Requiem

The house was uninhabited by the living. The squad had gotten a call in about this place. The police would often get calls from neighbours reporting strange noises coming from it and when the police investigated, thinking it was squatters, they found no one and someone would always get hurt. This information made its way to Thames house and then it got directed to the Shades via Thorpe. They had met in their new office to discuss the best course of action. Since someone always seemed to get hurt when investigating, it was decided that they go as a group. If there was anything there, they would handle it together. Stephen had been opposed to that. What if we all get hurt? What would happen to the squad? That's what he had said. What he didn't say was what if Rory gets hurt? How would I be able to cope if something happened to her? We've only just started our lives together. But it been argued back that if they were all there together, they had a better chance of dealing with any potential threat. Even Rory had argued that stance, telling Stephen silently though a look that they would be fine. And then they had all agreed on the date. It was the early afternoon and Callum still had a couple of things to deal with on the Underground. They would go tomorrow. It had been decided.

It was evening now and Stephen stood in the house alone, torch and terminus held out in front of him. He had borrowed Boo's. She was visiting her parents tonight and had no need of it. Stephen had told her that Thorpe had called with some minor problem and he didn't want to take Rory. She had given him her terminus happily. She wouldn't have if she knew where he was really going. Maybe he was stubborn. Maybe he was stupid. Maybe he was protecting his wife and his friends. Whatever the reason, Stephen had kissed Rory, left Goodwin's Court and driven to the house.

There was music playing now although there were no living beings there but him. He was sure of that. He had checked the house over now. He had seen nothing. But something was here because there was music. And the music hadn't been playing when he got there. The CD player downstairs now played a Latin requiem. Music for the dead and the dying. Stephen thought it was fitting.

He crept down the stairs and pushed the door to the living room open again, conducting another search of the building. He walked into the room, floorboards creaking beneath his feet. And then there were floorboards creaking behind him. He wheeled around, terminus still in front of him. A man stood there. He was well dressed with a well kept beard. Stephen estimated that this man was from the late 19th or early 20th century. He spoke with a voice that suggested a good upbringing.

"Good evening, young sir."

Stephen nodded his head politely. "Evening."

"What brings you to my fine home?"

"This place isn't old enough to be yours."

"Indeed not, but it's mine now."

The sound of the requiem played softly in the room. "Interesting music taste."

"Yes, I'm rather fond of a requiem. Such sombre things. Quite apt for myself. They are not performed for the living, only the dead."

He stepped further into the room and Stephen took a step back. He noticed that the man kept one hand behind his back. His eyes darted from the arm to his face as he tightened his grip on the terminus. The man continued. "I've not met many people who can see me. You must have a rare gift."

"Yes...I do."

"It's lovely to be able to talk to someone. I've never managed it before."

"Well maybe if you stopped hurting everyone who came here, you might meet more like me."

"What makes you think I'm hurting people?"

"Who else would be doing it?" They were both circling the room slowly now. With each move the ghost made, Stephen moved in the opposite direction. He was still very aware that the ghost was hiding something behind him.

The ghost chuckled. "You certainly are a smart young man. I can understand why you wear that uniform. The police are certainly lucky to have such a sharp young man like yourself. I have rather a fondness for sharp things..."

His hand moved slowly from behind his back and Stephen took another step back. The knife glistened in the light of Stephens torch and his breathing grew a little heavier. "Rather fine incident some years past. I believe it to be...I think two years ago. The copycat Ripper?"

"Three years." Stephen corrected him. "It was three years ago."

The ghost nodded with a grin, placing his empty hand over his heart. "Ahhhh, my sincerest apologies dear boy. I find it difficult to keep up. I digress. I'm sure you know of the case. No CCTV footage, no DNA. Clearly a ghost. You do know of the case?"

"I was part of the case."

This seemed to delight the ghost. "Were you? Most remarkable. To think I'm talking to somebody involved in such a fine incident. Which role did you play? Were you important or just keeping an eye on things?"

"I was assigned to protect the only witness in the case."

The ghost chuckled. "Well you certainly did a marvellous job of that. Didn't she end up getting hurt?"

Stephen swallowed hard. Yes, he thought. She did. I was supposed to protect her and she nearly died. "She was hurt, yes. But she lived and recovered. She's incredibly strong."

"You must think highly of the girl."

Stephen smiled softly at that. "Yes, I do. I married her."

"Awww, now that is incredibly sweet. Many congratulations to you. How sad it is that you will never see her again." He moved like lightening across the room, knife out in front of him. Stephen could barely react but managed to throw himself out of the way just as the ghost got to him. He crashed to the ground as the ghost flew against the cabinet. Stephen took that opportunity to push himself up despite the sudden heaviness in his limbs. He briefly wondered what had caused that feeling but pushed it away as he pushed the terminus into the ghost. He looked shocked and the knife clattered to the ground. A rush of air filled the room, followed by the smell of burning flowers and then Stephen was alone. He dropped his arm and glanced across at the knife. Strange...there was blood on it. There hadn't been before. And then he thought about the heaviness in his limbs. And then he felt it.

Rory had once told him that she hadn't felt the knife when she was slashed. It had hurt later but not straight away. She never really did understand why. He knew what she was talking about now. He hadn't felt the knife either. But he felt the wound. He looked down to his side and saw his white police shirt go red. The wound appeared to be on the side of his abdomen but he didn't know how deep. He reached for his phone, gasping in pain as he did, dialled and held it to his ear. "This is Constable Stephen Dene requesting immediate medical assistance. Knife wound, unsure of damage. Attacker... got away." He couldn't tell them the truth so that would have to do. It was getting harder to concentrate so he finished quickly, giving the address before dropping his phone.

He had managed to get himself into a seated position but he couldn't sustain it and he collapsed onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling as he fought to keep his eyes open. Maybe he would die here. And he would die alone. Maybe he should've waited until tomorrow and come with the others. But then he thought that coming here and dying was worth it because Rory was safe at home. Their home. But only hers if he died here. If he died alone. He thought about her smile, her laugh, her accent, her dark eyes, their first kiss, the first time they made love, the night he proposed to her, their wedding, the baby they talked about having in the future. If he died here, he would never see that smile again. He would never hear her laugh again. He would never hear her accent again. He would never gaze into her eyes again. He would never kiss her again. He would never make love to her again. She would never have his child. He didn't know how long he lay like that but as he heard the sirens approaching, he felt his eyes closing. The requiem that played on the CD player still filled the room and he thought it was fitting. Music for the dead and the dying. He placed his hand over the wound, feeling the blood seep through his fingers. He struggled to stay awake. His vision was going dark. His final thought before his consciousness slipped away, what he believed may well be his final waking thought on Earth, was of Rory and the pain that his death would cause her.