Things weren't adding up since the mind he had taken the scenario from had his own theories of things and was erroneous here and there as to a few facts about the case. There were other minds to draw upon and he knew the truth of the matter but this interpretation appealed to him given that it was familiar but different enough to keep an expert on there toes.

Eventually she found herself knocking on the two, the two officers she was with staying behind her on the steps refusing to leave her alone should she not gain admittance but after a few seconds the door opened.

"Annie! My God what's happpened?"

The voice belonging to George as he stared at her disheveled appearance and the way that she was holding her blouse closed. She had noticed that his eyes stared at her cleavage a bit longer than usual before his gaze lifted to her face, a frown evident one his face.

"She's alright sir, just shaken up. Jack nearly had his claws on her tonight," one of the officers explained.

"My word," George repeated, appearing shocked by this revelation. He stood aside letting her enter and gesturing for the officers to which had initially figuring that it was for just a moment until George had a word with them about the letter and package he received earlier in the day which he turned over the to the two.

From what George had explained Anne picked up on the contents of the package which she already knew ... a half eaten liver. George explained that he thought the whole matter was a prank but given the recent chain of events thought that the matter needed to be looked into deeper, just incase ...

Soon the duo left the two alone, George turning to fact her, then suddenly embracing her in his arms.

She stood there mutely waiting for the door to open, aware and somewhat comforted by the continued presence of the officers behind her. When George opened the door, she simply stared at him blankly, opening her mouth to respond and getting no further, not even sure where to begin. She caught his gaze drifting down to her torn blouse and cringed slightly, a twinge of fear worming into the false calm surrounding her and making her pull the tattered fabric tighter around her chest, covering herself more fully.

As the officer explained what had happened to her, she shuffled past him into the room and moving as far from the door as she could. Her arms wrapped around herself in a tight hug, trying to keep the fragile pieces of her self from falling apart. This was a nightmare, it had to be. But she'd had a vision, and one that came true as all the rest, and that had never happened in a dream before. This was something new...something worse... She wanted to wake up, to go back to the boring walk with her professor and the other students, but she didn't know how.

Her internal turmoil was disrupted as she heard the door shut behind her, her head raising slightly to look at George as he returned to the room alone. She had barely heard what he and the officers had been talking about, and at this point hardly cared. The Ripper wasn't her problem, had never been her problem, hell she wasn't even born yet. Why did she ha-

The sudden embrace caught her off guard, one moment she was wrapped up in her own little world, the next she has arms surrounding her, hugging her close. Surrounding her....

"Noooo! G-get off m-me! P-please l-let me g-go!" she screamed, thrashing madly, desperate to get away. It was the Ripper again, crushing her, restraining her! He'd come back, waited for her, was here to finish what he started! She knew on some level that this was George, but it wasn't enough to stave off the mindless panic of being grabbed again so soon after fighting free of a similar situation, especially when she knew Lewis was still alive and free. Get away, get away, get away! the fear maddened part of her sobbed, her already exhausted body putting what little it had left into her attempt to escape.

The hole situation seemed to make little sense and there seemed to be no way of resolving it either. The Ripper was well before her time and his last reporting killing was back in the early 1890's, 1891 to be precise. Yet things already had been inconsistant. Furthermore, there seemed no aim here as far as to what she was suppose to do, how she got here or how to get back.

Was this a dream? She could have sworn she was conscious and matters did feel too vivid her to be anything but reality. So, was it a hallucination of some sort? The only reasonable explanation was that it was the later induced from a few black berries that she picked and ate. At least she thought they were black berries ...

But in any case she found that she didn't need much strength when dealing with George. He was easier to shrug off than Lewis considering that he let her go upon hearing her protest against his touch. Eyes gazed at her as if stunned though he slowly came to his senses backing up a step or so as if understanding that she was not lashing out at him persae but a memory of recent events.

He strode over towards his desk, slid out a draw and took out a bottle of whiskey and a pair of glasses that he sat on his desk. Half filling each glass he turned one over to her. "Drink, it will help calm you."

He was quiet for a small while leaning back against his desk. He regarded her as he sipped his drink before he set it down. "So, McCellean is the Ripper?" He asked pointlessly since the officers already filled him in on events.

Her head spun with theories as to what exactly was happening to her, jostling and fighting for attention with the blind panic suffusing her entire being. She couldn't handle this much longer, the stress, the bizarre scenario, the inability to trust anything she saw, heard, or felt. Anne wasn't the most stable of girls to begin with and given the circumstances, it was surprising she hadn't completely broken down already.

The panic ebbed away as George released her, letting her scramble backwards until she collided with a wall. She slowly slid down with her back against the smooth surface, shuddering and crying quietly into her hands, unable to even look at him. She lifted her head slightly as he brought her a glass of whiskey and nodded slowly, taking the glass with both of her shaking hands, cradling it atop her knees. She watched him over the glass, beginning to calm down huddled in her little corner of the room.

She tentatively took a drink, having never had any experience with alcohol before (good time to start drinking, really) and winced at the strong taste, and the acrid burning sensation as it slid down her throat. It seemed he was right as the next few sips did indeed soothe her nerves, replacing the nervous tension in her muscles with a sort of warm, languid weakness. At his question, she looked up at him again, her eye shadowed with exhaustion.

"It l-looks that w-way at l-least..." she murmured quietly, barely audible in the small room. "I d-don't k-know though.....h-he s-seemed different t-than...w-what I h-had expected of t-the Ripper...." She went silent, considering why she felt that way. For one, McCellan had attacked her, someone who was quite obviously not a prostitute. For another, he had tried to ra-...ra-....she couldn't even think of what he'd tried to do to her. But from what she knew the real Ripper had never shown any such interest in his victims. She sighed softly and lay her forehead down on her knees, closing her eyes and willing the world to go back the way she remembered it...hoping, perhaps futilely, that this time it would work.

But it hadn't as much as she wished for it too. These had been her reality now and though she began to claim George leaned on his desk in silence. He dared not approach her though in case she had another reaction to him.

He set his glass down on the desk, his attention zooming in on her as he comprehended her words. He nodded slightly. "Annie," he started, "you look like shit. You can clean yourself up in the bathroom and I'll walk you home. If you want I'll stay the night ..."

Lewis did not have the feel of the Ripper, Anne felt that. He seemed more of an opportunist in his selections though she had to consider why he had not attacked her in the bakery before she recalled his hesitation in locking the door. Perhaps he was questioning the fact of anyone seeing her come in, or disposing of her body.

And while she didn't fit the bill did Alice? In her time the woman was believed to be of dubious nature. Was she a street walker? Wasn't she? And if not what of the connection between Lewis and her? What prompted him in acting as he did driving the former mariner to acts of violence?

The more she wrapped her head around it the more bizarre it seemed to be for each question lead to others in turn. But right now her psyche hadn't let her answer or even dwell on these problems.

Aegir had sensed how delicate her psyche actually was though he did ease her somewhat in the here and now. If he wasn't playing with her he could have had Lewis over power her on the roof but how fun would that have been? It would run contray to the plans that he had in store.

Never before had he induced illusions so dark in nature. Once he supposed they were unpleasantness that he brought to bare with them though usual people figured out that they were imagining things or things had not been real but those were lighter illusions too. This one had been darker though he considered for a moment how to end it and grinned inwardly at a thought.

He could not have her in the flesh through illusion but could very well implant such notions in her mind. Or he could simple take her now, she was close enough at this stage to reach out and restrain, not a soul had been around though so far not much real time had passed so the others were likely to still be nearby.

A tentacle reached out to her rubbing against her right cheek then vanishing, the pressure felt in the illusion though there was no cause for the mysterious touch, it just came and went without any logic or explanation.

Grudgingly, she opened her eye and looked at George, still standing there by his desk. Still here... she thought miserably, and numbly nodded to his suggestion, setting the whiskey glass aside and rising unsteadily to her feet. She shuffled her way to the bathroom, arms wrapped around her chest to keep herself covered this time.

-click- The shutting of the door behind her gave her some small comfort, as it provided her with her first feeling of privacy all day. Carefully, she moved to the washbasin and ran some water, thankful plumbing had been invented by this time. She scooped up a double handful of water and splashed it over her face, uncaring of her hair dangling in the way. Her fingers worked over her skin, scrubbing as if she could wash the day away. Sadly, that was not to be. Wary of the mirror over the basin, she reached blindly for the towel nearby, and used it to dry her face. She felt at least somewhat human again, still fragile, still exhausted, but fundamentally serviceable. She could do this, for a while longer at least. Perhaps going to sleep in this odd dream would wake her up in the real world.

She left the bathroom and shut the door behind her, one hand holding her blouse shut as she looked for George. Her free hand absently brushed her damp hair down over her face, though she had the impression George somehow knew about the scars, as if he knew her in this dream.

She opened her mouth to tell him she was ready to leave, when she felt phantom "fingers" stroking her cheek. It was all she could do not to scream, her hand flying to her face and covering the spot she had felt being touched. Nothing there, nothing there... she tried to tell herself, assuming she was just having another attack of panic, recalling Lewis fingers as he reached around to grab her throat. She could do this, she could stay in control...she didn't really have any other choice.

Perhaps sleep would cure her ailment, it had been the only idea that had hit her like the cold water that splashed against her face. Weary of the mirror in the bathroom she did not see any further visions indicating that perhaps her portion of the nightmare had concluded.

If so, then what was keeping her here?

Did George know of her scars? Possibly, he didn't seem alarmed by seeing her cleavage earlier and there was the wonder if he saw the outlines of the scars there. She couldn't be certain though she didn't think that he had seen.

But his look was hardly the usual form of revulsion on his features. Rather there seemed to be a measure of concern there, surprise mixed in too when hearing about the attack with the Ripper. He did not show any form of disgust there that she witnessed anyway.

When about to speak she felt that phantom touch brushing against her cheek. Feeling it there was nothing there. A memory of earlier events? No, she did not feel fingers against the side of her face but a firm grasp about her throat as Lewis ... Jack ... attempted to strangle the life out of her. Perhaps then it was a more general idea of his touch upon her?

"Annie are you alright," the words interupting her flow of thoughts as George gazed at her. His coat was already on, the whiskey glasses on his desk beside the bottle there as he tidied up a little as she was in the bathroom.

It was too much to consider in her condition, the inconsistencies of the scenario, "Annie's" relationship with George (friends, lovers?), how she was going to get back to school, and lest she forget, the rapist/murderer likely more than a little upset with her. She needed some time to herself, some peace and quiet to rest and recover. Maybe "her" home would offer that...assuming she could stop woolgathering and get there.

Brushing aside the feeling of phantom fingertips, she nodded slightly to George, seeing the concern in his expression. She tightened her coat about herself, concealing her torn bodice, then picked up her bag from the floor and slipped it over one shoulder. A habitual check to make sure her hair was concealing her face and she felt ready to face the foggy night once more.

"I'm f-fine...as c-can be expected. D-do you h-have a g-gun on you Mr. L-lusk? I'd f-feel rather safer if y-you d-did." she murmured in her barely audible way, shuffling towards the door. She looked at him with what she hoped was a steady air, and waited for him to lead the way out.

"Yes," he answered her question. It was a lie though if it put her at ease then so be it. He didn't believe in firearms though he did own a blade that he concealed in the pocket of his coat. He took it 'just in case" though he doubted that he would have need of it with what he heard today about what had occurred.

Some how a person that fell off a roof and took a bullet to their shoulder probably wouldn't be thinking or carrying out vengeance any time soon. Still they left into the foggy, chilly streets getting to a single story flat some five minutes or so later.

They seemed to be in a better portion of town as they did not see anyone on the streets, just the near point less street lamps that were burning steadily. They got outside of they building and George waited. It had not been readily apparent to her but he waited for her to unlock the door.

When she realized this though about the only thing she could do was look through her bag and see if she did have a key. After some rummaging she found one and had been able to open up the door. A light in the form of a lamp had been turned on and George moved into the place ahead of her. He checked the rooms assuring her more than himself that they were empty, that nothing was going to harm her here, that this place was safe.

"Should I take the couch ... unless you want me to go that is."

Not lovers it seemed. At least they were not living together though from her understanding of the period that was highly unusual that a woman would be living alone. Work associates? Friends? There was no real answer to the question as it came up but he did swing his attention to her in order to get an answer from her.

A small amount of relief flowed over her at his affirmation of being armed. She knew how well a gun had worked against her attacker before, but anything was better than nothing...right? She couldn't help but cringe as soon as they were out into the fog again, trailing a scant few inches behind George as he led the way. In a way, she was grateful she had an excuse to walk behind him, as she had no idea whatsoever where she was supposed to have a home in this world. Though, judging from the neighborhood they were walking into, "she" at least was fairly well off.

As they walked up to a modest flat, she took a moment to realize she needed to start looking for the keys. Hoping George would chalk it up to her shellshocked state, she dug frantically until she found a likely looking suspect. A small sigh of relief parted her lips as it proved to be the right key, and she more than happily stepped aside to let him search the rooms first. In fact, it gave her a moment to look around, get an idea of how this "her" lived. Obviously George didn't live with her, or he'd have opened the door himself. That in itself was a relief to know. She didn't think she had it in her to play the part of girlfriend, lover, or (Thank God) wife.

At his question, she briefly considered the choice. If he stayed, she'd have to worry about not only herself, but him as well should Lewis come after her. She'd seen how well the detective had fared, and wasn't about to have Lusk's death on her conscience. On the other hand, send him away and she'd be completely alone.

"T-thank you Mr. Lusk. B-but I think I'll b-be fine b-by myself. I'll l-lock the door and b-bar the windows f-for safeties s-sake." she replied softly. She was used to being alone, and the benefits of his presence were overshadowed by the potential price of his life. No, she was better off by herself...things were always easier that way. Saying a heartfelt goodbye, and repeating her thanks, she shut the door tightly, and made sure to lock it behind herself, chaining any chains, throwing any bolts...and going so far as to slide a chair under the knob if she could find one. Her security assured for the moment, she turned to explore her "home" such as it was, to check the windows, and see what state "her" bedroom was in.

"You sure?" But when she confirmed that she wished him to leave he departed from the place. He vanished into the foggy streets but did not go all that far to keep an eye on the place, at least for the time being even though he did not suspect that anything was going to transpire.

As Anne moved about the house she discovered that the place was reasonable furnished. All the material here looked new enough save for a rocking chair near the fireplace. Near it were a few cut pieces of wood. The windows had shutters on them which could be closed and locked against intrusion and the place appeared neat enough.

In the living room hung a few portraits, black and white images with a woman and man that she assumed were her parents never knowing them at all it was impossible to say though there were a few photos of her as a child before the horrible accent that scarred her body.

There was another photo of her and George in front of Central's newspaper posing. The place was tidy and other than a few notepads pertaining to her recent piece she was working on and notes of the Ripper case.

Her bedroom was typical, a good sized bed adorned it and a window looked out into the foggy London Street. Near the bed was a night stand on which rested a vase of flowers that showed some signs of age wilting a little but where still good enough to salvage she supposed.

Nothing out of the ordinary though there was a walk in closet, shoes and clothing had been stored in it, the closet being left opened, either she or perhaps George in his brief search of the place left the door opened making it easy to see into it and knowing straight away that no one was hiding within it.

The shutting of the door was like a pin popping a balloon, releasing all the pent up tension inside her. Anne slumped back against the door, her arms at her sides bonelessly as she slid to the floor in a heap. Tears welled up in her working eye, blurring her vision. Why is this happening to me? she wondered miserably, one arm rising to wipe her face on her sleeve slowly. She couldn't do this, not yet. Breaking down could come later...

Rising unsteadily to her feet, she kicked her boots off and tread down the hallway in her stockings. A slow search of the house revealed little, save that "she" had apparently only lived her a fairly short time, as all the furnishings were new. The pictures gave her pause, the child in the frames identical to herself in her early years...but the parents a complete mystery to her. For a moment, she felt a flash of rage, hatred for this other "her", jealousy that she had been able to have a family.

She tried to distract herself by picking up the photo of George and "herself" in front of the newspaper (she'd gotten the name right at least). So they were friends at the least. Good to know, should this...dream...continue past her sleeping. Turning her thoughts away from the life of her other self, she finished exploring the flat, unsurprised by the contents. At every window, she closed and locked the shutters securely, taking absolutely no chances.

Now as safe as she was likely to be, Anne moved to the closet and searched for some sort of nightgown. While searching she carefully disrobed, peeling off the coat, her torn blouse, her slacks, and finally her stockings. Her underwear she left intact for the moment, not quite comfortable removing them to sleep in a "stranger's" bed.

Aegir had selected her ... why had he selected her again? Oh, right, she was there and pleased him, scars and all. She was close enough to touch and while the thoughts of pulsating inside her body, in feeling her warmth wrapped around his smuggly he shrugged off such thoughts for the time being.

He knew that he would have her and being as patient and as long lived as he was he had been able to tailor that situation to his own desires. He became embroiled in the unfolding story and while his multifaceted mind kept him aware in the here and now a portion of his mind concentrated on the illusion.

There was a scrapping sound brushing against the bedroom window that gave her a start as she finished readying herself for bed. One cautious and careful inspection of the window she could make out a tree in the yard, barely seen there amongst the fog.

It swayed in the chill breeze that had been generated sometimes bending enough where the branches of the tree slid across the window pain. But it was this discover that triggered it. Her captured reflection in the glass.

Darkness. Cold metal. She felt suffocated and while images flashed through her mind rather quickly she saw one of Lewis towering over her, his arms and portions of his face badly scratched and cut in places. His jacket has off and he was grinning down at her, a mouth full of bloody and broken teeth from the fall off the roof he must have hit it good.

His shoulder had a circular bullet wound in it, fresh enough where it hadn't scabbed over yet. Then it was gone almost as fast as it came leaving her in near silence, all that could be heard was the rustling of the leaves and creak of the branches as they swayed not to mention the beat of her heart.

Aegir had selected her ... why had he selected her again? Oh, right, she was there and pleased him, scars and all. She was close enough to touch and while the thoughts of pulsating inside her body, in feeling her warmth wrapped around his smuggly he shrugged off such thoughts for the time being.

He knew that he would have her and being as patient and as long lived as he was he had been able to tailor that situation to his own desires. He became embroiled in the unfolding story and while his multifaceted mind kept him aware in the here and now a portion of his mind concentrated on the illusion.

There was a scrapping sound brushing against the bedroom window that gave her a start as she finished readying herself for bed. One cautious and careful inspection of the window she could make out a tree in the yard, barely seen there amongst the fog.

It swayed in the chill breeze that had been generated sometimes bending enough where the branches of the tree slid across the window pain. But it was this discover that triggered it. Her captured reflection in the glass.

Darkness. Cold metal. She felt suffocated and while images flashed through her mind rather quickly she saw one of Lewis towering over her, his arms and portions of his face badly scratched and cut in places. His jacket has off and he was grinning down at her, a mouth full of bloody and broken teeth from the fall off the roof he must have hit it good.

His shoulder had a circular bullet wound in it, fresh enough where it hadn't scabbed over yet. Then it was gone almost as fast as it came leaving her in near silence, all that could be heard was the rustling of the leaves and creak of the branches as they swayed not to mention the beat of her heart.

It was perhaps a little too indicative of Anne's life that even the monster who was pursuing her in the real world had forgotten exactly why he was doing so...perhaps he sensed a perpetual victim when he saw one? For the moment though, she remained unaware of the source of her imaginary torment, and further, of the planned assault to follow...

The scraping at the window had her squeeking in terror and inside the closet hiding so fast you might imagine she'd grown wings for a moment. She stared warily at the source of the noise, waiting for the window to burst inward or some similarly dramatic event...only to be happily disappointed as nothing happened at all, save a softer repeating of the sound. Cautiously, she tiptoed to the window, and breathed a soft sigh of relief, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she realized how skittish she was being...jumping at trees in the yard.

The smile froze on her face as she caught sight of her dim reflection in the glass, her mind barely having time to register the danger before another vision took hold.

...darkness, cold metal, Lewis, broken teeth smiling, wounded, suffocating, towering over her, darkness, darkness...

Breathless, heart pounding painfully in her ears, Anne collapsed onto the wooden floor, curling slowly into a ball. Her face pressed to her knees, she sobbed uncontrollably, her fingers clutching her head tightly. No no no no no! Not again! Please! I just want to go back! she screamed internally, horrified by what she'd seen, what she knew was to come. It meant this wasn't over, meant that sleeping would do no good. She was trapped here, trapped with George, and the Ripper, and Lewis...horrible, mangled Lewis...

...it took her some time to cry herself out of tears, to spend what little energy she had left on her misery. Drained and empty, even of fear, she stumbled to her feet and returned to the closet, numbly pulling on the first nightgown she found. Dishevelled and hollow eyed, she climbed into the bed not entirely her own, and lay down to rest after turning out the light. Sleep eluded her for quite some time, until exhaustion claimed her as its victim at last.