Murder in Whitechapel (The Judas Reflections)

by Aiden James

  “Judas. We meet again.”

  I turned around to face Ratibor standing but two feet away. He grinned and bowed to me, a sickly comical move as he waved a small leather bag I assumed was carrying his tools of the trade.

  “I knew it was you all along. What do you think now, Ratibor? That I will let you walk away without a fight?”

  “So, the Jesus betrayer is convinced he can stop me. Why are you not off searching for your pathetic coins instead? I warn you, be gone! You are out of your depth. On your way now, you stupid, misguided man. Crawl back to your greed and your fancy women. This is my business and I am unstoppable!”

  “I can’t let you do that,” I proclaimed, “I will stop you one way or another!”

  He let his bag down slowly and raised both his hands into the air, exaggerating his movements with flamboyant gestures. Nothing had changed in the man except underneath the show he appeared to be very frustrated with my presence.

  “That girl, the blonde one, Mary, was a worthless excuse for a human being. She did not deserve to live, none of them did. No one will miss them either. Why? Because they were nothing more than common concubines… whores of Babylon!”

  Something snapped inside and, with every ounce of strength I could muster, I knocked him down with a massive kick. We had come across each other in a narrow alley, the chance of someone stumbling onto our confrontation was low, but still a possibility. The last thing I wanted was a well-meaning citizen, upon seeing the confrontation, to summon the police. I wanted to be left alone to deal with the monster! Ratibor jumped back on his feet with relative ease as if nothing happened, our strength unequalled. He was stronger and more powerful than I, but I was fuelled with anger, “For the death of Mary, and so many others through the centuries, I am taking my revenge!”

  “For that little whore? She was no Mary Magdalene and was eager to do whatever I asked. For a few coppers, her legs spread open with ease.”

  As if by a sixth sense, we both went for the unattended leather hold all, each wanting to retrieve a weapon to inflict the maximum injury. Its contents spilled out, various deadly knives, a meat cleaver, a saw and some rope. The tools of a murderer. Ratibor was indeed Jack the Ripper, the evidence scattered on the ground as we desperately fought each other to gain the upper hand. I managed to procure one of the knives, but was unable to get to the meat cleaver. Ratibor had gotten to it first.

  “Now try to take me with a lowly knife, I beseech you.” He proclaimed as he held the cleaver in position to strike. I attempted to hold him at bay with one hand, but, it was to no avail. He had, with one fail swoop, cut deep into my shoulder.

  “Where are God and Jesus now?” he mocked.

  The pain was felt and the blood seen but it did nothing to distract me. Healed in an instant, I was determined to fight. Ignoring his sick laughter, I lunged and dug the knife into his stomach. Now we had both been cut! The blood from our wounds had dripped to the ground, gathering in small pools around our feet. Even through the hindrance of fog, I could see his wound was deeper by the blood loss, but I knew he would heal just as rapidly, able to fight with renewed velocity.

  Ratibor was insane enough to end to my immortality by chopping my head off with the cleaver, if I were to slip in my defense. I needed to pay sharp attention to his every move whilst searching madly for a solution in my mind. How to stop an immortal who found his way to England to carry on with his torturous crimes? If I were not able to stop him, he would surely continue. Where would he go next? I had to think but there was so little time to do so. If we had swords I could challenge him to a duel, which was my expertise. An inferior weapon would be no defense against an insane killer with rage beyond belief and a sharp cleaver. My only other weapons? Bare hands and faith.

  “Judas, did you really believe that you could stop me? Others have tried and failed,” said he with a grin.

  “I could render you unconscious Iscariot and, chop you into small pieces if I wanted. That would be the end. You can’t sew yourself back together!”

  “My sentiments exactly!” I replied with certitude.

  I circled him, the knife held firmly in my hand as I dismissed his threat. The thick fog did nothing to shroud my vision as my senses heightened.

  “First, you must catch me to kill me, Ratibor,” I continued, “I’d like to see you try.”

  An onlooker would have thought us to be two wild animals, each at a distance, ready to pounce when the opportunity felt right. My heart pounded as every muscle in my body tensed in readiness. With only a knife and my wits, I experienced a sudden flashback. Constantinople. A beautiful young maiden with a sweet nature named Diona. Her father, Thessalos, a trusted friend, was a merchant of some means with marriage plans for his daughter, who had the fortune to be marrying the man of her wishes. Alas, it was not meant to be. One week before the wedding, her skull was shattered from repeated blows. Ratibor had unleashed his fury when she rebuffed him. Her grief stricken father set a healthy ransom for his capture, but Ratibor had slipped away. Fate caught up eventually, yet he did not die. His immortality resulted from being hung soon after the escape. His crime? Stealing from a nobleman after brutally raping and killing his wife… I had despised him then, but even more so now, knowing from the thirteenth century onwards the viperous devil continued to kill.

  The fight was far from over when, like a crazed lunatic, he growled and lunged wildly at me. I managed to hold him at bay for a brief moment, but his strength was overpowering as he grabbed me by the throat and lifted me off the ground. “I know it will be impossible to choke you to death, you’ll just come alive again but I will enjoy the attempt,” he whispered with the utmost venom.

  I struggled and fought to break free with all of my might, but he had the strength of ten men in one hand. To have my throat squeezed tight and caught in his vice like grip was maddening. I could not break free. The knife I held tightly slipped out of my hand and was on the ground out of reach. With both hands, I attempted to free myself… in vain. I was defenseless.

  Ratibor had the ultimate power and control, as I did everything I could to stay conscious. Struggling to stay alert, I thought I could see Mary, from the far corner of my eye as I choked and fought like a wild cat. Through my imagination, oxygen deprivation or a vision, she stood before me. Bathed in light, a white dress flowing around her feet, long blonde hair shining, she smiled at me, a comforting smile. “Judas, don’t you worry now, everything will be okay.” I heard her say. I was sure she was but a dream and I had already slipped into a state of unconsciousness. Yet, I was mesmerized, in awe. I felt the cleaver slice into my arm, once, twice, three times. Mary!

  She did not reply nor did she move, yet her loving presence give me a sense of peace, that nothing bad was happening and it was all a dream. I closed my eyes and drifted far away…

  My return to consciousness was a surprise. I thought I had died, but the solid vision of Ratibor standing over me soon brought me to my senses. The monster dragged me into what appeared to be a coal shed where I was discarded on a large pile of coal with my hands and feet bound tightly.

  “Let me make this clear: you cannot or will not be able to stop me,” he said. “I am indestructible and invisible. Immortal like you, I live a comfortable life here in London amongst the well placed of society. I have a good reputation, but now because of your stupid meddling I am forced to move on to pastures new. I may try my luck in Paris; there are plenty of fallen women walking the dirt ridden streets there to satisfy my needs.”

  “Are you planning on exterminating every woman who crosses your path, Ratibor? Why are you doing this? What do you get from such evil acts? “

  “Pleasure, my dear boy. The act of taking a life is pure pleasure. I have lost count through the centuries, you see, I am on this earth to do the devil’s work.”

  “I have not forgotten what you did to Diona, and the grief you brought on her dear Father.”

  “The name eludes me,” said he as he leaned closer. “Th
ere have been so many. Are you expecting me to remember them all?”

  “It was in the thirteenth century. Diona was a beautiful young girl that you killed because she had refused your bad intentions. You crushed her skull!”

  “Oh, that one… I had simply forgotten all about her; she was of no consequence. I find it rather pathetic, Iscariot. Why are still harboring a grudge for something that happened so long ago?”

  “I will never forget, rest assured. Do you not think you have done enough in Whitechapel? What purpose does it serve for you to stay here? Haven’t so many victims satisfied your blood lust?” I was hoping against hope to talk him out of killing again.

  It was most uncomfortable lying on a stack of coal, pinned down by the edge of his cleaver placed perilously over my neck. I felt sick to my stomach. He had me caught in his trap where, not only was he holding me captive, he was given the opportunity to stand over me and gloat, centuries later.

  “Your friend, Thessalos, was that his name? His stupid daughter did not think me good enough, that I was of a lower caste. I showed her what I thought of her and her rich father - no matter how much the ransom, no one could find me. I heard he died from a broken heart. Stupid fool!”

  “Thessalos was a good and pious man. His world was broken when you killed his daughter. How can you laugh at your crimes, at people’s heartbreak and uncontrollable grief? How?”

  “Because this whole existence, whether mortal or immortal, is not to be taken seriously. Life is cheap and meaningless. It holds no value. You are misguided if you think otherwise.”

  I tried to think of a way to break free from my bonds, but unless Ratibor untied me or left, I would be a fool to attempt anything whilst he held the razor sharp cleaver so close to my neck

  “Do you plan on keeping me here indefinitely or are you waiting for the right moment to cut me into pieces?”

  Ratibor seemed to be enjoying every moment, torture of the mind and body as delectable as a ten course banquet. He relished the thought of my suffering and fed from my fears; his black eyes glistened in the semi darkness. They spoke of evil.

  “I am tired of the filth ridden streets of Whitechapel and the dirty women who walk them. I should, and must, make my way to Paris, and pastures new. I will leave Scotland Yard with an unsolved case to ponder on, as for you… who knows what I will do?.”

  “What if you free me and I inform them, then what? I have a good description and the girl you attacked earlier will come forward. They will hunt you down and find you.”

  He leaned down and brushed the tip of the cleaver lightly across my cheek. I did not flinch, preferring to show him I had no fear. Yet, the sight of its hideous blade made me think of Mary and the devastation it caused. He did not answer my question.

  “Was it over quickly for Mary?” I asked.

  “I would say about as long as it took Jesus to die on the cross!” he replied, laughing.

  Why did I punish myself by asking such a stupid question? I had no more to say. Defeated, I waited for whatever would come, be it death or freedom; I was in the palm of his hand…

  “Judas, what would you tell them if I were to set you free? Detective Inspector Swanson, I knew this man many centuries before? They will think you quite mad!” With a swift hand he cut me loose from bondage, but I did not move, unsure of his motive.

  “What are you waiting for? Get up on your feet, weakling!”

  Erring on the side of caution, I thought it to be a trick. Without consideration of the consequences of ignoring him, I remained where I was.

  “This is the great and powerful Judas, lying before me in a filthy heap of coal. How the mighty have fallen. I said, get up!” he commanded.

  “Damn you, Ratibor, do not command me… you are not my keeper!”

  Not amused by my stubborn refusal to move he pushed the tip of the cleaver into my neck, close to the jugular vein.

  “Who do you think you are to tell me what to do? You are nothing but a Jesus killer and that is what you will always be known for. The man who killed Christ!

  With the greatest of force, he pulled me up. I took the opportunity to punch him hard in the stomach, aiming for the very same spot he was wounded. Not entirely out of danger, I no longer cared for his reaction and watched as he screamed out in pain. A moment of weakness gave me the chance to punch him again in the same place, just for good measure. The sound of gurgling came from deep within as his eyes rolled and he clutched hard on his stomach for a second…

  “I can and will chop off your head and end it for you right now, here in this stinking coal shed!” he screamed.

  The anger in his face told me what I knew with certainty, I would not win this battle. For me, it was over. No matter how many wounds I attempted to deliver, I did not have the weapons, nor the power, to end his mortality.

  “I am leaving, Ratibor. My work here is done. But, I warn you with great seriousness, if there is another victim in Whitechapel, I shall return and hunt you down again. I will be watching and I will hinder you in any way possible, risking my own immortality if necessary.”

  The door of the coal shed flung open. Worried our screams of anger alerted the owner of the house, I held my breath. It was not him. Standing in the darkness, his eyes shooting gold flecks stood Roderick, waving his cane.

  “What do we have here? Looks like a blind giant. Could this be a friend of yours, Judas?”

  Roderick had returned to wander the streets searching for me. Unfamiliar with his surroundings, he must have had the fortune to pass by just as our voices were raised. Was this a chance encounter or something deeper-divine intervention?

  “Is this the great and all powerful Ratibor, or a circus clown?” He said with bluntness.

  “If you wish to take me on, Irishman, go ahead. I am ready!”

  “Na nocht d’fhiacla go bhfeadair angreim do bhreith…”

  “What did he say to me?” Ratibor asked.

  I remained on the uneven coal, waiting to see what Roderick planned. It seemed his Gaelic was one way to unnerve him.

  “I will translate it for you; do not bare your teeth unless you can bite!” Replied Roderick.

  I suspected his sheer height intimidated Ratibor, who paled in size. Unarmed and with no fear for his safety, Roderick Cooley had come to my aid. I hoped the faint light filtering through the window was enough for Ratibor to take a good look into his eyes and be filled with dread.

  But it was not enough, as he pointed the cleaver in Roderick’s direction. Over the centuries, I had developed a sense of what people were thinking and this time I was sure he had done his dastardly deeds and would move on. My threat had been heeded. He was not the kind of man to dismiss a perpetual thorn in his side. The streets of Whitechapel would become relatively safe and the case would forever remain unsolved. All that was left to do was to remove us both to a place of safety.

  “Come along, Roderick. There is nothing for us here, we must be on our way.”

  “You are leaving this heathen to walk free?”

  “Rather that than end our immortality in his hands. I beg of you Roderick—let it be. One day he will pay for what he has done.”

  e left him, screaming obscenities, his bloodshot eyes glowing with evil intent. It was vital we took ourselves away, as far as possible, toward the lodgings to rest. Somewhere for me to nurse my wounded ego.

  “I will see you in hell, Judas Iscariot!” I heard him shout. Not to lower myself to his level, I ignored the tirade and walked firmly away, his bag of tricks firmly tucked under my arm. While in the throes of his furious diatribe he failed to see I had unobtrusively taken it.

  My overcoat was covered in coal soot and dried blood, I feared bringing attention to myself as we made our way back but the weather was a perfect cover. The few people walking in the late night did not look my way. Like us, they were distracted by the task of finding their way through fog thicker than pea soup.

  “I cannot believe you found me, and what were you thinking? Wal
king the streets alone, anything could have happened,” said I.

  “I couldn’t leave you alone, Manny, but I wish I’d done more to help. We needed to kill him stone dead. Now he’s free to carry on with his crimes.”

  There was little I could say. Miserable and forlorn as I was, I had reached my limits. I valued my immortality far greater than losing it in such a circumstance. Roderick did not understand Ratibor’s superhuman strength-his size deceptive.

  “Thank you so much for finding me, my good friend,” I replied. “I fear the hunt is over. He is making his way to Paris, in order to continue to satisfy his lust for killing.”

  “Let’s hope that he doesn’t get on a boat to America. Can you imagine?”

  Yes, I could imagine the carnage he would cause. I may have acquired his bag, damning evidence that needed to be disposed of quickly, but, Ratibor still had the meat cleaver. I prayed he did not use on a random victim in revenge for being disturbed.

  We reached the boarding house without hindrance, gratefully turning the key and closing the door quietly on the world outside. Roderick, being a hardy Irishman, had no problem to sleep in the chair. Surprisingly, it was not long before I fell into an exhaustive sleep, only to wake a few hours later at dawn by my conscience, serving as a reminder. I had failed to put an end to Ratibor and even though my wounds healed quickly, thoughts did not. What if he was to ignore my threat, angering me further? If his story of leaving the country was sheer fabrication, there would more victims in Whitechapel. How could I be sure he was really done? Questions continued along with frustration. My hands were tied tight. If I were to go to Scotland Yard, I would be a laughing stock. Ratibor was one person I refused to lie about, but Chief Inspector Swanson would never believe he was dealing with an immortal, no matter how hard I tried to convince him