The weeks seemed to blur into one continuous cycle of Evie thinking she was attaining strong leads on Jacob after many brutal mauling murders; only to be stumped against with one continuous end.

You on the other hand; had grown restless of biding your time in the apartment constantly tortured by the memories of Jacob's presence- you wanted to atleast discover some things for yourself- your own personal mission.

So, one bitterly frosty Tuesday morning you headed out onto the streets of Whitechapel- for once the sun wasn't masqueraded behind a fogging of clouds; and instead shone with an intense white light that made the wet cobbles of the city gleam under foot.

You knew your destination, as you had done for a while. All those weeks of waiting and putting it off, hoping Jacob would be found.

As much as it pained you to feel Jacob's absence tearing at your heart- it didn't excuse the many burning questions that aspires to be answered within the parts of your head.

Determined; you knew you still wanted to discover the truth of your estranged daughter- the main reason you had come back to the city of London.

A short walk under an iron wrought ivy green bridge and turning through a slight paved courtyard, brought you to a grand old looking house that had official all over it. From the old woman's description, you knew this to be the place where the documents were being kept.

Bravely, you walked slowly through the front door of the place, the small windows giving it a closed feel, as scarcely any light crept up the walls and cascaded onto the high bookcases filled to the brim with sandy coloured paper files.

Gliding about the shop floor your (eye colour) eyes drew slowly about each shelf, intrigued as to of your daughter's file would truly be there.

"Oi!" Came a sharp voice, like a jab in the side, making you spin quickly on your heels, clutching your shawl slightly for comfort, heart racing after being jumped out on like that.

The source of the gravelly old voice was a man who looked to be in his late 50's, with ashen grey wiry hair like that of a street mutt, his lower jaw set prominently forwards and his long and stooped beak like nose jutting outwards. His brows were set into a constant furrow as he shuffled towards you in his rather dusty looking suit attire.

"Who do you think you are, missy?" He barked, his spine curved like a creature, a gargoyle, as he mumbled away to himself, looking at you over the long line of his nose. "Walking around here like your anyone's business!"

"I'm sorry-" you apologised quickly, "I was hoping you might be able to help me:"

The old man scoffed like you had already asked for one of his vital organs; not like you'd get many years out of any of them anyway.

"Pfft! My help?"

"Yes- I, er, I was told by a woman that this is where the files for the orphanages are kept?" You asked, feeling yourself getting rather worried about the man's reluctance.

He grizzled darkly to himself as he turned on the heels of his worn leather shoes, his arms visibly shaking from age.

"Files? What would you be wanting those files for?" He asked hotly, as if he was defending something very sacred, and you swallowed down the feeling of being a pest to him because you knew you had to find out.

"It's my daughter... She was taken from me at birth and my mother brought her to an orphanage in the district." You replied, your voice quaint as you clasped your hands above your stomach in a respectable fashion, the old crone stopping almost for a moment, his back still to you.

"Which orphanage?" He asked, his grizzling voice which detailed years of whiskey and hardship suddenly growing lighter, almost with more understanding.

"Berkeley and Fayre, good sir." You implemented bravely- if Jacob couldn't be able to get to the bottom of it with you, you were going to do it for the both of you.

Bony fingers of the man outstretched to a small ladder, as he dragged the wooden supports across the floor with a spine chilling screech of wood against the floorboards. His legs, moving rather like very stiff and unoiled clock work, stepped up a step every seven seconds or so. One, two ....... One, two .......

Until he was on the third step, the wood by now rather splintering away, and looking like it was barely able to support the stumpy form of the old clerk.

Drifting your gaze away from he man and his more than slow movements, you gazed upon the many various folders and files stacked eleven shelves high- your mind twisting in complex over the thought that each file belonged to a child; a child with their own individual story.

"What year?" The old man croaked as you snapped out of your trance a little too late.

"I apologise-?" You queried, and he interjected quickly with a less than impressed little grumble.

"What year was your daughter admitted to the orphanage?"

You had to think for a moment before you remembered that very painful and empty year of your life.

"1869, sir." You managed to say with a slight tremor in your tone, your heart still wrenching when you remembered the painful news that your mother had taken your child away.

"What's your current address?" He asked, clearly for security reasons on the files in question.

You uttered each line of the address with clarity, hearing the clerk clear his throat softly in some sort of acceptance.

"And the child was admitted by whom do you know?"

"Bell. Surname, Bell- first name, Isla. My mother." You said, knowing your mother had bundled the child straight to the orphanage at first chance.

The following moments were the most pressing you had ever experienced, the anticipation of whether you were going to discover your daughter's whereabouts, her current name... Her history...

"Miss," the Clerk turned around, "I can see no files for girls admitted in 1869 by anyone by the surname of Bell." He sighed deeply, the first time you had seen real emotion in his steely blue eyes. "I'm sorry."

"That's impossible-" you stammered, not believing what you were hearing, "the files- you must check again-"

"Miss, I have been overseeing these files for 64 years." He said in a respectful tone, "I know what I'd be looking for-"

"Is... Is there not anything we can do?" Your (eye colour) eyes began to sting with bitter tears, all of the searching and the wondering; the self promise that this file room would bring you closure.

All of that topped with Jacob's kidnapping by Jack was all too much, and you crumpled lightly as you grabbed your shawl for comfort.

"I'm..." The clerk looked extremely uncomfortable, "I'm sorry Miss-"

"No, no..." You exasperated, forcing a smile before you turned on your heels. "It can't be helped."

With that you went briskly on your way back to Jacob's apartment, really wondering whether anything had been worth the fight.

That walk back to the Whitechapel lodgings was the most horrible, as your heart yearned for Jacob more than it had done for the previous few weeks. The short time being together again before his disappearance had made you grow so fond of him again; and it was painful indeed to recognise still you were so strongly in love with the man.

The fleeting thoughts of his possible death struck you again and again like a viper depositing as much venom into it's prey's blood as possible.

However you didn't want to believe that- and now you found yourself at a loose end with any new clues on your daughter, you once again wanted to focus on Jacob- you so desperately craved to know he was safe.

And with your very prompt return to the apartment, seating yourself by the dusty window, you waited on bated breath for Jacob's intrepid sister to return so you could fix your attention fully on locating Jacob and stopping Jack.

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A/N: yes so... Long time no update! This was kind of a filler but it's an important key factor in the following chapters of the story- like I think I'm going to have this finished within 3 or 4 chapters... It's going to be short <3 see you all in the next chapters xxx