"I'm sorry, miss but we're not doing interviews with the press." The large man began but overhearing him one of the younger gentleman approached waving off the big guy.

"I'll take this Wade." He waited a moment before the large man busied himself with other tasks then turned to the woman. His green eyes swept over her and in a second he determined that she seemed legitimate enough for his tastes. This had been an age where there were no press badges and communication was poorer but the man asked her to follow him.

He lead her down the hall to an office, one it was a plaque that read Detective Gary Armstrong. Before the little neat desk where two chairs though to her dread there was a mirror hanging upon the north wall with several pictures taped to it. Several of the Ripper's victims and while she was not close to the mirror she could see that one or two of them where out of place ... victims that shouldn't have been dead yet but judging by the rather graphic images they were no more for this world.

Gary sat down behind the desk, took up one of the folders on it and hatily read something inside before closing the file again and looking at her. "So .. Anne, what do you wish to know that we haven't told your kind before?"

She started to apologize for wasting their time, then stopped as the younger man approached. While he was waiting for the first speaker to resume working, she took the chance to take a deep, calming breath and settle herself down. She was safe now. Nothing to worry about but playing her part, and trying to figure out how to wake up, or get back to school.

As the officer looked her over, she straightened her back and lifted her chin in a show of confidence, thinking reporterish thoughts as hard as she could. Apparently this tactic proved successful, as he waved for her to follow and led her down a hallway to a private office. She glanced around the room curiously, then hastily averted her gaze from the mirror before it could trigger a vision.

Neither the time, nor the place for that.... she mused, quite sure a sudden episode of standing catatonia would do little to earn the officer's trust. Though the brief glance had confirmed for her that this version of 1888 London was indeed different than the one she had read of. The timing was off, the murders out of order. It seemed this version of the Ripper was more violent than her own, as his timetable was quite a bit stepped up in comparison.

She took a seat, grateful to be off of her feet (how had Victorian women walked in these boots?) and surreptitiously brushed her hair down over the side of her face, a gesture of habit.

"Ah, t-thank you for taking the time t-to talk to me Detective. W-what I'd like to ask y-you about is an individual apparently of interest in the R-ripper murders, known in your c-circles as "Leather Apron" I believe? Particularly, h-how is that he w-was freed of s-suspicion by "credible" witnesses, when you've another t-that places him at t-the scene of Ms. Chapman's m-murder." she spoke briskly and directly, trying to keep her tone light as if mildly curious. Hopefully, she could keep him interested without offending him. Perhaps even necessitate a brief recess on his part to g-gather further information...so she could risk a good look at that mirror.

"Leather Apron?" The young detective seemed to be baffled for a second there then viewed things in the context of her statement and considered things. "You must mean John. Yes, Mister Pizer was arrested but he had been released. His alibi checked out so it was assumed that there was someone who looked like him milling about.

"John had been notorious in the Whitchapel slums as a fairly abusive sort. He was getting himself into all manners of trouble with assaults and arrested for a con or two that he pulled but nothing more than that. He had been cleared though, he was gambling with the Duke of York who cleared him of the crimes since he was with the later when he was supposedly killing Miss Chapman.

"There must be a dozen or so other witnesses that could testify that John was nowhere at the scene of the crime. Apparently his brother, John's that is, introduced him to the Duke. Everyone knows that the Duke likes to gamble so it stands within reason that he would do such a thing. I'm not fully versed on things, give me a second I'll be right back."

Gary left the office and thus Anne was free to look around for a few minutes as he fished up a file with all the case details and came back into the room a few minutes later. He opened the file, read something to reconfirm it in his mind then slowly nodded again.

"Yeah ... so unless the Duke bribed all his gambling buddies it's doubtful that John was even there. There's no reason for him to do so though, as you know the Duke has been hit hard for gambling with commoners as it is so telling the truth in this matter seems to have done more harm to him then good."

Anne nodded slowly as the detective explained the situation from the viewpoint of the police. Her hand moved slowly, taking down some notes of the important pieces, particularly where they didn't match up with McCellan's account. Perhaps it was simply a case of mistaken identity after all. Given the fog in this city, she could hardly expect anyone to recognize someone else at any sort of distance.

Alibi via Duke of York....known gambler....Royal Conspiracy theory?...doesn't account for dates...John Pizer...brother (maybe identical?)....twin theory... she jotted down after listening to him. The timing may be off, but there was little sense it completely discarding the theories of her "version" of the case.

She nodded quickly when he rose to leave, and as soon as the door closed was out of her seat. She shuffled hurriedly to the mirror, and first took a good look at all of the various photos attached to it. After getting a general idea of where they were in the supposed order of things, she took a deep breath and forced herself to meet her reflection's gaze.

...blood, glittering metal, screams, so much blood, fear, hot copper smell, running, running, blood, blood, blood...

The vision lasted barely a moment, but was powerful enough to rock her back on her heels, sending her stumbling back to her chair. She looked at her gloved hands unsteadily, fully expecting to see the blood from her vision dripping from them. It wasn't, thankfully, but she was shaking like a leaf in a high wind, and that would not do if the detective came back soon.

Breathe....breathe....breathe....breathe... she chanted inside her head, forcing the sights, smells and sounds of her episode down to worry about later. She heard the officer returning and hurriedly straightened herself in the seat, raising her notepad and looking over her notes intently, as if she'd been doing so the entire time. Aside from a definite paling to her skin, and the slight shake to her hands, she concealed the raw terror barely in check within her...which would have to do, for now.

"Are you aware of t-this Mr. Pizer having any r-relation to Ms. Chapman p-prior to her death? Also, d-does this Mr. Pizer have a brother, p-perhaps?" she queried, trying to keep on task. She couldn't let him see how afraid she was. She'd never be able to properly explain, after all.

Gary seemed nonethewiser as he returned. He had no idea about the vision and so he had flipped over a few pieces of paper in the file he brought back to the chamber until he came to yellowish ones, obviously older, that he focused on. He scrolled through the material as he nodded slightly.

"Mr. Pizer was connect it seems, he was arrested about two years back for smack Ms. Chapman around a bit. He was running a scam posing as a salesman, Anne was his accomplice but things broke up for one reason or another ... says her that Leather Apron, John, got involved in opium around that time and had even a worse disposition if you'd believe."

Gary fell silent as he read. "A younger brother ..." he paused for a moment then lowered the file, his gaze flickering towards her. "Says that his brother died three years back before he was even involved with Ms.
chapman, odd ..."

He broke off topic though as he gazed at her again. "The city isn't safe with the likes of this guy going about and it's starting to grow late. Would you mind if I walked you home?"

He didn't notice.... she breathed a silent sigh of relief. Her eye tracked his movements idly, curious at the age of the fragments he moved around his desk. She tapped her pencil against the pad thoughtfully as the detective explained Pizer's earlier relationship with Chapman...and the existence of a younger brother, presumed dead some three years earlier. It seemed this particular theory was solid, at least at first glance. No way of knowing if it was the correct one however.

"Yes t-that is odd. T-thank you for the information d-detective." she maintained her air of polite poise, well, at least thought she did. And now it seemed the detective wanted her gone...unfortunately she had no idea where "home" was in this world! Thinking furiously, she made some notes on the pad to stall for time.

Where to go, where to go....ah! she had a sudden epiphany. Mr. Lusk was expecting her back anyway, so why not return to his office? It should be safe there...right?

"N-not at all detective. I w-would welcome the accompaniment." she murmured with a grateful smile. Perhaps an armed escort would discourage whoever was watching and following her. Or at the very least keep beggars from grabbing her arm.

"Excellent." Gary grabbed his coat and threw it on. The chill of the foggy London streets settled in causing him to shiver once they had been outside. He got use to it though and the pair proceed on.

They had encountered a few other people along the way, street walkers, though nothing remarkable approach either as they made their way towards Mr. Lusk's office. It was darker now so the sun had dipped behind the horizon indicating it was just settling early or was it later?

But regardless the pair continued on guided by the street lamps for what little illumination they provided. They entered into a warehouse district, Gary assuring her that it was quicker than the street they had been on since they could cut through it and be at the rear of buildings on of which had been her destination rather than following the street and taking the long way around.

Added protection had it's merits though. No one approached, in fact, recognized as a detective people had moved away from the pair as they traveled onward. Most were of the minor illegal types anyway that didn't want to draw attention to their craft.

Half way through the block or so of buildings making up the warehouse district a shrill scream intruded on the silence.

Gary's head snapped to attention, a revolver appearing in his hand as he looked to the west. He had an easier time in dealing with the London fog it appeared since he seemed to hone in on something.

Rapidly he approached, the downside of a police escort when it came to danger was that they were obligated to more towards danger not away from it. "There!" Gary pointed at one of the warehouses that he could barely see in the fog as he approached it.

There were boards on the windows though those sealing the door had been removed. He paused outside. "Wait here." Before he vanished inside.

She put her pad and pencil away and gathered her bag as well. Her shaking hands slowly settled as the detective readied himself to leave, a sense of security stealing the edge of the fear nagging at her mind. She was with a policeman, what could go wrong?

As the pair moved out into the darkening night, Anne shuffled along just behind the detective, staying in his shadow, thinking unobtrusive thoughts. At his suggestion to slip through the warehouse district she offered a wary nod, trusting in his judgment, but a bit uneasy regarding the locale just the same. She actually found it easier to relax, oddly enough, as she saw the various dubious personages slink away at the sight of the man escorting her. No one wants to bother him... she considered, thankful she'd taken him up on his offer.

The scream drew her head up sharply, her eye widening. Had that been..? And just like that the detective was off like a dog on a scent, revolver appearing in his hand like a rabbit out of a magician's hat. With no other choice she followed, clutching her bag like a shield before her, scanning the foggy darkness for anything approaching.



At his words she gaped and tried to stutter out a denial, a demand that he not leave her alone out here....but, far too late as the man dashed into the darkness of the warehouse. She had two choices now...follow, or stay. Follow and she would still have the protection of the detective, though she'd be walking into the likely scene of another murder with the killer still about. Stay and she'd be away from the immediate danger...but the killer might flee right into her.

Looking around frantically, she chose option 3, Hide. A crate, some barrels, anything to put around her and keep her out of sight while giving her a view of the doors. Finally, she spotted a fallen wooden overhang, once covering the very door the detective had entered through perhaps. Anne scrambled under the rotted wood and adjusted it to conceal her from the view of the street, the comforting stone of the warehouse wall at her back. Carefully she inched out until she could just barely see the doorway through a knothole in one of the boards. One hand covered her mouth to muffle the harsh sound of her panicked breathing as she waited...hoping the detective would be alright.

Gary disappeared into the darkened warehouse leaving Anne behind. The fog seemed heavier without him present as if it were sentient and wrapping itself about her as she moved from the place. It was still though. No one had arrived here in response pf the scream either moving away from it or no one being around, it was the same thing either way.

Moving to hid and yet have a view of the door each second felt like an eternity in this place. Waiting to see if the detective had been alright dispelled the earlier sense of security that he had exuded. But time ticked by and still the detective had not returned from within.

Then after five, maybe even ten minutes, it was hard to say without a watch, someone exited the building. The clothing appeared white and crimson at the front - no dark as the figure removed what had to be an apron from his or her chest before drawing a dark coat around their large frame.

In a hand was a knife smeared with dark ichor. The figure paused and seemed to be looking for something as it dropped the apron to the ground swing it's gaze from right to left.

"Where are you ..." a whispered voice, only the fact that it was masculine had been evident. Then the figure disappeared into the fog.

She stared at the doorway, almost unblinking as the silence dragged on and on. What was going on? Had the detective found the killer? Or had the killer found the detective? She shivered violently and hugged her free arm around herself to keep from shaking her makeshift hiding place.

The tension grew as the time stretched on with no sign of life from the building, her entire world narrowing down to that one shadowed doorway. She could hear her heartbeat hammering in her ears, feel the strain in her muscles from being rigid with fear for so long. It was almost a relief then, when the figure appeared, the strength fleeing her limbs as the tension finally broke.

Then she caught sight of the red mess making up the front of the figure and hand to bite down hard on her hand to keep from screaming. A bloody apron...it was him, the Ripper! Anne froze completely, not even breathing as the person dropped their apron to the ground and swung their gaze from side to side, searching for something.

Please don't see me please don't see me please don't see me, she pleaded silently, trying to be as still and small as she could behind her meager hiding place.



She nearly shrieked once more as she whispered words reached her ears. He knew she was here! He was looking for her! Panic flooded her veins, urging her to bolt from hiding and run, run as far and fast as she could away from this fiend in human flesh. But she remained still, a deer in the proverbial headlights.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the ominous man vanished into the thick fog. Anne waited, certain it was a trick, that the man was still watching, counting on her to move once she felt safe. As minutes trickled by once more, she finally worked up the courage to slide out of her hiding place. She stood poised to flee, then carefully, quietly tiptoed to the warehouse door, glancing behind herself before she peered inside.

"Detective? Detective?" she whispered into the gloom, furtively checking over her shoulder once more as she stepped into the building.

Trick or not the seconds turned into minutes without a thing happening until she forced herself closer to the entrance of the warehouse. When she peered inside the gloomy building she had not immediately see anything though as her eyes focused to the darkness she could begin making out things.

A wooden staircase lead up to a second floor where at the top of the steps was a lump - no, a body. It was Gary, was her instant thought and as her eye peeled over the little light up there from a lit oil lamp resting on an old window sill she thought that she could recognize the jacket that Gary had donned.

There was a coppery scent in the air here too, blood! Though as she began to diffuse the shadows there were two things that her adapted vision focused on. One was the fact that there was a room on the second floor, the door partially opened. The other had been the fact that there was a large circular stain on the front of the jacket.

But other than the scene before her everything seemed still almost too quiet. The sense of dread built tough. The fog outside was eerie and from it she heard something clatter off the cobblestones. Something being dropped or someone moving? With everything being hard to pinpoint in the fog it was hard to say where it was coming from. Had it been close or distant? It was not too distant nor too close if she had to guess though there was no way to determine those facts.

She sucked in a breath sharply as she saw the crumpled form at the top of the stairs. Despite her surge of fear and concern for the detective, she made herself pause and take stock of her surroundings. A second floor...a lit lamp...the smell of blood in the air (just like her vision)....the body at the top of the stairs...

She pieced things together in her mind. The detective rushes up the stairs in search of the source of the scream, only to be met by the Ripper, blade ready. The Ripper steps over the body, makes his way downstairs and exits through the same door the detective entered. Why had she heard nothing of the encounter between? Why no screams, no gunshots? Gunshots...where was the detective's revolver?

She took a deep breath, and another glance out the door, making sure she wasn't being followed. Then she slowly crept towards the stairs, glancing down from time to time seeking the glint of light on metal, hoping to find the gun. At the foot of the stairs she froze, listening to the clatter outside. She stared at the doorway, waiting for it to be blocked or filled with a figure...and nothing, for now at least.

Move move move, the detective could still be alive she chided herself and quietly scurried up the remaining steps, careful to watch for any blood she may slip on. Now if only the detective was still alive, perhaps she could give him some basic medical aid.

The third stair up from the bottom creaked beneath her weight as she surveyed the scene before her. No one came to the building and while she ascended the staircase she avoided blood near the top of it. Rich, full and a blackish red in the light of the lamp.

Looking it appeared to be the detective. On the front of his chest was a gash in his coat around which had been the dampness of blood. The detective was stabbed, the knife taken, and there had been no immediate trace of the revolver that he had either.

But the man was stabbed from the front which tended to happen when you knew someone or had been surprised but this was an officer of the law so what was the likelihood of him being caught unawares?

Though as that question forced it's way into her mind and she wondered about not hearing a thing earlier she did see the glint of metal with her single eye. It was inside the room near the ajar door, possibly dropped.

Had the detective gone in there, got surprised and stabbed then stumbled out here? Unlikely seeing that he was now on his back facing the door rather than on his chest facing away from it. It was possible she supposed though unlikely.

Her attention had been brought back to the lamp though, window sill ... there was something wrong with it which triggered something in her mind. That the window wasn't boarded like the ones on the lower level. And that the window here had been opened allowing a gently breeze into the chamber. It was a chilly one, the sort that would have you closing the window to keep out the draft.

From somewhere in the fog outside she could hear movement, someone walking about on the cobblestones as if they were trying to mute the sound of their steps. The sound was faint though she could hear it echo up to her ears from the streets below.

The creaking step made her cringe in fear, her feet freezing on the step as she frantically looked over her shoulder. Thankfully, nothing seemed to have changed in the room below. She crept up the rest of the steps, holding back a wave of nausea as she skirted the edges of the blood pooling and dripping down the stairs.

The wound on the detective's chest looked gruesome indeed, and from what little she could gather from the way it was inflicted, it shouldn't have been possible at all. But that mattered less than the man's life at this point. Careful to avoid the blood on the floor, she knelt and removed one glove, pressing her shaking fingers to the side of the man's neck, searching for a pulse. Warily, her eye shifted towards the room just beyond them, and settled on the flickering light of the lamp.

An open window? Perhaps the killer entered through it. she considered, then alighting her attention on the glint of metal on the floor. The revolver perhaps? She would go check after seeing the condition of the detective.

She froze once more as she heard the muted shuffle of footsteps on the cobbles outside. Panicking she pulled her hand away from the detective and started inching towards the room as quietly as she could. If she could get the gun, she'd have some protection, and if it wasn't the gun, at least she'd be close to the window, and another avenue of escape. She spared a guilty glance for Gary. Sorry detective, but I can't do a thing for you if I'm dead.

The flesh that she took up in her hand was still warm but she had been unable to find a pulse. Gary was no more for this world it seemed though there was time to be remorseful about matters now had not been the moment to brake down.

There was a strong possibility that a killer ... or killers ... had been around and as that thought flowed through her mind she saw the glint of metal there on the floor and began moving towards it. Closer to it now she could tell that it was a gun. An old fashion revolver just lying there on a dusty floor.

Areas had been cleared away showing signs of traffic though they were few and far between. Her hand had been upon the revolver when she noticed it. At first she smelt it, the rich heedy scent of blood. The coppery aroma that got her to lift her head and look around.

The room was dark, she was fortunate there given what she could see of the ghastly scene. Blood everywhere and a lump in the darkness ... a body ... smaller lumps too and she could see well enough that the larger one had been multilated forming several smaller parts here ...

So while the gun in her hand would have been soothing otherwise the scene clearly was not. What she could see of things matters where done hastily and judging from the little time she spent outdoors she assumed recently, perhaps whoever did this had killed someone, started the mutilation process, had been interrupt and killed the detective. That creeky third step would have alerted anyone that someone was here so perhaps whoever it was got near the door and just attacked when it opened.

That might have made more sense then someone staggering out of the room and collapsing at the head of the stairs.