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NaNo Day 4, Part 2

I’m drawing close to 10k, hoping to hit it tomorrow. The writing is still going easier than I expect, as long as I manage to come up with the next scene in my mind before I sit down again. I managed another 1k tonight, bringing me to 8,144 words.

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“This is some crazy, next-level stalking right here,” he said as I entered.

“I couldn’t agree with you more. Help me take them down.”

Ernie started on one end and I started on the other. There were a lot of photos, and it took the better part of a few minutes to get them all, especially as we were handling them carefully, gloves on, trying not to smudge any possible fingerprints. I knew they would be clean. Jack was too good to let something like that slip. I wasn’t even sure if his fingerprints would be on file anywhere. But I was hoping I could at least figure out a timeline of when the photos started, where they were taken, maybe reconstruct where the photographer was perched with some of these.

“So, why do you think your name was on the wall? And all these pictures?” Ernie asked this without a trace of suspicion. 

That was one of the things I liked about him. He was a cop who still had a sense of optimism about the world and the people in it. It provided a welcome respite from my own mood which had been formed by the experience of people always letting you down. I even considered, for a brief moment, telling him everything, getting an outside perspective. But I knew there was no way to explain this in a way that wouldn’t make me sound like I should be locked away and fitted for a jacket with the sleeves that tied in the back. In response, I shrugged. “Probably just some lunatic I busted looking for revenge,” I said, which, truth be told, wasn’t too far from the actual situation. I gathered up the stack of photos, bagged them, and handed them to Ernie. “Do me a favor and make copies of all of these for me. I’ll pick them up tomorrow morning.”

“Sure thing,” Ernie said, smiling. That sunshine attitude was almost strong enough to rub off on me. Almost. I headed out of the bathroom. “Want a ride home?” he asked, matching my pace.

“Thanks, I appreciate the offer, but I want some time to think, and there’s nothing like a nice, long bus ride to give me that time.”

“All right then. I’ll have these on your desk first thing tomorrow. And hey,” he added as I stepped out of the room, “be careful. There’s obviously some crazy person out there who has it in for you.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” I made my way across the street and waited for the next bus to arrive, keeping a close eye on my surroundings. If someone was going to be taking any more pictures of me, I was going to do my best to catch them in the act.

I had arrived too late to London.

By the time news got to me of the brutal slayings of women in Whitechapel, Jack had killed his last victim there and had disappeared once more. I was left with very few clues as to where he could be, and the most I could do there was add more names to the ever-growing list of deaths I was responsible for, by letting him go. I had chased him across Europe, into Asia, down through Africa, and back to Europe. He appeared to have no set agenda. He just headed in whatever direction took his fancy, and whatever happened, happened. That made tracking him next to impossible. I would be able to follow a trail of bodies for some time, and then, Jack would vanish. Just like he had right before London. 

Whenever the trail had gone cold, I would occasionally head back to Atlantis, or where Atlantis used to be, with the idea that Jack might want to revisit his home some time. But that never happened. Jack seemed perfectly content forgetting Atlantis ever existed. I suppose if all that awaited your return was either a lifetime of incarceration or death, you would not be keen on returning either.

After being knocked down that hill, I was unable to find him for years. Truly, if it weren’t for his pride not allowing his murders to be anonymous, I would never have found him. It’s a big world after all, and even with three millennia to search, I would have had a difficult time finding him. But that was not Jack’s style. He wanted the world to know he was smart enough to kill and get away with it. And he imagined that the world was indeed big enough for me never to find him. But with the advent of newspapers, telegraphs, and faster, more efficient ways of news traveling, the world kept getting smaller and smaller. 

I now had alerts set up on my laptop that operated on key phrases. That was how I had been able to track him here within a week of the murder occurring. I immediately took a job with the local police. That had been my usual strategy as a way to keep my ear to the ground. When nothing else happened, I imagined it had been a coincidence, especially when shortly after, someone had been arrested for the murder, and it had not been Jack. But I waited. I kept checking my alerts. And for seven years, there was nothing. The only possibility that had crossed my mind was that Jack had met his demise. 

Instead, somehow, he had managed to tamp down his ego for all this time. If he had killed others, he had done it quietly. But now, all of a sudden, he announces himself directly to me. He’d never done that before either. 

All I had at the moment were the photos, and a seven-year old murder that Jack might not have been so careful with. But surely, that case would be cold now. I had been too new to the force at the time and had not been assigned to that case. I’d have to dig up the details tomorrow.

I got into bed, Cat taking his usual place at my feet, and shook my head. This had been an interesting day, to say the least. But I felt a renewed sense of vigor, a sense that after all this time, justice would prevail. 

For the first time that I could remember, I slept longer than the usual four hours.

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