Why? Why, do I let him treat me that way? I could rip his throat out with my teeth and suck him dry with my fangs in a matter of minutes. Instead, I let him abuse, threaten, and use me...all for his pleasure. Does the devil love? Love to hurt, torture, destroy, influence and pervert the course of lives. To protect, care, and cherish someone...it seems not.
Am I that undesirable now, he has to seek out ways to console his needs and desires? Not even being raped by my brother, hurt this much and in his warped mind, I think he believed he loved me. I felt anguish when I ended his corrupt life and in his last moments, he smiled up at me, while his blood rushed from the wound I made on his neck. When our sister Grace found us, I was soaked in our brother's blood, out stretched on the bed of pine needles, beneath a grove of old pines. She didn't run or scream, just walked up to our bodies, laying peacefully on the ground. She held out her hand and eventually I took it. We left him there, eyes wide, starring at the tree tops gently swaying. Hand in hand we returned to our village, but our brother would never come home again.
That bastard! How dare he treat me like a forgotten and useless toy. Haven't I always done what he asked...without question? His personal puppet, a dummy unable to say or do anything without its master's hand on it? I vowed no man to have me again and then I met him. Jack and Norman had been friends since they were very young, in an orphanage, then Jack happened to meet Grace at the Inventor's Coliseum. One day, I was invited to attend and that's when I met Norman. He was totally different than Jack and I was mesmerized by him. His sandy hair was cropped short and seemed to sparkle in the sun. He talked non-stop about this inventions, experiments, time travel, and I just listened, starring in awe at him. I'd never seen someone so alive before and he didn't seem concerned about how odd Grace and I looked from other 'humans.' My heart starting beating again that day and I knew I was his for eternity.
No! Those days are long gone and now all I feel is fear and pain. He saw a wild animal to tame and train, just part of his mad experiments, another test to conduct, a theory to debunk...Well, this test tube experiment is going to revolt and he will find out my bite is much worse than any bark, up to now. Threaten me again, Norman, dearest, and you'll feel more than the rough edge of my tongue!! Bastard!
20150630
20150629
What's my name?
All you need to know is my name. What is a name after all? At our birth, we are given a name, by total strangers, who don't know us and in some cases, don't keep us. My name doesn't define me or even tell you anything about me. Am I funny, clever, tall, blonde...do I have gray eyes or two different colored ones. No one really cares...they put a name with a face and move on.
These women who have been 'removed' from society, they had many names, Martha, Mary Ann, Annie, and Catherine and still, they were strangers. Meeting men who were strangers, not knowing their names and having sex. I've watched them, night after night, selling their ware on the dark and shabby streets and alleys in Whitechapel. Finding, or found by, men seeking to satisfy a need for tuppence a job. I find it rather amusing, at times; wearing my mask, I can zoom in and watch close-up, on infrared mode. There is a glow around the bodies, like their damned souls are on fire, and the eyes are an animals...reflective iridescence. A call of nature, I suppose, raw animal instinct, in human form, satisfying an uncontrollable urge. No, I don't think so. I, myself, do not indulge in this back alley animal action and observing these people do not make me wish to.
It has been an interesting study, clinical trials, but I grow bored and Jack has not played this game well at all. He looked so tormented and his fear wreaked from every pore; he is not the man I once knew. As boys, we dared it all and had so many amazing adventures...I actually looked up to him...something changed in him and then that bitch Grace... a low growl resonates in his throat
Jack has turned into a bumbling frightened fool, like that f 'ing Detective Warren. It makes me sick; what a waste of talent. There may be hope yet, to bring him back into the fold; time enough for that. Right now, I am meeting a new friend at number thirteen...my very lucky number. Such a sweet girl and very pretty, considering...time that I indulge in a whim...a few hours to kill this evening.
The door at number thirteen opens and a young woman smiles, the face she sees is very familiar and she is pleased to see him again. Standing to one-side, she lets him in, then shutting the door behind her, leans back against it...fire light glints in her eyes, dancing with pleasurable thoughts. I've been wait'n for you, Norman.
These women who have been 'removed' from society, they had many names, Martha, Mary Ann, Annie, and Catherine and still, they were strangers. Meeting men who were strangers, not knowing their names and having sex. I've watched them, night after night, selling their ware on the dark and shabby streets and alleys in Whitechapel. Finding, or found by, men seeking to satisfy a need for tuppence a job. I find it rather amusing, at times; wearing my mask, I can zoom in and watch close-up, on infrared mode. There is a glow around the bodies, like their damned souls are on fire, and the eyes are an animals...reflective iridescence. A call of nature, I suppose, raw animal instinct, in human form, satisfying an uncontrollable urge. No, I don't think so. I, myself, do not indulge in this back alley animal action and observing these people do not make me wish to.
It has been an interesting study, clinical trials, but I grow bored and Jack has not played this game well at all. He looked so tormented and his fear wreaked from every pore; he is not the man I once knew. As boys, we dared it all and had so many amazing adventures...I actually looked up to him...something changed in him and then that bitch Grace... a low growl resonates in his throat
Jack has turned into a bumbling frightened fool, like that f 'ing Detective Warren. It makes me sick; what a waste of talent. There may be hope yet, to bring him back into the fold; time enough for that. Right now, I am meeting a new friend at number thirteen...my very lucky number. Such a sweet girl and very pretty, considering...time that I indulge in a whim...a few hours to kill this evening.
The door at number thirteen opens and a young woman smiles, the face she sees is very familiar and she is pleased to see him again. Standing to one-side, she lets him in, then shutting the door behind her, leans back against it...fire light glints in her eyes, dancing with pleasurable thoughts. I've been wait'n for you, Norman.
20150626
Kidney dispute
Stella! What are you doing with that?! It's my souvenir and I can do whatever I like with it. He won't like that and its disgusting, not to mention unsanitary. Awe, is poor little Gracie afraid? Besides, I've been wanting to try a kidney pie and you know the Brits are famous for their meat pies. Ha-ha! As Stella continues to taunt her sister, he returns in a foul mood. Seeing the kidney in Stella's hand, he swiftly moves towards her and grabs her throat. Who the f-u-c-k told you to touch that? No...no one...you're...ch-choking meee. Letting go, he demands her to hand over the organ. You're supposed to be keeping your stupid sister under-control Grace; I suggest you do a better job or you may not enjoy the consequences. Stella snickers and he shoots her a glare that silences her with a gulp. You seem to have forgotten the reason she acts this way...it also might help if these murders stopped, you know the affect they have on her and the blood lust that rages after each one. We made a deal Grace and I expect you to hold up your end or I will destroy what you love most...our dear Jack!
Fantasy lost
Floating, just under the surface, like a bloated corpse, Grace slowly and gently pushes her toes up to break the liquid glass surface of the hot bath water. A small ripple emanates out from her foot and in her minds eye, a tidal wave ensues. Letting out a heavy sigh, she contemplates her options. Kill herself, simple, kill her sister, complicated, kill him, impossible...the water is so warm and soothing, all is quiet and she is alone. The idea of just simply walking out, leaving all of it behind, seems like the easiest solution. Where would she go and how would she get there? Paris or Provence, what a glorious thought! She can just imagine the gay city of Paris, strolling in the summer evening under twinkling lights, hearing the Parisians chat with soft music floating around them. She fancied the sweet and pungent scent of lavender just as the sun sets on the rolling green vine covered hills in Provence. Birds twitter in the rosy glow and the stillness of the air surrounding her. Walking through the fields her long white gown catching on the grass and springing back when they let go... Splash! Grace's eyes fly open and popping up in the water like a bobber, she see's Stella squatting next to the tub, her hand under the water. What do you want Stella? When there is no reply, Grace becomes impatient. I would like to be left alone, please Stella. I'll be out soon, OK? Stella, still not looking at her sister, begins to raise her hand to the waters surface. Looking away from Stella's expressionless face, Grace notices the water is pink around Stella's hand. Before she can ask, Stella lifts her hand up and opens it, palm up, to reveal the contents. Grace is sickened at the sight and realizes its the kidney of the last victim. Hungry? Stella asks and a sadistic smile curls on her lips, followed by her tongue. Laughing, she gets up and walks out with her prize. Getting out of her tainted sanctuary, Grace dresses and wonders how much longer she can keep the end of her bargain with the devil that has destroyed her sisters soul.
20150624
Fate in Motion
Utter futility fills my soul as I sit slumped, teetering on the edge of my bed, a precipice with a black hole waiting to swallow me up; oblivion is my refuge. Tears still streaming down my face, like a well primed to over flow from trying to contain gallons of emotions built up, my body heaves with each sob. Pain is all I feel anymore and to release it becomes a comfort. Feeling emotionally drained, I lay down and attempt to rest; curled in a fetal position, I pray I can sum the remaining courage I posses and face what fate has to offer me.
Maybe this particular hell will end for me tonight; Warren is now my judge, jury, and potential executioner. I am so very tired...tired of it all... I wake with a start, slightly disorientated, I must have fallen asleep for my weariness. Hardly feeling rested, I check my watch, 9:27 p.m.; time to meet with justice. I take only what I need, eye patch in place covering one of my red puffy eyes, and I forgo the false mustache...what is the point now. Closing the door behind me, a hollow sound and the stairs creak slightly as I descend to exit. Pausing at the front door, I realize once I step outside, there is no going back. Fate is in motion and I must continue on this path, even if it is the road to hell. The fog is dense and I hail a cab to take me to The Britannia Public House. The horse's hooves pound the stone road and my head thumps to the beat with ever increasing pain. Stepping out, on the opposite side to the pub, I stand transfixed under a halo of glowing light. The sound of the cab trails off in the distance and I am left alone. I should be walking into this popular establishment and getting my usual pint of bitter and making myself comfortable while waiting for Warren. Yet, here I still stand, companion to the gas lamp like a moth to it's flame. A few minutes pass and I see a familiar silhouette approach the door to the pub. I want to shout out, but only a low croak escapes my dry throat. Warren enters the building and I decide in an instant that I can not jeopardize his life for this insane quest to end. Turning I start my long walk back to my room, unaware that Warren has come back outside, he has likewise recognized me. Not hearing his footsteps, I am knocked off balance when he calls, in a hushed voice, Jack! Where are you going? Please wait for me!
Maybe this particular hell will end for me tonight; Warren is now my judge, jury, and potential executioner. I am so very tired...tired of it all... I wake with a start, slightly disorientated, I must have fallen asleep for my weariness. Hardly feeling rested, I check my watch, 9:27 p.m.; time to meet with justice. I take only what I need, eye patch in place covering one of my red puffy eyes, and I forgo the false mustache...what is the point now. Closing the door behind me, a hollow sound and the stairs creak slightly as I descend to exit. Pausing at the front door, I realize once I step outside, there is no going back. Fate is in motion and I must continue on this path, even if it is the road to hell. The fog is dense and I hail a cab to take me to The Britannia Public House. The horse's hooves pound the stone road and my head thumps to the beat with ever increasing pain. Stepping out, on the opposite side to the pub, I stand transfixed under a halo of glowing light. The sound of the cab trails off in the distance and I am left alone. I should be walking into this popular establishment and getting my usual pint of bitter and making myself comfortable while waiting for Warren. Yet, here I still stand, companion to the gas lamp like a moth to it's flame. A few minutes pass and I see a familiar silhouette approach the door to the pub. I want to shout out, but only a low croak escapes my dry throat. Warren enters the building and I decide in an instant that I can not jeopardize his life for this insane quest to end. Turning I start my long walk back to my room, unaware that Warren has come back outside, he has likewise recognized me. Not hearing his footsteps, I am knocked off balance when he calls, in a hushed voice, Jack! Where are you going? Please wait for me!
20150623
Confrontation
Risk. All of it, everything, including my sanity, is at risk now. I feel like I am going to fly apart and scatter into the vast universe, drifting aimlessly for eternity.
I swiftly move down the busy streets, towards my lodging. Only six grueling hours to wait; that's if Warren will answer my request. My telegram was short and this time, I sent it to the police station, less likely to be read by others...I hope.
I swiftly move down the busy streets, towards my lodging. Only six grueling hours to wait; that's if Warren will answer my request. My telegram was short and this time, I sent it to the police station, less likely to be read by others...I hope.
Detective Samuel Warren stop
Meet me at 10 p.m. stop
Friend stop
Either he'll be at the pub, as a friend, or with constables to arrest me. It's a risk I must take, there is too much at stake. My mind whirls like a child's toy top, only to eventually teeter and fall over....dead, stop.
As I reach my room, the air feels dry and hot, a strange quiet has occupied the space. Letting my self in, I stand in the doorway, the hair on the back of my neck stands up...
Hello Jack, nice to see you. I am face to face with my nemesis. We need to talk my friend...about...many things.
All I want to do is run my knife across his throat...so slowly and deeply...allowing him to scream in agony, until all his evil blood has evacuated on to the wood floor, making a huge crimson carpet.
I know what you're thinking Jack. You forget... how well I know you. Would you risk it though...what would your new friend think then? That you killed all those poor women, your insane, a demented madman unable to control his need for mutilating flesh...Jack, The Ripper. Smoke wisps above his head as he takes a long drag off his cigarette.
When did you become such a f'ing bastard? Were you that jealous? A low rumbling laugh hums along the floor boards, creeping up my spine.
Jealous? Really Jack, you hurt me. You never had anything I wanted and besides, I take whatever I want...it's just that simple. And what is it you want now? Stop interfering Jack or you will live to regret it for a very long, long time. You have a great deal to risk loosing...is it worth it? You know I can't stop...I won't stop. I grit my teeth so hard, my jaw starts to hurt. He just sits there, looking detached, devoid of feeling, emotion, or even a conscious. The bile in my stomach starts to rise in my throat, burning like acid...I hate this man with passion, possibly equal to his passion for evil.
Don't...be foolish, my dear Jack. He moves towards the door and I step in his direction, our eyes meet and I see a burning flame, so hot, my own eyes start to water. I stand there, rooted to the floor, watching him exit, tears streaming down my face. It would be very unwise of you to follow me, so don't. The doorway is empty, so I launch through it and come up to the railing, hanging over, I look down and there he stands at the bottom of the steps. He stopped to light another cigarette; taking a long drag and without looking back at me. So, you're really ready to risk it all now....Jack...how disappointing. No! I will play your f'ing game...and the next time we meet...I will kill you!
A signature smile curls up on his face and he walks out.
20150620
Determination
This is out-of-control! That sadistic bastard has to be stopped, regardless of the consequences. Maybe, if Warren and I join forces, temporarily, I can locate where this depraved madman is staying and finally destroy him. Having access to police files and resources may make the difference and stop this senseless killing. If I have to die in the process and save Grace, I will gladly do so to end this terror.
20150615
Alderly and Wilmslow Advertiser
Friday, 5 October, 1888
The peace of the London Sunday was disturbed this week in a manner that it has rarely been before by the news published in the papers of the morning that a few hours previously two awful murders had been committed in the East End, and within a third of a mile of each other. Following so closely on the four that had preceded them within a month, and which had already stricken the Whitechapel District with a panic, it is no wonder that a delirium of alarm and indignation should prevail. The thing is so utterly without precedent or parallel, is so, so mysterious and entirely unaccountable, the murder--for all the probabilities points to its being the work of one hand--is so audacious and yet so cunning, the motive is impossible to understand, that it is no wonder the people should be bewildered, and that terror should reign throughout the district.
The fact is no satisfactory hypothesis has been offered to account for the extraordinary tragedies. To eery theory that has been stared objections suggest themselves that appear to be serious if not fatal, and all the efforts that have been made to obtain a clue, much less to track the murderer, have failed. Perhaps the theory that has the least formidable objections against it is the work of a monomaniac whose fatal impulse is to make war on the wretched outcasts of the street.
The peace of the London Sunday was disturbed this week in a manner that it has rarely been before by the news published in the papers of the morning that a few hours previously two awful murders had been committed in the East End, and within a third of a mile of each other. Following so closely on the four that had preceded them within a month, and which had already stricken the Whitechapel District with a panic, it is no wonder that a delirium of alarm and indignation should prevail. The thing is so utterly without precedent or parallel, is so, so mysterious and entirely unaccountable, the murder--for all the probabilities points to its being the work of one hand--is so audacious and yet so cunning, the motive is impossible to understand, that it is no wonder the people should be bewildered, and that terror should reign throughout the district.
The fact is no satisfactory hypothesis has been offered to account for the extraordinary tragedies. To eery theory that has been stared objections suggest themselves that appear to be serious if not fatal, and all the efforts that have been made to obtain a clue, much less to track the murderer, have failed. Perhaps the theory that has the least formidable objections against it is the work of a monomaniac whose fatal impulse is to make war on the wretched outcasts of the street.
Saucy Jacky's Postcard
A postcard is received 1 October 1888 at the Central News Agency.
I was not codding dear old Boss when I gave you the tip. You'll hear about Saucy Jacky's work tomorrow. Double event this time. Number one squealed a bit. Couldn't finish her straight off. Had not the time to get ears for police. Thanks for keeping the last letter back till I got to work again.
Jack the Ripper
This news infuriates our madman (when he finds out about it) and he doesn't appreciate the hoax played by some idiot in the press or police, for that matter. How dare they claim he killed two women! His work is deliberate, precise, and he always finishes what he starts...a coup de grace finish is looming for someone.
I was not codding dear old Boss when I gave you the tip. You'll hear about Saucy Jacky's work tomorrow. Double event this time. Number one squealed a bit. Couldn't finish her straight off. Had not the time to get ears for police. Thanks for keeping the last letter back till I got to work again.
Jack the Ripper
This news infuriates our madman (when he finds out about it) and he doesn't appreciate the hoax played by some idiot in the press or police, for that matter. How dare they claim he killed two women! His work is deliberate, precise, and he always finishes what he starts...a coup de grace finish is looming for someone.
Double Event?
Come ladies...we have a murder to perform. I grow bored with this game and Jack hasn't been clever enough, so time to have a little fun in old London town. A bit more enthusiasm is called for in our carving practices; this is an art form after all and our public deserves our best work yet. Let's show some appreciation and get creative...slice, dice, and toss...oh! and don't forget the containers. Some of her parts are to-go....ha-ha!!
Catherine Eddowe's body is discovered approximately 1:45 a.m. in Mitre square, 30 Sept 1888. Unbeknownst to our madman, another murder was committed and discovered at 1 a.m. in Dutfield's Yard, a half mile away that same day. This victim, Elizabeth Stride, did not however meet her death in true Ripper style. Only her throat was cut and by a dull blade. Jack the Ripper would still be sought for this crime. Catherine, on the other hand, is given the full treatment and in a manner more vicious than the last three women. Besides the usual strangulation, throat severed, incisions, along with the intestine displayed, severe mutilation to the face...deep cut over the bridge of the nose, extending from the nasal bone down the angle of the jaw on the right cheek into the bone and divided all the structures of the cheek. The tip of the nose was detached by a cut that also divided the upper lip and extended through the gum, over the upper right lateral incisor tooth. There were cuts on both sides of the face forming a triangular flaps of skin, peeled from the flesh. The carving and dissection continues down the corpse in a deranged autopsia cadaverum. The left kidney was removed and taken...
Part of Catherine Eddowe's apron was found in Goulston Street, dried blood and fecal matter clung to the fabric. This lead the Metro Police to the infamous message on the wall...
The Juwes are not
The men that
Will be
Blamed for nothing
This was ordered to be rubbed out by the police commissioner and hence, the speculation of what it meant.
Warren is shocked when he gets to the station at 7 a.m., and two more Ripper deaths are now on the books. He visits the sites and tries to puzzle out what might have happened. Looking at the preliminary coroner reports, he is dubious about Long Liz Stride; doesn't seem like the madman he's been after. Eddowe's, however, is more gruesome than can be imagined and this worries him. Still very thorough and calculated, but increasingly vicious and brutal. If this killer steps up his game much more...his next victim will be torn to shreds!
Catherine Eddowe's body is discovered approximately 1:45 a.m. in Mitre square, 30 Sept 1888. Unbeknownst to our madman, another murder was committed and discovered at 1 a.m. in Dutfield's Yard, a half mile away that same day. This victim, Elizabeth Stride, did not however meet her death in true Ripper style. Only her throat was cut and by a dull blade. Jack the Ripper would still be sought for this crime. Catherine, on the other hand, is given the full treatment and in a manner more vicious than the last three women. Besides the usual strangulation, throat severed, incisions, along with the intestine displayed, severe mutilation to the face...deep cut over the bridge of the nose, extending from the nasal bone down the angle of the jaw on the right cheek into the bone and divided all the structures of the cheek. The tip of the nose was detached by a cut that also divided the upper lip and extended through the gum, over the upper right lateral incisor tooth. There were cuts on both sides of the face forming a triangular flaps of skin, peeled from the flesh. The carving and dissection continues down the corpse in a deranged autopsia cadaverum. The left kidney was removed and taken...
Part of Catherine Eddowe's apron was found in Goulston Street, dried blood and fecal matter clung to the fabric. This lead the Metro Police to the infamous message on the wall...
The Juwes are not
The men that
Will be
Blamed for nothing
This was ordered to be rubbed out by the police commissioner and hence, the speculation of what it meant.
Warren is shocked when he gets to the station at 7 a.m., and two more Ripper deaths are now on the books. He visits the sites and tries to puzzle out what might have happened. Looking at the preliminary coroner reports, he is dubious about Long Liz Stride; doesn't seem like the madman he's been after. Eddowe's, however, is more gruesome than can be imagined and this worries him. Still very thorough and calculated, but increasingly vicious and brutal. If this killer steps up his game much more...his next victim will be torn to shreds!
20150611
Clean Bill of Health
How is the patient today, Mrs. Bennett? Hav'nt seen'em this perky in weeks sir. Well, it must be all the rest and good home-cooking. That is may as well be, but twee had a real ruckus t'other night and I am still not sure what goings on that friend of his twere up to. What do you mean exactly? Can't rightly say, but some moaning and groaning and they locked the door! I thought for sure poor Mr. Warren was on his death bed, could've been The Ripper in'ther, saints preserve us, I was so scared; I told'em I t'was call'in for the po-lice. Mr. Warren called out to me and said all was OK, then the door unlocked. I went in, expect'in a horrible scene, but all was fine. I let'em have it none the less, scaring me half to death and... Yes, Mrs. Bennett, I can understand your concern. I'll see myself up. Yes, Doctor.
Reaching Warren's door, Dr. Watson ponders the story he just heard...strange, I wonder what was really going on. Knocking, Warren himself opens the door. Well, I guess Mrs. Bennett was right, you are feeling like a fiddle. Couldn't be better Doctor. Ah-huh, why don't I check for myself; please sit on the bed. Take off your shirt please...I see the rash and welts are all gone, no redness at all. Any tenderness? No, I don't feel any pain or ache. Your fever is is gone too, that is good, you're over the worst of it then. (If he only knew, thought Warren.) As a precaution, I want you to stay home for another 24-hours; I'll send a note to the superintendent about your convalescence and release to return to active duty on September 30. Good, I need to get back on The Ripper case. Yes, seems he wants attention, causing no end of trouble and some of my patients are afraid to go outside. I hope you catch him soon and put an end to all this hysteria. Catching him is our number one priority Doctor and you aren't alone in wanting him stopped...for good.
Warren watches out his window as the Dr.'s carriage jerks down the busy cobble stone street. No sign of discourse as people move up and down the sidewalks...The Ripper hasn't killed in nearly three weeks, what could possibly happen in the next 24-hours... Warren's mind drifts to Jack and suddenly he feels afraid. What is Jack doing now...and where is The Ripper?
Reaching Warren's door, Dr. Watson ponders the story he just heard...strange, I wonder what was really going on. Knocking, Warren himself opens the door. Well, I guess Mrs. Bennett was right, you are feeling like a fiddle. Couldn't be better Doctor. Ah-huh, why don't I check for myself; please sit on the bed. Take off your shirt please...I see the rash and welts are all gone, no redness at all. Any tenderness? No, I don't feel any pain or ache. Your fever is is gone too, that is good, you're over the worst of it then. (If he only knew, thought Warren.) As a precaution, I want you to stay home for another 24-hours; I'll send a note to the superintendent about your convalescence and release to return to active duty on September 30. Good, I need to get back on The Ripper case. Yes, seems he wants attention, causing no end of trouble and some of my patients are afraid to go outside. I hope you catch him soon and put an end to all this hysteria. Catching him is our number one priority Doctor and you aren't alone in wanting him stopped...for good.
Warren watches out his window as the Dr.'s carriage jerks down the busy cobble stone street. No sign of discourse as people move up and down the sidewalks...The Ripper hasn't killed in nearly three weeks, what could possibly happen in the next 24-hours... Warren's mind drifts to Jack and suddenly he feels afraid. What is Jack doing now...and where is The Ripper?
20150610
Reprieve
Do you really have to wear that eye patch? I wasn't expecting that as a first question, especially since the last half hour was an ordeal I don't wish to repeat---most of which was an angry and contentious woman, who could break my arm like a twig, yelling at both of us.
I suddenly felt very awkward and wanted to flee; it had been a long time since I spent anytime talking to someone, let alone in a frank manner. I figured it was best to limit what I revealed and until I knew more about Warren, less was safer for all concerned.
I find it necessary and less to explain, wearing a patch. Having a yellow colored iris puts folks off; I don't need to attract anymore attention to myself. Attempting to divert the conversation from me, I ask how he is feeling now. Much better thanks, other than a slight discomfort...you stuck those metal tongs in a ways and I really thought you'd pull out part of my guts. How you got that, that parasite out is beyond me. Practice, I'm afraid; encountered them before, not always successful though. If it had been in any longer, the toxins the creature secrets, especially during its metabolic changes, would have killed you. It's an agonizing death and not a pretty site either...puss and blood oozing out from all orifices...OK! I think I understand enough and your putting me off my forthcoming breakfast. As if on que, Mrs. Bennett brings in a tray of eggs, bacon, and toast. I guzzle down a steaming cup of coffee, burning my throat, but feel fueled by the much needed caffeine. The hearty breakfast devoured, with Mrs. Bennett's approval, she takes the cleaned plates and leaves us once again.
I can see Warren is tired and after what he's been through, needs rest. I do ask him about when he remembers getting stung or bit or had an encounter with someone and felt pain in his back afterwards. He looks puzzled, memory probably fuzzy, and then says he recalled one night, after waiting in the pub for me to show (which I didn't, again) a man fell against him; seemly drunk as a skunk, since he couldn't stand very well. Groping Warren in an attempt to stand up, must have push against his lower back because soon after Warren felt a strange hot spot and what he thought was a pulled muscle. Warren could barely keep his eyes open now and drifts off to sleep. Checking his temperature, nearly back to normal and removing the bandage, no longer needed and would cause suspicion, check to see the wound I had inflicted just a short time ago, had completely healed; just a small scar remains.
Taking my bag and all the evidence, I depart. Little did I know, I had left an important component behind.
I suddenly felt very awkward and wanted to flee; it had been a long time since I spent anytime talking to someone, let alone in a frank manner. I figured it was best to limit what I revealed and until I knew more about Warren, less was safer for all concerned.
I find it necessary and less to explain, wearing a patch. Having a yellow colored iris puts folks off; I don't need to attract anymore attention to myself. Attempting to divert the conversation from me, I ask how he is feeling now. Much better thanks, other than a slight discomfort...you stuck those metal tongs in a ways and I really thought you'd pull out part of my guts. How you got that, that parasite out is beyond me. Practice, I'm afraid; encountered them before, not always successful though. If it had been in any longer, the toxins the creature secrets, especially during its metabolic changes, would have killed you. It's an agonizing death and not a pretty site either...puss and blood oozing out from all orifices...OK! I think I understand enough and your putting me off my forthcoming breakfast. As if on que, Mrs. Bennett brings in a tray of eggs, bacon, and toast. I guzzle down a steaming cup of coffee, burning my throat, but feel fueled by the much needed caffeine. The hearty breakfast devoured, with Mrs. Bennett's approval, she takes the cleaned plates and leaves us once again.
I can see Warren is tired and after what he's been through, needs rest. I do ask him about when he remembers getting stung or bit or had an encounter with someone and felt pain in his back afterwards. He looks puzzled, memory probably fuzzy, and then says he recalled one night, after waiting in the pub for me to show (which I didn't, again) a man fell against him; seemly drunk as a skunk, since he couldn't stand very well. Groping Warren in an attempt to stand up, must have push against his lower back because soon after Warren felt a strange hot spot and what he thought was a pulled muscle. Warren could barely keep his eyes open now and drifts off to sleep. Checking his temperature, nearly back to normal and removing the bandage, no longer needed and would cause suspicion, check to see the wound I had inflicted just a short time ago, had completely healed; just a small scar remains.
Taking my bag and all the evidence, I depart. Little did I know, I had left an important component behind.
20150609
Under the Knife
Locked in another starring contest, I held my breath for his response. He reached up and touched the moustache. Is this the only thing that's fake? On my own life, yes, it is. I don't see any choice but to trust you, just this once. As I reach down to open my bag, that red-faced woman burst in and begins her rant. Warren quiets her down and gets her to leave, could have been my grave expression that finally made the difference.
I locked the door behind her and was straight with Warren about his situation. You're going to have to totally trust me and believe that if I don't perform a procedure on you right now, you're going to die a most horrible death. My methods will be foreign to you, but will do little harm. Let me see both your eyes, Jack. I took off my hat and eye patch. He studied me hard and then nodded. He carefully watched as I put on my otherworldly gear and checked the settings. I briefly explained what was going to happen next and he nodded again.
Lifting his nightshirt, I made a small 4 in long incision, after having swabbed it with antiseptic, on his lower abdomen, blood started to escape the wound and I had to act fast, using my arm band modulator I created a sound frequency that would cause a parasite to home in on or attack the source. Laying my arm to Warren's stomach, I increased the resonance in slow increments, Warren wiped the blood from the cut with the gauze. The scanner registered the creature's movements and it was coming to the surface; it also showed the beginning of a molecular change and if I didn't get that f''ing thing out in the next few seconds...it wouldn't matter.
Just at the crucial moment, the landlady began banging on the door; apparently we were making more of a ruckus than I realized.
One last turn of the dial and I grab the tongs; the creature's head emerges and I push the tongs down, into Warren's flesh, carefully grasping the middle and pulling out the tail...Yes! its all in tact! Six inches of writhing body and legs, with a barbed head, it lets out a death scream and becomes limp, trapped in the tongs. Oxygen kills them, but they can still do damage if touched, hence the tongs. Opening the window, I lean out and set the little bastard on fire; it crisps, turning to ash in the breeze. No time to waste, back to Warren and his cut. Cleaning it and bandage applied, I use the healing module, great for small cuts only, sealing it up.
Crisis nearly averted, our attention is drawn to the landlady, who is now yelling that she is going for the police; Warren calls out to her as I clean up the mess. Bloody rags stuffed into the bottom of my bag. I hastily shove my tools back in. Warren hands me the eye patch and grins. Odd. I haven't seen that amount of sincerity in a long time. A familiar ache is felt and I know it won't last. With a heavy heart, I turn and let in the really red-faced woman, who seems more like a warden, into the room. She explodes into a string of complaints, concerns, and threats. I decide to keep quiet and pray Warren can reason with her. After some explanation, very far from the truth, and reassurances, she acquiesces and becomes civil. Impressed with Warren's ability to charm people, I could see why he would make a good detective.
Mrs. Bennett, she has a name, says she will bring up Mr. Warren some breakfast and even offers to make me some. I suddenly realized I hadn't eaten much in days and my stomach growls in confirmation loud enough for all to hear. Grins are shared and off trots a pleased Mrs. Bennett.
I locked the door behind her and was straight with Warren about his situation. You're going to have to totally trust me and believe that if I don't perform a procedure on you right now, you're going to die a most horrible death. My methods will be foreign to you, but will do little harm. Let me see both your eyes, Jack. I took off my hat and eye patch. He studied me hard and then nodded. He carefully watched as I put on my otherworldly gear and checked the settings. I briefly explained what was going to happen next and he nodded again.
Lifting his nightshirt, I made a small 4 in long incision, after having swabbed it with antiseptic, on his lower abdomen, blood started to escape the wound and I had to act fast, using my arm band modulator I created a sound frequency that would cause a parasite to home in on or attack the source. Laying my arm to Warren's stomach, I increased the resonance in slow increments, Warren wiped the blood from the cut with the gauze. The scanner registered the creature's movements and it was coming to the surface; it also showed the beginning of a molecular change and if I didn't get that f''ing thing out in the next few seconds...it wouldn't matter.
Just at the crucial moment, the landlady began banging on the door; apparently we were making more of a ruckus than I realized.
One last turn of the dial and I grab the tongs; the creature's head emerges and I push the tongs down, into Warren's flesh, carefully grasping the middle and pulling out the tail...Yes! its all in tact! Six inches of writhing body and legs, with a barbed head, it lets out a death scream and becomes limp, trapped in the tongs. Oxygen kills them, but they can still do damage if touched, hence the tongs. Opening the window, I lean out and set the little bastard on fire; it crisps, turning to ash in the breeze. No time to waste, back to Warren and his cut. Cleaning it and bandage applied, I use the healing module, great for small cuts only, sealing it up.
Crisis nearly averted, our attention is drawn to the landlady, who is now yelling that she is going for the police; Warren calls out to her as I clean up the mess. Bloody rags stuffed into the bottom of my bag. I hastily shove my tools back in. Warren hands me the eye patch and grins. Odd. I haven't seen that amount of sincerity in a long time. A familiar ache is felt and I know it won't last. With a heavy heart, I turn and let in the really red-faced woman, who seems more like a warden, into the room. She explodes into a string of complaints, concerns, and threats. I decide to keep quiet and pray Warren can reason with her. After some explanation, very far from the truth, and reassurances, she acquiesces and becomes civil. Impressed with Warren's ability to charm people, I could see why he would make a good detective.
Mrs. Bennett, she has a name, says she will bring up Mr. Warren some breakfast and even offers to make me some. I suddenly realized I hadn't eaten much in days and my stomach growls in confirmation loud enough for all to hear. Grins are shared and off trots a pleased Mrs. Bennett.
Desperation
By the time I get my gear and make my way back to Warren's, the streets are starting to get busy with delivery carts and the usual daily grind of 1888. Unable to wear my cuff and arm bands through the streets, I carry them in a large woven bag, along with the other items I will require. I wish the sun was to be seen, but the clouds are thick today and the hidden ball of fire illuminates them.
Standing on the stoop, bag in hand, and wearing my usual disguise for daytime (eye patch and moustache) I feel prepared for war. Having mismatched eyes puts folks off and right now, I need to fit in. I lean on the buzzer and try not to fly out of my skin; I've done so much waiting around the last few days, I can't do it anymore and under the circumstances a life hangs in the balance. Just as I am prepared to break down the door, the same red-faced woman answers. She is none too pleased with me and demands why I have come at this hour of the morning. As calmly as I can manage, I explain the dire urgency it is to see Mr. Warren. He would be extremely angry if he found out she was the cause of a seriously important case not being resolved. She was taken aback and I moved passed her before she could compose her thoughts or block my way. Dashing up the stairs, I made it the door I believed was Warren's; knocking, I waited for a reply... Yes, what is it Mrs. Bennett? Stepping into the room, I quickly observed the surroundings and the window I saw lit several nights passed. I moved across the room and over to the bed, where Warren lay, he looked better than in the pub, but I could see the next stage was coming soon.
Warren had a look of shock and fright. Had he not gotten my note? He could be delirious and not recognize me with the eye patch and moustache. In a hushed voice, I told him it was me Jack...a friend. Putting my bag down on the floor, I came closer and lifted my patch and repeated, it's Jack, your friend and I am here to help you. You need my help or you're going to die. Please, I beg you to trust me, if only just this one time...I can save you Warren.
Standing on the stoop, bag in hand, and wearing my usual disguise for daytime (eye patch and moustache) I feel prepared for war. Having mismatched eyes puts folks off and right now, I need to fit in. I lean on the buzzer and try not to fly out of my skin; I've done so much waiting around the last few days, I can't do it anymore and under the circumstances a life hangs in the balance. Just as I am prepared to break down the door, the same red-faced woman answers. She is none too pleased with me and demands why I have come at this hour of the morning. As calmly as I can manage, I explain the dire urgency it is to see Mr. Warren. He would be extremely angry if he found out she was the cause of a seriously important case not being resolved. She was taken aback and I moved passed her before she could compose her thoughts or block my way. Dashing up the stairs, I made it the door I believed was Warren's; knocking, I waited for a reply... Yes, what is it Mrs. Bennett? Stepping into the room, I quickly observed the surroundings and the window I saw lit several nights passed. I moved across the room and over to the bed, where Warren lay, he looked better than in the pub, but I could see the next stage was coming soon.
Warren had a look of shock and fright. Had he not gotten my note? He could be delirious and not recognize me with the eye patch and moustache. In a hushed voice, I told him it was me Jack...a friend. Putting my bag down on the floor, I came closer and lifted my patch and repeated, it's Jack, your friend and I am here to help you. You need my help or you're going to die. Please, I beg you to trust me, if only just this one time...I can save you Warren.
Suspicion Confirmed
I must confirm my suspicion. There is something rather odd about Warren's illness, the symptoms are familiar to me...think, think, it could be very important.
I have been waiting in the street, watching who comes and goes at the rooming house, and the only way to know more about what is happening with Warren is to get to the doctor treating him.
The doctors carriage arrives mid-day, on the third day, for a follow-up I presume, and I follow him in a small cab, once he's left there; all over town we go, the cabby could care less it seems, since I paid him generously and finally we return to the doctor's office. Apparently it was house-call day. I won't bother trying to speak with Dr. Watson since his Hippocratic oath won't allow him to discuss patient information and threatening him would only compound matters; it would have made things much simpler and given me more time to save a life though. While waiting, I composed a letter to Warren and had it hand delivered, in the hope he would be coherent enough to grasp the cryptic message.
The doctor dawdled at his office when others would have closed shop and retired to their comfortable homes. Finally, he finished and departed just after 11 p.m. I entered his offices, through a window I left unlocked, one most would not check when locking up and since the doctor stayed late, it disrupted the normal procedures for security and aided my opportunity to search his patient files.
How clever I was pretending to be ill and his pretty, young nurse so concerned, put me in a room to lie down, while the doctor concluded his current consultation. Opening one of the windows, I moved the privacy screen to cover it and then slipped out the window, quietly and very carefully closing it down, leaving the tiniest crack for access later. Then it was back to waiting, I am going to need new shoes soon; no doubt there was a surprise to find the room empty. A harmless prank to save a life is worth the strife caused. Entering was the easy part, finding Warren's file was more of a challenge; going through every filing cabinet, once I picked the locks open (need to work on that skill) I did not find any file with Samuel Warren on it. Even a first time patient gets a damn file! It had been several hours and I checked all the files, twice, thinking the name was written wrong etc. Zip! Utterly frustrated, I plopped down at the doctor's desk and groaned. I needed a drink...I began opening all the desk drawers...found a bottle of whiskey, what a surprise. After a few healthy swigs, I set me mind to task. Starring at the surface of the desk, piled with papers, notes, and journals, I suddenly had a brainstorm. His house calls means he had to write up his notes in their actual files and he may have not put them away yet! Finally, a break and there, in one of the piles was Warren's. Scanning all the notes, the following symptom details are significant:
Extremely high fever and sweating, welts (rash) all over the chest and back area, pain in the lower spine and intestines and most curious, a small wound, near the lower spine that was pussy and bright red.
A puncture! Damn it, there is a possible conclusion and if I'm right, it could mean it's too late already. Looking at the time, nearly 3 a.m. now, I have just enough to get the tools, supplies I need and return to the rooming house. The doctor has a few of the items I'll need for the operation...scalpel, tongs, antiseptic, and bandages. I can only hope I'll be in time and not get arrested for assault or murder!
I have been waiting in the street, watching who comes and goes at the rooming house, and the only way to know more about what is happening with Warren is to get to the doctor treating him.
The doctors carriage arrives mid-day, on the third day, for a follow-up I presume, and I follow him in a small cab, once he's left there; all over town we go, the cabby could care less it seems, since I paid him generously and finally we return to the doctor's office. Apparently it was house-call day. I won't bother trying to speak with Dr. Watson since his Hippocratic oath won't allow him to discuss patient information and threatening him would only compound matters; it would have made things much simpler and given me more time to save a life though. While waiting, I composed a letter to Warren and had it hand delivered, in the hope he would be coherent enough to grasp the cryptic message.
The doctor dawdled at his office when others would have closed shop and retired to their comfortable homes. Finally, he finished and departed just after 11 p.m. I entered his offices, through a window I left unlocked, one most would not check when locking up and since the doctor stayed late, it disrupted the normal procedures for security and aided my opportunity to search his patient files.
How clever I was pretending to be ill and his pretty, young nurse so concerned, put me in a room to lie down, while the doctor concluded his current consultation. Opening one of the windows, I moved the privacy screen to cover it and then slipped out the window, quietly and very carefully closing it down, leaving the tiniest crack for access later. Then it was back to waiting, I am going to need new shoes soon; no doubt there was a surprise to find the room empty. A harmless prank to save a life is worth the strife caused. Entering was the easy part, finding Warren's file was more of a challenge; going through every filing cabinet, once I picked the locks open (need to work on that skill) I did not find any file with Samuel Warren on it. Even a first time patient gets a damn file! It had been several hours and I checked all the files, twice, thinking the name was written wrong etc. Zip! Utterly frustrated, I plopped down at the doctor's desk and groaned. I needed a drink...I began opening all the desk drawers...found a bottle of whiskey, what a surprise. After a few healthy swigs, I set me mind to task. Starring at the surface of the desk, piled with papers, notes, and journals, I suddenly had a brainstorm. His house calls means he had to write up his notes in their actual files and he may have not put them away yet! Finally, a break and there, in one of the piles was Warren's. Scanning all the notes, the following symptom details are significant:
Extremely high fever and sweating, welts (rash) all over the chest and back area, pain in the lower spine and intestines and most curious, a small wound, near the lower spine that was pussy and bright red.
A puncture! Damn it, there is a possible conclusion and if I'm right, it could mean it's too late already. Looking at the time, nearly 3 a.m. now, I have just enough to get the tools, supplies I need and return to the rooming house. The doctor has a few of the items I'll need for the operation...scalpel, tongs, antiseptic, and bandages. I can only hope I'll be in time and not get arrested for assault or murder!
Ugly Truth?
Well, I never... and poor Mr. Warren suffering so, just don't seem right somehows. Best to hav' it out in the open, don' see how it will hurt anyways... Mrs. Bennett reads the note to Warren, as suspected, and carries it up to the still sickly Warren, along with the late addition of the Central News Agency paper. Knocking gently, she enters the room, finding Warren attempting to sit up without much success. Oh, deary, you should hav' rung the bell! I...can...manage Mrs. Bennett. Hmm, you are a stubborn policeman. I...imagine, you've come...for another...reason. Warren finally settles on a position in bed. Yes, several, in fact. One, to see how your are, which I hav' e-stablished, two bring'n you the late addition and boy you won't believe what is on the front page! A letter from The Killer himself...Jack! What?! What did you just say? Yes, and he says he's ready to kill again, again he says, knife sharpened, and he will take more souvenirs. Can ye' believe it?! Oh god, the nightmare will never end. As you say, Mr. Warren, it won't. Sorry to say it sir, but there it tis; just don't think you'll catch 'em. I bet he will be killing again any day now...oh! nearly forgot... and three, you got a letter from your University friend Jackson. Don't reckon we'll be see'n 'em now. Said he's sorry your sick in all, but he's got business to deal with and...Thanks Mrs. Bennett, I'll read it for myself. Can I get you anything? No, I think you've done enough for today...I really need to rest. As you say, get your rest deary.
Glorious silence once again. Warren was torn on which item to read first, both critical to the current situation. He choose Jack's note first.
Glorious silence once again. Warren was torn on which item to read first, both critical to the current situation. He choose Jack's note first.
Hello ol' bean-
Sorry to hear you're under the weather. Dashed awkward on timing,
but there it is. I have urgent business that needs my immediate attention. Your
situation seems grave, I do hope the Doctor finds a proper cure. I'll be in
touch, when I have news.
but there it is. I have urgent business that needs my immediate attention. Your
situation seems grave, I do hope the Doctor finds a proper cure. I'll be in
touch, when I have news.
In sincerity-
Jackson
So, he isn't coming by after all...I wonder why? Wait...a minute...how do I know this is from Jack; he doesn't know where I live. He knows I'm sick too, that seems strange...well, there is Mrs. Bennett, but still. None of this makes sense...reading the published letter makes Warren feel a chill in his bones. Jack...The Ripper. Can this be a coincidence? Jack, Jackson, Jack the Ripper...good god! did he make me sick because I know who he really is? Why not just rip my guts out or maybe...he has something special in store for me...
20150605
Central News Agency
25 Sept 1888
Dear Boss,
I keep on hearing the police have caught me but they wont fix me just yet. I have laughed when they look so clever and talk about being on the right track. That joke about Leather Apron gave me real fits. I am down on whores and I shant quit ripping them till I do get buckled. Grand work the last job was. I gave the lady no time to squeal. How can they catch me now. I love my work and want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little games. I saved some of the proper red stuff in a ginger beer bottle over the last job to write with but it went thick like glue and I cant use it. Red ink is fit enough I hope ha ha. The next job I do I shall clip the lady's ears off and send to the police officers just for jolly wouldn't you. Keep this letter back till I do a bit more work, then give it out straight. My knife's so nice and sharp I want to get to work right away if I get a chance. Good luck.
Yours truly
Jack the Ripper
Don't mind me giving the trade name
PS Wasn't good enough to post this before I got all the red ink off my hands curse it.
No luck yet they say I'm a doctor now. ha, ha
Published in the newspaper on 28 September 1888
Bad Medicine
Awe, poor little Jack, is your new playmate sick? How sad for you. I hope he has a full recovery... a relapse would not be good, it could even be fatal. Now that would be a tragedy for you, another friend lost... how would you cope with even more blood on your hands... Jack?
If you're clever, you'll find a solution. he,he,he
Tick, tick, tock, better see the doc!
If you're clever, you'll find a solution. he,he,he
Tick, tick, tock, better see the doc!
20150604
Chicken Soup
Oh you poor dear! Are you feel'n better ta-day? You had us plum worried these past t'ree days; look'n all peaky and the doc said you were all worn out. Rest is what you need and keep tak'n your medicine.
Thank you Mrs. Bennett; I'm sorry to have caused so much trouble.
Not to worry deary; I'll be back with some more hot soup. Oh! a friend of yours came by, I think his name was Jackson... said he 'twas at University with you. I told'em you were too sick for visit 'in though.
When? When was this Mrs. Bennett??
T'ree days ago now deary. Now you just rest some more and I'll be back in a jiffy with'ur soup.
Mrs. Bennett exits the room, closing the door behind her.
Holy shite! Three days I've been out of it?? What the hell day is it then... I was supposed to do something... Jack..I remember meeting Jack at the Brittannia... I couldn't stop starring at him. I acted like an ass and he was so...polite. I suppose he needed to be careful and we were in a public place where anyone could listen in. That's right! He wouldn't say anything, but wanted me to leave after him. I looked at my watch and I think I waited, but its a blur. I walked home, I must have or how did I get here? A cab? Jack? No, Mrs. Bennett would have said, she can't keep anything to herself. I guess I passed out and she called a Doctor.
OK, here we are you poor dear. Chicken soup as the doc ordered. You got a nasty bug in your 'ead and this will help get rid of 'em. Now you eat that right up, go on now or I'll 'ave to call the doc. He won't take kindly to your be'in un-co-opera-teve.
Yes, alright Mrs. Bennett I'll eat the soup and rest, as you say, but tell me about Mr. Jackson, if you please. It is rather important since I was going to meet him before I took ill. Do you understand??
No need to get your dander up. He's supposed to be com'n by later ta-day. I told'em to come back and if you were feel'n up to it, then he could hav 'a short visit. Seemed like a very pleasant sort'a fella and you be'in together at University an' all. What was it you two studied together?
Criminology Mrs. Bennett, the study of crime.
Twell, isn't that nice, eat your soup deary and then you'll be able to stop those evil do'ers like The Ripper!
Thank you Mrs. Bennett; I'm sorry to have caused so much trouble.
Not to worry deary; I'll be back with some more hot soup. Oh! a friend of yours came by, I think his name was Jackson... said he 'twas at University with you. I told'em you were too sick for visit 'in though.
When? When was this Mrs. Bennett??
T'ree days ago now deary. Now you just rest some more and I'll be back in a jiffy with'ur soup.
Mrs. Bennett exits the room, closing the door behind her.
Holy shite! Three days I've been out of it?? What the hell day is it then... I was supposed to do something... Jack..I remember meeting Jack at the Brittannia... I couldn't stop starring at him. I acted like an ass and he was so...polite. I suppose he needed to be careful and we were in a public place where anyone could listen in. That's right! He wouldn't say anything, but wanted me to leave after him. I looked at my watch and I think I waited, but its a blur. I walked home, I must have or how did I get here? A cab? Jack? No, Mrs. Bennett would have said, she can't keep anything to herself. I guess I passed out and she called a Doctor.
OK, here we are you poor dear. Chicken soup as the doc ordered. You got a nasty bug in your 'ead and this will help get rid of 'em. Now you eat that right up, go on now or I'll 'ave to call the doc. He won't take kindly to your be'in un-co-opera-teve.
Yes, alright Mrs. Bennett I'll eat the soup and rest, as you say, but tell me about Mr. Jackson, if you please. It is rather important since I was going to meet him before I took ill. Do you understand??
No need to get your dander up. He's supposed to be com'n by later ta-day. I told'em to come back and if you were feel'n up to it, then he could hav 'a short visit. Seemed like a very pleasant sort'a fella and you be'in together at University an' all. What was it you two studied together?
Criminology Mrs. Bennett, the study of crime.
Twell, isn't that nice, eat your soup deary and then you'll be able to stop those evil do'ers like The Ripper!
Turn for the Worse
Trying to be inconspicuous, for hours on end, even pushes my limits. Walking back and forth, reading the same damn newspaper, being pleasant to all who passes by, got old real fast. By 3 p.m., I believed Warren had left by the back and was off who knows where, maybe even watching me. I made my way around the back of the building to discover washing waving in the breeze and the back door, which I was sure got used for his clever exit. He must have realized I was following him and decided to give me a taste of nasty medicine. Well, I can play that game. Finding a child in the alley, I told him who to watch out for and paid a small fee with the promise of more when he reported back to me at 6 p.m.; Warren would come home by then.
I resumed my plodding, my path well worn, on the opposite side of the street from the rooming house. Traffic got heavy about 5 p.m., so I crossed the road, careful of the dreaded horse carts, and began my bold walk close to my quarries home. A carriage stopped and a grey-haired elderly man emerged, just then a woman came out of the house in an agitated state, greeted the man and I noticed he carried a Dr.'s bag. Someone has taken ill. As I approached I caught part of their conversation, before they entered the house; "Deathly ill, poor dear, been in bed all day and such a nice policeman... Yes, yes, show me where he is." Warren...sick! So, he never left, no clever tactics or deceptions after all. Now what?!
More waiting, watching, wondering... the boy shows and I pay him; nothing to report of course. A few minutes later I observe the doctor departing. I need to find out what has happened. It should be a simple deception to cajole the landlady for details and if it fails, I'll send a cryptic letter, in case she reads his mail. Ringing the door bell, I attempt to look aloof and unconcerned. A red faced woman with plump cheeks and carrot-red hair tied up in a top knot answers. I ask if Mr. Samuel Warren is at home, he wasn't expecting me, but we were at University together and I happened to be in town etc.; I use my best smile and genteel manner to win her over. An onslaught of information hits me like a tidal wave. Poor Mr. Warren, so sick, Dr. just left, prescription coming, too ill for visitors... once I could get a word in edgewise to inquire about visits, I am advised to come back in a couple of days and see if he is well enough for a short visit. I thanked her and turned, hearing the door creak shut behind me, I stand on the stoop looking down on the busy street filled with strolling couples, carriages trotting by... everything normal and mundane. Inside my guts swirled and lurched. So much for my grand scheme. What the hell happens now?! Time is running out...
I resumed my plodding, my path well worn, on the opposite side of the street from the rooming house. Traffic got heavy about 5 p.m., so I crossed the road, careful of the dreaded horse carts, and began my bold walk close to my quarries home. A carriage stopped and a grey-haired elderly man emerged, just then a woman came out of the house in an agitated state, greeted the man and I noticed he carried a Dr.'s bag. Someone has taken ill. As I approached I caught part of their conversation, before they entered the house; "Deathly ill, poor dear, been in bed all day and such a nice policeman... Yes, yes, show me where he is." Warren...sick! So, he never left, no clever tactics or deceptions after all. Now what?!
More waiting, watching, wondering... the boy shows and I pay him; nothing to report of course. A few minutes later I observe the doctor departing. I need to find out what has happened. It should be a simple deception to cajole the landlady for details and if it fails, I'll send a cryptic letter, in case she reads his mail. Ringing the door bell, I attempt to look aloof and unconcerned. A red faced woman with plump cheeks and carrot-red hair tied up in a top knot answers. I ask if Mr. Samuel Warren is at home, he wasn't expecting me, but we were at University together and I happened to be in town etc.; I use my best smile and genteel manner to win her over. An onslaught of information hits me like a tidal wave. Poor Mr. Warren, so sick, Dr. just left, prescription coming, too ill for visitors... once I could get a word in edgewise to inquire about visits, I am advised to come back in a couple of days and see if he is well enough for a short visit. I thanked her and turned, hearing the door creak shut behind me, I stand on the stoop looking down on the busy street filled with strolling couples, carriages trotting by... everything normal and mundane. Inside my guts swirled and lurched. So much for my grand scheme. What the hell happens now?! Time is running out...
20150603
Delirium
An inky blackness is all I can see. Lying on my bed, the mattress like a hot slab of rock, and as I stare up to the ceiling, all I see is black upon black... like an abyss. Closing my eyes, it is worse, I can't look at him... eyes that burn through me, my soul in flames. My body jerks and I realize I am covered in sweat, I must have fallen asleep. Was it all a dream, meeting Jack, talking to him? No, it was real... he has two different colored eyes... I didn't realize it until now...
Instructions... he explained... the need to follow... his instructions to the... letter. Three days... until, until I... can see him again... what is wrong... with me? This is all... too crazy... no one would believe... me. Jack will understand.... he must... help.......me....
Warren passes out in a fever
Instructions... he explained... the need to follow... his instructions to the... letter. Three days... until, until I... can see him again... what is wrong... with me? This is all... too crazy... no one would believe... me. Jack will understand.... he must... help.......me....
Warren passes out in a fever
Surveillance
I felt exhilarated when I left Warren sitting alone in the booth, maybe I had a premonition of things to come. Locating an advantageous spot, I waited, concealed by the night and the creeping fog moving down the cobble lane. Checking my watch, it was just 10:30 p.m. and out comes the Detective. Expecting him to be on guard, I prepare to witness a cops careful surveillance of the situation, but instead, he hangs his head and walks down the street. A concern begins to grow and I wonder if I overestimated this mans abilities. He seems very different than he was just weeks ago, is he the same person? Following him, I begin to wonder... yet, he recognized me and called me by name. Yes, his eyes were the same... he is carrying a heavy burden now and it's because of me. I am very certain he did not reveal our first meeting or the women he saw in the courtyard.
My thoughts are racing as we travel out of Whitechapel and, I hope, to his living quarters. Odd that he didn't hail a cab, maybe he enjoys walking at night, in the cool, wet air with the hope of catching our madman red handed. Ha! I surprised myself... found some humor in this demented situation we find ourselves in. Nothing has struck me funny for a long time now, I wonder if Warren and I can become allies, even friends? Hmm, not sure I will permit that; I am hunting my last friends.
Warren turns and ascends a small flight of brick stairs into what appears to be a rooming house; a few minutes pass and a single lamp is lit on the third floor, facing the street. No one comes to the window and after about 15 minutes the light is extinguished. Nearly midnight, the street is quiet and all good citizens are asleep. I stand silently and watch the bugs commit suicide with the street lamp a few yards from me... time to find a place to hide and sleep until dawn. The next three days prove to be exciting and I need to find out about this Samuel Warren, is he a man to be trusted or killed?
My thoughts are racing as we travel out of Whitechapel and, I hope, to his living quarters. Odd that he didn't hail a cab, maybe he enjoys walking at night, in the cool, wet air with the hope of catching our madman red handed. Ha! I surprised myself... found some humor in this demented situation we find ourselves in. Nothing has struck me funny for a long time now, I wonder if Warren and I can become allies, even friends? Hmm, not sure I will permit that; I am hunting my last friends.
Warren turns and ascends a small flight of brick stairs into what appears to be a rooming house; a few minutes pass and a single lamp is lit on the third floor, facing the street. No one comes to the window and after about 15 minutes the light is extinguished. Nearly midnight, the street is quiet and all good citizens are asleep. I stand silently and watch the bugs commit suicide with the street lamp a few yards from me... time to find a place to hide and sleep until dawn. The next three days prove to be exciting and I need to find out about this Samuel Warren, is he a man to be trusted or killed?
20150602
Clandestine Meeting
Meeting a total stranger is always an odd event. The usual pleasantries are exchanged, an effort to find a commonality, culminating into a series of pointless and sometimes superficial discussions. This event, however, is far from normal. We both believe to know something about the other, but he has the advantage. I do know, from the newspapers, what is going on with the police (superficially), but until I identify this man, I do not know where he fits into the process; let alone begin to understand the man himself. He seems to have kept our encounter to himself, but I don't know that for certain and this meeting could be a trap. The risk is high and my meeting him in a public place doesn't omit my arrest, but I have a plan that should allow the postponement of the inevitable. I'll know, when I see his face.
Standing outside the pub, I watch the activity near the door. Seems like all the other times I've been here, no sign of police or other threats. Upon entering the smoke filled room, I make my way to the bar. George is there, serving the red faced, bloated workers and pulls me my usual pint of bitter. Scanning the dark space I see a figure sitting in the booth I was in the last fateful visit. I slowly move closer, through the crowd of merry makers, and stop a few feet from the table; just able to peer around the tall wood seat back. I had expected him to be starring at the door, eyes fixed on my entrance, but instead, he was concentrating on the beer glass in front of him. Was he trying to will it to perform some magical feat? The expression on his face was of sheer desperation. I am not sure how long I stood there starring at him starring at his beer glass, but eventually he turned his gaze towards me. He looked like he hadn't slept in days and I must have appeared as either a ghost or dream because his expression didn't change, until I moved towards him. Just as I reached the table, he slid over and popped up, in one motion, to stand eye to eye with me. His agility surprised me a bit since I would not have expected that in his current condition. His eyes brightened from their dazed state, mouth gaped slightly and he uttered, in a low tone, 'you're... here... Jack.'
I decided to play the proper Englishman and asked if I could join him at the table. He stuttered a positive response and I sat down with my pint in hand. Still in some shock, he slowly sat back down and we continued our starring contest for a few more minutes; breaking the spell, I said he had me at a disadvantage for I was not acquainted with his name. He introduced himself as Samuel Warren, Detective. I could see the flood of questions ready to pour from his mouth, but this was not the place for our delicate discussion. I told him that unless I felt I could trust him, he would learn nothing from me. To earn my trust, he had to do the following and any deviation from my instructions meant he would never see me again, anywhere. Warren assured me he only wanted, needed, to understand... my situation.
Taking his word, I gave the following instructions- leave exactly 20 minutes after me and go straight home. In three days, return to the pub promptly at 7 p.m. and see George, the barkeep, he will have a envelope which will explain what to do next. Warren said he didn't understand and I told him he soon would. I got up to leave and Warren remained, starring once again in disbelif.
Another layer has been added to the madman's game. I hope this new player has what it takes... I can't be responsible for any more deaths.
Standing outside the pub, I watch the activity near the door. Seems like all the other times I've been here, no sign of police or other threats. Upon entering the smoke filled room, I make my way to the bar. George is there, serving the red faced, bloated workers and pulls me my usual pint of bitter. Scanning the dark space I see a figure sitting in the booth I was in the last fateful visit. I slowly move closer, through the crowd of merry makers, and stop a few feet from the table; just able to peer around the tall wood seat back. I had expected him to be starring at the door, eyes fixed on my entrance, but instead, he was concentrating on the beer glass in front of him. Was he trying to will it to perform some magical feat? The expression on his face was of sheer desperation. I am not sure how long I stood there starring at him starring at his beer glass, but eventually he turned his gaze towards me. He looked like he hadn't slept in days and I must have appeared as either a ghost or dream because his expression didn't change, until I moved towards him. Just as I reached the table, he slid over and popped up, in one motion, to stand eye to eye with me. His agility surprised me a bit since I would not have expected that in his current condition. His eyes brightened from their dazed state, mouth gaped slightly and he uttered, in a low tone, 'you're... here... Jack.'
I decided to play the proper Englishman and asked if I could join him at the table. He stuttered a positive response and I sat down with my pint in hand. Still in some shock, he slowly sat back down and we continued our starring contest for a few more minutes; breaking the spell, I said he had me at a disadvantage for I was not acquainted with his name. He introduced himself as Samuel Warren, Detective. I could see the flood of questions ready to pour from his mouth, but this was not the place for our delicate discussion. I told him that unless I felt I could trust him, he would learn nothing from me. To earn my trust, he had to do the following and any deviation from my instructions meant he would never see me again, anywhere. Warren assured me he only wanted, needed, to understand... my situation.
Taking his word, I gave the following instructions- leave exactly 20 minutes after me and go straight home. In three days, return to the pub promptly at 7 p.m. and see George, the barkeep, he will have a envelope which will explain what to do next. Warren said he didn't understand and I told him he soon would. I got up to leave and Warren remained, starring once again in disbelif.
Another layer has been added to the madman's game. I hope this new player has what it takes... I can't be responsible for any more deaths.
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