and directed her gaze at the floor.
Several empty bourbon bottles were strewn around her desk, and a half dozen unopened ones were lined up on top of the filing cabinets. For a long befuddled moment, Sarah stared at the bottles and then around the office, like she had never seen any of it before. What the bloody hell had happened last night? She looked down at herself - trousers, shirt (wrinkled), vest, tie (unloosened). shite, gotta stop sleeping in my clothes... a bandage around her right hand was grubby, but not bloodstained.
Standing up, Sarah grabbed at her head as it flared with pain, then shuffled around the desk and opened the office door. There was a frosted glass panel with black lettering and she squinted at the words.
SARAH MANNING
〰
INVESTIGATIONS INTO MATTERS
BOTH PUBLIC & PRIVATE
She frowned. Something wasn’t right. She still didn’t know what happened last night. And she was getting flashes of what must have been a hell of a dream. Chased by monsters, saved by an angel, some sort of city under the sea collapsing into a blindingly bright light. Bloody stupid, Sarah muttered to herself.
Closing the door, she poked around the office, finding a tiny kitchen and a bathroom off a short hallway. No bedroom. I guess I sleep on the couch. At least she’d (or someone) had the sense to set up the coffee-maker before passing out on the desk. She rinsed a mug out in the sink and poured coffee into it, drank half of it, then gagged and bent over the sink. She coughed up what looked like mucus but was a bright iridescent yellow, stared at it in mild horror, what the hell? and then drank the rest of the coffee. Refilling the mug, Sarah made her way back out to the desk and sat down again.
There was a photo of two young girls on the desk, in an ornate silver frame. Sarah frowned at it until she recalled it was her, and. Her and...she dropped her head into her hands. Why couldn’t she remember? She sighed.
“Right then” she said out loud, then pressed her fingers to her temple as the sound of her own voice pierced her head. Whatever she’d drank last night, she hoped she’d remember to never drink it again. Papers were scattered over the desktop, and she gathered them up in a pile, then started flicking through them. Old cases, it looked like. Missing kids, cheating spouses, suspicious deaths, the usual kind of fare... Her head shot up again ( ow ) at the sound of someone banging their fist against the door.
Jeez, alright, alright she mumbled, taking a deep breath before rising to her feet ( ow) and shuffling over to the door. Two shadows loomed behind the frosted glass.
Sarah paused with her hand on the doorknob.
“Who is it?” she called out in a hoarse voice, “What do you want?”
“We have a proposition for you, Ms Manning.” said a woman’s voice.
“A missing persons case.” said a man’s voice.
A job. Well, alright then. Something to take her mind off...everything. She cast a look around the office, at the bottles, the papers on the floor, and shrugged. She opened the door to find a pair of redheads looking at her curiously, then giving each other a sidewards glance. Both had their hands clasped in front of them and wore polite if somewhat familiar expressions.
“I am Rosalind Lutece, Ms Manning, and this is my brother, Robert Lutece,” he inclined his head respectfully, “We would like you to take a case for us. A girl has gone missing, and her family,” Rosalind cocked her head to the side, eyes studying Sarah closely, while Robert continued the sentence, “are very concerned. They are willing to pay very handsomely to have this resolved as soon as possible.”
“We’re sure this will assist you greatly in paying off those troublesome debts.”
Memories dropped into Sarah’s mind like stone slabs. Debts. Gambling debts. Of course. She had...debts.
“Bring us the girl…”
“...and wipe away the debt.”
Robert handed Sarah an envelope.
The pair - twins, yeah? They have to be twins... spoke in tandem, as if the words were all coming from the same place, just through different mouths.
“This contains all the pertinent information…”
“...and a substantial advance payment…”
“...and the family would like you to begin right away.”
“Are you quite well, Ms Manning?”
“You look rather pale.”
Sarah turned the envelope over in her hands, then squinted up at the Luteces. There was something...peculiar about them.
“Have we met somewhere before?” she said, trying to grasp a memory that eluded her like a slippery silver fish. “You look...familiar.” And both rather attractive, now she thought about it.
They looked at each other with an indecipherable expression, then back at her.
“I’m afraid not, Ms Manning…”
Robert handed her a folded white handkerchief.
“...we have not met you before.”
Sarah raised her eyebrows at the handkerchief, and winced as a sharp pain stabbed her temples. Then she realised her nose had started bleeding, swore and held the lavender-scented linen against her upper lip.
“Thank -” she faltered, confused, “ - you?”
Rosalind gave a shallow bow.
“Don’t mention it, Ms Manning. Now…”
“..we must be off. Time is of the essence…”
“... of the essence or is the essence?”
“Why can’t it be both?”
Their gently quarreling voices faded as they turned and walked off down the hall, arm in arm.
Sarah stared at the envelope. She opened it, counted the notes inside and gave a silent whistle. There was a piece of paper with directions, longitude and latitude, and scrawled diagrams, or pictures. She squinted at them but it didn’t help. There was no description of the girl, apart from ‘Eighteen years old. Blonde.’ real helpful , she muttered to herself.
Her nose had stopped bleeding, and the handkerchief was bright red. Looking at the blood made her feel queasy again. She tossed it in the trashcan and pulled her hair back off her face.
Bring us the girl and wipe away the debt.
She went to pour another coffee, then shrugged on her coat, and holstered her gun. She had a lost girl to bring home.
Time to get to work.