One Night

15:00

Clad in his navy blue kevlar, Agent Auditore tightened his grip on his Glock 17. All the leads had pointed to this exact spot, the spot which allegedly housed the Ripper. For weeks they had chased, albeit to no avail. The Ripper was like a spectre, a ghost who disappeared as quickly as he emerged - virtually traceless. But something gave this FBI operative of ten years a hunch.

"Now." Team Auditore worked like a well-oiled machine, one so swift it took less than a second for the operatives to forcefully break into and clear the house. "FBI!"

The house was old and dilapidated, isolated far into the woods. It was the perfect hideout, at least in Agent Auditore's eyes. The inside stank of old, rotting wood and the wooden floor creaked under one's weight. There was no ventilation in this place. It was claustrophobic, musty and filthy. Cobweb-covered antiques lined the shelves and a sad century-old vintage table sat in the middle of the room, its legs on the verge of giving way any moment.

"The area is clear sir. No sign of anyone," Willson, one of Auditore's men, reported. Auditore nodded in response, holstering his handgun.

"This guy..." Auditore sighed, slumping into a nearby chair, "Search the area again, both in and outside this place. I want every inch of this building combed. Every inch."

As his men flipped the place upside down, Agent Auditore stepped outside for a cigarette. He desperately needed it. It was a hot, hazy afternoon out here in the woods. The sun was cruel and unforgiving, its rays cutting through the thick canopy, burning the soil with unprecedented intensity.

Lighting his cigarette, Auditore inhaled his first breath. The nicotine worked its magic through his veins. Finding this guy was like catching lightning. He knew the possibility of finding the Ripper here was slim - but he had to take it. He had no choice. The government, the media, the higher ups were hot on his tail, unrelenting in their demand for answers. Furthermore, the bodies were piling up. Emma's death would be the third of the Ripper's unsolvable and seemingly random murders. Auditore bit hard into his cigarette at the thought of Emma.

"Three weeks, three homicides, all taking place on Wednesdays... Too much of a coincidence, sir?" Private Kelvie's squeaky voice came from behind. Agent Auditore exhaled, a puff of smoke clouding his vision. He had no intention of entertaining that brat today. "Going by that trend, it wouldn't take a genius to realise that tomorrow will be the day the Ripper claims his fourth victim, would it?" Kelvie continued. Agent Auditore remained silent, his arms akimbo.

"Another person's dying tomorrow sir," the chipmunk-like voice droned on, "and here we are, stuck." Talking to Kelvie was no better than holding a conversation with a toddler. Auditore had no interest in conversing with kids. He hated kids.

In fact, the only reason Private Kelvie was authorised to tag along was his father who coincidentally, happened to be Auditore's boss. Typical kid born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Auditore cursed under his breath, flicking his cigar into a nearby puddle.

"Wonder where the Ripper's brutality is gonna take him next!" Kelvie went on, unfazed, "Alice Chapman's 47 stab wounds, Catherine Stride's dismemberment..." Kelvie paused, gulping, "Then of course there's Emma's- "

"Don't you dare talk about Emma," Agent Auditore shot back, his hands clenched firmly into fists. Something within him snapped at the thought of Kelvie tainting Emma's name with his lips. "I've got enough food on my plate kid - and I'm not looking for an upsize."

The cigarette extinguished in the puddle, leaving behind nothing more than a thin trail of smoke.

Kelvie stood there, stunned by Auditore's aggression. "Sorry sir, I didn't..."

"Save it." Auditore approached the puddle, slightly staggering, and glanced at his own reflection. Underneath it all, it was a man helpless, confused and emotionally ripped to shreds.

--

"The chicken has a nice crisp on the outside. Visually, stunning as well!" Jeana gobbled up the remainder of her chicken thigh, "But the center could definitely have been less dry."

"You done with the Gordon Ramsay impressions Jeana?" Jane said, removing her apron. Jeana giggled, taking a sip of ice water. "You have got to stop watching your Mister Chef or whatever."

"Master Chef."

"Same thing..." Jane dragged her voice, intentionally displaying her irritation. Noticing how hot the weather was, Jane turned on the fan, wiping sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. The fan spluttered and coughed, only to return to its original state. Damn it. Jane sighed.

Just then, the door bell rang. "Dad!" Jeana sprung up, "I'll get it."

"No, you finish your chicken, let me." Jane ordered her little sister. Jeana grunted, sinking back into her seat. Brushing the crumbs off her hands, Jane approached the door. Strange, she thought to herself, no one's visited in months. I wonder who that could be?

--

"Kelvie, get our forensic specialist here," Agent Auditore suddenly yelled.

"Sir?"

"I said, get Isaac now," Agent Auditore shouted, "Are you deaf?"

Perplexed, Private Kelvie scampered off. Isaac appeared, wearing his signature fiery red cap, his camera slung around his neck.

"Isaac, when was the last time it rained around here?"

"Two days ago. What about it sir?"

"Well... Considering that latest it rained was two days ago, seems off that a puddle like this would exist," Agent Auditore crossed his arms, his eye brows furrowed. Landing on one knee, a drip of sweat trickled down his face, "In fact, considering how blazing hot the weather is and the size of this puddle... I'd say Mr Ripper wasn't here too long ago."

TO BE CONTINUED

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