Chapter 6

I do hope they realize soon.

"Last night at around 8:30 PM, Police Chief Manuel Gonzalez and well-renowned Entrepreneur Justin Harrington held a press conference in front of the police station. There, Mr. Harrington donated a large sum of money to aid in the effort of the on-going search for the serial killer who is mimicking the actions of the infamous Whitechapel murderer, Jack the Ripper. Chief Gonzalez stated last night..."

The voice of the news reporter suddenly went quiet as Thomas shut the television set off. He sat in the living room of his small apartment in Manhattan, nearly three blocks from the police station, now sitting in the silence and darkness. The only light pouring into the room was that of a street lamp directly outside of his window. He rarely put on his own light, and when he did, it was when he was in his bedroom, where there was very little light coming from the outside.

He smiled suddenly in the darkness, as something occurred to him. He'd often wondered if the police had picked up on the many clues that he has left at nearly all of the murder scenes. They were so easy to decipher, and yet seeing as how they had not picked up on it, or at least shown no evidence of having done so, he questioned the intelligence of all the officers. All of New York put their lives in the hands of these people, and yet they are unable to catch one man; a man in which they all know, and in fact, would least suspect.

Thomas stood up from the reclining chair now and walked over to the window, the street lamp casting an enigmatic glow that illuminated nearly all of his body, except part of his neck and all of his head. He was still smiling as he stood in front of the window; it was several minutes past ten, as he was just watching the ten o'clock news on the TV. He moved away from the window now and slowly walked over to a small stool beside that reclining chair in which he was previously sitting in. Atop the stool was a telephone. He picked up the receiver with his right hand, and with his left, dialed the police station.

An officer picked up, and for a moment, there was only silence.

"Hello?" asked the officer, Tristan Burcham. "Hello, is anyone there?"

He could hear heavy breathing on the other line, but no voice in response. At least not yet.

"What is it, Tristan?" asked officer Todd Hinson, who sat at the desk opposite of Tristan.

Tristan covered the mouthpiece of the receiver with his other hand and responded, "I dunno. No one's answering. All I hear is breathing."

Todd stood from his chair and walked beside Tristan. "Lemme see the phone."

Tristan handed him the receiver as Todd spoke, "Hello, is anyone there? I know someone is, I can hear you. Say something."

The breathing only became heavier, and Todd swore he heard a small laugh on the other end. He covered the mouthpiece once again, and to Tristan, he said. "Trace the line. This prick likes to play games, so let's see where it's coming from..."

In a bar at the corner of East 87 Street, a familiar bar tender leaned against the countertop, her eyes fixed on the television in the corner of the room. She was Rebekah Valentine.

"Last night at around 8:30 PM, Police Chief Manuel Gonzalez and well-renowned Entrepreneur Justin Harrington held a press conference in front of the police station..."

The voice seemed to trail off now, as Rebekah became lost in thought. She stared up at the images from the press conference, at both Chief Gonzalez and Justin Harrington, with a look of confusion in her eyes. She mumbled something under her breath, as someone sitting near-by questioned.

"What was that?"

Rebekah snapped out of her daze and looked over to the person, "Oh, it was nothing..."

She looked back up to the screen, as the news report was just finishing.

No, I'm just going crazy. What a silly thing to think...

At a small newsstand down the road, a boy, nineteen years old, stood behind the stacks of papers, two street lamps on each side of him cast down a circle of light around the area. He was reading one of the headlines of the paper, and it was about none other than the press conference. Occasionally, people would walk buy, pick up a paper and pay for it, then walk off, and in the times when no one was around, he would get back to reading the article.

It had the same information that the television news said; the donation made by Justin Harrington, among other things such as what the police plan to do to catch this killer. It really was a big thing, and it was so surprising how it has escalated to such in only a few days. It was terrifying, to say the least, knowing that someone was out there, impossible to find, and yet right underneath their nose. It was almost as if the killer was playing games with the police, and in fact, he was mocking them often. The boy continued to read the rest of the article; all the while hoping the police would find this killer soon.

Back at the police station...as Todd had commanded Tristan to trace the line, a voice suddenly came from the opposite end.

"My dear boy, how is life treating you? Are you doing well Mr. Hinson?"

Todd froze suddenly, uncovering the mouthpiece now. "You know me?"

"I know all of you. And you know me, as well. It really is surprising how you have yet to figure out who I am. I used to have so much faith in the PD. Now, you can't even catch one man. What good are you?"

There was a long pause after the man spoke, before he continued again.

"What, nothing to say anymore? Why have you gone so quiet once I started to talk?"

"Who is this?" asked Todd.

"You know very well who this is. It's everyone's friend, Jack the Ripper."

Todd's eyes went wide as the man said this. He covered the mouthpiece again for a moment, as he called out to another officer to get Detective Cardoso.

"I thought I'd call my dear friends and see what they were up to. It is a dull evening tonight. I think I shall go out and see if I can find my next victim. What do you say?"

Todd grew quiet, not knowing what to say, and simply waiting for Detective Cardoso to come. And finally, when he did, he instantly took the phone from Todd and spoke.

"You're a real funny guy, Jack. If that is really what you want us to call you. But c'mon, what's your real name?"

"My, my. Albert Cardoso. Right to the point, as always. You never did stray from your work; I always admired that in you. So persistent, so determined. Very admirable, I must admit. And I also must confess that at times I was envious of your ability to not give up until you completed what you set out to do."

"Enough rambling. Why did you call?"

"Well, I can't call my friends to have a nice conversation with them? 'Twas all I wanted. Until we finally meet in person, as if we haven't already. Good night, my friend."

"Wait, Jack –" The phone line went dead as the man hung up the other end of the phone. Detective Cardoso held the phone to his ear for a moment, getting only the dial tone in response. He slammed the receiver back down and cursed to himself, under his breath. Tristan walked back over now, offering a bit of good news.

"Don't worry, I traced it in time. I got where it's coming from, and you won't believe it when I tell you..."

Back at Thomas' apartment, after he had hung up the phone, he walked over to a particular wall in the living room. Upon this wall appeared to be a small bulletin board of some sort, with a piece of paper thumb nailed to it. It was a list of names, apparently, and the first four were crossed off. The crossed off names read: Victoria Sweeny, Marissa Harbinger, Roxanne Diamond, and Lindsay Day. There were two names below those four that remained uncrossed. They were Julia Hendrix and Sabrina Mitchal, with Julia being the next one. It was obvious what this list was.

Thomas smiled once again in the darkness, and walked over to the door. From the coat rack, he pulled off his familiar black cloak, which already had his knife inside, and wrapped it around himself. And as he set off outside, into the night, he had one thing on his mind. He knew the police were coming for him, which was exactly what he planned. He knew he had been on the phone long enough for the police to trace the call. With the police preoccupied with his apartment, especially Detective Cardoso and Chief Gonzalez, because he knew for a fact those two would be coming; it would be much easier for him to 'continue his work.'