Beyond the Sea

This is a story based in Rapture before it fell into disrepair. It follows two young women on the case of a series of mysterious murderer. It's unfinished because I couldn't figure out where to go.

A woman stood gazing out a large window. In one hand she held a glass of amber liquid which she sipped pensively as she admired the blue whale lumbering past the glass.  A tinny voice droned throughout the room: “The victim was found pinned to the wall of his apartment.  Music notes seem to be carved into the victims skin, and it appears he was (there’s a heavy pause) strangled by a microphone cord. Beside his head on the wall in his own blood are written song lyrics. Whoever would do this is one sick b*****d, Bern. . .”
With a loud click the tape ended and the woman, Bernadette, turned away from the window. Her long black cloak swished smartly as she walked over to her desk. A series of pictures had been strewn across the surface. The victim, a lounge singer named Benny, had met a very unfortunate end it seemed.
Then again many artists these days were. Killed in grotesquely spectacular ways that mirrored their artistic medium. That, and the puddle of rose pedals at every scene were the only things these murders had in common.
The rose pedals were an obvious clue. It had to be a Houdini of some sort. Plasmids, a form of genetic modification that could give normal people super human powers, were dangerously addictive. Bernadette herself had two. One, incinerate, which she often used to light her cigarettes, caused her to be able to summon a sort of explosive plasma in her veins which could be used to start small (or extremely large) fires. Her second was telekinesis. With a flick of a wrist she could summon anything within ten yards and if she so chose, hurl it like a cannon. Houdini’s however, to return to the original point, were people who had gained the ability to appear and disappear at will in any place. The signature of this plasmid, of course being the cloud of rose pedals that signaled your miraculous disappearance.
The Houdini plasmid like numerous others had been banned for obvious reasons. Someone who can teleport anywhere can be pretty damn dangerous . . . That’s not to say no one could get it. Obviously one person could. Whoever was murdering these people. Bernadette tapped her desk with the tips of her fingers as she inspected the photos.
“Can we go now?” A previously silent young woman drawled. She lounged on the small couch against the wall, her legs crossed primly at the ankle where they were propped up on the arm of the couch.
Bernadette jerked slightly and squinted at the girl. “Sure, babe.” She sighed and stepped away from the desk. “Let’s go.” The girl let out a triumphant cry and leapt to her feet, simultaneously straightening her emerald green dress.
“Ame.” Bernadette sighed, but smiled despite herself. Ame, or Amelia, was her best friend and partner in investigation. A dancer by trade when she wasn’t assisting Bernadette.  As bubbly and clueless as she seemed on the surface, under those golden shoulder-length curls and cheeky grin, lived a very observant mind.
“Well you can’t go out looking like that” Amelia cried, her hands coming up to cover her mouth in terror. With surprising speed she bounded over and proceeded to make over her friend.
Wavy, dirty blond hair was combed into submission, her long coat was removed and her black pinstripe vest was straightened and rebuttoned. “Now really you’re so pretty, must you dress like a . . . man?” Amelia’s nose wrinkled with disdain as she smothered her hands down Bernadette’s chest and sides (much to her chagrin.)
Her face flushed in embarrassment, but now presentable, Bernadette was allowed to walk to the door and hold it open. “Now we are going.” Amelia strutted out the door and waited for her friend to join her, linking their arms possessively as they walked through one of the countless glass encased walkways towards Fort Frolic.
Now the city they lived in was unlike any other.  Rapture, it was called.  An underwater city that its creator, Andrew Ryan, claimed was for the man who believed what he created and accomplished should belong to that man alone.  The underwater city, inhabited by the rich and talented, was not only advanced in its ideas but in its technology.  From genetic modification to plastic surgery, Rapture was more advanced than anywhere else in the 1950’s. If a gal didn’t like her nose, why she could get new one. If someone wanted to shoot fire or ice from their hand, it was as easy as getting a shot.
One shot and your genetic code was rewritten forever. Now this isn’t to say there wasn’t a price. Adam was created. A material that could only be used to buy these plasmids. Adam was more valuable then gold down in Rapture.
Using a plasmid itself had its own cost. Plasmids run on Eve, a sort of biological power that a person contains. Of course if you run out Eve you can just get another shot. An Eve Hypo, was what they called it. Bernadette carried several with her at all times.
The women stepped into the large atrium of Fort Frolic. In Rapture Fort  Frolic had it all from casinos to strip clubs. Something for everyone; That was Fort Frolic. “So how did you get these tickets?” Bernadette asked. “The genetic ballet is very exclusive.” She quirked her eyebrow at her friend’s smug grin.
“Well . . .” Amelia drawled, absent-mindedly leaning against her friend as she walked. “I have friends who were pleased by my performance, and wished to repay me.” Bernadette sighed and rolled her eyes.  Her partner did always enjoy being a mystery as much as solving them.
They sauntered through the massive doors and into the theater, taking  seats, much to Amelia’s girlish delight, in the front row. She chattered non-stop and pointed out people she recognized. “Oh! That man!” She hissed, subtly pointing at a rather garish looking man who strutted down the aisle. “That’s Sander Cohen.  He funds and trains some of the most talented people in Rapture. His art is magnificent!”
Bernadette inspected the man strutting his way to the side stairs that lead to the private boxes.  He wore a black suit with coat tails and a ghastly amount of makeup. The latter gave him the unsettling resemblance of some macabre clown.“Hmmm . . . “ She hummed as he disappeared up the stairs.
A few minutes later the ballet began and the entire theater fell silent. The orchestra began to play and the dancers took the stage. The show consisted of numerous dance numbers, an added spin introduced when a hand full of dancers were lifted into the air and proceeded to execute perfect aerial acrobatics, while weaving fantastical shapes and designs with fire and ice radiating from their palms.  The main dancer was Blanche Lerouge, her ink black hair loose and flowing down past her shoulders as she danced. She kept the audience under the thrall, moving like a jungle cat, natural as a fish in water.
Suddenly, She stumbled.
It was slight, but it was sadly prominent enough for everyone to witness it. As the music rose in a final crescendo so did the voices of the patrons.  Soft murmurs slithered through the previously silent crown and despite the standing ovation they gave the damage had been done.
Amelia was horrified. Blanche would certainly never hear the end of it. As they exited into the lobby she clung to Bernadette, a sad pensive expression marring her features.
“I thought she was brilliant. Certainly she’ll see no permanent problems right?” Bernadette asked skeptically.
“You don’t understand Bern! A mistake like that . . .” Amelia shook her head. “I just�"“
Amelia Brennan. I’m glad you could join us.” A delighted voice keened behind them and they did a startled about-face.  Before them stood the one and only, Sander Cohen.
“Oh! Mr. Cohen! We wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Amelia gushed with a dazzling smile.
“You mean the fall of the great Blanche LeRouge?” He replied with a tight smile. Bernadette thought he seemed angry but with all that makeup caked on it was impossible to be sure.
“Oh I don’t think it was so bad. She was still brilliant.” Bernadette piped up, becoming increasingly indignant at the melodramatic nature of the arts.
Cohen’s eye definitely twitched, Bernadette observed. “Now, now my dear. One mistake can cause the fall of an empire.”
Amelia began to look troubled and quickly endeavored to change the subject. “Um . . .I saw your exhibit  Mr. Cohen!  ‘Beauty of Death’ I thought it was wonderful.”
“Ah yes. Thank you. I think death can be quite beautiful. One just needs to put it in the right light.” He’d become increasingly distracted as he spoke this and after a half-hearted farewell he disappeared into the crowd.
“He’s odd.” Bernadette said in a disgruntled growl.
“Oh Bern, geniuses are always misunderstood” Amelia admonished and lead them towards the exit.
They walked back the way they’d come, Bernadette guiding her friend towards her part of Rapture. Amelia lived in a building called Atlantis Apartments. Atlantis Apartments were contained in a large glass done. They were for people who remained reminiscent of live above the surface of the ocean. They stepped through an automatic hatch and walked down a side alley. Their surroundings could only be described as what an apartment complex would look like if it’d been created to fit in a fish bowl. As they wandered among the tall multi-story buildings they came across side-streets, devoid of cars, empty parks, and lastly, a dubious looking back alley which they stepped into with caution.
They proceeded down the dark passage, the only sources of light being a lamp hung over a door twenty yards away and the luminescent glow of Bernadette’s incinerate powered hand, which she held in front of her to light their way. The gruff sound of metal on pavement brought them to a halt. Amelia tightened her grip on her friend’s arm and the owner of said arm frowned slightly.
From the darkness stepped a ragged looking woman. Her dress, which might have been blue at one point, was now stained with dirt and what looked to be blood. She slunk, hunched over, towards them, a rusty meat hook in each hand. “Now we don’t want any trouble.” Bernadette demanded in a voice much more firm then how she was currently feeling.
“Do you have any adam, I wonder . . .” The woman rasped, more to herself than to them. “I think you do . . . Your hand glows with it. There must but some still on you.” As she stepped closer and into the light cast by the lamp over the door, they saw her face was covered by a bird-shaped masquerade mask. This style had become increasingly popular. One who had received copious amounts of plastic surgery tended to become warped, believing that they were never perfect. Surgery after surgery left them marred for life, scars that even Rapture’s best surgeons were incapable of smoothing. Sure enough, a moment later Amelia’s eyes caught the jagged scars running down the woman’s neck.
The woman continued to approach them her head raised slightly as if she could smell them and the adam she believed they possessed. “Stop or I won’t hesitate to hurt you.” Bernadette barked, her hand raising in warning. The woman paid no mind and continued to stalk forward, her gait taking on a desperate lurch as she grew closer.

“Fine” She raised her hand, the veins in her wrists pulsing wildly as red hot plasma oozed into her palm. With a quick thrust at the ragged creature before her she hurled the explosive mixture and the debris, along with the woman, in front of her burst into flames. One fireball wouldn't kill this monster however, and she watched as she scuttled spider-like, up the wall and out of sight. A wave of exhaustion overcame the detective and she fumbled clumsily inside her coat. "Where is it d****t? . . ." She hissed frantically. "There!" With a triumphant cry she extracted a hypodermic needle, holding it up to her eyes for a few moments to gaze at the glowing blue liquid inside. The skill she exhibited in jabbing the sharp needle into her forearm was that of an artisan, the mechanical click of the plunger extruding the liquid into her veins drawing a relieved sigh from the woman.

She looked over at her friend only after she’d returned the empty needle to her pocket. The piteous gaze she was met with caused her to lower her own to the floor as she straightened. “Ah . . let’s get you inside. She might come back.” Amelia followed her to the door and they both stepped inside, flipping the security alarm when the door had been firmly shut.

“You know what that does to you right?” Amelia murmured sadly.

“Yes, but I know what I’m doing.”

“I hope for both our sakes you’re right.” She briefly squeezed her friend’s hand before making her way down the hall and out of sight, leaving Bernadette with a troubled expression as she tapped the glass of the empty hypo in her pocket.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bernadette woke in the early morning, her right hand on fire. At least that’s what it felt like. She held it in front of her and inspected the angry red veins glowing from the tips of her fingers to the junction of her elbow.
A strangled cry clawed its way out of her throat and she stumbled in to the bathroom. She immediately hit the tap and shoved her hand under the ice water. An angry hiss filled that air as well as cloud of steam and she let out a sigh of relief.
Plasmids occasionally had adverse affects. There was always a risk involved though. The woman made her way back to her bed and lay down with a sigh.
Just as she was dozing off her phone rang and she put it to her ear with a raspy growl. “Yeah?
“We got another one ma’am. You’re gonna wanna come see it.”
“All right. I’ll be there in a minute.” She slammed the phone down and rolled out of bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She stepped out of the empty train and walked briskly through the sliding doors of Fort Frolic. Even at this early hour a few stragglers stumbled down the hall.  She reached the theater and pushed through the doors.
Before her, on stage, stood a lone dancer. She moved oddly, her movements erratic and uncoordinated.  As Bernadette moved her way down the aisle she noticed something.
The dancer’s feet weren’t touching the stage.
The blond gasped at this realization and bounded up onto the stage. She was met with a horrible sight.
The dancer was Blanch Lerouge. Serrated hooks had been dug into her skin and wires, so thin that she hadn’t noticed them before, weaved through the loops at the tops of the hooks that suspended her.  Despite the gruesome sight before her Bernadette stepped closer and peered up into the catwalks above the stage.
A cruel mechanism composed of pullies and gears turned Blanche into a macabre marionette.  Suddenly the body lurched and the blond detective leapt back in horror and surprise.
The routine she’d been audience too earlier ran its course again and Bernadette watched closely, occasionally stepping quickly to the side to avoid the corpse dancer. Something became eerily familiar to her as she watched the woman.
She’d seen this dance before, the night before at the genetic ballet. This was a sick parody of that performance. She was shocked out of her reverie when a man barreled past her and proceeded to cling to the dead dancer. He sobbed unintelligibly, partly because he was speaking French and partly because he has his face buried in the chest of the corpse.
Bernadette just managed to restrain the grimace of disgust when her gaze honed in on a splotch of red on the man’s collar. She reached out quickly and dislodged the clue, holding it up to her eyes. “A rose pedal” she murmured to herself and quickly hid it in her pocket.
“um . . .sir. You’re going to have to step away from the body. This is a crime scene and you might be contaminating evidence.” The detective managed to dislodge the distraught man from the body. “And uh . . who are you?”
“Me?” He seemed to forgot for a moment. “Oh! I am Jacque. I am Blanche’s Fiance.” He declared with a flourish in his heavy French accent.
“I see . . .” Bernadette purred and crossed her arms across her chest. A jealous fiancé perhaps? It was not unusual especially with the French. A crime of passion.
“Oooh my little flower.” Jacque lamented and teared up again. “I cannot see her ‘zhis way. I must go. You will tell me when you found out who did zhis, no?”
“Of course.” Bernadette nodded and breathed a sigh of relief when the man disappeared out of the theater doors.

Author's Note

As you can see it's not finished. I'd like to see if its work continuing and if there's anything that might need changing.