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.
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