A Mark Left Behind

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***

Crying. 

Crying.

What is it that cries?

What is it that weeps?

Finding.

Finding.

I cannot find.

I look to cities.

I look to the oceans.

I look to countries.

Soon, I am at the end of the world.

Dangling.

Dangling.

My feet dangle over the edge.

I look into the abyss.

It looks back.

Not it either.

There is only one place I did not look.

…

Me.

***

January 1, 1888.

Tick tock—

The pocket clock read precisely 1 AM.

It was completely dark and the moon hung right above Alvis' head like a halo.

"..."

It was silent yet an eerie feeling that someone couldn't shake off was present in the atmosphere.

Alvis was deep in thought.

Shadows formed behind Alvis as arms hung around Alvis' neck like a noose.

"How was it, Miss Jill?"

Alvis asked the person behind him.

A smooth emotionless voice answered back.

"It was easy, the London Metropolitan will be chasing their own necks…"

Alvis hung his head low with a smile.

This was the path he had set on.

A path where he would become a detective and a criminal.

He was afraid, not of dying but of losing this world which had given him precious memories. He wanted to die here like a normal person. That was the conclusion he had reached after a year's worth of stay in the twisted world.

Both Jill the Ripper and Alvis melded into the shadows, leaving a silent crime scene behind.

***

221B Baker Street.

Within a boarding house where two people lived, Charlotte Holmes looked at the man in front of her.

"Miss Charlotte Holmes, on behalf of the August Institute we would like you to join in on a recent murder case. The morning news should be featuring it as well. We have reasons to believe that a mana user has killed the victim and you are the most suitable private detective that we know of. Would you like to accept?"

A contract was placed on the table for Charlotte to see.

"As always, my partner will also be coming along. That would be fine, yes?"

"Of course, but she would also need to sign the contract."

"I accept then."

Rachel Watson who was witnessing the conversation unfold, sighed as she too accepted the case from the man sent by the August Detective Academy.

"...Watson, what do you think are the chances that this case has already been solved?"

Rachel Watson who was maintaining her revolver with tools replied, "...Charlotte, if the case had already been solved, the newspaper wouldn't read 'Mysterious death in Whitechapel, another serial killing?' but instead, 'Serial killer found!'."

She sighed as Charlotte's eyes grew brighter at the strange case that had caught national news.

Although Watson did not know to the full extent of Charlotte's curse, she suspected that it had to do with cases. It was quite obvious that it was the case as she was lethargic and conducted mana stone experiments and smoked from her pipe if there was not a case to work on.

"Could you wait? I still haven't written the entirety of our last adventure."

Watson asked.

"You mean that silly thing you have been working on? Watson, my dear friend, if there is a bigger, better case to work on, why should you finish the more mediocre one?"

Within her mind, Watson felt tired as the last case had ended not long ago.

"Let us go my dear friend, another adventure awaits us!"

Charlotte grabbed her iconic black coat as she rushed to the door.

'...I wish she could be so energetic when I ask her to stop with the mana stone experiments.'

Watson laments in her mind but still puts down her cleaning kit and prepares to get ready to head to the crime scene, putting her revolver within her coat pocket.

***

Alvis read the newspaper with bated breath.

On it, it contained no information about a culprit whatsoever.

"Hah…"

A sigh of relief.

"If you act so suspiciously, you might infect other people with your paranoia."

Jill the Ripper's emotionless voice resounded beside him as he stood as her butler.

His face awkwardly smiled.

"How could I not? This is the first time I had conducted a murder, if something had gone wrong, everything would have ended in shambles."

"I feel pleased that you considered me, but I'll repeat my words from the first time I met you. I won't get caught my dear butler, but you will. That is not a provocation but a genuine fact."

Though a year had passed, even when he had trained his body, it was nothing compared to the superhuman body that mana users possessed. In fact, he was the outlier in this world as he was considered a 'mana user' with a frail body.

Alvis looked out of the glass window of Jill the Ripper's study, glancing at where the murder had occurred at midnight.

There was no doubt that Charlotte Holmes was there, investigating the crime scene, and trying to find the culprit.

"Miss Jill, do you think Charlotte Holmes would be able to find out?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not. It doesn't matter to me."

At her response, he just smiled.

"I will be heading out. I will see if Miss Charlotte Holmes is truly on a lead."

At his words, Jill the Ripper simply stared. Not giving a response.

With his ever present smile Alvis left.

***

London, Whitechapel.

A man who wore a long trench coat with a hood walked towards the scene of a recently committed crime.

"Halt, you are not allowed entry, only those from the police or private detectives hired are allowed from this point onwards."

A young male police officer stopped the man by raising his hand.

"I am here as one of the private detectives hired through the August Institute. Here is my license."

The voice was strange and convoluted, like something was blocking the voice, distorting it.

From his coat pocket, a set of papers entered the police officer's hand.

"I see, my apologies."

"No, it's quite fine. Thank you for your hard work."

The man nodded and allowed entry.

Several photographers took various photos of the crime scene and a particular duo came into view.

The brown haired young woman simply looked around the crime scene while the black haired teen smoked from a pipe and looked at the dead corpse with analytical eyes.

"Excuse me, is there a report I could be given?"

Alvis asked a passing police officer.

"Yes sir here it is."

A small stack of paper was given.

The victim was a prostitute by the name of Mark Ann Nichols, the first sighting of the dead body was at 3:40 AM by a carmen named Timberly Allen Cross. Shortly after inspecting the body, she found that the face was still somewhat lukewarm unlike the other parts of the body which were cold to touch—

'This is quite a good report.'

As Jill the Ripper had killed the victim only two hours prior with brutal downward thrusts as her 'mark' the report did almost everything to a one to one degree. It was almost frightening how precise the report was.

Looking at the second page, it talked about the more convoluted and magical means that were found.

—Mana traces were found near the crime scene but no footprints or any other identifying marks were found…

Upon completing the report, Alvis gave back the pieces of paper to the police officer who then left.

"Oh, you're here as well."

A pleasant young voice came from behind and a hand grasped his shoulder in a rough manner.

Upon turning around, Alvis was met with black eyes, almost similar to Jill the Ripper. It was Charlotte Holmes.

"Haha, yes. I was requested by the London Metropolitan. Though I'm surprised that you are here Miss Holmes, given your dislike for the Academy. Or should I say as expected?"

Alvis asked, laughing a bit and reached his hand out.

Holmes ignored his hand and simply went back to the corpse.

"Ah…"

Alvis put his hand back before smiling and moving towards Holmes' partner.

"I see that you are here as well, Dr. Watson."

"Yes I am. Though I'm surprised. I had thought you were quite an unknown detective, was I wrong?"

"No, I am a relatively new detective. Though I helped the police quite a bit which eventually allowed me to be here."

Watching Holmes, Alvis added, "Though it seems that will not be needed much further."

"Perhaps. Charlotte has always been quite good at murder cases, though she has always been good at every case I suppose."

"Ah, I remember that the first case that you had with Miss Holmes was 'A Study In Scarlet'. It was quite a fantastic read, especially in showing Miss Holmes' extraordinary abilities as a detective."

Watson merely laughed as the two eventually watched Holmes in silence.

Soon the two left and Alvis started examining the corpse.

'It's the same as the report. Ragged strikes with a long knife…'

After an hour of prodding back and forth and observing the entire crime scene, Alvis left.

'Oh? What's this?'

Looking at his shoulder, Alvis found something peculiar.

'Huhu… What a cheeky detective.'

Alvis' gloved hands 'peeled' the residue off and placed it on a wall with a note before leaving.

***

Charlotte Holmes fiddled with the mana stones within her hand as she tried to follow the trail of mana residue she left on the masked detective.

Charlotte eventually walked into an alleyway where a small note was placed on the wall.

｢ I didn't know that Miss Holmes had such a perverse hobby of stalking, don't worry I returned what was given. ｣

"Did it not work?"

Watson's voice rang out behind Charlotte who smiled at the note in her grasp.

"No."

She answered with an eerie smile at the note.

"But something interesting came from it instead."

***

"Sigh…"

Alvis sighed as he checked for any mana residue left on his body.

'She sure is meticulous, I didn't think she would be so quick to start investigating me.'

The mana residue method of tracking was something that was new. Of course it would not affect mana users as the flow of mana was seen through their eyes, but if faint enough, it worked as a tracking method.

Through the six months of learning from Dr. Frankenstein, Alvis learned mana quite thoroughly, perhaps even rivaling a freshly admitted August Academy student.

Though in the end, it did not change the fact that Alvis was in fact not a mana user but a terminal disease ridden patient.

"Ugh…"

On his body, another small black scab appeared, almost unnoticeable. Alvis' body trembled from the appearance of the scab.

Changing into his butler uniform, Alvis left his room for Jill the Ripper's study.

Knock, knock—

"Come in."

An authoritative voice.

Jill the Ripper sat as she watched Alvis come inside the room with a tray.

Even with a disabled hand, his work on the tea was quick and masterful.

Within mere moments the tea was already in front of her. But her gaze remained on Alvis' figure as his smile was ever present and still like a statue.

Taking a sip of the tea Jill the Ripper thought, 'It is the same as always.'

Indeed.

The tea specially brewed to her tastes was sweet at first then bitter like a murder.

A taste that only she thought she would know.

A taste that perfectly described her life.

Everything was perfect.

A play was made for her.

She was in the highest of political standing and was the beloved princess of the Empire.

Everything was so perfect…

Yet…

Within this play was the puppeteer.

The puppeteer was right beside her.

He was the one who worked behind the scenes, taking her place as the puppeteer.

She was now just 'only the audience', not both 'the audience and puppeteer'.

As the saying goes, 'a magician never reveals his secret', she too didn't like being the puppeteer.

It ruined the 'magic' of the play.

But as she watches, encapsulated by the play made solely for her, she realizes.

'This is no longer the play I once knew.'

She was now stagnant.

She was at the mercy of the puppeteer.

She no longer controlled.

Relinquishing the strings that once dedicated her life, she thought, 'Perhaps, this too is fine.'

To only be the audience.

To be at the mercy of the puppeteer.

To no longer crave such things anymore.

But…

Deep within her heart a bitter black feeling emerges.

A feeling that perhaps would never go away.

In the world full of color she remained ignorant and chose to only see black and white.

A world that mixed the two and turned into all sorts of hues of gray.

Yet that world was slowly cracking.

Cracking and bleeding.

The first she saw was red.

The color of blood.

The color of intensity.

The feeling intensified as she watched Alvis deeply.

As the empty tea cup clacked down onto the plate, her fingers interlocked and head resting upon them.

So she would wait.

Wait until something happens that ruins her play and she needs to help and guide the new puppeteer.

When the play no longer is solely dedicated to her, she would take control once more.

***

I laugh.

What is this?

I wonder.

■■■■ is being ■■■■■■■■■.

■■■■■■■■■!?

Hahaha!