Utter Frustration

Stella winces at the pain in her jaw. Her eyelids open slowly; a pair of grey, silver flecked eyes stare back at her. Those and the firm grip around her waist are known to her, yet it could be another illusion...reality seems to have slipped off some place far away.
Why did you scream like a banshee? Silence. Damn it Stella, what is wrong with you? With her continued silence, Norman's frustration mounts. You've really gone over the edge this time. We must get back, avoiding any contact with the police in the process. Stella looks at him blankly. Shaking her, Norman exclaims, Bloody hell...are you listening to me?
Releasing his hold on her, Norman starts to walk off, but Stella stands, frozen on the spot. Turning around, Norman frowns and walks back; grasping her hand, he leads her back towards 'home.' Still silent, Stella follows like a distracted child; not being dragged, just without feeling or emotion. Not having time to concentrate on pondering what exactly Stella was up to or why she acted so hysterically, Norman carefully navigates them back several streets. Looping around, they successfully outwit the constables pursuing them.
All seemed well until they reached the narrow street which crosses the threshold of their very emanate departure location. Norman was instantly and utterly vexed! Grinding his teeth, he let out a low hiss. Betrayed! Yanking Stella to his side, he whispers instructions in her ear. Unsure she would carry out his command, he gives her a forceful shove towards the figure walking 100 yards in front. Stumbling slightly, Stella turns halfway and looks at Norman. His maniacal expression caused a chill in her spine and fear drove her on. Moving swiftly now, she passes the man and breaks into a run. Startled, the man falls against the brick wall, stopping him cold. Her ghost like face looks back at him and he calls out, Wait! Please miss, I must talk to you!

Future or Past?

Out of the corner of his eye, Warren can see the pulsing green light; an orb like jewel, with many facets. What secrets are hidden there? As if it were daring him or even taunting, for that matter, to act. Way ahead of you... Warren stops his packing, realizing he is talking to an inanimate object. Why...did I just do...that? Walking over, he picks up the piece, off the dresser, suddenly he feels the pulsing travel through his body and scenes begin to flash before his eyes; like he is traveling to them, but not moving. Hard to make out, but some of the faces are familiar; the two women, pale and grey, one in a nurses uniform and the other...a straight jacket? Another flash and he is in a lab with two men, they are bent over vials and other strange apparatus...just as quickly as they had started, the flashes stopped. Back in his own room, Warren sets the device on the bed and wonders what it all means. Mrs. Bennett said I hadn't been myself since these awful murders started, but really, its been since I saw Jack. My life has been turned inside out and upside down; I am no longer certain about many things and yet, I trust this man who claims to time travel. Utterly laughable.
With a sigh of determination Warren continues his task, being careful to pack only essentials, he decides to write a quick note to Mrs. Bennett. Briefly he explains he is going away for awhile; if he has not returned in a month's time, she is to pack his belongs and contact his Aunt in Stoke-upon-Trent. Placing the note and some money on the dresser, Warren scans the room one final time. I may never see this place again...I also may die in the next hour as well.
Placing the device around his wrist, Warren grabs his carpet bag and departs. Standing on the stoop, he decides to go to the most logical place, the address of the two women. Will Jack know to go there? He felt he would, maybe because of the coded note Norman sent or maybe it was the pulsing of this strange device.
Warren sets off, expecting the unknown and suspecting great danger.
The device pulsed faster now and the glowing orb began to change color...a rip in time will form...soon. 

Unexpected Meeting

Pacing the room, Grace is nearly beside herself in worry. Why? Why did Stella go out and why isn't she back yet? We are running out of time...
Suddenly, she feels an overwhelming sense of fear and dread; moving to the door and pulling it open, a rush of cold, damp air hits her face, a scream echos. Stella! On instinct she runs towards the direction it came from; rounding the corner she comes face to face with Jack. A gasp escapes her lips and Jack pulls her to him. Oh, Grace, he murmurs. Hugging her tightly, he bends over and kisses her tear stained face. Wanting to give in, Grace struggles with her feelings and fears. No, I can't do this now, Stella is in danger. Jack, please, stop. Pushing away, she tries to get passed him, but he grabs her arm. No, the police are coming, you must go back. My sister needs me! Wrenching free, Grace angrily says, you could help me! Jack seeing the distress on her face, in the dim light, tries to calm her. There is no need; Norman has her. Shocked by his response, Grace steps back confused. What? Norman... In a direct and gentle manner Jack says again, Grace, please...go back. 
Bewildered, Grace heads back, with Jack following behind a few paces. Watching Grace walking in front of him, like a vision in a dream, his heart is ripped to shreds once more; I have been trying to help you.

Grip of Fear

Stella moves silently through the early morning mist of fog; passing a few people as she makes her way back to their lodgings. Whitechapel is never completely asleep, always a drunk or prostitute about. 
Having gorged on blood, in such a frenzy, she is incognizant. With most of her clothes burned, she feels cold and the damp air is no longer refreshing; it bites into her exposed skin. A fear begins creeping up her spine and slowly starts to intensify, spreading as she gets closer to 'home.'
Flashes of the heinous act she committed begins to haunt her; Mary's face appears in the mist before her. Stopping suddenly, Stella pinches her eyes shut to make the mirage disappear. She hears screaming behind her and turns around; putting her hand over her own mouth in fright to keep from screaming herself. Nothing. No sound. No one there.
The fear grows to consume her and she quickens her pace. Almost there now, just a couple more turns and I'll be safe with...Stella?...Why are you out here? That voice, I know that voice. Now stiff with mortal dread, Stella turns once again. Eyes wide and mouth falling open, she lets out a blood curdling scream. Like a flash, he hits her square in the jaw, knocking her unconscious. Bloody stupid! A police whistle sounds off in the distance. Moving quickly he picks up Stella and heads off. Another f'ing mess to deal with.

Determination

No, Mrs. Bennett. Warren speaks in a grave voice. You do not comprehend the gravity of this situation. Warren stares up at the woman who had been almost like a mother, since he moved in three years ago. A sweet and quirky lady that is god fearing and determined to help anyone in need. Mister Warren, things have been mighty strange of late and I may not understand all the fancy methods, contraptions, but I do know folks. You haven't been yourself since the awful Ripper Murders started. She shivers at the thought. Saints preserve us. With a heavy sigh, Mrs. Bennett sits on the side of the bed, exhausted for concern over this caring, young man. I've only tried to be a help... I know and you have been. You've always taken good care of me and the others under your roof. Warren sits up, feeling like his feet are grounded again. With a gentle touch, he puts his hand on hers. Smiling, Warren looks at the stubborn Irish woman, I have a friend that needs my help and like you, I must act. With her other hand, she pats his and smiling back says, alright deary, you know best...in this case.
Getting up, Mrs. Bennett's heel hits a hard object under the bed and she cries out, ouch! What in thunder do you have under there? Reaching down, she picks up the strange object. Have you been tinkering again? Warren is now up, with dressing gown on, moves to collect the metal piece. As Mrs. Bennett hands it to him a green light starts to pulse. She exclaims, What in tar-nation is it doin'? Warren, perplexed, sets it down on the dresser. I am not at all certain, but I believe it's significant. Well, you seem to have recovered and I need my bed. You help your friend deary and be careful! I will and Mrs. Bennett, she turns, faces him as she stands holding the door, Thank you...for everything.

Unfinished Business

Jack pays the cab driver, giving him extra for the time he didn't realize was spent and for being good humored for all the stops. Right'o gov, next time yer in 'ol London town, look up 'ol Tom; cheers to you! Tipping his hat, Tom drives off into the darkness. Nearly 4 a.m. now, Jack conceals one bag in the bushes and keeping the other containing the instruments to extract the parasite and potential emergencies, should they crop up.
Setting the dial as far as it would go, like a clock, Jack activates the time distortion module for a third time, glowing amber now; this could mean there is a limit on how often it can be used, especially in one 24-hour period.
Walking past the frozen statues of night nurses and orderlies, Jack locates the critical care ward. His assaulter lay motionless in the bed. Using the bedside table, the bag is opened and Jack lays out the tools he needs on the foot of the bed. Taking tools in hand, he proceeds to undo Norman's handiwork. With time 'frozen', removing the parasite is an easy task this time around. Completing the surgery, Jack packs everything up and starts to leave the ward when time re-sequences itself. Coming towards him is an orderly carrying linens. Hey! You! What do you think you're doing here? Approaching, in a non-threatening manner, Jack addresses the aggressive man. I'm afraid I'm lost...My name is Dr. Jackson; I'm from Brompton Hospital and I was checking on a patient, that had recently consulted me. You're here a bit early Doc; best come back at 9 a.m. Yes, I'll do that and thank you.
Swiftly, Jack descends the staircase and passing the nursing station, tips his hat. Nurse Havershome is shocked to see him, before she can say anything, Jack says, over his shoulder, see you tomorrow nurse and out the door he goes.
Grabbing his other bag, from the shrubs, he starts the long walk back to Whitechapel and the rendezvous to rip. Why would Norman tell me when and where? I will have to be on my guard and then there is Grace to consider; what danger might she be in?
Too many questions swirl around his tired mind and the weather is making the walk a damp one...I'll not be missing this! 

Unlucky #13

Stella should have felt chilled to the bone, but she wasn't, thinking about her plans made a fire in her soul. It had been several hours before she felt the opportunity to get Mary alone was approaching. Watching her movements had been entertaining at first, but now she was bored with the chase.
All had gone quiet in the narrow, shadow filled lane and as Stella drew closer to #13, she could hear faint singing. There was some light coming through the curtained window. Gently, Stella wraps on the door, since trying the knob and finding it locked, it had to be risked. The broken window pane was a second option, but Mary might notice her hand reaching in to unlock the door.
Mary hears the noise and gets up to answer, hoping the caller is her fancy man, and opens the door to greet her lover...red, flashing eyes, fingers like talons with nails knife sharp, and gleaming white fangs of a wolf sink into her neck before she can move or utter a sound. All turns a murky grey blur and Mary looses consciousness.
The black velvet cloak silently falls to the floor, into a pile, and Stella carries her limp prey to the bed; looking at Mary laying there, Stella's rage boils out-of-control. Acting on shear impulse and letting herself go completely, Stella begins ripping and shredding flesh;knife in hand, she mutilates the once attractive woman now sprawled on the small bed. Stella is soaked in blood and spatter covers her grey face, licking her lips, she gives a low growl of pleasure...Mary Kelly is good and truly dead...you will NEVER have my Norman again.
Surveying the situation and what must be done now, Stella strips off her dress and stokes the fire to a roaring flame. Tossing her blood soaked dress on the fire makes it even hotter, melting the spout on the tea kettle, helpless on the stove top. Making sure there is 'no trace' of her being there, she looks around the room one last time. Swirling the velvet cape around her shoulders and dawning the hood she exits. The rain was now a heavy mist and Stella feels refreshed by the wet air; drawing in a deep breath, she heads back to meet her sister and with any luck, Norman, so they can finally be on their way.
It is finished.

Distortion of Time

Time is a dimension unseen; by watching a clock and the second hand ticking around, we observe the passing of time, but is it really? The sun moves across the sky and it becomes dark, showing the day has passed, but how long is that, really? Calculations and equations, theories and facts, everything that is believed can be shattered in less than a moment...of time.
Jack hated dragging Warren with him, but there are still a few things left to finish before meeting Norman; letting Warren on the loose would put too many people at risk.
The horses came to a halt, following the 'whoa' of the driver. Jack exited the carriage and told the driver to wait. Once again he pressed the 'gadget', after setting the timer (controls length of event),...this time he waited to observe the strange stillness. How odd to move in between the seconds, to exist on a plain as though he were a ghost. Time didn't actually stop, in a way, it went into hyper-speed for him and what took minutes were only nanoseconds for everyone else.
Going to his room, he washed his face and changed clothes. What a relief to put on his travel coat, he was ready to go, leave this time period. Bags were already packed in preparation for a quick departure; two carpet bags held all he owned or needed for these 'flights' through time.
One more task to complete besides getting Warren home. The parasite had to be destroyed; the host may not survive either...it would be unfortunate, but how many others died needlessly because of Norman?
Jack left money on the dresser and blew out the lamp. Down the stairs and out the front door, slipping the latch key through the letter box. No unfinished business here.
Back in the carriage, Jack pats Warren's leg. Hey! he says quietly, how are you doing? Warren's mind feels like someone used a whisk on it. I...I'm...not sure. There are...flashing prisms...and orbs swirling....rocking my vision. Warren bends forward and hangs his head. I feel like...I'm going to...vomit. Jack scoots across to sit next to Warren. Putting an arm around his friend, he wonders why such a response since it should not affect anyone, other than mild disorientation for those closest to phenomenon (like forgetting what you were just doing.) It will get better, soon...sit back and try closing your eyes. Warren relaxes and drifts into a fog...darkness upon darkness...no, no, this isn't where I should be. Warren struggles and claws at the black...NO! his own voice wakes him. Mrs. Bennett grabs Warren by the shoulders. Oh, Mistar Warren, I twer plum worried 'bout you. Thrashing and talk'n in yer sleep. Your friend said you'd taken ill, sudden like; over worked, poor dear. Said you needed rest. Mrs. Bennett stifles a yawn. Now you just lay yerself down and go back to sleep. You'll feel right as rain in the morn'n. No, I can't do that...I've got to get to Jack. Jack? Oh, you mean Mr. Jackson. He is fine and said not to worry, all would be taken care of. You don't understand...Oh, I understand all right, you need to rest and so do I. Land sakes, it's just about 4 a.m...

Illusion?

The carriage gently sways as the horses trot along the wet cobblestone streets. Rain drops streak across the glass window pane in the door. It's dark now and businessmen are leaving work, in a hurry. Warren can only make out flashes of umbrellas passing under lamps. The wet material shines like obsidian.
The day had not gone to plan at all. Warren was still undecided about the bully Ó Seachnasaigh dying and whether anything could really be done. How could he have explained what was wrong to Dr. Duchamp? An alien parasite sir...I have this friend...no, I am not a lunatic. 
Warren would be dead now if Jack hadn't taken the chance and great risk to save him. Why did he, really? They were total strangers, yet Jack waited, watched, and obtained information, illegally, just to try and save me. Warren's mind was swimming in questions. Nothing is making sense anymore.
There was a thunderous crack and a strange flash of light...as if waking from a dream, Warren opened his eyes; when did I close them? He felt a little disorientated and tried to focus in the darkness. Realizing the cab had stopped, he went to grab the door handle to get out, just then a hand grabbed his...No! don't open the door, the voice said. With a start, Warren jerked his head and saw a dark figure seated across from him. A small flicker of light glowed from the end of a stick (flashlight) and illuminated the face of Jack for an instant and then it clicked off.
How...when did you...I don't understand...Jack interrupts the broken speech of his bewildered friend. In a low, direct tone he says, We must go now!
Jack gives instructions to the driver and the carriage is on the move again, only much faster than before. Warren sits silently as they race through the streets to an unknown destination. Jack's lips were moving, but Warren couldn't hear the words...Can this be real?
 

Missing

Stella...Stella! Good News! Grace burst into their rooms in excitement, with adrenaline pumping, her escape from the nasty landlord and chase that ensued from the Britannia Public House, made her giddy. Having stopped in a doorway to see if anyone still followed, to get out the the rain, and read the note. There was enough light from a nearby lamp and her hawk like vision allowed her to read. It was short and direct, like all communication from or with Norman. He only got 'chatty' when he was manipulating people. Translated it read:
Departure at 6 a.m. on 9 November.
Prepare all necessary items for transport.
Be ready!
Stella? Are you asleep? Grace, calm now, moves to the small table at the side of the room to light a lantern; only a faint glow emanated from the fire grate. Turning towards the bed, Grace carried the lantern, holding it up to cast light on the head board area. Empty. That's odd...why would Stella go out on a night like this?
Taking off her wet clothes and slipping on her night shift, Grace made a new fire. A chill had settled in her bones...a chill that was foreboding. Where is Stella...would she have gone out alone? Maybe Norman arrived sooner and they went out. If so, why...when the plan was to leave in a few hours.
Grace suddenly becomes concerned. Something is very wrong here.

Decision Time

Jack lay on the cot, the sound of rain can be faintly heard. Starring at the flickering flame, in the lantern, he wonders what happened at the hospital. Did Warren get to talk to the man who attempted murder and what might he have divulged. Jack felt no malice towards this misguided hulk, another pawn of Norman's. How many have come before him that met an untimely end or serious misfortune because of the foolish alliance they were conned into. Something has to be done for this unfortunate wretch; no one deserves to die such an agonizing death and the risk of others getting infected is too great.
Stroking the time distortion device Warren passed him, Jack wonders how much time he'll have, once its activated. What proximity limiting function has to be factored...Norman was always ingenious, sadistic, and in creating his inventions, an element of insanity tinged the functionality when finished. Norman's cryptic note implied this tiny device would allow the stoppage of time and give the bearer an opportunity to escape. Timing will be critical and waiting for Warren to return was making him antsy. What could be the delay? There would be much to accomplish...
Hey!...you...get up. Constable Crane broke the silence and gave Jack a start; he didn't hear him coming. He was standing at the cell door. Time for you to sign this confession and be processed at the Yard. I don't understand...where is Detective Warren? You never mind about that. Opening the cell door in a slow creak, Crane moves into the small space; between Jack and the now open cell. With paper and a loaded quill pen, the Constable gets a smirk on his face and asks, Can you even write? Of course, Jack responds dryly, but I am not supposed to sign anything unless Detective Warren is present. Annoyed at Jack's uncooperative attitude and failed attempt to belittle the prisioner, Crane's voice comes out like a growl. Oh, is that so? You're some kind of Barrister now too, are you? A crooked smile crosses the Constable's ruddy face and he moves a step closer to Jack, in a threatening manner. Don't give me any trouble or you may find yourself visiting with the doctor again.
Jack was watching this over eager Constable very carefully during this whole event. Upon hearing hinges creak at the main door, followed by heavy boot steps, of several men, Jack realizes the plans had changed and Warren wasn't coming in time. A decision had to be made...now. 
In an instant, the immediate world froze and Jack leaves his cruel captors behind, but not before he gives Constable Crane something to remember...one swift and forceful punch to the privates should do the trick. That will wipe the smile off his face, Jack chuckles to himself.

Death bed

Warren follows the nurse to the critical care ward and is shown to the bed of the dying man. Feverish and moaning, Ó Seachnasaigh, sees Warren standing next to him and croaks, Who are you? My name is Detective Warren and I am with Scotland Yard; I'm here about the assault you were involved in. Ó Seachnasaigh screws up his face, amused at the copper, and replies, Har-har....assault...thar' beggar twer goin' to kill me! Undeterred, Warren continues. I understand that the knife belonged to you and in the struggle, he managed  to get it away from you, before you had a chance to stab him. Cough-cough, Ó Seachnasaigh winces. I don' know what'cher talking 'bout. I'm talking about your attempt to stab the drunkard Jackson. Why did you attack him? Wheezing and gasping for breath, Ó Seachnasaigh retorted. I didn' attack anybody! Thar' blaggard drunk came at me, with 'is sticker and I defended meself. How do youz tink I gots cut up man?! I don't deny you were injured Mr. Ó Seachnasaigh, but I have several witnesses that saw you approach Jackson, speak to him, and then a fight broke out. What did you say? What the 'ell youz care? I bet youz don' live rough, wonder'n if you'all eat thar day, or 'ave sick kiddies to care for. Why don' youz go back to thar' Scotland Yard and find thar' Ripper murderer, leave'em me in peace.
Warren could see this man wasn't going to be truthful, even under these extreme circumstances. Taking a different approach, Warren asked about his current health condition. I understand the doctor expected a full recovery and now you're critically ill. When did you begin to feel the way you do now? Heavy sigh. I tink it t'was yestarday morn', why the int'rest? Your brother-in-law came by to see you the day before, do you recall talking with him? Brother-n-law? Ó Seachnasaigh looked puzzled. Yes, Mr. Namron. Mr. Ó Seachnasaigh's eyes narrowed and his feverish brow knitted together. Reaching for a glass of water, he replied, I don' have a brother'n law detective, because I don' hav'a sister. 'tis jus'n me an' my younger brother at thar' butcher's yard. Warren suspected as much, but Ó Seachnasaigh seemed more disturbed by the information; the name Namron seemed to stir some fear in his flushed face. I see. Do you know who Mr. Namron is? Drinking the water seemed to have set off a coughing fit for Ó Seachnasaigh and the nurse came over to check on him. I'm sorry inspector, but we need to let the patient rest. Of course, I understand. Thank you for your cooperation Mr. Ó Seachnasaigh.
Warren wasn't surprised by any of the dying man's comments or his attitude. After seeing him, Warren was fairly certain he was infected with the same parasite strain he had and curtosy of Norman. He is not a man to cross or disobey with out dire consequences.
Warrn exits the hospital and hails a cab back to Whitechapel station.
 

Vampire on the loose

Having successfully convinced her sister to go out, Stella prepares herself for her own escapade. Dawning the black cloak she hid under the bed clothes from Grace, she looks around the room wondering where they would end up next. I hope it's an improvement from this dump. Norman seemed to think that living in the area they hunted in was a great cover and less conspicuous. She had her doubts, but then she, and her, sister didn't fit in anywhere; vampires attract attention no matter how they disguise themselves. The grey pallor of their skin made people think they were sick, making them fearful.
Making sure Grace was not in the alley, Stella began her walk to #13. The rain had stopped, making everything wet, dark, and glistening. Smells of wet dogs and dirty clothes filled her nostrils with a stench that even made her flinch. What a disgusting way to live, like wild animals in dens in winter. How I despise this place called Whitechapel. Cloak flowing, Stella moved purposefully down the cobbled lanes; she would have to wait and watch for Mary Kelly. It might take some time before she could catch her alone; it would be stupid to get careless at the end, with so many successful 'experiments' achieved so far.
The light was changing and darkness began to creep along the streets. Fog and shadows, along with the threat of more heavy rain, became like a shroud. Stella was comforted by this atmosphere, reminding her of the dark forests of home. She would walk, late at night amongst the tall trees and swirling fog, feeling a power stirring within her. Sometimes she would chase small animals, like a predator and devour their flesh and blood. Other times she would hold her prey close and sing to it, petting and stroking the soft fur. No matter what she did, she always felt alive and invigorated after a night spent in the dark woods. Tonight she was on the hunt and the streets of Whitechapel reminded her of that dark forest. Her blood began to pump in a rhythm she could almost dance to. Running her tongue over her fangs, she could almost feel the hot blood from her intended victim oozing down her throat. Stella laughed at the thought and walked on to Dorset Street in Miller's Court. Ah, what fun is in store for Mary and me tonight!