I was Jack The Ripper (Part Two):

by Bray, Michael

  “Come on then love, lets ave ya,” she said, turning her back and exposing her filthy lower body to him. He approached, his breath coming in great gasps as he tried to control himself.

  “You sound ready for this love. Go on then, put it in.”

  He put his hands on the wall either side of her head and stood close, his chest almost touching her back. He was looking at her neck, flexing his hands. He readied himself to choke her. Just as he set his hands about her neck, another couple stumbled into the alleyway, also intent on the same business. Edward recoiled, glaring at the couple as they stumbled towards them

  “Sorry mate,” said the drunk man as he stumbled past, closely followed by another prostitute, this one waif thin and filthy. Edward backed away, pressing his back against the opposite wall.

  “You ok love?” Said the prostitute as she walked passed Edward, looking him up and down.

  Edward looked her in the eye, then his gaze drifted to the corner, where the woman he had almost killed was now frowning.

  “Don’t worry about those two love, come on. Let’s finish up,” she said, again flashing her horrible grin. Edward looked at his hands, thinking about what he had almost done.

  Without a word, he walked away, heading out of the alleyway and then running, making his way through the side streets and back home. He wept until the sun rose, then dried his face and stood at the door of his lodgings, looking up and down the street which was still silent apart from those heading to work, the hazy blue pink hue of the rising sun filtering through the smog giving a beautiful peaceful quality to the morning, and with it clarity of thought for the first time since Lucy had betrayed him He knew at that instant what he must do to bring peace to his mind. Closing the door, he moved to the desk in his room, and opened the drawer, taking out the package which lay inside. He turned the parcel over in his hands. It was a gift for George, he and Lucy had bought it as a surprise, a gift for when he graduated from the medical university and became a fully-fledged doctor. Edward tore open the package, opening the box which lay within. Inside was a smaller, box, black with a brass latch. Edward picked it up and unfastened the clasps, then opening the lid.

  The knife which lay inside was quite beautiful. The blade was solid steel and around six inches long. The handle black and offering good grip. Edward lifted the blade, enjoying the weight in his hand. He looked at the steel, the way it reflected his face, warping his features into a close approximation of how he felt inside. He had hoped that holding the blade might deter him from the idea that was forming in his mind, yet the effect was the opposite. It felt good as he wielded it, it felt right. Unlike the women who had destroyed his life, it would never betray him, would never fail him. It would be strong for him as long as he was strong enough to use it. He touched the blade edge, slicing his finger with barely a touch. He would not allow his life to be destroyed by any more filthy whores, both his mother and Lucy would be responsible for what was about to occur. He would ensure they would fear him, them and all whores alike. The rage would be released, of that, there was no doubt. He would strike without mercy and do so until he was stopped. His dreams would come true. the streets would run with the blood of all whores and he would be the one to make it happen. For the first time, he felt a sense of purpose, a direction, and a confidence that he would be able to achieve the thing which he desired most. Revenge would be his and it would be paid in the blood of all whores. He lay down on his bed and closed his eyes, seeing in his mind the carnage, the fear he would generate. He would give himself a name. something they would never forget and one which would soon be on the lips of all whores and he would do it with the knife bought for the friend who had betrayed him with the woman he loved. The tool of a man who would save lives would be his instrument to take them. it would be the ultimate irony.

  For the first time in weeks, he slept soundly.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Hapgood set his pen down, knowing they had reached the part of the story he was least looking forward to documenting. “It was here that it began then?”

  “Yes, although not in the sense that you know it, Mr. Hapgood.”

  “How so?”

  “I was young and full of ideas but knew little of how I might go about such deeds even though I knew that my work must begin. I had continued to frequent the places where the filthy whores would be found, cavorting and squealing. With each passing day, my rage grew until one day that which I had known to be coming for so long, finally happened.”

  Hapgood referred to his notes “This would be the Nichols woman, on the thirty-first of August” Hapgood said.

  “Actually, no, Mr Hapgood.”

  Hapgood paused from his writing, looking Miller in the eye. “I don’t understand.”

  “The general thoughts within the press and from the police were that my work began on that day late in August. In actuality, it began earlier that month. I wanted to... test the waters as it were. My lust for revenge was strong Mr Hapgood, but I was not yet ready to announce myself to the world. After all, thinking about the work I intended to begin was much different from the physical act. I knew I needed to test myself, to see if I had the will to match the desire. And so, Early in August, I set out into the night to the streets that had become so familiar to me I thought of them as my home.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Two Brewers public house teemed with life. Situated on the corner of Brick Lane, it was filled with singing and loud conversation by its patrons, most of which were intoxicated. Edward sat in the corner, watching the mass of humanity and feeling disgust and disassociation at how vile they were. As he observed, his eyes drifted to the two women at the bar who were indulged in raucous conversation with two soldiers. They looked out of place here, their red uniforms too bright, too vibrant compared to the rest of the clientele. They had no doubt come into port on one fo the many vessels which docked in London, taking shore leave to drink and fuck before boarding the ship again and going on their way. Edward watched as the two women flaunted themselves at the soldiers, exposing their bare flesh to them, whispering in their ears, and then bellowing in drunken laughter. Edward sipped his beer, watching the disgusting and vulgar display in front of him. They reminded him of his mother, another whore who had ruined his life. A group of men at the table beside him had begun to argue, their words slurred by too much alcohol. Edward was barely able to concentrate and was developing a headache. Finishing his drink, he stood and pushed his way through the crowd, passing within just a few feet of the two women who looked at him as he passed.

  “Ere Martha,” said the scrawnier of the two “That one there was lookin’ at you.”

  The larger woman, overweight, and eyes glazed with drink cackled loudly and slurred back

  “He can wait his turn, Polly love. The officer ere’ is more my type anyways.”

  Edward ignored them pushed his way through the door and outside, immediately grateful for both the quiet and the cool air in comparison to the sticky heat of the pub. He walked across the road, then, taking a position where he could observe the doors, stood and watched. People bustled and scurried, some were already passed out in doorways or leaning against walls. Even from his position across the street, he could still hear the chatter and noise. His headache had grown into a thunderous throbbing migraine. The idea to go home to bed was appealing to him and he was about to leave when he saw the two women and the soldiers stumble out of the pub. They stood outside for a few moments, the women hopelessly drunk, the soldiers not quite so. They began to walk down the street, their drunken chatter coming to Edward in snatches.

  Soon my whores, soon

  He followed them, keeping to the shadows. It was some time later when the quartet staggered out of the White Swan pub, now all so drunk they could barely walk. Edward watched as they prepared to go their separate ways.

  “Martha, this gentleman has lost something that perhaps I can help him to find.” the thinner woman said, with a drunken grin.

  “I�
�ll see you later Polly,” replied her equally drunken friend. “This handsome chap is also looking for a warm place aren’t you love?” she said, nudging the soldier and trying her best to look seductive.

  Polly took her soldier by the arm. “I might see you back in the Bells later then,” she said, leading her man away.

  “That you might” replied Martha, heading in the opposite direction. Edward followed, still at a distance as the pair made their way through the warren-like streets of Whitechapel. They were approaching Wentworth Street, an area that Edward knew well from his nights walking and lost in thought. The pair stopped just ahead, outside the entrance to George’s Yard buildings. Edward smiled at the irony. The yard which shared the name of his former friend who took Lucy from him. It would be a perfect place to begin his campaign. Approaching the archway which turned off from Whitechapel road, he continued to watch. The pair had a short conversation before Martha led the soldier into the archway. Edward followed, peering around the corner, the shadows so black he was completely out of sight. He could see them on the first-floor landing. Her skirts were hitched up high, as the soldier, his trousers down around his feet furiously thrust away at her.

  Edwards fury grew, he thought back to his mother, then to Lucy. His hand went to his pocket, and the knife wrapped in linen which lay within. He waited patiently as the soldier grunted his way to climax.

  “How was that for ya love?” Martha said as she readjusted her skirts.

  “Just what I needed at the end of a pleasant night.” Replied the soldier, handing over a shilling to Martha.

  “Thank you kindly, sir,” she said, but he was already leaving, the transaction complete. Edward pushed himself into the darkness, and the soldier walked past him without pausing, nor noticing his presence. He waited for a moment, then came out of the shadows, walking up the few steps towards her. She glanced at him, flashing a drunken smile.

  “Ello darlin. You like what you see?” she asked, exposing a flabby, pendulous breast. He said nothing.

  “I saw you in the Bells earlier didn’t I love? Watchin’ me you were.” She tried to look seductive, but Edward saw the desperation in her which further increased his anger.

  Bitch whore.

  He nodded then spoke. “Are we safe here?” he asked, looking around the deserted hallway.

  “Oh don’t you worry love, nobody will disturb us. Come on, get it out and let’s get on.” She said as she leant forwards to hitch up her filthy skirt. He couldn’t believe how easy she had made it for him. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the knife, quickly unwrapping it. He took a step toward her and thrust the knife at her, the blade slipping through her chest with less resistance than he anticipated. She tried to scream but could let out only a dry gasp as she staggered back to the wall, and fell to the ground on her side. Looking around to ensure he was alone, Edward rolled her onto her back, and gazed into her eyes, watching the life dim, and then fade. In that moment, she was his mother. She was Lucy. Fury overcame him and he began to drive the knife into her, over and over again, the consumption by the rage total. He lost count of how many times he stabbed her, only stopping when his arm became too tired to continue. He slid away from her, panting with exertion. There was less blood than he anticipated. He knew many whores were without permanent lodgings and wore everything they had as they walked the streets, near homeless. Those layers had done a fine job of soaking up much of the blood. Even so, there was still some evidence of his work. His hands shook and he felt an overwhelming sense of power at his deed. He looked at her now, her body twisted and mangled and he realised that he felt nothing. No remorse, no sadness. Just a euphoria and satisfaction.

  He cleaned his blade on an unstained section of her green skirt and then placed it back in his pocket. Standing, he made to leave and then paused.

  He knew the soldier had just paid this woman for sex, and that he had been seen with her for most of the night. With a smile, he returned to the body, arching her legs and pushing them aside, as if intercourse had taken place on the ground. He stepped back, admiring his work, and then, hearing voices approaching, he hid around the corner of the following ascending stairway, holding his breath as he waited. The voices grew louder, then passed the entrance and receded into the distance. He looked at his hands, which were smeared with blood, as was the front of his shirt. Quickly, he pulled out another rag from his inner pocket and wiped his face, before fastening the front of his coat. Finally, he removed a pair of black gloves and put them on. It would suffice until he made his way home. He exited the building and began to make his way deeper into Whitechapel. He felt elated, a great weight removed from his shoulders. He had anticipated that it would be difficult, but in fact, the opposite was true. They were all too willing, and he was all too eager. They knew the places to go where there would be no disturbance. He could feel the sticky warmth of the blood which had soaked through his shirt to his skin and began to feel aroused. Upon returning home without incident he looked at himself in the mirror. His face was mostly clean apart from a few spots of blood. His clothes, however, were another story. His white shirt was splashed with great gouts of claret, and his hands were also covered. Not bothering to clean it off, he pleasured himself, able for the first time to feel arousal at the sight of himself drenched in blood. When he was finished he drew a hot bath, and as he soaked he replayed the events in his head. His exploration, although successful left him with much to think about. He had to devise a way to keep as blood-free as possible so he could blend into the crowds with ease. How bold could he be? how big a risk could he take to ensure maximum fear? Could he do it in crowded places where the bodies were likely to be found quickly and still warm? If so could he escape without detection?

  Yes.

  Many questions indeed that required answers. But not tonight. Tonight he had worked enough. He yawned, the warm water bringing with it a fatigue. His shoulder burned with the fury of his work, yet it was a good pain. He likened it to the satisfied ache of a man who had done an honest day’s work and decided that next time, he would see the insides. He would open them up like over ripe fruit. He would rip them and spill them into the streets for all to see. He yawned, and climbed out of his bath, checking his watch. It was almost six in the morning. Making his way into the bedroom, he dried and then lay down, closing his eyes. He wondered if they had found the body yet and if so what they would think of his handiwork. He let his thoughts drift, as he lapsed into a dreamless sleep. For the next few days, he scanned the newspapers for word on his work but was underwhelmed by its lack of coverage. The realisation came to him that if he were to really strike fear into the people then he would have to do more. Whores were routinely found dead. It was a danger of their work. For him to stand out he would have to do more. He would need to make sure he was remembered.

  LATER.

  His mood was cheerful as he made his way to work, the night air was crisp and fresh, and even though it was just a little after ten o clock the streets were strangely deserted. Although not his usual route, he went out of his way to pass the archway leading to George’s yard. As he passed he looked down the narrow passage but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He had hoped to see crowds of onlookers pointing and whispering, yet aside from a stray dog sniffing about the waste piled against the wall, there was no activity. Frustrated and angry, he made his way over Whitechapel road, then through a narrow passageway, and headed towards to his job at the Hospital. His anger although satisfied for the time being still lingered within him. He marvelled again at just how easy it had been. Whitechapel was the perfect environment to complete his work, and so he would do another, and another. He looked inwards and felt a dark emptiness which frightened him. He missed Lucy terribly, yet the thought of her with George, of how she left him, renewed his lust for revenge. He arrived at the hospital early for his shift, and so he skirted around the building, heading for the quiet of the enclosed garden area. He had developed another headache, and here was the place he would often
come to find solace. When he arrived he found that he was not alone. He drew breath as he looked upon the horrifically disfigured individual who stood before him. His face was covered with bony, miss shaped nodules; his body twisted leaving the man unable to even walk upright. Edward had heard of this man, a resident of the hospital named Joseph Merrick; however, this was the first time he himself had set eyes upon the pitiful creature.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you,” said Edward, lowering his gaze.

  “Please, do not leave on my account, I rarely have company.” replied Merrick.

  Edward found it hard to understand the words, Merrick’s jaw and mouth and resulting disfigurement making it difficult for him to speak. The poor wretch had been given the awful title of the Elephant Man and was used as a circus sideshow freak for those willing to pay to see him. In actuality, the Man joseph Merrick was incredibly warm and intelligent and compassionate even to those who exploited him and had done since birth. Edward looked upon this man and realised that he was on the outside how Edward felt within, twisted and disfigured. He noted with interest that they were opposites.

  “Mr Merrick I believe?” Edward said, holding out his hand. Merrick looked back in wonder and shook it as best he could.

  “Please, just Joseph. You are not repulsed by me?” Merrick asked in wonder

  “Not at all, sir. In fact, my repulsion is reserved for those who treat you with such disrespect.”

  “Are you a visitor here at the hospital?”

  “No, sir. I work here.”

  Merrick nodded, as he and Edward began to walk the gardens.

  “I do not blame them; it is human nature to be afraid of that which they do not understand,” Merrick said. Edward could hear his breath, coming in great wet rasps.

  “I too walk alone Mr Merrick. And yet now I fear a path is laid before me on which I cannot turn back.”