There is No Sanctuary!

 

 Midnight Syndicate - Cage of Solitude from Gates of Delirium

This will set the scene for the next Ripper Journey!

Concluding details *(very graphic WARNING)

Several hours after the departure of both groups, a gruesome discovery is made...Stella's handy work and her mental undoing.


*(The Illustrated Police News-

The throat had been cut right across with a  knife, nearly severing the head from the body. The abdomen had been partially ripped open, and both of the breasts had been cut from the body, the left arm, like the head, hung to body by the skin only. The nose had been cut off, the forehead skinned, and the thighs, down to the feet, stripped of flesh. The abdomen had been slashed with a knife across downwards, and the liver and entrails wrenched away. The entrails and other portions of the frame were missing, but the liver etc., it is said, were found placed between the feet of this poor victim. The flesh from the thighs and legs, together with the breasts and nose, had been placed by the murderer on the table, and one of the hands of the dead woman had been pushed into her stomach.)

© Mary Evans Picture Library-used with permission

Barking and East Ham Advertiser
United Kingdom 24 November 1888

THE WHITECHAPEL MURDER

 

The remains of Mary Janet Kelly, who was murdered on the 9th of November, in Miller's-Court, Dorset-street, Spitalfields, have been interred in the Roman Catholic Cemetery at Leytonstone. The body was enclosed in a polished elm and oak coffin, with metal mounts. On the coffin plate was engraved: "Marie Jeanette Kelly, died 9th Nov., 1888, aged 25 years." Upon the coffin were two crowns of artificial flowers and a cross made up of heartsease. The coffin was carried in an open car drawn by two horses, and two coaches followed, from the Shoreditch Mortuary. An enormous crowd of people assembled at an early hour, completely blocking the thoroughfare, and a large number of police were engaged in keeping order. As the coffin appeared, borne on the shoulders of four men, at the principal gate of the church, the crowd was greatly moved. Round the open car in which it was to be placed men and women struggled desperately to touch the coffin. Women with faces streaming with tears cried out "God forgive her!" and every man's head was bared. The site was quite remarkable, and the emotion natural and unconstrained. Two mourning coaches followed, one containing three, and the other five persons. Joe Barnett was amongst them, with someone from M'Carthy's, the landlord; and the others were women who had given evidence at the inquest. After a tremendous struggle, the car, with the coffin fully exposed to view, set out at a very slow pace, all the crowd appearing to move off simultaneously in attendance. The traffic was blocked, and the constables had great difficulty in obtaining free passage for the small procession through the mass of carts and vans and tramcars which blocked the road. The distance from Shoreditch Church to the Cemetery at Leytonstone by road is about six miles, and the route traversed was, Hackney-road, Cambridge Heath, Whitechapel-road, and Stratford. The appearance of the roadway throughout the whole journey was remarkable, owing to the hundreds of men and women who escorted the coffin on each side, and who had to keep up a sharp trot in many places. But the crowd rapidly thinned away when, getting into the suburbs, the car and coaches broke into a trot. The cemetery was reached at two o'clock. The Rev. Father Columban, with two acolytes, and a cross-bearer, met the body at the door of the little chapel at St. Patrick, and the coffin was carried at once to a grave in the north-eastern corner. Barnett and the poor women who had accompanied the funeral knelt on the clay by the side of the grave, while the service was read. The coffin was incensed, lowered, and then sprinkled with holy water, and the simple ceremony ended. The floral ornaments were afterwards raised to be placed upon the grave, and the filling-up was completed in a few moments, and was watched by a small crowd of people. There was a very large concourse of people outside the gates, who were refused admission until after the funeral was over. 

Note- next story will start in a week or so; stay tuned!

Cheshire Cats

Untangling themselves, Jack gasps for breath and Warren stands, unsteadily on his pegs. I think they're gone Jack, ripped...his words trail off. Having received a head injury, Warren isn't entirely sure what he just saw since things are still a bit wonky and his head is throbbing like a marching bands drummer.
Jack croaks out a yes; his throat is very sore and bruised. Warren extends a hand and pulls Jack up; their bodies bang together, still gripping hands, There is still time to follow them, right Jack? Almost nose to nose, Jack whispers, How did you...Warren interrupts and shows him the glowing wrist device. When did you...grab your bags Jack, Warren interrupts once again. Still in a whisper, There isn't any reason for you to go. Reason? Warren speaks incredulously. Frankly, you astound me my dear Jack; can't be helped now and you obviously need my help 'old boy.'
A low hum beings to fill the air, accompanied by a strange electric charge that makes the hair on the back of Warren's neck stand up. Moving towards the 'rip zone', Jack and Warren look at one another in anticipation. Looking at his own wrist device, Jack sees the rip 'fart' is happening in three seconds, it will be a small one; could make things interesting on the other end. Best not to tell Warren, it would take too long. Well? asks Warren. Any moment now...just then, police whistles blow! Turning to see the men in blue coming down the street, Warren says, none too soon either. Grinning, they disappear like Cheshire cats. The constables, stupefied, mouth's gaping open, look to each other. Did ya see tha' Henry? See what...

Promised Revenge

Warren, still dizzy and bleeding, throws himself against Norman's legs. All three fall into a pile of groping arms and wiggling legs, like a bug on it's back. A frantic struggle engulfs the trio; déjà vu flashes into Jack's mind, but unable to speak above a croak, attempts to get the knife from Norman, even though Warren may have a better advantage. Amid the grunts and groans, a yell escapes one of the men and exclaims, You bastard! Norman scrabbles to his feet, having freed himself; cradling his gashed, bleeding arm, dashes the short distance to Stella and Grace. Giving a grunt, yelling obscenities, and promising revenge, Norman and the two sisters, bags in hand, enter the time rip; a strange glowing wave of colors and distortions. In a flash they are gone, whizzing back in time to meet a man who will unlock the secrets of the mind.
Old Pete has found Constable George and Henry; running, they leave the old man behind and head for the alley. Could this be the Ripper murderer? Billy clubs at the ready, they were prepared for anything...

Friends No More

Stella couldn't help herself, she had to look at him. Oh, god! He looked so concerned and so young. Even in her muddled mind, she knew the horrors destined for this naive man. Norman was fast approaching him...Oh, god...help me.
Having reached the door, she enters; commotion ensues and the door swings wide, a bag is flung out the opening, then another, followed by shouting protest. Shortly, Jack is shoved out to where his belongings had landed in a heap. Bewildered he turns to re-enter, but the door is slammed in his face. What the hell is going on? Jack shouts to the uncaring wood door; unaware of the two men in the alley.
Jack?! Calls out Warren, now recovered from his own unexpected, but less violent encounter with Stella. Moving towards his friend, Warren is accosted from behind. The two struggle to get a footing over the other. Jack turns to see the fight and before he can reach them, Norman strikes Warren down. Blood gushes from his head as he tries to sit up.
One of the neighbors has peered out the window to see the raucous and decides to alert the local bobby. With all the commotion, between the three men, old Pete slips out, unobserved and heads down the narrow street in search of Constable George.
Stop! Growls Norman as Jack is within a few feet of them now. Squatting, Norman wraps his forearms around the half conscious Warren and squeezes his neck. Stop, or I will break his neck! You wouldn't dare! Wouldn't I....the madman who slew defenseless women...I would gladly rid myself of this f'ing annoying and too clever friend of yours! Norman's eyes were practically bulging out of their sockets for the fury he felt; veins popping on his neck like worms. It would serve no purpose to your plans. Oh, now you care about my plans?! Ha-ha-ha. How terribly amusing, but I won't be deceived by you Jack...my betrayer. Norman's eyes narrow to small black beads and a smile that would make the grim reaper shiver covers his sweaty face. Come here Jack, if you wish to save your friend. Warren begins to feel the ground beneath him again, but plays possum since Norman has a strong grip on him still.
Jack approaches, knowing this situation could go wrong very quickly and the danger to Warren was extreme. In one swift motion, Norman releases Warren and lunges at Jack, pining him against the cold brick wall. With one forearm on Jack's throat, Norman punches his gut with his left fist in rapid succession. A wave of nausea envelopes Jack. Norman leans in and breathes into his ear, the man who was once his best friend, you have betrayed me for the last time 'brother.' Jack's vision blurs and the lack of oxygen is rendering him unconscious. Norman reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his blade...