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Chapter Text

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Another evening at McSorley’s Old Ale House …

At their usual table in the bar’s inner room, a familiar foursome from the NYPD and OCME unwound after work over drinks. The conversation turned to the copycat killer case they’d handled nearly a year ago, and in which one of the murders had mirrored that of the last known murder attributed to the sinister serial killer, Jack the Ripper.

Det. Mike Hanson recalled that Dr. Henry Morgan, their ME, who they now knew to be an Immortal, had been very knowledgeable about the murders left unsolved for more than a century. Of course, he had since he’d been alive during that time.

The sight of the copycat killer’s horribly mutilated victim, Mary Kelly, and the fact that no one had ever been arrested for murdering the original Mary Kelly, prompted Mike to do his own bit of research. The more he’d dug into the sad affair, the more he’d wished that the case could one day be solved. But it would be great to have a look at some of the clues in the Doc’s notebook.

“Doc, uh, any chance I could take a look at your little book of horrors?” he asked, half-jokingly.

Henry appeared slightly caught off guard and responded hesitantly. “It … merely contains the personal observations of a physician during a time when forensic science was in its infancy. Those notes could hardly be of any real assistance to you.” He hadn’t yet shared with them that he was the physician.

“Aw, c’mon, Doc,” Mike nearly pleaded. “Whether the notes are of any help or not, I’d still like to see ‘em.”

“Yeah, Henry,” Jo chimed in. “I’d like to read it, too. Um, not the drawings, just … some of the notes. It would be interesting to see what they came up with way back when as opposed to now.”

Way back when. Hmmm. Why had he not kept it hidden while he had consulted the blasted thing? Never mind that his secret ‘condition’ was no longer secret to them and Lt. Reece, he still felt uncomfortable discussing anything related to his long past life in public. For that reason, he at first thought to lie but opted for the truth.

“I’m sorry, Detectives. It’s very old and, apparently, I recently handled it a bit too roughly. It needs to be sent out for restoration.”

“Ohhh, great,” Mike lamented. “I think I’m really on to something and I just wanted to compare my way of thinking with --- who did the notebook originally belong to?” he asked, switching gears.

Questions, questions, questions, Henry silently begrudged. Questions he didn’t want asked in public so he didn’t have to lie.

“The book has been in my family since 1888,” he replied and immediately took a sip of his Macallan 25. The action allowed him to avoid their looks of astonishment and curiosity.

“Wow! You own the Ripper Notes,” Lucas said with a lazy grin and nod of his head.  

“Not the Ripper Notes,” Henry said emphatically, slicing a hand through the air. In his opinion, those were the product of profiteers born a generation after the killer’s last known victim was discovered. “That is a totally separate publication full of unfounded facts and speculation and to which the author of my notes did not contribute.”

“Good man,” Lucas said with a soft chuckle. “You know, there’s supposed to be some kind of curse on anyone who researches those killings. Some people have taken to drink, lost their jobs and homes. Some have even been murdered themselves.” He closed his eyes with a plastered-on smile.

“Oh, my,” Jo said, chuckling. “I think it’s time we get you home.”

While Henry and Jo kept an eye on Lucas, Mike called a cab for him. When it arrived, Jo paid her tab and informed them that she was leaving, as well.

“I’ll make sure he gets to his home,” she said. “See you guys tomorrow.”

Henry and Mike paid their tabs, as well, then watched their cab drive away. Mike proposed that they share a cab, too, but Henry declined.

“I prefer to walk,” Henry said. “It’s not that far to my home and the walk will take some of the buzz off of me.”

“Suit yourself,” Mike told him.

The two men left the bar, bid each other good night, and went their separate ways.

vvvv

Once home, Mike had dinner with his wife, Karen, and their two boys, Mike, Jr., ten, and Donnie, seven. Afterwards, the boys helped clear the table and then went off to bed, while their parents cleaned up the kitchen. Usually, the boys helped with the dishes but Karen wanted some alone time with her husband.

As much as possible, neither of them brought their work home. She was concerned, however, that he was getting a little too involved with some new research that wasn’t even connected to his job. In hopes of getting him back to being more “present” when he was home, she had prepared a delicious beef tri-tips meal, one of his favorites. But he had yet to even compliment her on it or moan in delight over the taste.

“Did you enjoy your dinner?” she asked after loading the dishwasher and turning it on.

He recognized her question as a challenge. “I always love your beef tri-tips,” he replied and kissed her on the side of her neck, hugging her from behind.  

Tensions lowered, a smile gotten from her, they finished up in the kitchen and turned off the light before they left. They then retreated to their upstairs bedroom. Karen turned around and put her arms around his neck. He drew her in and they shared a long, loving kiss. When they pulled away from each other, she sighed inwardly when he at first smiled down at her and then his eyes traveled slowly to rest on his laptop on the nightstand on his side of the bed. She left his embrace and headed toward the bathroom for a quick shower before bedding down.

“You’d better not be on that thing when I come out,” she warned him. She tried to soften her voice but she was dead serious. He was letting this Ripper stuff gently rip them apart. She discarded her clothes and stepped into the shower, closing her eyes as the warm water washed over her. To her surprise and delight, only moments later, her husband joined her in the shower. Their time together lathering and loving each other more than made up for his emotional absences during the past several weeks.

vvvv

He woke up slowly, turned over onto his right side, and picked up his cell phone on the nightstand next to his bed, for the time. Only 1:43AM. Too early, he sighed and placed it back on the nightstand. He settled back down and tried but failed to go back to sleep. Feeling more and more awake, he gave in and grabbed his phone again to do a quick search for those Ripper Notes that Lucas had drunkenly mentioned. He figured the phone, on silent, would be safer to operate and not disturb his wife.

The search landed him on a site called, “True Crimes”, that detailed the life of a man, who had been a delivery driver for a meat company for 20 years.

“On 31 August 1888, while on his way to work, Lechmere apparently found the body of Mary Ann Nichols, also known as Polly Nichols to her close friends. She was believed to be the first of Jack the Ripper’s five canonical victims. Although long regarded as merely a passer-by at the crime scene, Lechmere has since been named as a Ripper suspect by these true crime writers.”

His interest piqued, he read further and learned more details about Lechmere aka Charles something or other. He couldn’t make out the aka name because the wording on the screen suddenly faded and the site began to buffer. He cursed to himself and tried reloading it but the buffering continued. He stared at the circle in the middle of the screen and after a few minutes, a strange hypnotic effect overtook him and he fell asleep again. But he would dream. A strange dream. A dream that was … almost real.

vvvv

Several hours earlier at Abe’s Antiques …

Just as Henry had predicted, much of his “buzz” had worn off by the time he had arrived at his home. A brisk walk in the cool night air usually did the trick for him, saving his son from seeing his father arrive in an inebriated state like he did after Abigail had left.

After the two men enjoyed a delectable meal of Greek lemon chicken, asparagus, and mashed potatoes, they cleaned up the kitchen.

“How about a nightcap?” Abe asked his father.

“Actually, I would like for you to help me research something online, if you will,” he responded.

Abe chuckled. “Since when did you decide to become a computer geek?” he teased.

“Not a geek, Abraham,” he protested. “I'm just … curious about something that Lucas said this evening.”

“Oh, Lucas,” Abe said, chuckling more as he woke up his laptop. “And what has he gotten you so curious about?”

“Jack the Ripper,” the immortal father replied. “More specifically, those bloody --- no pun intended --- Ripper Notes.”

Abe paused for a moment and then said, “Well … just be careful because there’s supposed to be some kind of curse that befalls people who delve too deeply into them.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about any such nonsense,” Henry said. “In fact, I don’t believe it. Lucas says a lot of unbelievable things. No, I’m looking for a man.”

“You mean you’ve given up on ever being with Jo?” Abe asked facetiously.

Henry simply rolled his eyes. “There was a man. He lived and worked in Whitechapel and at the time, appeared to be a strong suspect ... at least, to me. The police disagreed, however, and he was never charged.”

“Nobody was charged,” Abe said.

“True. But I want to refresh my memory about him.” He looked at his son. “Just to satisfy my own curiosity. Perhaps over the ensuing decades, others have done more research to either prove or disprove my theory about him.”

Abe rose from his seat on the settee. “Well, remember to turn the lights off before you go to bed.”

The two men bid each other good night and Henry returned his attention to the search window Abe had opened up for him. His search landed him on the same site as Mike had and, like Mike, he was able to read only a few lines about Charles Allen Lechmere aka Charles Allen Cross.

Back then, he didn’t have much influence with the police, so his theories were, for the most part, dismissed. At least, they had given more warrant to his observations in the Mary Kelly case, which helped usher forensic science into crime solving.

But the website was acting up. The wording faded to nearly being unreadable and that blasted circle was in the middle of the screen. Lucas and Abe called it buffering. So, while he waited for the site to start working again, he found himself staring at the circle of small dots as they chased each other in a clockwise direction. After a few moments, his eyelids became heavy and he closed his eyes.

vvvv

The dream begins … or is it a dream?

Henry and Mike stepped outside McSorley’s bar and froze in their tracks. Neither the streets nor the buildings looked at all familiar to Mike. In fact, nothing looked like they were in New York, old or new, at all. But things looked all too familiar to Henry. 

“What the --- ?” Mike began in breathless astonishment. “W-where are we?”

“It looks like we're in London,” Henry quietly replied with grim reluctance. “By the looks of things --- the late 1800’s. Whitechapel.”

VVVVVVVV

Author’s Notes:

The Ripper Notes is a purely fictitious publication I came up with for the purposes of this story.

Notes:

True Crime is a real website included in the information found online on Lechmere: Charles Allen Lechmere - Wikipedia

Chapter Text

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“Whitechapel?!” Mike exploded. He surveyed the empty streets up and down, balling his hands into fists.

In sorrowful silence, Henry watched his companion fight through various stages of a near panic. The two men stared at each other for a few moments and then Mike lowered his head. Henry could see a growing anger on his face.

“It must be that EF-in’ leprechaun again,” Mike hissed, tightening and untightening his fists.

“Quite possibly,” Henry said, trying to remain calm. One of them had to maintain a cooler head. “But our perceived presence here might be the result of something else.”

“Perceived presence?” Mike asked, incredulous. He quickly walked over to the brick wall behind them and slapped his right palm against it a couple of times. The sound reverberated down the deserted streets. He stood back from the wall and raised his left arm, pointing his index finger towards it.

“You call that perceived? Henry, that’s real.” He quickly rejoined Henry. “We’re really here; and if you ask me, it’s because of that damn leprechaun!”

Henry earnestly hoped he was wrong. But then, again, if the meddlesome gnome wasn’t behind all this, who or what was? A thought came to him.

He put up his right hand and said, “You could be right.” Then he asked, “But what was the last thing you remember doing before you wound up here?”

Mike frowned while he inhaled deeply and looked around and then back at Henry. He blew out a breath before replying, “I was on a website called ‘True Crimes’. It’s not what I Googled but it’s where I wound up. Anyway, I started to read about some meat delivery guy, who others think could’ve been the Ripper.”

“You said you started to read. Something stopped you,” he stated as if he already knew the answer. Mike nodded, still frowning slightly. “The screen suddenly froze up on you and nearly whited out, preventing you from finding out very much about Lechmere.”

Mike’s frown left him; he snapped his fingers and pointed quickly at Henry. “Yeah, that’s the guy.” He frowned again. “Wait a minute --- you, too?”

Henry pursed his lips and nodded, boring his eyes into Mike’s.

“So, Lucas was right about that curse,” Mike whispered.  

“Possibly,” Henry said, not fully convinced. “There might be other mischief afoot here. Such as a subliminal message planted within the website we visited, causing us to fall under a hypnotic suggestion.”

“Then we’re not really here,” Mike said. “We’re at home asleep.” He looked around again and shook his head. “Everything looks so real,” he whispered in awe. He then leveled a very serious gaze at Henry. “We are gonna wake up, though,” he stated hopefully.

“Well, of course,” Henry replied. He wasn’t nearly as confident, though, as he appeared to be. Despite that, he was intrigued by their most perplexing situation.

“When?” Mike asked. “When do you think we’ll … wake up?”

Henry smiled, taking on the look of an eager adventurer. “After we’ve uncovered the true identity of one of history’s most elusive killers.”

“Y-you’re actually enjoying this,” Mike said, accusingly.

Henry responded with a smile. “Think of it as we’re only dreaming, my friend. Therefore, nothing can really harm us. Let’s take advantage of the situation and embark on this adventure. Come now,” he prodded Mike. “Don’t tell me that you’re not interested.”

As crazy as their “situation” was, Mike had to admit he was interested. He gave in to his own smile. “Oh, okay,” he agreed. “Why not?” he asked more confidently, prompting Henry to beam a wider grin at him. “Where do we begin?” he asked.

Henry raised a finger, turned, and began to walk away from him. Mike quickly fell into step with him.

“Fortunately, we can take refuge in the room I was renting nearby at the time,” Henry replied. He smiled as he looked up and around at the buildings and streets. “Everything looks to be the same as it was then. Remarkable.”

They were on Whitechapel Road near the corner where it intersected with Charlotte Street. Mike followed Henry as he walked toward the intersection and turned left. Halfway up the block, Henry paused and Mike did so, as well.

“What is it?” Mike asked.

Henry turned to his right and stared somberly straight ahead. “This street is Buck’s Row,” he quietly replied. “In the middle of the block, the body of Polly Nichols, his first canonical victim, was found.”

“When was that?” Mike asked, hoping the time in their waking world synced with the time here. Also, the victim's name sounded familiar to him.

“The 31st of August in 1888 at 3:40 AM.” He released himself from his somber, reverent state and looked at Mike. “The exact time of her death has been left to history and speculation.”

“It ain’t the 31^st yet,” Mike said, hoping he was right. "It was the 29th of August when we ... when we dropped off to sleep."

“Yes, I believe you're right,” Henry replied. “But let’s hurry to my old residence so we can find out for sure and map out a plan of action.”

VVVVVVVV

Notes: 

Several versions of a map of the Whitechapel area were consulted on the Internet.

Chapter Text

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Mike followed Henry as he turned left onto Hansbury Street past a saloon and a barrister’s office. Henry paused in front of what looked to be his old office back then. He gently touched the grey letters of his name on the grey wooden shingle sign, inset in the red brick wall next to the entry door.

“Doc,” Mike gently reminded him.

“Yes,” he replied. He looked at the doorknob with raised eyebrows and then at Mike, who motioned for him to proceed. He turned the doorknob and the door opened. They both shared a look of surprise and relief, realizing that anything and everything could happen in a dream world.

Once inside, they walked through the small, sparsely furnished waiting room with four hard back chairs and a wooden desk, then through the larger examination room. Henry glanced briefly to his left at the brown leather and metal examination table, scales, and the tall apothecary chest that took up most of the back wall. The next door opened onto the office in which he remembered having spent many hours poring over medical reports and medical journals to help with diagnosis and treatment. So many hours had been spent there, that it had prompted him to have a small bed for himself placed in the back of the office.

“Floor to ceiling books,” Mike said as he looked at all of the books, small and large packed on the shelves of the wooden bookcase. He cast a knowing look at Henry and said, “No wonder you’re a walking encyclopedia.”

“Let’s … get on with it, shall we?” Henry asked, rhetorically and in an effort to deflect out of habit from himself. But there was no need, he realized. Mike knew about his strange long life. Of course, he had seen and learned more than any one person should ever be allowed.

“Now, where is it?” he asked himself as he searched every nook and cranny of the wooden rolltop desk that hugged the wall across from the tall book case. “Aha!” he exclaimed triumphantly as he held up a small journal with a black leather cover. He hurriedly sat down at the desk as he rifled through the pages to about the middle of the journal, with Mike hovering over his left shoulder.

However, the pages he expected to be filled with his own observations about the elusive serial killer at that time, were blank. It left both men confused. Then, before either of them could say anything, a date and name etched its way in the flourished manner similar to Henry’s handwriting, across the top of the blank page on the left:

Tuesday the 3^rd of April, 1888, Emma Elizabeth Smith

“Did, did you see that?” Mike asked, astonished, pointing at the suddenly visible writing. “Just appeared by itself.” When Henry didn’t respond, he continued. “Was she … one of his victims?”

“She was a widow,” Henry finally replied. “She was found on that date at the junction of Wentworth Street and Brick Lane, the victim of an attack by a group of men.”

“Did she die?” Mike asked.

Henry leaned back while he frowned at the mysterious writing. “Not right away. She was treated at the London Hospital on Whitechapel Road but peritonitis set in and she fell into a coma. She died the next morning.”

“Wow. Too bad,” Mike said. “And it was a group of men that attacked her.” Henry nodded. “Could he have been one of them? Maybe he liked it so much that he decided to go into the murder business on his own,” he speculated.

“According to reports at that time,” Henry began, “she was able to provide a good description of only one of the men. A young man of 19.” He looked at Mike, his lips pressed and eyebrows raised. “What you say is possible. However, was he or one of the other attackers the Ripper?” He took in and held a breath before releasing it. “All of the later descriptions of  the killer pointed to a man at least ten or 15 years older and more sophisticated both in carriage and in dress. He may have carried a doctor’s bag.”

“Could have been an accomplice,” Mike speculated. “The older guy could have taken him aside and showed him how a pro did it.” He shrugged when Henry threw him a ‘really’ look. “You know what I mean. Like that sniper guy in his 40s who had that kid of 18 with him, makin’ him pick people off with a rifle.”

Henry threw up his hands. “Anything’s possible,” he conceded. “But there must be a connection or we wouldn’t be here. We’re here to try to uncover a certain truth.” He held onto the small journal and stood up. “If not the identify of the Ripper, then this possible connection to him.”

“Nahhh, I wanna find out who he is,” Mike insisted. “If this ‘possible connection’ leads us to him, then fine. But we’re gonna find out who he is!”

Henry smiled at his animated friend. “Well … that would be something.”

“Say, how come your little journal doesn’t have all that stuff you wrote into it?”

They studied each other for a moment, pondering the question.

“Possibly because ---,” Henry began.

“--- the first canonical victim hasn’t been murdered yet!” they said in unison.

“Yes,” Henry said, the sparkle of deduction growing more intense in his large, expressive eyes. “There was a later murder victim, Martha Tabram. Her body was found a little before 5AM, Tuesday, the 7^th of August, 1888, on the dark, first-floor landing of George Yard Buildings. Whitechapel High Street was at its south end, and Wentworth Street was at its north end.”

“Basically, in the same vicinity,” Mike said. “Let’s, let’s go. Stop a murder. We know the times, dates, and places. We can get this guy!”

“I understand, but first we must find out what the actual date is right now,” Henry said. “If we have arrived before any of these murders, that may be possible.” Then Henry froze for a moment, barely breathing while the gravity of his words sank in. “To finally know,” he whispered softly. That is, if this dream world or whatever it was, actually revealed the truth to them.

"How did you know that I was the physician who had penned his observations in this small journal?" Henry asked. He had never told them.

"Aw, c'mon, Doc," Mike replied. "Give me some credit." Before Henry could respond or even react, he continued.

“Tell me more about this poor woman, this Martha Tambar,” Mike urged Henry. He had not come across either her name or that of Emma Smith’s in any of his research.

“Her name was Martha Tabram,” Henry corrected him. “Back then, she was also known as Martha Turner. But just as in Emma Smith’s case, law enforcement then and researchers since have concluded that neither of them was Ripper victims because their murders differed somewhat from those of the canonical five. But there were similarities. Martha Tabram had turned to prostitution like Emma Smith and the others had. However, in Martha’s case, she did share throat and abdominal wounds similar to the canonical five women; and her body was positioned in a similar pose as theirs had been.”

“Okay,” Mike said. “How do we find out what the exact date is now?”

Henry pondered for a moment and then issued his familiar “Aha!” Mike followed him as he rushed out of the office and back towards the waiting room. “The post,” he announced as he opened the entry door and looked into the outside mailbox. He instructed Mike to step over to the saloon and look through the window for any sign of a calendar or clock. He did so and quickly rejoined Henry, who was sifting through what they both hoped was the current day’s mail.

“There’s a Gone Fishing sign hangin’ on the outside of the door,” Mike reported. “It says the saloon will reopen tomorrow at noon.” He paused before giving him the date written on the sign. Henry looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “April 2nd.”

They both scoffed with a little chuckle at the implications that the current day’s date was April 1^st. April Fools’s Day. The postmarks on the mail in Henry’s hands confirmed it. Alright. It wasn’t August yet in this dream world or time warp or whatever. If they had actually traveled back in time, they had a good chance to prevent these murders. The realization of such a possibility left both men highly exhilarated.

VVVVVVVV

Notes:

The Murder Of Emma Smith - Tuesday, 3rd April 1888. (jack-the-ripper-tour.com)

The Life And Death Of Martha Tabram - 1849 - 1888. (jack-the-ripper-tour.com)

Slight reference to John Allen Muhammed (deceased) and 18-year-old Lee Boyd Malvo, known as the DC Snipers or Beltway Killers, who terrorized the DC area beginning from February 2002 to October 2002. See D. C. Sniper Attacks - Wikipedia.

Chapter Text

A worried Karen Hanson stood by her husband’s bedside and watched him while he slept. Thank goodness her younger sister’s husband was a doctor, who tended to the living --- not the dead like the MEs in the City Morgue. He’d come over before his shift at the hospital and examined Mike. Although he had assured her that Mike was asleep and not in a coma, not suffering from any illness or the effects of any drug, she was still worried. This just didn’t seem natural, this sleeping for hours and mumbling inaudibly from time to time. Never in her 13 years of marriage had she experienced anything like this with Mike. If anything, he had always gotten too little sleep, in her opinion. But here he was dozing soundly for more than 12 hours when he’d usually logged only a few hours a night. He appeared almost peaceful at times, then he’d appear to be waking up, only to fall back into peaceful slumber again.

His cellphone rang again. It had rung so many times today; even after she’d told each caller that he was ill and under a doctor’s care, and couldn’t be disturbed. It wasn’t exactly a lie, for she believed that he was ill. The illness was just … unknown as yet.

Karen sighed and answered the phone after seeing the Caller ID display J MARTINEZ.

“Hi, Jo. What’s up?” she asked tiredly but all the while keeping her eyes on her husband.

(“Karen, I … I don’t know how to say this.”)

The worried wife shifted her attention fully to the phone call. “Say what? Jo, what is it?”

After a short moment of silence, Jo managed to tell her that she was with Abe at his home and Henry was in the same condition as Mike.

“What, you mean --- ?”

(“Sleeping! He’s been sleeping since late last night, more than 12 hours ago. Abe said he’s tried everything to wake him but nothing has worked so far.”)

Karen was speechless. Jo asked if she was still there. “Yes, yes, I’m, I’m still here.” Her thoughts racing, she struggled to remain calm and make some sense of all of this. “Jo, Mike was on his phone late last night, maybe in the wee hours of the morning. He thought I didn’t know. But I have a growing suspicion that he was researching that crap again about Jack the Ripper. He’s been kind of obsessed with it for weeks.”

(“The Ripper. Well, I don’t know if this matters or not but we were discussing it last night over drinks at McSorley’s.”)

Karen was confused but managed to reply, “Could they both have become so absorbed with the old mystery that they’re experiencing some kind of, of mass hysteria or something?”

(“Maybe not hysteria, exactly. Lucas had warned them not to search for ‘The Ripper Notes’ online. Abe said that he had used his laptop last night to help Henry search for them. He said he hadn’t believed the rumors about people experiencing strange things after they’d searched the site.”)

Karen realized that she was holding the actual device that Mike had used before falling under this strange slumber. She held the phone away from her ear and stared at it. “He did his own search on this phone, Jo. Maybe I should ---” She was cut off by Abe’s frantic voice in the background on Jo’s end of the call.

(“Tell her not to search like they did! Tell her, Jo! We don’t wanna lose her, too!”)

(“Karen, did you hear Abe? He’s convinced that we just have to wait this out. Please don’t try anything foolish.”)

“Jo, I … well, I guess,” she began uncertainly. Then she saw something that horrified her and she gasped, nearly dropping the phone. Her blood-curdling scream was heard by Jo and Abe on the other end of the line.

(“Karen! Karen! What’s happening??!! Karen!!”)

vvvv

Moments before, on the other side of reality …

Henry checked the time on his pocket watch and snapped it shut. It was suddenly 1:23 AM. He then checked the date on the large calendar that hung on the wall. He recalled that he’d had a habit of placing a small check mark in each day’s block at the end of the day, which meant it was already the morning of April 3rd. The 2^nd of April had been skipped over entirely for Mike and him. But this was a dream world, wasn’t it?

“Emma Elizabeth Smith.” Her name entered his thoughts again. He pocketed his watch and announced the time as he turned to face Mike.

“Emma Elizabeth Smith died on the 4th of April, 1888,” he began. “Her body was discovered the day before.”

“Which is today,” Mike said, following along with Henry.

“Which also means the attack could be happening this very minute,” Henry said breathlessly.

“We should go find out,” Mike said. “See if we can do something to stop it or get a better look at the crap ass perps.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Henry agreed.

They left the building and Mike kept up with Henry’s quick pace as he made his way toward the spot where history said Emma had been attacked. Out of habit, Mike’s hand went for his gun, but it wasn’t there.

“You are without your weapon, Detective,” Henry calmly enlightened him as they now approached the infamous junction of Wentworth Street and Brick Lane.

They stopped and looked around at the seemingly deserted streets and then at each other, both thinking that they had overthought things. But then they heard the sound of people running, men’s voices, and a woman’s frantic calls for help. The ruckus grew louder as it approached from their left. A woman in a dark, ankle-length dress and hair piled atop her head in typical Victorian-era fashion, rounded the corner of Brick Lane; her calls for help growing louder as she ran closer to them. A small rag-tag group of men, some holding long sticks, others holding knives, raced after her.

“Freeze!” Mike yelled at the group of attackers, his New York cop training taking over. He ran to confront them in an effort to protect the distraught woman. Just as he reached her, he felt Henry by his side. He pushed the woman behind him and Henry and yelled angrily at the men, “Pick on somebody your own size, ass wipes!”

The men temporarily halted their forward movement, confused by the unfamiliar insult. But they knew enough to still take great exception to the “a” word being part of the insult.

“A Yank!” one of them, about 20 years old, declared mockingly. “What are you doing so far away from mummy’s bosom?” The other four laughed heartily.

“Looks like I’m here to put you and your fellow a-holes in check,” Mike calmly replied, his eyes darting from one to the other, in anticipation of an attack from any angle. His gun would have come in handy, he told himself. But he’d had the best of training in hand-to-hand from both the Marines and the NYPD. He could take these guys.

“Doc, get her away from here,” he whispered to Henry while keeping his eyes trained on the attackers, his arms held slightly out to the sides, his hands open and ready.

“She’s run off,” Henry whispered in reply. Like Mike, his eyes darted from one attacker to the other. “You can’t take them alone.”

The attackers began to spread out as if to encircle them. The mouthy one lunged at Mike with a knife and he curled inward and jumped away from him. He crouched low and grabbed the man’s arm, wrestling the weapon away from him. He then grabbed the man by his collar and turned him around to face him and a crashing blow from his right fist. The man fell to the ground, unconscious. Almost immediately, another man swung at him and Mike ducked down. He punched the man in his gut and then laid him low with a powerful left hook. He looked over at Henry and saw him taking an old-fashioned boxer stance in front of a third attacker and a fourth creeping up behind him. Before Mike could warn Henry or jump in to help him, Henry landed a backward punch on the man behind him without even looking at him, knocking him out cold. The attacker in front of Henry was so surprised by his move that he temporarily halted his assault. It gave Henry just enough time to deliver an uppercut to the man’s jaw which knocked him out cold, as well. Suddenly outnumbered two to one, the fifth attacker threw down his weapon, a sawed-off axe handle, and turned and fled.

Mike was both relieved that Henry had not required any of his assistance in dealing with the perps, and impressed at how the usually stodgy ME had handled himself.

“Way to go, Doc,” he said with a chuckle, patting him on the shoulder.

“You’re not the only one trained in the art of self-defense, Detective,” Henry told him with a smile. “And, as a medical professional, I’ve had to fend off those who would deign to relieve me of some or all of my pharmaceuticals.”

“Junkies,” Mike said.

“Exactly,” Henry replied.

Mike looked around and then back at Henry. “Looks like we saved the lady. Maybe we should try to find her; see if she needs any medical help,” he proposed.

Before Henry could respond, Mike suddenly stiffened and bent forward slightly, while his eyes widened and his mouth hung open without a sound coming from him. The first man laid low had regained consciousness and jumped up behind Mike before either of them knew it. He’d then plunged his knife into Mike’s right side, yanked it out, and then fled the scene, bloodied knife in hand.

Henry did his best to hold up his detective friend. Mike slumped forward and then dropped to the ground, winding up on his back. Henry kneeled next to him and quickly but gently opened Mike’s jacket to examine the wound. He yanked off his own jacket, bunched it up, and pressed it against his wound to try to stop the bleeding. It did no good, though. Henry grew worried as he noticed Mike, although in a great deal of pain, was growing weaker. How could this have happened? This wasn’t a dream; it was a nightmare!

“H-hey, Doc,” Mike managed in a weak voice. “You said … we … we probably couldn’t die in this … this dream world. Guess you were wrong.” He closed his eyes and stilled.

“Detective? Detective! Mike!” Henry frantically tried to get him to open his eyes, to respond to him. To not die. “Oh, dear God,” he moaned.

Then, Mike simply vanished. Blood and all. But there was no accompanying flash of light. Mike had simply vanished into thin air. Henry jumped to his feet and looked around for any trace of his friend. Then he heard a woman’s blood-curdling scream that didn’t seem to emanate from his surroundings. It sounded like it was in a far away echo chamber without the echo. Almost as if … it had come from the other side of reality.

VVVVVVVV

Author’s Notes:

It’s been a long time since the last update but I hope those still interested will like this latest chapter. Is Mike dead? Now, do you really think I would do that to poor Mike and his wife and kids? We’ll find out where he is in the next update. Thank you all very much for your continued interest and support.

Chapter Text

Karen’s next scream suddenly caught in her throat. She was totally unprepared for what she was now seeing. Although aware of Jo on the other end of the line frantically questioning her to find out why she was screaming, she was now speechless and unable to reply. But she began to chuckle nervously at the sight of her once long-slumbering husband now fully awake and in the best of health.

(“Karen! Karen! For God’s sake, what’s going on??!!”)

“It, it’s Mike,” Karen replied breathlessly, finally finding her voice again. “He, he was bleeding so badly all of a sudden from a wound on his side but, but now it’s all gone!” She chuckled some more. “It’s all gone a-and he’s okay. Mike! Ohhh, honey, I’m so glad to see you’re alright.”

Still clutching the phone, she threw herself at him and enveloped him in a bearhug. On the other end of the call, Jo could hear her sobs interspersed with the sounds of kisses while Mike assured her that he was okay and apologized for having worried her so.

(“Will somebody please tell me what’s going on?!”)

Mike laughed softly in spite of the trauma he’d just experienced, and spoke loudly enough for Jo to hear him.

“I’m fine, Jo! Things got a bit crazy there for a minute but I’m awake now. Everything’s fine. It was just some kind of crazy dream, I guess.”

Karen released her tight bearhug on him but remained close. She stroked the side of his face and smiled through the last of her tears. “Yeah, but he was fighting someone in his sleep,” she said loudly enough for Jo to hear. “It’s all over, though; blood’s all gone. Maybe I just imagined it because I haven’t gotten much sleep myself what with taking care of the boys and watching over Mike.”

Mike frowned slightly and asked Jo where she was.

(“I’m with Abe. We’ve been watching over Henry while he’s been asleep and … just a few minutes ago, he seemed to be fighting with someone, too.”)

Fighting. The both of them fighting with someone just before ---. Mike was now concerned for Henry’s safety. Since he had died in his dream, Mike realized that it was a way out for Henry, as well. But how would he be able to contact him so he’d know?

“Henry’s still asleep,” he stated to Jo as he picked up the phone and spoke into it.

(“Yes.”)

“No fighting?” he asked.

(“No. He’s calmed back down but he looks a bit worried.”)

Mike cursed under his breath. “Then he’s still there; and he’s all by himself.”

(“All by himself where? Mike, you’re not making much sense.”)

“None of this makes sense,” he agreed frustratedly. “But we can’t leave him there all alone.” He lowered the phone and looked apologetically into his wife’s eyes. “I gotta go back.”

“Go back where?” Karen asked, confused, but totally against it. “No! No!”

“Look, honey, I gotta,” Mike insisted. He’d lain the phone down on the bed and now he reached for it again but Karen snatched it away from him and jumped up off the bed. “Karen, give me the phone.”

“No,” she replied, shaking her head vigorously.

He looked around the room and asked, “Where’s my laptop?”

Karen shook her head slowly from side to side while she backed out of the room, clutching the phone to her bosom. “You won’t find it. No more of this, Mike. I can’t take any more of this. I’ll go fix you some breakfast.” With that, she quickly turned and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Mike threw the covers back and tried to stand up but he was dizzy all of a sudden. He plopped back down onto the bed, his head spinning. He wondered why he suddenly felt this way. It reminded him of when he’d lost consciousness once after having given blood. He’d gotten up to move around too soon. The dizziness was like after he’d … lost a lot of blood. The fight with the thugs. One of them had stabbed him. It soon dawned on him that his condition might have something to do with having maybe … died … in the dream world. And the fact that Henry was still caught up in it convinced him all the more that they had to go and get him out of there, wherever “there” was.

vvvv

Downstairs in the kitchen, Karen dried her tears and focused all her energy on preparing her husband’s favorite breakfast of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and coffee. So involved was she in the preparation that she nearly forgot Jo was still on the other end of the phone line. She hurriedly turned off the stove and picked up the phone again.

“I’m sorry, Jo,” she apologized. “Are you still there?”

(“Yes, but not for long.”)

“What do you mean?”

(“Nothing. I’ll talk to you later. Take care of Mike.”)

“Jo? Jo! Don’t do anything rash. Jo!”

It was too late. She had hung up. Karen knew instinctively what Jo might attempt to do, for if she were in her shoes, she would attempt the same. Anything for the man she loved. “Good luck, Jo. Be careful.”

vvvv

“Jo, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Abe cautioned her, shuddering.

“He’s alone there, wherever that is,” she stated. “I have no choice but to ‘go in’ after him and bring him back.”

“What, you’re gonna kill him and then yourself to get back?” he challenged, crossing his arms.

“Not if I can help it,” she replied. “There must be another way.”

“And if there isn’t?” he asked, dropping his arms, his concern for her growing.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” she replied. “Now, where’s your laptop? I need to access the site that got these two knuckleheads in trouble.”

Chapter Text

Entering this strange place had been relatively painless and she was thankful for that. But the fact that she could actually get there, still left her feeling very unsettled. She looked around at the dark, deserted unfamiliar streets and then consulted the crude map of the area Mike had drawn for her from memory. It was a good thing she had it because she couldn’t find the more standard one she had printed from Abe’s laptop.

Moving cautiously along, she divided her attention between the map and her surroundings. The thought loomed large that a vicious serial killer was on the loose --- and she was a woman alone on these gloomy streets. Her police training allowed her to work through her fears and remain focused on the task at hand: find Henry so they could get back to their normal reality. Then, she heard footfalls behind her. Her heart raced as she reached for her gun --- but it wasn’t on her. Not even her holster! What the hell?? She had nothing with which to defend herself. She looked around at the ground for a loose brick or discarded piece of metal, a piece of glass. Anything! She knew from the map that she was nearing Henry’s office and she picked up her pace. The footfalls behind her had sped up, as well.

The sight of Henry’s office caused her to giggle slightly in nervous delight. She knocked on the door but there was no answer. She knocked again more frantically. The footfalls were getting closer and she had no gun! If this was the Ripper or some other maniac coming after her, she was going to fight tooth and nail to stay alive. His poor women victims hadn’t been properly trained to defend themselves like she had been. And why the hell didn’t Henry open this damn door!?

“Henry!” she yelled as she knocked louder. “Open the door!” She felt a hand on her right shoulder and she instinctively grabbed it by the wrist with both hands and twisted it down as she whirled around.

“Jo! It’s me! Aaagghh!”

She immediately released the hand of her perceived attacker and let out a nervous laugh when she saw who it was.

“Oh, God, Henry. I could have really hurt you,” she said.

He grimaced as he rubbed his wrist. “I would say that you really did, Detective."

The sound of children giggling interrupted their conversation and they looked around to see where it was coming from but saw no one. They resumed their conversation.

“Sorry,” she said. “But you shouldn’t have crept up on me like that.”

“I wasn’t creeping, Detective,” he told her. “I thought you might be the poor woman who was attacked a few moments ago. The lighting is terrible around here.”

She froze. “Attacked as in --- ”

“No, no,” he replied, shaking his head. “He wasn’t her attacker. It was a group of young men.” He could see that she was trying to get her breathing and heart rate under control. “You shouldn’t have come here. It’s much too dangerous.”

“Henry, I’m a cop,” she reminded him just as she had on several other occasions. “Danger is a part of my job. Besides, someone had to come to this wherever place and bring you back.”

“Mike was gravely injured and then he just disappeared,” he told her sorrowfully. “I have no idea where he could be.”

“He’s at home,” she informed him. “He’s okay. Awake but a little weak. That’s why he couldn’t come back.”

Relieved, Henry broke out into a smile. “Well, that’s great! Let’s, ah, go inside, shall we?”

“I wish we could just leave,” she lamented. “This place weirds me out.”

Henry opened the door and stepped back to let her enter first.

“You mean it was open all the time?” she asked, astonished, and a bit embarrassed after all the frantic pounding and yelling she’d just done.

He nodded and extended his arm again and followed her inside. He closed the door once they were inside and he motioned toward the inner office. “Let’s go in there,” he said.

Once in the inner office, he offered her the comfortable leather chair behind the large desk. He then pulled a smaller, high-backed wooden chair over to the desk and sat in it.

“I’m glad that Mike is alright,” he said with another sigh of relief. “Obviously, death is a way to exit this place.” He cast a grim look at her. “Was that your plan? A murder-suicide?”

“Not if I can help it,” she replied. “Too gory. No, the Cyber Crimes Division has been contacted. Irene’s former partner, Keith Wilcox, still works there. I’m sure he and his team can discover what they call the static IP address responsible for establishing The Ripper Notes site.”

“And then what?” he asked. “If the site is merely taken down, we could be trapped here in, in --- “

“Cyberspace,” Jo finished for him.

He stood up from his chair, frowning. “Is it your assertion that we have been sucked into some kind of, of game?”

“It could be, Henry, according to rumors that Lucas said he’d heard,” she replied softly. “We could be trapped in our own minds. Or in our dreams. I simply don’t know. Let’s hope that Cyber Crimes with Lt. Reece’s help can do something to end all of this.”

He sighed loudly. “Why did you come here, Jo? You already know that I can probably exit the same way Mike did but without any ill after effects. You’ve put yourself in unnecessary danger.”

She hesitated a moment before replying, then sat forward with her hands folded on the desk in front of her. “All I knew is that you were here alone. I had no way to know if you were also hurt and needed help. Abe is really worried about you. Everyone is.” She most definitely was.

“Still, you didn’t have to come,” he said. “Another member of the NYPD could have.”

“Henry, I know your secret. Would you want someone else, a stranger, to come in here and possibly uncover it?” she asked. “Or someone who does know your secret but is untrained in dealing with dangerous situations?”

Unexpectedly, his lop-sided grin appeared. He shoved his hands down into his trouser pockets and paced slowly back and forth in front of her. “You’re madly in love with me. That’s why you came to rescue me.”

“Madly --- in --- ,” She couldn’t finish the sentence, could hardly breathe all of a sudden. She was mortified! How could he be so arrogant as to broach this subject with her at a time like this! And so what if she was in love with him? It wasn’t madly. At least she wouldn’t quite … categorize it that way.

“Keep on dreaming, Mister,” she told him, managing to keep her voice calm. “That kind of talk makes me wish I had my gun. Murder-suicide sounds like a pretty good option right now.”

“Calm down, Jo,” he told her, taming his grin. “As always, I’m simply concerned about your safety. No matter the circumstances.”

A smug smile began to overtake her features. “Concerned or … madly in love with me. That’s why you always feel the need to protect me.” She rose from her chair and advanced slowly towards him. “That’s why you always try to go ahead of me or position yourself between me and possible harm.” She had him cornered now, on the run. She’d turned the tables on him in this impromptu war of emotions and motives. Her face was inches from his while he was backed up against the wall.

“Admit it,” she dared him, an eyebrow raised.

“A-admit what?” he stammered, surprised in an un-weirded-out kind of way. It was kind of nice having her invade his personal space like this. Good Lord, he thought to himself. He was expressing himself like Lucas now! He managed to quickly step away from her and put some distance between them.

“Admit that you love me,” she continued smugly as she slowly turned around. “You haven’t said it to me, yet, but I know it’s true.”

 “Jo, this is hardly the proper time and place to have this type of discussion,” he told her as he now faced her again.

She took a couple of steps towards him and stopped with her hands clasped behind her back. “Okay. When will it be the proper time and place?” she asked, mirroring his own words.

He lowered his arms and his head, still looking her in the eyes. He tried unsuccessfully to hide another smile. “We can resume this conversation once we return home.”

“No bull?” she asked, smirking at his slight discomfort hearing the term. He was too old-fashioned and straightlaced for his own good.

He released a sigh of discomfort and clasped his hands together in front of him. “No bull,” he assured her. Ohhh, if Lucas and Abe could only hear him now. He’d never hear the end of it.

She looked him up and down, still smiling. “Okay,” is all she said.

“Now,” he began. “Can we get back to ‘the plan’ to get us out of here?”

Her smile faded and she spread her hands and shrugged slightly. “We just wait for Cyber Crimes to … pull the plug on all of this.”

He shook his head and marched back to his desk to retrieve his small journal of notes. “No, Jo. I believe that Mike and I are on to something.” He opened the journal to show her the page on which he and Mike had seen wording suddenly appear about the woman who had been recently attacked.

“The Ripper may not have been one of the woman’s young attackers,” he began. “But he could be associated with them. Mike theorized that an older man, a sort of heinous advisor, if you will, could have taken the helm, so to speak, in the subsequent attacks on several women, including the canonical five.”

“Con, what?” she asked, confused. Even though she wanted no part of this investigation, she now stood right next to him, studying the page of the open journal.

“Canonical. Canonical five. The five women whose names always come up whenever the Ripper’s crimes are discussed,” he explained. “Now, if we could find her in the hospital she was reportedly taken to, and question her --- “

“What do you mean, question her?” Jo asked, incredulous. “I didn’t come here to help you investigate anything. We just have to leave!”

“But, Jo, we have an opportunity to possibly learn who Jack the Ripper was. Once his identity is uncovered, we might miraculously be removed from here. Plus, it would be a monumental historic achievement.” Assuming the end result was real, which he failed to mention.

But before she could protest further, they watched in awed silence as new wording quickly appeared on the open page of the journal. Wording that announced the demise of the woman who had been attacked earlier by the group of young men.

Dumbfounded, Henry carefully laid the journal back down on the desk.

“She did die in the hospital the next morning,” he said just above a whisper. “Which means time has been greatly accelerated in this strange existence.”

“Well … too bad for her,” Jo began. “But she did die over a hundred years ago.” When Henry frowned at her, she added, “Well, she did.”

“Jo, I understand what you’re saying, but --- “ He was suddenly interrupted by a knock on the office’s entry door. He and Jo exchanged a look of foreboding and then they heard a voice from the other side of the door.

“Doctor? Dr. Morgan, please help me,” the voice of a young man implored. “I’m injured. Please open the door, doctor.”

The two of them slowly left the inner office and approached the entry door in silence but made no move to open it. They barely breathed. Henry opened his mouth as if to say something but Jo grabbed his arm and shook her head vigorously to stop him. He raised the index finger of his right hand and peered through the peephole. The fish-eye lens allowed him to see the head and shoulders of the young man who had dropped his rudimentary weapon and run away from Mike and him earlier. But he noticed something else. A taller figure with broader shoulders wearing an expensive looking black cape standing close behind him. The person was too tall for their face to be visible through the peephole, though.

A strange figure wearing a black cape; and the young man who claimed to be injured did not appear to be experiencing any discomfort. He did appear nervous, though. It was as if he were an unwilling participant in attempting to get him to open his office door. Jo patted him on the arm to get his attention and he stepped back to give her enough room so she could peer through the peephole herself. She looked for just a moment and then stepped quietly away from the door. She made eye contact with Henry again and shook her head slowly as a silent warning for him not to open the door.

In her mind, the pair on the other side of the door reminded her of people she’d seen in front of bank surveillance cameras when a person was being forced to withdraw money from an ATM and their abductor hovered at their shoulder. She looked around the room for a weapon and settled on a heavy paper weight on the desk. She raised the object so Henry could see it, silently advising him to arm himself with his own makeshift weapon.

He tiptoed back into the inner office, went over to the apothecary cabinet, and opened it. After quick consideration, he settled on a specially crafted, heavy hammer which he’d used for testing the reflexes of his more obese patients. He quickly scooted back to join her and showed the hammer to her. They stared grimly at the entry door, both of them wondering if it was really the actual Ripper killer out there with a murderous apprentice or an innocent hostage.

Just then they heard a different male voice, older, deeper, and more sinister sounding.

“Open the door, Dr. Morgan. You came all this way to meet me. Don’t you and your lady friend want to continue our little game? We could have a ripping time.”

The voice was cold and menacing, but at least it wasn’t Adam’s voice, Henry told himself. The sound of it still ran icy fingers down his spine. And he was certain that Jo was thinking the same thing he was: if ever there was a time for Cyber Crimes to do their thing, it was now! And they thought it odd when they heard the unmistakable sound of children giggling again.

vvvv

“Found it!” Keith exclaimed gleefully. “The static IP Address for the site.”

“Great!” Lt. Reece replied. “Where’s the computer located so we can go over there and shut them down?”

“Oh, no need for that,” he told her. “We’ve got a lock on it. We’re in charge of the site now.” He chuckled. “Whoever put up this site is pulling their hair out trying to figure out what just happened."

“We still need the physical address,” Reece stated. “We’ve got to get our people out of there.”

One of his two colleagues, Andra, asked innocently, “Get who out of where?”

Unwilling to provide any more information to those who did not know of Henry’s unusual “condition”, Reece simply replied, “Police business. The address, please.”

Keith complied and Reece quickly left with two uni’s. He turned his attention back to his computer and keyed in a few more commands. Then, he snatched his fingers away from the keyboard and hunched forward as he frowned at the information on the screen.

“What’s wrong?” Andra asked.

“The person connected to this IP address is … dead,” he haltingly replied. “And they have been dead for more than a year.”

“Then, who’s been running the site?” Andra wondered. She and a small group of friends had only recently gained knowledge of its existence.

“I guess Lt. Reece and her blue coats will soon find out,” he replied, his eyes wide with wonder.

vvvv

A nicely renovated apartment home on West 119^th Street …

A concerned father, Tom Westerphal, stood outside the bedroom door of his young son, Bryce, and heard giggling from within. He knocked loudly and ordered his son to open the door.

“Bryce! This is Dad. Open up!”

“Dad sounds mad,” Bryce’s eight-year-old sister, Rayne whispered. “I told you he’d find out what you’ve been doing!”

“What we’ve been doing,” he corrected her in a whisper.

“You made me,” Rayne countered defensively.

Bryce, 12, scowled at his sister then quickly shoved his late older brother’s laptop back under his mattress.

“Coming, Dad!” he loudly responded as he ran and opened the door. Both children at first put on their best well-behaved act for their father, but when they saw how upset he was and the police in the hallway behind him, they dropped their façade.

“Where’s Tommy’s laptop?” Tom demanded of them. “The police are here. You two are in a lot of trouble. Now, where is the laptop?”

Bryce reluctantly retrieved it from under his mattress. “We just wanted to have a little fun. It wasn’t hurtin’ nobody.”

Tom heaved a sigh of frustration, and with an apologetic look on his face, motioned for his son to hand the laptop to Reece. “They’re just kids,” he said in their defense. “They really looked up to their big brother, Tommy. He was what you call a computer geek. A teenage genius, actually.” He sighed again and shoved his hands into his pants pockets, his eyes never leaving the laptop in Reece’s blue gloved hands.

“I just wish he had done something a little more constructive with his smarts.”

Reece assured him that the site had been shut down by the department and that they would be in touch with him if they had any other questions.

“And we’re very sorry for the loss of your son, Tommy,” she told him regarding the 16-year-old who’d died of a brain aneurysm a little over a year ago, and thanked him before she and the two unis left.

Once back at the precinct, the laptop was handed over to Keith and Andra to do their best to open a portal for Henry and Jo’s return.

vvvv

Back in Henry’s old medical office …

Henry and Jo, armed with their individual weapons, watched in horror as his office’s entry door began to open. He was sure he had locked it. Maybe locks didn’t work in this phantasm. Jo surprised him at first when she pushed her shoulder against the door and shut it. He quickly added his weight to her efforts, but it wasn’t enough to hold the intruder(s) back. They were losing the battle.

The fingers of two black leather gloved hands curled around the edge of the door near the middle. Henry and Jo bludgeoned the fingers with their respective weapons, causing the owner to cry out in pain and quickly snatch them back. They were able to shut the door again and Henry made quick work of applying the lock once more.

The injured person outside moaned loudly and cursed them even louder.

“Go away and leave us alone!” Henry shouted. “Or I’ll ring the constables!”

“There are none here, you fool,” the injured man growled. “There is no one to save you. No one! You may have broken my hands but I can instruct my protegee on what to do to you.”

Henry hadn’t wanted to once again resort to violence but he realized it was necessary in order to keep Jo safe. To that end, he transferred the hammer to his left hand and pulled out a bottle of acid from his jacket pocket and popped the cork top out of it.

Jo looked questioningly at the bottle then at him. “What is that?” she whispered.

“Something that can do more permanent harm than a broken bone,” he whispered back. “Acid.”

Just as he feared, the lock proved useless when the door flung open and the two men burst into the room. Henry flung the corrosive liquid at the man in black. He roared in pain and turned away as the acid melted through his black leather mask. Jo crashed the heavy paper weight into the face of the “protegee” and blood spurted from his nose after a loud cracking sound. His hands flew to his face and he dropped to his knees, groaning. She finished him off by crashing the paper weight into the side of his head and he fell face down on the floor, unconscious.

She looked at Henry, who stood near the man in black, now frantically shedding as much of his clothing as possible. The acid was still working its way through wherever it had landed on the black leather and, apparently, onto the man’s skin. Just as he ripped off his mask, which would reveal his facial features, or what was left of them, everything went dark and silent.

Henry and Jo moved closer to each other as the walls of the room brightened into white. The wall facing the street was whiter and brighter than all the other walls. In the center was a large circle reminiscent of the buffering circle on the white screen of a computer monitor. It mesmerized them as they now huddled together and fought against a trancelike state trying to overtake them. The buffering circle grew larger and larger, even larger than the building that housed the medical office. They felt dwarfed by the size of it and felt their grips on each other slipping as they were engulfed by the bright whiteness.

VVVVVVVV

Notes:

Slight reference to characters from Forever TV Show 2014, S1/E17 “Social Engineering”.

The "madly in love" exchange between Henry and Jo was inspired by the barn scene from the 1951 movie, "People Will Talk" starring Cary Grant, Jeanne Crain, Walter Slezak, and Hume Cronyn. Great movie, cute scene. I just added it for Jenry's sake. People Will Talk - Wikipedia

Chapter Text

Henry startled as his grip on Jo failed. He tried his best to hang onto her but his strength was quickly draining out of him. He panicked further when he suddenly no longer felt her grip on him. He called to her, stretched out his hands and felt around for her. Jo! Where was she? He could see nothing in this blinding whiteness. Jo!

“Jo!” Henry yelled, then suddenly opened his eyes and sat straight up in bed. His own bed. In his own room.

In a bedside chair, Abe was startled awake by his father’s yelling and quickly moved to his side. He grabbed him by the shoulders and stared into his face. He reacted to the whisper of his name by throwing his arms around his father and clutching him to his chest. Abe squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to keep his emotions in check. He was barely able to breathe out “Dad”.

The two men loosened their embrace and Henry’s smile quickly left his face.

“Jo! Where is she?” he asked.

“Right here,” a familiar voice replied from the doorway.

Henry jumped out of bed when he saw Lucas standing and grinning in the doorway. Lucas raised his arm to indicate that Jo was nearby. Henry flew past him down the hall to Abe’s room. He entered the room and stopped a few paces from where Jo sat on the side of Abe’s bed. She looked up at him and their eyes met.

“Henry,” she said breathlessly, wonderingly. “I thought I’d lost you.”

His heart melted and he went and sat beside her. “I’d feared the same of you.” He covered her hand with his and they stared into each other’s eyes, oblivious of Abe and Lucas grinning and unabashedly witnessing what they hoped to be the interaction between two no longer reluctant lovers.

After a few moments, Abe began to gradually feel genuine embarrassment and patted Lucas on the arm, silently signaling for them to leave the pair alone. They walked into the kitchen, but left the bedroom door open. Abe knew that his father would have preferred it that way so as to avoid any impropriety. Abe, on the other hand, wished the two of them would just go away for the weekend and let their freak flags fly.

“Hungry?” Abe asked Lucas, as he turned up the fire under the tea kettle.

“Not really,” Lucas replied. “But I could still handle some more of that beef stroganoff.”

Abe chuckled as he retrieved the container of food from the refrigerator and placed it in the microwave. “No problem, kid.”

“We should call Lt. Reece to let her know that all hands are back on deck,” Lucas joked.

Abe glanced in the direction of his bedroom and back at him. “Let’s, uh, give ‘em a little more time. Those two need some time alone.”

“Real bad,” Lucas said, nodding wide-eyed.

Abe chuckled again and the microwave beeped. He took the food container out and set it on the counter. He pulled two plates from the cupboard and handed one to Lucas.

“Dig in,” was all he said.

While they enjoyed their meal and exchanged notes on the situation that finally appeared to be under control, Henry and Jo emerged from the bedroom and joined them in the kitchen.

vvvv

The bullpen in the 11^th Precinct, two days later …

Mike Hanson returned to his desk with a cup of breakroom coffee. He placed the mug on his desk and released a loud sigh of satisfaction as he sat down. He looked over at Jo seated at her desk and smiled.

“Nice to be back, ain’t it?” he said with a wide grin.

“Yeah,” she replied with a smile before taking a sip from her own coffee mug. She sat the cup down and shook her head, staring straight ahead. “Just hard to believe that all that mayhem was caused by a couple of bored kids whose IQ’s are too big for their britches.”

“Kinda wish my kids were smart like that,” he said. She gave him a “really” look. “They would finish school and be self-supporting before they turned 18,” he rationalized.

“Honestly,” she drew out, rolling her eyes and shaking her head.

Just then, Lt. Reece approached them. “The kids’s father, Tom Westerphal, has cooperated fully in our investigation and he’s very remorseful about any harm done to anyone who visited their site. Apparently, his son who passed away had started it as part of one of his college assignments to investigate and maybe solve an old mystery. The two younger kids, just as smart as their older brother, turned the site into some kind of game that ensnared people’s minds and threw them into some kind of dreamscape to, in their own words, ‘mess with them’ while under the influence of several subliminal messages.”

“So … everything we saw, everything we went through was not real,” Jo said. “I just hope their father can help them find a more productive outlet for their talents.”

“He’s got them on electronics lockdown for now,” Reece said.

“They must be going through kiddie hell,” Mike quipped.

Reece and Jo laughed softly. Then, Reece returned to her office and Jo and Mike turned back to their respective inboxes and emails.

Jo was glad that the experience was all a fabrication. Nobody knew who Jack the Ripper was and his identity would most likely remain a mystery for all time. Mike, on the other hand, felt a little disappointed that their experiences had not been real. He really wanted to know who the crazed serial killer was and had felt that he and Henry had gotten onto something. But he realized that he had to move on, as they say, and get back to the business of solving present day crimes involving present day perps.

vvvv

Three months later, Henry and Jo were leaving a courtroom after both had given testimony in a separate case involving money laundering, murder for hire, and a love triangle. They waited for an elevator car to arrive to take them down. Once one finally arrived and the doors opened, they stood to one side while a handful of people exited. One of the people exiting they recognized as Tom Westerphal. They exchanged polite but brief greetings as the two crime solvers entered the elevator and Westerphal proceeded down the hall. As the doors closed and the car began its descent, Jo noticed how pensive Henry had become.

“You’re doing it again,” she told him.

“Doing what?” he asked.

“Trying to figure out where you know Westerphal from,” she said.

Henry shook his head slightly. “It’s odd. Very odd. He looks familiar but I simply can’t place him,” he said. “As yet,” he emphasized with a nod of his head toward her.

“Like I said before,” she began. “He probably just resembles someone you’ve met in your long life.”

“Hmmm, could be,” he said, still not convinced. A snatch of memory hit him again of a man lifting a black mask from his face. No, tearing it from his face as if in a panic. It was all too quick like the blink of an eye. A black mask. Why couldn’t he remember?

vvvv

The Westerphal household was quiet. Tom checked in on his young son and daughter slumbering in their respective bedrooms. He joined his wife, Marta, in their bedroom. They kissed and he headed for a quick shower while she resumed watching a travelogue program on public broadcasting. His beard was a little too bristly for her during their kiss.

“Maybe trim your beard a bit while you’re in there,” she suggested to his departing form. “Just a little,” she added.

His weak smile faded quickly as he entered the bathroom and he stopped in front of the mirror. He fingered the long, jagged scar that ran from just below the middle of his left jaw and downward across his chin to just under the right side of his jaw. The beard at its present length and thickness hid the scar perfectly. A scar the result of acid having been splashed on him a long time ago. At least the scar on his face was aptly hidden by his beard and it wasn’t nearly as disfiguring as the three longer diagonal scars across his torso. The person who had scarred him should thank their lucky stars that he no longer gave in to those old urges to seek revenge resulting in murder and mayhem. They should thank their lucky stars, indeed.

But there was no time to dwell on his scars. He had to jump in the shower. It always helped him to sleep well. A recent promotion to a District Manager position with the moving company that employed him, still demanded as many if not more hours on the job as his delivery duties had. He was pretty successful. If his old friend and co-worker, Charles Lechmere, could see him now.

END