Author's Notes: I am absolutely dissatisfied with this story, so I'm gonna do a re-write of it as soon as I finish off some of the fiction I'm working on. :) Meanwhile, review and comment away. And yes, I'm absolutely prepared for very, very harsh criticisms on this story. Kinda.

Continuous pleads shattered the deafening silence of the night. At a part of Berkeley Square, an elderly man was on the road, slowly retreating from another dark-clothed woman with flowing long hair.

"Please, don't kill me! I'll... I'll give you whatever you want! Just spare my life!" the elderly man was desperate to change his assailant's mind.

The assailant let out a cold, sinister cackle at his words, brandished a knife and slit the man's throat in a blink of an eye. Crimson blood gushed out from the wound, and the victim lay limp on the road. The murderess wiped the weapon on her victim's clothes, and then disappeared into the darkness.

"I'm Inspector William Rivers from Scotland Yard's Crime Division. Let me pass." said the young inspector to the police constable who was manning the entrance of the now-barricaded crime scene. He was greeted with a salute.

Photographers from various news agencies were already busy snapping photos at the crime scene, and the journalists were pestering the police personnel on duty to try and get a scoop on the story.

"David, what's the situation?" Inspector Rivers enquired from his subordinate.

"Sir, Lord Dimsbury was found dead, possibly from excessive blood-loss by his housemaid who was about to run an errand this morning. She said she didn't know that her employer did not return to his residency."

"What about Lady Dimsbury? Did she know that he wasn't home?"

"Yes sir. She thought that Lord Dimsbury would be out all night for business-related matters, so she did not suspect anything amiss, sir. We've invited Lord Dimsbury's wife and housemaid back to Scotland Yard for further questioning."

"Very well. Say, David, don't you feel that it's creepy that a murder happened at this part of Berkeley Square, of all places? Not to mention that 50 is just at the end of the street."

"Indeed, sir." David replied curtly.

Berkeley Square is one of the most prestigious addresses in London. Only well-to-do and influential families could afford to have a property here, and it was the object of desire for many others. 50 Berkeley Square, however, was a property that no one dared to approach, let alone purchase, as it was reportedly haunted.

Inspector Rivers returned to his department at Scotland Yard just as Lady Dimsbury, accompanied by her housemaid, came out of the interview(?) room. She was sobbing profusely, evidently devastated by the death of her beloved husband of 40 years. When she saw him, she immediately approached him as fast as her frail body could manage.

"Inspector... Please... I beg you... Find the murderer of my... dear old husband..." she said between sobs.

"Don't worry ma'am, we will catch the culprit as quickly as possible. Please, return home for now. We will inform you as soon as we have a lead on the murderer." replied William.

"What?! You... you still don't... have any clue... who killed my husband??" Lady Dimsbury went berserk after she heard what he had to say.

"No ma'am, I'm sorry. But I assure you, we're working on the case. Please, calm down."

"Oh... my poor dear..." she wailed again.

"Please, bring Lady Dimsbury back to your residence." he turned to the housemaid, who replied with a nod.

"Geez, this is such a headache." muttered William under his breath.

"Extra! Extra! Lord Dimsbury found dead! Get your daily paper here for the story!" the news stand personnel shouted at the top of his voice, eager to make a brisk sales. It's not every day that one would hear about a famous person getting murdered, after all. Lots of people flocked to the news stand, keen on reading the hot news.

"My God, may Lord Dimsbury's soul rest in peace." exclaimed a lady, who was done reading the report as fast as she could.

"I'd say it serves him right. He's a wicked person, rotten to the core. Always forces his tenants to pay their rents. When his tenants couldn't pay up immediately, he would chase them out of his property by destroying their belongings." remarked her companion.

"How did you know?"

"My grandfather was one of his tenants when he was still alive. He endured much suffering, always oppressed by that man."

"Oh, how horrible! Bless his wife's poor soul. She must be distressed." another man butted in.

The murderess, who happened to pass by the trio who was in the conversation, smirked when she heard how the other people felt about Lord Dimsbury's death. They weren't the only ones who were condemning him. She felt elated knowing that the killing of Lord Dimsbury rescued some impoverished people from their landlord from hell.

"Good evening, this is the Wallace residence. Raymond Wallace speaking. May I help you?"

"Good evening, sir. May I ask for a meeting with you at the park near your house? I have some urgent business to discuss with you." an alluring voice of a woman came from the other side of the phone receiver.

"Su... sure, but may I know who is this on the line?"

"You will find out when you come." the woman refused to reveal her name, and hung up.

Raymond was clueless, but he shrugged it off. This isn't the first time some anonymous caller requested for a meeting. He is a well-known senator after all, and his job forced him to meet with normal citizens to hear them out about the government's policies. He didn't like it one bit.

"Emily, dear, I'm going to step out for a moment. Don't wait up for me." he called out to his wife who was preoccupied with their three-year-old daughter, grabbed his coat and gloves and went out. When he reached the designated meeting place, a young woman was already there. He could vaguely make out that she was in her 20s, and stunning too.

"Hello. Were you the one who requested for this meeting?"

"Yes, Senator Wallace. Did you hear about Lord Dimsbury's death?" the young lady went straight to her point.

"Why, yes of course. How does it relate to our conversation?" Raymond felt confused.

"Do you, in any way, know why he was killed?"

"No, why would I?"

"Now, sir, do you remember this article, and the man in the photo?" she held out a newspaper cutting which was dated 20 years ago, back in 1935.

Raymond went wide-eyed at the sight of the photo, and started stammering unconsciously. "N... no... Wh... Why do y... you ask?" His actions betrayed his denial.

"Oh, so you do remember. Thank you for your honest answer." the young woman gave him a wicked smile, whipped out a silver blade from her coat pocket and stabbed him in the chest.

The doorbell of Senator Wallace's residence rang early next morning. The butler answered the door, and immediately went to wake Mrs Wallace up when he saw a few policemen outside.

"Good morning, officers. What brings you here this early in the morning?" Emily Wallace was trying hard not to yawn. Meeting guests in her nightgown was embarrassing enough.

"Ma'am, may I know when was the last time that you've seen Senator Wallace?"

"Yesterday night, around nine I think. Now that you mention, he hasn't been home since then." she was evidently not wide awake yet.

"I see. I'm sorry to inform you this, ma'am. Senator Wallace has been found dead in the park today morning."

"Wh... What did you say? It's impossible! He said he was going to step out for a moment. Why would he...?" Emily began to feel perplexed.

"Do you mind coming with us to the morgue to identify the body?"

"Why, of course not. I don't believe that this body you're talking about is Raymond. Please, excuse me for a moment."

Moments later, Mrs Wallace was all dressed up, and she left for the morgue with Inspector Rivers after administering her servants some housework while she was gone. Throughout the journey, she prayed silently in her heart. "Please, God. Don't let it be Raymond!"

As soon as they reached the morgue, she immediately ran to the room that was supposedly holding Senator Raymond Wallace's body. When she flipped the cloth open, her tears started flowing uncontrollably, clasping her mouth in disbelief. Raymond's face was staring back at her peacefully from the counter, almost like he was sleeping.

"Why God? Why must you treat me this way?" This time, she couldn't deny the fact that her husband is dead.

"Mrs Wallace, we believe that Senator Wallace was killed by the same person who murdered Lord Dimsbury."

"What?! You have a murderer running loose out there, and you're still standing here telling me all these crap?! Get out there and catch that god damn murderer, bastard! Get out!" Emily said through clenched teeth, unable to hold back her anger and frustration any longer.

Inspector Rivers walked out of the morgue and punched his fist into the brick wall, also expressing his vexation at being unable to find any clues about this serial murderer.

"This murderer is smart. He doesn't leave any clues behind after committing the killings." he thought. He needs to find the missing link between these two deaths, a breakthrough in the case. But what?

"Inspector Rivers, Chief Inspector Woodridge would like to see you in his office at once." William's subordinate notified him the moment he stepped into Scotland Yard's Crime Division.

"Crap." he thought. That doesn't sound good, but still he dragged his feet over to the office of the Chief Inspector. He knocked the door, and entered when his superior gestured him in.

Chief Inspector Nathan Woodridge mouthed the words "sit down" to William, as he was on the phone, presumably with the higher-ups. He obliged, twiddling his thumbs as he waited for the call to end.

"Is there something you want to see me for, sir?" William enquired as his superior place the receiver down.

"You bet I do, Rivers! The higher-ups are urging me to get the case solved, on the double! Two high profile murders within the span of three days, and you don't even have any clues about the murderer?! How on earth did you earn your promotions?!" Chief Inspector Woodridge was jabbing at William's stars on his shoulders, fuming.

"I'm very sorry, sir. I'll work on the case as hard as I can until we find the murderer, sir" William was irritated, and wanted to protest, but a superior's words are absolute. That's just how things work in the police force.

"You better do! The higher-ups are pressing for answers! If you don't show some soon, we both are going to lose our jobs! If you want to jeopardise your career, fine by me! Just don't drag me along with your crap! Am I understood?!"

"Yes, sir. Perfectly understood."

"Good! Now get out there and work on the case!"

William could finally breathe when he left the Chief Inspector's office. The subordinates bear all the brunt from their immediate superiors. That's the hierarchy cemented over the years. William would bear with it for now, as he aspires to work his way to the top of the ranks where he would be the one asking for answers, not the one searching for them.

That night, he met up with his fiancée, Isabelle Summers for dinner. He needed someone outside the police force to talk to, and she was the perfect candidate. To him, talking to his future spouse is like talking to an angel sent from heaven. Her breathtaking smile and pretty face makes him forget about his stress and worries, even if it was temporary.

"M'dear, I missed you so much. How is your mother?"

"Oh, she's fine. Have you been busy investigating the case involving the murders of Senator Wallace and Lord Dimsbury for the past few days?"

"Yes, indeed."

"I see. Don't tire yourself out too much, all right? I'm deathly worried about your health." Isabelle expressed her concern.

"I'm afraid I can’t relax, m'dear. If I don't solve the case soon, I'm going to be fired." William lamented, as he chewed on his steak.

"Oh dear, that's awful. How I wish I could help you out with the case, somehow."

"Don't worry about me. You've already helped me a great deal for meeting with me tonight. Besides, you'll get old fast if you worry too much!" he teased her, hoping to divert the conversation away from his work. He chuckled as his beautiful fiancée pouted her lips in disagreement, making him forget about his case for the night.

She tailed him through Bond Street, London's major shopping district, watching in disgust as he touched his mistress's hips perversely in front of everyone, forgetting the fact that he is a well-known public figure.

"Shameless scumbag." she thought. He never cared one bit even when photographs of him, depicting his outrageous scandal with his mistress were plastered across the front pages of several dailies. And here they were, together even when he is going through a high-profile divorce with his wife of 30 years, ignoring whispers behind their backs. At least when she's done with him, his soon-to-be ex-wife would be better off with his fortune.

She patiently waited for a chance to strike. She had been following them around for a couple of hours now that it was beginning to get frustrating. "No, I can't rush things." she told herself. This bastard is her last target, but she has to be all the more careful, especially when the police are actively patrolling the streets after the previous two murder cases. One wrong move, and all that she has done thus far will go down the drain.

"I will complete what I've started."

At last, the opportunity that she was waiting for presented itself on a silver tray. To avoid public eye, he decided to go to a motel in the back alley with his lover. The route they took was far from the crowd. Swiftly, she walked up to the couple, took out her weapon and stabbed his mistress several times in the back. The last thing she needed was piercing screams from her.

As his companion slumped to the ground in a bloody mess, Walter Jackson turned around in astonishment.

"Who the hell are you?! Why did you kill Alana for?"

"Ah, I see that you do not remember me, Mr Jackson." she smiled, ignoring the second part of his question.

Remember her? Was she a prostitute that I hired before? No, that's not it, he thought.

"The hell I do! What is this?! A robbery scheme?"

"Quite the contrary. Remember this man?" again, the murderess took out the news article. As Walter squinted at it, trying to read in the total darkness, his face turned white in fear.

"Y... you are his..."

"Ah yes, yes indeed. Your honesty is kindly appreciated." a wicked smile was carved on her face as she heard what he had to say.

"Pl... please, I'll do anything you want... whatever I can do to... to atone...” he looked as if he was about to pass out from fear.

"Atone? There's nothing you can do to atone!" her usual calm demeanour was overcome by a fit of rage.

"Pl... Please, I'm s... sorry!" Walter went down on his knees, begging for mercy.

The murderess acted like she gave his words a thought for a short moment, much to his delight. Then she yelled "GO TO HELL!", and stabbed him in the neck.

"What the hell? Another murder?" William was frustrated and worried about his job at the same time. He was desperately searching for clues in the alley, hoping that he could find an indication. Time was running out.

"Inspector Rivers, someone turned up at Scotland Yard, sir. She said that she's the one who committed the murders." David told him the news he was waiting for.

"What? Are you sure you're not mistaken?" William was baffled. Who would step up to confess that they'd committed the crimes?

"Positive, sir."

"Wait, did you say 'she'?"

"Yes, sir."

It suddenly hit him that he has been following the wrong direction to solve the crime. It was a lady who killed these men, not a man as he'd initially thought. No wonder there were no signs of scuffling. These men let their guards down because their killer is a woman! He immediately rushed back to Scotland Yard to question the suspect.

When he opened the door of the questioning room, his heart nearly stopped. His fiancée, Isabelle Summers was sitting there, looking at him with amusement.

"Isabelle, what are you doing here?! I know you want to help me keep my job, but doing it this way is total lunacy! Don't confess for a crime you did not commit!" he was shaking Isabelle hard, hoping that she would snap out of it.

Suddenly, the door of the questioning room flung open.

"Wait! You can't go in there!" a police personnel came running after the intruder. William looked up to see who just barged in through the door.

"Isabelle?! But aren't you sitting here?!" he was absolutely confused when he saw two Isabelles in front of him.

"Excuse me, I would like to be here as well." the Isabelle who just came in told the police officer, who left when William nodded.

"B... but how can this be? I'm not dreaming, am I?"

"Ah, I have not introduced you to my twin sister, Annabelle." she pointed to her sister who was seated.

"Twin...? But you've never told me anything about you having a twin!"

"Indeed, I have not. It was part of my plan. The person who was at the restaurant with you was Annabelle, not me. I trust you have just returned from the crime scene where the bodies of Walter Jackson and Alana Morrison were found, yes?"

"Yes I have. You did that?"

"Obviously I did." Isabelle's calm composure hid her devilish side perfectly.

"What about the other two murders?" as much as he hated this, William could not betray his vow - to banish crime and bring criminals to be sentenced in court, even if it was the woman he loved dearly.

"I did those." Annabelle said.

"What proof do you both have that justifies what you have just said?" he was determined to prove that they both, or at least, Isabelle, was lying.

"All three of them have the words 'go to hell' carved on their backs." Annabelle replied.

"Walter Jackson's mistress was stabbed twice in her back, once in her abdomen, and once in her chest. Walter Jackson was stabbed in his neck. Is that enough proof for you, William?" A sinister smile formed on Isabelle's angelic face.

Indeed, their words gave conclusive evidence that they were the ones who assassinated Lord Dimsbury, Senator Wallace, and Walter Jackson. The carvings on their backs were never released to the journalists, only known to the coroner and the police officers who worked on the case. William did not let slip any information about the case to Isabelle, or rather, Annabelle over dinner, either. Besides, the news of the third murder has not been reported in the newspapers yet.

"But why, why did you both kill them?" he finally found his voice after several minutes of silence.

"Revenge." Isabelle said.

"Those three men framed our father 20 years back. They accused him of bribery and corruption of the Withington Shipping Company's funds where he was the Vice President." Annabelle continued.

"Although our father was acquitted of the charges, his name was tarnished. No one trusted him anymore."

"He committed suicide two years later. Did you know how much our mother suffered for years to come? She had to withstand public scrutiny while bringing us up. In the end, we moved to France, changed our names and started our lives anew."

"But why did you come back? Why did you want to exact revenge on them when you have a better life in France?" exasperation was taking over his emotions. If only they had not came back, he wouldn't be in this predicament, facing his murderess fiancée, about to send her to prison.

"We forced the truth out form our mother about our father's death. When we knew about how he suffered, we were enraged. Hence, we came back to London to plot our revenge." Isabelle said.

"Do you have anything else to say?" William suppressed his emotions.

"No." the sisters smiled.

"I hereby place charges on the both of you for the murders of Lord Bryan Dimsbury, Senator Raymond Wallace, Miss Alana Morrison, and Mr Walter Jackson. You have the right to remain silent, but anything you say can be used against you in court. The confession you have just made will be presented in court as well."

"Isabelle, have you ever loved me?" William asked as the Summers sisters were being led out by another officer.

"No." she lied, hoping he would forget her and move on.

"I see. But I do, and I always will."

Tears rolled down his cheeks as they left. He knew that they will definitely be sentenced to the gallows, and he will be at the execution site to watch as his fiancée breathes her last.