Making his way further into the mansion, James checked the third door in the hallway past the study and the child's bedroom, encountering a rather dark library.  Four bookcases were lined up, each one an exact distance from each other.  The books were filled with oddly-structured subjects, from various species of plants to bird anatomy to maternity magazines.  The wall opposite the door had an unusual gash in it, as if a huge blade had cut through it to behind one of the bookshelves, which remained intact.
Curious about what the owners of the place read, he flicked through most of the books, thinking perhaps he could find a clue on how to kill his opponent.  Even with his education at the level of a high schooler, he knew that knowledge was power, despite having not read many books in his life if any at all.  One book in particular caught his eye, a seemingly well-read one by how worn the pages were, with incredibly complex diagrams of some sort of ritual that made his head spin.
He would have stopped reading if it weren't for the giant pair of scissors described within.
	"Wha!?  Those scissors...shit this HAS to be related to that li'l freak..."
He continued reading, doing all that he could to keep up with the text about the scissors.  From what he gathered, there was something demonic behind it, like the doctor in the sealed room had assumed.  A demon who could be summoned from parts unknown, whose signature method was to kill with a giant pair of scissors, crafted from an unearthly material that rendered it immune to being damaged or destroyed.  The text soon became filled with strange words that he could make no heads or tails of.  Later on, it read:

This particular demon, while not well-known amongst other greater demons such as Ba'al or Asmodeus, remains a fearsome figure who, when properly controlled, can become a most terrible ally.  They seek to murder and destroy almost as if it were an addiction, purely for amusement, as well as a hunger for blood, which energises it powerfully so.  How it feeds is a mystery but it is confirmed that it does not feast on living flesh.
Despite its little-known background rendering it to obscurity, it has embedded itself within the fears of common folk in northern Europe, particularly Germany, with the popular nursery rhyme from Der Struwwelpeter owing to its summoning texts originating from within this region.  Its true origin is unknown, but researchers of demons and rituals have theorised that it is likely to be Scandinavian.
It is necessary to be able to summon, and then control the demon, with the following ritual and with the proper host.  Should this demon be released unto the world, it becomes rather tenacious in its quest to inflict terrible violence upon the world.  Despite its origins, it is limited to what its host's body is capable of, and at most, is only able to inflict the same level of violence as that of an elusive serial killer.

He kept reading as the book retold the nursery rhyme, about a boy who was warned by his mother to not suck his thumb or else a tall well-dressed man would come to cut his thumb.  One verse stuck out for the raptor, which he read aloud.

	The door flew open, in he ran,
	The great, long, red-legged scissorman.
	Oh! children, see! the tailor's come
	And caught our little Suck-a-Thumb.

	"...Scissorman huh?  Wouldn't really call him a man though, he's a freaking head shorter than me."
While reading further through the book, something fell out between the pages.  A scrap of paper, which contained a very short poem.
	"Hold the Demon Idol with great care.  A tree in the forest, a person in the crowds, the idol is on a statue.  The hell?  Heh, bet there's a freaking cult downstairs by now...wait, statue?"
His mind raced back throughout the mansion to where he had noticed several statues, all exactly the same.  Like trees in a forest, or people in a crowd.
	"....damn."
Realising this, he headed back the way along the halls to just outside the sealed up room where several of the statues were.  Investigating them carefully, he saw that indeed one of them held something in its hand, indistinguishable from the rest without further examination.
	"Aaaah there you are...wait, this thing?"
An ugly looking dark-coloured little statue of a skull-shaped base, with some sort of crow-demon perched upon it.  It was surprisingly light despite being made of some sort of stone.  Putting it into his pockets, James felt himself to be a little weighed down but went with it nevertheless, hoping he would be able to put the statue somewhere useful soon.  Heading back the other way, he reached the very end of the house to find a new room.  The layout confused him more with how similar everything was, especially corridors above and below each other.

Reaching another hall with a stairway and a door at the end, he peered inside to be greeted with an oddly unsettling blue light, bathing a dozen white wooden mannequins in its cold glow.  All of them wore elaborate dresses of possibly Edwardian times, making James wonder if the owners of the house really did think it was way back then.  What was more unnerving about them was the fact that they were all crowded together in a small enclosed area of the room, marked out by pillars, presumably where the light was coming from.
	"Creepy."
He found nothing else but frilly gowns in their own little room, faceless and wooden, arms outstretched pitifully, trying to impress him with their elaborate ware and failing to do so.  To him, they looked pointlessly flamboyant and huge, the kind that rich people would wear and inconvenience not only themselves but everyone else purely for the sake of image.  It made him think back to Sarah and her mockery of such when she wore such a dress.
	"Ohhh god, she looked so...gah, couldn't even touch her ass without raking through five layers of cloth, hahaha..."
How that hotel adventure ended, funded entirely by a lost credit card from a poor rich sap who'd have to pay for all their adventures of wining and dining.  The dresses made him remember the dance he had with Sarah.  A waltz.  He had the rhythm but not the experience, and neither did Sarah.  So they did their best not to step on each other's toes.  It went surprisingly well enough to not go amiss.

And then a childish idea came to him.  Something that brought a smile to his lips, something to disrupt the sense of creepiness that the mannequins were enshrouded in.  If asked, James could never explain what he did or why he did it back then, other than "I felt I had to".  Before he could even question it, he grabbed one of the mannequins by the hand and spun her away from her friends, attempting to dance with her across the room.
	"Care to dance, milady?"
As unnerved as he was, he felt he just had to disarm the peril he felt with this sort of mockery, to calm himself down as he began to dance loosely to a waltz in his mind.  On the upside, his partner wouldn't complain, even if he stomped on her "foot" by accident.  As he took the mannequin by its hand, dancing throughout the room in his spur of the moment, James reminisced about Sarah and how they had danced.  By the time he realised what he was doing, he was already lost in a nostalgic trance.
	"Ohhh...my lady you dance so stiffly, loosen up a little..."
As he danced to his own little tune, feeling along the finely tailored petticoat, holding the mannequin against his waist, he forgot about the mansion briefly, whisked away by his memory to that hotel ballroom.  Holding Sarah's body close to him, one of the greatest nights of his life, a night that could make him forget about who he was or where he lived.  A night of flight and fantasy.  He closed his eyes, trying to take himself away.

The memory somehow strengthened in his reminiscing, the swaying of his hips almost hypnotising himself, feeling as if he had been transported away as he enshrouded himself within his own warm darkness of thoughts.  When he opened them once again, Sarah was in front of him, wearing a cheap but wonderful yellow dress.  James gasped at his own apparent self-delusion, seeing the face he hadn't seen in years, a face he almost wanted to weep at seeing again.  A face that had kept him going in his quest to return home.  That toughened middle-aged grey skin, rubbery and smooth with a dolphin bottlenose.  Had he truly managed to delude himself this deeply?
	"James?  Yer shakin'."
Her voice came clear in her mind, sweetened up to accompany the dress but it was nevertheless her voice.  He hugged her close, the entire world around him a blur of brown and cream, frayed edges of the tapestry of his memory, purely focusing on her clear as day.  He danced without saying a word, lost in his memory, trying to find the right words to say.
	"You tryin' to say something, hun?"
	"I...I had a dream."
	"A dream?  While dancing?  You sure don't look it, you must be good at sleepin'."
	"No...I...I thought I was...somewhere else.  I had...these adventures...some of them were awesome...some were horrible."
	"Nightmares?"
	"I...I was so far away from home.  I wanted to go home, to you, so badly, I was scared that you...that you were-"
	"Shhhh...just dance...we don't get nights like this."
Her motherly tone soothed his soul, allowing him to relax and move his feet across the floor automatically, losing control of his legs as they went their own way and dancing better with every step.  All he could do was hug her, while they danced their best in the midst of a memory, the shadows of his past circling around them, nothing more than background colour.

James nuzzled Sarah's grey neck, sighing at the memory of her scent, so strong that it had come back to him across time.  A pretence of cheap perfume, accompanied by her true scent underneath, of sweat and the drinks from her bar.  Jaegermeister on her breath, and the Rose Cabernet the hotel had served that night.  His claws tightened around her protectively.
	"I don't want to leave you..."
	"You won't James, what are you talkin' about?"
	"I just...I get scared..."
	"Course ya do, yer young in a big world, but you gotta learn to stand yer ground, even if you don't wanna."
He didn't even remember this conversation, and he wasn't even sure if it was in his memory at all, or if he was talking to himself and imagining replies.  Perhaps he was trying to help himself, perhaps mentally molding the wooden mannequin into his dearest friend.
	"What if something happened to you?"
	"You know me, you think I can be taken down easily?  Don't insult me now."
	"You're old, things happen right?"
	"I told ya not to insult me, haha...listen...no matter what happens, you gotta look after yerself.  You got much more a life ahead of ya, and you gotta do whatever it takes to survive.  You don't worry about me, it'd be stupid to worry about a tough ol' girl like me, kay?"
	"I...you think I can?"
	"Not many kids travel from London to Chicago on a boat and survive on the streets for a while, right?"
	"Y-yeah..."
	"When life is gonna try an' take all yer stuff and kick you down, you better stand yer ground and stop 'em where they stand."
	"Yeah...you're right.  Thanks, Sarah..."
	"Now shut up an' dance, mah boah."
Her accent then changed to a Southern Belle's, the pretence that she had played that evening, with James as her "lover" from the most haute-couture of London.  Everything of that memory was false.  The smiles of the hotel, the personalities they had played, the money not of their own that they had squandered.  And yet, there was one thing that was true.  Themselves.  It had been the first time in ages that he dreamt of Sarah so intensely as if she was in his arms right there, his love for her blooming.  As he danced with a wistful heart imagining a woman's touch, something came to his mind.

He had never danced with Daisy.  When he thought of her, his mind imagined seeing her in a corner just out of his vision, fading away like the flicker of a white flame.  The thought of missing that chance saddened him, yet he continued to dance, feeling somewhat obligated to his partner to finish the dance.  He steeled himself, trying to shake away thoughts of Daisy, mentally apologising to her memory.  Right now he was dancing with one woman, and to think of another at the time would be rude, whether it was all in his mind or not.
He put his head upon the quilted shoulder, feeling a little remorseful, hugging the dress tighter to him as if pleading for it to hug him back.  He soon felt himself turn sleepy, eyes half-closing as he collapsed upon the dance floor, the shadows ignoring him just as he had ignored them.  The dress became his cushion and quilt, instinctively cuddling up to it, a sense of falling repeating in his mind as he fell within darkness while grabbing the dress possessively so.  In a bottomless abyss where darkness reigned, the dress faded from his hands, turning into ash, leaving him alone and falling in a continuous rapid descent.
A part of him tried to stay awake, feeling a threat nearby raising the back of his neck yet he couldn't imagine what.  His mind started to race with this prospect, feeling something swoop around him, the sound of wings flapping in the darkness.  He could not see them, yet he tried his hardest to reach out for them as they constantly elude his grasp, the sounds of crows mocking him from every direction at one point.  Then he saw something.
Something purple.  Something that flew.  Something that made his soul shiver in fear.  As his fear grew with this taunting demon of his mind, knowing fully well who it was, he saw a light at the bottom.  A single spotlight, as blue as springwater.  In the centre of it, was a pair of giant scissors, glinting upwards.  He tried not to look at where he would fall, fearing the worst, but wherever else he looked, he saw only the one thing he had truly feared in his life.
That winged beast, that pointed head, that skeletal body.  Those piercing yellow eyes.  He did not know which frightened him more.  Just before he turned his gaze back downwards, he heard a voice directly inside his mind.
	"Come to me."
Then he saw the scissors, at the exact same time as he felt them impale through his throat and stomach, screaming hoarsely for a second before he woke up in shock.

	"AAAAGH!"
Looking around himself, he found himself back within the mannequin room, sleeping beside the dressed-up mannequin he had been dancing with before.  He clutched his neck and belly, bathed within the blue light, shivering from the dream.  Such vividness made his head spin slightly as he slowly sat up.
"Wha...what happened?  I...S-sarah...w-where..."
A part of him wanted to cry, to just weep for not being with Sarah anymore, or with Daisy as much as his mind tried to ignore it.
Yet all he could do was shake with anger at being cockteased by the vivid dreams, as if the mansion was openly mocking him on his loneliness.  He clenched his hands, tightened his jaw, claws tensed up as if ready to snap like rubber bands.  His eyes moistly screwed shut, grabbing the dress next to him, pushing his face into it to wipe away the rising tears.
	"NnnnnnnaaaaAAAAAARGH!"
As he roared, he began to tear the cloth furiously to pieces, ripping every lace and seam into two, then four, then eight, stretching the tougher-bound pieces until they snapped forcefully apart.  Like a child throwing a tantrum, he disclothed the mannequin in the most violent manner he could think of.  When he only had a naked mannequin left before him, he picked it up with all his might and slammed it against the pillars of the room as if wielding lumber.  Hard enough to make his whole body shudder with the force.  Hard enough to eventually break the wooden head clean off to result in a splintered looking neck, almost like a bayonet.

He was about to break even more of it when he heard the sound of footsteps and scissors snipping from outside.  Not even scared anymore with the rage that possessed him, he waited until it was close enough before he ran towards the door, charging with mannequin in hand.  As the door opened to show the ruffled-collared scissor-wielding boy who had chased him doggedly across the mansion, James thrust forwards with his new weapon, roaring with his snarling teeth as he stabbed right through the gut.  He charged through the halls with the killer, who was forcefully trying to push against the raptor, even with scissors in hand.
	"YOU BASTARD, I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!  I KNOW YOUR NAME, BOBBY!"
Even with an unholy strength he had to fight against, James managed to keep pushing forwards by sheer momentum.
	"I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE!  YOU'RE NOT EVEN HUMAN, SO I GOT NO PROBLEM WITH KILLING YOU, YOU FUCKING ABORTION!"
Relentlessly he thrust again and again, trying to ruthlessly murder the murderer, the scissors trying to get a good grip on the wood and snip through it.  But James grabbed one of the handles and spun it away from the boy, thrusting forwards again as their tug of war had reached the other side of the house, where a gap in the floor would be James' target.
Shoving forwards with all of his furious might, he managed to force the demon child backwards into the floor gap and fall to the 1st floor without even a moan of pain, the scissors falling down with him.  Panting hard with a blood-stained unwieldy broken mannequin stand, he wasn't satisfied.  Blood lust had sunken in.
	"OH NO YOU DON'T!  I'LL DO TO YOU WHAT SHOULDA BEEN DONE TO THE FUCKING DEMON WHORE THAT GAVE BIRTH TO YOU!"

His logic was brutally silenced however when he leapt down the floor gap with his weapon pointed sharply downwards, aiming right for the little body, roaring with pre-emptive victory.  But his opponent had managed to roll out of the way quickly enough.  This resulted in his mannequin stand breaking onto the floor, while he himself fell to the side and ended up twisting his ankle.
	"AAAAAAAGH!  FUCKING...SHIT!"
Having stupidly disadvantaged himself, he tried to run as fast as he could from the scissors once again, now more difficult with a wounded left leg as he stumbled and limped desperately away, gritting his teeth against the pain.  Running upstairs into the foyer with the broken glass, he knew that even with his bad leg he could run faster than the boy, but not realising that it made his leg hurt worse, shuddering with pain at each mis-step when he hurt it further.  Only his adrenaline managed to dull some of the pain.
Finding one door locked, he tried the other and frantically ran into a dead-end corridor where lied one other door, leading to a rather spacious closet.  Ducking into the room, he frantically climbed over a large metal cupboard in front of him, which had some sort of gap behind it, and hid himself.  He shook with panic as well as pain and fury.  Looking around this small space, he noticed a few items he could use to fight with, one of which was a Japanese sword, a huge one which appeared to be perfect for fighting.  Making a note of it, he patiently sat trying to let his leg recover, biting his lip against the pain that throbbed from it to keep himself hidden.  He could hear the snipping get closer.

Snip.  Snip.  Snip.  Snip.  Trying his utmost best to not make a single sound, he waited for his assailant to pass on by, as he apparently investigated the room for any sign of his prey, the buckled shoes clonking around upon the wooden floor.  After what felt like too long to be searching a room and making James sweat, he heard the demon walk away, keeping himself absolutely silent as good as he could until perhaps a minute later when he heard no more noise.  Then he sighed through his nostrils, relieved against the wall.
Calming down, he cursed himself again for being so stupid in spraining his ankle, and realised he had just made himself an easier opponent against those scissors.  Slowly trying to get up, he whimpered at the pain in his left ankle, shuddering to try and stand, pushing a box over to the cupboard to climb over it again, taking the sword from within it.
	"Ungh...least I'm armed better now, with a...."
He saw the sword had a name on both sides of the blade, Japanese on one side and English on the other.
	"...Daikatana?  Whatever...owwww...stupid asshole, why did you do that...nnngh..."
Struggling to climb over the cupboard with only one painless leg, James carefully deposited himself over it with sword in hand, shuddering as he tried desperately to not hit the floor hard.  The closet had various cupboards and boxes, as well as odd knick-knacks such as cans of insecticide, nothing to concern himself with.

As he slowly walked from the closet limping, he decided that firstly he had to deal with his leg and tried to remember how Sarah had once sprained her ankle, going back through what she taught him in order to look after her.
	"Okay...bandage it up, put some ice on it, and rest....ice, I know where that is."
Armed with sword in hand, he headed back to the kitchen, his fear quenching his hunger as he held his blade tightly.  The freezer had remained shut.  But he stood ready to attack whatever was inside, remembering his theory of the possibility of there being two identical killers in this house, presumably Bobby and Dan.  Swinging it open in a flurry, he found nothing.  No body.  No scissors.
	".....he did escape.  Maybe it IS just one of them."
He wanted to test if the freezer was able to be opened from inside, but that would have been stupid and he dismissed the idea while peering inside to grab some ice.  A smooth long block of it would be best or at least a frozen small slab of pork.  Then he saw something shine in the darkness.  A faint glint on the floor.  His eyes glimmered with intrigue, as he bent down to pick up a solid gold key.
	"Damn, another key?  Hmph...times like this I wish I'd taken that lockpicking course.  Oooh congratulations, you're a master of unlocking now, whoooo..."
Sniggering to himself, he pocketed the key and repeated his performance with tying a dishtowel, this time to his foot as he strapped the ice cold meat to the back of his foot before heading back out.  He wondered if this was the key to unlock the nearby locked door in the foyer.  Much to his delight, it worked.
	"Finally."
A new room awaited for him to explore, as he opened the door.
A cozy-looking living room with a couch and a small table where stood a wineglass in the middle.  An unlit fireplace was in the wall to James' left, with a suit of armour in the near left corner.  A box with a single old black rotary-dial telephone sat in the far left corner, as well as having a wardrobe directly to his left, and a cupboard straight ahead in the far right corner.
	"Ooh, cushy...lotta shit on the left wall though."
He decided to raid the place a little, looking through the nearby wardrobe to see several women's clothes, and for some odd reason a black robe amongst them, clearly out of place.  Ignoring it, there was nothing else of value, as he walked over to the couch and sat down with a deep sighing.
	"Phew...really needed that."

As dangerous as it was to relax in a place like this, James had been on edge for so long that he needed to relax or else he felt he would just explode.  He even felt that the exhaustion had finally overtaken him, and that he had just drifted off into sleep before he was rudely woken up by a strange ringing sound.
	"AGH!"
Checking that his heart hadn't exploded from surprise, the ringing came to his right, chirruping for a second or two before stopping.  It was the phone.  He got up to curiously examine it, having never seen a phone of such an old design before, and gently picked up the receiver.
	"...hello?"
Nothing came from the other side of the line, not even the faintest breath.
	"Hello?  HELLO."
After no reply for, he put the receiver back down and shrugged to himself.  Examining the device further, he noticed a line from the back of it which had oddly been cut.
	"Why does a phone need a line?  Wait, is this one of those really old phones?!"
His mind flicked back to the calendar in the kitchen and what year it was.
	"...ohhhh.  Huh, must be broken."
Finding nothing odd about a ringing phone with a cut line to his own mind, James decided to leave, feeling he had rested enough.  As he picked up the sword he had left on the couch, he accidentally knocked over the single wine glass which easily cracked on the floor.
	"Uh...oh fuck it, I don't care."
What he did care about was something now shining on the table, a silver key that had somehow magically appeared there in a small ring that had been left behind by the wineglass.
	"Huh...thank you clumsiness."
Taking that key in turn, he was about to leave the room when he heard something thud from behind him.