I was Jack The Ripper (Part Two):

by Bray, Michael

  “Are you ready to continue?”

  Miller sipped his tea and composed his thoughts. “Yes, I believe I am.” He said as he set his cup on the table. “So, Lucy and I were together as a couple, our feelings of love confirmed and a beautiful life lay ahead of us. However, I did not account for the trauma of my childhood to have such a profound effect on me. Lucy and I progressed our relationship, and the time came when we were to spend our first night together. Of course, Lucy knew nothing of the terrible deed that I was forced to endure when I was a boy, and so, when the time came, I was unable to consummate our love despite wanting nothing more than to do so. I recall how she would say that I didn’t love her, words born from her lack of understanding of my situation which cut deeper than any wound that my blade could ever inflict. We endeavoured to try of course, and tensions rose further between us with each failure. George and I had even almost come to blows after in my frustration the inner rage surfaced and I struck Lucy, an event which even now I regret.” Miller exhaled and placed his palms on the table. “It’s strange Mr Hapgood, despite my awareness of the world around me, I never saw what was coming towards me on that day in November. Lucy and I had spent another frustrating evening in our bed, trying in vain to consummate our love and move past this barrier which had stifled our relationship.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Tossing back the covers, Lucy climbed out of the bed, crossing to the window unconscious of her naked body.

  Edward let his head fall back in frustration, then propped himself up on his elbows.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What’s wrong with you Edward? Is this not good enough for you?” she said, gesturing to her body. “Or do you prefer the boys, is that it?” she sneered, as she began to cry.

  “Of course not. Please let me try again ’'ll...”

  “Try again?” she screamed at him. “We have been trying for weeks now Edward and that thing of yours just sits there, slack as you like.” she sat on the bed and refused to look at him. Edward sat up and put a hand on her shoulder, which she shrugged off.

  “Don’t touch me.” she sobbed. “It’s me, isn’t it? You don’t find me attractive?”

  “Of course, I do, it’s just…I can’t explain It to you.”

  She whirled around jabbing a finger at his bare chest. “Then why don’t you try Edward? Try and explain why you can’t get it up for me? What’s so wrong with me that you can’t even do that?”

  “Lucy…” he said, then realised there were no words to follow with. The sadness and shame he had started to forget had returned more potent than ever. He knew to tell her of his childhood horrors as a means of explanation would destroy what remained of their relationship. He knew he had to offer some kind of reason for his inability to perform as a man but couldn’t think of a single one. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

  “Just leave me alone,” she screamed at him. “Just get out and leave me alone.”

  Embarrassed and angry, he dressed and opened the door to his lodgings.

  “I’ll take a walk and give you some space.” He muttered, confidence destroyed. She wouldn’t even look at him. he took a last look at her sitting on the edge of the bed, back to him the sounds of her crying the only thing to punctuate the silence. With no words to say that would make the situation better, he left. He returned an hour later to find his room dark and empty. Lucy had gone but had not taken her things. He crossed to the window and looked out into the street below. Dusk was close, the streets heavy with long, opaque shadows. He didn’t like the thought of her being out alone and from his upbringing knew all too well the kind of dangerous people who frequented Whitechapel after dark. Pulling on his coat, he set out to look for her. He searched for an hour, walking the streets, first down Whitechapel road, and then towards Spitafields and some of the public houses there. With each passing moment, he grew more frustrated at the entire situation. He was desperate to speak to her, to perhaps try and offer an explanation for his failings, but could find no trace of her. Tired and cold, he started to head back towards his lodgings, making another pass at Christ Church, as he knew she sometimes went there. He made his way back to his lodgings, and after a quick check to see if Lucy had returned, he left his still empty room and began walking towards Birch Street to visit George, who he hoped might help him find Lucy.

  His mind was racing, and his stomach vaulting in endless anxious somersaults. Already the streets were filled with people, young children played in the filth their life expectancy ridiculously low, hope for a future even less. Doorways were filled with bodies who were asleep or passed out drunk, others huddled in small groups, chattering and keeping a close eye on everyone who passed. The atmosphere after dark was different. The desperate and the violent crawled out of their daytime hiding places and openly went about their business aided by the shadows.The less fortunate had already begun to tout for business, offering themselves for a few pennies to anyone who might be interested. Seeing them reminded Edward of his mother, who he held responsible for the current situation. He felt a sudden burst of anger towards these women, who sell their dignity for just a few pennies. He wished they were dead, every last one of them his mother included. Edward turned into Walden Street, fire burning in his belly, the combination of fear and anger making a potent mixture. Here the houses were of better quality, the streets better lit. Just a few streets away sat the Royal London Hospital, and although a middle-class area, the wind would often bring the rancid smell of the slaughterhouses in from the poorer areas which were a little distance away.

  Edward arrived at George’s home, which was, a good sized two-floor building housing lodgings for medical students. Edward approached the door, and pushed it open, going to his friend's lodgings and opening the door.

  “George?” he called peering into the empty main room. It was barren, as was the kitchen. Baffled he paused at the foot of the staircase and a sick and twisted thought popped into his mind. one that thinking about made him nauseous.

  He always suspected George had a certain infatuation with Lucy, and Edward took pride in this being the one thing in which he had the upper hand on his friend after their lives had taken on quite different directions. His mind began to form images, ideas that George and Lucy were laughing at him, that they were taking him for a fool as George did the things that physically he could not. His stomach again vaulted and somersaulted, causing his hands to shake and a light sweat to form on his brow. As he ascended the steps towards his friend’s bedroom he knew. He knew Lucy had fled here, to George. And if she were to whisper in his ear, if she were to tell him about Edward’s inability to perform, would George have the will or desire to halt her advances?

  As the scenario played out in his mind he could imagine them, writhing and thrashing on the bed, her unleashing her weeks of frustration. A sudden and powerful fury overcame him, his cheeks burning hot, his pulse pounding thick in his neck. He walked down the upstairs hallway, bursting into George’s room. George lay on the bed, shirtless and reading one of his medical textbooks. “Edward?”

  “Has she been here, here with you?” Edward screeched, taking a step towards his friend.

  George leapt to his feet “Edward calm down ...”

  Edward shoved him aside and looked under the bed.

  “I know she has been here George, tell me where she is!” Edward bellowed.

  “This is complete madness. I have no idea what you are talking about I...”

  Edward spun around and struck his friend hard in the face, sending him stumbling back and onto the bed.

  “You tell me where she is, or God help me I'll cut your fucking throat!” Edward screamed, swiping the stack of books from George’s end table, and sending them crashing to the floor.

  “You’ve gone mad!” yelled George, as he touched his bloody lip.

  Edward was upon him in an instant, closing his hands around George’s throat and pushing him back onto the bed. He squeezed as George clawed at Edwards' hands, />
  Edward leaned close, his eyes bulging. “I see the way you look at her George; I see the lust in your eyes.”

  Edward continued to squeeze, as George flailed and clawed at his friend.

  “You think I don’t know that every day you think about fucking her?” he screamed; now just inches from his friends face. “You won’t have her George....she is mine, or she belongs to no-one!” he whispered, as he watched the life begin to fade from his former friend's eyes.

  “Edward stop it. Stop it now.”

  He released his grip, stepping back and looking at his own hands, then to George who lay gasping great gulps of air.

  She stood in the doorway, her face one of fear.and disgust. Edward turned to her, tears streaking his own cheeks.

  “Lucy,” he said, holding out his trembling hands to her, dismayed as she took a compensatory step away.

  “You animal.” She said, her bottom lip trembling as she walked past him to the bed to comfort George, who was still struggling to regain his breath.

  “You should have been there when I got back. You were gone.” Edward said, backing away towards the door. “I just wanted you to love me, Lucy.” He added, searching her eyes for any feelings for him which may remain.

  “I did love you, Edward, more than anything. But you couldn’t love me back. All you had were excuses. I have my needs, Edward. You couldn’t fulfil them.” She spat at him, her eyes holding now only hatred. He said nothing, trying to keep his thoughts in some kind of rational order.

  “George and I have been seeing each other since summer,” she screamed at him, her eyes red and puffy from crying. “And let me tell you, Edward, he’s not like like you are down stairs. He’s as solid as a rock.” She screamed. Edwards’s eyes drifted from his friend to Lucy As he looked at them a cold numbness crept through his body.

  “First my mother. Now you,” he mumbled, looking to the floor, and the mess of books.

  “You whore,” he said as he looked her in the eye. “You fucking whore!” he screamed at her, so loudly that she shrank against George who himself winced away from his former friend. Edward felt a heat build within him, a fury unlike any he had ever experienced before. He slammed his fist into the door, splintering the wood panel and leaving a great bloody gash on his forearm. He glared at them now, his eyes filled with a hatred so intense that neither one of them could look him in the eye. Without uttering another word, he turned and left the house.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Miller sighed, standing and walking to the window. Hapgood had seen the pain in Miller’s eyes and knew that even speaking about it had taken a tremendous toll on him.

  “The following weeks were somewhat of a daze Mr Hapgood, and unfortunately, I cannot recall specific details of that dark time to relay back to you as part of this story. I know that my frustration and sorrow were quelled somewhat by my kills which had escalated to proportions never before indulged. I knew even then that rats and dogs would not long satisfy my growing desires. My hatred for all whores was cemented on that day. Never again would I allow myself to be enticed by their disgusting desire to couple with man. They are filthy creatures, Mr Hapgood. Women, I mean. Carriers of disease and illness who use sex to manipulate a man. I was just twenty three years old and stood alone in a world which had shunned me and left me confused and broken. A man without direction. Is it any surprise knowing what you do now that my journey took the course it did?”

  Hapgood looked up from his writings. “Despite my sympathy to your ordeal, I cannot agree that your actions later were justified.”

  Miller turned to face his host, a curious smile on his lips. “How so Mr Miller? All women had ever brought to me was misery. The world would be a better place without them. You cannot possibly understand Mr Hapgood, not in the fullest sense anyway. The words as I tell them have a certain impact, but even that pales in comparison to actually having to live through those experiences. Yes, life has indeed been cruel to me. First my mother then Lucy. In return, I responded with cruelty to it and took my vengeance on those who had wronged me.”

  “Are you saying you hold no regret for the slaughter of those women?” Hapgood asked.

  “What is to regret? Instead of being hounded and called a monster I should have been commended. By ridding the streets of those filthy disgusting creatures I was acting with the best of intentions. A great work indeed for the good of everyone.”

  “You sir are a fiend, and despite the hurt which you felt, I cannot accept justification or condone the actions which you chose to take.” Hapgood stood, staring Miller down, his cheeks flushed with anger.

  “You have no right to judge me. As I said earlier, my judgement will come from God, and I will stand before him without shame nor fear.” Miller sneered.

  “I fear that you will stand not before God but the devil himself, and perhaps even he will deem you too evil for hell and return you to earth.”

  Miller smiled. “Perhaps… and yet here you are Mr Hapgood, drinking tea with the man you deem too evil for the devil himself. I wonder, does that make you as bad, if not worse a monster than I?”

  Hapgood lowered his gaze, as the two stood silent. Miller returned to his seat and folded his hands in front of him. He closed his eyes, and began to speak, again calm.

  “George and Lucy would go on to marry, and the last I heard of them, they moved to Yorkshire and have two children. Neither of them spoke to me again of course, and as far as I know George made no complaint of my assault of him. For a time, I was like a ship without an anchor, lost in a sea of darkness. I began to have dreams, Mr Hapgood, twisted dark visions of flesh flayed from bone, of skinless women, lined single file as far as the eye could see waiting to enter the slaughterhouse. Dreams of blood running the cobbled streets of London. I would wake, heart racing in the dark solitude of my lodgings. It was one of these nights, restless and unable to find sleep, angry and searching for my purpose that the next stage of my journey found me. It was a sticky, summer night, and too warm to sleep. Unwilling to endure any more of my dreams, I dressed and set out onto the heart of Whitechapel. I liked to walk back then Mr Hapgood, unfortunately, I have since developed problems with my knees which mean that I am not quite so mobile as I once was. Back then, however, I would walk everywhere, taking in the sights, and the sounds, even the smells of the filthy streets around me, feeling at home with the wretches and the scum, the poor and the destitute. The hopeless. I was, after all, one of them. unlike George, I had never really escaped it. Take up your pen, Mr Hapgood. There is much more of this story yet to tell.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Even at such a late hour, Whitechapel teemed with life. The church clock signalled three in the morning yet still children scurried and played, as their mothers drunk and tottered, leaning on their equally drunk friends as they bellowed at passers-by or tried to solicit themselves for a few pennies. Edward walked the streets, head down, hands thrust in pockets. He ignored the jeers, the jibes, and the incessant chatter. Ahead of him, a brawl broke out in a doorway between two men, which spilled into the street followed by a few interested spectators. Edward walked on paying no mind. His mood had turned dark, darker even than the deepest recesses of the dimly lit passages and streets which surrounded him. His eyes flitted to them, the whores. He watched as they indulged in whispered conversation with their customers, before retreating to a dark and unseen place to complete the transaction. Anger filled him, an all-consuming hatred which was becoming familiar. He needed to kill, however, he also knew that rats and dogs would not suffice his growing rage.

  “You want the business?” came the slurred voice from behind him.

  Edward turned slowly, looking the woman up and down as she peered from the archway, his expression not betraying the burning rage that she had dared address him. She was overweight, her filthy brown hair pulled back in a scraggly clump on her head. Her small features were drawn and tired; under her left eye was the yellowish remains of what looked like a recent bruise. Her skin lo
oked strange to Edward, pale and lifeless. Her flabby arms went to her hips as she tried her best to strike a seductive pose. Edward almost laughed at the idiocy but was somehow able to retain his demeanour.

  “You look lost, love. I can maybe help you find something for just three pennies.”

  Edward said nothing, doing all that he could to quell his disgust.

  “As it happens I have a few pennies to spend.” Edward heard himself saying, feeling as if he were some kind of a passenger in his own body. The prostitute grinned, revealing what remained her badly decayed and yellowed teeth.

  “Come on then love, this way,” she said before shrinking back into the blackness of the archway. Edward looked all about him on the busy streets, yet nobody paid any attention. He noted that he was no different to the scores of other people here, and his actions were of no interest to them. He walked into the archway, the smell of filth and desperation causing him to wrinkle his nose. There was no light, Edward taking a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The archway extended for another ten feet beyond her, then turned to the right. The passageway was otherwise unoccupied.

  “This way love,” came her voice from the dark as Edward began to walk towards her. He could see her now, a vague shape in the darkness for which Edward was grateful.

  “Gimmie a second just to hitch up my skirts love,” she said as he approached, her rancid breath even more foul smelling than the alleyway. His heart raced, yet it was not with sexual excitement, it was the thought of what he could do to this woman, the control he had over her. He wondered what her innards would look like, and imagined his hands dripping with blood. The vision was so clear, so sharp that it thrilled him.