A Mark Left Behind

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***

"Miss Jill, what do you think Charlotte Holmes would be doing right at this moment in order to start upon this mystery of murder?"

Alvis asked Jill the Ripper who calmly sipped tea.

"At times, my dear slave, I cannot see where you are heading with this train of thought."

"I am a murderer, not a detective. I kill, they solve after my mess. Are we not on the complete opposite sides of the coin?"

Alvis with his smile responded, "Of course, but does it not fascinate you how they will clean up after your mess? If you do, you can clearly evade Scotland Yard and even the infamous Charlotte Holmes with ease."

With a sigh, Jill the Ripper let Alvis continue.

"I can even imagine it right now. She must have already compiled the information she had gotten from the crime scene in order to make hypotheses within her mind."

The ramblings Alvis further stated further and further seemed to make him deviate as a human.

"Ah… My apologies."

Alvis coughed.

"But… I have a feeling that Miss Holmes at the moment is quite perplexed at this case that we have given her."

"Ah, yes… Before I forget, this should be sent to the Agency now."

***

Two days after the initial investigation of the crime scene.

Within the boarding house Holmes and Watson reside in, several loud noises seemed to come out of nowhere, though for this particular boarding house it was nothing more than daily occurrence.

"..."

Watson looks at Holmes who was sitting on a wooden chair, in bathrobes, and holding a smoking revolver.

"...Do I dare to ask why you are dressed as such when you have a perfectly fine case to work on?"

"Watson, my dear friend…"

Holmes started off.

"Doesn't my work of art look quite nice on the wall?"

Holmes loosely pointed the revolver at the now bullet-ridden wall which was in the shape of a phallus.

"Is the shape of a phallus so great that you call it a 'work of art'? Besides, this is not the first time you have done this. How many times have I seen you do your 'bullet art' on the walls of our poor Mrs. Hudsen's boarding house? Truly from the depths of my heart I feel horrible that she has such a leisurely and terrible tenant."

"Now we will need to call people in order to fix the wall again…"

Watson sighed.

Watson had once thought that the longer there wasn't a case to work on, Holmes would slowly derange into madness but what was this?

Even with a perfectly fine mystery sitting within her head it seemed as if Holmes was practically starving of cases.

"You were just fine yesterday when you observed the crime scene of the murder…"

Watson sighed once more.

"Watson… This may be the first time I have ever felt this way."

"...What might you mean, Holmes?"

"..."

Breathing in a long breath from her pipe, Holmes breathed out a large white cloud of smoke.

"...How do I explain this strange feeling?"

"To describe it in the best way I can… If I was an experienced navigator it feels as if there are a hundred correct paths yet I can tell each of them end in a dead end… Do you understand?"

Homes tapped the revolver on the file on the wooden desk beside her continuing on, "A contradiction is made. Is my brain right? Or are my instincts correct? For once in my life there is a case that baffles me to no end."

"To further explain, in this case many small details were found that could all be leads in order to find the culprit but none proved to be real in the end.."

"In other words, this case is a perfect crime."

Holmes rubbed the revolver on her head, scratching it.

Watson stood silent.

"My perfect memory which can give me all details of the crime scene I witnessed with no fault and my mind working along with it now seems utterly useless. Is this what those people in Scotland Yard feel like when I help them…?"

"...Holmes, it has only been a single day, shouldn't you give it a bit more thought before–"

"Watson."

"...Yes Holmes?"

"I was joking."

"..."

For a few moments Watson stood still almost to the point of becoming a statue as a look of bewilderment appeared on her face.

Then her head turned sideways as her eyes narrowed on Holmes who was still sitting on the chair looking at her.

"...Why?"

"It was because I wanted to do something I wouldn't do before I possibly die."

"Let us truly talk about this case, Watson."

Watson, who was still perplexed, sat across from Holmes.

"As I mentioned before, this case is a nearly perfect case. Evidence can never truly be hidden no matter the crime unless the entire crime scene does not exist. In this case, our evidence is as follows.

The timing of the murder.

The weapon used.

The motive.

The body.

And some several other small clues."

"What I said before about feeling lost was not a lie… If only I had the crime scene. Just from the murder alone we can tell that a highly proficient mana user killed the person. We can also assume that they are brutal with how the prostitute Mark Ann Nichols was killed. If that were the case it would be almost impossible to find and bring in the murderer for justice. However, a lead has been given gracefully by the mastermind. Perhaps as a test."

"What I am doing now is waiting for the next murder to occur in order to see if the mastermind appears and gives the clue that I need."

"In other words, the likelihood of us dying is quite probable. I am not a person to joke so should I not try at least once before I die?"

"..."

The room was silent as Holmes looked more closer to a puddle than a living being and Watson who was silent at Holmes' words.

The only sounds were the fireplace which was crackling and spreading heat throughout the room.

"Is the next person who is going to die unavoidable?"

"Unless there is a better detective than I, then I believe it almost completely impossible to stop the next murder taking place. Unless the next murder never happens."

Holmes answered with a sigh.

"Sigh… At the very leasts while waiting, please stop with the mana stone experiments and strange habits."

"I cannot promise you that Watson, the boredom of waiting has turned out to be even more excruciating than waiting for such a peculiar case."

Watson sighed once more before starting to clean the boarding house.

Holmes watched as her eyes eventually laid on a newspaper of the morning.

'Is this the first time that I received a challenge? It feels quite thrilling. I can't wait to see what schemes you have planned Mr. Jack.'

Holmes lazily smiled.

***

Central News Agency.

A news company that was founded in 1863 with two women to lead.

They were known to be underhanded and embellishing reports, in essence they were the criminals of the news world. Yet, on the specific day of January 3rd of 1887 they received a sudden and strange letter within the mail of their agency.

The two founders of the agency, Eleanor Saunders and her sister-in-law, Andrea Spender were discussing what to do with the letter.

"...If we publish this paper the Scotland Yard and all those other pests will undoubtedly be furious and claim it is false…"

Andrea said, leaning against a wooden table as her sister-in-law sat on a chair across from her.

"But still, this is a golden opportunity. If we don't take this chance then we would be fools. This letter would cause outrage but it would also raise our prestige no matter if it was good or bad."

"Besides my dear sister-in-law, our news agency in the first place already had a horrible reputation, what's wrong with adding a bit more?"

Eleanor said, smiling as she picked up the letter and examined it once more.

The envelope was a cardboard color and written in a stylish cursive with red ink.

The words, 'The Boss, Central News Agency, London City' were neatly arranged in a top to down fashion with a stamp in the corner.

Upon opening the letter, a few pieces of paper were inside and folded neatly.

Eleanor opened the paper in which more red ink was visible.

｢ For you, News Agency and World.

I have made my grand appearance within this world and it makes me chuckle as I watch the Scotland Yard and their Detectives move with such speed that it makes the sewer rats pale in comparison. Neither I nor the world could have expected such speed, could we? Don't deny my words as even if you deny I will still believe that they are true.

Making that brutal scene was quite the joy for me, as I read the morning news I can't help but want to start my work again. Everything seems to be coming into place, is it not?

I am going to be starting my work once more soon enough, though whether those imbecile police officers can catch me is a different story. For they cannot catch a genius in the process of world-renowned fame, could they?

You can find me quite surprised that this murder of mine has gained such attention! Out in the slums of Whitechael lies the world's scum and irredeemable yet those high and mighty police officers came? Understandably I am quite in shock!

Can you believe it? A person like me is on the morning news like a celebrity overseas. Nothing makes me happier as I create more and more places where the police will inevitably fail to catch me.

How unbelievable it is that a prostitute could gain such attention. Out in her grave (though I suppose currently in the morgue), she must be dancing with such glee that someone like herself has gained this attention along with I. Lovely, isn't it? My pieces, I mean. Every piece of their body is some form of art that will be displayed for you all, worry not. Some day you will all understand my view on the world and agree that I was a pioneer in human psychology.

From yours truly, Jack the Ripper.

Don't mind me giving the trade name.

PS My work on prostitutes will continue, worry not my fellow London goers. I wonder, what should I give as a piece of art next time? A kidney? A leg? A person's innards? ｣ 

Eleanor read the letter as a smile came on her face.

'Truly, whoever this person is gave us a golden opportunity.'

"Andrea, I decided, let us publish this news tomorrow. I don't care what the other people think, make it happen and I guarantee that our miserable agency will find fame."

"..."

"...Sigh, if anything goes wrong. I'm going to blame it all on you."

Andrea said, shaking her head.

"Do so. I have utter confidence that this will be a hit!"

***

February 2, 1888.

Alvis stood, looking at the bright moon in the sky that shed light onto the ground.

It was silent as the ends of winter neared and spring was approaching.

'The snow has all melted. What a shame.'

Alvis thought as his hand reached into his pocket bringing out a pocket watch.

After a look he put it back in its place as Alvis' smiling face still stared into the dark sky.

It was a quiet night.

Soon, Alvis began walking as his shadow became dark.

As a liquid-like darkness settled into his shadow, a person appeared from within the shadow.

Jill the Ripper held Alvis' arm as they walked in silence.

"It is quite sad is it not?"

Alvis asked Jill the Ripper.

"What is?"

"The death that happened tonight, it's quite sad."

"..."

Yet even with those hollow words Alvis' face still held a smile.

"Is death truly that sad? I don't quite understand."

"Hoho… Perhaps you may not understand Miss Jill. But it is fine to not know, after all, you have your whole life ahead of you. I'm quite sure that you will find the answer to that question on your own."

Alvis smiled as he explained as if talking to a child who has yet to know the world.

"Don't worry Miss Jill, time answers everything. It is the best teacher that one could wish for."

'Holmes… Was it too early to show myself in front of you, I wonder? Could it have been that my presence was unnecessary? I wonder, my dear Detective Holmes. Do not disappoint, for if you cannot find the trail I have sent you then I truly will…'

"Hmm~"

"Miss Jill, after upsetting the Scotland people, should we take a vacation? I heard of Paris in France, it should be quite the scene."

Alvis asked Jill the Ripper with a large smile on his face.

***

"Sigh, do we need to go through this procedure once again?"

Alvis lamented as a police officer once more stopped him.

"I'm sorry sir, but this is simply a procedure in order to ensure that the public does not pass."

Alvis looked at Holmes who was already doing an inspection.

"I see… Yes, here are my papers."

After a grumble, Alvis walked past the police officers and once again near a familiar crime scene.

A brutally mutilated corpse laid near the back alleys of Whitechapel.

Charlotte Holmes was carefully examining the corpse as Alvis once more walked besides Watson.

"Hello there Dr. Watson."

He greeted with a smile.

"Ah, yes hello Mr. Quinn, it's been about a month? I haven't seen you in the hospital for quite some time. Perhaps your bad luck streak has ended?"

She said with a chuckle.

"Yes, perhaps so. I see that Miss Holmes hasn't yet solved this case. It's quite a surprise, I thought this was simply a typical murder case but it seems not?"

To that question, Watson merely smiled without responding.

'Her lips are sealed, as expected of Miss Holmes' assistant.'

In response to the silence, Alvis smiled as if nothing had happened.

"Actually, Dr. Watson. I'm curious about your take on this case, without the insights of Miss Holmes. As a doctor and person, what kind of person do you think could do such atrocious deeds?"

Watson looked at Alvis with a strange look.

"Truly?"

"Yes, after all you are also an author who let the world know of the genius of Charlotte Holmes, so I am very interested."

"..."

"...In my own opinion, I think whoever did this is quite an attention seeker. From the morning news two days after the initial murder, the Central News Agency wrote a paper on a letter that arrived on their doorstep. Though I do not know if that letter is legitimate due to their already dubious reputation, the message was clear for anyone who read it and looked at the scene before us, 'I want the world to look at me!'. That is the message I get from the person who did these brutal killings."

"Of course they may be both an attention seeker and obsessive maniac who enjoys killing though we will never know. That is my perspective as a person… As a doctor I can only do so much."

"If it weren't for my war experience I may have thrown up on the New Year due to how brutally mutilated the corpse was. I feel sad as a doctor. These people are unable to be put back together and be healthy…"

"This entire fiasco feels to me like a charade and I only wish for it to end soon. After all, are those prostitutes not people as well?"

"..."

"Ah, well. Those are my thoughts Mr. Quinn. Are you satisfied with my answer?"

Alvis smiled.

"As both a reader and a person who knows you as a person, I can sincerely say that that was very interesting. Thank you for sharing your thoughts on this matter, Dr. Watson."

"...It's not a problem, though I wonder why you would be so interested in someone like me? Is it not more interesting to know about Holmes, who is a genius detective?"

"..."

"...I have a peculiar way of thinking. Though Charlotte Holmes is interesting as you said, is it not also interesting to know about the overshadowed war veteran Rachel Watson? You are the one who showed light onto Miss Holmes and sat in the background. Rather, I might know more about Miss Holmes due to 'A Study In Scarlet' than you yourself even though the book was in your perspective. Simply, I don't know much about you Dr. Watson, I want to know what kind of person you are to allow yourself to go back into action in cases when you have traumas of war."

Watson stood silent as she listened to Alvis' words.

"Ah, but Dr. Watson, please don't take this as some kind of proposal of love of some kind. I simply want to know you as a person and not a romantic interest."

Alvis finished, smiling with an index finger pointed up.

"Yes, of course."

"Oh, it seems Miss Holmes is done with her investigation."

Watson turned her head and indeed, Holmes was done with her inspection and walking towards them.

"Hello Miss Holmes, how are you on this fine day?"

Alvis asked, his hand out asking for a handshake.

"..."

Holmes, ignoring Alvis, turned to Watson.

"Watson, I'm going to be talking to this man over here, I'll be done within a minute at most so could you get me Arcadia cigarettes?"

"...Yes, alright Holmes. It was nice seeing you again Mr. Quinn."

"Yes, you as well Dr. Watson."

As Watson walked away from the scene of the crime, Holmes and Alvis were left in a moment of silence.

"That was quite the provocation you put within the morning news you vile man."

Holmes' words were sharp like a cane-sword. Within her hands was a piece of paper.

"My, I don't quite know what you mean Miss Holmes? Provocation? I only met you a handful of times so to say such a thing…"

"Is this the act you are going to play?"

Holmes' eyes looked at Alvis' figure up and down.

"Do you know what the most important tool for a detective is?"

"What is it, Miss Holmes?"

"It's intuition. My intuition leads me to the correct path each time and it says that you are the culprit. I'll be watching you, you vile man. Your crimes will be surfaced by me soon enough."

"Hoho, well I don't quite get what you are saying but good luck to your work Miss Holmes, I wish you all the success in the world."

Holmes gave Alvis the folded paper and left.

As Alvis watched Holmes leave, he unfolded the piece of paper.

｢ FIND ME IF YOU CAN HOLMES ｣

'This small puzzle was as expected solved by her. Huhu, how funny.'

Alvis with a smile, put the piece of paper into his coat pocket and began his own investigation on the corpse.

***

Charlotte Holmes walked in silence with her trusted partner Rachel Watson by her side.

"...Did you get the clue you wanted from the crime scene?"

Watson asked uncertainty.

"It's not quite the confirmation I would have liked but the path to the culprit is now completely clear."

Holmes stated, her hands were within her coat's pocket as she glanced back at the crime scene before turning her head back straight. 

"Watson, truly from the depths of my heart, do not interact with that man. I fear that he may be even more dangerous than I initially thought. If you get trapped in his words I am almost 100% certain that we may even become enemies, so please for both you and me, do not contact that man anymore."

"..."

"If needed, ignore him as if he is air."

At those serious words, Watson nodded her head.

"...Yes, I understand Holmes."

"Sigh… I hope you do Watson, I never wish to see the day where we become enemies after all we have gone through."

Soon, the surroundings changed from the streets of London to the boarding house where Holmes and Watson lived.

Within Holmes' room.

"As expected, you were related to the government, Mr. Quinn. Otherwise how could those Royal Knights ignore this unseen threat to the Royal family?"

"...Just how far have you infiltrated the government?"

Holmes stared at a board with strings and pieces of paper along with pictures.

There were perhaps hundreds of strings that pieced together the innumerable pictures and pieces of paper and in the center was a picture of Alvis shopping.

'How can you have such a clean alibi yet also commit these crimes? …It must be only that, surely only that…'

Over half an hour passed as Holmes stared at the board before she sat on her chair.

Click.

Clack.

The sounds of a typewriter fill the room as Holmes calmly types.

[ Alvis Quinn:

Even without the help of my sister who is quite influential within the governmental sphere, it is without a doubt that Mr. Quinn is a worker of the royal family from his daily commutes around London when he leaves Buckingham Palace.

Although it cannot be confirmed, it is once again without a doubt that Mr. Quinn has somehow infiltrated the government and is using that power to commit various crimes of killing prostitutes.

Mr. Quinn is a dangerous man that could be an equivalent of a Demon from before the Crusades.

It is not known how he manages to make each and every crime scene more and more clean then the last but it is imperative to catch this man before he kills more innocent.

I do not know how I will bring this to light without the help of my sister, but in order to see to the end I will not see her if possible.

To think such people exist within this world frightens me to no end. ]

With those final words on the piece of paper, Holmes rips it off the typewriter and looks at the words with intent.

"Sigh."

***

March 3, 1888.

April 4, 1888.

May 5, 1888.

Three months have passed and each and every month without fail, letters have arrived at the Central News Agency and a body has appeared within the slums of Whitechapel.

But on June 6, 1888, a new body appeared within London.

Alvis, who had already arrived at the crime scene, curiously looked at the mangled corpse of a man and not a prostitute.

'Ah, I thought this might happen sooner or later but to think that it would already happen.'

He thought, still prodding around the corpse like it was a small insect on the ground.

On the brick wall were large letters reading out 'Jack the Ripper'.

'Copycats have now appeared within this stage.'

***

I hate it.

This 'being'.

This 'being' who should not be here.

Why?

Why?

Why?