Chapter One:
The Observer in the Mist

He liked to keep a distance when he was in the Whitechapel District. There was something about those who occupied the area; the lost, the sick, the dredges of society. This was the reason he often chose his victims from Whitechapel - no one would miss them and, most importantly, no one would care. It would be recorded and filed as yet another murder or rape and the case would collect dust in the basement of Scotland Yard. Thusly, it was the perfect district to hunt within, and tonight he would strike again. There was only the question of whom to select. A young man, fresh out of his youth and breaking into his prime? Perhaps a woman, sick and dying in her bed alone in the warm summer air? Or there was the easiest of prey and one that he had always favored - a common whore. Whores seldom ever offered so much as a minor retaliation. He even knew the one he wanted, and tonight she would be his.

Her name was Martha Tabram. She was about thirty, and from what he could tell from observing her routine the last three evenings from the safety of the shadows, uneducated. She wasn't unattractive, but she was no beauty to behold either with her long brunette hair and a complexion dark. It was women like this that he found to be the easiest to targets because they would dwell upon their looks, always suffering from delusional imperfection, and take what they could. Should a man of his handsome looks call on them it would be a chance of a lifetime, and one she would have been a fool to deny. And it would be a chance to dance with beauty they could barely touch on their own, that is until they met their end at his hands like so many before them had. It was a task, a calling even, that he took as much pride in as a man might if he was to own the most successful fishing trolley. Why shouldn't he revel in the unmistakable truth that he had brought so many youthful whores and ambitious men to their creator? It had been his ability to offer them something no one else could, after all.

From the dank shadows of the district he watched her mix and mingle in the Two Brewers as he noticed that she wasn't alone. There was another woman with her, "Pearly Poll", as best as he could reckon. He would have taken "Pearly Poll" instead, but she wasn't on the docket quite yet. Being far more beautiful than his intended, she would require much more effort on his end to spend the evening with. Not that he cared much, he had won over women much more enticing and of a higher social status than any of those found in these slums, but he often enjoyed the thrill of the hunt, the undeniable challenge that came from the dance that lead to their demise, but tonight he was lingering dangerously close to the edge and he knew he must feed. There was precious little time for small talk and pleasantries. Something he had taken note of was Tabram's efficiency.

It would have to be an easy in, easy out. Another reason he had selected Martha Tabram was his research had shown her to be much weaker than her companions and less likely to fight back. Not the night before he had taken notice as she was attacked by a john, a rough around the edges type who looked like he had been brought up on meager bread offerings and low-class beer that lacked in taste and quality. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he watched them engage in their lurid activities, upon which the john reached completion she demanded her reward. After several words were exchanged the man, in what looked to be a fit of rage, smacked the woman around a little before deciding it wasn't worth his effort and tossed several notes on the cobblestone before her. Out of desperation she scrambled to clean up the money and shoved it down her blouse and carried on. No better a victim, he thought to himself, than one who wouldn't defend herself.

It was in this weakened state that he found himself chilled in the evening air, a curious reaction to his surroundings. He knew it wasn't cold, but to his flesh it was colder than it would have been to someone who didn't suffer from his condition. It was one of the many unsavory symptoms of brought on when he lacked what he required and didn't feed like he should have. But what options did he have when he knew that he was being monitored by someone else? He had taken too much life, even those of low life whores and dredges to remain unseen. But as his options dwindled he knew he would have to risk it. He was also increasingly aware of several other visible symptoms that would make the task more difficult - the pallid tone of his skin, the slight red tint to his eyes, and the gaunt features that had become more pronounced. He was, essentially, becoming the monster that he truly was as his carefully crafted mask fell away in favor of his true visage.

Pulling the collar of his wool overcoat to his throat he followed as the two women left the Two Brewers Public House with two male companions. If asked he couldn't tell their names, he had never noticed them before, but even from a distance he could tell that they were military. Upon this revelation he felt his stomach sink and for a brief moment considered taking another whore instead, a dangerous prospect that he didn't savor the thought of, but he knew it would be difficult. It was Bank Holiday Monday and the streets would soon become crowded and while this would have made it easier - less chance of being noticed - it also would have made it difficult in this state should the woman flee or call on help. Something of a double edge sword.

Knowing it might be awhile before his mark would be alone, he found himself sulking through each of the four pubs the group crawled to. He knew that he would have to stick to the shadows, stay out of sight, and remain anonymous. If he was spotted he would have easily been mistaken for one of the innumerable vagrants that had been known to drift around the area, but it was better if he remained unseen. At last, as he saw the window of opportunity he had been waiting for. "Pearly Poll" had left with her male companion and Tabram's had left her in the interest of his own drink. This meant that she would be alone and he could make his move. Sticking to the shadowy mists of the cobblestone streets he watched as she drifted from the crowded main thoroughfares to the back alley ways. He could almost taste the anticipation as he began to saunter behind her at a safe distance.

Checking his knife, an old friend and a tool he had come to rely upon to make his victims appear as though they were taken by a random act of gang violence over a creature of the dark, he make sure it was sharp and able. It was more ritual than need, as he had spent countless nights with a whetstone sharpening the blade to absolute perfection. It was so sharp, in fact, that he had once brushed the edge of the blade against his hand and drew amble amounts of blood. Once he was satisfied that it would handle the dire task ahead he replaced it in his overcoat and set out to catch up with the mark. It didn't take him long to reach where she was. "Hello, ma 'dam." he said drawing closer to the unsuspecting Martha Tabram. The whore spun around with a languid smile. He almost cringed when he laid eyes upon her. She was very much in her drink and would have taken with a swine had it offered.

"What can do you for?" she inquired. The man moved closer, making sure to keep to the shadows, and offered her a faint smile. "You're a handsome one." The whore's attempt as seduction was torrid and fell short, but he was in no condition to select someone with better linguistic skills. This woman, for better or worse, would have to sake his need. "It's a farthing for a suck and a threepence for anything else." she slurred as she licked her lips in another attempt to appear sultry. Again, the man cringed a little and swallowed back the bile that had started to line his mouth. Satisfied with the cost he reached into his overcoat pocket and removed a threepence. He watched curiously as Tabram's eyes lit up and she reached out for it. Being polite he handed her the coin and smiled. "What will it be, big man?" Her breath stank of drink as she breathed on him. Another wave of nausea made itself known as he considered her request. Once again, he found himself driving the distaste back. He wanted to be done with this and now. Any longer and he might have taken her in a manner that wasn't likely to offer him a chance to remain hidden.

Thinking over her inquiry for a moment longer, he tried to decide what the best position to strike from and end this hunger that was taking more of a toll upon him than he would have liked. Standing, he mused, would have been ideal. "Standing, if you don't mind." he spoke slowly and cautiously as she drew up her dark green skirt and light brown petticoat. "Just a moment." he said smiling as he unbuttoned his trousers, but before he could remove the first button she rushed her hands towards his manhood. Out of instinct he withdrew his blade and waited for her to do what she aimed to do. He had, despite his disastrous intent, paid the woman for her services. Looking around he saw more of the vagrants had stumbled upon their love nest. This time he shoved his hands in his coat and felt for the blade. He knew he would be needing it soon. "I was pondering if we might be able to do this elsewhere." Tabram looked at him strangely. "I would like to do this somewhere a bit less...filthy and crowded." he said motioning to the George Yard Building a few yards away.

Tabram mulled it over for a moment. "I don't see why not. Ha ha." the whore continued to slur, her breath thick with drink, and as she walked the distance he noticed she was having trouble keeping her feet on the ground. "You're a sly one..." she continued to try and flatter him, but by this point he wasn't listening to her speak. He was focused on the pulsating heartbeat that was overcoming his hearing now. He could almost feel the blood coursing through her, taste it even. "How's this?" she asked as they reached the first floor landing of the building. The need to feed had become so loud now that he could no longer see the woman in front of him as anything more than meat, an animal he had led to its own slaughter, about to offer him that which he needed more than she required her own life. It was a vicious cycle, and one that had its charms and faults, but one that he had undoubtedly become accustom to over the course of several hundred years.

"This will do." he said returning his attention back to removing his trousers. He knew if he was to attack now it would be a savage act. Not that he cared much, but he needed this to look like another rape that had went awry. This meant that he would have to force himself to focus. And focus meant doubts. He watched as she collected her skirts a second time and readied herself. For a brief moment he felt bad about what he was thinking of doing to this woman, the travesty that would be left in his wake, but his need outweighed her life. "I'm sorry about this." he said as he thrust her against the wall. Martha Tabram let out a loud moan as he body connected with the wall. He watched as an expression of fright painted itself across the whore's face. He threw up his hand as she tried to scream, muffling the sound before it could escape her lips. Out of recorded effort tilted his head to the left.

There was a long moment as he drew his razor sharp teeth down upon the throat of this woman and inhaled. The blood coursed out of her body, into his mouth, and through him. He could feel the overwhelming sense of relief wash over him as he felt the sanguine liquid crash upon the shores of his body's being and rush through him. Glancing down he could see her skin becoming pale, almost sickly with each new mouthful of her essence escaped her. Satisfied he had taken enough from her he let her body collapse against the wall and drew up his trousers. There was no sense in the indecency while he mutilated the corpse of this creature that had offered him something he so desperately required. Looking over the body he thought for a moment about what he had done and sighed. Now came the difficult task of making it appear to be a gang related murder.

Kneeling down in front of the whore he drew his blade and thrust it into her left lung. Again and again, five times in all, watching as a what was left of the light colored liquid escaped and stained the front of her dress. Licking his lips he continued his work by stabbing her in the right lung twice. There was an soft report as the oxygen escaped her lungs. Knowing he had done enough he found he couldn't stop himself as he thrust the knife into her heart. Still not satisfied he continued his work, eventually leaving five cuts in her liver, two in her spleen, and six in the stomach. Reeling back and looking at his work he knew it was more visceral than the last few, but he couldn't stop himself. Something had taken over him in that moment and caused the result before him. His mind wondered, briefly, if this was another wrinkle in the act of holding off the hunger for too long. He would have to monitor himself closer.

As he was about to slit her throat he could hear someone coming in the distance. Panic soon took over and he dashed out of the building and down the misty street. It wasn't until he was about a block down the road he realized that he was still covered in blood. His hands were saturated and he brought them up, licked them clean. Using his tongue he cleaned the edges of his mouth and shoved his hands back in his pocket and continued to walk as casually as he could. He had went over the edge on this last kill and he knew there would be a search for the culprit. It had went from a minor rape to full out murder. A murder unlike anything the bobbys of Whitechapel would have ever seen. This would bring the law down upon him if he wasn't cautious. He would have to lay low for a few nights now, sake his lust on the small vermin that were in plentiful supply around. What had he done?

The observer in the mist watched as Seeley Booth fled from the scene of his latest crime and smiled to himself. He had been following this creature of the night for months now, ever vigilant, ever in the shadows. He knew that the time to strike was drawing near. He could feel it in his bones as he watched Booth lick his wounds and disappear into the evening's mist as if nothing had occurred in that building moments earlier. But he knew, he had seen it all. Taken it in and written it down. And now he was watching closer. "Seeley Booth, I will be your down fall. You shall rue the day you ever heard the name Jackson Hodges, a name that will live in the history books as the man who had slain the Whitechapel Murderer."

A/N: This is a work of historical fiction and does not reflect the current relationship status of the characters of the television series. As such, it should be noted now that there will be occasional slash sections; namely femslash. I was asked to include this warning as to avoid too much shock when the eventual chapters are released. I can, however, assure you, that at the core it is a Booth/Brennan story, though. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy.