Rapture Noir: Undertow

I first met Wren on the day I arrived in Rapture. I, naively, sought help from a man claiming to be a guide and she was quick to set me straight. My 'guide' was a pimp, drug dealer, and a murderer, someone who lures young women in with promises of information, fame, or whatever they desire and sends them through the meat-grinder of Rapture's underbelly. Wren knew the score and helped me acclimate to my new surroundings. She even helped me get a job singing at the Kashmir. We were fast friends.

Those were good times. The staff at the Kashmir were friendly enough, and Wren treated me little the younger sister she never had. We even looked the part, although she was slightly older and had sharper features. The job also allowed me free time to pursue my purpose in coming to Rapture.

He had his normal life, I'd finally be able to have mine. Normal, simple, for the both of us. Then things changed.
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It was an almost numbingly average night at the Kashmir. Wren and I were sharing drinks and gossip with with one of the other girls, a tall, boyish woman named Clarice with short red hair styled into an ocean of pin curls.

Clarice tapped her cigarette on the ash tray and let out a peal of laughter. "And then I said 'Honey, you couldn't even buy the day trip!"

"Oh Clarice, you're terrible!" Wren exclaimed, playfully slapping Clarice's shoulder.

"You keep breaking his heart like that and one day he won't be coming back." I said, gulping down my drink.

Wren readjusted herself in my direction and leveled her cigarette at me "Elizabeth, sweetie you're a bit of a heart breaker yourself."

Smiling wryly I replied. "I have discerning tastes."

Clarice shifted the conversation. "Speaking of taste, don't you have a big date tonight with that artist of yours?"

Wren raised an eyebrow. "Who told you about that?"

"Please, he's been bragging about his new work all over town."

"OH! I see how it is. Well, I'll have you know it's not anything like that." Wren replied, wrinkling her nose slightly.

I laughed at this and gently set down my drink. "Well girls, I should go make myself presentable. I'm up next."

"Have fun up there." Clarice replied as she made her way past me to the bar.

Wren stood up and gave me hug. "Elizabeth, sweetie. Knock 'em dead tonight."
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I prowled out onto the stage as the music began to build. I was wearing a long silk dress, red to match my lipstick and the rose in my hair. I have to admit that I enjoyed the attention it brought me. I wasted only a moment to flash a quick smile before I began my song.

"Well I need something,
to soothe this pain
to cool the love-a you pump through my veins
'cause I'm burnin'
I'm burning up for you"

Wren waved at me as she exited through the broad doors of the Kashmir, but I barely payed it any attention. Not because I didn't care, but because there he was in the audience. There he was, watching me. I continued my performance in earnest.

"And I need something
to quench this fire
before it becomes
a funeral pyre
Yeah I'm burnin'
with yearnin' so much for you"

And that was the last time I ever saw Wren alive.
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It was easy enough to sneak into the morgue. It was just a matter of being at the right place at the right time. Stepping into the room I made my way over to Wren's cold body. She didn't deserve this kind of brutality.

Brushing an errant strand of hair off of her face I began to sift through the possibilities, the 'when' and 'where'. It's funny, in a sick kind of way. A million million worlds, infinite possibilities. But all too often you find out the one you really want is out of your reach. Somewhere, somehow, she always found her way here. This city would always win in the end. Did it even matter if she found and stopped one who killed her? If it wasn't him it was someone or something else suicide, an overdose, some thug with a knife and a hatred for women, a twisted splicer looking for his fix of ADAM. No, it did matter. It had to matter. I couldn't save Wren, but I couldn't just let that man get away with what he did to my friend.

Maintenance Junction 17, also known as Pauper's Drop. That's where the report said her body was found. I had never been there, but I had heard about it. A ramshackle neighborhood for the workers of the Atlantic Express, any anyone else too poor to afford living in the 'real' Rapture. Not much chance of Rapture's security caring about just another murder out of sight and out of mind to Rapture's elite.

The back alley behind the Fishbowl Diner. Easy enough to find, but I didn't look forward to what I was going to have to do next. I inhaled deeply and watched the last minutes of Wren's life. I watched a slovenly looking man with red hair lead her into an alleyway with promises of drugs and ADAM, watched her tease and beg for her fix, watched him turn on her when she was at her most vulnerable. The way brutalized her was something I couldn't imagine anyone in the world deserving. As a feeling of nausea swept over me as I heard her last muffled cries for help. Slumping against the alleyway I closed the tear and rested my head in both hands.

Had I even known the real Wren? I had heard the rumors, her side jobs, her drug habits. But I never believed it. Or maybe I just wanted not to believe? I shook my head and stood up. The details didn't change a thing, Wren was my friend and she deserved better. At least I had a name now. "Chucky" Finley, the killer called himself.

This next part I couldn't just solve with tears: finding where he lived. For this I had to rely on good old fashioned footwork and inquiries. Thankfully Finley was something of a neighborhood menace, public fights, noise complaints. The best type of reputation an investigator could hope for in a suspect. I smiled at that thought. Must be in our blood. After an hour I was able to track him down to a run down apartment complex. Apartment complex was being generous, it seemed more like a shantytown.

Finding the 'whens' I wanted I opened up a tear outside his room, now several years younger and currently unoccupied. Earlier in his career Finlay took out a substantial ADAM loan which he kept in a dresser drawer. It was simply a matter of taking the ADAM from his drawer, leaving him unable to pay back his loans. In it's stead I left Wren's pistol and one bullet, more mercy then he ever gave those people he killed. Closing the tear I stared at the abandoned room in front of me. There was no satisfaction in what I just did. In the end I hadn't really changed anything. Wren was still dead, she just didn't know it yet.

When I returned home I did something that I hadn't done since I first arrived in Rapture; I cried myself to sleep. I knew what was coming. In the morning I received a frantic call from Clarice.

Last night Wren died of an accidental overdose of sleeping pills.