She tried not to wilt under the obvious leering, instead taking a small breath and looking him over in turn, with her eyebrow arched as if in mild distaste. The scar on his arm caught her attention briefly, before she put on what she thought of as a "professional" smile as he replied to her query.

"Very well t-then Mr.-..ahem, Lewis, she dipped her head slightly in a nod, her eye following him as he went to the door, narrowing slightly as she saw his hand hover near the lock. He may outweigh her by over a hundred pounds, but she fully intended to scream and try to put her pencil in his eye should he try anything untoward. Anne relaxed visibly as he moved away from the still unlocked door, and put the counter back between them as he returned to his work.

"Very w-well then. I will t-try not to take up t-too much of that time t-then, she replied in a slightly strained, though friendly manner, her pencil bearing hand waving gently as she spoke. "And y-yes, I would indeed like t-to hear your story in r-regards to the unfortunate Ms. C-chapman, if you do not m-mind telling it?"

As she spoke, she flipped open the notebook and readied her pencil to take notes, as if she was back in class as she had been earlier in the day(later in the century?). She was slightly ashamed to admit to herself she found this subject vastly more interesting than Environmental Sciences...

"There isn't too much to say about it, I already told the boobies all about it." He saw that she visibly relaxed and felt that she was overly skitterish or so he assumed by her stutter. Then he supposed that the Ripper had several people on edge these days and figured that it made a bit of sense.

"She, Ms. Chapman, came in here not fifteen minutes before she was killed. She bought a meat buy and I'd think nothing of it really save for the fact that she was arguing with a man, about my stature thinner, dressed in black and a neatly trimmed beard. He seemed quiet upset with her and wanted her to go home but she refused and the pair argued back and forth.

"The lady was one of those street walkers, she stopped in here a few times before around this time later in the evenings before I'd lock up for the night. Always got the same thing, one meat pie, she paid for it and left.

"Well, I did see her again while heading home later that night. She went down an alley not far from here and I just assumed that she had a john with her, then I saw the bearded man, Leather Apron I think the police referred to him later on, head down the same alley.

"I didn't think much of it until I was nearly a block away and heard her scream. I rushed back and when going down the alley I saw ... well I've been in her Royal Majesty's navy for eight years and saw nothing like it."

He shook his head. "They brought in the bearded fellow but let him go saying that he had an alibi, seems that he was always getting into problems with prostitutes but was guilty of only his cons."

The pencil in her hand, as old fashioned as it may be, was a blur on the page as she scribbled down what the verbose baker related to her.

15 minutes prior to murder last seen...victim fairly regular customer...arrived with man (thin, black clothes, trimmed beard)....arguing...Leather Apron...bearded man released by police... her mind worked just as furiously as her writing hand, piecing together the statement against what knowledge she had of the case, gleaned from books of her time. Nothing concrete yet, of course, but another niggling suspicion was forming in the back of her brain, dots starting to connect. She glanced up as the baker wound down from his telling, wincing slightly at his description of the sight, thinking back to the pictures she'd seen.

"I s-see...thank you for your s-statement M-...Lewis. If I m-may ask, could you clarify if t-the man you saw s-speaking with the l-late Ms. Chapman in y-your store is the same m-man you assumed was a j-john, or w-was he following after h-her and another m-man down the alley?" she arched her brow slightly in curiosity, trying to get a clearer image in her mind of the scene. "Further, this b-bearded man...did you perchance n-notice if he had long f-forelocks, such as many J-jews have?"

One thing that hadn't been adding up had been the fact that Anne Chapman died on the 8th of September and the date on the paper she saw said it was the 16th of October. Clearly the dates were wrong as if she were caught up in a memory that had believed stoicly that Ms. Chapman perished on the same day that the From Hell letter had been sent.

Then of course there had been figuring out what role Mr. Lusk was playing. Was he here boss? Did he work for a newspaper in this reality? There were several questions that came up though the atmosphere seemed to be the same straight down to the foggy conditions.

So this wasn't identical or rather was not precise as if someone was recalling events with an erroneous memory perhaps? But what did anyone know of old Spring Heeled Jack? Most of his victims were prostitutes, not all but most. There were several theories about his identy going from that of him being a surgeon to carve up bodies as he did or even a nobleman to a crazed royal locked away.

Lewis considered for a moment, his hand rubbing his chin as he reflected on her question for a moment before answering as if seeing things for the first time all over again. "The guy seemed to be a brother or boyfriend of some sort, not a customer come to think of it. He wasn't trying to solicit her or anything but wanted to get her home.

"Since I never seen him before I just figured that he might have been a john upset about something. I figured on my way back that she either solicited someone or was solicited for a quickie in one of the alleys and saw her dipping down there. I didn't see her with anyone though I did see the other guy follow her, the one she was arguing with not long before, follow her. I didn't think much of it until I heard the scream a short while later.

"That's when ... well, I found her ..." he sighed, dropped his hand then glanced back at her. "I didn't think of anything of his hair style so I very much doubt that he was of that faith."

Her mouth quirked into a small frown as she considered his re-iteration, the facts in her head not adding up at all. Either the books she had read were wrong, or this situation was different from the events as reported. If this were a dream that would explain everything, but she wasn't so sure that she was dreaming. Perhaps she should focus on that question rather than trying to chase this story, despite her apparent profession in this world.

"I s-see. This individual s-seemed to h-have a deeper connection t-to Ms. Chapman than a r-regular john would...and d-despite his apparent presence on t-the scene, the police have c-cleared him of suspicion." she mused aloud, slowly twirling the pencil in her fingers as she considered the information. In the event that she did wish to continue playing along, perhaps a trip to the constabulary responsible for the crime scene would prove fruitful. But first, she needed to figure out some other, more pressing questions.

"T-thank you very much for y-your co-operation Lewis. May I cite you as a s-source should my article m-make it to publication? Or would you p-prefer to remain unnamed?" she slid the notepad back into her bag, but kept the pencil handy and absently spinning, just in case she should need it.

Play the part for now, test a few things later. Need to find a place to sit and think for a bit without being bothered... she thought as she looked at the baker, barely listening to his answer now that she had what she needed from him. She didn't like the way he had looked at her, though he seemed friendly enough....but no sense taking chances.

"That's about right," Lewis confirmed as he rubbed his chin in brief thought as he heard her thinking aloud. He ran through things from her perspective as she was going through everything. He paused in his thinking for a moment though.

"Oh, you misunderstood me, Leather Apron swears he wasn't there when they had him at the station and has credible witnesses saying that he was elsewhere but other than that you've got it. Or so that's how I've seen things anyway."

He allowed her to reasses her thoughts then smiled and waved his hand in an off handed way. "Sure, I have no problem with you mentioning me. Just if you would, could you mention the baker? A little publicity never hurts."

So things may or may not have been a dream. Needing the time to think about it, Anne could have done so here if the large man hadn't given her the chills that was. Thankfully the door was unlocked if she needed to make a dash for it though Lewis seemed gentle enough, perhaps it was that military background that made him seem dangerous.

She could swear that he was gazing at her pad as she slid it back into her bag though. It was as if he were trying to discern what had been written on it and when caught in the act he grinned as if his hand were caught in a cookie jar so to speak.

But Lewis excused himself for a moment as he checked on the loaf no more then 20' from them baking in the oven. They had not been speaking long though so the bread was in no danger in burning. Observing him his movements were rather stiff though quick and even.

She paused as he corrected her interpretation of events, and got back out the note pad to make a few rapid alterations. So the man only had an alibi created through "Credible" witnesses. Curious, though not terribly surprising when she thought on it. Perhaps this "Leather Apron" fellow had some wealthy or influential connections...

"I s-see. Thank you for the c-clarification." she smiled gratefully and nodded to his request, "Of c-course. I will be s-sure to mention your business in m-my article."

Anne glanced back towards the door as she slid the pad back into her bag, just catching him following the motion out of the corner of her eye. Odd, but not terribly suspicious. If the man was as barely literate as he claimed he certainly had a right to be curious about how she would portray him in her article....assuming she ever actually wrote it.

"Again, thank y-you for your time Lewis. Have a p-pleasant evening." she offered the man a small wave as he turned back to the oven and promptly used the opportunity to make her exit, careful to shut the door behind herself. Once outside, she took a brief look around for anyone showing any unhealthy interest then headed off in the direction of the nearest gas streetlamp.

As she slipped out into the London streets a heavy fog set in. There had been a chill to the air and as she orientated herself to the direction of the nearest street lamp she had time to reflex on matters. She could that it had been getting on in the evening, the sun was setting by this point or already had and with the fog vision had been restricted as the sky darkened and the first lights came on.

Eerie globes of light hung there in the air though even there light barely pierced the fog so that only the nearest where visible. Anne headed towards these. She found that no one had particularly been watching the bakery shop or her enter it as far as she could see anyway.

But no one seemed to be out, the streets empty save for herself, people scared of the Ripper? That was unknown but in a city such as London someone was bound to be out somewhere. Anne saw no one though and a feeling of dread began to permeate her since leaving the bakery.

She got the sense that someone had been watching her through the fog, or perhaps that had been her own paranoia at work. But soon after feeling this sensation she thought she could hear foot falls on the cobblestone pavement.

They echoed coming from all sides at once, or so it seemed though the pace seemed to match hers. When she stopped she heard nothing but as she moved she could hear them a knew even matching her pace as if to mask their sound with her own. But these sounded heavier though as if there were a lot of weight behind them.

Someone was definitely following her and due to the fog there was no telling of whom or even where they were coming from.

I might as well be blind in this mess... she thought to herself unhappily, squinting her eye towards the diffuse glow of the nearest streetlamp. Not to mention I've no idea where I'm going...

Anne sighed and shuffled towards the light, furtively glancing back over her shoulder as she moved. She didn't like this, not one bit. Dream, vision, or whatever it was. The situation and the bloody (turning British are we?) fog were beginning to creep her out. She rubbed her arms slowly against the chill, pencil still grasped in her hand as a makeshift weapon...a rather pitiful one but beggars can't be choosers.

She paused halfway to the light and glanced around, certain someone was watching her. Of course she saw nothing through the fog but still... As she began walking again, the hairs on the back of her neck rose as she heard (at least thought she heard) a faint echo to every footfall, slightly out of rhythm with her own.

She froze again, ears straining to catch the other person she believed to be about, but to no avail, as the footsteps halted as soon as her own did. Figment of my imagination... she decided, slowly turning back towards the light and moving towards it with slightly greater speed.

No, definitely real! She inhaled sharply as she heard the heavier tread once more. Beginning to be more than a little frightened she sped up further, nearly running in her quiet, shuffling way. If she could at least get to the streetlight, she'd have some warning if someone tried to come after her.

As she sped up so too did the sound. As she virtually ran forth she could hear the sound growing louder in her ears then it happened. Unexpectedly something grasped at her left arm, fingers firmly pressing into the fabric of the trench coat she was wearing while she was close enough to the street light to see a figure a little shorter than her.

A man? Yes. a man. His gut protruded over his belt by a few inches and he wore fingerless faded green gloves on his hands. Something gleamed in the light, he was holding something in his left hand a knife?

It was metallic, a small silver colored scalpel! Her pencil seemed inferior against it and in that split second that flight or fight response had been tripped facts pounded into her mind. The man was not wielding a knife but rather a tin cup that jingled slightly as his arm moved.

He looked at her with dark brown eyes, possibly seeing the fright there, possible not with all the fog obscuring vision even at this close range.

"Spare a shilling?" The man asked, obviously a beggar with a few coins in his tin cup. But she no longer heard the foot falls. The man before her did not seem to be out of breath either in the least so it was doubtful that he was the one following her.

Her heartbeat hammered in her ears as she broke into a run, the footfalls chasing her through the fog. She nearly shrieked as she felt fingers close around her arm, the sound strangled and emerging as little more than a whimper. Her eye went wide as she caught the gleam of metal in the light and she struggled weakly to pull away, ready to stab wherever she could with her meager excuse for a weapon.

No no no no no! she screamed in her head, forcing herself to pull short as facts overrode terror. Not a blade, but a cup, not a murderer, but a beggar. She tried to calm herself, shuddering slightly as she tried to pull her arm free of the man's grasp. In her panic and brief struggle her hair had snagged behind her ear, uncovering the burned portion of her face. Hurriedly, she reached up to brush it back into some semblance of order.

"Y-y-yes, I'm sure I c-can. J-just...give me a m-moment p-please." she took a deep breath after replying, and looked up and down the street warily, seeing if there was anyone else moving about at the moment. This man wasn't the one following her, she was fairly sure...

"Another s-shilling for you if y-you can point m-me towards the n-nearest police b-box, or s-station." she murmured, digging in her bag for anything that looked like a coinpurse.

She found money alright and had a good amount of coins in strang 19th century make up. Though as she first looked for anyone on the streets they seemed empty now save for the pair of them. It had been quiet on the streets and while the man before her let go of her arm as she shrugged off his grasp she could see the horror gleaming in his eyes.

It was about then that she realized that he was focusing on her facial scars. "T'Thanks," he muttered then after a moment he considered her question and pointed into the fog.

"There aren't many boobies in this part of Whitechapel but if you cross the street go down about a block ... er four street lamps and hook your first right you'll come to one after going straight for a few blocks. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes on foot from her. Quicker by horse back."

He explained all this though his focus had been on her scars until she fixed her hair or suffered his stares. But he dropped the coins into his cup, the pair chinking softly against the few that were already in there.

Gazing at the man he seemed to be in his late 30's and had been missing a finger on his left hand, the ring finger. Funny to consider it now after the brief bout of tension but the baker was scarred and this man mutalated in a small fashion. Only George seemed "whole" so far.

She looked back to the man after making certain she could see no one else, cringing slightly as she saw the look on his face. She patted her hair once more to be completely sure she was covered, looking away from the man as he gave her directions.

15 minutes on foot...best to make it in 10 if I can manage it... she decided silently. She wanted to be somewhere safe, and badly. She needed time to think without hands reaching out of the fog to grab her, for charity or otherwise. She glanced back at the man, trying not to let the hurt show in her expression at the way his eyes tracked back to her scarred features.

"T-thank you for the d-directions sir. I w-wish you g-good fortune t-this day and m-more to come." she murmured, sincerely but a tad dejectedly. She noted his missing finger and felt sadder still. She had thought someone else with a deformity would show more sympathy for her own plight...but apparently she had been wrong.

Nodding politely to the beggar, and securing her bag once more (pencil still clutched in hand), she set out as he had directed, crossing the street and setting a hurried pace towards the next street light. She kept her eye moving constantly, and her ears perked to any further sounds of pursuit. She had a goal now...she just had to make it there safely.

The man vanished into the fog as she proceeded on. Odd that he would view her with revulsion or perhaps horror but maybe it had been living on the streets at the mercy of others that hardened his heart a little. In any case as she went on she only heard her footfalls and that of the homeless man until he receeded away and could not be heard any further.

She had reached her destination in time but it was as if the fog had eyes, staring at her, watching her as if waiting until she was vulnerable to strike out at her. But she made it to a red bricked building with a trio of steps leading up it's front.

Flanked by two lamps the building showed all the signs of a government building given the double doors at front and the fancy gargoyle relief sculptures on the roof. But the doors where unlocked opening into a large room, there were three detectives here, or she assumed they were detectives.

Papers and folders had decorated tables and a uniformed booby could be seen wondering about so she assumed that she was in the right place.

"Can I help you?" One of the men asked, he was older than the rest with a full busy mustache that had the traces of gray in it's blond hair. He was bald and larger than most men being fairly muscled. His blue eyes regarded her for a moment.

Her nerves were on edge, causing her eye to dart towards every slight sound, every half-imagined glimpse of motion. She counted out the street lights as she reached them, her pace slowly dropping to something between a walk and a jog as she heard no footsteps matching hers this time. She could almost relax...if it weren't for that stifling feeling of being watched. It was almost palpable, like fingertips just barely touching her skin. For a moment, Anne wondered if she was going insane.

At the sight of the police station the building fear and anxiety dwindled, not dying completely, but at least held at bay for the moment. Somewhere she should be safe, for now at least. She paused outside the double doors to glance around warily and take a deep breath. A moments pause more to make sure her hair was arranged to conceal her scars, and she felt ready to face the officers inside.

"Ah, good evening s-sir. I am Annie Rhipsime with t-the Central New Agency. I w-was wondering if I could ask s-some questions regarding the recent m-murder of one Ms. Chapman?" she tried to be as forthright and confident as possible, fighting down the worst of her stutter and putting on a bright, somewhat shaken smile. She just needed a few moments to get her nerves settled and she'd be fine, she was sure. She dug out her notepad and opened it to look as professional as possible, and gave the room a speculative examination as she waited for the man to respond. I just hope they haven't gotten clever with placing mirrors...