February 1985

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Dr. Helen Magnus paced around her office as she caught the side of her thumb nail in her teeth nervously. She wasn't the type to get nervous very often, but if ever there was a time for her nerves to flare up, it was now.

It was silly, she thought to herself, that a woman who had just passed her one hundredth and thirty-fourth birthday should be as nervous to see an old friend as a young woman who was meeting a beau.

"Helen!" Came the familiar voice of Dr. James Watson, one of her oldest friends.

"James." She managed, trying to hide her nerves as she gave him a slightly hesitant smile in greeting. "How was your voyage? It went well, I hope."

He noted the look on her face instantly. "It was fine, Helen. But what is the matter? You look don't look like yourself."

"Nothing." She said, brushing her fears away in true Magnus form. "May I offer you a cup of tea?"

"Helen, you should be the last person to even try to hide anything from me. I know when things are in turmoil. And you, my dear, are so unusually transparent that it's very nearly absurd." He said, raising an eyebrow."Now, what is going on around here?"

She swallowed as she unconsciously wrung her hands to release her pent up nervous energy.

For the first time in years, she thought about that year in London. Back when she and John had still been lovers.

"Helen! Have you seen John? He and I had an engagement at the club, but I have not been able to find him anywhere."

Her trembling fingers closed the small leather-bound journal that she had been reading before she slipped it back onto the shelf where she had first seen it with a curious eye.

She felt nauseous and dizzy. What had she done? She had created a veritable monster by allowing John to inject himself with the source blood. Why had she been so damned determined to learn about the evolution of the human race? Who else needed to suffer before she learned her lesson?

"Helen! Where are you?" James called again, this time closer.

Helen felt her heart race in irrational fear. If the journal had been enough to lead her to the realization that John was the Ripper of which James would speak incessantly, it would give him the proof that he needed to convict and punish him as judge, jury, and executioner. After all, no prison could hold John against his will and the likelihood that a firing squad would be able to catch him and carry out his sentence was slim to none.

No, she would find him, and she would convince him to abate his fiendish behavior. He loved her, and he had sworn to make her happy. She was counting on that promise.

"There you are, Helen!" James said as he walked into the small study. "Helen?" He asked as he noticed her ashen face.

"Helen?"

She turned back to him.

"Helen, what is the matter?" He asked, studying her.

"Nothing."

"If you shan't tell me, I shall simply be forced to deduce your problem." He warned.

"I very much doubt that even you can determine my circumstance." She said evenly. Since their days at Oxford, they'd had friendly competitions to see who could outwit his deductions. They had always failed, but her situation was so peculiar that she highly doubted even the great Sherlock Holmes could deduce why she was so upset.

James studied her carefully as his eyes slowly scanned her face. Red, swollen eyes probably from crying recently. Multiple strands of hair were out of place which indicated to him a hastily knotted bun which had slipped down to rest at the nape of her neck. The faint indentation of a ring on her left ring finger told him that she had been wearing a ring, which had become too small, which she had tried to hide from him. Undoubtedly the antique engagement ring John had given her more than one hundred years before rested on the desk. Sure enough, it was only partially hidden underneath a small stack of papers. A breakfast tray had been taken from the room in haste, he noted when he saw the tea stain on the top sheets of paper while several nearly microscopic pieces of china dusted the desk.

He looked back at Helen. Her hands hovered nervously over her stomach, and he noticed that the skirt which she wore was a little bit tighter than it had been when she had worn it last fall in London just before the benefit gala which he had invited her to attend with him.

Suddenly, it all came together. "Where's John?" He asked.

She looked perplexed.

"Helen, you hid him from me once. I won't let you do it again. Even if that is his child that you're carrying."

She cringed.

"Helen, what on earth were you thinking?" He exploded. "He was the Ripper! His specialty is mind games. How could you invite him into this century?"

"He's not here!" She insisted. "He has been dead for a very long time."

"If he can die!" James parried.

She inhaled sharply as unbidden tears welled up in her eyes. "He can't have survived this long. Not if he continues to grow more and more insane. Somewhere along the path, he would have to die. At some point, his mind would be unable to handle anymore."

James softened. "Helen, his mind is altered every time he bends the dimensions of this reality. That does not necessarily that his mind will bend to the same demands which you believe leave him even remotely vulnerable."

Helen sighed. "James, I have to believe it. I preserved this embryo for more than a hundred years so that this child would never know the extent of his or her father's madness."

Her outburst was met with frightening stillness.

"Helen, I know that you do not wish to burden yourself upon anyone else, but I intend to stay near you and to offer any assistance that I can." James said after a moment of reflection.

"James, your offer is kind, but entirely unnecessary. My staff is perfectly capable."

"I did not say that I would offer assistance to this sanctuary. I said that I offered my assistance to you, Helen, and this time, I refuse to accept anything less than your complete acceptance of this arrangement."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he raised a hand. "If John was the man with whom you fell in love and the friend I most respected, he would ask that I watch over you if he was in some way unable to do so himself."

She had to admit that he was right. "Very well, I promise to keep you informed. But I must ask that you return to your post at the British Sanctuary."

"Helen..."

"James, the work at the Sanctuary is more important than any special circumstances in which I may find myself."

"I expect a telegram daily."

"Weekly." She countered.

"Very well." He accepted.

She sighed.

"Helen, you are the Sanctuary. You must care for yourself or you could lose all that you have worked for."

She was obviously uncomfortable by his words.

"Perhaps I should stay for a few days." He offered.

"You are certainly welcome to do so." She said with a small sigh of resignation.

"I believe I might. Thank you."

She nodded as the Sasquatch entered the room. "Will you show James to his quarters?" She asked her friend.

He nodded, gruffly.

James looked back at her after he'd turned to leave. "Helen?"

"Yes?"

"I did not mean to offend, only enlighten."

She nodded with a small smile. "I know, James. And I did not mean to seem ungrateful."

"You have much to think about." He said, understanding.

She nodded. "Exactly."

"I am here for you if you need me. Believe me, Helen."

She smiled softly. "I do, James."

"You are quite strong." He said with a smile. "I have not yet found something that the great Helen Magnus cannot do."

A faint smile crossed her lips as he left the room. She looked at her burgeoning stomach for a moment before she simply touched it, almost trying to reassure herself that the child swelling within her was actually there. Yes, she would survive, and she would protect her child from his or her father. There was no need for the child to suffer because of her mistakes.