Phenomenon: Enter The Ripper

Sylvan was meant to spend the rest of the dreary day looming like a sophisticated parasite. Tailored in his worn clothing, he stood across the street from where officials operated their protocols into the afternoon. The shop behind him occasionally made itself known through customers sidling by his pacing form. It presented the smell of freshly baked bread and even greeted him with the portly figure of its proprietor, very put off that Sylvan had taken up pacing in front of his business. 

After Sylvan had denied a free roll baked fresh that morning by the man's wife in exchange for his finding a nice, damp bench to sit on as the owner suggested, the man pounded his heavy hooves inside. Darwin stumbled to explain as Sylvan continued his pacing and his glaring.

He marked the target of Inspector Frederick Abberline who paced, growled, and howled vicious words across the small road. He would sense Sylvan still watched him.  Sylvan waved once or twice when Frederick shoved at one of his assistants an abrupt order to "find something this instant" as if they could conjure evidence out of thin air. Sylvan waved for that was almost entirely what he could do. Even though Abberline cast the darkest glares, there was no ordinance in London that restricted him from simply loitering near a crime scene, as long as he stayed out of the way.

It was Darwin who inconvenienced him and lent some support to the fidgety inspector.

"I hope you don't mind this matter sir." Darwin projected from his seat in the carriage the two had grabbed at the corner. They traveled through the rest of Whitechapel until they reached a familiar setting. Sylvan sighed at the cathedral's familiarity as Darwin removed a few coins for the drive. 

The foolish man insisted on taking a portion of his wages immediately to the church's priest the moment Sylvan gave him his due. It furrowed Sylvan's brow, but Darwin had proven to be simple and obedient.  No more did Sylvan try to object to the man's expensive faith.

"No need to come with me sir. I'll return shortly." The man seemed to quiver more beneath the church's pressuring shadow.

"Give your priest my regards." Sylvan snaked a smile over his lips. He spied the religious icon already waiting on the stoop of the grimy institution, measuring the seconds with a tapping shoe. The tiny man scampered away, only to further drown in the blackness of the priest's shadows. Sylvan could only watch for so long Darwin's praying hand grind the brim of his bowler hat, something he removed in the presence of the red-faced priest pleading assertively for an increase in Darwin's generosity. For God.

St. Aloysius Church was nestled in a grim twilight. Sylvan's day had gone through little light changes and without a watch; he was forced to observe the hands of the cathedral's clock tower. The sixth hour of the evening was beginning and what plagued his mind was returning to the scene of the woman's slaughter.Her body would have been immediately removed, destroying valuable pieces of evidence as well as the perfect situation that allowed him to work his magical ways in secret.

Sylvan needed to return. The knowledge he possessed demanded his presence be removed from the church's shadow and placed back in the darkened courtyard. The lady's essence and that of her assailants could only be conjured for a short while. Otherwise, it would be very difficult, even for him, to conjure them again.

Sylvan stood quietly on the curb. He wavered slightly and touched his cold fingers to his forehead. His days always seemed longer when he reached beyond the curtain of death to grab back a spirit, if only for a short while. He had grown used to it, but never did training perfect every consequence. His mind groaned, but it would never release the imagery of the scene:

One dead lady shattering the stability of his mind…the position of the body… the savagery of the wound… the ordinary responses given by the mobile mouth of the dead… striking him too close…

It was that image that agitated him, more than watching the dominant priest make Darwin tremble. He imagined what the lady had said about her final client.  She had said nothing.

Yet, fate had twisted Abberline suddenly into existence just before she was to reveal him. Whatever it was making Sylvan feel so affected, it had been in her eyes. Before falling gray and shut beneath his swift spell, they had glinted with silver. A silver fear, utter and dire.

Rats squeaking beneath the small silence of the narrow London lane brought Sylvan's mind quiet. It was a passive ability he had learned some years ago. His senses sensed obscure things whenever they chose; a side-effect of a spell he once miscast he supposed. Squeaking exceptionally louder at that moment, the rodent underlings that in some way empowered the grim of London to grow beckoned him. They seemed to gnaw at his ears and brought him away from the darkened church.

At its side was a narrow alley. It crept back like most did, diving into realms of filth and debauchery. It enticed Sylvan for the shade of this alley descended from a church's steeple and he thought the good priest would have tried to keep them clean. The rats squeaked incessantly until he heard a sultry whisper:

"Let me make your wildest fantasies come true."

Creeping with effortless silence, he peered and searched the shadows for the presence. A cold wind brushed over his spine and made his rigid form shake.  He curled his fingers and cracked the freezing joints.

The glint of silver triggered an incitement. Light was suddenly brought into Sylvan's eyes. There, standing just before him, a dark shadow held a beautiful wench, its arm drawn tightly over her ruby lips and neck. She did not scream.