Jack's Back

by Mark Romain

  Tyler drew level and Dillon jumped out to check. Cupping his hands against the window, he peered inside. “This is the one, Main-Set and all. She must be around here somewhere,” he said, looking up and down the road.

  Tyler pulled in behind it. Seconds later, he joined Dillon on the pavement. “I suggest we split up. You go right and I’ll go left. We’ll cover more ground that way,” Tyler said.

  “Good idea. But we’d better not stray too far from here. If one of us shouts for help, I want the other one to hear it,” Dillon said, wishing they had radios.

  “Agreed. I’ll check this turning,” Tyler indicated the junction almost directly opposite the car, “and that one off to the left. You take the two further up on the right. Just a cursory look – if there’s no trace of her we come straight back here and summon help, got it?”

  Dillon nodded. “Absolutely.”

  “Good, let’s do it,” Tyler said, crossing the road hurriedly.

  He jogged into the turning opposite Kelly’s car, noting the dead-end sign. After a dozen steps he stopped, struck by how isolated the place was; it was as though, having entered, you were completely cut off from the rest of the world. The bulb in the lone streetlight, which was back at the junction, had long since been vandalised. It flickered at half power, causing his shadow to dance on the floor in front of him.

  About fifty yards further in, a bank of fog was slowly drifting towards him. He assumed it was coming up from the river. In the distance, he could see what looked like a series of turrets jutting up into the sky through the fog. They were as uninviting as a Transylvanian castle.

  This was a forgotten road, he decided, without character or warmth. There were no houses, no shops and no sign of human occupation, recent or otherwise.

  He guessed the cobbled turning was a disused service road leading down to the Thames.

  As he stood there, the streetlight flickered a final time and went out.

  “That’s just great,” he snarled, throwing his hands up in the air. Needless to say, he hadn’t thought to bring along a torch. Well, there was no point in cursing. He would just have to continue without lighting.

  Tyler pressed on, squinting to penetrate the stygian darkness ahead. After a few seconds, he thought he could make out a faint shape in the distance. Could it be the van Kelly had followed?

  As he tried to make up his mind, a shadow suddenly detached itself from the rest and glided towards the shape. Either his eyes were playing tricks or someone was prowling around up there. He began to quicken his pace, possessed by a growing sense of urgency.

  Before he’d taken half a dozen steps the silence was shattered by an ear-piercing scream.

  Jack immediately broke into a fast run. Something was horribly wrong up ahead.

  “Kelly!” he shouted at the top of his voice. He strained his ears for a reply, but all he heard was the hollow echo of his footsteps on the cobbled road. The streetlight flickered into life again, illuminating the van and a shadowy figure next to it, albeit weakly.

  “You! Stay where you are,” Tyler yelled angrily. “It’s the police.”

  He’d covered twenty yards already. The figure – he could tell it was a man now – whipped around to face him, crouching like a savage, predatory animal protecting its prey from a rival.

  Even from this distance, Jack could make out the shape of the huge knife in his left hand.

  Shit! Tyler wasn’t carrying his ASP either. Had he managed to bring anything he needed with him tonight?

  Jack watched as the man took a slow step backwards, edging towards the side of the van. Tyler was forty yards from him now, running for all he was worth. To his horror, he suddenly noticed someone lying at the man’s feet.

  Kelly! Please God, no! Jack’s arms pumped like pistons as he redoubled his efforts, sucking in air as he ran. His heart and mind were both racing. He would never forgive himself if anything had happened to Kelly.

  He became aware of a third figure; this one slouched on the floor of the van, screaming hysterically. It was a middle-aged woman, and the scream he’d heard a few seconds earlier had obviously originated from her.

  The suspect began a subtle retreat, keeping as much distance between himself and Tyler as he could. Was this the Ripper, Jack wondered? Was he finally about to come face to face with the monster he had been hunting for the last two weeks?

  Two weeks! It felt more like two years.

  Instinctively, Jack knew the fiend was going to run. But where could he go? This was a dead end, wasn’t it? As if on cue, the suspect turned and bolted along the path towards the old building.

  “Stay where you are,” Jack raged, overcome by anger and frustration.

  This placed Tyler in a dreadful predicament, one that tore him in two. He desperately wanted to catch the suspect, who was almost certainly the killer, but his overriding concern was for Kelly Flowers’ safety. He skidded to a halt as he reached the van, slamming into one of the open doors with a loud thud.

  “Please help me,” the woman in the back sobbed. He ignored her completely. If she was well enough to make all that noise, she wasn’t in any immediate danger. He knelt down beside Kelly, examining her for signs of life.

  Please be alive, Kelly. Please!

  Her chest rose and fell normally, thank God. It meant she was still breathing. He pulled her jacket open, checking her front and back for puncture wounds. Unbelievably, there were none.

  He realised that his unexpected appearance at the scene had saved her. Another few seconds and he would have been too late. Jack tenderly brushed the hair from her face. A nasty swelling had already begun to form along the side of her chin. Her condition was stable, but he couldn’t just leave her, even if it meant letting the bastard who’d done this escape.

  The killer was almost out of sight and there was nothing Tyler could do about it.

  “Jack!”

  Tyler spun around to see Dillon sprinting towards him from the main road. A wave of relief flooded over him.

  “Jack, are you alright?” Dillon shouted from thirty yards away. He was approaching like an express train.

  Kissing Kelly’s forehead softly, Jack stood up, his jaw set determinedly. “Dillon, stay with Kelly, she’s hurt,” he yelled. There was no time to say more. With a final glance down at her bruised face, he set off in pursuit. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a slim chance.

  CHAPTER 40

  Tyler ran as fast as he could, trying to relax his body and control his breathing, the way he did on the treadmill at the gym. His adrenal gland was already secreting the hormone into his system, stimulating his muscles for a sustained burst of action.

  The killer, still a long way in front, had almost reached the large building up ahead, which Jack figured was a disused warehouse complex. He seemed to know exactly where he was going, and this made Jack wonder if he had his escape route planned.

  Jack thundered along the narrow path, gaining on the fugitive with every step. A few seconds later he emerged onto an uneven concrete strip that ran parallel to the river. He would have to watch his step here or he’d end up taking an unplanned swim.

  Through a gap in the fog, he spotted a converted barge berthed against a small pier that jutted out from the Wharf. A solitary light illuminated the living quarters; the distinctive sound of big band jazz came from within, carried by the still night air. The occupants were completely oblivious to the drama being enacted just a few short yards from their waterfront home.

  The killer ran along the side of the derelict building. He stopped by an arched entranceway that contained two large wooden doors, each secured by a chain and padlock. Jack watched as the killer pulled a couple of slats loose, exposing a hole big enough for a small man to climb through. He shot Tyler a last, hateful glance as he slipped awkwardly inside and disappeared from view.

  Tyler reached the door five seconds later, lungs searing, legs aching. There was a huge sign pinned to the door. It read: WARNING! DANGER OF DEATH! DO NOT ENTER. />
  He tried to squeeze through the gap but he was too big. Stepping back, he angrily kicked the adjacent slat several times until it came away.

  He quickly looked around for a weapon, something he could defend himself with if it became necessary. He hadn’t forgotten the menacing knife he’d seen in the killer’s hand. There was nothing obvious to use, and he couldn’t waste time looking.

  Treading carefully, conscious that he could be walking into an ambush, he eased himself through the jagged hole in the door into the cold, dank interior of the warehouse.

  It was pitch black inside, and he stepped straight into a deep puddle.

  Shit!

  Something dripped onto his shoulder from high above and he quickly stepped to the side. The smell of damp, decaying wood permeated the air around him.

  He guessed that the building had been empty for many years and was, if the sign was to be believed, fraught with hidden dangers. It was the sort of place that kids would find irresistible, a wonderful place to explore and make secret camps in. Until that is, the roof collapsed on them or the floor gave way, or any one of a hundred other tragedies occurred.

  Tyler cautiously moved through a short winding corridor until he reached another door. This one opened out into the main body of the building. He pushed it warily and stepped back, half expecting to be jumped.

  Nothing happened.

  Taking a deep breath, he moved through the door quickly, hoping to surprise the killer if he was waiting on the other side.

  He wasn’t.

  Tyler let out a small sigh of relief and edged away from the door, where he presented too easy a target. It was lighter in here; isolated shafts of moonlight penetrated the gloom in several places. Shadows flickered constantly in the distance, creating false impressions of movement.

  He pressed his back into the wall and held his breath, listening intently for the slightest noise. All he could hear was his heartbeat, which sounded like a drum roll. He wished he had a pair of night vision glasses.

  Something scuttled across the floor in the middle distance, heard rather than seen, and all the more sinister for it. It meant rats, the one thing he’d hoped not to encounter.

  His eyes slowly began to adjust as he stood there, and he was able to make out that he was in a large storage area that seemed to go on forever. Large concrete support pillars were positioned at regular intervals throughout the main building. Tyler was conscious that the killer could be hiding behind any one of them, just waiting to pounce.

  Tyler looked around. The central, domed, ceiling was impressively high. His eyes moved down from that to a network of metal walkways that linked one side of the building to the other. The walkways, about thirty feet above ground level, disappeared into big square holes in the walls.

  Jack spotted a set of stairs off to his left, directly beneath the first gantry, but he was sure there would be more. He could also make out the shapes of several fire doors scattered along the wall, doors that could lead anywhere.

  Searching this place single-handed was going to be virtually impossible. There had to be other entrances at various points around the perimeter. If the one he’d used was accessible, it was likely the others were too.

  He couldn’t give up, but where did he start? That was the question. With a team of officers, all linked by radio, he would have posted people at every exit and then searched each floor methodically until he caught the bastard. On his own, he’d just have to wing it. He began to move towards the centre of the warehouse, giving the pillars a wide berth.

  “Looking for me were you, Jack?” The hate-filled words shattered the silence like machine gun fire, echoing off every wall. Tyler spun around, trying to figure out where they had come from. At least he knew the killer was still in here somewhere.

  Making a final stand, Jack wondered?

  Or just plain trapped?

  Suddenly, something heavy fell from above, missing him by mere inches. It was a wooden crate of some sort, and it shattered as it hit the floor next to him, sending slivers of wood flying in all directions. Instinctively, Tyler dived to the side, rolling across the floor and coming up in a low crouch.

  “You’re a lucky man, Tyler. It makes you a worthy adversary,” the killer shouted. He was up on the catwalk, thirty feet above, leaning over it, arms folded casually.

  “Make the most of your last moments of freedom, you madman. When I catch you, they’ll throw away the key,” Jack shouted up to him. He was livid with anger but he couldn’t afford to lose his cool now. He had to outwit the loathsome creature staring down at him by using his brain. He couldn’t allow his emotions to get in the way of that.

  The killer waved a dismissive hand theatrically, a gesture Jack found annoyingly flamboyant under the circumstances. “Don’t make me laugh, Tyler. You couldn’t catch a cold. I’ve lived right under your nose for the last week and a bit and you haven’t even noticed.”

  “Oh, and what makes you so sure of that? If you’re so clever, that woman in your van would be dead by now, and you wouldn’t be running scared.” Jack had to distract him while he stalled for time. Help had to be on the way by now, surely.

  “You dare to mock me? ME!” The killer screamed. Tyler realised he’d touched a soft spot. He needed to exploit it for all it was worth. He thought for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. “What’s the matter? A bit touchy about your many shortfalls, are you?” Jack sneered. He began to edge to his left, towards the staircase. He hoped that it led up to the walkway above; it was a chance he would have to take. The killer moved with him, too angry to notice that he was being played.

  “No one mocks me, Tyler. Do you hear me? No one! Once I’ve killed five whores, the rituals will be complete. I was going to stop there, but not anymore. Oh no, I’ll kill seven, just to rub your nose in it. You’ll be the one who has to explain why you couldn’t catch the legendary Jack the Ripper. You’ll be hated, and shunned as a failure by the pathetic sheep you so foolishly serve.” His voice rose to a demented crescendo as he screamed the words down at Jack. His eyes bulged madly in their sockets; spittle flew out from his mouth, plastering his cheeks.

  Tyler took advantage of the killer’s outburst to take several more steps towards the staircase.

  “What ritual?” Jack asked, contemptuously. “What a load of bollocks you talk. You’re just a –” he tried to recall what the psychologist had said, and turn it into an insult, “– a pathetic little nobody with an over-inflated opinion of himself. The only way you can get back at a world that treats you for what you are is to kill people weaker than yourself?”

  “NO!” the killer screamed in angry denial. The sound was frighteningly inhuman.

  “What’s the matter, mate, can’t you find a girlfriend?” Jack said, viciously. “I bet you can’t even get it ‘up’, can you? Can’t perform like a real man, huh? Do they all laugh at you, call you names?”

  The killer’s face darkened with every word that Jack uttered. “NOOOO!” he screamed, pounding the railing with his fists. His face contorted into a snarl of unbridled malevolence, and he looked around for something else to throw at Tyler. He spied another crate a few feet away, and ran to it, his feet clanging on the metal walkway.

  “I’ll show you, Tyler,” he screamed defiantly, sounding like a soul in torture. Lifting the crate above his head, he hurled it down at Tyler, hoping to kill or maim him with it – but Tyler was no longer there.

  As soon as the killer turned his back, Jack had made for the staircase, taking the winding stairs three at a time. Up and up he ran, searching for a gap that led out onto the walkway.

  “Tyler, you son of a whore, where are you?” The killer’s voice filtered down to him. As he turned a bend, Jack spotted the opening, a pool of grey in the blackness of the enclosed staircase.

  “Tyler?” The killer’s voice again, even more manic than before.

  Jack sprang onto the catwalk to find the killer just ahead, leaning over the railing and peering down into the
gloom. “I’m right here,” Jack said, breathlessly. He began to walk forward slowly, determinedly. “It’s over,” he said. “There’s nowhere left to run.”

  The killer stood up slowly. He turned to face Tyler, a cruel smile slowly spreading across his face. “What makes you think I want to run?” he asked, and Jack was struck by the unnatural calmness in his voice.

  For the first time since the chase had begun, Tyler glimpsed the killer up close. The lighting was poor, but the man’s features were immediately recognisable to him. “We’ve been looking for you all evening, Dr Pritchard,” he said, enjoying the look of unease that appeared on the killer’s face. “Are you surprised that we’d already worked out you were committing the Whitechapel murders, Pritchard? Did you think you were going to get away with it?”

  Pritchard looked flustered. Clearly, he had thought he was going to get away with it, Jack realised.