The Ripper Cases (Closed)

[Sinjin]

Act One:



​

Setting: Whitechapel Road, East London. August 31st, 1888.


The newspaper made a splash as it landed in a puddle that was equal parts blood and rainwater. It read "The Star, 4th Edition Press: A Revolting Murder. Another woman found horribly mutilated in Whitechapel. Ghastly crimes by a maniac." The Star would be one of the first papers to suggest that the murder was done by a single killer, though the one who originally came up with that conclusion was none other than the one who dropped that paper. His suit appeared to be brand new, and in fact it was, for the Count rarely wore the same suit two days. He had this one prepared in the fashion of the times, with dress shoes, pants, vest, and jacket all jet black, with white shirt and gloves to compliment them. Though it was not the clothes he wore that would strike ones attention, but the porcelain white mask that covered his entire face. The eyes were too dark to see, though a sanguine red substance would appear to drip from them, leaving a trail down the mask, as though the owner were crying blood.


He approached the body of a woman left the same way it was since her discovery, for the police would not dare to disturb the scene again until he had done his investigation, though under whose orders none could entirely say, for it was some time after the body had originally been found. The Count dropped to a knee before placing a black rose on the woman's bosom, and closing her eyes. "I see," the count said in an unearthly voice. "Rest in peace."


"Stop right there!" A voice rang out from behind the Count. "Show me your hands!"


The Count turned his mask towards the owner of the voice and could clearly make out the shock on the police detective's face, as the later saw the Count's mask and instinctively reached for a weapon.


"Relax, Abberline," another voice ordered from next to the officer, and the owner placed a calming hand on the police officer's shoulder. "I'm the one who sent for him."


"Constable Dew," the Count turned and stood, addressing the newcomer.


"Phantom," the detective addressed him in turn.


"It appears your man here thinks me to be the killer," the Count spoke, and with his words, officer Frederick Abberline couldn't help but imagine the stationary mask had formed a smile and was mocking him.


"How could he not when confronted with a bloody masked man?" Walter Dew rebutted un-ironically. The one known as Phantom only nodded. "So do you believe the good doctor's reports?"


"They're not inaccurate" The count replied. Constable Dew detected an emphasis on the 'in' part, as though something had disturbed Phantom, though he would not question it further.


"And what about The Star's report that it appeared to be one killer?" Officer Abberline asked, his eyes falling upon the newspaper as he tried to recollect himself.


"Very good!" The count turned to him.


Again that queer smile without a smile... The officer shivered, despite the day being only somewhat cool. He blamed the miasma as playing tricks on him. "And what else have you discovered?" 'Phantom' addressed him again.


"I believe this death is also connected with Miss Tabram, but that the death of Emma Smith was most likely the result of gang violence."


"I see..."


This time it appeared as though the mask's eye holes narrowed as if judging him, and officer Abberline resolved to take a nap and clear his head once he got home, whenever the end of that long day might be.


The Count pulled a flawless gold timepiece from his jacket, easily costing as much as a month of both officers' combined wages. "It's time for me to go," he said checking it. "I will check back when the killer strikes again."


"He's going to-?" Constable Dew began.


"Without question," The "Phantom" Count cut him off, his back now towards the officers as he began to walk away.

 

[BlackDahlia]

London was so bleak and grey in the morning light that it was almost like the sun had to be coaxed to rise each day. With the recent events that were happening in the city, it was a wonder that daylight could be seen at all from the sudden hiding places that fearful citizens took to after word had spread out about blood and gore. A grotesque scene of violence had been played out in a common yard in a night passed that had everyone currently edgy about the world around them. It had not been the first murder of that nature, but the linking of the two were beginning to be the gossip between women and men alike. Only the inky darkness of London was the only witness to the end of a couple women's lives, and it had no voice to speak the evil, nor finger to point to the guilty. Perhaps, that was the reason the one responsible for the slayings sought their "lady of the night" prey at the hours they did; Darkness -would and could- never tell.


In a small flat off of Wentworth Street, a man and a woman were taking routine morning breakfast of eggs laden with tender baby spinach and goat cheese. The young woman who had prepared them also decided that marmalade was to accompany the toast and side of sliced ham. The way it had been cooked and plated was an art to her, yet, she did it only to appease herself. It was well worth the time and effort for her to make the man she was currently engaged in chewing with- happy. If he were happy, it meant that she would not have to go through more horrendous social faux pas as a lady in wait and her father, Dr. Thomas Bond, would not have to worry what would become of his only daughter.

"The Star, 4th Edition Press: A Revolting Murder.


Another woman found horribly mutilated in Whitechapel.


Ghastly crimes by a maniac."
​

A set of deep blue eyes belonging to Lilly Bond seemed to linger over the newspaper as they read the tagline internally with a growing mild disgust. The woman seemed to drop the paper with the same sigh she used when she when she was annoyed by something. It only took a moment of her eyes flickering up for the man across from her to lift his own set of blues to her face as he paused in his mid-bite. The utensil waved only slightly before he put it down to his plate once more.


"What?" He asked with a glance towards the newspaper, only to see the headline. "It seems as thought a vigilante is cleaning up the streets of women who sell their wares. It seems reasonable for women of that nature to be at a risk for that sort of thing, Lilly, to be fair."


"You believe a woman's profession, whether noble or scandalous, gives her a.. a right to be mutilated and killed like a slaughtered animal?" Her voice tried to sound unaffected by his choice of words and rationalizing something so macabre.


"I believe that killing is often times necessary to cleave the herd; Life and death happening in that give and take that is a vicious circle, Lillian. We all will die eventually, just never know the how, when, or why." He lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug that had his suit jacket shifting on his torso. "Do not read it anymore if it upsets you." He reached across the table only to hear the faint chime of the clock signalling that he must be off.


Lilly caught the same chime in her ears and knew that it meant he needed to be off into the city. For once, she was kind of glad the argument got abruptly stopped by the sound. "Perhaps you are right Andrew, I should not read it. You should be heading into the city and I have many things here to finish as well as some errands in town to tend to." She would take her porcelain plate up into her dainty hand as she bid him a fond farewell with a half kiss placed upon his shaven jaw and took up his plate too. When he had left, Lilly set the plates into the kitchen and returned to the front door to exit it with her coat donned and gloves in her hand. The task she had to do was only a few blocks and she would be back before Andrew's work day ended.


The walk was a familiar one but one that was now tainted with the blood of another victim. She was not certain as to why it lingered in her mind so much, but it was there like an evil thought that kept replaying in her head. The gruesome details of the murders had been there printed in black and white with little to no true dignity. The victim's had been someones daughters and perhaps sisters. It was very much in the blonde woman's nature to feel empathy for the slain. It had been both a curse and a gift, given the circumstance she found herself. Whatever it had been, she figured that was definitely the reason it bothered her so much. With a mind plagued with thoughts about the deceased, Lillian was not paying much attention to the manner she was walking over the cobblestone road in her heeled silk soft toe shoes as she came to the intersection of Wentworth St. and Commerical.


"AHH..!" Her voice came out in a yelp as she was nearly knocked to the ground when she collided with someone rather solid.


It was then that she saw the mask of white, so crisp and clear in contrast with the red tears of blood streaming down the face of that false visage. Lilly had her eyes as wide as they could go in her sudden retreat back into the building nearest to her. Would he hurt her? Was this the man who was doing grotesque things to women? Her brain barely caught up to the moment as she just went shades pale, and tried to put as much distance between the two of them as she possibly could. Her breathing quickened out of fear which triggered her 'fight or flight' response. Yet her feet felt like they were encased into the cobblestone below her. That sound of her wooshing heart became so loud in her ears that she almost thought she was moments from fainting. The face was etched in her head, the stoic crying stranger who was staring at her without saying a word.

 

[Sinjin]

Not even ten years ago, London was thought to be the safest capital in the world when it came to Life and Prosperity, and the crime rate had been falling according to recent statistics. This will certainly changes things, The man in the mask thought as he walked the streets of London, collecting his thoughts. Not that Whitechapel would ever be called a place of "Life and Prosperity". No, this was the part of London that the rich turned their noses up at. More than 60 brothels were around this part of London, that the Metropolitan Police referred to as "Very low class". And yet, despite the fact there were no number of slaves the Count could not afford, he would have to have each and every one of them inspected. Both Tabram and Nichols were prostitutes, and the next death would be no different. And though the Phantom could hire enough body guards to keep an eye on each and every one of them in the area, that would draw far too much attention. In fact, attention was one of the last things the Count desired at this precise moment.


It was Phantom's intentions to keep a distance from George Yard and Buck's Row until he had donned a new disguise. Others mistaking him as this mysterious killer would not bode well, and for multiple reasons. First, it would lead attention away from the real killer, which would allow him to better blend into society, for he was not, as Constable Dew put it, "a bloody masked man". The other issue was the possibility of inspiring this killer. Were the killer to take on the appearance of this Count (as unlikely in cost as that might be), that would destroy the reputation that the Count had been building. It would not matter that Phantom was known as a legend to Scotland Yard if he needed to use them as a reference, and they were known for helping "the man who could have been the mysterious killer". No. This would not be over until the killer was stopped for good, and Phantom had to be the one to do it.


So easily those with power prey upon the innocent- It was at that exact moment that The Count happened upon a sight. A lady with blonde hair had been knocked down by what appeared to be a mugger. A common sight in this part of town, but that still bore multiple problems to the Count. First, there was the issue that she had seen him, instead of the one who appeared to be robbing her. That alone appeared to have caused her to forget her surroundings, and to focus solely on him. It was a psychological effect of the mask: that being, that the more a person tried to hide themselves, the more attention they brought to themselves. With her attention on him, and the fact that he was so close to the scene of the crime, it was only natural that her eyes would widen in shock and fear. Yet still, the Phantom could not have this. The second issue was that the mugger was thrown off with how easy a target the lady was, for usually when a person was bumped into like that, they would demand an apology, or even attempt to give chase, and yet this woman had started to retreat as though she had seen a ghost.


The mugger turned his head following the woman's gaze, and locked eyes upon the Phantom. The idea of a fight never crossed his mind as he immediately began to flee in a different direction, heading down Commercial. He would not get far as the count raised his gloved hand into the air and snapped his fingers, for at that moment, a pair of hands would pull the mugger into an alley.


The Count made a series of gestures with his hands, "Bring him to me", and continued walking, heading toward the alley of the building the woman had retreated to. Instead of heading in through that particular door, however, he continued swiftly down that road and instructed two servants to cover the front and back, and to keep an eye on her, wherever she might run off to, for at the moment he had other business.


Jonah woke up in a daze. He remembered locking his eyes on a blonde woman, that he might hassle her for anything he could turn into coin, for he'd been out on the streets for 6 winters, and would have starved 3 of them ago, if not for for "King" taking him in at the age of Fourteen. Prior to that, he had appeared scrawny enough to people that they might have mistaken him for being younger, and he used that to target rich wives, that they might keep him inside during the cold winter nights, for "who would leave a young boy to freeze to death out on the streets?!" He missed those days when he could eat three meals, while secretly selling off their valuables. But their husbands never trusted him, and he still remembered nearly being beaten to death by the last one as he started to hit puberty. It was because of that he hated the rich. His reasons for hating the poor were just as bad.


"King" was the nickname given to the leader of the High Rip Gang, for during their high times, he practically ruled the Liverpool underground. These days, the High Rip Gang was starting to decline though. Some thought that King had started to lose the fire in his eyes, though they would never dare speak such a thought out loud.


Jonah remembered running from something (though what, he could not not recall), and then suddenly being pulled into an alleyway by some face on the street with strong hands, and a tissue filled with chloroform.


Those memories quickly fled as the image of a porcelain white mask crying tears of blood entered his vision, and for a moment, he thought it too was a memory.


"What did you take from her?" the mask demanded, but it was no good, for the memories of the beatings given to Jonah the last time he was caught stealing, in combination with the terror of the mask caused the teenager, not yet a man, to faint.


"Search him," the Count demanded of his servants, "Then fill his wallet with the street price of his goods. Though he may be a thief, we are not, and we do not need him attacking more people to make up for sudden losses. After that, have him bathed, dressed in something new, and fed. I want to speak to him when he wakes. Have you sent for the the woman yet?"


A servant flashed a set of hand signs at him. "Woman sent to police station for questioning."


"Tell me everything you can about her."


Frederick Abberline approached the door of the building that the blonde woman was said to be held up in and gave three knocks. "Frederick Abberline of the London Police. I'm here to speak to anyone who believes they might have any information that could lead to the arrest of a killer at large. There will be a reward," he announced himself. There was a pause, and he wondered if he was merely wasting his time. He turned to leave.

 

[BlackDahlia]

The building was dimly lit but only by the standards of a London foggy overcast day. The light peeked through the roof where holes had been forged through by weather erosion. It let it stream down and cast some shadow over the place. It looked like some textile factory once, or something similar. The unused machines littered the place and old clothes covered some things. It was drafty and nothing seemed to be of use anymore other than main components of industry. Lilly let her blue eyes gaze around the large place and she dared speak, “Hello?” Her voice cut through the damp and drafty darkness. She was not certain she wanted to hear a reply, but it turned her mind from the event that had happened; A robbery that unfolded.


The sudden knocking from the doors had her jarred from the current question posed to the nothingness.





"Mister Abberline! Mister Abberline! It’s Thomas Bond’s daughter Lilly!” Her voice seemed to resonate in the building, unknownst to her that others were guarding her there and keeping at least 4 eyes on her. “I…” She would try and door and much to her luck, it gave open to him. “Oh thank goodness! I.. I was walking to do errands and..” She was shaking now as she recalled the events. “I..ran into a person and they stole my bag.. I must have dropped it.”


Now she had a look of pure terror that drew over her face mixed with dread and near hyperventilation. “My money was taken..and I saw a man with..a mask..” She would motion over her face. “It was white and had..tears of blood..it had to be the man whom is killing women! He was terrifying!” She would contort her brows into confusion when Abberline would grab her arms to guide her out of the building and into the street. His manly law enforcing voice came out to her.


“Hush dear girl, now it is alright. We can talk about this at the station. A mask of bloody tears, I think I can offer you an explanation but he is not harm to the city. A bit eccentric perhaps, but harmless.” He internally added, ‘I hope.’ as he would usher her towards the direction the station had been in. He hoped that she had something other than the masked man he saw before with Constable Dew. He would make it a point to also inform her father that she had been pick-pocketed and they would do what they could to find the culprit on her descriptions.


When she arrived to the station, she would be put into a room to speak with Abberline. Her words came in a soft near whisper, “He was a terrifying man in a mask and you say he works for you?” She found that almost preposterous! Her head would tilt to one side and she rested it there comfortably. “All I know is it was haunting like a ghost that just stared and had eyes of blackness that resembled nothing. Who would wear such a disguise that could make the mind wander into dark thoughts? And who would craft such a monstrous thing as that?”


Her words seemed tinged with judgement, merely because it was the reports of the times on how gruesome and macabre the crimes had been. It put a false sense of the ‘boogieman’ out there for London to tread as far away from as humanly possible. Lilly had been of those who was of the idea that the man could be nothing less than a monster. The masked being only seemed to give a face to put to that illusion in her mind. “Oh My Andrew! He will be worried about me!” She said suddenly and pushed up to stand in haste. “I must tell him and explain because one of the errands was paying for a grocier bill and I was to pick up meats for dinner this week. The money is now gone.” She would swallow that lump that rose in her throat that she had been fighting back long and hard since she had arrived. The truth was, Andrew wasn’t that worried because he had been taking another man’s wife out after work for about a month and a half now. It had been a secret life that Lilly had no idea about.


When the questions had ended and Lilly only seemed to recall the masked man whom was called, 'Phantom', she was instructed to go home and try and forget the day had ever happened. It would not be something that woman could forget, as the bloody tears seemed to remain there, even as she closed her blue eyes. She thought keeping them open now until Andrew returned home would be the best way to outlast a stressful day. Again, she was hurrying home from the police station with her head full of nothing but what she would do and how she would explain away how she was robbed and the man in the creepy mask.

 

[Sinjin]

The Man in the Mask set down his pen, after having completed his sketch. It was an exact replica of the scene of the crime, drawn only from memory, while using a tool that would not be released to the public for at least another two months. A type of pen that would one day be known as a "ball-point pen", for the ball inside of the tip would glide across the paper, staining it with the ink from the reservoir, while also acting as a cork to prevent the ink from spilling. For a man like the Count, coming across such an obstacle before its release was of no problem, and in fact, being an inventor himself, many of his own private inventions would not come to be remade until many years later.


He could have chosen to have an "Instant photograph" taken, but the picture produced would not hold the amount of detail required, nor would it honor the fallen. A photograph would only grotesquely display the corpse, where as by drawing the victim, he would become intimate with both the killer, and the deceased. Each crease on her face, every knot in her hair spoke a story of the girl once known as Mary Ann Nichols. And having drawn her brutal mutilation, it was as though it were the Count's own hand that held the instrument of her death. As though it were he who slit her neck, and drove the knife through her abdomen. It troubled the Count that he could not share this same intimacy with Anna Smith and Martha Tabram, though he was certain that they were indeed connected.


Anna Smith was nothing more than a trial run for the killer. No- The Ripper. The purpose of her death served to show if he had it inside him to go through with the killing and to make sure he wasn't caught. That is why this man who ripped every shred of decency left inside of those girls made the first one appear to be gang related, rather than having killed her with the same professional hand in which he took the lives of the others. It was a Crime of Passion.


Martha Tabram on the other hand was a complete flop. It were as though she knew he was coming for her. She had her guard up, and completely took away the joy The Ripper was trying to recreate from his first kill. Most likely, she had done something to piss him off. It wasn't until after her body was cold and lifeless that he found any inspiration in how he would mutilate her, but by then, "That whore" was already "good 'n dead".


Mary Ann Nichols was the perfect solution for what The Ripper was about to do. No- for what he HAD done.


The sound of knocking pulled The Count away from his thoughts.


"Open," he ordered.


"My liege," a servant bowed, "The boy has awakened."


Did I die? Jonah couldn't help but wonder as he woke up on a soft bed with silken white sheets. It felt like a dream as he was lead away by two beautiful women and to a warm bath before being stripped, bathed, and given new clothes. If this is a dream, I never want to wake up! he decided as they fed him fine cakes, and the sweetest tea. He couldn't help but admire himself in the mirror. His medium brunette hair clean and not reeking for the first time in weeks. His blue eyes fell upon the white dress shirt and brown leather vest they had given him. He had tan trousers with a black belt, and somehow they had even found boots in his size.


"How do you feel?" One of the maidens asked him with a Spanish accent.


"Is this a dream?" he asked.


Both women laughed at his question, before the second one said, "Come! It's time to see the Count."


"Count?" Jonah questioned.


"Shh..." The first silenced him as was her habit of doing, before taking his hand and leading him down a red hall filled with paintings.


A large door opened before him, and he was lead inside, before blinking and having to adjust his eyes.


Jonah could hear the sound of a door closing behind him, and suddenly he realized he was left alone in the large dark room.


"Come forward," a voice could be heard from the back of the room.


Though something felt wrong, Jonah found his legs carrying him forward towards the sound of the voice. As he drew closer, he saw an image that appeared like something out of his nightmares.


"You! You're not supposed to be here!!" Jonah pointed an accusing finger at the masked man.


"In my own home?" The voice feigned shock, and the stationary mask almost seemed to grin.


"This is a dream... No! This is a nightmare! I'll wake up in my bed and-"


"And what?" The Count Demanded. "Go back to stealing only to keep enough to barely get by?"


"What do you want from me?!" Jonah demanded.


"I want to talk."


"Talk?! You KIDNAPPED me to talk?!!"


"Had you kept going in the direction you were heading in, you would have ran right into two police officers while carrying an obviously stolen purse, and I doubt they would have treated you with the same courtesy. You and I will talk, my servants will unlock the door, and you will be free to go on your way."


Jonah furrowed his eyes and grabbed at his head before recollecting himself. "Fine. What do you want to talk about?"


The mask almost seemed to smile. "Now we're getting somewhere."


"The bloody hell are you thinking, Jonah?" The boy questioned himself out loud, "This is how people end up dead. Or worse!"


Still, he clutched the purse tightly and kept an eye out for the one he was looking for. A girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, who would respond to the name "Lilly Bond". With any luck, she wouldn't recognize him with his newly washed face and hair and a brand new suit.


Okay, I'll just say the name, and if she doesn't come then at least I tried and I go on and forget this happened.


"Lilly." He said the name out loud, more than calling out in question, but to his bewilderment, he thought he saw someone turn in response. "Shit!" he cursed under his breath.


"Errrhm, Lilly Bond?" He asked the blonde haired, blue eyed woman. "I believe this is yours. I uhm... I didn't mean to grab it! I just kinda -you know- reacted when I saw the- Yeah..." He closed his eyes and braced himself for whatever attack she might throw at him, while holding out the bag, almost as if using it as a shield. The only changes she would find to her stolen possession would be that the loan receipt inside would be marked as "paid" by the grocer, and that they had tied a small bag of assorted meats to the side.

 

[BlackDahlia]

The city of London had put into place a curfew of sorts and by this time, Miss Bond was pushing it. It had been arranged for all of the woman to be at the right hour just incase the man who was doing these sick crimes decided the wealthy dames were where the real fun was. The prostitutes only seemed to add to the motive that was forming. Was this a scorned lover of one of them, taking his revenge out on every copulating lady he saw? Or was this some mentally ill doctor that had some skills with a blade and wanted to have female parts in jars at his residence? The theories were flying by now and the news print only seemed to make the stories more and more wild with every stroke of letter.


What was even more unsettling was the news that the crimson teared man was one of the men who was looking at the case. A "Phantom" as they called him and as the name would suggest, an enigma. The sharp crimson streaks remained in her mind long after his face had gone from her sight. She would take a deep breath and keep trudging towards her flat as the day just seemed to swirl in a vicious cycle in her mind. The Murder, The Robbery, The Police, and especially, The Mask. The only thing that could soothe her now was a warm bath and to figure out an explanation for what happened.


Lilly turned when she heard her name, "Yes?" She had no one she was to meet, or anyone she would be expecting to look for her so the voice came as a surprise. It was an even bigger surprise to see it belonged to a boy that was barely just below her own age. Those blue eyes lingered on him as he spoke of his guilt and thrusted a bag to her, her own bag! She would take it in haste and she frowned so sweetly that the cherubic look to face became that of anger and sadness.


"Why..why would you return to me what you stole? That is not what robbers do." The confusion was apparent on her face but she had taken back her purse. "Yet it was not yours to take.." Lilly lowered her head to peer inside and she saw a receipt from the grocer and it said that she had paid but the money still remained in the coin purse.


"You did not look like this when you stole from me. You were dirty and your clothing much more used. You have been cleaned and now you apologize to me. Why? My debt also cleared and money remains for it. This.." She would look now to the bag aside which had meat in it wrapped and processed for her. "And meats..!" She would gasp now with a look up to the boy almost tearfully thankful. "You steal to give me back what I needed? Who are you? Who told you to do this?"


Lilly would pull form her purse the lilac handkerchief that she used to blot her tears that welled down her face. The diamond-like streaks rolling to her chin for it was a very kind thing to do. "You know my name and I do not know yours. Hardly seems fair." The boy got a glance over to assess his person for deceptions of any kind. When he let slip he saw the man too, she looked to her tear stains on the light purple shaded fabric awaiting his answers.

 

[Sinjin]

"What's your name, boy?" The masked man asked.


"Jonah," The teenager responded.


"Jonah, upon your possessions is an R pin. Or should I say High Rip Gang paraphernalia. Are you aware of the murder that took place this morning?"


Jonah couldn't help but to look confused. Though Jonah could read, it was an ability he kept to himself in case he ever needed to make himself appear more valuable, and thus he didn't really pay attention to words lest he be caught. That combined with the fact that most of the gang didn't associate with each other except in their own respective groups meant that Jonah wouldn't have heard about it until he got back to his hammock at night.


"Mary Ann Nichols. A lady of the Night," The masked man continued with that unearthly voice that sounded like the voice of an angel, yet subtly hinted at the violence of devils.


"What do I care about some... prostitute?" Jonah feigned disinterest, but the masked man could see right through the boy's choice of words and the look of concern on his face. Jonah was still just a boy. Perhaps even a boy with a crush.


"This is the third murder in a case of which two of the killings have been associated with Gang Violence. That pin might have protected you once, but you can be sure that it won't protect you any more."


Jonah couldn't hide the look of worry on his face this time. "I didn't kill no-one, mister!"


"And yet you hang around the area of the murder scenes, while in possession of an R pin!" The Count countered accusingly. Jonah was hyperventilating by this point. "Calm down...I believe you." The Masked man lowered the aggression in his voice. "Do you see now why I couldn't have you continuing in that direction towards those policemen?"


Jonah's eyes furrowed in confusion. "You saved me?" Jonah didn't know how to deal with that. He was used to people only seeing him as trash on the streets.


"I saw a boy who's hasn't had the easiest life, but who didn't deserve as severe a punishment as that for which they would have accused you."


"Who are you?" Jonah couldn't help but ask.


"I'm the Count of Monte Cristo."


Jonah's eye couldn't have possibly gotten any larger. He'd lived with rich people before, but this man was a Count. A person with power. And from what Jonah could tell from the sights he saw when he woke up, a man who could afford absolutely anything his heart desired. And yet, despite that, he took the time to not only stop him, a street thief, but also to bath him, dress, him, and feed him? If this Count couldn't stand the sight of him, he had only to leave him for the police, or even just stop him and end his life right there. But what could this Count who could be afforded anything possibly want from Jonah?


"What could you, a Count, possibly want from me?" Jonah spoke his thoughts out loud.


"I need your help, Jonas," The tone in the Count's voice seemed to change as though pleading. Though Jonah did not realize this, but the Count had done this intentionally. He knew better than to start with 'I want to give you a second chance', for so often the rich would claim to want to help a person, only to further benefit their own false reputation, and somehow the Count got the feeling that Jonah was no stranger to those kinds of scum.


"Why me?" Jonah almost demanded from being overly cautious. He caught the change in his own tone and worried for a sec, but the masked man seemed unaffected by that change.


"I need your help tracking the real killer, Jonah," the Count confided.


"Wait... Didn't you say the killer might be a part of a gang?" The gears were starting to click for Jonah. The mask merely nodded. "No, no no!" Jonah took a step back putting up a finger and waving it back and forth with each "no".


"I can still turn you over to those detectives, Jonah." Phantom threatened coldly.


"You promised I'd go free!" Jonah cried out, feeling betrayed.


"Where would you go? The gang isn't going to let go of you that easily, and Scotland Yard will start having eyes on anyone affiliated with gang activity at this point in time. I need you, Jonah..."


Jonah could make out the plea in the Count's voice.


"You really do need me...don't you?" Jonah looked back at the bloody tears that dripped down that porcelain visage. The masked Count nodded. "What makes you think I won't turn on you? Tell everyone in the gang?" Jonah tested.


"You're not a killer, Jonah. I've seen the faces of killers. I've traveled the world and seen the very worst of men. Murderers, rapists, men who disguised themselves as holy men only to then sexually prey upon children... Though if you were to tell your gang, the police and the military would be forced to use the full extent of the law to hunt each and every one of you down, whether innocent or guilty, and you would become a killer." A fire appeared to burn within those black eye-sockets, and Jonah could only gulp.


"No Jonah... You're not a killer. You may be a thief, but even that may be amended."


"How?" Jonah couldn't help but ask.


"The bag you took belongs to a lady by the name of Lilly Bond. She was on her way to the market-place to buy dinner and pay off bills when you stole it from her. I want you to give it back to her."


"Give it back to her- Are you crazy?!?!" Jonah couldn't believe his ears.


"This is your chance to redeem yourself, Jonah. The bag I've confiscated from you still has everything she left in it. The only changes I've made were removing the inconveniences caused by you first taking it."


"Inconveniences...Wait, didn't you say that she had to pay bills?" Jonah couldn't understand how those could have been paid while leaving everything left in it.


The mask let out an unnatural laugh, that almost sounded evil, if not for the words that followed. "Jonah!" The count continued to laugh, as he beckoned an arm toward the young lad's new outfit. "What kind of Count would I be if I could not afford to pay something as trivial as a lady's bill and dinner?"


Jonah blushed, not having thought of this. He was not used to people being this...nice!


"You believe I expect something in return," The Count read Jonahs thoughts aloud. "You're not wrong," The Count admitted. "After you have had the bag returned, I would have you ask her to join us at my residence using the same carriage I will be having you dropped off in. Should she deny, however, you will leave her be. You are now in the Service of the Count."


"Yeah. And if she tries to kill me?" Jonah mumbled under his breath. To his surprise, not even that escaped the count.


"You will have had it coming."


Jonah gulped.

Lilly would pull form her purse the lilac handkerchief that she used to blot her tears that welled down her face. The diamond-like streaks rolling to her chin for it was a very kind thing to do. "You know my name and I do not know yours. Hardly seems fair." The boy got a glance over to assess his person for deceptions of any kind. When he let slip he saw the man too, she looked to her tear stains on the light purple shaded fabric awaiting his answers.

Jonah almost wanted to reply with "No-one important" and leave as quickly as he came, but he remembered the black coach and the Count's words, 'you are now in Service of the Count'.


"My name, lady, if it is of any benefit to you-" he added, trying to sound as professional as possible, "-is Jonah, and I am deeply sorry for having troubled you as I have," he bowed to her. "My Master, would like to request an audience with you that he might apologize personally, if you are willing, though even if you are not, he would request that you might accept his offer of being escorted safely to your home."