Disclaimer: I don't own Lost, or Charlie, or Sawyer, or any of the lovely characters featured in this AU. I wish I did.

A/N: This is an Alternate Universe fic, where the characters are living and working in London. It was written for the 'auabc' community on LiveJournal.

Prologue

You're not a psychopath. That would imply a loss of reason, a lack of sense. That's not you. Your every move is logical. You know what you're doing. Everything has a reason.

You've been waiting here, hidden by shadow, for an hour now. Maybe longer. You can't feel your toes any longer and the sensation in your fingers is starting to fade. You tell yourself that it doesn't matter, that after tonight nothing will matter any more.

This is for him, you tell yourself. For him.

The rapid sound of heels on concrete grabs your attention. You look up, see what you've been waiting for: black hair, minimal make up, modest clothes. The humble whore.

You call her name and she jumps in the dark, startled. When she sees you she smiles, but she seems confused. She glances around the area – there's no one in sight. You made sure of that; you're smart, smarter than anyone gives you credit for.

By the time she's asked you her first question in broken English – 'Why're you here?' – you're on her, hands around her neck in a strong hold. Bruising.

She screams and struggles and flaps, a captured butterfly, and her nails scratch your cheek. You don't feel the pain, as her struggles get weaker, weaker, weaker.

When she finally stops, dead and beautiful beneath your hands, you hold on for a few moments, just to be sure. Then you drop her to the ground and leave her like that, dead and empty.

You walk away, hands in pocket, innocent as always.

This was not a pleasant way to start a Monday morning.

With a heavy sigh and heavier heart, Jack Shepherd snapped on his latex gloves and walked towards the examination table.

There was a young woman lying on it, with her skin pale and her eyes closed. Jack had been working as a coroner for five years now, but the job never became any easier. He didn't think that he'd ever be able to accept humanity's brutal side, despite the evidence of it that he faced each day.

Evidence pointing towards this woman's murderer would be a lot harder to find. There were deep bruises around the neck, which seemed to suggest that strangulation was the cause of death. That made sense, especially combined with the other clues – there was minimal bleeding from her open wounds, which showed that she had already been dead by the time the wounds were inflicted. Jack supposed that made her lucky.

The fingers and thumbs on both hands had been removed. Her teeth in her mouth had been yanked out, her jaw dislocated in the process. However, despite that goof, this appeared to be an almost professional job. As Jack switched the light on above the table and leaned down to examine the stumps where her fingers had once been, he could see that the cuts were clean and clinical – they'd probably been inflicted by a scalpel.

He smiled sadly at the mangled face of their Jane Doe. "Don't worry. We're going to find out who did this to you," he promised, in the otherwise empty morgue.

He just hoped that London's police department had someone good on the case.