WARNING: Graphic chapter is graphic. Please be warned, there is reference to stuff that happens and stuff...not explicitly listed...and blood...and kissing, I guess? Anyway, just wanted to be safe and warn you.

So, uh, happy reading.

*Smiles*

CLUE AND NOTE

RECORD FOUR: Private Simon Douglass

It was about nine o'clock in the evening when Jack got back, and Scarlet, Ralph and he headed out, leaving Simon all by himself in the empty police station. The young private scribbled rhythmically on his little notepad, copying down any vital information on the case he might need on the go. It was unusually quiet in the station, with only the little desktop light he'd switched on illuminating the near-darkness. Simon used this time to meditate on his thoughts. What was he doing on the force anyway? He gagged at the sight of blood, had to stay away from bodies...

Sighing, he rested his head in his hands and gave his eyes a moments rest. These late nights were wearing down on him. Yet again, he was stuck working late shifts until Jack, Ralph, Bill and scarlet got back. Simon was exhausted. So exhausted, in fact, that he didn't even hear the door chime as it opened. The young private had dozed off, slipping into a brief unconsciousness.

The unwelcome guest sat down in the chair and watched. They laughed quietly, and in their hands a sliver crescent of reflective metal danced in the moonlight.

silently, the Ripper switched off the light.

"Where the bloody hell did Bill go?!" Jack shouted to Ralph above the clamor of the crowd, trying to shoulder his way over to the blonde through the warm, drunk bodies of the patrons on the floor, "And Scarlet?!"

"I don't know!" Ralph responded, also in a shout, "I saw Scarlet just a minute ago! She was headed towards the bar...but I don't think Bill even came with us!"

"Great!" Jack spat.

"My thoughts exactly!" Ralph Brimmly agreed curtly, nodding towards the mostly-empty smoking room, "Let's go over there! I can't stand all these people! Plus, I haven't told you why we're here yet!"

"Good thinking!" The red-head agreed loudly. The two detectives squirmed their way out of the writhing mass of people and dancing drunkards and half-fell into the foggy smoking chamber. They both coughed violently, straightening themselves out. Ralph pulled the collar of his cream button-down shirt over his mouth and nose to keep out most of the smog. Jack observed, but out of his self-inflicting pride, would not do the same. He braved the smoke without coverings. "Now, what are we doing here?" He asked, slightly peeved.

"Watching." Ralph said, muffled by the cream-colored fabric.

"For what?" Jack sneered, "You think that the Ripper is just gonna waltz up to the bar and order a couple'a drinks, then kill someone right here?"

"No." Ralph shook his head, crushing his eyes closed for a long moment to clear them of the nauseous debris floating about in the smoke room. "We're not watching for the Ripper. I wanna watch Scarlet. That's why I was wondering where she was, I don't want her to know."

"Why are we watching Scarlet?" Jack asked, puzzled for once.

"Because, she...I don't know, she's just kind of suspicious. You never know, nobody said that the killer had to be a male." The detective turned away from Jack and stood on his tips toes, trying to peer through the shivering crowd. There was no sign of her anywhere on the dance floor, nor on the stage...though, Ralph had loaned her his khaki coat so that she wouldn't be as suspicious, so she probably wouldn't be there anyway. He glanced towards the bar. Ah, there. Scarlet was sitting at the round-about, streamline bar ordering drinks. He should've known. Someone in a black, high-collar trench and matching fedora took the empty seat next to her, and they started to strike up a conversation. Eventually, it turned even stranger as they leaned in and spoke in whispers into each others eager ears, moving closer...

"That's why the prostitute was a bad idea..." Ralph muttered. Jack made a non-committal grunt that could be interpreted as either an 'I agree' or a 'screw you'. Both seemed acceptable enough for the blonde, because he easily ignored the other detective and turned away. "I think we should go. She seems pretty clear. Plus, I don't think she would've murdered her sister like that. It doesn't seem like her."

"Yeah, but what's she doing talking to Roger like that?" Jack snorted. Ralph started in surprise, turning back to the scene at the bar.

"That's Wirrick?" He asked, incredulous.

"Yeah, I'd know that hat anywhere. It used to have a feather and a ribbon on it, but he insisted on tearing it off." Jack explained, "He said it looked too suspicious or something like that, I don't know. Apparently he wears it to those horse races he goes to on weekends."

"Yeah, he told me about those." Ralph grimaced. Jack Merridew chuckled, then choked after inhaling a lung-full of smog.

"Let's just get out of here." He corrected, "I can't stand this place."

"Me neither." Ralph shook his head, glancing one last time at Scarlet and Roger before heading back through the crowd. "I'll ask Bill to retrieve her for us later. Seems like she's busy anyway."

Scarlet leaned in close to the bartender, pointing at this and that and whatever else she pleased. She had to admit, the Yard paid well for information, even the most trivial of things. With her new-earned pounds and pence, she'd be at this bar all night. Good thing she'd ditched those two detectives at the entrance. She was getting well-sick of their company.

"Something strong." A familiar, yet alien, voice next to her ordered to a different bar-boy, "Something that'll knock me off my feet but still keep me up, you know?"

"I recommend the Cotswold." She offered, turning to the man seated next to her on the stool, "It's great. Strong too, even if you're used to it." She took in this stranger, lapping hungrily out his outfit with her ivy-green eyes. The black hat he wore shadowed his eyes, and his long black coat made him pitiable in the heat of the bar. On the stage, another round of performers started their routine. Tipping up his hat, the man grinned at Scarlet through scornful red eyes.

"I'll take that, then." He told the bar-tend, without even turning to him. Scarlet snapped her fingers and pulled her drink close to her as it was set on the counter, swinging around to face the now recognizable face. Next to her, Roger shrugged off his jacket to reveal a pinstripe button-down and a pair of charcoal-grey pants. He smiled mockingly.

"You're that guy from the station." Scarlet smirked with one side of her lips, pressing them into an even and attractive line, "The one who walked out. Sorry, but I can't remember your name..."

"It's Roger Wirrick." He jokingly did a little bow, still looking rather mocking, "And who might you be, miss? The hired prostitute, I presume?"

"Where'd you hear that?" Scarlet gasped in a show of dismay. Damn, she thought, what good acting. I should've gone into show-business. Been in one of those new moving-picture films. Roger, however, smiled wider. He seemed rather unconvinced of her performance.

"Don't play dumb, little lady." He leaned back while speaking, crossing his arms and trying to appear nonchalant. This, however, just came off as extremely cheesy. "Everyone knows that the best-looking women go into that kind of business."

"And how would you know that?" Scarlet murmured around the straw of her beverage. Roger leaned back in, closer. She didn't move, her teeth and tongue playing with her brightly-colored straw and her eyes playing with Roger's clothing still.

"Because it makes the most money." He responded, lowering his voice to a whisper in the crowd, trailing his thing fingers up her chin. She stopped smiling. She let go of the straw, letting it float to the edge of her glass. "Especially for Gorgeous, Green-eyed gals like you."

"...I have to go." Scarlet plastered her smile back on, daring and sinister, a challenge to the person it was directed at. She was having fun. This Roger...he was fun. "My roommates are out of town, and I have to lock up, it seems."

She had no roommates. Yet another challenge. Roger's glass was set on the table, but he ignored it, forcing himself closer to Scarlet in the already cramped space of the bar. Their legs grazed each others, their breathing air was shared.

"Oh, you shouldn't lie to me, madam." He pressed the words into the small space, making both of them want more. "But it is dangerous out at this time of night, and I'd be honored-"

"-Escort me home." Scarlet said, demanding, wanting more of his air, his skin. Once again, her eyes and her mind played with his clothes, but in a way she hadn't before. So quick, she thought, he reeled me in so quick, I would've never thought...

This was too easy, Roger grinned to himself in the shadows of their pressed-together foreheads, how fun.

How very fun.

"Oh, how very fun!" Jack fumed, stomping his foot in anger, "Bill! Get your arse over here! We were looking all over creation for you! You were supposed to come with us to the bar!"

The flat-haired reporter looked up from whatever he'd been photographing in the darkened alley boredly, sighing at Jack's indifference to his important investigation work. Quickly, he pressed his billow-camera back into its case and hauled it under his arm, walking to where Jack and Ralph were waiting under the lamp-light of the road.

"Was I?" he asked, "I wasn't aware."

"Smart-arse." Jack spat, "What in the bloody hell were you doing in there?"

"There was a blood stain." Bill said, "I was taking a picture for future reference. It looks pretty fresh too."

Ralph jolted for the second time that night. What had happened? They'd finally made a break-through on the case, and then a whole Pandora's Box full of weird is unleashed...He ran a hand through his light-blonde hair and closed his eyes, fighting back a scream. This whole thing was so frustrating...sometimes, he just wanted to give up.

"Show me." He breathed out, "Show me, show me."

"Sorry, detective." Bill apologized sincerely.

"Hey, why does he get an apology?!" Jack yelled. His outburst was ignored, however. Scurrying, he caught up to his two co-workers, bent over by the slick stain in the shadows. There was something odd about it...something off. Tentatively, detective Brimmly trailed his finger in the liquid, dipping and swirling them through the depths of the darkness. He brought them, sticky and wet, up to his nose and sniffed. Rust and Seawater. Salty. Blood. He squinted harshly at the shape on the stones, trying to clear out the night and make whatever it was clearer. Nothing. Then, he got an idea. His head snapped to Bill.

"Bill," He demanded, "Set up your camera and snap a picture. The light will make it easier to see for a moment."

"Ser," Jack interrupted from the side, "I brought an electric torch with me. It's always in my pocket."

"Oh. That helps." Ralph corrected nervously, jittering for whatever was drawn in blood directly in front of him, "Never mind, Bill. Thanks anyway."

"I didn't really do anything, but you're welcome." Bill frowned, unnoticeable in the shadows. Jack switched on his torch, and it flickered dimly to life. It didn't provide that much light, but it was enough to see by. "Wow." Bill broke in.

"Oh my God." Ralph stumbled with his words, unable to form a comprehensive thought. The only thing that was racing through his mind was: Simon's at the station, dear Lord, please let him be okay. Simon's at the station...Dear Lord...please...

"It's an arrow." Jack said aloud, grim, "And it's pointing towards the station."

"It's a nice place you've got here." Roger commented vibrantly from where he was perching on Scarlet's couch's armrest. She turned to him shakily. Even with all of her other...clients...she'd never seen someone look so unnatural in such a normal place. It was completely off-putting, but at the same time...she liked him there. Scarlet studied Roger's features, his pin-prick smirk, his shimmering black hair that fell in front of his eyes, every strand of it, every highlight cast by the damp lamp-light. She shivered. Roger caught sight of this and his smirk pulled upwards, finding a natural place on his pale skin. "I can't say that I expected it."

"It was cheap." She breathed. Her fingers caught the edge of her doorknob and Scarlet slowly turned it open, pressing her shaking finger-tips into the rough wood, pushing so that it would open. She backed in. Leaping up, Roger swiftly strode over and did the same to Scarlet, entwining himself with her, bringing her closer, lips to her ear.

"The landlord?" He queried gently.

"..."

"I thought so. I have to say, Miss Scarlet," He smiled audibly, "I like your style."

Ralph was a blur in the dark alleys, stumbling blindly over garbage dumped there and cobblestone walls and once even a guard dog. Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid! He should have never left Simon alone in the station, especially when he knew that the chief was turning in early! What the bloody hell was he thinking?! Ralph gasped, trying to draw more air into his parched lungs.

"Ralph!" Jack shouted from somewhere behind him, indiscernible from the white noise pounding in his ears, "Come on! Come back! We have to stay together! What are you planning on doing by yourself?!"

"Detective!" Bill echoed.

the blonde turned on a heel, backpedaled, trying to steady himself while walking backwards. He tripped a little, then screamed back: "You'll have to catch up, then!"

As if it were a game.

A game...

the notion struck him as odd.

Panting and worn-over with sweat and smoke, Ralph kicked down the front door of the Yard station when he arrived, and half-sprinted, half-stumbled into the case room.

"Simon!"

Roger pulled away suddenly, leaning back against the nearest surface in Scarlet's bedroom-which just happened to be her dresser-and feigning disgust and disinterest. He laughed wildly to himself.

"What's so funny?" Scarlet demanded, out of breath even though she hadn't even done anything.

"Just this whole deal." He responded, nearly drunk with his own desires, twirling a finger through the air, "This whole deal..."

"..." Scarlet thought for a moment. Was he referring to the fact that she was actually doing this for her own personal pleasure than for money, or the fact that they had just met twenty minutes ago? She might never know.

Once again, she blinked her eyes and Roger was on top of her, skin hot where he touched her face, lips moving beneath her own. Her hands worked at his shirt buttons, the same ones that her mind had played with earlier. Except, now it was real.

And, to both of them it may have been just a game, but at that moment it felt incredibly

Real.

Simon.

Simon.

Simon.

The same thought ran on over-drive in Ralph's shell-shocked brain, making him reel into the bookshelves, slip on the books that had been thrown on the floor and lathered in blood, and try to make sense at what he was seeing. Any sense at all. Anything to grasp onto.

"Simon..." He whispered, "Simon, I'm so sorry..."

Jack and Bill rushed onto the scene a moment later, also gasping for breath and sweaty from pursuing Ralph on his mad sprint through the city's darker recesses. They stopped in their tracks when they saw it. Ralph turned to them, ghostly pale, looking even a bit green.

Across the spattered floor and draped over the newly-painted desk, the body of Simon stared. Bill walked closer and studied his glassy reflection in the wide, now fish-like eyes. He took a picture, and he left.

Quick update is quick~~

But, hey! Guess what tomorrow is? That's right, updating day! Tomorrow night is the night! *Does a happy dance* Finally, Epic PArty Time and Alice and all that other crap...will be updated! I'm looking forward to it at least...

Anyway, only one more chapter! DuNDunDUN

Who do you think is the killer?

I know who it is...mwahahaha.

Alright. That's enough of that. Thanks for reading, and please review if you have the time!

WRITE YA LATER!