Alex was pacing in the great room at Cromwell's, growing more impatient with every step. Where the hell was Bobby? For that matter, where the hell was Cromwell? If they didn't show up soon, she'd have to go out on her own. She didn't particularly want to go out on her own, but they didn't leave her much choice. They were now down to the nitty gritty as far as time was concerned; it was now or never. Besides, Alex was convinced that Bobby would be there. He'd never let her down yet.
Finally Alex decided it was time. Calling for Mrs. O'Leary, she asked her to arrange for a hackney cab. Then she went upstairs to change into the clothes Mrs. O'Leary had provided. It was an old housekeeper's dress, previously owned by Mrs. O'Leary's daughter, practically in shreds. Just perfect.
Appearing before the housekeeper in the old dress, Alex asked, "Well, how do I look?"
"You look exactly like you're supposed to look," Mrs. O'Leary replied. She was not very happy about Alex going out, either. She, too, had grown very fond of the two detectives from America.
Alex took no notice of her tone. The hackney cab had arrived, and she was on her way.
Back at the jailhouse, Cromwell was attempting to minister to Bobby who was still in a lot of pain from his injuries and being tied in a torture position for more than a day. He was still handcuffed and shackled; Willie was extracting the keys from Harris by force. Bobby suddenly stiffened, in acute pain, as the blood that had been partially cut off from his muscles for so long starting coursing through his body again. It was extremely painful.
Not being able to help Bobby in any way through this one, Cromwell could only wait for the pain to run its course.
"Okay, Bobby," Cromwell told him, "We're going to get these chains off you now." He gently turned Bobby enough to cut the rope that had forced his arms together above his elbows, then unlocked the handcuffs and shackles. In addition to his other injuries, Bobby's wrists and ankles were raw and bleeding, from the tightness of the cuffs, his struggling to free himself, and being knocked around while handcuffed and shackled. He was so stiff he could barely move, and his head and dislocated shoulder ached horribly.
At last Bobby was free, but it would be a couple of days before he could even walk. Harris watched, still angered by it all, like it was Bobby's fault. "I should've killed him right away, just finished beating the shit out of him like I wanted. But I hit him hard, real hard. Knocked him out good…" Harris sneered, like it took a real tough guy to beat a helpless handcuffed prisoner. "I wanted to just keep on beating him, but Hammond, that bastard, said to wait for him to wake up, to make it hurt more…then this bastard wouldn't wake up. Took about five hours…I hope he suffers bad."
Cromwell glared at him. "Your turn's next. You'll find out what it's like when you're locked up in prison." That took the smile off Harris's face.
"Alex," Bobby again said hoarsely.
"She's alright, Bobby. I want to get you to a doctor as soon as possible—I don't like the looks of that head wound. Looks like he cracked you pretty good."
"I don't care," Bobby managed to get out, despite the fact that his head was literally splitting. They had a hard time trying to support Bobby without injuring him more, but finally managed to get him to the carriage.
"We gotta get Alex," Bobby insisted, his voice harsh and rough.
The day had started out gloomy as usual, but the evening was worse. It was cold and fog had settled in. The gas lamps shining dully through the fog cast an eerie ghostly glow over everything. There were shadows everywhere, some of them appeared to be moving, coming from all directions. It was even starting to freak out Alex, who was beginning to wonder if she maybe should have waited for Bobby. She was a little angry with him, and decided when he did show up, she was going to kill him.
She was at the designated corner, where the last murder had taken place. Looking down the street she could barely make out the figure of another streetwalker through the fog. She knew they were all over the place, the competition was tremendous. She decided to make herself less obvious to the regular customers by moving back into the darker and more dangerous alley, but hoping to make herself more accessible to someone who liked to stay in the shadows, more like the prey she was seeking. Then she heard the rustling noise behind her, and turned sharply. Peering through the darkness, she could see nothing. Then there was another noise. Again she could see nothing, but she was starting to get a little nervous and patted her dress, checking for her gun. Then the rat came scurrying out. Relieved, she let out a short nervous laugh. She could hear sounds of merriment coming from the taverns, screams and various noises coming from all different directions.
Gradually, as the fog became even thicker; she could barely see ten feet in front of her and she realized that if someone was hiding, waiting for their chance, she'd never see them in time. That was when she began to get scared. Was she crazy for doing this? She'd have to take that one up with a therapist when she got back, cause god knows she's gonna need one, her and Bobby both. She shouldn't be out here. Why did Bobby always have to be so damn right? And where was he? Then the thought that she'd tried to ignore all night pushed its way to the surface. There was something wrong, something wrong with Bobby. The images that came to her mind were horrible. She pictured Bobby lying out in a ditch somewhere, hurt, possibly dead, the victim of a robbery or an accident with the cab. Or he'd be here. Now she was shivering; from the cold or her nervousness, she didn't know.
Another noise, a rustling, and she whirled around, gun in hand. Before her stood James Hammond. She let out a huge sigh of relief, lowering her gun. "You scared me to death!"
"It's okay, Mrs. Eames," he said soothingly.
Suddenly Alex felt on the verge of tears, totally unlike her normal self, but these were not normal circumstances.
"Thank God you're here. I should have listened to Bobby—"
"Yes you should have," he said, advancing on her.
"We've got to find Bobby, something's wrong…"
Suddenly Hammond had her by the throat, pressing hard, and easily knocked her gun away. "You don't have to worry about Bobby anymore…he's dead."
Alex fought with everything she had, but was no match for the much larger man. As the air was being cut off from her lungs and she started losing consciousness, her last thoughts were of Bobby.
Bobby was trying desperately to speak, his voice was cracking but he managed to get it out. "Hammond is the Ripper! He'll go after Alex!"
Cromwell was shocked. "Are you sure?"
"Yes!" Bobby was getting impatient. "We have… to get her now!" His head hurt unbelievably.
"Alex is at the house, she's fine. What we need is to get you to a doctor—"
"No! She'll be gone! I know her…"
This is what Cromwell didn't want to hear. Now he had two of them to worry about. He knew Bobby needed medical assistance, especially after learning he'd been unconscious for so long. Now, at Bobby's insistence, he had to delay that help to track down Alex when he wasn't entirely sure she'd even left the house. But if she had, and Bobby was correct, she could be in a lot of trouble.
"Alright," he sighed, yet again. "Where to?"
Bobby told him about their meeting place, then leaned back, closing his eyes to block out any available light, trying to gather what little strength he could as Cromwell urged the horse on.
Finally arriving at the designated place, they tried to peer through the fog for any sign of Alex. Even Bobby, who had excellent vision, couldn't see a thing.
"Alex!" Bobby croaked, then listened intently. "Alex!" No answer. Then, seeing something glinting on the ground, "Down there," he said, pointing with his good arm.
Willie hopped down and retrieved the object, handing it to Bobby. Bobby looked at it and said softly, "It's Alex's."
tbc