1871, Mid-May

Agnes half ran, half stumbled, through the misty streets. She could hear her blood thundering in her ears and her feet beating the cobblestones. The cold mist condensed on her body and mingled with her sweat. She never ran so much in her life, yet tired as she was, she kept running, for the man was right behind her, ever right behind her. She could not hear the man, but she knew he was there, right behind her, cloaked in the darkness and the gray mist.

She didn’t dare turn her head, but she knew he was there.

She wasn’t sure exactly where she was. She just ran and ran, and she must have been somewhere near Chopin Street, because she remembered that was where she was when she first encountered the man, but she just ran, not knowing in what direction she ran, knowing only that she had to get away from the man and his knife, knowing only that her side was wet and sticky and flaring with pain.

She passed beneath a street lamp and saw to her horror that the wound was even worse than she had imagined. Her whole side was crimson. Down her leg ran her blood. It trailed on the street, pooled between the cobblestones, and left a trail like red ivy to shine in the yellow light of gas lamps and vanish beneath the dark fog.

This was all the world to Agnes: herself, the endless night, her trailing blood, and the predator that followed her blood.

On and on Agnes ran. The street didn’t seem to end. Where was she? She felt as if she ran the entirety of Mainstreet twice over. What street in Blackwall had this many gas lamps?

Then there was a light, not at all like the yellow shimmering of the gas lamps. This light was brighter, as bright as harbor lights, and it had the silvery color of the moon. Agnes flung herself into the light, praying that she had at last found safety.

She saw a man in the light, a man with black hair and black eyes. He was holding something in his hand that was creating the light, something with an amber colored body and a gray base, something shaped like a candle--but wax candles were never so thick. The amber body was thick like a block of marble.

“Help me!” Agnes cried. “Help! Oh help! He’s cut me! I’m dying!”

Suddenly, the man was standing right beside her, though Agnes couldn’t remember him or herself taking another step.

He held the candle-shaped object next to her flank. Her blood was bright, fresh red. She couldn’t tell her torn dress from her torn body. Everything was engulfed by that leaking wound.

The pain in her side sharply increased. Her wound had gurgled pain with every step, but now it screamed, and she screamed with it.

“I’m sorry.” the man said. “It needs to hurt before we can close it, I’m sorry.”

“What are you doing to me?” Agnes cried.

“I’m helping you to the best of my abilities, I promise. My name is Dr. Matthew Ernst. What’s your name? Please, tell me your name.”

Suddenly, the pain was gone, completely gone, without so much as a tickling left in her side.

And so was the red gore. No sticky redness. No jagged hole. Her dress was smooth without a single imperfection.

“Oh god…” Agnes swayed. “Oh god, I think I might faint. I must sit down.”

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“What is your name?” Matthew asked again.

Agnes gave up on standing, yet somehow, she didn’t fall. Her legs seemed rooted to the ground. “There’s a man!” she sobbed. “He cut me. I thought he was drunk, he stumbled up to me, I tried to help him, he cut me! He’s mad!”

“Please, it’s extremely important you tell me your name.”

“Cora.” she gave him her other name on force of habit. “I mean, Agnes. My name is Agnes Little.” She looked around, but could’t find the man. “I swear there was a man. He cut me. I don’t know where he is.” she looked at her feet and expected to see the trail of blood winding through the cobblestones.

But there wasn’t a trail, and the stones were smooth. The dirt between them was clean.

‘There was a trail!” Agnes shouted. “A trail of my blood! Did you make it go away with my wound with that…that light of yours? How did you do that?”

“Agnes. Whatever happens, try and remember who you are. Remember your life. Remember what you did as a child. Remember where you grew up. Remember--”

Dr. Matthew Ernst continued to speak, but words didn’t come out of his mouth.

“Dr. Ernst? Dr. Ernst, I can’t hear you!” Agnes reached her hand out towards Matthew. He didn’t seem to notice her. He seemed to look right through her. His mouth continued to open and close at a steady, calm rate.

“Dr. Ernst, what’s wrong? What’s happening to you?”

Agnes touched Matthew’s shoulder and screamed as her hand fell through his body.

Then suddenly, the rest of Dr. Ernstt started to go the way of his voice. He faded. The colors of his form dulled until they became as dark as night and then became the night itself. The mist swirled around him and then through him.

He was gone.

Agnes felt a pain in her side. She touched the spot with her hand and recoiled at the familiar touch of sticky, destroyed flesh. She felt herself moving forward, one foot in front of the other, lurching through the darkness as her life bled down her leg, onto the stones, down into the gutters between the stones, and she felt the eyes of the man upon her, and she saw the gas lamps swing by overhead as she ran, and…

Agnes half ran, half stumbled, through the misty streets. She could hear her blood thundering in her ear and her feet beating the cobblestones. The cold mist condensed on her body and mingled with her sweat. She never ran so much in her life, yet tired as she was, she kept running, for the man was right behind her, ever right behind her. She could not hear the man, but she knew he was there, right behind her, cloaked in the darkness and the gray mist.

Her mind was filled with panic, but beneath that panic was a rapidly-dawning sense of confusion.

The man had cut her, and she ran, but Dr. Ernst was also there and he had helped her…before the man had cut her? No, that didn’t make sense. He cut her and Dr. Ernst helped her. But now the wound was open and she was running and where was Dr. Ernst? Where was she? This couldn’t be Chopin Street, not with how long she had been running. If only there was a street sign somewhere, if only the gas lamps revealed anything other than fog and stones and the trail of her own blood.

Suddenly, up ahead, there was a silvery-white glow.

Dr. Ernst!

Agnes redoubled her efforts and threw herself at the light, but the man she found within that sphere of radiance wasn’t Dr. Ernst. Instead, it was a towering man, wrinkled and disheveled. Everything about the man seemed tall, from his physical height to his stovepipe hat to his long, gray beard.

“It’s going to be alright, Agnes,” the man said. “My name is Dr. Joseph Morton. I’m a friend of Dr. Ernst.”

A lit cigar burned away in the hand that didn’t hold the strange object radiating light. Wisps of gray smoke danced in the silvery glow. The tip of the cigar burned green, somehow, but this seemed a minor incongruity within the chaotic nightmare Agnes found herself in.

“Oh God! Help me!!” Agnes threw herself at Joseph--then screamed as she passed through him.

It was as if he wasn’t even there.

Agnes fell to the ground. “Why? Why can’t I touch you?” she held up her hands to Joseph pleadingly. “Why can’t I touch you? I don’t understand!”

“Oh, Agnes, dear, I’m so sorry.” Joseph knelt by her. “It’s all a nightmare, isn’t it? We’re trying to help you but you’re spread out, girl. It’s making it hard.”

There was a sharp pain in her side. Agnes screamed again.

“I’m so sorry. It has to hurt before it can be fixed. But look now! Look!”

Agnes did.

No blood, no cut, no tear. But it wasn't nearly as comforting to see as it was the first time.

“I don’t understand! I don’t understand any of this! Oh God help me!” she shouted.

“I'll keep it simple, then. Remember! Remember who you are. This nightmare is but a moment in a life that is much greater and much more vibrant than this. Remember your girlhood, remember your first love, remember your favorite birthday--but remember!”

Agnes screamed.

Behind Joseph, the man rose up.

Joseph turned, and the green flame on the tip of his cigar shot up like a flare and engulfed the man. The green flame blazed and filled the night with light. The light blinded Agnes. She closed her eyes. She heard the sound of immolating clothes.

“Ha ha! Take that!” Joseph shouted. “Burn him all over, Nick!”

Agnes opened her eyes.

Agnes half ran, half stumbled, through the misty streets. She could hear her blood thundering in her ear and her feet beating the cobblestones. The cold mist condensed on her body and mingled with her sweat. She never ran so much in her life, yet tired as she was, she kept running, for the man was right behind her, ever right behind her. She could not hear the man, but she knew he was there, right behind her, cloaked in the darkness and the gray mist.