the psychologist.

-

The professor has never been adept at surrendering, or merely acquiescing—he has always been keen on asking questions, or answering them, and the friendship he has with Cheria proves no exception to this rule. Not all of his friends are receptive to that innate curiosity, yet he finds a kindred soul in her. They each approach honesty in different ways but it is always at the expense of an external unit: always about some universal truth, though never about themselves, never of the tragedies that they experience, or continue to. 

Which is why, in some ways, he has predicted this aversion. He is not letting the moment pass, however, not when the moment is finally ripe to coax some semblance of truth from a friend who, in many ways, posed a contradiction. Open to conversation, yet so closed off; so attuned to everyone else’s emotions, though not quite willing to confront her own. 

At the mention of mushy traumatic bullshit, Gilly scoffs. The thought of wallowing in his own feelings has never appealed to him—not when there are many more questions to be asked, mysteries that needed uncovering, skeletons that needed unearthing. To him wallowing is an indulgence, and a practice he leaves to the poets. The professor is neither. “If you have to ask that question, then you don’t know me at all,” he says with a light chuckle. Regardless, he nods  his head, signaling for her to continue. “I should know by now not to expect softness. Not from you.” To a stranger, the words may come off acerbic, though he knows Cheria well enough that the stark honesty would be appreciated.

In exchange, Sherry acknowledges a truth of her own: that the ghost is one from her past. The questions in his head grow more exponentially now, but he is able to restrain herself, and he narrows his expansive curiosity to two sentences. “I see,” he says, nodding, “and this person from your past—have they harmed you in any way?” His eyebrows furrow, and the lines in his forehead grow more pronounced. “Have they harmed others?”  

.

Cheria likes to think that she holds herself well. But she’s never felt as uncomfortable talking about anything as she did right now. And it was becoming increasingly harder to front her emotions where Gilly was concerned. It was perhaps the realization that she could talk about it. As if this were the first time it had ever occurred to her. She does not admit that it is. The reason already prevalent enough for her. It was just easier for her, to not care. And she didn’t, not really. If she looked at it as a fact of her reality, then it would be written as so. And that was that. Certain people just weren’t as willing as her to accept it. 

“Mm.” She nods, “I suppose that is why I keep you around.” She says it like she’s giving up, a surrender. Oh, he’s sure to have figured her out now! But the both of them know it would never be as simple as that, it wasn’t as simple as that. It was just that...With most people. She was prone to playing around with them. Though it was not malicious in nature, it never meant anything to her. Easily bored with things that were too familiar, she would grow distant. Surprisingly, it was with friendships like this. The constant...fight. The one that was in both of them. It was those that felt the most fulfilling. Gilly was the only one who had offered her something so sweet. And that was why she kept him around. “I think we’ve already established you’re rather hard to read. Even for a professional like me.” 

He continues his previous line of questioning and it’s only then that she truly takes pause. Her eyebrows furrow and she redirects the conversation before he can get anything more from her. First, she has to hold back a sound of disbelief, “Why do you care?” And then, “Actually. I’m still not convinced that entire show wasn’t all just smoke and mirrors.” Cheria knows. She knows about Gilly’s own beliefs. She’s shown a sort of respect for it in the past, sure. But it was not out of some sort of kinship when she said she wanted to learn more about it. She was simply fascinated, as any academic would be. 

“Whatever it was that happened. It’s not what you think it is.” It couldn’t be. “It’s only natural something like that would follow me this way.” A serial killer terrorizing a small village in France is quite the hot topic for that week’s local paper. It didn’t take much for news of it to spread. “I’m sure that old man thought it would be a funny joke. And I was the fool that fell for his prank.”

.

There’s a full length mirror in one of the rooms Jacob settles in and the reflection makes him feel rather uncomfortable. He’s grateful for his costume being so forgiving—it gives him volume where he’s lost weight these past few weeks and it distracts from his face, all gray and tired. But Jacob knows very well what’s underneath it all and if you ask him, none of that should be on display at a party. What he ought to have done was stay home, hide. Especially after the last couple of days he had. 

This room is his third hideaway of the night—he keeps switching between them whenever someone decides to walk in and disturb his peace. He’s about to do it again when he hears the door open, without a word this time (the last two people who walked in on him silently wallowing in self-pity got a courteous greeting and a few pleasantries; he couldn’t get out of it fast enough) but he gives up on the idea when it’s a familiar figure entering the room, one he can bear.

“You should find someone more fun to tak you home, Sherry. Really,” Jacob replies and attempts a smile, something that can just barely convince her that he isn’t completely miserable. And he isn’t, not really and at least not now. Distracted, confused, lost—these are probably the emotions he feels the most right now. The new, uncomfortable surroundings are doing a terrific job at taking Jacob’s mind off the usual state of glum and sadness he usually finds himself in. And on top of that he’s completely sober tonight—he’s not yet sure whether that’s a good thing or not. “I actually tried to leave earlier but one of those valets told me that the carriages aren’t going to be ready to go back for another few hours. Odd, I thought, but it doesn’t seem like there’s any other alternative but to wait. It took a while to get here so I can’t imagine trying to walk all the way back to town.”

“Anyway—I don’t think I’m smart enough to recognize your costume,” he chuckles, his nervousness slowly easing, mostly because he realizes that there isn’t a reason for him to be this anxious in her company. “But you look beautiful.”

.

“Why thank you.” Cheria looks down upon her costume, a smug look on her face when she looks back to Jacob, “Don’t worry, all you need to know is that I’m a blasphemous saint.” Very on brand for her. “And you are enough fun for me. It doesn’t take much to please me.” A lie, Sherry had probably inherited the horrid gene of materialism and greed from her mother. Which was perhaps, not her best trait. But it was true, she didn’t need much from Jacob, in particular. She was too aware of his character and his...troubles to demand anything more. Him showing up was enough to her. Besides, she wouldn’t ask for more out of someone when she wasn’t willing to give it back. Cheria was not unfair. 

“That is quite odd.” A mischievous grin gathers on her lips, “You reckon they’re trying to keep us here?” It was meant to be a joke. No matter the fact that she didn’t quite like the way they had been driven over here, dropped off, with no real context to the meaning of it all. Still, she was here. And the unfamiliarity would have to reveal itself at some point. She wouldn’t dwell on it for long though, there were more important things to keep her attention on. “Now wouldn’t that be fun.”

“No, are you going to tell me what you’ve been doing in here all alone? Hm?” The smile she has now is one meant to ease his nerves. She knows he doesn’t like the spotlight all on him. The attention. And yet, he had made the mistake of befriending her. The one person who wouldn’t ever stop watching you. And Sherry had come to know Jacob, at this point. She could probably guess what it was that was making him so uncomfortable. But she preferred to hear it from his mouth instead. 

It let her know he trusted her. 

She couldn’t find it in her to tell him that he probably shouldn’t.

.

Cheria seems almost dismissive, and that only riles Bill up more. In general, he is adept at holding his temper when he needs to, but her indifference in this particular case is rage-inducing. It seems that she either doesn’t know, or doesn’t care, how important this is, and that makes her a piss-poor psychologist in his book. Bill grits his teeth, and, not for the first time, wishes that somebody else, anybody else, had taken up the job. Anybody but her. 

“What’s rude,” Bill begins, not quite managing to unclench his jaw. “Is the fact that we are paying you to do a job here. And I don’t see that job being done.” He punctuates the sentence by smacking the table with his hand, unable to keep his temper in check. If she refuses to see, then he will do all he can to make her see. “We chose you because we were told you were the best. Was this untrue?” He turns cold eyes to her, brow quirked, waiting patiently for an answer. 

“We may as well have. Do you even know how many we have interviewed?” The number was close to two thousand, now, a number that enraged Bill even more than Cheria was capable of. Whilst he is riled, though, her comment about his literacy doesn’t bother him. half the people in his constituency don’t read, and it does not align with his image as ‘one of them’ to grow more offended by the fact. “What I want is for you to give me something I can work with. If that’s too much like hard work for you, then I will take my business elsewhere.” 

He lets the threat linger for a moment, brows furrowing at her next statement. “So if I wouldn’t know him, and you can’t profile him, then why am I here? Why are you wasting both of our time?” 

.

“My job isn’t to find the man. It’s to help you find the man.” It was perhaps easier to act as if she wasn’t doing anything, like her own job wasn’t as taxing as everyone else’s. But it wasn’t easy when she couldn’t find clarity. It pained her to say but something in her hoped the ripper would act again, if only so she could catch him. The hollow shell that he left behind with every new body, would leave her with something new to pick at. A killer like him would never be sloppy unless he was forced to be. Still, they hadn’t found an opportunity for that yet either. 

“I can’t help those who can’t help themselves.” Her smile is almost mocking, defeat evident in her tone. But she stops herself before she turns this argument into something bigger than it was. She could tell it was frustration, ebbing away at him. And while she’d normally find a way to calm her patients down whenever they’d get to that point, Bill wasn’t one of her patients. No matter how much she thought he needed it. He was her boss, and she couldn’t lose this. She would rather die than be looked at as incompetent in any manner. Especially not by William Barker.

“Fine, however the next time you feel as if you must storm into my office demanding things from me, I’d hope you come with some sort of actual critic. Telling me you haven’t identified the killer is not an actual reason to insult my abilities.” She knows she’s not going to get an apology out of the man. She was one of the few people he didn’t even bother pretending to be nice to, and while it would be useless either way with how easily she can sense a lie. Some forced politeness would’ve been much more appreciated she thinks. 

“I can’t do my job in a way that matters if he doesn’t...show himself to me. Again.” Sherry remembers the first time she ever encountered a killer, she remembers thinking how normal he looked. He was just a man. And if she weren’t careful enough, any other man walking down the street could escape her sights before she caught him. Though she didn’t center her life around studying killers for nothing. And she would make sure that it wasn’t for nothing. 

“I can’t explain this to you unless you can assure me you will listen in earnest.” Sherry is tentative with her next words. It was not easy to understand why she did what she did, and it was even less easy to understand why things had to be this way. But she would not allow Bill to fire her over this only to reach a wall with someone who couldn’t even hold half the credentials she had. 

He hadn’t gotten out much recently. Even though the weather had finally turned and made an improvement from the dreads of winter, he barely found the energy to meander the streets anymore. Not like he used to, anyway. He was in a rut with his play, and walking around the city, taking in the sights and sounds, even a trip to the Theatre Royal usually helped get his creative juices flowing. But he hadn’t felt them lately. So he forced himself outside–it was a lovely day–creating a silly little errand he just had to run.

One thing Nathan forgot about venturing outdoors is that there will almost always be others paying less attention than him. And the odds of running in to someone he doesn’t always wish to see can be rather high. Perhaps he should have stayed home after all.

His school French and the visions of his fondest memories with Cheria came rushing back to him like a flood of unwelcomed recollections. Suddenly, he felt like a young man again, reclined in a chair three times too long for him, clawing at its fabric to keep his mind busy so he wouldn’t have to speak.

He placed his foot out the stop one of the rolls of fabric. “Can’t seem to remember learning that one in school, I must admit.” He handed it back to her, awkwardly, forcing a smile that his eyes didn’t complete. “Bonjour, Dr. Fang.”

.

She doesn’t fully recognize who it is at first, like an old bat she narrows her eyes, taking him in. It isn’t until his next words that Sherry straightens up, and the fog begins to disappear. It was always weird to hear her title being used out of the office. Especially coming from the boy whom she had not spoken to in a very very long while, “Well look who it is.” She grins, the kind she only reserves for Nathan. It’s easy, familiar. Though Nathan not as much. He was lucky she’d had him catalogued in the back of her mind, always. She was a lot less inclined to just ignoring him, as she normally would’ve. 

“Wait.” She raises an eyebrow, “Was this intentional? Oh Mon Ami, you are quite ridiculous at getting my attention huh.” He probably knows she’s just joking, she wasn’t too good at breaking the ice. However, she did specialize in terrorizing Nathan. It was what she did for living, or that was what he chose to believe. When he was still in her care. Now she was falling back into old habits looking for some sense of security in them. “You could have just, sent me a letter. I can’t say I would’ve responded but I rather do enjoy your flowery words.” It was the only time he was ever honest with her.

location : the ball, wherever you want. 

date : march 25th, 1889. early evening. 

Cheria kept her colleagues separate from her personal life for a reason. Whether if it’s to keep up her professionally, so as to not blur the lines with some people, not that she had much of a personal life really to begin with. But she had just gotten used to this prospect of having to share her work with people outside of herself. Sure she had done peer reviewed papers or research before in all her years of schooling. That didn’t seem to translate as much when she had finally found herself transitioned into the workplace. She was alone in it, for the most part. Even when she was just starting up. She was alone. 

And then she is made to be an essential role in the ripper case and suddenly she’s forced to form a relationship with someone who isn’t her front desk worker. It had been rather easy to draw her lines at first, she couldn’t help it if she grew to be more partial to some rather than others. Though in Andy’s case it had more to do with the fact that she just didn’t like him. She did not have any sort of strong disdain for him, however, it become a routine for her to start avoiding him as if he had developed some sort of plague. 

Again, she was not so disgusted by him that she would be malicious about it. She was cordial enough, even if that wasn’t much going off of her standards. She was just good at burrowing her nose in other matters. As if they were eons more important to her than discussing the very case they were both working on, if only so she wouldn’t be forced to do it with him. He had done nothing wrong to her, was as polite as ever. And she gave him kudos for that. However it was just something about him that was just...too much. And while Cheria was well aware that people could sometimes be too much, she had never met a person who was just always like that. 

He overstimulated her. Being in his presence was enough to do that. She didn’t have to speak to him as well. He blabbed on and on about things, she would normally care much about, but she simply could not bring herself to care about when he was the one talking. It was much easier to tune it out. He was just that unmanageable of a person. Cheria could only hope (pray, even) that she would not have to be subjected to Andy and his too much, too loud personality on an evening where she hoped to enjoyed herself.

location : the ball, wherever you want. 

date : march 25th, 1889. mid-evening.

Sherry catalogued her friends based on how much she was willing to put her full trust in them. Though sometimes it was the other way around, more dependent on how much they were willing to put their trust in her. Because Cheria refused to give more than she received, it was not a pride thing, she simply did not believe in it. And most of her friends understood that. She did not overdo it, though at times she did not even bother to put in any effort at all. She was an easy friend to keep around, so they did. She appreciated that as well. 

Though sometimes she could be difficult. Especially when she was expected of something. Things that she knew she could not give. Intimacy, passion, things she couldn’t give a damn enough for them to truly matter to her. So, sometimes she wasn’t the best kind of friend to have. Not dependable in the ways that you would think, but she was easy to keep around, and she was okay with that. Though sometimes she could feel pushed. Perhaps it was the fact that her job especially required her to care enough she could pretend it’s more. But she could sense when someone wanted something from her she just could not give. No matter how much she wanted to be able to.

She felt that with Gilly sometimes, though he probably didn’t think so, his body was constantly screaming at her. Demanding things in the crease between his eyebrows, or the helplessness in his eyes. She never said anything about those times though, she kept those observations to herself. With Jacob however...she didn’t think you needed a degree in Psychology to know how much he needed to be cared for. They were friends, first and foremost. So she did not cross that boundary with him. She cared about him though, and she did not like that. 

She thinks her last straw was somewhere between becoming his actual friend and then proceeding to gift him with his very own therapy dog. Because she could. So she did. Like it was nothing to her. And she sure did try and pass it off as such, feeling completely mortified by her actions. No matter how well she schooled her expressions, she could feel herself being pulled in. Could feel herself getting exposed, more and more. She kept the act going though, if only to serve as some sort of comfort for her own sanity. 

She finds him after half a glass of wine and can’t help that half grin she does when she sees him. She was told it made her look secretive, good. “There he is.” She says as if she had been looking for him the whole night. “I was beginning to grow fearful that I would end up arriving and leaving alone tonight. However I have been saved,” Cheria gives him a once over, “And by a God no less.”

It is an undisputed fact that Sherry’s unflappability counts as among her greatest assets, if not her greatest. As her friend, however, it is the trait Gilly finds most aggravating. It takes a lot out of him for her to bare even snippets of truths, and even more so to piece them together. That kind of challenge is why he fancies exchanging barbs with the other—yet that night, they are dealing with no mere intellectual exercise but the very real entities haunting them in no small way. 

As a result, he is much more inclined to challenge her further, testing the extent of both her patience and her capacity for truth.

Though you seem dead set on being nosy about it. “Well, you know how I get.” He intends it as casual, even teasing, but the edge in his voice betrays his inward frustrations. “Nothing you haven’t experienced before? What does that mean?” He doesn’t expect transparency, but the professor has made a living off unpacking the truth, just as much as she has. “That spirit—have you any inkling who they are? You seemed quite familiar with them, or with what they were referring to, at least. Something to do with artistry… and had spoken French…” He hums, “I’d lost track of the conversation after that. So it was someone from your past, then?” 

Questions and statements alike arrive in successive droves, but he leaves it to Sherry to parse through that terrain herself. He can at least say he’s made the attempt to find clarity, however futile it may be. 

.

“Yes, I do.” Sherry doesn’t even try to pretend that she’s not dodging his questions. In fact, she takes great pride in diminishing her problems and telling others to mind their own business. And though she could be quite mean about it, she didn’t care much for that. The only person that it ever seemed to bother was her mother. And Sherry had stopped caring for her opinion long ago. Though Gilly was a whole other problem entirely. She respected him enough not to outright dismiss him, not to be mean in a malicious way even if she tried. But she still wouldn’t call herself particularly caring when it comes to sharing parts of herself with him. He didn’t need to know all of her just to be friends with her. This would have to be enough for him. 

“Look,” She doesn’t want to be open with him, the very thought makes her skin itch. But she also finds that Gilly is too good at doing the back and forth thing with her, he simply refuses to let up. And while that’s something she admires, right now, it was something she simply could not stand. So she considers it, it makes the hairs on her neck stand straight up but she considers it. And she caves, but only a little. “We can do it like this.” She begins, setting her arms out in front of her as if to show him a play by play of how the rest of this conversation was going to go. 

“If I explain it to you, without doing all the mushy traumatic bullshit, would that be enough for you?” She knows it won’t, but she hopes he lies and says yes anyways. “Because it’s not the telling that I mind. I’m sure if you dug deep enough on your own you could connect the dots on your own.” She settles her arms back into her lap, leaning back to look at him better. “But you know I don’t believe in all...that. I don’t do all that.” She can speak to him like a newspaper, detailing the events from her childhood as if she hadn’t been the one to experience them herself. Recount the nights where she wished for some sort of escape from her demise. But she did not think she’d be able to explain to Gilly why she wasn’t crying. Or why she felt so dumb about it.

“Though I will say that they are someone from my past, yeah.” She shrugs, like it’s nothing.