I WAS JACK THE RIPPER
PART IV
By
MICHAEL BRAY
Copyright © 2017 Michael Bray
WWW.MICHAELBRAYAUTHOR.COM
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All rights reserved.
DISCLAIMER FROM THE AUTHOR
Before we dive into this story I thought it was a good idea to say a brief word or two to make sure we are all on the same page. This book, although based on the awful Whitechapel murders in London in 1888, is NOT intended as a historically accurate novel. That said, I have put a lot of research into this book to make sure it is accurate to the time frame, however, if you are coming here looking for a theory on who I think Jack the Ripper was, you may have come to the wrong place. For all of the speculation on who may be responsible in reality from Tumblety to Sir William Gull and everyone in between, I have decided to meld fiction into fact, and so MY Jack is not a person who existed in reality and as a result not one of the existing suspects. This was done so I could make the very best work of fiction that I could. There are plenty of historical books that deal with who may or may not have been the killer, this is not one of those. This is very much a fictional story created around some of the most brutal crimes ever to take place in England. If you came in expecting something else, then you may want to stop reading now and move on and get something from the true crimes section.
If you are still with me and want to come along, then I invite you all to join me in nineteenth-century England, a time when it was dark, cruel and brutal, and we are about to pick up the story of a writer who is about to be visited by a man with a strange and spectacular story to tell….
WARNING
This book contains content that some readers may find disturbing.
Please do not continue to read if you are easily shocked or offended.
CHAPTER ONE
The police station smelled of polish and wood. It was less busy that Miller had expected He had informed Godley of his arrival and was waiting to be seen by Abberline. He had spent the previous evening preparing himself for any questions the inspector may have as to the reasons for him being present at both crime scenes and was confident he would not be held responsible.
‘Mr Miller,’ Godley said, approaching him where he waited.
‘Yes?’
‘The inspector will see you now. This way please, sir.’
Miller followed Godley behind the counter and down a short wood-panelled corridor. The monster inside him told him to run, and that he was being led into a trap. Miller ignored it, pushing it to the back of his mind as he was led into a modest office. Behind the desk, Abberline sat. He was writing a report. Godley motioned for Miller to sit then stood by the door. Miller complied, waiting for Abberline to finish writing. Abberline completed his report, then set the pen back into the inkwell.
‘Mr Miller, thank you for coming.’
‘As I said, inspector, I am happy to assist in any way I can.’
‘As I’m sure you are aware, there is much talk on the streets about these murders. People are getting to be restless and re demanding a response. It is my job to give it to them.’
‘We rely on people like yourself to keep us safe, Inspector. People are frightened.’
‘And so they should be. Nasty business this.’
Miller fidgeted, folding his hands in his lap. ‘So, how can I help you?’
‘Just a few questions if I may.’
Miller glanced over at Godley who was standing by the closed office door. ‘I’m not sure how I can assist. I know nothing other than what I have seen in the newspapers.’
‘Routine, Mr Miller. You were at both of the murder sites.’
‘As were many others I’m sure. They caused quite an uproar.’
‘They did indeed. And you are right, there are other people who were observed who have also been asked to come in to see me. Nothing to cause alarm, I assure you.’
‘So how can I help?’
‘Do you work, Mr Miller?
‘Yes, Inspector. At the hospital, Royal London.’
‘So you’re a doctor.’
‘No, sir. I’m not that skilled I’m afraid. I assist. Cleaning the operating areas, taking the dead to the morgue. Things of that nature.’
‘But you do work alongside doctors? You are able to observe how they work in regards to how they operate?’
Miller suspected what Abberline was hinting at. His own words wouldn’t come, lost in a melting pot of excuses and a blurted confession he wanted to make. It was at this point that the black thing that lived inside him took over and answered on his behalf.
‘I wouldn’t say I was able to observe as such, inspector. True enough I am present when the doctors are performing their surgeries but I do not get in the way of their work. I bring clean cloths and remove dirty ones. I clean blood when I am told to do so. Why do you ask?’
Abberline stared at him, eyes searching into his very soul. It would have been enough to break Miller under normal circumstances, but the thing that was in control of him stared right back, gaze unwavering.
‘We have a theory,’ Abberline said, finally breaking eye contact. ‘An idea that our killer could be a doctor, someone with anatomical knowledge.’
‘From what I saw, sir, he had just butchered those poor women. I saw no evidence of skill.’
‘As I stated, it is just theory. There is another which is that our killer may work in a slaughterhouse or something similar.’
‘It sounds like you don’t know much if you excuse me for saying so.’ Miller somehow managed not to smile when he said it.
‘No, sadly we don’t, which is why we are questioning as many potential witnesses as possible.’
‘As I stated to you yesterday, Inspector, I know nothing that can help you. I didn’t witness anything.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that. You were at both murder scenes, perhaps you saw someone acting suspiciously?’
Miller shook his head. Grateful that the beast was in control. ‘No, sadly not. I must admit it was my own morbid curiosity that led me to visit the areas of the murders. It isn’t often such horrors are seen.’
‘Even for you, Mr Miller, a man who works closely alongside surgeons. I would think you have seen more than your share of blood and violence.
‘Are you suggesting I had something to do with these murders?’ He was surprised how calm the words came. Inside, the real him was screaming.
Abberline stared, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips. ‘No, Mr Miller. I don’t think you are capable of such terrible things. What we are looking for is a monster, and you are clearly not that.’
Miller remained motionless, even as the demon inside him screamed in rage at the dismissive attitude of Abberline. ‘That’s a relief. I did wonder why you asked me here.’
‘Merely to gather information, Mr Miller. Nothing more.’
‘Then I’m free to go?’
‘Of course. If I could offer you a parting word of advice. Perhaps it would be unwise to continue visiting the scenes of these awful murders should any more take place.’
‘With luck, you will catch him before that becomes an issue.’
‘We intend to do just that. Even so….’
‘No, I will stay away, inspector. I do not wish to impede your investigation.’
‘Good. In that case, there should be no need for us to ever see each other again. Godley will show you out. Goodbye, Mr Miller.’
Miller allowed Godley to show him out, somehow keeping control of the fury that raged within him. Abberline’s offhanded dismis
sal of his ability to conduct the crimes was burning deep, and he had already made the decision to prove them wrong. After he was shown out, Miller walked, letting the fury simmer as he mingled with the destitute and the wretched. It was clear to him that he needed to do something new to shock them and to let him know how serious he was. It was then that the dark thing in his mind spoke to him. Words whispered to him from within. It told him that if one whore savaged and left for all to see wasn’t enough, then perhaps he should do two in a single night.
***
Hapgood stopped writing, staring at Miller. ‘The double event. Widely reported as the boldest of the murders. Both occurring within minutes of each other.’
Miller nodded but gave no reply.
‘You’re saying Abberline triggered this?’
‘I had to prove a point. His words were a personal insult.’
‘You acted, even at the risk of being caught?’
‘Capture wasn’t a consideration. Understand, Hapgood, that back then, this demon beast inside me had full control over my actions. Over the years I have learned to tame it, although it still lives there, whispering in the night.’
The comment was enough to bring a moment of silence to the room. Both men contemplated as the fire crackled in the fireplace.
‘So you acted on it based on your anger at Abberline?’
‘Not immediately. Even enraged I was cautious. I knew the police investigation was at its height and there were many patrols in the streets, for all the good it would do.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I wonder, Hapgood, have you, as part of your research frequented Whitechapel? Have you explored its streets?’
‘No, I’m afraid I haven’t.’
‘I thought not. People from this part of the city wouldn’t frequent such squalid areas.’
‘I have been there, just not enough to explore. I did wonder how you could so easily avoid detection.’
‘It was different then, Hapgood. There were none of the lamps on the streets that are there today. At night, Whitechapel was a maze of shadows and filth. If you remained quiet and still, you could stand a few feet from a passing police patrol and they would never see you. Even so, the public was on alert, and so I decided it was best if I delayed my next course of action until a later date.’
‘And what did you do to fill the gap?’
Miller shifted in his seat, uncomfortable at the line of questioning. Hapgood noticed his discomfort.
‘You don’t have to tell me of course. I was under the impression that you wished to give a full account of your story.’
‘You are, of course, right. I will tell it as it happened. In order to keep that demon inside me at bay, I acquired some opiates from the hospital. I took these in combination with drinking in an effort to keep my demon from taking control. That, Hapgood, was perhaps the darkest period of my younger years. Alone in my lodgings listening to that thing whisper in my mind or drinking away the pain in some hovel amid the vile creatures I had vowed to destroy. It was during one of those drunken stupors that my path was shaped. It was the end of September, the twenty eighth as I recall when I lost control to the demon and two days later would commit what you refer to as the double event. By that time, of course, I had the name I would become known by.’
‘Yes. The letter you sent to the police. You gave yourself the name Jack the Ripper.’
Miller smiled, the expression coming as more of a grimace. ‘That name had nothing to do with me, Hapgood, I can assure you. I wrote no letters to the police.’
Hapgood stared at Miller as the rain probed the windows for a way in. ‘I don’t understand. Everyone knew you as the Ripper. Even Inspector Abberline thought you were responsible for at least some of the letters sent under that name.’
‘Newspapers, Hapgood. Those ghouls lived for stories such as mine. Murder in the streets, the police unable to catch a killer. Every journalist looking for a new angle, some new information to sell more copies. Is it beyond the realm of possibility that one particularly creative individual might have forged a gruesome letter and signed it in a name guaranteed to cause public panic?’
‘I never considered the possibility.’
‘As I said when I arrived earlier this evening. There is much you do not know about my life. Much yet that you will still learn. Are you ready to proceed?’
Hapgood adjusted his papers and picked up his pen. ‘Yes. Proceed when ready.’
Miller folded his hands in his lap then took a deep breath as he recalled the past. ‘As I stated, it was the twenty eighth of September and had been another night of drinking myself into a stupor. It was as I was walking the streets that once again fate conspired to steer me in the path it had determined I should take.
CHAPTER TWO
The sheer volume of noise in the Ten Bells was doing enough to block the violent whispers in Miller’s mind. He had found that drinking helped, and at the same time come to two unrelated conclusions. The first was, as he sat in the corner, the belly full of drink churning and threatening to make an unwanted reappearance, that he wasn’t too far removed from many of the seedy clientele surrounding him. He had always considered himself to be a step above, a higher class than the wretched and the desperate, but had come to realise that he too was wretched. He too was desperate. He had lost his job at the Hospital for persistent drunkenness and was instead living off the money sent to him monthly by Lucy and Edward. He was aware that accepting it was hypocritical, and although they didn’t speak, he accepted the money. They had wronged him and if they felt enough guilt to want to keep sending him money then he would gladly drink it away. They owed him that at the very least. Just thinking about them hurt, and he took another drink. The second thing he had come to realise is that he was falling in love with Mary Kelly. They had met only a few times and yet whenever they did so the beast inside was silent. The conversation was easy and she was, to him beautiful. Her features delicate, skin soft.
Just like Lucy.
He took another drink in the hope of silencing the whispers of the monster, even though what it said was true. Part of the attraction for him was that she did look a lot like Lucy. It was quite remarkable. Miller had decided that if one thing would allow him to stop with his work, then finding love, real love with a woman who felt the same and wouldn’t hurt him, could be it. He had taken to frequenting the pubs he knew she would go to, yet had only seen her two or three times. She, like the rest of the population of Whitechapel, was in fear of the Ripper, of him. he knew the beast inside found a great pleasure in listening to the whispers of fear and speculation as to when he would next strike, and to sit there amid it, able to almost taste the fear, should have been intoxicating and exactly what he had hoped to achieve. Yet all he could consider and think about was Mary. He wanted to tell her how he felt, part of him sure she would feel the same way, the other half of him afraid she would reject him and shatter his fragile confidence.
You’re supposed to want to kill them. Not fuck them.
Miller took another drink. He had grown to hate the thing that lived within him. The thing which had been shaped by his misery and despair. It had grown into a cruel inner passenger, something which he hated as much as he needed it. He wondered if she would feel the same way if he told her how he felt. He would tell her he could take her away from the life on the streets. Give her security and safety in exchange for filling the loveless void inside him and helping him banish his demon.
What about Abberline? Remember how he said you were incapable of the work we had done? Remember how you wanted to prove him wrong?
‘No.’ Miller slurred. Nobody heard it due to the volume of noise around him. Usually, drink worked, but today the beast was strong and it went on, poison tongue moving as it spoke to him.
I thought you wanted to be special. I thought you wanted to be remembered? Do you really think falling in love with a whore is going to give you that fame?
‘Shut up.’
Ju
st listen. It’s everywhere. Everyone is talking about us and our work. I know you’re trying to drink me away, but you don’t fool me. You thrive on this. Somebody actually knowing who you are. Our work is good. We need to continue. Kill the whores like you said you would.
‘Stop talking to me.’
‘Mr Miller?’
‘Mary, hello…’ Miller looked away. He hated her seeing him like this. Broken and vulnerable, a drunk wrestling with his inner demons. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’
The statement, he knew, was stupid. He had been frequenting the places he knew she would be in the hope of seeing her. Now he was the worse for drink, he just wanted to be alone. Instead of leaving, Mary sat opposite him. Miller straightened in his seat, trying as best he could to convince her he was lucid.
‘Drinking alone?’ her eyes fell to the empty glass on the table.
‘Yes, I suppose I am. Would you like to join me?’
He saw a change in her expression, a shadow of a frown. He wondered if she could see the glaze in his eyes or hear the slur in his voice. ‘No, I can’t stop I’m afraid. I just saw you here and wanted to say hello.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want a drink with me?’ Miller slurred, unable to control or act in the way his rational side demanded. ‘You and I could make a night of it.’
Mary shifted in her seat. ‘No, I really can’t. I have to go to work.’
‘Work? If that is the only thing stopping you from drinking with me, then here.’ Miller tossed two pennies on the table. ‘How much time does that buy?’ He hated saying it, despising himself as the words left his mouth, yet the dark thing was controlling him and he was a powerless passenger. The pained expression he saw on Mary’s face hurt him more than he anticipated.
‘I think you’ve had too much drink, Mr Miller.’
Miller gripped the edge of the table. Nausea and disgust at his behaviour making a nasty concoction in his stomach. ‘Yes. I think you may be right.’
I Was Jack the Ripper (Part 4) Page 1