Paris, France

1888, One year later

The streets were silent, empty, and soaked by rain. Gas lit lamps filled the night-swept streets, but it did little for this place. If one looked upon the walls of the alleyways, one would see why no one walked the streets of Paris now.

Upon the wall, as a man dressed in black approached, was a poster. Shadows danced across it while he tore it from the wall and looked it over. A wide brim black hat topped his head, angled to hide his eyes to all save those close enough to look under the brimming. His shoulder length brown hair was spread about a bit on his shoulders, and he was wearing a long black Duster overcoat over a brown vest and blue-grey sweater. His face bore a few days worth of beard growth, and as he examined the poster, he frowned.

The poster in his hands bore heavy black block letters that screamed out "Avis de Récompense"; Wanted. And for two thousand francs no less. It seemed that the subject of the poster was indeed causing quite a stir in Paris. And the likeness on the poster was indeed a good one. The only trouble was, it also resembled the man who was currently holding the poster. Such was a problem, since he was not the man wanted, but in fact in pursuit of him.

"Mister Bodiler," he muttered while glancing out onto the streets of Paris. He could see a very large half-built iron tower in the distance, something that registered as rather new in his mind, but such was a feeling he'd come to expect these days. The voice which said it to him was a familiar one; another life, which he could not recall save in flashes and dreams, ever taunting him.

A high-pitched blood-curdling scream pierced the night. With a grunt, he crumbled up the poster and ran down the steps, drawing out a well polished silver revolver and cocking the hammer just in case. His superiors had been right; he was needed here.

It didn't take long for him to find her. She lay on the stone road in front of the Opera Populairé, her throat cut open. He frowned, now glancing to the opera house. There were indeed memories here for him, but they were out of reach, taunting him just like all others. No, wait. He did remember something about this place. Something had happened here, twenty or so years ago. A name...Erik.

Bloodstains led from the young woman's body into the opera. It had been closed for years, it seemed. Last he had heard, they had just cleared out the munitions that were being stored there during the Franco-Prussian War. But, such a place would obviously make an excellent sanctuary for a murderer on the run.

He stepped up to the doors, noting that they had been forced open. More evidence that his quarry was near. His eyes flashed about, searching for more telltale signs of the man he hunted. As he had thought, drops of blood led toward the main theater of the opera house. His mind flashed, warning him almost of things to expect, memories now trying to tell him of danger that could be here, not teasing him.

With a grunt, he kicked open the doors to the theater. A flood of fragmented memories came to his mind. Scenes of the once grand opera house, a glorious chandelier that hung from the ceiling, unmatched performances. But before him now were ruins. Dust covered everything, and the crystal chandelier in his memories now lay upon the stage, a shattered remain of what it had once been.

Something moved in the rafters. His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, he could hear a heartbeat, see the path in which his quarry had fled. But just as quickly, the sense was gone. The memory, however, was not. He raced down the aisle, taking a leap that brought him onto the stage near the chandelier. His eyes flicked about, their stormy blue glow shining from beneath his hat.

He holstered his revolver, heading for the back of the stage when a rope dropped down, dangling before him a corpse. He jumped back, shocked by the hung body, and there was a laugh. He shifted his gaze upwards to see a man standing above him on the catwalk. The man, dressed in black, with a top hat and overcoat, slid down a second rope and landed perfectly on his feet.

He tilted his own hat in polite greeting. "Evening."

The man in the top hat smiled. "I must admit, I wasn't expecting company," he replied while taking a moment to straighten his suit jacket. He had a very well bred London accent, his face clean shaven, and his features almost noble. However, when one saw his eyes, the insanity within was revealed. "You must forgive me for not preparing for your visit."

"I hate to be such a nuisance," he replied, taking note that his prey was strangely calm in his presence. He shifted his posture slightly while his companion stepped back and walked over to the broken, dust covered chandelier. He knew well who his target was, and that in fact made the man's calm more expected. After all, with the reputation pinned on Jack the Ripper, such was only expected. "I missed you in London."

The man smiled. "Yes, you did," he replied while running his hand over the dusty chandelier. "I'm sure you must have been most disappointed in missing my performance."

He sighed. It was time to get things underway, as usual. But, the man did deserve at the least to hear the charges against him. It was only proper, after all. "Jonathan Bodiler, you are wanted by the Knights of the Templar Order-"

"That's Jack."

He ignored the interruption. "For the rape, mutilation, and murder of fourteen women, the murder of five men, six-"

"Six children, four officers of the police, and two inspectors of Scotland Yard," the man said, his voice calm and collected while he turned on his heel toward his hunter. "Oh, and a dog. Did I forget anything else? I'd so much hate to have left anything out, because I tend to keep a detailed memory of my accomplishments." He grinned, taking off his top hat and throwing it aside. "So, you're the great Van Helsing." A pause. "'tis a pleasure."

"And you're a rather polite person for a deranged psychopath," he replied. His voice dripped with his disgust.

A light chuckle. "Well," the man called Jack quipped as he stepped back, giving a slight bow. "We all have our problems, mister Van Helsing. I'm sure you know that better than anyone."

Indeed, Van Helsing did know it better than most people, possibly better than anyone in the world. "You know," he said while sliding his hand into his coat, resting behind his back. "My superiors would like for you to be taken alive." He paused a moment to allow Jack the time to understand things. "So that you might be tried by the courts in England. I'm sure that Paris would love to have a trial as well for your head."

"Oh would they?" Jack asked in a non-chalant manner. He truly seemed amused by the entire situation; hunted by a man who's name was feared throughout most of the civilized world, who, according to rumor, answered only to the Church, and by all counts, didn't really exist. Much like the Templar Order. "I'm sure they would love to meet me, wouldn't they?"

Van Helsing frowned. His body was already preparing for this, going through the motions. All his training and skills snapped into place in moments like these, and he was familiar with the situation. He'd had a feeling that his quarry wouldn't cooperate with him. Yet, the man was astounding polite for a rapist and a murderer. It obviously was a mere single layer upon the many that made up the insane mind of Jack the Ripper. "Personally, I'd rather just kill you and call it a day."

Jack snorted. He knew that Van Helsing was most serious, but still, he made it obvious who he believed would win the fight. "I'm sure you would."

"Let's make it your decision then, shall we?"

He paused, reaching his right hand into his coat as if rubbing a sore spot. He looked down to his side. "Indeed," he whispered, raising his head up now to reveal the insane gleam in his eyes. "We shall!"

His hand flashed out of his overcoat, revealing a long sharpened knife in his grip. Van Helsing quickly moved away, dodging the slash, and his eyes caught sight of blood already staining the blade. The man didn't even have the decency to wipe the blood from his weapon before using it again. "I'm glad we're in agreement," he muttered, now drawing his own hands out to reveal his silver revolvers. The hammers crashed against the bullets in the chambers, reports like thunder as Jack moved about to dodge the rounds.

As the smoke cleared, there was no sign of the Ripper save an insidious laughter. Van Helsing grunted, looking about the stage of the opera house. Jack's top hat was gone from the floor. It bothered him that the man could move so quickly, so inhumanly fast. More over, his mind was telling him that Jack had plenty of places to hide in this theater house.

Passages underground, he thought, moving now in step with the flashes in his mind. It wasn't just stories he'd heard about the events surrounding the opera house, it felt like he had been here, been in the Opera Populairé and explored the world under it. And the fact he knew a name associated with this place. Who was Erik?

He found the entrance into the passages. In his mind flashed the image of a mask. Obviously, whoever "Erik" was, Van Helsing had known him, or at least met him. And more so, Erik had lived in these tunnels.

His guns were at the ready the moment he hit the ground. His eyes looked about, trying to detect any sign of the Ripper in these catacombs. Again, that flash in his mind, and he was off running down the tunnel. Even now, he could hear the sounds of running water, and, when he halted, he could hear something else. A heartbeat, very steady, and a laugh under the rhythmic breathing.

"So ends the music of the night," he whispered. As he crept along the wall, Van Helsing stopped. The breathing was getting sharper. Jack was close, he could feel it. With narrowed eyes, Van Helsing slipped his revolvers back into the holsters at his back, then drew out a pair of circular devices. He came around the corner to see the Ripper now heading up a stairwell, definitely attempting to escape.

Van Helsing shot over the walkway, leaping just as a piece of the flooring crumbled away under him. Apparently, Jack did know how to elude even the most dogged hunter. However, he'd never gone up against the man known by the name Van Helsing. And that would be his downfall.

The underways of the Paris Opera were indeeda labyrinth, but he'd gotten a good idea of how to navigate the passageways here. Jack was sure, however, that Van Helsing did not have such knowledge. And so, he would get away, without a scratch, and Van Helsing would be trapped down here. Even if he did get out, it would be his luck to be found by the Parisian police and mistaken for the Ripper. That would indeed be amusing, and Jack would watch it from a safe distance, only for them all to realize their error when he resumed his reign elsewhere.

But by then, Van Helsing would have already been executed for Jack's own crimes. Such was the sweet, yet cruel joke of irony.

It shouldn't have been far to the passage leading out of the underways, but when Jack pushed open the door before him, the place he'd arrived in was not what he expected. This wasn't the opera house basement at all. Instead, it was a massive chamber, water filling the riverway below, and in one corner, mounted on the wall, was a large pipe organ. A bed lay at another wall, but it was worn, covered in mold and dust. This place had not been used in years.

He stepped inside, looking around for another way out. "What is this place?"

"I assume you've never heard of the Phantom of the Opera."

He froze for but a moment, then turned and flashed out his knife. To his shock, the attack was batted away and the hard punch from Van Helsing knocked Jack off the platform. With a yell, he fell down and crashed into the river. Jack pulled himself to his feet, coughing violently to get the disgusting water out of his mouth. He brought up his hand, but his knife was gone, lost now in the river.

With a faint smile on his face, Van Helsing carefully made his way down to the edge of the center dais. This hunt had been interesting, but it was time to finish things. Indeed, it looked almost as if he would be taking the Ripper in alive. "Now, Mister Bodiler," he said while standing over Jack. "I'd imagine you'd like to get out of the nasty Paris sewer water and be turned over to the proper authorities."

There was a laugh from the Ripper. He glanced up to Van Helsing. "Just hand myself over to the bobbies, is that it?" he asked mockingly. There was a glint in his eyes, one that warned Van Helsing that he was planning something. "I'm sure you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

He swung forward, another knife flicking out from a holder in his sleeve. With a push, Van Helsing jumped up and flipped about to land feet first in the river. The smell was putrid, but, in the name of higher justice, he could deal with it. However, this needed to be finished.

He brought up his hands, now holding the two circular devices again. In an instant, eight curved blades sprung out into place from each one, now spinning viciously like buzz saws while he pumped the grips. Indeed, they were an ingenious tool, and he made a note let the builder know how impressed he was.

Jack hesitated, now backing away. His own knife was seeming more like it would be an annoyance to his foe rather than an actual threat. Perhaps trying to lose Van Helsing in the labyrinth of the opera house underways hadn't been such a good idea. A miscalculation that was definitely going to prove costly.

With a heavy breath, Jack stabbed forward. He expected Van Helsing to at least take a step away, but instead, the man brought up one of the lethal devices on his hands and clipped the blade of his own knife in half. This was not going well indeed.

"Rethinking your position?" Van Helsing asked. He could see the uncertainty in Jack's eyes, the fear that was finally being realized. Perhaps it would help this assignment. If he could bring this man in alive, it might get his superiors to let him actually relax for once. Then again, they might conversely just send him on another mission right away. Sometimes, he wondered why he even dreamed of having a quiet moment to get some real rest.

There was a shifting of weight, he could see it even before Jack made it obvious. In the blink of an eye, Van Helsing moved aside just as Jack flung what was left of his knife at him. Clearly, the man was getting desperate, which was both a boon and a problem. While a desperate man was easier to follow, he was harder to predict. Fortunately, Jack ran, just as Van Helsing had predicted. He smiled, stowed away the buzz saw tojos, and ran after Jack as he was racing down the river. Maybe this desperate man would be all too easy to predict.

-

He finally reached the entrance of the opera house basement. No doubt, Van Helsing wasn't far behind, which meant that he would have to hurry through the building to lose him. His clothes were soaked, and there was no hiding the smell of the Paris river. With a deep breath, Jack hurried up the stairs of the basement, re-entering the opera house itself and moving to get out of the theater.

His plan had gone horribly wrong from the moment Van Helsing had shown up. His hope had been to low relatively low for awhile, then, when things had eased off in London, to head back there and resume his work. It seemed that the mythical Templar Order had been one step ahead of him, though. More so, they did indeed exist, and their main agent was a man who was regarded in most places as urban legend.

He had to get away from here, find a place to hide, and this time not draw attention to himself. And right now, getting out of this situation was the primary problem.

With his coat dripping the foul river water behind him, Jack jumped off the stage and raced up the aisle way. Thoughts ran through his head on how to lose Van Helsing. Perhaps he could hide in the Notre Dame cathedral. Surely, Van Helsing would not think to search there.

He reached the bridge, and as of yet, he saw no sign of Van Helsing. It wasn't too far now before he was in sight of the cathedral, and he would be safe there. He could hide himself away in the bell-tower, no one would think to look for him there.

But then, he heard something from under the bridge. Instinct told him to ignore it, but his curiosity tugged at him. It couldn't be Van Helsing, he was still stuck in the maze under the opera house. Cautiously, Jack looked over the railing of the bridge, and saw nothing.

"Nice night for a swim?"

It was impossible, but as Jack spun around, he was greeted by the iron hard fist that came across in a hook punch right to his jaw. He fell to the ground, his mouth sore, and he spit out a tooth, blood mixing with saliva. And standing there, impossibly so, was Van Helsing.

Jack coughed, getting to his feet and backing away. "You just don't bloody give up, do you!"

There wasn't much reaction in Van Helsing's face. "I have a perfect record," he replied calmly. "In seven years, I've never once failed to complete a mission." There was a wry smile on his face now, reflecting on the irony of things. "I'm sure you would know about that kind of record better than anyone."

For a moment, Jack stood there. Then, his face contorting with anger, he ran toward Van Helsing, slamming into the man and knocking them both over the bridge. "I'll take you to Hell with me!" he screamed. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his chest and was pushed away as he lost his grip on Van Helsing. Looking down, Jack found that one of the buzz saws had been jammed into his chest.

And just as fluidly as he had drawn out the tojo, Van Helsing reached into his coat and withdrew a gun-like device. He aimed upwards toward the bridge, weapon at an angle, and pulled the trigger. Instead of a bullet, the gun fired out a large plug that was attached to a long roll of cable. It sailed upwards through the air, slipping through the gap in the railing. At that moment, the plug snapped open to reveal itself as a grapple hook, and fell back to bring the hooks under the cable.

His weight now brought to bear on the cable, it went taut, locking the hooks against the cable and halting Van Helsing's own fall. Jack, however, continued downward, eventually crashing into the river. He fought to stay above the water, struggling against the weight of his soaked clothing, but he was losing blood, and the weight of his overcoat was too much.

"Help me!" he cried. "You must help me! You're ordered to take me alive!"

Van Helsing frowned. He hated it when a monster disguised as a man tried to play on his sympathy. It had happened before, and after the first two times, he'd learned his lesson in trusting his instincts. Jack would not go quietly if saved. He would try and kill Van Helsing and flee. That was not going to happen.

His free hand reaching about to one of his revolvers, Van Helsing drew it out and aimed at the Ripper. "My superiors prefer you alive!" he called down to the struggling man. "However, one way or another, we all know your fate, monster!"

He began to squeeze the trigger, but when Jack sunk beneath the water, he knew it was over. Oh, the murderer would try to swim upward again, but with all that heavy clothing, not to mention the loss of blood, he wouldn't make it. Plus, there were other more unsavory things in the river. Jack was bound to swallow some of that water, and then, he was finished.

Pulling himself up the cable, Van Helsing grunted as he reached the bridge and climbed over the railing. He looked back down on the river, for any sign of the Ripper, just to make sure. Bubbles continued to come up from the depths, but little else.

The bubbles were getting bigger. And more so, something was coming up. He drew out his revolver again, aiming down at the point where the air bubble were emerging. For a moment, the bubbles stopped, but he held his aim.

After several minutes, the body came up, the tojo gone, but there was no movement. Van Helsing didn't lower his weapon until he failed to hear a heartbeat. It was then that he holstered his gun and sighed. "Requiescat in pace," came his whispered prayer as he made the sign of the cross. This mission was over.

He had beaten the Ripper, just as ordered. However, getting the body was going to be hell, and he didn't have time for that kind of recovery work. He was tired, soaking wet, and more important, the water he was drenched in stank. A shower and the chance to wash his attire would be a nice reprieve from his work.

But right now, he had other things to worry about, such as vacating the scene before the gendarmes arrived. It would do no could to have completed these assignment only for the authorities to come and arrest him. Van Helsing seriously doubt that the Templar wanted the trouble of that kind of incident.

Turning, he raced across the bridge and toward the alleyway where his horse was bound to still be waiting. With so few people out tonight, he would hopefully have little trouble in departing. All in all, it wasn't too bad of a mission; he'd only lost a couple pieces of equipment, which was bound to make someone he knew very upset regardless, and he'd been able to avoid involving the local authorities. That latter point was bound to make the cardinal happy.

He came to a halt as, when he was entering the alleyway, a pair of men stepped out of the nearby pub to see what was going on. Van Helsing could now hear a rise of voices from down at the bridge, and right now, he had to get out of there. "Bloody hell," he muttered just as one of the men pointed at him accusingly.

"Vous!" the man roared. His companion moved to restrain Van Helsing, then halted when the man quickly drew out one of his revolvers. He was not in the mood for a delay like this, nor did he deserve it. Van Helsing didn't plan on actually shooting either man, but, all the same, he cocked the hammer to make his point. Did he ever detest the French right now.

A boy stepped out from behind the man Van Helsing was aiming at. It was clearly obvious he was the boy's father.

His stomach lurched. He had hoped that, worst come to worst, he would only have to shot the men in the legs, some non-fatal shot to disable them for now. But with this, he couldn't do it. And just as quickly, Van Helsing un-cocked the gun and holstered it, now running down the alleyway while the men and the boy watched in shock. Perhaps this would get them to not try following. It was obvious they had assumed him to be the Ripper, but since he had not tried killing either of them, nor the child, it might have worked in his favor.

There. Just as he'd left it, his horse awaited in the alley. With a grunt, Van Helsing leapt up onto the steed's back and untied the reins before nudging the beast into full run. He had nothing to worry about from those two men and the boy. True, there had been fear in their eyes, but when he'd refrained from attacking, he'd seen relief. It was enough for him right now, but the quicker he could leave France all together, the better.

It didn't take long for him to return to the inn where he had been staying for his tenure in Paris. He tied his horse up in the stable, then, making sure there was no one to catch the smell, he made his way up through the back entrance and to the second floor where his room was. Quickly, Van Helsing peeled off his overcoat and hat, making sure to lessen what resemblance he had to the man he had just executed, and more than likely, Paris would end the search for by the 'morrow.

When he entered his room, he noticed an envelope on his bed. Obviously a telegraph from the Templar, but why would they already be sending him a message? He only arrived in Paris the night before.

Perhaps they were coming to expect his swift work and assumed that he'd already done the job.

Throwing his coat and hat aside, Van Helsing picked up the telegram and opened it. His eyes flicked over the message, and as he reached the end, noting the name of the sender, he smiled faintly. He'd be leaving first thing in the morning then. Enough time to have breakfast, hear about the finding of the Ripper's body in the river, and then to get out of France.

This mission hadn't been so bad after all.