This chapter's got the introduction of sassy science squad(mah favs). Enjoy!
The thundering of knocks on his door stabbed Will's temples and dragged him out of the fog of his afternoon sleep. He ran his hands through his unruly hair, kicked the royal guards sash back into its corner, and opened the door.
The rays of light stung his eyes and created a stab of pain in the bridge of his nose. Before they could adjust, a body shoved past him into his house.
"Jack," Will greeted, only slightly bothered by his forceful intrusion and barely embarrassed by his own state of undress. The urgency with which Jack brushed past Will shook away the last vestiges of rest.
"Jack, what's happened?" Will asked, praying his suspicions weren't correct.
"You were right," Jack said solemnly turning to face Will. "The Ripper has killed again."
Will closed his eyes and leaned against the table as he shifted through his memories of the previous night. He struggled to remember which ladies of the night stood watch at which corners, which beggars slept in which gutter, and which of them was out of place. Then he tried to piece it together with his surreal encounter with the Ripper.
Yet he found his mind uncharacteristically distracted and unwilling to cooperate. He forced himself to walk through the hazy London streets in the Ripper's shoes and cloak which concealed his finely tailored waistcoat, but Will could only see himself, stumbling and losing the Ripper in the maze of shambled houses. He felt weighed down as if he'd swallowed a stone. Will wanted to believe it was guilt about failing to save a life, especially when he was so close. In truth, that was partly it, but if Will forced himself to look a layer deeper he could see that what he felt was relief. Guilty about feeling relieved that he was not insane. Relief that he had been right.
But that didn't matter at the moment, because right now he had a lead and he knew where to follow it to.
Will opened his eyes to find Jack holding out his jacket as if it were an offering. Without a moment's hesitation, he took the jacket and they headed out into the streets.
Will stared out the carriage window at the taverns passing by. Overnight they had undergone a transformation from the places where the dim light veiled the source of the boisterous laughter and scents of liquor and sweat, into uncomfortably empty tombs in the morning light. Through the window, Will could barely recognize the roads he'd spent hours fruitlessly wandering. But as the carriage shook from a hole in the road, Will noticed the square from the night before and knew they must be near.
Several moments later, Jack broke the stony silence by announcing their arrival. The men stationed at the crime scene stood at attention when Jack stepped out from the carriage, the royal sigil shining on his chest in the bright light. Will emerged behind him, his eyes adjusting to take in the scene. Jack strode forward towards his second in command and ordered him to take the men and guard the quarantined zone, leaving only Will, Jack, and the body.
With his new privacy, Will took a deep breath that energized his sense and he began to imagine a clock. Slowly, the golden weight of the clock swung back and forth, glowing against the black background of Will's imagination. With each swing, a piece of the district square fell away to reveal how it was the previous night. First swing, Jack and the carriage faded away. Second swing, the sunrise melted into a dark sky illuminated by the same moon that had shone on Will last night. Third swing, Will saw himself standing in front of his kill seconds after her life has seeped away.
The prostitute hung limp from the spikes that had been strategically pierced through her soft flesh. The spikes were planted firmly in the ground and arranged in such a manner as to present the woman to the city, as if she were a new decree being announced to the denizens.
Will delicately covered her dried lips covered with fine red lipstick. Then he lightly blotted her cheeks with a hint of blush, and even gifted her a small black beauty mark on the side of her nose. The pale canvas of her face now better fit the silk gown which had replaced the faded rags that she'd been wearing. Will took a step back to admire his handiwork and felt a small stab of disappointment that no one else would have the pleasure of viewing his artwork in the elegance of the moonlight. The newsboys probably wouldn't even yell of the Ripper's return until evening.
"Did he do this to honor her? Make her into a queen?" Jack asked, causing the midnight to crack and break away. The red splotches on the prostitute's gown had grown considerably larger from Will's meditation, and he found himself once again in his own mind and current time.
"No, no, she is far below the privilege of the Ripper's honor," Will said, involuntarily adding emphasis to privilege.
"So he was mocking her then?" Jack asked, gazing at the rotting corpse.
"Not quite. The Ripper didn't mean to mock her, it was more of an unintended consequence," Will explained. "The Ripper's real target for mockery was the aristocracy."
"Ah," Jack said with sudden understanding. "Saying the aristocracy are just painted ladies? No better than prostitutes."
Will nodded and added, "This points to the Ripper being a member of high society, if he has such a personal distaste for them."
"A member of high society, or the highest member of society?" Jack asked disapprovingly. Will shook his doubt away.
"Have the morticians arrived yet?" Will asked, not answering Jack's question.
"Not yet," Jack said.
"Good," Will said, turning away from the woman and heading back to the carriage. "Take the body down and bring it to them. This woman shouldn't have to be paraded around in the square like a public execution."
"Does this mean you're rejoining the royal guard?" Jack asked, close at Will's side as he stepped into the carriage.
"No," Will said. "But it means I'm willing to consult on the case."
It had been several weeks since Will had last stepped foot in London's middle class district, and it felt backwards to be here with the sun shining bright overhead and not sulking in the dank gutters. He stared expectantly at the grained wooden door of Dr. Zeller's home and office, but realized that he hadn't yet knocked. Will curled his hands around the cool metal, and felt a shiver run up his shine. He banged it against the soft wood, once, twice, three times. He adjusted the coat he was wearing, which was the most expensive coat he owned. It had grown slightly stiff and some of its color had leaked into his room over the weeks it had spent untouched.
After several seconds, a man with his face scrunched up with wrinkles of annoyance opened the door. Will wasn't at all surprised to find Dr. Price at Zeller's house. A few of the lighter wrinkles fell away as Price recognized his old compatriot, leaving the deeper lines to smile at Will
"Will Graham! You decided to crawl out of the sewer to finally pay us a visit?" Price said, opening the door and warmly welcoming Will into Zeller's house. Will stepped in, unbuttoning his heavy coat to reveal his vest underneath.
"Dragged is a more accurate word," Will said. Price laughed.
"Commander Crawford is a bulldog," Price said. Will nodded with a smile and glanced down the hallway curiously.
"Where are Mr. and Mrs. Zeller?" Will asked.
"Ah, they're still in the back with the body," Price said, leading Will down the hallway, even though Will vividly remembered his way around. Light spilled onto the wool rug from under the door which Price swung open to reveal his coworkers, who hunched over the cadaver as if leaning over to wake Snow White from her poisoned slumber.
"Guess who dropped by to pay us a visit?" Price said. Beverly and Brian looked up, their concentrated faces morphing into light smiles.
"Will! Good to see you," Brian said. Beverly waved with her bloody scalpel.
"I had a feeling you'd drop by after they dragged this one in," she said. "How have you been?"
"Fine, just fine," Will said. His voice dropped in volume when he added, "I hope you've been well yourself."
Beverly nodded knowingly.
"We've been lucky is what we are," she said.
"Let's hope it stays that way," Will said sincerely, glancing at Price and Zeller who know stood close to one another.
"Have you found anything on the body?" Will asked, finally allowing his eyes to scan the body laid out on the table, her skin pulled back from her ribcage like an opened window.
"A few things," Price began. "Firstly, we've identified the lipstick used which contained a rare pigment found only in expensive makeup."
"That agrees with the Ripper as an aristocrat," Will said. The three scientists shared a distressed glance.
"Will," Beverly began, tightening her grip on the scalpel. "You don't still think the Ripper is the king, do you?"
"Did you find anything else?" Will asked. Beverly pursed her lips before putting her scalpel down.
"Yes, there were high levels of alcohol in her blood, along with some other form of depressant that we haven't been able to identify yet."
"We also found very neat stitches along her stomach," Zeller said.
"So logically, we opened them up and examined her insides," Price continued.
"And her liver is missing," Beverly finished. Will eyes slowly rose from the now stiff body painted with blood and makeup, to look at the scientists.
"The skill used for the stitches indicates someone with medical experience, and the depressants imply our killer has knowledge of the black market and administration of drugs. The Ripper did this, but this murder is different from his others. This one was meant to send a message," Will said, his voice trailing off into his thoughts as his mind quickly fit these new pieces into his puzzle but the picture wasn't complete yet.
"Thank you," Will said. "I should go now. But, take care. Really."
As Will turned away from the body and retreated from the laboratory lights, he heard the door close behind him. He stopped when Beverly floated to him and gently placed her hand on his shoulder.
"How about you stop by for dinner sometime?" She asked. "You've done so much for us and we haven't been able to properly thank you."
"I appreciate the offer, but I'm not a very good dinner guest," Will said, slowly buttoning his coat. "And there's no need to thank me."
"Don't be humble, of course there is. Jimmy and Brian are so happy together, and I get to do my work, and it's because you've kept our secret," Beverly said. Will paused his buttoning.
"That's because you're my friends, and I need my scientists happy to give me the best results," Will said, "and that means all my scientists, woman or not."
Beverly's mouth perked up, then twitched back to a frown as wrinkles appeared around her eyes.
"Did you rejoin the guard?" She asked. Will brushed the light shadow of a beard that was growing along his chin and shook his head. He reached towards the door before answering.
"I'm only consulting," he explained. Beverly's head tilted in anticipation of further explanation. Will pursed his lips. He took a step through the door before stopping to add, unintentionally more forcefully than he had intended, "I'm here to catch the Ripper and I don't need the king's stamp to do that."
Will caught a last glance of Beverly standing solitarily in the hallway, the light from her workshop illuminating her silhouette. He couldn't see the expression on her face as he closed the door and headed down the front steps of the Zeller residence.