Emily looked good, considering how she’d ended up in the hospital. A stab wound like that is no joke, especially when delivered by an angry pimp lying on top of you who’s clearly trying to end your life. Riley had saved her, but he didn’t feel like a savior, he felt like a guilty partner towards someone who wasn’t even officially his partner, and he vowed that nothing like that would befall Emily again while he was working with her. 

He’s stopped to get flowers, a small gesture considering she’d almost died under his watch, but it was something. When he walked in she didn’t look as bad as he’d thought she would. In fact, she looked angry and ready to go. “I can’t believe I let that guy get me like that,” she said without missing a beat. “Rookie mistake to turn my back.”

“Good morning,” Riley said, handing her the flowers. “You look good.”

“Screw how I look,” she said harshly. “Did the Ripper strike? Tell me he didn’t get her?”

“No,” Riley said. “That may be the one silver lining in this whole mess of an operation. The only casualty last night was you. And I’m no doctor, but you seem to be doing well.”

“I’m fine,” she said as though she wasn’t lying, stabbed, in a hospital bed. “I’ll be fine, but these fucking doctors say I can’t do much of anything for a while.”

“Well you have to listen to them, it’s for your own good. You can’t risk getting back into the job too quickly and tearing your stitches or something. You have to rest.”

“He’s not going to rest.” The ‘he’ Emily meant was the new Ripper. For whatever reason he hadn’t followed the pattern established by Jack the Ripper in that he’d left one final victim. According to the previous pattern, last night should have been the night he killed again, but he hadn’t, and Riley was starting to wonder if it had something to do with what happened to Emily. So far the killer had followed the Ripper’s MO to the letter, but the deviation from it last night was a glaring omission. He wasn’t upset about it, that deviation only meant that an innocent woman got to live, but it was still a noticeable change. 

“We don’t know what he’s going to do, do we? He was supposed to hit last night and he didn’t, so now we’re back to square one. I’m back to square one.”

“You?” Emily asked. “It’s my case, not yours.”

“I spoke to your Captain. Real winner, that one.”

“Yeah, he’s a total prick, but that’s not news.”

“Agreed,” Riley said. “But anyway, he coordinated with my Captain and it turns out that it is somewhat my case. Not that I’m taking credit, and I sure as hell could care less about the glory of it all, but you can’t do anything tactical right now. Now your job is to rest and heal up.” He could tell that Emily didn’t like what she was hearing. He knew she’d react like that before he even started talking, but she needed to take a step back and heal. “I know how much this means to you,” he said, sitting down on the edge of her bed and putting his hands over hers. “But you’re no good to these women if you’re hurt. You can still help, but let me take the lead on this.”

She thought about his words, and he could see the frustration on her face. Cops like Emily were a rare breed, but even through her sense of duty and responsibility she knew that he was right. “Okay,” she said. “But you have to get this dirty motherfucker.”

“Well, detective Emily, I just happen to have a Scout’s badge in catching dirty motherfuckers—earned it when I was twelve, long story—but don’t you worry.” She finally cracked a smile, his sarcasm could do that to just about anyone, but it made him happy to see her angry facade come down for a minute. At least he could make one of the women in his life happy. 

“I guess I’m lucky, then.”

“Minus the terrible, pimp-induced stab wound, that is.”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling again. “Except for that minor detail.”

“What’s that?” Riley asked, looking at the stand on the other side of Emily’s hospital bed. She looked to her right and furrowed her brow.

“No idea. I didn’t even notice that.”

It was a white envelope, placed upwards, with Emily’s name hand written in thick black ink. The detective reached over and picked it up. Inside there was a handwritten letter on white legal paper, folded in thirds to fit in the envelope. Riley watched as Emily unfolded it and began to read. “Holy shit,” she said. “It’s from him.”

“What?” Riley reached out and took the paper. The words that began the letter sent chills down his spine. The original ‘Dear Boss’ letter, believed by many Ripperologists to be a fake created by reporters to sensationalize the Ripper murders in local newspapers, had been one of the first cases of a serial killer communicating with the police. The original letter read:

Dear Boss,

I keep on hearing the police have caught me but they won’t fix me just yet. I have laughed when they look so clever and talk about being on the right track. That joke about Leather Apron gave me real fits. I am down on whores and I shant quit ripping them till I do get buckled. Grand work the last job was. I gave the lady no time to squeal. How can they catch me now. I love my work and want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little games. I saved some of the proper red stuff in a ginger beer bottle over the last job to write with but it went thick like glue and I can’t use it. Red ink is fit enough I hope ha. ha. The next job I do I shall clip the ladys ears off and send to the police officers just for jolly wouldn't you. Keep this letter back till I do a bit more work, and then give it out straight. My knife's so nice and sharp I want to get to work right away if I get a chance. Good Luck.

Yours truly

Jack the Ripper

Dont mind me giving the trade name

PS Wasnt good enough to post this before I got all the red ink off my hands curse it No luck yet. They say I'm a doctor now. ha ha

This letter began with the same words, and when Riley saw them he instinctually jumped from the bed and ran to find out if any cameras had recorded the killer in the halls. More than what the letter said, it scared Riley that the killer had been right where he was sitting only a little while ago, unbeknownst to anyone else, while Emily was sleeping. Riley came back to the room frantically. “I have them checking the camera footage in the halls. The fucker signed the log as ‘Emily’s friend Jack’! I can’t believe this.”

“I was only asleep for a little while,” she said, a little bewildered. “If this is really him, do you know what it means?”

“That he was here? Yes, I know, it’s freaking me out also.”

“Not just that,” Emily said, looking freaked out herself. “It means that he knows who I am, that we’re investigating him, and it means he was there last night when I got stabbed!”

Riley hadn’t thought of all that, but now that Emily said it, he was shocked by the truth of her words. There were so many implications in what she was saying, but before he had time to consider them all he wanted to see the letter. “Can I read?” he asked. She handed him the letter and he began to read its chilling text.

Dear Boss,

God the police are stupid, aren’t they? Well, not the two of you, I can see that much. You figured it out. In fact, I saw you figuring it out the other day when you were hanging out in my playground trying to see when I’d play again. Thought the police had all but given up on my little game, but I suppose there are always some justice warriors out there who still care about the little whores. Congrats to you on that bit, Boss, but there’s not much you’ll be able to do to stop her from squealing. She’ll yell, and she’ll bleed proper, and try as you might (and hell, I know you will) there isn’t a damn thing you can do to stop me. I know you’re onto my pattern, or at least you think you are. So let’s see who’s better at this game, Boss. I think I might do some playing this weekend, but we’ll see how my schedule holds up.

Sincerely,

JTR

“So,” Emily began. “It looks like that ‘catching dirty motherfuckers badge’ is going to come in handy real soon.”