You’re on vacation in England, walking the same paths which held so many of the gruesome “Jack the Ripper” murders. It’s dark in the small alleyways, too dark to see anything beyond a foot in front of you, so you flick on your flashlight. You notice, in a wall kept in impeccable shape, one brick that seems different from the uniformity of the others. Overwhelmed with curiosity, you pull out the brick, to find an old eight by four, leather-bound, diary. You dust off the cover to reveal that it was written by a girl named Haelie Dugan. You sit down, leaning against the old brick wall, and begin to read…