Constable Thomas.

I quickened my pace, quietly pulling Birdie along, Pippet following close behind us.

"Stop! Halt! Freeze!"

I walked quicker.

"Jane! Please, Jane!"

I pretended not to hear, but oh, my heart saddened for the man. I lost track of where I was going, and nearly walked into a wall.

We were cornered.

The cops raised their weapons, but Constable Thomas held his hand out for them to lower them, looking at them in shock.

"Good Lord, men! She's a woman! Have some respect." Then he looked at me, holding his arms out as a sign of peace, and slowly approached us. Pippet growled, and he stopped. "Jane, please. I just want to speak with you."

"About what?"

"I believe you know what."

"I have no idea what you mean, my good man." His voice was so heavy with sorrow, it made it difficult to lie to him. But I could not admit to murder, I was not insane.

"William was found dead in his bed this morning. Stabbed. It was not a gunshot, so it was no enemy soldier. Very few people have any reason to dislike William. You would not either, you're his wife, so what happened?"

A few of the men raised their guns again, and Pippet's growls grew louder and more fierce.

"I did no such thing."

"Please, Jane, how are you so calm? Do you have no sadness? No remorse, or love?"

"How could I have love for that man?" I spat. "How could I possibly have love for a man I never wanted to marry, love for a man who never loved his own daughter, love for a man who would lay his hand upon a child and threaten to..." My voice froze, my eyes tearing up as I held Birdie protectively.

"Why would I feel remorse for ending years and years of pain, years of being yelled at for not giving him a son, years of having hands upon me by a man who could never love his own family?"

The men all stopped, unsure of what to do. Constable Thomas looked confused, and sad, and angry, and then all his face showed was pity and feeling sorry. I was brought back to the days of endless longing to escape. The days he would throw empty glass bottles of whiskey and rum at me and Birdie, the day... he found the letters. The day I thought would be my last.

"A woman? Well, you might as well go run off and be a harlot, for God's sake. You are MY WIFE!" I recalled his words, felt the bruises of his hands in my skin. I could hear my own pleading, begging for what I should have been guaranteed. Life.

"Disgusting. You love a woman, do you? Are you one of those fairies now? Don't worry, I'll fix that. You want to play around like a pig, well, then, I'll help with that." I truly don't believe I had had a worse night than that one. My entire body was bruised, cut, and sore, and yet he treated the next day like it was nothing.

"He's where he belongs, Constable." I slowly put my hand behind my back and rummaged in my purse, continuing to speak to buy time and provide a distraction. "Do you hear what he did to me? To us?"

His shock seemed to lessen for a moment. "Is it really true?" he asked, looking at Birdie. And for the first time, she was allowed to nod.

"I am so sorry. I truly didn't-" but he was cut off as Birdie and I held our breaths and closed our eyes, the area filled with a black fog; gunpowder in a smoke bomb. We ran to the station, quickly buying tickets and then running to the train, just sitting down in the nearest empty seats when the train left, leaving the sounds of the men quickly fading behind.