Chapter 9...Will I become mean and simply leave you with nothing but a bitter cliffhanger? Or will I be nice and give you something to look forward to? Most likely a cliffy. Lol.

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"Upside down, bouncing off the ceiling. Inside out, stranger to this feeling. I got no clue, what I should do. I'll go crazy if I can't get next to you."

~A Teens, Upside Down (Bouncing off the Ceiling)

Chapter 9: Why Can We Never Catch a Break?

Monica turned over again, unable to sleep in the motel room knowing John was in some hospital somewhere. She turned on the bedside lamp, dropping her head into her hands and sighing deeply as she slowed her heart rate. Something was causing her to be on edge. A sliver in her mind was telling her to be. And unconscious alarm in her chest was ordering her to be.

Something dropped in the room next door. The room that had formally been John's. Getting out of bed, her bare legs chilled by the air in the room. It was as if someone had just turned off the heat in winter in Alaska. She shivered, walking to the door, reaching a hand for the knob.

Luckily he didn't check out, she thought with imitation relief. It's probably just him. Couldn't wait to get out of the frigging hospital. She smiled softly and opened the door.

John's silhouette was in front of her, causing her to jump. Gasping, Monica caught her breath.

"John." She said, rubbing her eyes. She looked up, as her partner and friend pulled a knife from behind his back.

"Sorry." He said coldly, and thrust the blade into her stomach.

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Monica burst awake, sunlight coming in through the windows. A pile of paper and folders lay under her head, covering her face with tiny carbon copy letters of ink that stained her dark skin. With a gasp she pushed herself off the bed, her heart racing. It was just a dream, Monica. Just a stupid dream.

She walked to the bathroom, running some water on her hands and rubbing her face gently. Somehow it felt like she was just running, breathing heavily with her heart pounding. Staring into the mirror she had a brief instant where she thought her face was falling apart with bleeding cuts. Jumping, startled, she walked out of the bathroom and hurryingly grabbed her coat, and ran out to her car.

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Phoebe rose from the kitchen chair at the sound of a knife blade striking the floor. She thought it was some childish poltergeist, and cursed herself silently for not having the house blessed when she and Alex were on what could only resemble speaking terms. Now, however, it was useless to talk to the anal Priest without expecting to be insulted.

But the mischievous poltergeist wasn't what she saw. Inside, the cold and dead fingers curled around the handle of the knife blade. The stench of death was heavy in the air as the body and face of Harvey Lloyd rose to greet her with a sickening grin.

"Got myself a body. Now all I need is John Doggett and I'll be on my way." Phoebe opened her mouth a little, gaping slightly. Never had she seen something like this. Living with the dead made her desensitized. She stood slowly, watching the actual body cock it's head. "What are you looking at?"

"This. Can't. Happen." She told him sternly. Harvey laughed.

"You think you got it all figured out." He said with a cold laugh. "Well you're wrong. Walter may have been the Ripper, and John Doggett might have his soul, but I'm his flesh and blood. Great, great grandson. And now I've got enough strength to get rid of that foolish Mary Kelly for good."

"You can't get rid of Mary Kelly, moron." She swore at him angrily. Harvey just shrugged and walked to the fire escape. Phoebe ran jumping onto his back and wrapping her hands around his dying neck. Two cockroaches crawled out and over her fingers. Phoebe screamed, dropping onto the floor. Harvey laughed.

"Can't go anywhere without them." He said, as Phoebe shook them off her. They scampered back to Harvey. Chilled, but not beaten, she grabbed the cleaver from the knife block and chopped downward at him, just barely missing a thrust to her stomach.

"Just stop this, girl. Or I'll take your life too."

"That's not the way the story goes." She said, shaking her head. "You know that better then anyone. You can't simply kill of Mary Kelly. Doggett has to do it." Harvey growled and brought the knife down heavily, clashing with the cleaver and sending sparks into the air. Phoebe twisted just barely and thrust the cleaver into the rotting side, coughing from the odour.

Harvey brought the knife down on her back.

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Kill her. Bleed her.

John shook his head, trying to clear it. Monica looked concerned.

"What's happening, John?" She asked, receiving no easy response from the Agent. "I don't know anymore. I had a dream you tried to kill me."

"I had a dream that I did kill you. How's that for coincidence?" John replied bluntly. "I don't know, Monica. There's definitely something weird going on."

"You're doing that thing again." Monica said flatly. Doggett sighed.

"Phoebe stopped by. She said that I was supposed to kill you within 24 hours."

An odd silence fell over the vehicle. Monica looked at her partner. He looked back sincerely, knowing the thoughts that were pouring over in her head. The chestnut haired Monica looked back at the road, sighing deeply. "Why'd she say that?"

"Jack the Ripper murdered his final victim today. Miss Mary Kelly. Jack the Ripper is Walter Sickert, who died on my birthday. And Mary Kelly happens to be you, apparently."

"So, you're supposed to kill me?"

"Technically, I smother you, then chop your body into pieces. Or that's how the story goes." Monica looked at him again, getting another adorable and sincere John Doggett glances. A shudder moved over her. "And this is ll supposed to happen by tonight."

Monica shook her head.

"You scared?" He asked her quietly. She nodded silently and he looked away, hearing her accelerate a little.

"Me too." He admitted. Monica looked back.

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Phoebe dropped like a rock, rolling away from the approaching blade. Her skin prickled at the sensation of metal. She gripped the bracelet in her pocket and ripped it out, standing and punching the fist in his stomach. There was a crack as the skin split and the body began to burn. The beetles and cockroaches crawled over her arm, the body going limp and crashing to the floor, disappearing in a poof of ashes. The knife tumbled, slashing her down the forearm as the demon writhed in pain.

Phoebe withdrew her shaking hand, blood, moving over her fingers. The Demon growled, looming so close to her that goose bumps moved over her skin.

"Screw the rules."

"It doesn't matter. You're still bound to them. Why would you burn at this?" She held up the bracelet. The demon breath on her, the cold breath washing over her face and into her body.

"I'm going to kill her. That's the way the story goes."

There was a crack, and Phoebe was left alone in the kitchen.

"Brian? Joe?" She called. Two head emerged from the bedrooms. She clutched her bleeding arm and apprehensively approached them. "I need some help."

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Kill her, John. Make her bleed. Bring her back to me. Keep it going. You know you want to.

John groaned, rubbing his temples as he sat on his bed. He was dressed at least, piling things into his suitcase. Monica was in the adjoined room, sorting out her thoughts.

Cut her, John. Bleed her. Slash her. Smother her. Chop her.

"Shut up." John commanded, as the door from Monica's room opened. Monica stepped inside his room, lowering her head.

"Hey." He said quietly. Monica nodded and quivered softly, and covered her eyes with her hand. She finally nodded, reassuring herself. "Monica, it's okay."

"I know." She replied. "I was just thinking…" The Agent had organized her thoughts. "This is all too weird. You're the soul of Jack the Ripper and I'm supposed to die by your hand. Correction, be massacred by you. As I sleep."

"I'd never hurt you Monica."

"I know, John. Believe me, I know. I just…I just don't know. Why does this happen? Is it just the universe or is it something else?"

"What do you mean?" He was curious to know what she meant all of a sudden.

"I mean, Walter Sickert made a choice to kill those women. Which means that you can make that choice too." She elaborated. "It's said that fate may not exist because you are in control of your own life. If this is true, then the only similarity between you and Walter Sickert is that you share a soul."

John looked at her, Monica appearing so wise for a moment.

"Or you could just go ahead and do it."

"Monica." He said, moving over and kissing her on the forehead sensually. Monica felt her eyes burn as John wiped the tears from her cheeks and kissed her lips comfortingly. They remained like that for a moment, until he placed hands on her shoulders and pulled back, looking at her brown eyes while his blue ones pierced her soul. "I would never, ever, ever hurt you."

That did it. Damn it! I'm so sensitive! Monica was sobbing, holding John close as he suddenly tensed.

"What is it, John?"

"You're clutching my knife wound."

"Oh, sorry!" She released him, with a small laugh. He winced, tenderly brushing the tears from her face.

"Stop it." She demanded.

"What?" He inquired, clueless. Monica moved closer.

"Making me fall in love with you." She said quietly, kissing him again. John moved a hand to her neck.

"That's a bad thing?" He stopped a moment. "Because this is actually kind of nice."

"Kind of?" She asked, kissing him harder.

"Kind of." He assured her. Monica shook her head, pushing him back on the bed.

"Getting better yet?" She asked.

"I'll get back to you." He replied, wincing again from the injury in his side. Monica laughed.

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The ashes were collected in a jar. Phoebe held her hand out for Joe to bandage it tightly, stopping the blood. She breathed deeply, the pain nothing to her almost. Compared to the heavy scar on her left wrist, it was nothing. Brian set the jar on the table as Joe finished.

"What's the next move?" He asked. Phoebe sighed.

"Getting rid of this thing. And to do that, we have to get rid of John Doggett."

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His cell phone was ringing. Damn it! He shouted at himself. Probably Kersh. Just let it ring on the bastard. He thought, kissing Monica harder. They were laying on the bed now, his hand moving over her bare waist and up, under her blouse which was unbuttoned to her mid chest. The phone kept ringing, and Monica stopped, snatching it from his waist and answering quickly and breathlessly.

"Monica Reyes?" She asked.

"Agent Reyes?" Phoebe asked, flipping the business card through her fingers. The family lawyer had gotten them in case he needed to report any more lawsuits. "I need to speak to Agent Doggett."

"Sure." Monica handed it to him. John pushed it to his ear and didn't need to say hello.

"Agent Doggett?" She asked, knowing he was there. "I need you to tell me everything about Harvey Lloyd."

"This really isn't a good ti…"

"I know, I know. It's never a good time for psycho, little Phoebe. But I need to know who his parents were."

"Phoebe…"

"Fine. Don't worry. But I think I figured out why that thing has Luke. And why Luke needs to stay away from steak knives."

"What about him?" The Agent asked, feeling that anger develop that always did when Luke was brought into the conversation. Phoebe exhaled deeply. And there was suddenly a cry in the background.

"Sorry, look. Problems here. Forget I said anything."

"Phoebe…" He was about to tell her to wait, but the other line clicked. He put the phone aside, just as it rang again.

"John Doggett." He answered it quickly. There was heavy breathing.

"Daddy?"

He looked shocked, at Monica who stood up.

"I need your help."

"Luke?" He asked.

"I need you to kill her.

John's eyes moved back to Monica, who was bleeding again.

"John?"

"Kill her Daddy. Otherwise I can't see you ever again."

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