The Ripper, Pt 1 (Open)

Stale menthol cigarette smoke hung in the air, mingling with the sickeningly sweet perfume worn by the only prostitute in Bastion that didn’t completely sicken Blake. She still had all of her teeth and her arms weren’t riddled with bruises or punctures from too much needle use. He knew she used, but it was more recreational than it was addiction and Blake knew all about addictions. He sat on the edge of Lela’s bed grinding the filter of a Marlboro into a glass ashtray on the bedside table, his clothes strewn across the floor of the bedroom along with hers; a road map that spoke of the debauchery they finished only moments ago.

She was still wrapped in the bed sheets as he was striding around the room, gathering what belonged to him; pants that he stabbed his legs into, going commando (which he usually preferred) and a gray Hanes t-shirt that was wrinkled slightly from spending the last couple of hours on the floor. You seemed a little unfocused tonight, love...something the matter? The box blonde smiled up at him from where she lay, pretending to be the seductive goddess she might have once been in her younger years, but could no longer muster with the same ease. Her makeup was just a little too heavy and the desperation in her voice a little too noticeable.

Blake sat at the foot of the bed and one by one put his shoes on, a pair of gray Converse high-tops that had seen better days, yet he refused to give up because they had been a gift from Ariel. From the dresser he retrieved his billfold and in its place left a fifty for the services rendered to him by the mildly talented Lela. See ya later, Lela. Thanks for uh…yeah, thanks. He gave her a half-assed wave as he turned and made his way down the short hallway into the combo living room/kitchen of the apartment. His leather jacket, gun and cellphone were all laying on the Formica dinette table the latter of which was currently squealing out a jaunty tune and vibrating towards the edge.

Detective Gray, he barked into the receiver as he pulled the door shut and finished shrugging into his jacket. The voice on the other end of the phone was his partner who was telling him that they had an unidentified woman lying in a dumpster with her throat slit open and an empty abdominal cavity. She would be the third this month and Blake let loose a string of expletives as he took a mental note of the location he was given while rushing down the stairs to the lobby and out the front door. His dark blue Crown Vic was sitting at the curb, keys stuck in the ignition because a) it was a cop car and b) he secretly hoped someone would steal it so he could ask his chief for a new one.

Sliding behind the wheel of the cruiser, he informed his partner of his ETA, dropped the phone into his lap and tore away from the curb. In his haste, Blake cut off two cars as he made an illegal U-turn to head in the direction he hadn’t before been facing and only remembered afterwards to turn on the blue light that sat on his dashboard so others knew he was a cop. The drive from his apartment building to the scene of the crime was a short one, not long enough for him to even finish a cigarette so he got out of the car with the half-smoked Marlboro hanging from his lips as he ducked beneath the crime scene tape and approached a group of people around a covered body. Give me the specifics.

**Notes: This is the first of what will be perhaps several parts of threads to take place wherein I will be exploring the possibility of a copy cat murderer who is mimicking Jack The Ripper. All who would like to participate may do so if you feel like you have something that could add to the story or if you feel your character may benefit from it somehow.

Wearing


So, do you come here often?

Dective Remy Remington looked over at the man that had confiscated the seat beside her. The bar was more upscale. She guess, in a way, she hoped that she might meet someone better here than at some grunge bar. But, bar men were all bar men. Losers that were desperate to get a lay. Remy had not spent this many years in the force without being able to spot a loser when she saw one.

Remy gave a soft smile. Sometimes. What about you?

Depends on work. But yeah, I think so.

She bet he came here every night hoping to find some sort of hottie. That was what his eager grinning smile said to her. And, apparently he had found one. Amelia Remington was good looking she supposed. With her hair down even better, pity she wore it up most of the time. Because, while she liked it long and flowing, it didn't really work well with her line of business.

Remy took another sip of her drink and looked out over the bar. There was no one here tonight that she knew. Often, they all ended up together at the same bar without planning it. Her and the boys she worked with. Sometimes even the girls. But, tonight it seemed everyone conspired to stay home.

You want to get out of this place? Go somewhere more fun?

Ugh. Classic asshole line. Remy's teal colored eyes shifted back to the man. He was all right looking she supposed. The classic, popular guy in high school. Probably had girls crawling all over him, but then he got to the real world and realized there were better guys out there and looks weren't going to get him everywhere.

She was saved from answering by the fact that her phone rang. She pulled it out of the coat that was hanging over the back of her chair and looked at the number.

I'm terribly sorry, it's work.

She tapped the phone and put the thing to her ear. This is Remy. Okay. Mhm. Where? Okay, how long? Right, I'm on my way. Don't let anyone touch anything.

She got up and slid her coat on. Her hair currently up in a French twist didn't need to be pulled out or anything as she belted it around the waist. She gave a quick farewell wave to the man that had probably hoped that she was going to be his date. Heading out of the bar she finds her car parked parallel to the bar and slid behind the wheel. She was a Detective, and she was in the Meta-Human Crime division, not to mention she was a forensics specialist. She rated better than a cruiser.

The black sleek car roared to life as she slipped easily into the street and headed towards the address that the dispatch had given her. Remy was rather well known, she had worked on many cases and with her powers, she was constantly in demand for her thoughts on a crime scene.

Ten minutes later, she pulled up to the street where the cops cars were populated heavily. Lights on, shining up against the buildings in their vibrant reds and blues. She got out of the car, and closed it. The remote locked it as she headed towards the scene. All ready her senses could detect many things. The scent of an inner body gutted. That was an unmistakable scent. The body was recent. No scent of death yet.

"Remy! Remy I just knew they'd call you out here tonight!" called one of the guys that had earned her the name of Remy instead of Amelia which was her actual name. She stepped underneath the police 'do not cross' lines that had been put up and saw the other people that were working the crime tonight.

She flashed her badge, just to be sure everyone knew she was legit. Not everyone knew who Remy was, and she never expected them to. Though she was one of those people that could make a friend out of anyone.

Do we have any information? Am I the only forensic specialist here? she didn't want to step on anyone's toes if someone made it out there first. But, she was all too ready to get this solved. She was well aware this was becoming a serial killer quickly, and they didn't want to lose more women.

Another Doe. Late twenties. Been on the streets since she was eighteen. Blake squatted beside the body while pulling on a pair of latex gloves. Lifting up the sheet that covered the girl's body, he examined the bloody handiwork done by the murderer and because of his experience on the force, the gruesome sight caused him no sort of distress. For Blake it was a common thing to him, like lighting a cigarette. All personal effects are missing. Found a purse not far from the body but anything that might have had a name on it is gone. Just like the other two. He dropped the sheet and stood up, glancing around the crime scene.

His partner was an elderly man who was close to his retirement, Detective Aaron Caldwell. Blake was the replacement for the man's previous partner who had died a year before Blake was placed in the position. It was only recently that the two started seeing eye to eye. Can't say our Ripper isn't thorough. He was now staring into the empty pit of the Doe's purse, searching for anything that they might use to identify the girl without having to wait for prints to come back. Prostitutes in this age were dumber than their predecessors, Blake figured. Before women took only money for their services whereas these days they took anything from food to drugs to the promise of protection. That is what got a lot of them killed.

When nothing turned up but a tube of lipstick and some unopened condoms Blake returned the purse to the forensics team and moved on to the next thing. Some used needles laying haphazardly within reach of the victim. Same m-o as the last two. Got her high before he did his dirty work. She probably would have OD'd anyway if he hadn't cut her open. Turning to consult with his partner, the two men bent their heads together as they spoke only to be interrupted by a new person on scene.

Caldwell muttered some obscenity that was better left unrepeated and Blake couldn't help but chuckle. The woman who arrived looked like she belonged at a country club instead of walking around a crime scene. He pulled off the gloves he wore and passed them to one of the forensics team while Caldwell gave him the run down on the newest player up to bat. Guys on the force call her "Remy" but her name is Amelia Remington, said the elder man, his prehistoric ways of believing women belonged at home showing in the gruff manner of his voice as he spoke. She's supposed to be some kinda crime scene expert. Caldwell shook his head in dismay as he turned back to the body.

You lost, sweetheart? Blake stepped away from his partner and moved closer to Amelia. His hands dipped into the front pockets of his jeans as he went to greet the blonde woman in the bright red coat. Perhaps Caldwell was wrong and she was a bystander who managed to wander beyond the police crime scene tape. Or maybe she was one of them high dollar hookers that Bastion had but only a select few knew about.

"Of course not! We only call the best around here!"

A little over enthusiastic, but Remy appreicated the love. She hadn't gotten to where she was by kissing ass but instead hard work. She was happier now that she made detective, though there were days that she missed being on the Beat. Detective came with it's own fun jobs. Like.. stake-outs. Those were always a joy, insert sarcasm here.

Remy was handed a pair of gloves as she stepped into the crime scene proper. Her eyes caught sight of a handsome cocky guy coming towards her, but Remy was all ready concentrating on the body. She had just been about to shift her senses around to start her work when the man spoke.

She was used to it. The men in this profession thinking 'a pretty little thing' like her didn't belong in it. But she was good, too good to lose and Remy liked her line of work. Her father had been a cop, and now she was following in his footsteps. Though, with her abilities, she could do that a lot more easily, and with a tad bit more flare. It still sucked though, after being on the force for five years, you'd think she would have earned respect from everyone by now. But, that was not the case.

No, thanks for your concern, I'm right where I need to be.

Remy dug her badge back out of her jacket's inner pocket and flashed it to him before she stepped around him. She had no time for chauvanistic jerks that thought she was better off behind a desk, or as a secretary. Women had come a long way but she doubted they would ever fully shed their 'lesser' position in life. Caldwell, she had worked with before, she didn't even bother to make eye contact. She knew full well he didn't particularly care for her, but she didn't particularly care for him. So it was a fairly even situation.

One of the men on the force handed her a pair of gloves, as she moved.

She stepped up to Caldwell who shoved the sheet away from the body crudely, as if hoping to see Remy wince. She didn't. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and inhaled. Slowly. Taking in every scent that she could on the area around the body. Her head tilted to the side just slightly as she processed what she could smell on the body. She had been called in tonight because of her gift. Because, they hoped it would help break the case if she could find something they hadn't before.

She was drugged with extasy. But it was laced with something a bit stronger. There is no semen. At least, not fresh enough to have been from this guy. It is a male.

Eyes opened and she knelt down beside the body as she quickly dampened her sense of smell to give her senses a break. She needed her eyes now anyway. Her eyes shifted. Very slowly. Covering every inch of the body. Noticing everything that she could, in the dark alleyway she could see as if it was full day for the moment.

He held her down with his left arm, here, across her chest. No fingerprints. He wore gloves. There is wool fibers here, probably from a mask or hat he wore. she let her gaze wander down to the gaping hole while someone darted in to get the wool fibers. No blood under the fingernails. If she fought, it wasn't hard enough. The weapon used, is a serated blade. Not a kitchen knife though, something a bit more stout than that.

Standing up she looked around the body. Watching everything. Looking for every single clue that she could find.

Footprints in the wet street, not enough to imprint. Size... 11. Flat footed. Not heavy set, but large. Tall.

She killed her eye sight and took the gloves off. Handing them to one of the small forensic assistants and she pulled a bottle of scented lotion out of her pocket and put it on her hands. The smell of Latex always made her stomach turn, so she had to kill it. Putting the bottle back into her pocket she looked at the two other detectives on the case.

Any other questions?

Well, she certainly was a feisty one. Blake looked back at Caldwell with a bemused smirk on his face as the woman stepped around him, snapping on a pair of latex gloves as she did. The older man grunted as he jerked aside the white sheet to expose the corpse beneath.

She was not the squeamish type at least. But the information she have wasn't anything that surprised Blake. In fact he half expected her words, as did Caldwell. The two men stood with their heads bent together, nearly forgetting that Amelia was there until she spoke up, inquiring if they had any further questions.

Yeah. How long have you been on this case? Because while I wanna thank you for all that, you should know that the first two murders yielded different fibers than this. The only things similar are the drugs and the way he butchers the uh...women.

He'd been close to calling them whores, which was the truth but Blake felt he should be more sympathetic to the dead. The first murder we found nylon fibers on the vic's body and the second murder they were polyester. At first we thought perhaps it was two killers, but with the same drug choice, a combination of ecstasy and heroine and the same carving knife and slicing style no two people could be that coordinated. Hell, Blake could barely manage to scrawl his name the same way twice whenever he signed a check and he was just one person.

Good guess about the size of the killer though. You're right about the footprint. We can't get a clear image but the size is correct. Caldwell gave the signal for the coroner to take the body away and for the forensic team to do a sweep of the area where the body had lain. There was the on-scene photographer who came in at that moment and took a few stills of the outline where the dead hooker had been.

He never sleeps with the women that I've seen. No sign of penetration in either orifice that was recent enough to link to the murderer. But then, given that he...or she...seems to be copying one of the most notorious murderers of all time it isn't a surprise.

What we need is someone who can scan memories. Or a witch or something like that. Striding over to his car, Blake leaned in through the open driver side window and grabbed for his Marlboro pack. His zippo was pulled from a pocket on his jacket and used to light the menthol in his mouth. Ariel had hated the fact that he smoked and for a while Blake had considered quitting once the baby was born...but no. Their combined deaths made him smoke all the more.

So, in reality, you coming here didn't really help anything... Leaning against the side of the car, he watched the last of the scene inspection even as Caldwell took his leave of them. Shaking hands with Blake and giving Amelia another long, exasperated look before driving away in his own dark, unmarked cruiser. You like donuts?

Oh... hell.

She just looooved arrogant assholes. Amelia crossed her arms over her chest and watched him with those teal eyes of hers. She was a very pretty girl. Slender, gentle, and lovely. Given a little time, and a dress, she'd actually be breathtaking. But, Amelia wasn't the kind that seemed to worry about that kind of stuff. She dressed well, for not only respect but when your senses were insanely exemplified, it helped to wear things that didn't chafe or irritate her over sensitive skin.

He went on. And on. And on. Remy waited. She was a patient woman. It was rare that anyone didn't like her. She wasn't even sure why Cauldwell didn't except that he had something against women doing men's work. Though, how police work became soley men's work she didn't know, but he could keep his prejudices if he really wanted to.

Her eyes watched the man as he continued to talk about the difference in the fibers that were found on the bodies, and how they already knew about the knife. He seemed at least a little bit grateful for the fact that she had found the bootprint, as she doubted that anyone else would have been able to see it.

Are you quite done now? I know, that you think, I'm just a woman. I probably don't know what I'm doing here, and I probably won't ever find anything that a man didn't all ready find. But, you know, they called me here for a reason Detective. They called me down here, becuase, I can see things that other people can't. You think that you and your old school partner there, have it all covered. I get it. You don't want me waltzing in here and stepping on your scuffed tennis shoes. I'm not new, Detective. So, lets get one thing straight. You and I. We'll be working together. I've been assigned, so, if you could just get over your massively oversized ego, we'll get along just great.

Oh Goodness, to make it worse the ass smoked.

Remy sighed, and shoved her hands into her coat pockets. Beginning to head over towards her own car. The sleak black car that she had bought herself. Saving for a long time. She had just unlocked the door when the ass had the gumption to ask her if she liked donuts. Was that his sick twisted way of asking her out? Or perhaps it was just another way to get another opportunity to berate her for being completely useless. Idiot. To look someone gifted in the face and rebuke them, was really a dumb move. But, she had a feeling that he was the kind of jerk that pushed everyone he met away just so he didn't have to mess with them.

Cake ones. With chocolate icing and sprinkles. You buying?

Slap some dark hair on that woman and it would be Ariel standing in front of him. Berating him for his chauvinistic demeanor that despite her yelling, his wife had secretly found attractive in a caveman sort of way. Except Blake was pretty sure that Amelia didn't find any part of him attractive, least wise his attitude towards her. He wasn't as chauvinistic as he appeared to be. Compared to Caldwell he was damn near a saint, but he wouldn't openly admit it. Not for anyone.

But he wasn't trying to attract her. He was being his honest self, which he heard was a quality that men these days lacked though when it was found it was under appreciated. Look lady I was just giving you the heads up. Don't get all prickly on me. He stuck the Marlboro in the corner of his mouth and held both hands up in an attempt to unruffle her feathers. Must be that time of the month or something; when women are extra sensitive and fly off the handle about anything and everything.

Reaching back for the door handle, Blake jerked open the car door and smoothly dropped into the seat. I'll buy only if you promise to be nice. There was a 24hr Dunkin Donuts just round the corner and down the block from where they were. Had good donuts and good coffee and he could certainly do with both right about now.

Dunkin Donuts at first and third. Five minutes.

She could drive herself. Didn't want to end up having her harp at him the entire way if she did decide to go. He was crushing the burning menthol out in the ashtray of his car as he pulled into the near empty parking lot. The neon light of the donut shop was half lit, with the other half burnt out and the staff too lazy to change the bulbs. Hell for as long as he could remember that sign had never worked as it should. If one half lit up then the other half didn't; never mattered which side was working, just that they never worked at the same time.

Flipping the switch to kill the blue flasher on his dash, Blake exited the crown vic and did a quick check of himself. Wallet, back pocket. Gun, holstered at left hip. Cuffs, inside jacket pocket. Now all he needed was the girl if she decided to show. Already he could smell the sweet aromatic fragrance of the fresh donuts and the coffee drifting out whenever the door opened.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzzzzzz.

Digging his cellphone out of his front jean pocket, Blake flipped open the device and cradled it between his shoulder and ear. Detective Gray, and on the other line was Caldwell back at precinct. Other than what Amelia had told them, there were no new updates in the case. No leads. No suspects. The third murder in a single month and Blake was feeling a little desperate now. He couldn't find a distinct motive for these copycat murders, unless the killer got some insane thrill from doing what he or she did. Damn now he really wanted some coffee, perhaps spiked with a little Baileys.

Need to get word out to all the girls. Mandate they stay off the corners for a while. That was met with an instant rebuttal. Blake rolled his eyes as he pushed away from his car, approached the donut shop and stepped inside. We'll talk about this later, Caldwell. Yeah...yeah okay. Tell Carla she owes me a casserole. The display counter, filled with all kinds of donuts stared invitingly at him and he approached, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. Gimme two of the bear claws, two of the sugar and two of those cake ones with the icing and sprinkles and two coffees. Even if the sharp tongued vixen didn't show, he'd eat all six and drink both coffees on his own.

Prickley? Really. He had known her for all of what five minutes and was going off about being prickely. She didn't think he had seen her get prickely yet. Still, she just gave him a little half sarcastic grin and headed into her car. Apparently, they were meeting at the Dunkin Donuts that wasn't too far away. She merely got into her car and started it up. He peeled out down the street, taking his badge beyond the limits that he should and she slowly pulled out and began to follow him.

She knew the joint. if she lost him it wasn't a big deal.

She pulled up into the parking lot, the Donut joint was lit from the inside and she could see Gray making his order at the register. Amelia slid out of the car and took her handbag with her. She wasn't sure what the night would bring. She was armed, several times over, but she didn't really see Gray as a threat. He was just an asshole. The kind that talked more than he could put out. The kind of guy that was likely talking to push people away so he didn't have to get close to anyone and lose them.

That was exactly what she thought he was.

Stepping in, the bell over the door rung and her heels found purchase on the tile. It was blissfully warm in the Donut place and she located Gray easily enough. Unbuttoning her coat, she slid it off her shoulders as she stood by the table dropping it and her purse into the booth across from his seat. Underneath, she was a lovely girl. Good figure, thin, but with some curves. She sat down in front of the spare coffee that was in front of him.

Figuring that he was making true on his buying statement.

May I? she inquired pointing to one of the sprinkled donuts. If he gave his consent she would reach over and take one placing it on the napkin from the dispenser on the table. Doctoring her coffee with a little bit of sugar and cream, her eyes, teal in color, finally rose to meet Gray's gaze.

How long have you been on the force? I, don't believe I've ever seen you, not that I know everyone, but I know several.

Truth was, Remy was one of those people that was a friend to just about everyone on the force. A friend to just about everyone that she ever met. She was lucky that way, she was looked after, cared for, she was sometimes called the 'little sister' of the police force. She was the girl that brought cookies on Christmas Eve, and the girl that made brownies for the police force bake sales. She was always going out of her way to help out.

By the time Amelia arrived and sat he was already halfway thru the second bear claw. Chewing silently and looking down at the lit up screen of his phone playing a rousing game of solitaire. Briefly he cut his eyes up to the blonde, down at the plate then back again. He'd bought those damn sprinkle donuts for her, so why did she ask? Women. He'd never understand them.

His answer was the barest lift of his shoulder and slight nod of his head. It was impolite to speak while chewing so she would forgive his initial silence. Go ahead, but she was already biting into it so the point was moot. Blake picked up one of the coffees and downed a deep swallow. He liked his with only a pack of sugar and no cream so it was still mostly black. Amelia's sat untouched because he didn't know if she even drank the stuff, just a courtesy.

I've been on the force long enough. Started out as regular patrol. Eventually I ended up in homicide. He picked up one of the sugar donuts and took a bite. Blake didn't like talking about himself. Didn't want to talk about himself. There was nothing left of himself to share with anyone. It had been buried along with Ariel and their daughter. Didn't ask you here to talk about me.

Maybe he sounded harsh, but they had a killer to find. If we're going to be working together then we need to communicate. Which means I need to know what you know and vice versa. Why don't we start off with that little trick you did back at the crime scene? The first sugar donut gone he pulled a napkin from the dispenser on the table, cleaned his hands then crumpled it into a ball.

Of course they weren't here to talk about him. He had only invited her here for donuts, and now she was sitting across from him. But, it was all strickly on his terms. Well, that's what he thought anyway, and that was so sad. He lived in a misconstrewed world where it somehow revolved around him. His ego didn't attain the gravitational force to pull this satellite in, and so she merely waited while Sergeant Dick continued on his little 'its not about me' crap.

He brought them back to the case. Well. So he said, but he was fishing for information about her too. She knew his game. She was onto his crap. A slight grin crossed her pale pink lips as she doctored her coffee and finally took the first sip of it. She actually loved coffee. At one point when she was still on the Beat she had basically overdosed on caffeine. It was bad. She had begun to make sure she didn't go overboard, and she knew after the crime scene and this cup of joe, she'd be a zombie in the office tomorrow.

Trick? Huh. Okay, trick. she grinned again and shifted herself. She pinched a piece of her donut off and tucked it into her mouth. Chewing for a moment she swallowed and went on with her comment. A question, for a question then. Nothing too personal. But I'm not here to be interrogated. You think you have something over me, but you don't, because I have to chose to let you have the upper hand, and I don't. So, I'll answer your question now.

She looked over at him with her teal eyes and she smiled.

It's a passive ability. It's on constantly. It's the reason I can tell that you had sex, less than two hours ago. She was female. Liked it from behind, and you didn't work up much of a sweat. I can tell that you didn't have time to shower afterwards, but that you like to use Mens Teague shampoo and body wash in one. I can tell that you smoke at LEAST a pack of cigs a day, if not more, and you have a cavity in the left side of your mouth. I won't go into more detail but I could. Because, that is my ability. My senses are always heightened. Twice the norm. But, if I concentrate on one, the others fade away until that one is so strong it becomes everything that I am.

Remy took a bite of her donut letting all of that sink in. She was curious about a lot of things about him. She could tell that he didn't like to talk about himself. Which meant he had a mega chip on his shoulder. Probably because someone close to him died, that tended to be the reason for anyone to have a chip that size on his shoulder. But, even still, she had to admit that she wanted to know him anyway. Especially, if they were going to work together.

Do you have any specialties?

She wanted to play twenty questions with him. Blake didn't like this idea. Why couldn't women leave well enough alone? But could he refuse? He could give her a little something. The detective ran his thumb against his lower lip, blue/gray eyes traveling down from Amelia's face to her...

Huh? Oh. She was demonstrating her ability. Blake picked up his coffee as he focused on what she was saying instead of how pretty her mouth would look wrapped around his Specialties? Yeah, he had specialties, some that would make her blush. But she probably wasn't talking about those kind.

If you mean do I have a special power, then no. I'm just a human, living a human's life.

It probably wasn't normal that he was using the services of a prostitute. But at least she didn't expect anything of him. Blake could come and go as he pleased so long as he paid. Looking into his empty cup, Blake frowned wondering just when he'd finished his coffee. Perhaps he shouldn't drink so much, since he had that cavity...or so Amelia said.

He shoved the cup aside and sat back, watching the woman across from him pick at her donut demurely. How long have you been on the force? Can't say I ever heard of you before today. And that he was certain of. Blake was familiar with every member of the precinct that was of the fairer sex...even those that were more masculine than they should be. He didn't discriminate against them though; all women needed love, even if he wasn't the man to give it to them.

And how much do you know about this case already?

Whatever her powers, Blake didn't see this chick making much leeway into the murders if their killer kept pulling these sort of switches with them. Sometimes he felt almost as if the guy was playing with them by leaving different fabric types at the scene of every crime.

Just a human, living a human life. Well, that was fine. She was just a human living a fairly human life. Though, she had this ability. It wasn't really a power, or anything. She just knew that she would never live the most normal of lives because there were a great manner of things she couldn't handle because of the way her senses would overload her. He asked her how long she had been on the force, that he didn't know her, and had never heard of her before today.

Probably because I'm stationed in the Meta-human Crime division. But they called me out on your case. I've been on the Force for six years.

She wasn't a master veteran or anything but she could hold her own with the boys.

Though, I've never heard of you either. So I expect we're even on that front. And it amazes me, since you're such an asshole that I wouldn't have heard of you by now. Now, you're little partner and I have had it out a couple times, I feel sorry for his wife. I doubt she's ever been allowed to have a job.

Now it was her turn to ask a question. She took a full bite of her donut and chewed slowly as she watched him with her teal eyes. She still felt strange here. Because, it was very much not seemingly in his character to invite her out to a donut and coffee with as much disdain as he showed. Then again, she figured that he was still having issues with the whole 'no one gets close' method of living his life.

How long have you been on the Force?

He shot another question back at her, and she didn't answer. Waiting for him to answer her question first. They had a deal. Once he had answered she would go on to answer his question of what she knew about the case.

Nothing. Well, not really. Just what I saw tonight. Apparently, the files will be on my desk in the morning, or at least that was what the Task Force Chief told me over the phone tonight when he called me. she shrugged. So why don't you share. What do you you know about the case.

When she called him an asshole Blake only laughed. He'd been named a lot worse so the name calling didn't phase him. But he was surprised that she was so quick to judge. It was like a woman though to think she had a man all figured out by spending only a few hours with him. Had she kept her opinion to herself he might have found her company pleasant, but she was presenting herself as one of those alpha bitches. Equality for women but feathers easily ruffled if she wasn't shown a little bit of chivalry by having a man buy her dinner.

I've been on the force 13 years. I spent a few years working patrol and then transferred into homicide.

That should be efficient enough to satisfy her curiosity about him. Since she wasn't particularly enamored of him Blake wouldn't elaborate anymore on himself. I know that the three women our killer done in were all dark haired junkies. They were all seasoned prostitutes. And they were all drugged with the same mixture before being butchered. So that leads me to believe the person wielding the knife either has a grudge against women with dark hair, finds them the most appealing or just thinks that no one will miss a few hookers who turn up dead.

With that said he back peddled to an earlier comment she made. As for your comment about Caldwell and his wife, Carla actually works the switch board back at the precinct and can put her husband in check quicker than anyone. So before you go feeling sorry for someone or making snap judgements you should do some research. I'm pretty sure the Mrs. wouldn't like your pity. He gathered the remains of his donuts and coffee before rising from his chair. There wasn't much left to say to the pretty blonde. She didn't know much and he wasn't about to share the entire case with her when she could go back to the precinct and read the file.

Tossing his trash into the desginated spot, Blake glanced quickly at the time on his phone. Tomorrow I'm going go canvas the area where the newest victim was found. If you wanna tag along be at the office at 8 sharp. He afforded her one of his best smiles as he exited the donut shoppe, keys in hand heading toward his dark blue crown vic. He had paperwork to fill out before heading home.

She got the information on the girls. The links between the murders anyway but that didn't help them really. They couldn't pull every darkheaded woman off the street and tell them to stay home. Though, suddenly, she was glad she was blonde. Her eyes watched him, and she noticed that he was mad. His heart rate had shifted a bit slightly, and it wasn't nerves, she doubted the jerk was nervous about much. Which meant she'd struck a chord somewhere.

he told her that she was wrong about Caldwell and his wife. That too seemed to have struck a chord. He gathered up his crap and got up. She got up too. Sliding her coat on, she tied it at her waist and picked up her coffee. Tossing the last bit of the donut that she hadn't and wasn't going to eat. He told her he was going to recheck the crime scene at 8 AM if she wanted to come with.

I'm sorry, if I pissed you off. It's just, you're trying so hard to keep me at a distance. I'm not trying to date you. I'm trying to work with you.

She followed him outside, and put her hand on his coat to stop him right at the elbow. If he turned around, she would continue. She didn't really want to touch him so as soon as she got his attention, she would let go. She wasn't trying to date him, or attract him, she just wanted them to be civil so they could get this case solved. The less people that had to die for them to do that the better.

Lets start over. We both came to this, and with jacked up attitudes. So. Lets try again. We'll be a better team if we don't despise each other. And since, I've been assigned we'll be working together on this a lot. So.. I'm Remy. Or rather, Amelia Remington, Remy is a stupid nickname they gave me on the beat that stuck.

She held her hand out to shake, if he was willing to make some sort of alliance. At least, to solve this case.

That's where you're wrong, sweetheart, he smiled down at her and her extended hand, though as if now did not take it. I don't date. But she had pissed him off. Her half-assed apology wasn't going to cut it either. Neither would her reason for justifying her actions. But if I want to keep you at a distance, then I guess that's my decision, isn't it? Blake didn't have to be her best-friend to work with her. Being civil would work well enough.

But if she was going to take his mannerisms as some form of hinting for a date then he would rather not. I know who you are Amelia Remington. Who or what you choose to be while you work this case with myself and Caldwell don't make me no nevermind, so he wasn't the most eloquently spoken man, I just need you to be more open with information about this case. Don't walk onto a scene like you own it.

And don't make snap judgements about other officers, but that would remain unsaid. Thus far he had left her hand hanging there in the open air, but now that he'd said most of what was on his mind, Blake took her hand and pumped it once before letting go. See you tomorrow at 8 sharp, Detective Remington. He turned and without so much as a backwards glance approached his car, slid behind the wheel and left her there in the parking lot. He'd already told her enough about himself back in the donut shop and he'd been amiable about it the entire time. No need for any re-introductions.

[exit Blake] Look for the next installment of, The Ripper!

Amelia was stung.

She let her hand fall, and let the man walk off. She watched him for a moment, get in his car and speed away. That was his thing. Pushing people away. For whatever reason. Sure she could go back to the precinct and read up on him. That's exactly what she could do. But, she wouldn't. She wasn't about invading privacy for her own curiosity. She wasn't going to let him tear her down either though. Because, that wasn't how things worked. She was not the kind of girl that was afraid just because some man put his Asshole's Annonymous Patch on today.

Tears stung her eyes though as she turned to get into her own car. He hadn't needed to be so cruel. Yes, she had called him an asshole. But, he was one, and how that offended him she had no idea. As for Caldwell, so she had been wrong. People had been wrong before, and both he and Caldwell were wrong about her. That was just how it was.

Amelia started her car and turned her music up. So that she would have something to take her mind off the jerk that had left. She didn't understand him, wasn't going to try to either. He was his own person. She just wanted to find a common ground so that they would be able to work together. In a case like The Ripper there was no telling how long they would be on it together. Thing was, it could go on for years and they might never catch anyone.

But, she hoped that with her help, they would be able to find him in the next couple weeks and hopefully BEFORE he was able to off someone else. With nothing else to do, Detective Remington headed home. Puddles needed to go out anyway.

[/exit Amelia]