Bennet Drake thought that the agonizing scream of his friend Edmund would be the last sound he would ever hear. He was, after all, in too much pain to hear Miss Susan – no, Mrs. Judge – urge Reid and Jackson to flee the place. Too foggy was his mind to understand that the sound of running feet was being replaced by some other noise: one yet to be recognized by any human on the planet.

Later that same day, some drunks swore to have witnessed a flashing light emanating from those same tunnels which made rats and the alike flee the place as well. Bennet Drake, on the other hand, opened up his eyes to nothing but light and a very posh voice welcoming him back to life.

"Well, hello" said the voice, which oddly reminded Bennet of some of the sexually-confused Lieutenants he had served with during his time in Egypt. " 'Born under a bad sign, set upon a stark road', were you this boy, Bennet?... I guess we have got another cheerful one here." The voice said in a sarcastic tone. "Would you like a cup of tea before I proceed in explaining to you how the Clinic operates, my boy Bennet?"

Inspector Drake frowned at this, he was definitely a boy no more; he was to be called sir or Inspector Drake and nothing more.

His eyes adjusted to the light then he and was presented with the strangest sight – besides the time he had woken Jackson up from sleeping upside-down with a cat comfortably sitting between his thighs. – and as the shapes became clearer to him he had the oddest feeling for a man whose throat had just been cut open could feel: peace.

6 Months later:

Reid was pacing up and down the floors of Blewett's for what felt like the millionth time in 185 days.

185 days since his search for the truth had led him to underestimate the grief of his friend, Bennet. 150 days since he had convinced Catlin Judge and her husband to stay and bring justice to Whitechapel rather than fleeing, and 90 days since Edmund had discovered the truth that was just now about to, maybe, finally set him and his friends free. It had also been 60 days since he finally managed to woo Miss Morton towards him.

But that was not the topic of that day. That day was about uncovering the truth, finally bringing Dove and his companions to justice and getting his freedom back as well as his little girl - even with her moustache-companion glued to her side - and free Whitechapel from those…'things', once and for all.
"Reid, we're leaving your sorry ass behind if you are not ready in five minutes," came Jackson's voice from the adjacent room. Knowing the Captain as well as he did, Reid was not surprised to hear a bit of drunkenness in his friend's voice.

So just like that, baton in hand, Edmund Reid started walking down the road that would finally put an end to this strange chapter of London's history.

Life in the 'Clinic' was dull. Once the novelty of being monitored by grey naked figures with a complex of superiority had worn out, Bennet Drake had to admit he missed the grimy roads of Whitechapel.

Among the good things about the Clinic was definitely the daily chats and chess games he had with Hobbs, with whom he shared the most embarrassing stories he could think of about his time at Leman Street that the lad hadn't been able to witness himself. Another interesting activity at the Clinic were the Golf matches with a guy who insisted on being called "Nobody" so that he could use his personal favourite joke "Ace Nobody loves me better" which got a bit repetitive actually. In addition, talking, books and intelligence-enhancing activities in the afternoons also suited him well.

But Bennet was never one to settle for routines and peace, not really. He had tried once, in Manchester, but in the end, he had crawled back to the dangerous Leman Street. Sure, the pints, one a day and no more, of the shiny Clinic's Head -As they called the local pub here - were the best he ever tasted. And even the bakery lessons with Mrs. Lovett and Mr. Sweeney had proven to be challenging – the woman refused to tell him which kind of meat she'd use every time, turning each lesson into a sort of culinary mystery.

But there's only so much that pies could do in terms of excitement and Bennet needed more. He was fed, cared for, had no life to be threatened and no wife to constantly disappoint. He should have been happy, but he wasn't like Dick Hobbs, who seemed to have settled to this new life just fine. No, he would never shrug off Reid's voice urging him to see a crime everywhere, even in Mrs. Lovett's lovely pies, or, as much as he hated to admit it, Jackson's nudging voice reminding him to have more fun. Just loose up a little, Benito! Was the constant reminder.

And so that night, at the end of a day that could not be set apart from the one before, he took Mrs. Lovett's roller pin in hand and decided he would finally put an end to this weird chapter of The boy Bennet's life story.