The London fog rolled in thick, a brush of chill fetid mist, heavy with the smell of sewage and unwashed humanity. The woman fidgeted, pulling at her gloves. She hadn't wanted to be out this late, but the flow of Johns was too steady to pass up, not when filling her belly was difficult enough most days. Still, there were rumors circling, rumors that dogged the uneven clack of her limping steps. Her nerves kept her on edge, cringing and stumbling at every noise and obscured figure that passed her in the mist. Maybe missing a few meals wasn't so bad. It beat the alternative.

She turned a corner and paused, staring into fog so thick she couldn't see more than an arm's length in front of her. In this mess, she was more likely to end up walking off the pier than make it to her room at the boarding house. It wouldn't be remiss to hunker down in an alley til morning. A stiff back and damp clothes was a pittance compared to other consequences. Mind made up, she turned and stifled a shriek as she came up against a warm solid body.

"Pardon me miss, I didn't quite see you in this ghastly fog," said a rich cultured voice. The gentleman bowed to her, putting her further at ease. "A young lady shouldn't be out this late without an escort."

"I'm no lady, sir, just a working girl," she said, straightening her skirts.

"Still, allow me to escort you home," said the gentleman, offering an arm. After a long moment of hesitation, the woman accepted. The offer made her wary but the unknown dangers waiting in the fog made her crave a measure of security, even if it came with strings attached.

"Thank sir, though I must inform you, I'm off duty," she said, trying to catch his expression but the fog and the brim of his hat hid his face.

"Oh," said the gentleman, "I am not interested in your trade. A lady shouldn't sully herself so." There was something in that silken voice that made her shiver, a promise of something dark and unpleasant that made her shiver. So distracted by her errant thoughts, she didn't notice they'd turned down a narrow alley until the gentleman stopped.

"Where-why did we stop here?" She licked her lips, her nerves suddenly taut, the foul taste of the fog bitter on her tongue.

The gentleman did not reply, stepping away from her as he raised his arm in the dark. What was that in his hand? She couldn't see–

"Ack!" The gentleman toppled over, the knife clattering over the slick cobblestones as he fell tangled in his own cape, hitting the ground face first with a crunch that made her wince.

She crouched down next to him, patting him gently as he groaned. "Damn, Rip, you okay?"

"Oh my god, cut! CUT!"

The woman pursed her lips, squinting through the fog. "Cut? Really, Jerry? This isn't a freaking movie set."

"Well, you're supposed to be more professional than those overpaid pillocks, Laura," said Jerry, flapping his hands as he tried to clear the air, only his loud Hawaiian shirt visible. "Can someone please shut off the bloody fog machine? Sounded like he broke something that time."

"Maybe if you didn't lay on the fog so thick, he could see where he was going," Laura reasoned.

"I think my nose is broke," came a muffled voice from the ground.

"It better not be," snapped Jerry. "This operation is set to go live in a week, provided you can stop tripping over your damn cape for ten minutes."

"Somebody's hopeful," said Laura in a sing song voice as she gently rolled the downed gentleman over. She hissed in sympathy, shucking her glove to prod his face. "I don't think you broke it, but let's dig the gravel out of your cheek first."

Jerry sighed, reaching down to haul the man to his feet. "Seriously, you have to be the most accident prone Ripper we've ever had. It's a miracle you haven't impaled yourself on your own knife."

Rip groaned, rubbing a hand against the crick in his neck. "It's a prop knife. Impaling myself would be quite a trick. Besides, that fog machine does lay it on rather thick, Jerry."

Jerry made a face, retreating off the edge of the cobblestones to open set. "There is nothing wrong with the stupid fog machine," he insisted, delivering a kick to its side that coughed and spat up a wad of smoke. Jerry keeled over, hacking and clutching his throat.

"You deserved that," said Laura, clambering to her feet. "Come on, Rip, let's clean you up."

"Why would a serial killer even wear a cape?" Rip muttered, testing his nose despite Laura's reassurance.

They passed the other 'ladies of the night' lounging in various states of costuming. They paused their conversation, giggling as they caught sight of Rip's face. One of them made a pouting face.

"Aw what happened? Rip the Trip strikes again?"

Rip felt his cheeks burning, a highly unpleasant sensation coupled with the scrapes he'd accumulated in his latest tumble. "Seems so," he said.

The pout flipped to an unfriendly grin. "Don't worry love, the new look is an improvement."

"Don't be a bitch, Jessica," said Laura, pulling Rip straight past the group. He didn't look at them; saying anything would only fuel them on.

"Ignore them," said Laura, guiding him to a seat by the med-kit.

"You don't have to tell me they're idiots," said Rip. He braced himself as Laura opened a couple alcohol pads, dabbing at his scrapes. It stung like the dickens.

"If you know that, then why do you let them get to you?"

"I apologize for not being immune to the beautiful mean girl. Heaven forbid I defend myself and hurt her feelings. That's when the tweet storm begins," said Rip with an exaggerated eye roll.

Laura snorted "Fair point. I don't know why Jerry hired her. She's awful off stage and worse on."

"Well, who can say no to those 'assets' of hers," drawled Rip, grunting when Laura dug a particularly stubborn piece of gravel out of his skin. "And no one can resist that sparkling wit."

Laura bit her lip to keep from laughing and swiped some neosporin across his cheek. "That harpy aside, what is with you lately? Every day, it's something. Today, we could probably get away with blaming the fog machine, but the other stuff?" She stepped back, her expression worried.

Rip gave a helpless shrug. "Maybe I'm cursed," he said.

"Very funny," said Laura, leaning forward to not to subtly sniff his breath.

Rip made a face. "I'm not drunk, woman."

She reached up to tweak his nose. "Just checking."

"Uh, would you like to get a drink, maybe, after work?" Rip swallowed. "Maybe?"

Laura folded her arms, nibbling on her lip. "Well, aren't you slick?" She shook her head, patting his knee. "Unfortunately, I have another gig tonight."

Rip's eyes widened. "But that wasn't a no."

She replied with a small smile. "That wasn't a no." She walked away, a small saunter in her steps that brought a smile to his face until she reached Jessica and her cronies. He couldn't hear the exchange of words but it ended with Laura shoving the bitch off her perch with one hand. Rip sighed. He'd marry that woman.

Stretching on his feet, he tried to ignore the various twinges and aches. He was only half kidding when he told Laura about the curse. There was something about this whole job that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end every time he stepped on set. If it wasn't for the steady paycheck and Laura, he'd be gone by now. His shoulders twitched. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to chase away the sensation of being watched. It refused to go away, even after the harpies left, and Jerry closed down the set. The sensation kept up until Rip shrugged on his jacket and headed out. Even then, as he headed toward the local pub, he couldn't quite shake the feeling of someone watch him.

***

"So let me get this straight, you're a guy named Rip hired to play the Ripper?"

"Yes! That's me!" Rip lifted his glass, grinning at the blonde keeping him company. Sure, she was no Laura, but he was three beers in and his gauge was a little skewed. She was certainly dressed nice. "Those real leather?" He nodded to her thigh highs.

"You could check the label if you want," she said, placing a hand on his thigh. Rip frowned at the hand, not because the attention was unwanted, but because he knew he wasn't nearly attractive enough to warrant such a gesture.

"Did I mention I'm a reenactment actor?"

The blonde laughed, removing her hand from his leg. "Point taken." She sighed fluffing her hair. "Pickings are slim here tonight."

Rip nodded, silently mourning the loss of her warmth while he marveled at his proximity to a real life prostitute. Or were his signals mixed? She could just be friendly and forward. Maybe he could-NO! No, he was close to making headway with Laura. Now was not the time for random drunken hookups or being arrested for transactions with possible prostitute. Though, she did look lonely. As lonely as he felt most nights at the bar. He sat for a moment, watching her scan the crowd as he sipped his beer at a loss of what to say. "You bored?"

She raised a brow. "Do I look bored, hunny?"

He shrugged. "Could be," he said, ignoring the slur to his words and the alarmed inner voice that piped up. "You like Halloween?"

The blonde chuckled. "Favorite holiday."

"Want to come see the set?" The words tumbled out of his mouth despite inner Rip screaming in his head to pump the breaks.

The blonde rested her chin on the heel of her hand, considering him. "What exactly are you expecting to happen on your set? Plan to show me to your trailer?"

"No sexy time," said Rip, the inner voice slumping in relief. "Just a tour."

"Why?"

Another shrug. "Donno, you look like you could use a break, is all."

"I can't decide if that is an insult or the smoothest line I've ever heard," said the blonde.

"Can we go with the latter?"

She laughed. It was a nice laugh. It blotted out the inner voice that told him to stop hitting on possible hookers and go sleep off the fuzzy feeling in his head. Rip drained the rest of his brew and grabbed his keys.

"Come on. I'll give you a free tour of Ripper Street."

***

"Wow, they really went all out with this," said the blonde. He swore her name with Brie or Brittany. Maybe Beth. There was definitely a 'B' in it. He tested a few names on his tongue before he realized she was staring at him. He'd taken too long to answer. Dammit!

"Yes!" He said, far too loud, wincing at the internal slap inside his head. He should have taken the advice of inner Rip and gone home to sleep. "Yes, it's all professional like. You should see the costumes and props."

Brie/ Brittany/ Beth grinned. "Oooo, can I see your Ripper blade?" She added a little shimmy of her hips that temporarily short circuited Inner Rip.

"Oh yeah, everybody wants to see the blade," he said, waggling his eyebrows in what he prayed was a suggestive manner. He reached into the props cabinet, retrieving the Ripper knife. He withdrew it with a flourish, tossing it from hand to hand with more dexterity than he'd managed to muster in days. Maybe he should come to work drunk.

"That certainly looks sharp," said Brie/ Brittany/ Beth, her eyes following the flashing knife.

"Yeah, but's fake," he said, emphasizing the point by 'stabbing' himself in the chest. The blade retracted into the handle with a muted click.

"Ha! Can I see it?"

He handed it over. Brie/ Brittany/ Beth slashed the air in mock psychopath fashion. He watched her for a moment in drunken bemusement before the crawling sensation of unseen eyes swamped him. He shuddered, hunching his shoulders as he looked around. Was there someone else here? He wasn't supposed to bring anyone here that wasn't on staff. He definitely couldn't afford to lose this gig.

"Alright, hand it over. Jerry might murder me if I lose any of the props."

"Nooo, I wanna play some more! Come get me!" Brie/ Brittany/ Beth taunted, skipping backwards, her smudged coral lips in a 'come hither' grin.

Rip groaned. "I'm far too drunk for this," he grumbled.

"That sounds like a 'you' problem," she teased, brandishing the blade between her fingertips as she stepped back onto the fog laden set.

Wait, his booze soaked mind burbled, squinting into the fog. Why was there fog? The fog machine was off. He glanced at it just as Brie/ Brittany/ Beth pitched forward with a startled scream. Rip stumbled forward, wondering what she stumbled on when the fog gusts away to reveal her mangled body, limbs akimbo, knife in her gut. Blood gushed from the wound, filling the deep furrows between the cobblestones with thick glittering red liquid.

Rip made a horrified sound, falling to his knees as he reached to feel for a pulse. "B-b-but it was a prop knife." His shaking hand touched her neck, still warm. The blood had reached his jeans, seeping into the fabric with the same cold unpleasant gel feeling he got from the prop blood. "Wait a min--"

Brie/ Brittany/ Beth pivoted up off the ground. "Boo!"

Rip shrieked and fell backward. He lay there for a moment, listening to Brie/ Brittany/ Beth's cackling. It wasn't his manliest of moments. The foul taste of regret burbled in his throat, or the beer was coming back up. That wouldn't gain him any points on the man card. He stayed on the ground, stalling the inevitable.

"Where did the blood come from?"

Brie/ Brittany/ Beth shrugged. "Grabbed a packet when you were looking around like a loon. It's like one in the morning, no one's here Casanova." She ran her tongue on her teeth, twirling the bloodied prop knife between her fingers. "For a Ripper, you're quite the scaredy cat."

"In reality, I'm a puppy," said Rip.

"So, you're a dog?"

Rip flapped a hand at her, regretting the movement as his stomach rolled. "Stop twisting my words when I can't defend myself, woman."

"Uh oh, someone can't hold his drink," said the devilish woman in a sing song voice, nudging him with her boot. "What shall I do to you now?"

"I--" Rip stopped frowning. There was that awful creepy crawly feeling again. He craned his neck, twisting on his back as he looked around. Was it his imagination or did the fog look thicker? The fake blood had congealed against his back in sticky gel that pulled at his clothes.

"What are you doing? I told you there's no one here."

"I feel like someone's watching--"

There was a whoosh, accompanied by a high pitched metallic whine. Rip turned just as Brie/ Brittany/ Beth split in half, lengthwise, dousing him in a gout of very real, very warm blood. He shrieked and sputtered, scuttling backward as her viscera spilled over the fake street. Rip stared, too shocked to do more than whimper at the real intestines glistening in the fog. Without preamble, he turned his head and threw up. Not much point to keeping it in now. The thought was enough for eerily calm inner Rip to assess the situation. It didn't look any better with a calm eye.

"What the fu-"

Something slammed into the back of his head, sending Rip sprawling into his own vomit, old cold.

***

Rip was not in a good place.

The smell told him that much, a putrid mix of stale vomit, sticky sweet corn syrup, and something coppery, like old pennies. He groaned and opened his eyes, immediately shutting them against the great evil of sunlight. The damage was done. The lurking hangover rose with a vengeance, a mallet pounding against his temples while the sour aftertaste of bile coated his tongue.

"I'm never drinking again." He attempted to sit up, a no go. Nope noppity nope nope. After taking a deep breath for strength, Rip rolled off his floor mattress, inch worming his way to the bathroom where he paused, face to the blessedly cool tile floor. He could have stayed there for hours if not for the alarming prospect of being late for work and the ungodly smell wafting off him. He detected a hint of urine. Had he gotten so drunk he pissed himself? His memories of last night were fuzzed out like pay per view static. Where did he go last night? How the heck did he get home like this? Why was he sticky? These were the big questions.

It hurt too much to open his eyes, so he peeled off his clothes with them shut. Shower first answers later.

Rip gracefully flopped into the tub and fondling the handle for a few long lonely minutes, the water snapped on, dousing him in cold water that gradually sputtered lukewarm. He stood under the stream, squeezing half a bottle of body wash on his head. It wasn't until he was swabbing himself down he found the lump on the back of his head. He prodded the tender area, his thoughts dimly circling until the previous night started to detangle from the fuzz.

"Ohhhh," he moaned softly. "I am so fired."

***

"Where the hell have you been?" Jerry threw a top hat at his chest. "You were supposed to be in costuming half an hour ago. Don't make me take it out of your pay."

Rip was too busy staring at the cobblestones to mind the threat, the shiny, wet cobblestones, complete with a 'Caution, slippery when wet' sign.

"What happened?" He couldn't take his eyes off the ground, searching for something, anything to mark what happened last night.

"Some vandals broke in last night and had fun with the props. Fake blood all over the place. Little assholes."

"You sure it was fake?" The question was out before he thought better of it, still too hungover to filter himself.

Jerry gave him a funny look. "Yeah, Rip, nobody got murdered. It was just a pain in the ass for the janitorial staff to come in this early. Now get to costuming. We're waiting on you."

Rip shuffled off, his mind churning. Maybe he'd imagined the whole thing. He was pretty wasted last night. Maybe he was the little asshole who'd come in and spurted fake blood everywhere. Did he hallucinate Brie/ Brittany/ Beth in his drunken state as well? He didn't even really like blondes.

The sensation of being watched spiked. Rip shuddered, jerking around to see if anyone was watching him, the consequence being he wasn't watching where he was going and slammed into Jessica.

"What the hell! Watch where you're going, jackass," she wheeled back with a disgusted sneer on her face, flicking her blonde hair over her shoulder. Nope, he wasn't fond of blondes at all. "God, did you sleep in a sewer? You give up on hygiene now? I refuse to work with someone who smells like an open dumpster. "

Rip's apology fizzled. "Classy Jessica. I showered before coming here."

"Oh, my bad. I was still remembering how you stank last night," said Jessica. She started to move off with a satisfied mean girl smirk but Rip caught her fast.

"You know what happened last night?" He asked, half horrified, half curious at the prospect.

"You mean how you left the bar with that skank Bianca?"

Bianca! He knew it was a 'B' name! He shook his head hard, realizing that was not the important detail here. "I did hang out with her last night."

"Figures the only way you'd get sex is by paying for it, or a pity lay," said Jessica, tilting her head as she smiled up at him. His fingers twitched with the urge to punch something, a wall, her face, anything at arm's length. Rip was possibly seconds from truly getting himself fired when Laura materialized next to him, her hand on his arm dispelling the red haze over his vision.

"Don't you have a broom to fly off on?" She snapped at Jessica, tugging him away before things got ugly. Or uglier. Rip let her lead him off, stealing a final glance at the wet stones as Laura pulled him into the costuming area, stopping by his station.

Before he could thank her for the invention, she turned to him. "Did you really hook up with a prostitute last night?" She blurted, pressing her hands to her cheeks to hide the blush.

"What? No," said Rip, suiting up. "I did drink too much if you're wondering but no, I didn't sleep with her."

"How can you be sure if you were so drunk?" Laura deadpanned with her hands on her hips.

"Because I'm waiting for someone else," said Rip, high fiving his inner self as she averted her eyes and blushed harder. She dug him. He might have started the day covered in vomit and fake/ real blood but things were coming up Rip. "We just hung out. She looked lonely, like she could use someone to talk to." Right before she was possibly split in half? His stomach clenched at the memory. Or was it some drunken nightmare he got from working in this creepy place.

"That's so sweet," said Laura, reaching out to set his top hat at a jaunty angle. "You have a good heart, Rip."

"I am sweet, like pie. Want to go out for some after work?"

Laura laughed. "Never give up do you?"

"I've never gotten a rejection. Though I don't mind the tease. Gives me hope," said Rip.

Laura laid a hand on his arm. "I would, but I do have plans for tonight," she said, a tinge of regret in her voice.

"Well how bout lunch then?"

She smiled, squinting at him. "We eat lunch on set."

"No reason we can't eat together."

Laura laughed. "Fine, lunch it is. Can't wait, I missed breakfast with all the excitement this morning."

Rip raised his brow. "The vandalism? You saw it?"

"First one here. Had to call in Jerry and the janitorial crew to help clean it up."

"Uh, anything seem off about it to you?"

Laura frowned. "Off? Well, one of them drew a dickbutt with the fake blood."

Rip felt a twitch in his eye. "Those hooligans."

"I know right? See you at lunch!"

***

By lunch, Rip was convinced he had imagined the whole episode, ready to write it off to bad beer and too many hours in costume except for one niggling detail.

"Did you know Bianca?" Rip asked Laura over a bag of chips.

"Who?"

"The hooker slash not hooker I was with last night. Jessica knew her."

Laura shrugged. "I'm usually busy most night so I don't know the locals like she does. What about it?"

"It's nothing," said Rip, popping a chip in his mouth. "Tell me something I don't know about you."

"Oh we are playing that game are we?"

"We are so playing that game. Come on, Miss Laura, confession time!"

She grinned around a chip. "Well, for one, my real name isn't Laura."

"Oh, scandalous," said Rip, making his eyebrows dance. "What is it? Do you have an 'stern librarian' name like Maude or Francine?"

She laughed. "Stern librarian? No, guess!"

"Oh come on, at least give me a hint," said Rip with a pout.

"Fine, it starts with 'J'," she said, nudging him with her shoulder.

"Ooo, is it exotic like Jasmine?"

"Nope! Guess again."

"Judy?"

"Nope."

"Jessica?"

"Yeah, no, ugh."

"Oh, thank god," said Rip, wiping his brow. "That would give me all sorts of confusing feelings."

"Ha, pause the guessing for a moment. It's your turn. Tell me something about you?"

"I am an absolute wuss when it comes to horror movies."

"What? No!" Laura laughed.

"I am. Can't even watch Fright Night without all the lights on."

"Wait, the new one or the original?"

"Pfft do I look like uncultured swine to you? The original, obviously," said Rip.

"Damn straight," said Laura, munching on a chip. "Can't do the gore, huh, Mr. Rip the Ripper?"

"I get all faint and wobbly at the sight of blood and everything," he said.

"Is that why you've been so odd on set?"

"No, I know that stuff is fake. Needs to be the real deal or no go," said Rip, rubbing the back of his neck. "About that. I don't know what it is about this set but I keep getting this, I don't know, feeling someone or something is watching me."

"If anyone's watching you, they are waiting for you to screw up ," drawled Jessica, reaching between them to steal a handful of chips. "And who cares if 'Laura' isn't her real name. Nobody uses their real name in acting. You think my real name is Jessica?"

Laura opened her mouth, clearly ready to rip into her. They were having such a nice time, too. "Well what is it then?" Rip piped up, popping a chip into his mouth and crunching it with exaggerated gusto.

"Wouldn't you---*crunch*---like ---*crunch*---to know?" Jessica glared at him. Laura barely stifled a snicker. "God, you ---*crunch*---are such ---*crunch*---a loser!"

"If we are such losers why are you here? Aren't you afraid we shall infect you with our loserishness?" Rip punctuated his question with another chip, holding it in his mouth as he waited for her response. She could tell too, sneering at him and stomping off with a huff.

Laura shook her head as Jessica left, her expression torn between anger and exasperation. "I don't understand why she has to be such a bully to you."

Rip offered her the bag of chips, refusing to let Jessica sour the mood. "Don't know, don't care. She can't touch me in my happy place."

"Happy place?"

"Yeah, hanging out with you," said Rip.

A bemused smile lit her face as she took another chip.

"Now, where were we," said Rip. "Is it Judy?"

Laura reached over to clasp his hand, careful not to touch his costume pants with her greasy chip covered fingers. "There's a bakery around the corner open late. I think I have enough time after work to nab a pastry and coffee with you."

"I'd like that," said Rip, soaking in the moment. His nightmare of the cleaved Bianca was forgotten, a drunken flight of fancy. He couldn't sense the creepy unseen eyes either. It was just him and Laura. Nothing could beat this. Nothing.

***

They talked whenever they were on break. Something that might normally irritate Jerry, but for the first time in weeks, Rip didn't trip, or walk into any low walls, or drop his props in the fog. Everyone's performance was smooth, right up until it was Jessica's turn to be the victim in distress.

"Jessica, it's supposed to be a blood curdling scream, not a cat in heat," sniped Jerry.

"My scream is on point, Jerry. I am classically trained. Not my fault you don't recognize true theatrics when you see them."

Jerry clearly had had enough. He sucked on his teeth with a loud 'tch'. "Well, you can take your caterwauling and crawl back to whatever theater study group spat you out."

Jessica looked like she had been slapped. "Are you-- are you firing me?"

"Your understudy is ready to go, and far more cooperative," said Jerry, 'clear out your locker by the end of the day."

Jessica sniffed. "I don't need this glorified larping on my resume, but you'll regret this."

"Ooo, see me shaking in my knock off raybans. Get your shit and go, Jess," said Jerry. "Someone get Amy, let's reset the scene and get another set in before we call it."

The day just got better and better. Rip and Laura shared a good laugh over a couple brownies and French roasted coffee.

"Did you see her face when he told her to get her shit and go? I thought she was going to pop a blood vessel," Laura crowed.

"Yes, it was a perfect serving of karma," said Rip.

Her expression turned somber as she run her thumb around the rim of her coffee cup. "She deserves so much worse."

"Maybe, but least she's gone," said Rip.

"She's probably still on set, packing up all her junk," said Laura, looking at her watch. "I need to jet."

"Shame. That brownie is calling your name."

She grinned. "You'll have to eat it for me. Just try not to overdue the sweets. Last thing you need is a sugar induced nightmare of a bisected Jessica." She leaned over, the gesture sweet and hesitant. Rip met her halfway, with a kiss that tasted like coffee and sticky buns and lingered a little longer than expected. Laura pulled away, straightening her blouse as Rip sat back with a silly grin.

"Maybe we can catch a dinner this week," said Rip, "On a night you aren't busy."

"That would be...nice."

He watched her leave, still tingling and gooey inside as he took another sip of coffee. It was in that moment of bliss that inner Rip raised a point that sent the coffee into his lap.

He never shared his supposed nightmare with Laura. And he certainly never shared how Bianca died. Goosebumps crawled up his neck as the feeling of being watched cranked up to a solid ten.

Rip jumped up from his chair, bolting out the door in a mad dash for the Ripper Street set.

***

Rip wasn't sure what he would find when he got to the set, but he knew what he expected. Unfortunately, his expectations were null since the entire set was obscured in thick billowing fog. He was going to take a baseball bat to that bloody fog machine if it was the last thing he did on this earth, which it might be if his suspicions were correct. He hoped they weren't. He prayed they weren't. He hadn't had much luck with women, but murderous secret psychopath took the cake.

"Hello?" He kept his voice at stage whisper volume, trying to peer through the swirling mist. "Jessica? Are you here?"

"Rip?" Jessica had no such volume control. "What are you doing here? Why is the damn fog machine going? Is this some kind of sick joke?"

"Would you just shut up and come here!" He had to get her out of here. The sensation of being watched had returned and for the first time, Rip had an inkling of who it was.

"Like hell. Get away from me. You think that creepy Ripper outfit scares me. I will report your ass for harassment," Jessica shouted at him, except... Rip looked down at his jeans and polo.

"Jessica, I'm not in the Ripper outfit. Where are you?" He swatted at the fog, stumbling forward. He couldn't let Jessica die. Right? That was wrong. No matter how awful she was.

Would it really be so bad? Inner Rip gave him pause. Why was he even considering this?

"Yeah, right, funny. Put the freaking cleaver down. You want to play this game? I will ruin you. You won't be able to get a gig as a birthday party clown when I'm done with you."

Cleaver? Oh, damn. Rip scrambled forward, pinwheeling his arms until he hit a solid figure in the fog.

The figure turned out to be Jessica, who tumbled forward with the wind knocked out of her, buried under her own belongings. Rip looked up at the menacing shadowy Ripper hovering in front of them, a wicked cleaver raised overhead.

"Laura wait!" He held up his hands, flinching back with his eyes shut. When he realized he wasn't sliced open from nostril to navel, he peeked under his arm at her. She stood, waiting. Crap, he didn't really have a follow up plan from here. He thought about saying the usual lines of 'This isn't you' or 'You're better than this' but really, what did he know about her. He liked her. More than liked her, but he didn't even know her real name. In that get up, he could almost convince himself it wasn't really her, but she had frozen at her name, confirming all his worst suspicions. He glanced down at Jessica, who was attempting to untangle herself from her pile of stuff. Jessica would never let this go. In some ways he knew Jess better than he knew Laura. Jessica was the type of woman who would burn and salt the earth. And Laura? Well, it was obvious how she dealt with issues, wasn't it?

He frowned at her, lowering his hands to put his fists on his hips. "Why did you kill Bianca?"

The Laura Ripper slumped. "I was jealous."

Rip blinked. "Jealous?" Despite the gravity of the moment, he grinned, placing a hand on his chest. "Of her with me? But we didn't do anything together."

Laura cringed. "I know that now, but you didn't know Bianca. She would've taken advantage of you, all drunk and helpless."

"You were protecting me?"

Laura sniffled. "From the moment I met you."

Rip placed a hand on her shoulder. "To be honest, I am both flattered and terrified. And a little turned on."

"Oh my god, you really are freaks," moaned Jessica, crawling out from beneath her bags. "You're both going to jail. Or the nut house. Lock you freaking crazies up." She started to crawl away through the fog, giving Rip a moment of internal contemplation. Crazy or not, Laura was still the best almost girlfriend he'd ever had.

"You know, there is this great breakfast place that opens early. You'll love their omelettes."

Laura tilted her head, the top hat at an adorable jaunty angle. "Breakfast? But you--what do you--"

He tucked his fingers under her chin. "Breakfast. We'll both be pretty hungry after the clean up." His romantic sensibilities either had the worst timing or the best. It beat being alone. The tension went out of her as she leaned into his hand.

"It's Jacqueline, by the way," she said. Her cape lifted in a perfect furl as she turned to stalk Jessica in the fog. He couldn't have managed better.

He grinned. "Jack and Rip. What a pair."

---

Kristin, or (krazydiamond), is a wattpad star, engagement ambassador, and mother of two. When she is not writing, she is corralling gremlins and chasing plot bunnies. She is the author of Marrow Charm, Zombies vs Aliens, and other works that walk a fine line between grim and silly.