Finally, after such a long, harsh winter, the sun was beginning to show its strength and the days were finally warmer and brighter. Toronto was a city of brick and concrete buildings with factories that belched out thick black smoke, which was hardly uplifting during the dull cold winter months.

Thomas Brackenreid adjusted his cravat grey and black striped and black waistcoat while standing looking into the mirror over the bureau. With a final adjustment to the cravat, he the master bedroom and leisurely made his way down the stairs to the kitchen only to find his wife, Margaret, fussing with their two growing boys, John and Robbie. "What's going on here?" he asked as if there seemed to be some confusion. Here was a hit of amusement in the Inspector's tone.

"I'm trying to get the boys to take a lunch," Margaret huffed.

"Why? They come home for lunch. The school's only a few blocks away," Thomas said as he poured himself a coffee.

"I have a meeting over the lunch hour and I won't be home to make it for them," his wife curtly answered.

Thomas rolled his eyes, "Oh, one of those," he smirked as he took a sip from the hot brew.

"I saw that look," Margaret scolded her husband. "You'll thank me one day," she added.

"I thank you everyday, my dear," Brackenreid smiled as he set his mug down on the table at the centre of the room, "You lads pay heed to your mother," he pointed at the two young men. "And you my dear, have a wonderful meeting," he smiled and pulled Margaret to him, and gave her a a quick peck to the cheek. Margaret flushed slightly. "Be safe, Thomas," she said after her husband left the kitchen to gather his black bowler hat, coat and walking stick , which were on the coat rack at the front door.

For Brackenreid, it was only a ten minute walk to Station House 4 and with the warmer weather now on its way, it was all the nicer for such a stroll. With a smile on his face, he stroll out to the sidewalk and began his short trek to work. As usual, the Inspector tipped his hat to the ladies along the boulevard if they were out in their yard, or gathering their mail. He enjoyed this neighbourhood and rich life, and found himself smirking at his boys, "They will be good lads, indeed," he muttered to himself as he continued his walk.

The Inspector turned the corner into the busier part of town and wandered along the street on his way to work. Out of an alley, one of the seedier men in the neighbourhood popped out in front of the Inspector and deliberately walked into him, grasping him by the shoulders before he purposely burped into Brackenreid's face. "You dirty bugger you," the Inspector shoved him aside, quickly pulling his handkerchief from his trouser pocket to wipe away the slight moistness that was left behind. "Have a bath and get the hell out of my district, you filthy slob. And not necessarily in that order," Thomas bellowed at the man, garnering attention from other people on the busy morning street. The vagrant scrambled from sight like a sewer rat in the light. Brackenreid huffed, straighten his coat and continued on his way. His smile was quickly replaced by a scowl on.

It seemed to be a lively day, already at the station house. One might have wondered what phase the moon was in, if they believed in that rubbish, Brackenreid thought as he wove his way to his office – an oasis in the middle of madness. The Inspector exhaled and quickly plucked his hat off, placing it on a peg of the coat rack, followed by is suit coat and cane.

The inspector strolled to his desk and looked out through the window at the usual crown, "What the devil is going on?" he wondered aloud.

"We wondered the same thing, Sir," Constable George Crabtree commented as he set a tea cup down on the Inspector's desk.

Brackenreid looked over his shoulder, "Thanks for the tea, Crabtree. Now, please find out what the hell is going on out there," he motioned with his right hand to the crowd in the other room. That's when he noticed a small spot of blood on the upper part of his arm, "That dirty bugger stabbed me with something!"

Detective William Murdoch was just heading to his own office, which was adjacent to the Inspector's office when he noticed this boss examining his shirt sleeve. Thinking it was an odd thing to be doing that early in the morning, Murdoch poked his head through the open door, "Sir?"

Brackenreid quickly looked up, almost as if he was in shock. Murdoch moved slowly into the room. "That dirty bugger stabbed me," he said resuming his examination of the small hole in his now bloodied sleeve.

"Stabbed? Who? When?" Murdoch asked as he watched his boss with great interest.

"One of those trolls from the alley. The same one from a couple of weeks ago. That O'Farrell creep," the Inspector grumbled.

William looked quickly at the wound and noticed that the blood was flowing; soaking the upper sleeve red. "Maybe you should have Julia look at that," Murdoch suggested.

"It doesn't hurt. Well, not that much," Brackenreid stated as he moved his right arm around to prove his point. It felt more and more irritated as he did so.

"I still think it would be prudent for Julia to look at it, Sir. It's bleeding quite a bit," William almost insisted.

Brackenreid frowned at the thought, "I suppose you're right," he said as he clamped his left hand over the small wound, which was now throbbing.

"I'll walk with you," William flashed a quick smile knowing full well that his boss was not impressed how his day had begun. "Be safe she said," Brackenreid huffed as he walked to the office door. William was about to ask what the comment was about but he chose not to at the last second. The two men made their way through the busy lobby of the station and across the street to the city morgue.

Julia was at her desk, working on a report for the latest autopsy she had preformed for the hospital. She heard the door opened and she looked up, "Good morning, William. Inspector," she smiled.

"Bloody hell it is," Brackenreid grumbled as he rubbed his shoulder.

Julia made a face, "Oh dear. What's wrong?" she asked as she stood up to face the two men.

"It seems that the Inspector was attacked on his way to work," William pointed out.

"Hardly attacked," Brackenreid snorted at the young detective's comment.

"Sir, if a man got close enough to stab you, then you were attacked," Murdoch pointed out. The detective's brown eyes were locked onto Brackenreid's light blue eyes – there was hurt in them.

"Stabbed!?" Julia sputtered in surprise.

"Yeah," Brackenreid sighed as he pulled his left hand from his right shoulder. They were both now covered in rich red blood.

"Oh my!" Julia stated as she motioned for the Inspector to take a seat at her desk. Reluctantly, the Inspector moved to the chair and sat down, scowling at Murdoch the whole time. William merely shrugged as he watched Julia do a superficial examination of the wounded area. After a few minutes, and all eyes on Julia's hands, she stepped back. "I need to see your arm," she spoke tenderly to Brackenreid.

"You want me to take my shirt off?" the Inspector cast a doubtful glace to his colleague. Murdoch's left eyebrow lifted and he shrugged slightly. Brackenreid's eyebrows knit together; clearly he was irked by the whole situation. Gruffly he pulled off his cravat and waistcoat before he unbuttoned his shirt. Both Julia and William could tell he was now favouring his right shoulder. The Inspector peeled off his shirt, just enough for Julia to take a better look at his shoulder.

The doctor wiped the wound with disinfectant, causing Brackenreid to flinch with every dob. "Sorry," Julia smirked. "The next part is going to hurt worse, I'm afraid," she warned as he wanted to clean inside the wound.

"Just get on with it. I have things to do," Brackenreid grumbled and shot another look over to Murdoch.

Julia proceeded to thoroughly cleanse the wound which only took a few seconds, but to Brackenreid it was much longer – the pain intensified. "We'll have to monitor this for a while. It's a clean wound, but I don't know what your assailant used," she said as she wrapped a clean cloth bandage around the Inspector's upper arm. All he could think of was the inconvenience of it all.

Julia finished with the bandage and went to the sink to wash her hands, "Changed the dressing later today, and let me know if you notice any change in colour around the opening immediately," she said glancing back over her shoulder. Brackenreid had already pulled his shirt back up and his waistcoat on,"Thanks for your attention, Doctor," he said as he looked down at the bloodied sleeve and his hand.

"You can wash up here," the doctor offered as she stepped away from the sink, drying her hands with a cloth. Thomas made a face and at least he could wash the blood from his hands, the shirt was another matter. Without a word the Inspector walked to the sink and gave his hands a quick wash and dried them off.

"Thanks again, Doctor," the Inspector nodded as he left the autopsy room. Murdoch followed his boss without saying a word. Before they left the morgue, Brackenreid looked down at his sleeve, "I can't work looking like this. I need a new shirt," he sighed.

"I can pick one up for you, Sir," William offered.

"Thanks, Murdoch," the English smiled. The two walked back to the station, "I want you to find that vagrant bum, O'Farrell and bring him in," Brackenreid added.

"Yes Sir," Murdoch said as he watched Brackenreid enter the station. He on the other hand was in search of a new shirt for his boss, before he could get his men to round up O'Farrell.