*** Bear with me I like to publish chapters that may not yet be complete***

Merrideth Stevens was a history professor at Oxford University. She specialized in the philosophy and ideology of ancient pagan societies. She wore a silver cross around her neck, although she was hardly religious herself. Her raven hair was neatly tied with a blue silk ribbon, and hung just below her shoulders. She had high cheekbones that gave a slightly angular look to her almond shaped face, her green eyes shining bright behind her "pince-nez" glasses. She wore a white high necked blouse with a vertical strip of lace on each side of the buttons and a grey speckled floor length wool skirt with black high button leather shoes.

She sat in her office behind a large oak desk with an inlaid leather writing surface. It had an intricately carved knot work pattern carved onto each drawer with round brass knobs on each of them. A brass desk set with pen holder and glass inkwell was to her right. It bore an ornate scroll design with raised carvings including berries, a butterfly and foliage and sat on four slightly raised feet. Behind her, against the wall was a breakfront bookcase with an open top made from hand crafted flame mahogany. Its shelves were lined with books. It stood eight feet tall and almost reached the ceiling. Below the books there were four cabinets where she kept scrolls and other unbound texts. As she paged though a book of old Irish legends, there came a knock on her office door.

The door creaked open slowly and a head peered in "Professor Stevens?" came the tiny voice of a young man.

"Yes, Wesley, can I help you?" Merrideth replied.

"Professor, have you seen the newspaper?" he said as he waived a copy of The Oxford Gazette in front of him. "There is a story about a woman that was murdered in a brutally vicious way near Ashton. The body was found in the foothills of the Pennines by the constable of the town and several other men about a week ago. They were unable to conduct a proper investigation because of the late hour, but when they went back to the scene in the morning the body was gone."

Merrideth reached out and took the newspaper from him. She skimmed the story quickly her eyes darting left and right. Her mouth became crooked at the description of the crime. Suddenly her eyes became wide as she glanced over part of the story.

"I must get to Ashton-under Lyne immediately." she said "I think I may be of some use. Wesley, please hurry and make the travel arrangements. I must pack and be on my way."

She hurriedly got up from her desk and rushed towards the door. She made her way quickly through the halls trying to avoid being stopped and dragged into a conversation. She made it out of the door and down the front steps and began to run back to her flat on campus. She fumbled for her keys and opened the door.

Her apartment, unlike her office was slightly cluttered. It had a small sitting room with a red velvet cameo couch with a walnut wood lacquered frame. A small kitchen nook with a six-plate cast iron stove. To the left of the stove there was a door which lead into the bedroom which she reached in haste.

From the closet she removed a small brown canvas suitcase with a leather covered handle. It had brass locking mechanisms and protruding brass rivets on the top and bottom of the case. It was trimmed with brown leather and had reinforced metal corners. She began to pack. The suitcase was lined with a canvas interior, with two straps of leather and metal buckle.

When she finished packing she grabbed her coat from a stand just behind the door. She locked the door and rushed back to her office. There she found Wesley waiting with a ticket for the next coach leaving for Manchester.

Wesley accompanied her to the livery and helped her get into the coach; handing her suitcase to the footman, who in turn placed it in the luggage rack atop the roof. It was a simple coach, painted black with gold trim and wooden wheels; the rear wheels larger than the front. It was suspended on new elliptical springs for added comfort as the journey would take five days to reach Manchester.

The coach was pulled by a team of four black horses. The driver was dressed in a long wool coat that hung to the tops of his black leather boots. His grey and black scarf was well framed by the lapels of the coat.

"YA!" the driver yelled to his team, breaking the air with the crack of his whip. The coach lurched forward and they were on their way.

As she rode she went over the newspaper article many times, committing the story to memory. The story of the poor girl's murder reminded her of the ancient punishments that took place during first century Britain, in the time of Queen Boudica of the Iceni who was known for her uprising against the Roman invasion of Britain.

Merrideth, also thought about the other cruel, yet creative torture and execution methods that had been deployed throughout the centuries, she thought of everything from hanging, to the rack, to victims being drawn and quartered. These things made her stomach turn slightly, but they also excited her a little.

As the light began to fade she folded up the newspaper and placed it in her jacket. The ride had been smooth thus far and she began to drift off to sleep.

Behind her closed eyes she dreamed of the murder, with herself taking the place of the slain girl. Her body shuddered as she imagined being nailed to the cross and struggling to free herself as she was raised into place. She saw a knife, wielded by a disembodied hand as it was driven into her belly. A gasp escaped from her lips as the knife was drawn slowly upward spilling her entrails out of her limp form. She gaped, dumbstruck at her invisible assailant unable to give up her last breath all she could hear was the malevolent laughter of the killer ringing in her ears.

She woke in a cold sweat and wrapped a blanket from a compartment over her head around herself. It was not the worst dream she had ever had, but she was still unable to go back to sleep. It was just as well as the light began to rise over the horizon behind her.

A small voice in the back of her head told her to give up the folly of being able to help in the investigation, but her stubbornness would not allow her to be shaken so easily. After all this was only the first night of a long journey.