The clock strikes, announcing the arrival of midnight as the streets begin to go still. Shopkeepers close up their shops as the wealthy retire to their chambers. The lower class, the women of the night and the men in the opium dens are still going strong. To them, the night is only beginning.
"Fancy a touch? Ten cents will get you all this an' more..." The prostitute purrs in her lower class English accent. She's wearing too much makeup that makes her look a demented clown, but her body makes up for the poor excuse of a face. Her dress, ragged and faded is cut just above her knee, revealing her torn stockings and ample cleavage. The customer that she's trying to attract is a tall man, wearing an expensive coat with a simple cravat tied around his neck. It's clear that he's wealthy and not interested in the woman, and yet she continues.
"Ten cents..." The woman continues and wraps her leg around him. The man makes a noise of disgust and pushes her off him, sending her tumbling to the ground. The ground with patches of dirt and cobblestone is filthy and filled with garbage. She hastily sits up, pinning her dirty hair back into place and forcing herself to smile. Her teeth have started to blacken which means that she's another addicted soul to opium. Even now she seems to be under the drug as she weakly smiles up at him, her eyes half closed.
"Jus' a lil' touch of sin. Let da' fun begin..." The woman mutters, starting to slur her words as she shakily stands. The man is disgusted beyond belief by this woman and in one swift movement he has her pinned against the brick alley wall.
"Like it rough, don'tcha?" She questions as the cool blade of a dagger is suddenly being held against her throat. Her light blue eyes widen in fear as she begins to struggle against the man, even though he's much stronger then her.
"No money! For you, free! Jus' don't kill me!" She rather pathetically begs as the man calmly cuts down her throat to her breasts. She gasps for air and begins to choke on her blood as he carves delicate patterns into her breasts, watching as the blood runs down her chest and into his hands.
"Beautiful." The man says as he leans over and begins sucking blood from the wound on her neck. Her breathing only becomes more difficult as he seems to pierce her flesh with his teeth and soon she's falling to the ground as the life leaves her eyes. He pulls away, his mouth dripping with blood and grins wickedly at her.
"May the Devil take care of you..." He whispers and uses a bloodstained handkerchief to wipe the majority of the blood off his face. The stars are already starting to fade, and he knows that the sun will be up soon. The woman is long dead in a puddle of her own blood. He smiles at her one last time, knowing that the constables will just love this and leaps away into the shadows.
"Crane! Crane, where the Devil are you?!" A fellow constable who goes by the name of Smith, and is as dumber than a sack of stones cries out for the young constable. Constable Crane jumps as he hears his name being called and almost knocks over the ink pot, that he was using to fill in some paperwork with.
"I-In here, Sir." He replies, immediately hating how his voice is quivering. The other constable enters the room and the comparison between the two men is very different. Constable Smith is large, almost overweight while Crane is slim and much too pale for his liking.
"You look as if you've seen a ghost." He says and smirks at his nervousness. It's quite fun for the other constables to pick on him for how jumpy he is, like a rabbit almost. He stands up as straight as he can and attempts to look calm and composed.
"I assure you I-I have not seen any ghouls or ghosts, despite your frequent...Mischief." He mutters, his English accent coming in quite clearly which fits in well for this London constabulary. He stomps into the office, laughing to himself at the ridiculous items on the bookshelf and slams a rather heavy looking folder onto the desk.
"Pardon my intrusion, but what sort of matter is this folder?" Crane asks and cocks an eyebrow in confusion.
"The Superior wants you to solve this. Have fun." Constable Smith replies and makes his way out, purposely knocking over a few books as he exits. He heavily sighs and picks up the books, stuffing them back into the shelf. It's no surprise that his superior, a rather perverted Judge assigned him this sort of case. Ever since he arrived in London and his superior received word from his superiors in America, he has been assigned the strangest and most complicated cases. The constable has solved every one though and seems to have only angered his superior. It's like the Judge wants him to fail so he has an excuse to taunt and mock him even more.
"Perhaps he'll leave me alone today..." Crane mutters and takes a deep breath as he opens the folder. The folder is stuffed to the brim with papers with have all been scribbled in, in Smith's sloppy almost child like handwriting. He sighs once more, and reaches under his desk taking out an odd pair of goggles with an expendable eyeglass.
"Crane!" A deep voice suddenly yells, banging on his door and completely breaking his deep concentration. Crane jumps, letting out a stifled shriek and knocks the folder to the floor. Papers and notes of all sizes flutter to the floor and he covers his face with his hands in frustration.
"Yes?"
"Judge Turpin wants to see you."
Crane visibly loses all the color in his already pale complexion as his vision starts to darken. The door being flung open snaps him out of his near fainting spell, as the Judge enters his small office.
"Hello there Constable..." He seems to purr in an awful, sickly sweet voice and makes his way over to his desk. The constable is on the floor, picking up the papers and looks up in fear at the Judge. The Judge cruelly smiles at the constable in this vulnerable state and offers a hand to help him up. He carefully takes his hand with a shaking hand and attempts to stay calm, any fear will be detected by Turpin and he will use it his advantage.
"G-greetings Sir." He mutters, avoiding all eye contact and lets go of his hand. Judge Turpin shakes his head and grabs onto the constable, pulling him towards him and pressing him against his chest. He lets out a small "eep" noise of fear and freezes up, not daring to struggle against him. That'll only make things worse.
"There's no need to fear me, Ichabod, I won't hurt you...Much." Judge Turpin says as he pulls away from him and cowers against his desk.
"N-no Sir, there's no need." Ichabod quickly replies and forces himself to awkwardly smile at him.
"No need? There's always a need. A need that can only be satisfied by-"
"No thank you!" He cries out and rushes out of his office. Judge Turpin stands there in a confused silence, not understanding what just happened as Ichabod enters the office once more.
"F-forget the folder. Have a lovely day, S-Sir." The constable says as he scoops up the remaining papers and stumbles out of the office. Once outside he takes a couple of deep breaths, trying to stay calm and opens up the folder. As he opens it, a cream colored paper falls out that he failed to notice before. It's clearly a letter of sorts and he begins to read it.
"Dear constabulary, my name is Janice Elizabeth de Winters. The woman you found in the alley with her throat cut open and her body violated, was my sister. She was a good woman and wouldn't harm a soul. Please, whoever is reading this letter you must help me. My sister was murdered in cold blood and she must be avenged.
May the Lord shine down upon you."
Written at the bottom in black ink was her address and what looked like a prayer, that she had torn out of a Bible and attached it to the letter.
"Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you."
The verse reminds Ichabod of his childhood, the Reverend that was his father and how he was forced to study the Bible day after day. It wasn't fun and it's not something that the constable wishes to repeat. If he could choose to never see or hear another verse he would gladly do it, but the most of society seems to be religious. Ichabod reads over the quote once more and carefully folds the letter in half. This Janice, the woman that lost his sister clearly wants her sister's killer to be caught and brought to justice and yet at the same time she wants the justice to be fair and just.
"Don't we all want a fair and equal justice system..." The constable mutters as he tucks the letter into his inner waistcoat pocket and just as Constable Smith saunters by.
"Already talking to yourself? I knew you were mad, but didn't expect to see a display of madness." He says and laughs to himself. Ichabod ignores him and turns on his heels towards the exit, he has a certain Janice de Winters to visit.