The First Murder

He was relaxed in his house, on his bed. No news of any murder made him feel relieved the most. But the sudden ringing of the telephone had dragged him out of his sleep as he urged sleeping more. The alcohol he had consumed last night took over his entire head, making him feel the worst headache of all time.

Covering his ears with the pillow or embedding his head into the mattress didn't aid. There was only one solution. To pick up the ringing telephone, which was in the hall of his one-room apartment.

"Ugh!" he groaned in frustration as he yawned and got out of his bed. The bedcover was now on the floor as it got untangled while he walked out.

The telephone was still ringing...

Which made him wonder who had this urge of talking to him suddenly in the morning. As he picked the handset of his ordinary-looking black and gold telephone up and took it near his ear, he was astonished to hear what the other side said to him.

"They have reported a murder we need you there..."

This sentence wasn't a lot of detail to surprise him as a detective. But as he heard this, a newspaper slid under his door showing the front page written in huge fonts with black ink. His green eyes went dull and his face went pale as his eyes read in silence,

"The Whitechapel Murderer Has Returned."

"Flynn, are you listening? Are you there?" The voice kept asking him while he just kept staring at the newspaper, which was lying near his feet.

He gulped…

His hands shivered. "I-" he paused, realising that his breath had gotten hitched by this sudden incident and so he inhaled and exhaled deeply.

Five years didn't sound much long if you were not spending it in a corner of a prison cell. Flynn had lost everything while solving these type of cases. He was scared to step into the marsh again which had swallowed him once.

"I will be there..." He kept the handset on the holder and slowly picked up the newspaper.

Unfolding it, he read the small fonts underneath that huge flashy headline.

"A woman's body was found under a bridge. The way she has been murdered dates back to those times when Whitechapel was in the terror of Jack the ripper. The same method used, is making the residents living there frightened to death. Who knows, who is his next target?..."

The entire article said.

He looked at the old wooden main door of his house and he determined, "I have to go."

~~~~~

Hebrew got out of the taxi as he gave the fare. His steps hurried towards the police station as he kept looking for Mr Winchester. He couldn't be found anywhere. Instead, Hebrew could see the other police officers working under Winchester, running here and there in the police station.

Several telephones were ringing as everyone tried to reach out for them. It was a lot of chaos inside here and was created by someone who no one knew where lived.

"Mr Flynn Hebrew!" Someone tapped Hebrew's shoulder.

"Good morning Mr Flynn, you are here," She gradually lifted her head and raised her eyebrows.

"To meet Mr Winchester." He completed, and she nodded with a smile.

"Come with me then," she said and walked ahead of him.

"Inside," she said while leading him in.

Hebrew nodded, and she smiled as he went inside.

Hebrew could now see Mr Winchester's back. He was wearing his usual police uniform, standing near a red soft board that had multiple pins on it. Some of them were photos or newspaper clips or even writings of his own. Hebrew kept looking at him as Winchester scratched the back of his bald head.

The cabin was well furnished. With a window on the left making the whole room glow and a well-polished wooden shelf full of files and documents. The other side had a brown sofa with a small tea table, probably to give better services to nobles. In the middle of the room was Winchester's desk, with some files on it and a half-filled teacup.

"Ahem!" Hebrew cleared his throat, and Winchester turned around abruptly.

"Flynn?!" He was surprised and delighted to see him.

He pulled his chair out, and before sitting he offered Hebrew a seat in front of him too.

"Sit, sit...it has been a long time since I've seen you."

Hebrew pulled his hat down from his head and placed it on the desk as he pulled a chair out too.

"I had no reason to visit you." Hebrew sounded somewhat rude.

He sat down upright, looking straight into Winchester's light blue eyes. winchester was pale as usual but this time his uneven half-grown beard was white too, making Hebrew wonder if it'd really been a long time since they met or he got older in a really short period.

"How have you been?" Winchester asked, as he opened one of the side drawers of his desk and searched for something in it.

"Just earning somehow," Hebrew said honestly, without showing much of his expressions.

Winchester looked at Hebrew and said, "I know it's been hard for you ever since your last case, but I would like you to be on this case. It is time now, bud!" He took out a blue file from the drawer and placed it over the desk, pressing it towards Hebrew.

Hebrew took it in his hands and opened it gradually. Many things were there. Some photos of the victim taken from different angles, with a small description of her whereabouts. He had observed up to this much when Mr Winchester interrupted.

"Would you like to have something? It is cold out there so...a coffee might work I guess?" He looked at him being unsure.

Hebrew glanced at Winchester for a moment and smiled slightly, looking down, the other.

"Tell me more," Hebrew demanded. He kept reading the small description of the blue file in his hands.

"Till now, you must have heard from the news, people are calling the murderer the second Jack the Ripper. I'm afraid how this will end. The woman was murdered the same as he did it, slit straight from the neck down the abdomen."

He scratched his visage and added, "But the thing unique here is neither she was a prostitute nor any of her organs were taken away."

"He...has his own ways," Hebrew concluded.

"Maybe." Winchester stretched back in his chair and supported his head with both of his arms.

"More like, inspired by Jack the ripper." He looked at the ceiling.

Hebrew smirked as he looked at the photograph of a small note written from the blood which he concluded is of the victim. There's only one sentence written on it and it made him smirk even more.

He stood up. His eyes were stuck on that note. Mr Winchester looked at him and stood up, too.

"So what do you think?"

"I never expected this," he mumbled, inaudible to Winchester.

"It's time for you to brush the dirt off from your skills." Winchester looked at him with hopes in his eyes.

Hebrew looked up at him and thumped down the photograph of the note. With determination and confidence, he claimed, "My skills never had dirt upon them."

The note read, "You can never find me just like him."