1888

I could almost hear the women's hearts beating out of their chests in fear of the still-unknown killer.

Edward had come in to identify the body, along with his two boys, as his sister and niece had to urgently return to their home not too far outside London. Apparently Edward's brother-in-law had taken a fall, and was now in hospital with a fracture in both arms.

It was, in fact, Rosalie Williamson who had been found near the brothel.

Her sons had asked so many questions when their father had emerged from the viewing room down at the morgue. So may innocent-minded questions. "Where's Mommy? Daddy, why are you crying?"

I felt something rise in my throat, a vile acidic feeling dripping from my heart through to my stomach. I hated whoever had destroyed that woman, even though I hadn't known her or her family. I hated the foul bastard who had injected such fear into the women of Whitechapel.

I don't know why I was so worked up over this one woman. Perhaps it was because she had such a young family. Perhaps it was the sick despondency in her husband's young face.

The light walk back to my home wasn't eventful, in the least. Whores were in the alleyways with clients, getting paid bare minimum for their services. Drunkards stumbled into the gutters, screaming obscenities at each other and figments of their intoxicated minds.

It's saddening to see that a woman was murdered and yet, nothing happens to honor her memory. The whores are still fucking. The drunks are still drinking.

The killer may still be killing.

At the end of the intersection across from Bells and Whistles, I took a right turn instead of a left.

Down past the first three streetlamps and up the cold stone steps to the right. In through the doors, up four floors. Apartment at the other end of the hall.

The home of Evangeline Beaudestin. My, so to say, girlfriend. We had been together for seven months and fourteen days.

I knocked on the door, the ornate silver knocker bouncing lightly off the white wooden door.

I heard movement behind the door, signifying Evangeline was both home and awake. The door opened, revealing the beautiful woman who lived in the apartment that it hid behind it's opaque body.

She was more beautiful than I had ever realized.

Her lovely chestnut-brown hair was swept into a loose bun at the top of her head, a few loose curls falling over her cheeks. The dress she wore was a deep emerald green, with detailed silver buttons; a gorgeous contrast to he striking honey-colored eyes.

"Quinn." Evangeline smiled, revealing her perfect teeth that had been hidden by her ruby-red lips. "I was about to come down to see you. I heard about a murdered woman?"

"Uh... Can we go inside, Ev?" I asked. "You know, the whole confidence thing."

"Of course." she moved aside, beckoning me in. I took a seat on one of the deep crimson armchairs in her living room.

"Did you find out who she is?" Ev asked. "Was, rather."

"Yeah." I sighed, pouring myself a glass of water from the jug she had placed on the coffee table, along with a pair of crystal wine glasses. She had once told me the story of where these glasses had been. Her great-great-grandmother, Eden Rose, had once worked in the mansion of a rich man, as a maid and nanny. When Eden had retired and left the family's home, she was presented with the set of glasses.

"Quinn?" she asked, kneeling down beside me. "Who was it?"

"Your friend, Rosalie. I didn't know it was her until we found her body." I could feel her jaw drop, even though I couldn't see her.

"Rosie's dead?" she gasped. "But, she hasn't worked the streets in an age!"

"I know." I turned and saw tears rolling down her perfect face. "We don't know who did it. A man confronted Jeph and I this morning; she was found near a brothel. Barely a mark on her, aside from bruises."

"A brothel?" Ev's voice was absolutely soaked in disbelief. "But, she married Edward and her parents-"

"I know, honey." I cut in.

"Uh... I need t-to go to the s-store." she stuttered, her voice jumping as she attempted to suppress the sobs threatening to scream out her mouth.

"I'll take you." I offered. She nodded, wiped her face on her sleeve and rose from the floor. She crossed to the coat-stand near the door and took her cardigan off the hook, pulling it on over her shoulders and doing up the first two buttons.

Evangeline didn't have a lot of clothes, money or valuables. After her mother died, her stepfather took the money left to her in her mother's will and took off to France or Italy, to raise his son Jasper.

She worked the streets regularly to hold her small apartment. Her friends, when needed, often rested in her bed when they were sick or injured and she nursed them back to health. Before she had been forced into prostitution, her mother had been a nurse at a prestigious London hospital, somewhere close to Buckingham.

We crossed the twilit street and made our way to the small, twenty-four-hour grocery store at the other end of the path.

I held the door open for Evangeline, and awaited her while she purchased bread and milk.

I crossed to the counter after she had finished.

"A bottle of grape juice and two sugar pastries, please." I requested. The shopkeeper bustled around to fix my order.

"Two pound, please sir." I handed over the money. "Thank you sir."

I took my items and made my way back over to Evangeline.

"You really didn't have to buy that, Quinn." she said.

"I did, my love." I replied with a smile. "You're upset and I'm treating you. Surely you're growing weary of bread with milk and water."

"True, I am." she admitted. We took a seat on a bench not far from the store. I pulled out a pastry and offered it to her. She smiled and took it with her dainty hands. She looked so perfect eating the sweet bake. "Thank you, Quinn."

"Any time, you know that." I took the top off the glass bottle of grape juice and offered her a sip. She smiles once again and took a small amount. For a moment in the chaotic world, in the chaotic streets of Whitechapel, London, I was at peace. The world was perfect, pure, untarnished.

"Aren't you eating?"

"I'll eat later, my love. I have a longer walk." I laughed.

Evangeline finished her pastry and took a last sip of grape juice.

"I should be getting home, Quinn." she stated, rising from the bench.

"Do you want me to walk you home?" I asked, remembering what had happened to Rosalie Williamson.

"I'll be okay. It's only down the road after all." she replied.

I rose, leaving the juice and pastry on the seat for a moment. I smiled softly at her beautiful face, illuminated by the street-lamp and the dimmed light from the shop a little way away. I stroked her flawless cheek with my hand.

She leaned in closer, closing in the space between us. Her lips came to mine in a perfect kiss. The world was gone. The darkness of the London street we stood on vanished with a wave of life, of love. White love, pure.

We parted and she stepped back, her eyes alive.

"I'll see you soon." she said. "Thank you for the pastry, Quinn."

"G'bye Ev." I replied as she strode off into the darkness untouched by the street lamps.

I picked up the paper bag and bottle of juice and strolled off in the opposite direction.