Rip

by Paul Sating

  As Angelique got out, she left her purse behind, but not before taking her 9mm pistol out and hiding it from Janis, she slipped it in the back of her waistband. The increased sense of security and control was immediate and she didn't need her friend worrying about a weapon being near. Janis needed to focus and Angelique didn't want anything distracting from that.

  "Shouldn't we wait for the police?" Angelique asked. Janis kept walking, not even bothering to turn around. "You can't be sure he doesn't want to hurt you. Don't get me wrong, I believe in you, but aren't you trusting him too much."

  Janis began down the path toward the monument that stood proudly as a sentry of the park. "We can't wait. We go now or I—we lose this chance, and you know better than anyone I can't afford that. I've got to get this. Come on."

  The natural resistance at being commanded was negated by her obligation to ensuring Janis' safety. She couldn't let Janis be blinded by her passion for the story. For all she knew, there might a little Stockholm syndrome happening inside that woman's head. Angelique had witnessed people manipulating her before, especially by Pam, and even though Janis was strong, she was still very malleable. Anyone easily driven by emotions was, and Janis always wore hers on her sleeves. And unscrupulous people knew how to leverage those emotions, usually to their selfish desires and ends. Angelique wasn't going to leave Janis' side, even though every part of her screamed caution.

  "Shit! Wait up!" Angelique jogged up next to Janis as they approached the Yellow Fever Memorial. Angelique hated that goddamn monument. Two narrow pillars held a small rectangular roof which guarded ironwork, adult-sized figurines. Both of them, faceless, nameless blackened shapes that commemorated the victims and survivors of the yellow fever that ravaged the area in the late nineteenth century. Creepy didn't begin to describe it. "I don't see anyone, Janis. Are you positive he said to meet at the memorial?"

  Janis nodded, looking around beyond the memorial, along the tree line and down the path that paralleled the Mississippi. "Yes. Right here. It has to be. He said he'd be here."

  Angelique turned, scanning for anyone who appeared suspicious or loitering, for the man who was going to change the lives. There was no one within eyesight, no business people on break, no retirees filling a slow day, and there shouldn't be at this hour. The park wouldn't come to life until downtown Memphis sought a work reprieve in its daily lunch break. "Honey, there's no one—"

  Pain exploding across the back of Angelique's shoulders and neck cut off the rest of her observation. Air pressed against her as she fell, the concrete rushing up toward her. A new shock wave rocked the side of her face upon impact. Everything hurt. Angelique rolled over, moaning but wanting to check on her partner.

  The world started fading away. Her vision blurred as a figure stood over her, looking down. "Let's finish the story," the voice said.

  Even in her hazy stupor, Angelique was sure she recognized the voice. It sounded just like Janis.

  45

  Her brain felt squeezed, like two strong hands pressed together and her skull was in the middle.

  The world was black. Everything hurt.

  In the darkness, wind flitted across her face. Disoriented, Angelique tried to open her eyes. Light exploded into the back of her skull. She winced as her surroundings came into small detail out of that harsh whiteness. She was in Martyr's Park, looking out toward the television station hundreds of yards away.

  Then everything came back in a rush. Someone had hit her from behind just as they reached the Yellow Fever Memorial, where they were supposed to meet Memphis' own Jack the Ripper. "What—what happened?"

  The blurry figure stood over her, partially blocking the sun but not the piercing pain behind her ears.

  "Janis?" Angelique tried to shield her eyes but couldn't bring her hand up. In a panicked moment of clarity, she realized her hands were tied behind her back, to the warm memorial that pressed into her spine. "Why—why are my hands tied? Janis!"

  The figure moved into her clear field of vision. A minuscule spark of relief flickered when she saw that Janis safe and apparently unharmed by Memphis' murderer. But the relief quickly faded. Janis was no longer in her slacks and blouse, but dressed in black jeans with a black, zip-up hoodie, its hood cinched over her hair. "What's going on? Why are you dressed like that?"

  Janis didn't reply. She simply stared at Angelique, her face blank.

  "Please, talk to me!"

  "Be quiet," Janis ordered, glancing away to survey the park. Her tone was dull, lacking even iciness. "We're waiting for him."

  Angelique leaned forward, pulling against her bindings. They didn't give. "Waiting? For who?" Branson? Marshall?

  "For Roman Byars," Janis answered, a smile slowly spread across her face. "For my father."

  Angelique's heart skipped at the mention of Janis' father. Janis wore black gloves and, as disturbing as that discovery was, it didn't match the terror Angelique felt when she saw the stainless steel knife Janis held. The blade had to be at least eight inches long, and looked like Janis had grabbed it from her kitchenware collection. Thick enough to tear apart a steak, Angelique didn't want to think about what it would do to human flesh.

  Panic demanded to be recognized. Her eyes twitched, blinked involuntarily. "Janis, your father? I thought he was dead."

  Janis didn't get upset or angry. She just shook her head as if Angelique's comment saddened her. "My mother's legacy, building such a wonderful lie around the legend. She created her own story about him, my grandfather, about all the men in my family." Janis flipped that long blade between her gloved hands as she turned again to survey their surroundings. "Last night wasn't the first time I met him."

  Angelique tugged on the bindings. Nothing gave. She moved her hands in slivers of movements, up and down against each other, until the friction created an unyielding burn. Time. She needed time. "What—what do you mean? I don't understand what's happening?" She tried to manage her voice, to suppress the surging panic. The area around the park was populated, so it was a place where anyone had a chance of stumbling upon the scene. Safety depended on her ability to delay Janis until divine intervention arrived or help in the form of a bystander or jogger. Life had taught her enough lessons about the unreliability of the divine, so she needed to buy as much time as possible. With her attention solely focused on rescue, Angelique didn't entertain Janis' crazy theory about Roman Byers being her father, but it would be a great way to distract Janis as she worked the ropes. "Then he wasn't stalking you?"

  Janis' flat gaze returned. "I struggled to understand what was happening, and why he suddenly appeared again. Of course, I couldn't be sure it was actually him, not at first. Who could, right? My entire adult life, I was told my grandfather was a child molester and my father abandoned us. You don't want to believe it. When you're a little, your father is impervious, impenetrable. Perfect. Nothing can pierce his armor, not even the sharpest barbs. To believe life could be so twisted as to ruin him, leave him a wreck of a man, you refuse, rationalizing away everything that could destroy a hero." She drew a deep breath, scanning the park again. "There are no heroes in life. I refused to believe for a long time. I'm glad I did, because it was all a lie. An exquisitely crafted lie. He was never gone. He never abandoned me. He was always there, watching."

  Angelique's airway clenched, nearly closing. "Janis, please, this is crazy. You're scaring me. Untie me. Before he gets here." The row of hedges surrounding the memorial blocked her view. Manicured, they still prevented her from seeing anything but the upper floors of the buildings outside the park. The Riverwalk was a hundred yards away, but no one would be able to see her if they passed by. She had no idea if she was alone or not.

  "I can't do that, Angelique."

  "Why?"

  A shuffling sound came from the other side of the row of hedges. Tortuously slow, someone approached. In the moment between hope and despair, Angelique celebrated. It was a celebration that abruptly ended. Angelique wanted to scream but could only
squeak when her eyes fell on the face of another hooded figure.

  "Because you're number five," Pam Herring smiled, her eyes dancing with a life equivalent yet opposite of Janis' dead gaze.

  All understanding slipped away. "Pam, please! Please untie me! Something is wrong with Janis; she's not herself. She ..." Angelique took a breath to pace hers words, "there's bad shit going down. Janis thinks her father—"

  But Pam wasn't listening. "Is everything ready, honey?" she asked Janis.

  Janis' face twitched as if she was in pain. One of her migraines? "Yes, Father, just like you asked."

  "Good," Pam grabbed Janis' free hand, "Shall we finish this together then, like I said we would?"

  Without smiling, Janis answered in a voice too young for someone in her thirties, "I'd like that a lot."

  "I would too," Pam turned her snarl toward Angelique.

  "Janis! This is crazy!" Angelique screamed, jerking against her binds. The rope was abrasive, making it feel like her wrists were on fire. She tried to ignore the pain, panic helped. Working in quick, fierce movements, the bindings slipped, but not enough to get free. She still needed to buy time, but to get it, she had to control herself while facing down the two people who'd killed four Memphis women. "Janis, look at me! She's your goddamn mother! Please, whatever is wrong, I can help. I'm here for you, I've always been. Remember? I promise. Please ... please untie me."

  "She's the last one," Janis never turned away from Pam, her eyes wet with blossoming tears. "She's a Kelly."

  "I'm so proud of you dear," Pam beamed. "You've done very, very well. Daddy is proud of you. But we need to work quickly; people will start walking through the park soon and we want them to see our work, don't we? Our final work?"

  "Yes, Father," Janis' haunted voice responded.

  "We want them to see what happens to dirty girls," Pam sneered, her eyes boring into Angelique. "Girls who don't behave like ladies. Girls who don't listen to their fathers. Don't we dear?"

  Looking into Pam's eyes was like staring into the soul of the devil. Words that had been at her lips, to defend herself, to plead, tumbled away under Pam's gaze.

  "Yes, we want to hurt the dirty girls." Janis snarled, turning toward Angelique.

  The time for subtly was up. Angelique leaned forward, gritting through the pain as she pulled on the binds. They were loosening but not breaking. Leaning back, she lunged forward. Something ripped in her shoulder and she cried out. Layers of skin on her wrists felt as if it had been rubbed away. Yet, Janis' prison knots refused to yield.

  In the distance, sirens echoed around Memphis' downtown.

  Daughter and mother moved together, closing in, Pam hovering behind Janis' shoulder. When she spoke, it came out as a moan. "That's right, dear. Dirty girls make their daddies very sad, don't they? We don't want dirty girls to be bad anymore."

  As Janis approached, Angelique prepared to kick out. If she aimed true and hit solid, she might dislocate one of Janis' knees. A chance and a little more time for an opportunity to catch the attention of the first passerby. "Please, Janis! It's me! Angelique! I know you're in there somewhere. I know you hear me! Please honey, it's me!"

  Pam moved around Janis, her gloved hands reaching down for Angelique. Time was up.

  "No! Stay away from! Help!" It was futile, hopeless, Angelique knew that. Even if someone was on the other side of the hedges, this was still America in the 21st century. No one would intervene. She was on her own. The sirens, growing in volume, were still too far off to be of any help, even if Martyr's Park was their destination.

  "Come on, honey, do what Daddy needs you to do," Pam kneeled at Angelique's feet, pinning them down. "Make her number five. Fulfill your destiny, sweetie. Make me proud."

  Angelique struggled, kicked, but Pam had leverage and freedom of movement and was able to exert more force by leaning over Angelique's struggling feet further and pushing down. Angelique's ankles exploded as bolts of pain raced up her legs. She tried to turn her feet sideways to relieve some of the pressure, but Pam held tight. Through tears and gritted teeth Angelique screamed, "Please! Someone help me! Janis, this is your fucking mother, your twisted, sick, fucking mother! Your father isn't here. She's playing with your fucking head! Please put the fucking knife down!"

  Janis paused in mid-stride, holding the knife at shoulder height. She winced again, the skin in the corners of her eyes and on her forehead wrinkling as she squeezed her eyes closed. Janis swayed and for a moment Angelique thought she might stumble into the hedges. But then Janis rebalanced and her eyes opened with a sudden clarity. "Angelique, you'll become a legend too."

  Desperate, Angelique begged. "I'm your friend, your sister! Please, don't hurt me!"

  The police sirens wavered, in and out, blotted by buildings. Her only hope, if it were a hope at all, was still navigating the streets of Memphis, sounding closer. Before defeat lay over Angelique like a cold blanket, the siren cut through an opening between buildings. Clear and close.

  Something popped when Pam shoved down on Angelique's ankles. "Dirty girls and their dirty words!"

  Angelique screamed as the joint dislocated. The pain was too much, her stomached twisted, clenched.

  "She's toying with you, honey," Pam sneered. "She's using the same filthy mouth to trick you that she uses to seduce other women. A dirty sinner; a twisted, dirty sinner! Her filthy little mouth. The mouth she puts on other women's mouths. Their breasts. Their naughty parts! She is filth! And she needs to die. She. Needs. To. Die. Hurry, honey! We don't have much time."

  Beyond the pair terrorizing her, past the hedgerow, Angelique saw salvation. The hedges were nearly impenetrable from her seated position. Nearly. There was enough space between the crowded branches and leaves for silent red and blue lights to flicker through. The lights of multiple police cruisers! With the pair facing her, Angelique, was the only one aware what was happening.

  She withheld hope from her expression as the flashing lights silently spun, hoping her intuitive guesses were correct, that police had emptied from their vehicles and were taking up positions. Even if she was correct, Angelique wasn't going to stop working the ropes. In fact, the subtle movements caused unbearable pain, helping disguise her excitement that someone was about to stop this madness. Struggling now to maintain focus beyond the veil of pain, Angelique pulled. Her assailants would expect it and it would keep them distracted. She hadn't planned on loosening the ropes further, but she had and they were slipping down over her wrists.

  Pain rocketed through her knees, into her hips as Pam assaulted her with vengeance.

  "Yes, Father," Janis acknowledged, the dead tone returning. "The dirty girl needs to die."

  "Hurry honey! Kill the dirty girl!"

  Janis took a step closer, raising the knife. Seconds remained. If intervention didn't arrive now, a second later would be too late.

  "No!" Angelique screamed.

  The knife came down in a sharp angle.

  Her hands broke free of the rope, she gripped the gun tucked in her pants that Janis hadn't seen her grab when they parked, and raised it at Janis.

  The Wusthof stainless steel blade sliced through the air.

  Angelique closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger of her 9mm, its distinct pop filled her ears, and the gun kicked back.

  Two more distant pops sang the salvation song.

  46

  Mother and daughter laid at her feet, their widening pools of blood mixing together.

  Angelique grimaced as she pulled her ravaged ankles away from the spreading crimson. She still held the pistol in a shaking hand, resting it against the base of the Yellow Fever Memorial.

  Just in case they weren't dead.

  Through blurry eyes, Angelique saw figures running toward her.

  No more. I can't take anymore, she thought, fearing one of might be Roman Byars approaching to finish the work Janis and Pam left undone. But none of them were. In fact, one was a familiar face, a person she longed to see.

&nb
sp; Marshall knelt beside her as three officers surrounded the still forms of Janis and Pam, their weapons aimed at the pair of prone women. "Are you all right?"

  She reached a shaking arm in his direction, and he wrapped a strong hand around her tricep. "No," her voice quivered, glancing at the unmoving assailants. "Are they ... is Janis dead?"

  Marshall nodded silently. "Yes. I'm sorry, she's gone. Here, let me help you up."

  Angelique shook her head, wincing and indicating her broken ankles with a nod. "Can't. I need a stretcher."

  Marshall examined her eyes, his dancing back and forth between hers, measuring. Then he turned, stood so that he could be seen above the hedges, and whistled, waving the medical crew forward.

  "Jesus, why?" Angelique cried is gasps. "Why did she make me shoot her?"

  It wasn't a question anyone would be able to answer, Angelique knew. Madness answered to no one, but Marshall tried all the same. "It's not your fault. Not at all. She planned to kill you, Angelique."

  "What? Why? I don't understand any of this. Why would she want to hurt me?"

  The medics aligned the stretcher parallel to her, forcing Marshall to back away. He circled around the corpses, wearing a dark expression, red with anger and frustration. "Branson was right all along, about a lot," Marshall sighed as he kneeled as the medics braced her legs. "The Canonical Five theory of his was spot on. Each one of the five women purportedly killed by Jack the Ripper shared last names with a Memphis victim. Yours matched up with Mary Jane Kelly, the last victim. As sick as it is, Janis and her mother were re-creating those killings."