January 1, 1890
I was rudely woken by the sound
of screams. I knew there were celebrations for the New Year, but
no one was screaming like that when I went to bed. These were
gut-wrenching, terror-filled screams of women and the wails of
young children. I dragged myself out of bed and walked towards
the window to see what was going on. I was still groggy and only
half conscious, so the image was blurry at first. I rubbed my
eyes and looked down again. A large crowd had gathered and
circled around one of our street's famous portrait studios. I
figured it was a protest at first, but then I looked closer. Some
people were kneeling, like they were inspecting something. Others
were screaming for a doctor and that someone was
Someone was dead?
The words hit me like a punch
to the face. I grabbed my coat and ran down the stairs as fast as
I could. I burst through the door and ran towards the scene of
the attack. The crowd was dense, but pushing, shoving and cries
of," Get out of the way!" got me through it. When I finally got
to the inside of the crowd, I was overcome with shock by what was
before me. A woman in a pure white gown was lying there. She was
covered in deep red blood, and she bore three wounds. There were
two holes in her throat, about the diameter of a small metal
pole, and a laceration to each wrist. This was no accident. I
knew the girl well, for we had lived together for all our lives.
This girl was my sister, Rose Lovett.
Behavioral Analysis Unit
April 17, 1969
"Sara! Do you have anything on
the Pirelli case?"
The question came from Agent
Monroe, who was a veteran in the department.
"Yes, I did. He was a total
whack job! We couldn't get any valid information from him," she
called back drowsily. It was almost time to go home. One more
hour, and she could go home, sit on the couch and eat American
Cheetos for the rest of the day. She may even go and have a drink
at London's most prestigious pub, Ireland's Best. She always had
the same drink, Butterscotch Schnapps on the rocks. When people
asked her why she wouldn't order anything else, she would say,
"There's not other drink like Butterscotch Schnapps! It gives you
a twang!" and take another swig. Ah…Butterscotch
"Hey, Sara! Quit drifting to
La-La Land and get back to work!"
She snapped out of her lovely
day dream and rubbed her eyes. She had dozed off.
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to
drift off!" She faced her desk. As far as the eye could see,
there was paperwork. Her colleagues made fun of her because she
always had something to do. She never stopped working when she
was on duty. She was the hardest worker in the
Just then, she heard the slap
of a folder falling onto her desk.
"I dug up an old one for you.
You might be interested."
She looked up and saw Agent
Monroe walking away slowly, shaking his head. He had an
expression of pure and utter confusion on his face.
She shifted her eyes from him
to the folder that was just placed on her desk. It was stamped,
in black, bold lettering, with the words "COLD CASE FILE." She
inspected the amount of wear and tear done onto the case's file.
This must have been at least one hundred years ago, she thought,
and shivered. Something about this file was giving her the
chills. She flipped it open. On the inside of the cover, there
was the name of the victim and information regarding the
investigation that was carried out. She began to
Cold Case File.
Date: January 1,
She made a double-take on that
date. 1890? What was this, a newly found Jack the Ripper victim?
She looked closely at the name. Rose Lovett. The victim shared
her last name. It's probably a coincidence, she thought, and read
the rest of the case profile. The investigation was called off on
December 23, 1893, due to a lack of evidence and lack of a
suspect. According to the next file, she was approximately 26
when she died. No information regarding when she was born could
be found. She was engaged, and a newly expectant mother. She was
found dead by Elegance Portrait Studio at 12:05 AM.
That was the strange part. As
far as the investigation records went, there was no record of the
artist in charge of the studio being interviewed by the police.
It doesn't matter anyway, she thought, the guy is probably dead
by now. What were the odds of a killer that was a century old
still being alive?
"Try about zero," she mused,
and chuckled lightly. Then she became concerned. Why were they
reopening the case anyway? Did someone know
Vladimir Khrushchev stepped up to
the Table of Sins. A large, black coffin lay upon it. He sighed.
The man that lay inside this coffin was a danger to all of them,
yet he was about to free him from cursed slumber. Was it really the
right thing to do? After he had killed that girl the way he did, it
didn't seem so. The boy had brutally murdered her. It was a
bloodbath. He looked up from the coffin to see the rest of the
Coven brothers pouring in from the main hall, all ready, but
unsure, to perform the ceremony.
They lit the black candles and
laid out the cloth Pentacle. They carefully opened the casket and
laid its lid against the wall. They started with reading aloud
the Latin curse that bound him to sleep, then beginning the
age-old chant,"Arise! Arise! Arise!"
A strong aura of
dark energy could be felt immediately after they stopped
chanting. The wooden table broke, sending shards of wood flying
across the room,most of which piercedthe hearts of many of the
Coven brothers. The stench of blood filled the room quickly. The
grotesque scent was so powerful that it began to arouse a
reaction from the corpse that lay inside the coffin. It moved its
fingers and its head to the side. Vladimir, sensing the motion,
quickly shifted his eyes from the bodies to the man inside the
coffin, who was now struggling to rise and step out of the coffin
altogether. He ran to the coffin to help him. He took the boy's
weight on his shoulders and heaved. He was remarkably able,
despite his old age, to lift him out of the coffin and onto the
ground. The boy was tall, lean and pale. His black hair barely
touched his shoulders, and his eyes were the color of blood. The
women will die for him, he thought, and then he laid the boy on
the couch and waited.
Sara unclipped the
files in wonder and began to read. She didn't want to at first,
but the more she looked into the file, the more she was
intrigued. She couldn't put it down at this point. She flipped
through the files like her life depended on it, absorbing every
page. She finally made her way into the crime scene sketches.
Photographs were out of the question. This case was recorded in a
different century. What was the chance of a photograph being
The first one was a
drawing of the victim herself. She was pretty, and looked like
she was of high birth. According to her background records, she
was a duchess. The picture had been hand colored, which was very
expensive. This was another sign that she had some money in her
hands. She had fair skin and olive green eyes. Her black hair was
formed into a chignon, like she was prepared for a formal
occasion. The woman was wearing a long, very expensive-looking
white dress with lace and tulle. A wedding gown?