In A Flicker

by George R. Lopez

  “There he is...Ethan LaPierre, time traveler extraordinaire!” Anson exclaimed. Holding his arms outstretched, he maneuvered around the table to Ethan, embracing him with his Swedish one-armed bear hug, literally lifting him off the floor to the amusement of the onlookers. Anson was a ham, eager to meet with the press corps present at these times.

  “Let’s get this silliness done with so you can finally go home, lad. Yes?”

  Ethan could only smile and nod in approval as Anson was crushing his lungs, leaving him unable to speak. Anson released his hold on Ethan then put the burley arm free of folders around the Scope’s shoulders for publicity shots. As the cameras flashed (telephone cameras were strictly prohibited) all the professionals inundated Ethan, blinding him for a few moments. In that surreal circumstance he was drawn back in mind to the same effect he’d experienced when jumping through the Flicker so many weeks before, flash after flash, visualizing the faces he encountered during his excursion. Polly, Annie, Mary Kelly, the faceless reflections of Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes, even Abigail. Eternal worshippers of an immortal god.

  As the camera flashes diminished, it was as if time was both playing tricks with him and slowing down the speed of the event to make it even more torturous. There, standing in the room was Maggie. He thought he’d only imagined her when he was being wheeled away from Flicker to the infirmary upon his arrival. Colin escorted her into the meeting. After Ethan’s weekend of recovery, he’d requested not to have any visitors during his down time between the debriefings, mostly to avoid any idle conversation with Colin, though he certainly would have enjoyed a little down time with Maggie. As he stared at her she gave him a smile and nod as if to say she was happy and proud of him. Of course she was! She worshipped him, as did the others. Over the next several hours Ethan sat quite still listening to review board summaries of the debriefings, already knowing their conclusions.

  “The project Scope performed his mission with the utmost ethical and objective perspective the department could have designed, executed with integrity. The result provided clarity and closure, resolving the more than century long mystery without any foreseeable alterations to the current timeline.” Project hearings closed.

  The finale of the meeting ended with dozens more publicity shots, opportunities to hobnob and handshake with his worshippers. All the while Ethan’s intermingling kept him preoccupied, his eyes kept searching the room for Miss Maggie, craving a glimpse of her. Almost fixated on the object of his affection, she was a vision, her purity and youth enticing beyond measure to the man who longed to be alone with her instead. As more and more committee members filtered out of the room, Ethan could see more of her. Dressed in a formfitting emerald green blazer and skirt, that color made her eyes leap across the room. She must have known she was a knockout when she looked in the mirror and Ethan was certain she chose it for him. Maggie appeared so much more mature than he remembered. She had grown into a beautiful woman in only a few short months. Still shaking hands, accepting congratulations, he’d be momentarily distracted, engaged in the pleasantries of this event but would repeatedly return his focus to her the first chance he got. Had Maggie noticed him noticing her? At one point she crossed the room. Ethan followed her with his intense gaze, watching with rapacious eyes as she floated through the crowd. Suddenly, an encounter of another kind occurred as she was passing Colin who didn’t look at her but was instead, staring directly at Ethan. For the first time during the meeting, their eyes locked, something Ethan had actively avoided. The expression in them did not speak of admiration or abiding friendship but of bewilderment. Colin held his stare for the moment then broke it, turning to deliberately glance at Maggie then back to Ethan. There was no mistaking an accusation. Ethan looked away, revealing far too much of his new persona through his obvious hunger, his salacious lust for Maggie, something Colin had never seen in his eyes before.

  Although his fiduciary relationship with Anson still seemed intact, Ethan knew the bond with Colin could not continue. They had been far too close before his jump and he’d spot the smallest of character changes which could hinder Ethan’s plan to rule the future as a deity. Ethan turned his attention to collecting his documents and personal items showing only the top of his head to the room. Once he finally looked up again he noticed Maggie had departed the meeting. Colin was with Anson at the entranceway, apparently in a deep discussion, both speaking softly, uncharacteristic of Dr. Van Ruden. Colin appeared agitated via his gestures. Anson kept shaking his head in response to Dr. Bishop’s diatribe. Ethan could feel the tension building and knew precisely what was being discussed...him. Lowering his head again, feeling scrutinized in the extreme, when Ethan looked up to meet Colin’s stare, his “friend” abruptly exited the room. Anson turned toward Ethan, giving his protégé a satisfied smile and a big thumbs up before following Colin out the door and out of sight.

  Ethan knew Colin was going to be a problem and possibly a bigger one when they returned to England. Once they were back at Oxford he’d have to distance himself, separating from those on campus who had known him most intimately well, those who would see how he had changed. He had no choice but to abandon a friendship. Ethan had made certain he would return on a different flight than Colin and Maggie. The months he’d spent in that small room in 19th Century Whitechapel had not only altered him, it had transformed him into this isolationist, something more than the sum of a man. Ethan was a monster, a madman, a god. He would return to teaching and to his home on campus but he’d keep to himself, disassociating with those he’d once held close. The insatiable hunger to witness abject fear in the eyes of a woman under his control was there, the addiction to their surrender to his blade, his power. It was his deep desire to observe what could pass for either fear or love. Passionate, unconditional, undeniable, uncontrollable fear or love. Ethan’s life would no longer be that of a sheepish tutor redundantly sequestering himself in books, there to keep company with the women of history. Rather, he would be a wolf in sheep’s clothing, forever to remain on the prowl. He was certain of it. He was Jack the Ripper.

  ***

  “This grieved me heartily; and now I saw, though too late,

  the folly of beginning a work before we count the cost,

  and before we judge rightly of our own strength to go through with it.”

  Daniel Defoe “Robinson Crusoe”

  The month of April in the year 2021 was the heaviest logistical schedule at The Valley Flicker trial site because the days were getting longer and the weather was optimum to accommodate the increased backlog of project reenactments. The crisp morning air was refreshing, the sheen of dew still glistening atop the blades of grass as sunlight beamed through droplets, casting diamond lights along the valley floor. The temperature at this time of the day was still on the cool side and wouldn’t warm much before noon, much to the delight of the LHC trial site crews, all of whom had smiles on their faces this time of year, the elements too pleasant to complain about. It was when they most enjoyed their work.

  At the moment there were five Flicker trials underway. One trial was concealed beneath a giant-sized black tent, closely akin to an old circus big top. That particular trial was one unique night time historic event of record. Being shrouded in darkness allowed the participants to do run-throughs, day or night. On the outer boundary of The Valley, standing on top of the hill adjacent to the observation tower, the solitary woman surveyed the landscape. From her vantage point overlooking the expansive facility, grounds buzzing with activity, she could see vehicles of various sizes and models moving along the roads. She wasn’t paying much attention to what normally inspired her, preoccupied by what she’d read in the morning edition of “The Sun”, the horrible headline stating:

  “Copycat Killer Continues In Whitechapel”

  “To the frustration of local authorities and Scotland Yard no leads have surfaced regarding the death of another woman in the Whitechapel district of London. Found last weekend, the corpse remains
unidentified, the body brutally mutilated in what appears to be an homage to the infamous ‘Jack the Ripper’ who terrorized the same region during what became known as ‘The Autumn of Terror’ in 1888. Forensic specialists have been called to the case. Police now believe this to be the third such type of ritualistic copycat killings since early January of this year, coinciding with a release of the publication of the successful, yet closely guarded ‘Flicker Project’ in which a Dr. Ethan LaPierre identified, or, in project linguistics, ‘spy-glassed’ an original suspect in the case, Aaron Kosminski, as the notorious ‘Jack the Ripper’. The spokesman from Scotland Yard stated the investigation was ongoing, focusing on the possibility that the new published report triggered someone seeking the same level of notoriety. The first two murder victims being women in their early twenties, currently unidentified....”

  “Excuse me! Ms. Daley! Ms. Daley!” The rather overzealous, if vigilant young intern they’d all nicknamed “Mercury” (as he was always running messages in and out of The Valley to various recipients at light speed) fast approaching, waving her down, he had attracted the attention of the project professional he was seeking out. Stumbling through swampy muck, the soft, soggy, springtime sod was clutching at his feet. Maggie smiled, fascinated by the way history tends to repeat itself.

  “Mind yourself, mate!” Maggie responded, erring on the side of caution.

  The student apprentice was holding a black notebook with one word embossed on the cover: “Classified.” Racing to reach her with it in his outstretched hand, the wiry lad was gleaming as he handed it over to her.

  “Congratulations, mum!” He was struggling to catch his breath.

  Maggie stared at the intern, confused for a moment before it finally hit her.

  “You mean?” She paused.

  “Approved! Practically this instant! Dr. Van Ruden just called the office and he said to get the initial Scope paperwork over to you, post haste!”

  The young man took a deep breath to slow down and think. He looked up to the sky over his thick plastic glasses.

  “He also told me to tell you, beggin’ your pardon, mum, but he said this, too: ‘Tell Margaret to get her ass ready. We’ll be drinking at Oxford next Monday.’ Ms. Daley, allow me to be the first to say ‘Congratulations!’ on your Flicker approval and your title as Scope in the project. Fuck yeah! Sorry mum...my language.”

  “No, no. You’re right!” Maggie remarked. “Fuck yeah! Thank you!”

  The student ran off toward the tower, almost losing his footing, nearly taking a spill down a long, steep hill into The Valley below as Maggie watched Mercury fly. Finding him endearing, suddenly a pensive, contemplative expression furrowed her brow as her thoughts turned to a more innocent time, a more innocent girl right here in the same predicament some months ago. Thinking back further, to her childhood, she could not recall a time when she didn’t know about Jack the Ripper. He was an integral element of English folklore, a part of the vernacular, the subject that would never go away, more famous than infamous. She could not believe some lunatic took inspiration from the press release of a successful jump as an opportunity to kill innocent women and grab headlines. Innocence lost. She unfolded the newspaper again, laying it on top of the folder. Maggie stared at the article in abject terror, in utter disbelief.

  In the beginning of the Valley trials for “20/20 Hindsight”, well before she was selected as an intern, Maggie became engrossed with the program since she was the project Scope’s assistant at Oxford. She did her own research. As she did, Maggie learned all of the gruesome details of the case. She felt so badly about the way these women lost their lives but more so, how their identities were trumped by a fictitious name. It truly terrified her to think there was someone out there duplicating these horrible murders. It was then the thought occurred to her that she could fall victim. Not merely her mortality but her identity. Not that she was a princess or anyone of importance to anyone else but herself. The cold chill of fear passed through her, undoubtedly the same exact fear women shared in 1888. The possibility existed that everything she was as a person, as a woman could be buried with her, just as history did with the victims of Jack the Ripper. In her research she discovered the sickening course of society, the depressing truth that every serial killer stole more than lives. The perpetrators stole headlines. These women had real names. They had lives and loves, pains and pleasures that everyone has, if they fortunately lived long enough. To be robbed of a full life is truly unfair. To be robbed of its remembrance is simply inhuman. Maggie trembled at the thought. There was never any redemption for the women of this story. It was never told, never even written about by the Scope who’d gone back to witness these atrocities. Jack the Ripper, a faceless manifestation, still ruled history, still popular, more fascinating than ever. With one deep sigh, tucking the newspaper with its horrible headline underneath her arm, she abandoned it in lieu of the great story about to unfold in the binder she received.

  “More bloody paperwork.” She began to glance over page after page of “legal” and “ethics” forms to fill out, already drowning in a sea of black and white.

  Maggie Daley had become part of the privileged tribe, not in the sense of being inducted into the exclusive club of Scope candidates, an honor in its own right, but having been blissfully influenced by Anson Van Ruden while she was at the LHC, introducing her into a realm of rock music from the 60’s and 70’s. Flipping through her delivered documents, Maggie donned the earphones connected to a smartphone. Listening to her favorite classic rock station, effectively chasing images of carnage from her mind, she replaced them with one of her beloved songs from the legendary rock group “The Guess Who”. Maggie cranked it up, singing along from the hilltop.

  “These eyes cry every night for you, these arms long to hold you again.

  The hurtin’s on me, yeah but I will never be free, no, my baby, no, no

  You gave a promise to me, yeah and you broke it, you broke it...”

  In a trance, Maggie must have momentarily gotten lost in the music because she never sensed the approach of somebody from behind, most likely originating from The Valley car park just beyond the hilltop. Reacting out of reflex, startled, she felt the unexpected contact of a hand upon her shoulder. Maggie spun around, expelling a soft shriek of surprise. Stepping back from who touched her, almost falling down the steep hill, she regained her balance over the terrain just in time. Removing her earphones, Maggie’s expression was one of joy and elation, recognizing a familiar face, one absent far too long.

  “Well, hello there stranger.”

  First and foremost, we must thank our parents for their endless, bountiful love and support, their encouragement and heartfelt belief in our mutual ability to bring this story to fruition. Over the course of time required to breathe life into a concept, they remained a constant source of inspiration and reassurance, listening, offering guidance and advice and especially perspective regarding this unique collaboration of heart and mind. A desire to see us succeed akin to our own, this project became a reality because of their confidence in both of us to make it happen in spite of every obstacle along the path of a remarkable journey. Reminding us that perseverance is the key which opens virtually every door in literally every aspect of life, including this labor of love, we honor and cherish them above all else.

  There are those who epitomize the word “friendship”, those who comprehend the true meaning of the word and likewise understand “love” as a verb. Nikki Salach and Sue Darnell are two such individuals, giving generously of their time and talent to enhance this offering to the world. These two women were always there for us, at a moment’s notice to contribute to the cause. In the midst of their busy lives they took the time, made the time to help make magic happen, sharing our commitment. We remain eternally grateful, humbled by their service to the greater good.

  Our appreciation is extended to Mike Covell and Len Miller, gentlemen aware of the intricacies of this tale and our compelling desire to
tell it. Aficionados both, the subject matter is near and dear to them. Literal experts providing an insightful, thought-provoking approach has been an invaluable resource to us while enduring the dark side of a story which ultimately sheds new light in the world.

  With our grateful hearts, thanks are extended to Alison Pierce Cotton for always making us look better than we do in real life. She is a true artist behind the lens.

  George R. Lopez is a military veteran, serving as an intelligence officer in the U.S. Air Force during the Cold War. Living in Europe for three years of his tour of duty, he fell in love with its history. After being honorably discharged he has since made his home in Florida. Eventually much of his training led him into the field of the paranormal where he excelled, fast becoming an accomplished, well-respected member of the community. Creator and host of his own network, as a radio broadcaster, a prolific lecturer and spokesman for positive ideals regarding investigation of the supernatural realm, George brings a much needed pragmatic perspective to this endeavor, in avid pursuit of the truth. From veteran to researcher, now author, this story blends his natural artistry with an insatiable curiosity, brewing in his analytical mind for a quarter of a century before finding its way into the world in print.

  Andrea P. Perron is the author of the supernatural trilogy “House of Darkness House of Light”, the true story behind the major motion picture “The Conjuring”. As a 1980 graduate of Chatham College in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania with a B.A. in English and philosophy, she went on to become first an entrepreneur then later a counselor by day, meanwhile spending decades in the theatre as an actor and singer by night. Now, as a lecturer and apprentice paranormal investigator, she travels extensively, speaking on various subjects in the field from spirituality to extraterrestrial activity. “In A Flicker” is her first collaboration on a project, what she describes as a true labor of love, bringing to light an otherwise dark story with a profound message for humanity.