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NaNo Day 13

Got some writing done early this morning. Just hit over 22k and only a stone’s throw away from 23k. But I feel as though I’m short some words. I was hoping the major reveal coming would hit around 25k, but I may end up about 1,000 words shy. Which, in the grand scheme of things, isn’t too far off from where I needed it to be. So it might still work. Full disclosure. I have no idea what’s coming up. I have some vague notions of scenes, but I think I will be as surprised as you at the way this story ends. I am hoping to take some time this weekend to check the road map again, maybe start picking out landmarks to visit on the way. We’ll see.

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“Captain, I need a warrant,” I said, but he held up a finger to stop me, picked up his cellphone from the desk, tapped it a few times, then set it back down. He waved at me to continue.

“I need a warrant,” I repeated. “I tracked down the photographer and I need a warrant to search his place.”

Alistair leaned forward and placed his elbows on the desk. He steepled his fingers and arched an eyebrow, a sign I took as asking me for more information.

“The photographer’s name is Xavier London.”

“And what is his connection to the murders?” Alistair asked. “Do you think he committed them?”

This was where I needed to start walking the fine line between full disclosure and giving only required information. “I believe he may be connected to the killer, but not actually be the killer.”

“But he could be the killer?”

“Possibly,” I lied.

“But there is still the question of why the photographer was targeting you. Do you know this London guy?”

“I’ve never met him before.” Before the other evening, at least. “That is why I think he is working with someone who does know me. Someone I have dealt with in the past who is seeking revenge.” There. That much at least was the truth.

“Interesting. Any leads on who this grudge holder might be?”

I knew exactly who it was. I just needed to track him down. “That is what I’m hoping I will be able to discover if I question this photographer.”

Alistair closed his eyes for a moment, as if pondering my request. When he opened them, he gave me that stare that set off alarms in my head every time. “What if I told you,” he began in a voice that had chilled by several degrees, “that Mr. London had already reached out to me with evidence of who the killer is?”

I was suddenly unable to speak. What was Alistair talking about?

“What if,” Alistair continued, “Mr. London provided photographic proof of the killer at the scene of the crime, and more importantly, could provide a lead to several other deaths that had not been discovered?”

The feeling that I was slowly being led into a lion’s den overtook me, and I knew what I was going to see moments before Alistair opened a folder and pulled out a photo. He gently laid it on the desk, facing me. It was me. Entering room 312.

Jack was finally springing his trap, it appeared. I would need to come clean if there was a chance of me getting out of this.

“I can explain that.”

“Can you now?” Alistair asked, sarcasm evident behind every syllable. “If I remember correctly, you chose not to stake out the Twin Palms that night, claimed you had something else to take care of.”

“I did–“ I began.

“Like murdering a poor, innocent girl?”

“No!” I yelled, a little too loudly. “I was actually trying to stop a murder. I got a tip from someone that the murderer might strike there that evening.”

“Which he did. Conveniently enough while you were there.”

“No,” I repeated, a little more quietly. “I left before the murder took place.”

“So you say.” Alistair leaned back, never taking his eyes off me. “I always found it strange that you always preferred to work alone rather than with a partner. If you were going around killing women, it would make sense that you would not want someone tagging along.”

“Sir, you have to believe me. I’m being set up.” Jack had painted me into a corner, and the only way out that I could see was to tell more of the truth than I felt comfortable with. “I know who is actually behind the killings, and I have been chasing after him for a long time.”

Alistair raised his eyebrows. “Really? Do tell. How long have you been chasing him?”

Centuries. “Many years. In fact, chasing him is what brought me to this town. Do you remember the Marla Walters case? Seven years ago?”

“Of course I do. Same type of murder. Same room at the Twin Palms.”

“Exactly. I read about it, and it sounded like the same person I’d been after. That’s why I came.”

“Right. So you move here about the same time as that first murder. That’s quite the coincidence.”

I felt like someone who had been handed a shovel to dig himself out of a hole, but was instead digging the dirt out from under his feet. Everything I said seemed to make things worse. But I had to convince him somehow that I was not the one responsible for these deaths.

“After I got this photo from Mister London, I checked up on your last posting. Seemed there had been some murders there too.”

“Yes, that was the reason I had moved there as well.”

“It seems that death follows you around.”

He had that backward. I followed death, and had been following it for so long now. “Give me the opportunity to question London, find out why he’s lying and who the killer actually is.”

“I have to admit, writing your own name at a murder scene really would be the perfect way to throw suspicion off yourself.”

This was not how I expected our conversation to go, and I was not sure how to steer it away from it’s ultimate end. If I could not convince Alistair, he would have me arrested and Jack would be able to get away. I could not let that happen. I had to tell Alistair everything. At least almost everything. If I started claiming to have lived three thousand years, he would have me locked up in a sanitarium, which would have been just as bad as a jail cell for me, and would again give Jack time to escape.

“I know who the killer is,” I confessed. “And yes, it is someone who holds a deep grudge against me.”

The captain leaned forward again. “Go on.”

“His name is Jack. Not his original name. When the murders in London happened, he–“ I stopped. I had almost said he liked being called Jack the Ripper and changed his name at that point. “He had a fondness for Jack the Ripper and changed his name to match. His methods are similar to the Ripper’s, and he has left a trail of destruction that I have been diligently following.”

“So, if you knew all along who this guy was, why not tell me? Why not work with the department to catch this guy?”

“I knew how dangerous this killer was, and I felt he was my responsibility.”

The captain smiled, and something about that smile set my nerves jangling, but I couldn’t say why. An itch in the back of my brain. “Your responsibility, huh?”

“Yes. I let him get away before, and it’s up to me to find him and bring him to justice.”

“To justice. And what does that mean?”

This time, it would mean a swift end with a bullet, but I was not about to tell Alistair that. “It means that he will be brought to a court of law and charged for his many crimes.”

“Are you sure that’s what you mean by that?” That cold stare again.

“What else could I possibly mean?”

“Are you sure that what you mean is a gun up against his temple? Again? Tell me, Leonidas, is that what you mean by justice?”

I staggered backwards at hearing my ancient name for the second time today. 

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