The Requiem Collection: The Book of Jubilees, More Anger Than Sorrow & Calling Babel

by Eric Black

  “Well,” Jasper said ignoring the sarcasm, “we need to work on the headaches. Plus, we should have something that’ll help you sleep. We’ll start there and see what happens. We certainly need to hold off on any more time traveling until we understand what’s happening to you.”

  Jack nodded in reluctant agreement. He was not happy about the decision but knew Jasper was looking out for what was best for him. He turned and stared out the window as Jasper pulled back out into traffic and watched the buildings and houses pass by as they made their way home.

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  Chattanooga, Tennessee – Present Day

  Is there something we missed? Jasper asked himself. We looked at thousands of variables and undesired effects and narrowed them down by the likeliness that each would actually occur. What did we miss?

  He was concerned about his friend. His diagnosis was that Jack just needed more sleep; and while it was possible that was simply what was wrong with Jack, he was concerned there was more.

  Jasper reassessed the recorded sessions before and after Jack traveled through time. He compared Jack’s personality pre and post operation. He seemed fine. The only difference Jasper could detect was that Jack now seemed very distracted.

  “Of course,” he said aloud, “that could be because of the anesthetics.” He paused and realized he had spoken to an empty room. He shrugged it off and turned and looked at the clock: 3:15am. I’ll look for a few more minutes and then go to bed.

  He watched with droopy eyes and within a few minutes, he was asleep.

  It was time to make another trip. Jack had displayed no further signs of complications. Jasper looked for signs of an underlying aggression but found none.

  “You’re ready?” Jasper asked.

  “I’m ready.”

  Over the past two weeks, they had merged several medications to procure a pill that battled both the dull, throbbing headache that Jack was experiencing and the nausea.

  They also studied additional methods of self-hypnosis. Through much reading, they found an Old World European method that created instant hypnosis. Jack didn’t believe the process would actually work but decided to give it a try. The first few times it didn’t work. Then, as Jack practiced, he actually hypnotized himself. After more practice, he found that he could hypnotize himself very quickly. It wasn’t much longer afterwards that he found he could hypnotize himself instantly.

  They intentionally waited until a day after it rained for the next trip so that the ground was muddy. Jack stripped down completely naked and rolled in the mud, covering his body. Once the mud dried, he used a towel to wipe off as much as he could. This left his skin and hair coated in dirty streaks that was caked in some places. Next, Jack used a chewable non-toxic dye tablet to discolor his teeth.

  When he was thoroughly filthy, he opened the bag that contained his reeking clothes from his last trip. He finished dressing and looked at Jasper. “Do I look ready for the ball?”

  Jasper nodded while holding his nose and doing the best he could to hold his breath.

  “Come on, Jasper, it’s not that bad. Just one dance? Please?”

  Jasper laughed and regretted it as soon as he did. He inhaled the aroma of Jack and almost gagged.

  “Are you gonna make it?” Jack asked.

  “Barely. Now, shall we get started?”

  Jack nodded.

  “Okay,” Jasper said, “first you need to take your pill. In fact, I’ll be surprised if you even feel dizzy after you arrive.”

  “That will be a welcome change.”

  As Jasper spoke, Jack studied him. Jack wondered if he actually had Jasper fooled. Over the past few weeks, he worked to control the anger that he felt deep within. He learned he could coexist with the rage. He also learned he could hide the rage from his face when it took over. But one thing he couldn’t hide was his eyes; if Jasper had actually studied Jack’s eyes, he would have seen someone possible of great violence.

  “Jack, are you listening to me?” Jasper asked and Jack snapped his focus back to the man before him.

  “Sorry, I was thinking about my arrival.”

  “You’re sure you’re ready?” Jasper’s voice was filled with concern.

  Jack nodded.

  “Okay, then,” Jasper continued. “You’re going back to 1888 London. The first murder of Jack the Ripper happened on Friday, August 31 of that year. The first victim was found dead at 3:45am and was last seen alive around two that morning. The body was found on Buck’s Row just off Brady Street.”

  “So that’s where I’ll go,” Jack agreed.

  “Just remember what we talked about. You are there to observe and nothing else. The last thing you want to do is be a suspect in a murder.”

  Jack nodded. “I’m ready.”

  “All right. Relax your mind and do as we rehearsed.”

  Jack closed his eyes. For a moment, he concentrated on the location of where he wanted to go. Then, he focused on the year, then the month and date and the time. Coming home was easy; a specific corner of two streets in 19th Century London was not.

  A moment later he was gone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  London, England – August 1888

  Jack took in the view along Whitechapel Road. There was only a smattering of windows that showed light and outside of that, everything was dark.

  He felt no nausea.

  He was not sure of the time or date but by the gloom and lack of movement along the street, he was sure that it was late.

  A sign revealed he was on Brady Street which meant that Buck’s Row was one block north. He slouched as he traveled the road, trying to blend in; he was alone but did not want to draw attention to himself to anyone who happened by because of his prevalent height, especially this late at night.

  He also kept a watchful eye for patrolling officers. Beats tended to be a few blocks which took an office roughly fifteen minutes to complete. He could not know at what stage of that round an officer might be.

  Jack took a left at the corner and was faced with a wall of a warehouses that spanned the entire length of the block. At the far end of the street, a single gas lamp revealed several houses in low light. Jack moved towards them in the eerie ambiance and discovered a gate that marked an unlit path.

  Jack entered the gate and as he walked, his nerves slowly overtook him. If he had arrived at the correct time, Jack the Ripper was in the area. He realized as he stood there that he had not thought through the entire situation. What if he was attacked by the Ripper?

  He was drawn back from his thoughts by a sound: footsteps. He crouched down and hid in the shadows and watched as a police officer appeared. The officer didn’t notice Jack and continued on his beat. Jack stayed hidden and followed his audible steps until they faded from earshot.

  Jack started to stand when he heard another noise behind him. He recognized a different set of footsteps – lighter than those of the officer – that came closer until they were right next to him. In the moonlight, Jack saw a woman; he took the risk and rose, walking out of the shadows as if he had been taking a late night stroll.

  The woman was startled but it didn’t take her long to relax. “’Ello ‘andsome man.”

  “Good evening, madam,” Jack answered.

  “What brings you out ‘ere on this late hour?”

  “Just clearing my head.”

  “A lover’s quarrel, then,” she said with a harsh, knowing cackle. “Well my ‘andsome man, are you looking for a woman to take your’n mind off tha’ lassie at ‘ome?”

  She’s a prostitute, Jack said to himself. If he had actually been from that time, meeting a prostitute on the street wouldn’t have daunted him. But as he was from a different time and a more conservative area of the country, he was not used to being approached in such a way. He was taken aback.

  “What’s a’matta’? Are you afraid of wha’ I ‘ave under my skirts?” she teased, raising her dress to show her naked body underneath.

&n
bsp; Jack had been nervous only a moment before but her teasing changed that. He now felt his anger beginning to rise deep within him.

  “Do you like wha’ you see?” she continued. “I’ll ‘elp you forget your lady for a small coin. ‘Ere,” she said lying on the ground with her dress raised higher, “I’ll make i’ easy on you.” She looked at Jack with a smile that was more taunting than sexual.

  Jack didn’t move. He tried to push the anger down but he felt himself losing control. He looked at the woman who teased him with her nakedness.

  “Come to Polly,” she continued. “What’s a’matta’? Don’t you like me? Oh, I know wha’ i’ is. You can’t get i’ up can ye? Let Polly help. She can make any man into a proper man.” She rose onto her knees in front of him.

  Jack no longer heard her words. All that he could hear was his heartbeat: it sounded like thunder.

  Jack reached into his pocket and his hand was surprised to touch something sharp. He realized there was a knife in his pocket, although he didn’t remember placing it there.

  He wrapped his fingers around the wooden handle. The blade felt natural in his hand – almost like it was a part of him. He tightened his grip and grinned.

  Jack looked down at Polly and she misinterpreted his smile. She thought she was going to be able to turn a quick trick and make enough to at least buy food for breakfast. She reached up and rubbed the front of his pants. When she felt him react, she undid the buttons that held the front of his pants closed.

  Jack removed the blade from his pocket, making sure Polly did not see the knife. He reached down and touched her face and joined her on his knees. She took the cue and leaned back on her elbows before lying fully on her back and prepared to turn the trick.

  Jack leaned forward and placed his body on top of hers. He could feel her discomfort at his weight and it only added to the feel of the moment. Jack looked into her eyes and saw her for who she was – a woman trying to make it in a tough world. He would ease that suffering.

  He placed his hand over her mouth. Then with his other hand, he brought up the knife. She saw the knife and tried to scream but Jack’s hand was too tight over her mouth.

  Jack touched the knife to the left side of her neck. He paused slightly, enjoying the fear that emanated from her soul; then, he pushed the blade into her neck and slid the blade across, slitting her throat from ear to ear. He watched her eyes as the life left them.

  After she was dead, he mutilated her stomach, spilling her insides onto the ground. He was full of rage and didn’t stop there, enjoying the act of mutilating Polly’s corpse. When he finally had his fill, he was swathed in blood. He rose from her body and stepped backwards, admiring his achievement.

  The moment was interrupted by footsteps. He didn’t hesitate. He thought of his next location and disappeared from the East End.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Washington, D.C. – November 1921

  Wilson couldn’t sleep. It had been a long series of days. He still wasn’t sure how everything was going to turn out but he was sure of one thing – he was tired of thinking about it.

  He wasn’t worried about Vincent. Vincent was a good man. Vincent’s sadness and grief had only exposed his hard resolve even more and Wilson knew he was someone he needed on his side.

  What made him nervous was Jack. It was true Jack had changed. But for how long? Jack had changed history when he killed Libby; so what if one of them did something to change history back? What if their devices became active again and Jack’s device began to affect his subconscious? Would they be aware it was happening? Jack had already tried to kill him once. He had no doubt that the old Jack would love to give it another shot.

  Wilson shut off the questions in his head. He was exhausted. He knew he had to sleep if he was going to retain a mental capacity that was necessary to react to the unknown of what they were experiencing.

  He closed his eyes and thought of his wife who was at their home in New Jersey. He had told her he was going to visit some friends in the Capital and that he would see her in few weeks. She was concerned for him after the death of the President as she knew they were on friendly terms and had offered to come down. He told her not to worry and that Washington, D.C. was not the place for her to be right now with an assassin on the loose.

  But he was mainly worried about Jack. How would Jack be around his wife? Right now, she was safe in their other home several states away. But if Jack got it in his mind to harm her, Wilson knew Jack wouldn’t stop until he did just that. Jack wouldn’t be able to help himself; his subconscious wouldn’t let him.

  Wilson had to keep his wife away from Jack. Eventually he had to go back to New Jersey, which meant he only had a short time to decide what to do with Jack. He didn’t want to send him away because then he couldn’t watch him. He couldn’t kill him because the universe wouldn’t let him. He wasn’t sure what he would do.

  Right now I need sleep, Wilson said to himself for at least the twentieth time since he had lain down. He closed his eyes once more and this time it worked. The world that was full of colors changed to white and then to gray and then to black.

  Wilson wasn’t sure how long he had slept when he was awoken by a sound. It had been night when he had gone to sleep and it was light outside now. Wilson opened his eyes and looked around his room. He was sure he had heard a knock.

  Through the haze of the morning came another knock. He opened his eyes fully and lifted his head off his pillow. His body followed and he rose from the bed and went to his door. His opened door revealed Vincent.

  “Vincent,” Wilson slurred, “good morning. What time is it?”

  “It’s eight thirty. I…”

  “Eight thirty? Well, I slept for six hours at least. I feel better.” Wilson looked at Vincent in full focus for the first time since opening the door. He could tell something was wrong. “What is it?”

  “It’s Jack.”

  Of course it’s Jack, Wilson said to himself. It’s always Jack. What now? Did he kill one of the neighbors? Are the police on their way here? What will that mean for me? Surely the neighbors will have seen him around here with me. How do I explain that I am housing a murderer? What will Edith say? What will the university say?

  Wilson thought all of these things in a matter of seconds. All the while, Vincent stood in front of him waiting for his response. “What about Jack?” Wilson asked aloud. “What did he do this time?”

  “Jack’s gone.”

  CHAPTER FORTY ONE

  Washington, D.C. – November 1921

  The bloated body of Jack the Ripper was found floating in the Potomac River. Bagster Phillips had seen to it personally that the body ended up in the water.

  Now that it was done, Phillips wasn’t sure Jack’s death filled the great need inside of him: the satisfaction wasn’t there. After years of hunting down Jack, his actual death was rather anticlimactic. Despite that, he was mostly satisfied and that was enough for the moment – enough to move on with his life.

  Phillips had shown up outside of the home of Woodrow Wilson. It was early morning and Phillips was just another elderly man walking down the street. There was a bench across the street from the house and Phillips sat there for some time in observation.

  Jack had awakened with a feeling that he couldn’t explain. It was a kind of déjà vu. He rose from his bed and saw that it was early – around five thirty in the morning. The rest of the house was asleep.

  He went downstairs to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. As it brewed, he reflected on all that had happened. Outside of the memories that haunted him, he felt great. His concentration was sharp. He felt true kindness and love for the first time in many years. The anger that had consumed him was not gone (mainly because of the memories) but it had lessened. He had been very stressed following his change and had fallen into a mild depression. Now he was coming out of that and he felt truly alive. He had thought the thrill of murder brought him alive but looking back on that, it was more eupho
ria than a sense of actually living.

  When the coffee was ready, he poured a cup and went to the front porch. Wilson had a wide-opened porch filled with miscellaneous chairs; Jack’s particular favorite was a rocking chair built in the 1880’s. The craftsmanship was superb and it seemed to mold to his body as he settled in.

  In the chair, he sipped his coffee and looked out over the street in the dim early-morning light that filled the world just before the sun came up. Across the street sat an old man on a bench. Old men sitting on benches was not something unusual in Wilson’s neighborhood. It seemed to Jack that the entire community was filled with the elderly and they all walked and talked and sat with each other on benches. Jack waived at the old man and the old man waived back. Then to Jack’s surprise (even though it wasn’t unusual either), the old man got up from the bench and walked towards him.

  Jack watched him approach and thought the man looked familiar. Jack sat on the front porch drinking coffee most mornings and saw many old men come and go. He assumed the man was one of the many neighbors. When the man reached the foot of the steps to the porch, that opinion changed. Jack knew the man. He also knew why the man was here.

  “How are you here?” Jack asked.

  “Hello, Jack. It’s been a while,” Phillips answered.

  “How are you here?” Jack asked redundantly.

  “Jack, it’s not the how it’s the why.”

  “Look, I know what I’ve done. But I’ve changed. I…”

  Phillips interrupted. “I’m sure you have. Men like you always change. Then, you change back. I am here to end it.”

  Phillips pulled a pistol from his pocket.

  “Your shot will wake the house and the neighbors. You won’t get away. In the end you’ll be just like me.”

  “Jack,” Phillips smiled, “you’re wrong about that. I’d like you to come with me.”