No Absolution

by N. M. Bell

  Once the initial stream of hot blood slowed he lowered the suddenly flaccid body to the filth-streaked cobbles. She lay on her side with her left arm extended above her head. The right arm came to rest over her belly. Before lifting her skirts to complete his mission, Jake remembered his jest to the blue bottles about sending them a clipping from his next victim’s ear. He tipped the head and made to take his prize. Hooves splashing in the puddles out on the street stayed his hand. Bloody hell! He wasn’t finished yet. The organs that gave women their hold over the weakness of man were still intact. The sound of hooves came closer. He straightened and withdrew into a shadowy alcove as the gate to the yard swung open.

  A cart and pony loomed out of the dark. Jake pushed further back into the shadows, but the pony snorted and shied as it came even with his hiding place. There was no place to run and Jake prepared to take the carter by surprise. He had no wish to kill the man, but he also had no intention of being caught. There was still far too much work to do.

  Fortunately, the man looked to the other side. He leaned off the side of the cart and prodded Liz’s body with the end of his whip. Jake waited while the man clambered down from the cart and lit a match. The Lord was with him once again as the pony now paid no attention to Jake’s hiding place. The carter’s concentration was on the blood-soaked bundle of clothes at his feet. The man blanched, his horror visible even in the poor light, as he realised what he had discovered. He legged it into the nearby Berner Street Club yelling at the top of his lungs in some foreign gibberish. Jake took the opportunity to slide past the pony and cart and out into the street. By now, the hue and cry of people hurrying to the scene rang in the dark. He kept to the shadows and ventured into a dark alley to wash the blood from his hands and the knife. Running feet pounded on the wet cobbles just before some police and another man raced by where he stood concealed. Once out on Berner Street, he took the first passageway to the north of the yard and lost himself in the familiar warren of alleys and secret ways that the inhabitants of the area knew like the back of their hands. There was barely enough room to walk without sidling sideways, but the cobbles beneath his feet would leave no tracks and his boots made no sound. He had no worries about coming afoul of any police presence so long as he kept to the no man’s land of the back passages. He emerged finally into the narrow lane of Wood Builders and moved quietly to Little North Street, headed toward the brewery.

  He stowed the knife away and carried on toward his squat, taking a number of alleys and back ways that the constabulary had no idea existed.

  Frustration roiled in his chest. The job was left undone. The whore was dead, surely, but her soul had not been cleansed by the removal of the organs that drove her to sinning. And, he hadn’t the chance to clip her ears. His left wrist was stinging. He stopped in the dim light of a gas lamp on Duncan Street to examine it. A red line, scored across the inside of his arm just above the wrist, welled blood. Cursing, he moved out of the illumination and fumbled in his pocket for a well-used scrap of handkerchief. He wrapped the cut tightly and shoved that hand deep into the pocket of his sodden coat. Thank God, the rain let up a bit, though heavy mist still hung in the fetid air.

  He made his way up toward Houndsditch, still keeping to the dark and narrow ways and avoiding any main thoroughfares. He moved briefly along Aldgate High Street before turning onto Duke. The Lord smiled on him again. It was still raining, but it appeared to be letting up a bit when Kate hailed him.

  “Aye, Jake. ‘Aven’t seen ye for a bit, been out in Kent picking hops,” she greeted him.

  “Morning, Kate. What are you doing out in this weather?” Jake waited with bated breath for her answer. Contrary to most of the women of the east end, he actually like Kate Eddowes. She often came into the shop and gossiped with Aggie over a cuppa. The woman always seemed to have a kind word for everybody.

  “Got some dosh from me daughter, but I got bladdered and ended up staying at Her Majesty’s pleasure ‘til just wee a while ago,” Kate confided.

  “Where’re ye kipping for the rest of the night?” Jake inquired.

  “S’ppose to meet Kelly over ta Flower and Dean, but he’ll be right pissed at me by now,” she replied.

  Jake nodded his head and made to move on. He halted abruptly at her next words, and the rage that had been reduced to a simmer in his gut, roared into life.

  “Ye interested in a tickle and a toss, Jake? I need to make me doss money and get out of this bleeding rain.”

  He turned to walk with her toward Mitre Square. He pulled the injured hand out of his pocket and the blood stained bit of cloth fell into the overflowing gutter and was carried away. Kate pulled him into Church Passage and laid a hand on his arm.

  “What’s the matter wi’ yer hand, then?” she inquired. Kate turned the hand over to examine the gash on his wrist.

  “Bleeding cow moved when I was trying to work,” he muttered.

  “Seems to ‘ave stopped leakin’, at any rate.” Kate dropped his hand and placed her hand on his chest. “Not botherin’ ye, innit?”

  Jake waited until three men leaving from the Imperial Club across the way had moved on. One of the men he recognised as a butcher who had a shop a ways down from Fleischer’s place. Being seen by someone he knew was the last thing he needed right now.

  “It’s fine,” he replied shortly. Taking Kate’s arm he drew her into the shadows of Mitre Square. She smiled up at him.

  “C’mon, over here then. It’s darker and no chance of anyone stumblin’ acrost us without our seein’ ‘em first,” Kate said. She led him into the dark corner in the southwest of the enclosure. It was the only spot that didn’t have an entrance where someone could come up on them unawares.

  Jake allowed her to pull him into the murky depths of the yard. It was surrounded by industrial warehouses, which was all to the good. It was unlikely that anyone would hear her scream if he wasn’t quick enough with the knife. Kate turned to face him and held out her hand.

  “Ye know the drill, me old son. I needs to see yer brass afore ye gets yer pleasure.”

  Jake allowed himself a small smile which the stupid ladybird returned. Why were women so gormless? He fumbled in his jacket and freed the knife from its bindings. With his other hand, he gripped Kate’s outstretched hand and twisted it so she was forced to turn. He pulled her hard against him and brought Father’s knife to her throat.

  “Not a sound, ladybird. Not a sound. Ye understand me?” His voice was little more than a growl.

  Kate nodded her head, her eyes bulging in fear. Jake moved his mouth from near her ear. He placed the blade behind and a bit below the left ear. Kate’s breath hissed through her teeth as he made a superficial cut across her throat.

  “What are ye about, Jake?” She choked out the words. “Ye don’t like it rough, do ye? Thet’ll cost ye extry, eh?”

  “I tol’ ye, Kate, not a sound. I didn’t wan’ ta do this ta ya, but ye’ve left me no choice,” Jake allowed a trace of regret to colour his tone.

  She opened her mouth again, but whatever it was she meant to say was lost as Jake drew the knife savagely across her throat, cutting deeper this time. His arm jarred as the weapon scrapped across the front of the spine as he cut clean through her throat. The neck gaped open and he was pleased to see he had severed her voice box cleanly. A fine spray of blood came from the carotid on the left side where he had just nicked it, but a beautiful fountain of crimson spurted from the jugular and right carotid. He held her carefully to prevent any blood from getting on his clothes or boots. It was only a matter of seconds before the flow lessened. He lowered Kate’s body to the ground, laying her on her back. He let the arms fall to her sides, the palms upward. Her legs splayed out in line with her body.

  Jake scuttled around to her feet and raised her skirts, pushing the right leg up, bending it at the hip and knee and turning it slightly outward to give him room to kneel between the thighs. He ripped the buttons on the dress as he shoved it upward and inserted the knife
through the flesh just above the pubic bone. He ripped toward her head, stopping just short of the sternum. Moving swiftly, because the bobby on the beat would be coming along very shortly, he split the abdomen walls along the middle line of the body. He detoured around the navel, deviating the cut to the left two inches below the belly button, and then returning above it to make a cut parallel to the original horizontal one. After isolating the navel on the tongue of skin, he continued slicing on an angle, slanting to the right side of the body. He cut to the right of the vagina and anus. Jake forced open the crimson cavern of her belly and inhaled the ripe odour. He stabbed the knife into her groin so he could use both hands to caress the warm dark slipperiness of the intestines. They coiled through his hands, still warm and pliable, the serpents of Satan coming into his hands. His fingers fisted around the slick loops and he pulled them free of the body with a wet sucking sound. He deposited them over Kate’s right shoulder, grimacing in disgust at the shite that leaked from them. He fumbled with the material of her long skirts and pulled the long apron free of the folds. Taking the knife from where it sat impaling her groin, he sliced the lower half of the apron free. Fastidiously, he wiped the offal from his hands and laid the piece of cloth beside his knee. Turning back to the gaping hole before him, he resumed his work. Precise strokes quickly freed a flap of skin on either side of the groin, separating the outer lips of her fanny. Next, he cut free the womb and placed it on the piece of apron at his side, He avoided the bladder and poked about at the other organs before settling on the kidney as his reward for a good night’s work. He had freed the left kidney and was turning to start on the right when the footsteps echoed from the gloomy maw of Church Passage across the tiny square.

  He hunched low over the body and prayed the shadows would hide him. The Lord was on his side once more as the police constable only looked into the square, but did not enter it. Had he swung his bull lantern Jake would have been done for. The man moved on and Jake raised himself and decided to leave the other kidney. He wrapped his prizes up tightly in the soiled apron, covering that with a bit of canvas he had in his pocket, and tucked them into the waist band of his trousers. The interruption irritated him immensely. He rose to his feet and stepped around to look down at Kate’s face. Her open eyes seemed to accuse him of betraying her. He started at the touch of a hand on his arm. Stifling a curse he whirled with the knife out thrust. Mam stood beside him, inconsequential in the swirling mist. He reached out a hand to touch her but it passed right through the apparition without disturbing the image.

  “Jakey, ye must be stoppin’ this madness,” Mam chided him. “The pur gurl did ye no harm and yet ye’ve gutted her like a stoat.”

  Just as suddenly, Father’s image appeared and shoved Mam roughly away. She hit the wall and her figure dissolved into the mist. Faintly, he heard her calling him. But Father was towering over him again, just as he had when Jake was a nipper.

  “Finish it! Are you a man of the Lord or no,” he roared. “Finish the job!”

  Jake looked back at Kate and it seemed her lips curled in a mocking way and scornful laughter battered his ears. His body acted while a small part of him stood back in revulsion. It lasted only a moment before the fury blocked out that tiny bit of himself and gave over to the overwhelming rage that raced through him. He slashed at the accusing eyes until they were no longer recognisable. The knife took its revenge on the nose next; cutting down to the bone and slicing the cheek clear through as well. The tip of the nose flew off and the blade continued on to mutilate her lying mouth. He noticed a faint shadow of face paint on her cheeks which offended him. Painted like the whores of Babylon! Quick incisions made triangular flaps on each cheek, but before he could remove them entirely, his survival instincts took over and prompted him to rise and back away. The blue bottles would be around on their beat very soon and he couldn’t count on being lucky again. He swooped down and sliced the bottom of one ear free, it slipped through his fingers into the folds of her shawl. The scrape of boot heels on the cobbles prompted him to give up his fumbling search and retreat into the gloom without his prize. Bleeding police would bloody well show up afore he was ready. Jake cursed them all to the bowels of Hell.

  Keeping to the deep shadows by the wall he slipped out the narrow passageway onto Duke Street. He turned into the tiny bolthole to his left that ran toward St. James Place. It came to a dead end, but there was a warehouse door that was never latched. Scarcely daring to breathe, he crept through the gloomy warehouse. The guard should be elsewhere having a fag and a cuppa at this time of night, but Jake couldn’t afford to be careless. Not with the weight of his treasures pushing on his belly. Another exit let him out onto Duke Street further on where it joined Stony Lane. Behind him, the shrill scream of the police whistles pierced the night accompanied by the faint shouts of people demanding to know what was going on.

  A feral smile creased his face. So they’d found her, had they? He grinned, he was well away, but there was still a need for caution. He backtracked a bit when he came to the next street and then walked boldly along the first lane he came to on his left. It would take him back to his digs, but by a very indirect route. He ducked into a doorway behind a pillar as the constable on this beat came by. Evidently, he hadn’t heard of the latest murder yet. After he passed, Jake was surprised to hear the church bells strike 2:30 in the morning. It must have taken much longer than he realised for him to navigate the dark warren of the connected warehouses. He stepped out onto the cobbles and turned north at the next main street. This was a part of the East End that was overrun with immigrants, and Jews in particular. The precious package started to slip from his waistband and he retreated into a doorway. He pulled it from under his shirt and opened the unwieldy package. The material of the apron was soaked with blood and was next to useless. He transferred the organs into the smaller bit of canvas and tossed the filthy rag into a corner of the doorway at the top of the steps.

  He stood back for a moment and peered out into the street. He needed to leg it, because soon the street would be full of merchants setting for market. For no reason he could name, Jake pulled a bit of chalk from his pocket and wrote in his best handwriting on the black tiles that ran in a band around the alcove of the doorways of the adjoined houses. The words made no real sense, but maybe they would send the police off on a wild goose chase. Father had never had anything good to say about the Jews, claiming they should suffer for crucifying the Lord’s Son. He shoved the chalk back in his pocket and admired his work for a second.

  Without a backward glance, he slipped out of the doorway and walked toward Dorset Street as if he had every right in the world to be there. A group of three constables passed him at the fast trot heading south toward Mitre Square, but other than yelling at him to get out the way they paid him no heed. Jake smiled and carried on toward his lodging. He would have time for a couple of hours sleep before he needed to be at work.

  In short order, he turned off Dorset into the stinking courtyard that was Miller’s Close. He paused at the sink and tap just inside the close and washed the residual blood from his hands. He had no sooner closed the door of the narrow stairwell behind him when the sound of swearing came from the street. He turned, opened the door a crack and peered out the narrow gap. A bobby stood by the sink staring down at the blood-streaked water cursing. Jake eased the door shut when the constable turned to survey the dark recesses of the close. The man took a couple of steps further into the lane and then abruptly turned about and legged it back onto Dorset Street.

  Jake climbed the steep stairs to his room. Once inside, he pulled the canvas-wrapped organs from the waistband of his trousers. Placing them on some old newspapers laying on the table, he moved the bed and pulled up the floorboard over his hidey-hole. He retrieved a quart jar and filled it with spirits from a bottle over the fireplace. Then he slid the kidney into the jar and sealed the lid.

  The uterus he placed on the blackened hearth stones and built up the fire. Sitting back on
his heels he chanted the prayers and invocations Father taught him so long ago in front of another fire. Only that time it had been Mam’s bits that were fed into the fire. Infuriated at his lapse in concentration Jake shoved another bit of fuel into the flames and began the ritual again—from the start. When the last words of the prayers left his lips Jake flung the offending organ into the flames where it hissed and spat. Kate’s voice spoke from the blaze, her words rising with the sparks, damning him, cursing him…. He shoved his fingers in his ears in an attempt to still the curses still echoing in his head.

  He tumbled backward with a smothered squeal at the soft touch of a hand on his shoulder. He lay there winded for a moment reluctant to open his eyes which had snapped shut as he fell. There was no one in the room, he knew that. But someone had touched him. Dear Lord, was he losing his mind? Taking a deep breath, Jake sat up and cautiously opened his eyes. Mam knelt between him and the fire, her hair unbound and shimmering. The long curls gleamed copper in the light and seemed to writhe about her head like serpents.

  “Jakey, what have done? This is madness. Ye must end it before ye lose yer eternal soul, a chroí.” Mam leaned down and cradled his face in her hands. In the hearth, the uterus burst with a wet pop and the fire flared.

  “Take your hands off the boy, spawn of Satan!”