The Streetlight Ripper

Intro

Present day- November 9th, 1888

As I stand at the beginning of the walkway leading into the metropolitan police station, I shake off my umbrella from the cold, colorless, rain and make my way to the entryway. The closer I get, I notice a figure, getting closer and then further away. About twenty five feet from the entrance I realize it is a man who was once pacing inside the station, but now is sitting with his back against the window just to the right of the entrance door.

I stop just shy of the door so I can observe him. He is softly beating his head on the window while running his fingers through his unkempt hair. When he seems to grow tire from hitting his head against the window, he sits forward and tries to relax by rubbing his face as if trying to remove the wrinkles engraved in his forehead. The look of distraught from his face is as plain as day. I know what is to come next, I copy his action by massaging my temples to get rid of the awful headache I have had for months. I release a breath I didn't know I was holding, roll my shoulders back, and make my way into the office.

The sound of the door opening grabs the attention of the man, almost like it asked him to rises up from the ground. He's by my side before I can get my coat off completely. As I finish shaking off my coat, I place the rest of my belongings by the door. I can feel his eyes on me the whole time, as if they were looking through me straight to my soul. I take my pipe out of my vest pocket and finally look at him. He's young, to young to be working this case with me, no more than 23 years old, but life has been rough on him in these few months, to all of us. He fixes himself up by wiping the dried tears that stained his face, and flatten out his clothes with his hands. Once satisfied he looks back at me and says,

"There's another one. Jack the Ripper. It's so awful. Please. Come with me."