by N. M. Bell
He picked up the closest sheet and the headlines blared about a letter received by the Central News the week before. Who the bloody hell was the nutter who sent that? If he had time Jake would track the rotter down and shut his lying mouth. Yattering on about a triple event and calling himself Jack the Ripper. The paper rattled violently as rage swept through him. His fingers crushed the offending object and shredded the remains.
A cold calculating voice echoed in his ears and it took a moment till he recognised Father’s voice. “Get a hold of yourself, Jacob!”
He spun about wildly searching the darkened corners of the room. “Father….”
“On your knees,” the spectre roared and the flames in the hearth leapt to life.
Jake dropped to the floor, his head in his hands. “I’m sorry, Father. I have offended you.”
“Your soul is in danger. You have forsaken the task the Lord God Almighty has set for you. How dare you traipse through the streets with that scarlet daughter of Eve? Walking by the whores plying their trade right under your nose without even a thought of retribution. What are you thinking?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “I was weak, it was wrong of me.”
“Weak, and allowing that woman to lead you about by your cock.” Spittle flew from the apparition’s lips as it had in life. “Wallowing in the drink and ignoring the calling of the Lord’s work deserves a fitting punishment.” The knife safe slid from the table and crashed to the floor.
Jake picked it up in a shaking hand and extracted a long thin boning knife. The sting of the blade brought tears to his eyes as he made precise inch long cuts down his forearm. He blinked to clear his vision and opened his shirt. A long thin scarlet line bloomed on the pale flesh of his chest and traced its way down his sunken belly. He paused to fumble with his flies and then extended the shallow incision to the thatch of pubic hair where his penis hid its head. It stirred feebly as the knife continued its course along the crease of his groin. Self-revulsion threatened to overwhelm him and the blade quivered as he pulled the penis upward to expose his balls. The tip of the weapon caressed the wrinkled skin of the sac and pressed at the base. Silent sobs convulsed him and the knife fell to the floor from his nerveless fingers.
“I can’t, I can’t…. Dear God, I am too weak. Help me. Give me the strength to follow the lead of Your devoted monks.”
“Useless, you are useless. I am ashamed to name you flesh of my flesh,” Father yelled and spit on Jake where he lay crumpled on the floor.
When Jake looked up, the apparition had vanished and the blood had clotted on his self-inflicted wounds. He dressed with shaking hands grimacing at the ammonia smell from his trousers. He scrambled to his feet and leaned on the table. The contents bumped against the glass of the jar. The Central News—the thought came to him unbidden. That was the perfect place to send his next message to. Or … what was that bloke’s name? The head of that vigilance committee. Jake gathered up the remaining pages that were strewn across the floor. Frantically, he scanned the smudged newsprint. The need to deliver his message was intense. There it was: Charles Lusk, head of the Mile End Vigilance Committee.
Jake collapsed into the chair and cradled the jar of wine and body parts. He’d have to go out and get sommat to write on, and he was out of ink. Feck, his head hurt and bile soured the back of his throat. He’d need to ferret out Mister Lusk’s address, but that should prove no problem. Pushing the chair away from the table he stood on trembling legs. Jake took a deep breath, shrugged into his jacket and moved toward the door. He hesitated and looked back at the jar on the table, the ruby contents glowing oddly in the dying light of the fire. Shaking his head he stumbled out the door and recoiled as a rough hand grabbed his arm.
“Have ye seen ‘er, the fecking hoor? I telt ‘er and I telt ‘er, but she won’t listen, that one. Then she brings in another one of her hoor friends to live wi’ us…”
Jake shook the man off and glared. “Joe, fer the love of God, what are ye on about, man? Quit rantin’ and git out a’ me way.”
Joe Barnett grabbed him again. “Says it’s ‘cause I ain’t puttin’ bread on the table, but I thinks she enjoys it, the bitch. Spreading her legs for anyone she fancies. Ye know what she did tha’ night afore last?” Joe stuck his nose close to Jake’s face. The smell of rotted teeth and gin set his throat to gagging.
“Ger off me, Joe. I don’t give a tinker’s toss about yer problems.” Jake pushed the man away again.
“The bitch let some bloke fuck ‘er hair. Ahhh, all that fiery hair covered in sticky shit….” He collapsed and slid down the wall to huddle in a sodden heap.
Jake stepped away from the blethering eejit. He turned to leave, but spun around in horror as the identity of the woman registered in his brain. Jaysus, Mary and Joseph, it was Mary what looked like Mam the bashtoon was talking about. His knees threatened to give way beneath him and his head swam as the breath left his lungs.
Father roared in his ear, “Whore of Babylon! Is this not the proof that you need? Whores….”
“Jakey, cuisle, mo chroí, don’t listen to that codswallop. ‘Tis a sin to sell your flesh, ‘tis true. But, think ye, how else is a body to keep a roof over the head when there’s no decent work to hand? The Lord also teaches compassion, look to the Magdalene as your example.”
Joe Barnett tipped over and spewed over Jake’s trouser leg, effectively breaking the spell of Mam’s voice. Jake shook himself free of the illusions and hurried from the close. There was the Lord’s work to be done and a message to be sent.
Back in his room a short while later, Jake spread the ragged bit of paper on the table and used a knife to sharpen the quill. It was the only thing he could come up with to write with and would have to do. He set a small box beside the jar of wine and contemplated the contents for a moment before dipping the pen into the ink well. The sound of a woman wailing and the impact of fist hitting flesh sounded through the thin walls. Joe Barnett having a word with his woman, no doubt. Living here was like living in hell and Jake’s task overwhelming. His mouth watered at the sudden thought of fried kidney. No need to send the bleeder the whole thing was there? Not when he was hungry and by taking the sinner’s flesh into his body he would cleanse and sanctify it. Father’s lesson remained clear in his fevered mind.
Turning his attention back to the job at hand, he began to write. “From hell.” He grinned, that was certainly an apt description. “Mr Lusk Sor….” He skipped down a line and began the letter proper. “I send you half the Kidne I took from one woman prasarved for you, t’other piece I fried and at it was very nise. I may send you the bloody knif that took it out if you only wate a whil longer.” He dropped down another line and re-dipped the nib of the pen. “Signed Catch me when You can Mishter Lusk.” He refused to use the name the imposter signed in the last letter published by the rags. Jack the Ripper indeed. He snorted and folded the paper. They’d not catch him, ever, the damned eejits.
Opening the jar he dumped the contents into a battered enamelled basin. He fished the kidney out and cut off a good sized portion. Rising, Jake threw some scraps of slag and bigger bits of coal on the fire and then slid the organ into a small fry pan. Settling it in the coals, he returned to the table. Carefully wrapping the remaining bit of kidney in a bit of waxed canvas he tucked it into the small box he had fished out of the gutter earlier. Grinning happily now, he placed the letter on top, closed it and wrapped the container in brown paper before tying it shut with string. He tucked it under his arm and made his way toward the post office nearby. He stopped at the hide shop and asked Emily, who was minding the shop for her da’, to read him Lusk’s address from a paper. After thanking her, he left and paused to scribble the address on the box with the stub of pencil from his pocket.
His next stop was the post office where he paid the price of the stamps and sent the box with its grisly message on its way. By the time he returned to the room in Miller’s Court the remaining kidney was waiting for
him. Jake pulled the pan from the coals and prodded the meat with a knife. It seemed to be cooked enough so he slid it onto a cracked pottery plate. Settling into a chair with knife and fork in hand he attacked the kidney with gusto and devoured it in no time. The iron rich meat filled his belly and stoked the fire of his resolve to triumph in the Lord’s work. He giggled at the thought of Joe Barnett reading the story of Lusk’s gift aloud to Mary Jane when it hit the rags in a few days.
Jake left his room and set off to look for Dick. Hopefully, there would be a pair of trousers in the mess of the rag and bone cart that would fit him. He supposed he could wash the piss soaked ones he was wearing, but it seemed too much effort. It took the better part of two hours for him to locate Dick and to trade the trousers for a different pair, equally as ragged but not reeking of piss. He dropped his drawers in the nearest alley and slipped into the trousers from the cart, securing them with a bit of rope around his lean flanks. His friend wrinkled his nose as Jake handed the offending article over.
“Jaysus, man, what ‘ave ye bin up to?” Dick stuffed the trousers into the detritus on the cart with a stick.
“Cow piss,” Jake returned succinctly. “Bleeder pissed all over me when I stuck him.”
A look of puzzlement crossed Dick’s face but then he shook his head. “I don’t want ter know, do I?” He pinned Jake with a hard stare.
Jake shook his head and grinned. Let his mate think what he might, he knew there were those living in the area who enjoyed golden showers and the like. Better Dick think that of him than to know the truth. “Fancy a pint at the Star?” he asked rather than reply.
Dick glanced at the sky and shrugged. “Sure, why not? The day’s getting’ on and it looks like it’s gonna rain cats and dogs again.”
Jake walked at Dick’s side as they made their way to the public house. The route took them past Fleischer’s. No cattle milled in the yard so Jake figured there would be no work on the morrow. His step faltered when Aggie stepped out of the shop accompanied by the detective who had questioned Jake earlier. What the bloody hell? The man took her arm and helped her step over the refuse filled gutter.
“’Lo, Dick, Jake,” Aggie greeted, them a smile lighting her face.
“Hows are ye, Aggie?” Dick returned the greeting.
Jake grunted and glowered at the Peeler who glowered back.
“Off to a meetin’?” Dick asked, apparently oblivious to the rage boiling in his companion.
Aggie shook her head and the golden hair gleamed even in the dim light. “It’s off to see a play, so we are,” she announced. “And a fine supper to go with it.” She smiled up at the tall detective beside her.
The man tugged at her arm gently and they moved off. “Tell Elsie I’ll be round tomorrow fer a cuppa,” Aggie called back over her shoulder.
Jake’s anger simmered just beneath the surface and he kicked viciously at a stray moggy that was unfortunate enough to cross his path. He caught Dick looking at him oddly out of the corner of his eye.
“Jealous, are ye?” Dick teased him.
Jake whirled on his mate, crouched low and fist clenched. “Shut yer feckin’ gob,” he snarled. “That one’s no different than the rest, no better than she should be, the bitch.”
Dick backed off a step and raised his hands. “Whatever ye say, mate. Whatever ye say.”
They left the cart outside the Star and spent the better part of the evening getting ran tan.
Jake wasn’t sure what time it was when he finally ran out of brass and staggered from the establishment. He found himself wandering toward the music halls where somewhere Aggie and her detective were enjoying a play. His befuddled brain insisted he find her and tell her … tell her what? Jake shook his head and kept walking. Images of his sainted Aggie flirting with the man and perhaps allowing him the liberty of kissing her branded themselves on his inner eye. He reeled into a wall and slid down it, his arse landing in the small puddle by the building. The images tormented him and he was unable to break the thrall that held him. Memories of times he’d glimpsed Father ripping Mam’s clothes off her while silent tears streamed down her face. Father slapping and pinching her paps, leaving bright red marks on the white flesh. Jake had hid behind the thin curtain that separated his tiny corner from the rest of the room. He couldn’t stop himself from peeking under it in fascinated horror whenever Father deemed it time to remind Mam of her sins. Another flash of memory seared him. Mam bent over a chair and Father ramming into her from behind screaming she was a whore and no better than a bitch in heat. Telling her this was how the animals did it, taunting her, asking if she was enjoying it even as blood dripped from her tortured flesh onto the floor.
Jake buried his head between his updrawn knees and let the tears come. Tears he never allowed to fall as a child for fear Father would hear him. He quivered as the images from the past kept coming, but now it was Aggie’s long blonde hair that hung over the woman’s face and it was the fecking detective that was putting the Nebuchadnezzar out to grass. The force of his thrusting setting Aggie’s full breasts to bouncing and jiggling. Rage rose hotly in his belly, but along with it came the shameful stirring of his own excitement. His fingers hovered over the tent in his pants and then with a swift indrawn breath he twisted his balls until fresh tears streamed down his cheeks mixing with the rain. Women were all whores, every one of them, even those too young to know they were sinning. Tempting menfolk with their fattening paps and rounded arses. Father could not have been wrong, he had just been too young to recognise the evil that lived in Mam. Jake staggered to his feet and shook his head violently. Finally resorting to smacking his forehead on the brick façade of the building to drive the overlapping images of Mam and Aggie from his mind.
Somehow he stumbled back to Dorset and into the dank and narrow Miller’s Court. Loud laughter came from Number Thirteen and the blasted whore was singing again. A Violet from Mother’s Grave, slurring the words and missing lines. Jake knew the tune off by heart. It had been one of Mam’s favourites, although it made her sad sometimes. He could remember her holding him on her lap, tears falling on his head. She always kissed him and he often heard her murmur very quietly how thankful she was that her Mam couldn’t see her now.
He pounded on the door as he passed. “Shut yer feckin’ pie hole, ye gobshite.” His barely controlled rage lent vehemence to his words.
The door burst open and Joe loomed in the entrance silhouetted by the lamp light behind him. “Oi, ‘tis you, Jake. Me Mary can sing if she likes, go chase yerself, ye muck snipe!” The man lurched backward and slammed the door, narrowly missing Jake’s fingers.
He thought about breaking the barrier down and finishing the argument, but he turned and hurled onto the cobbles instead. Mary Jane’s voice taunted him through the sound of his retching and gagging as she started to sing again. This time it was The Star of the County Down.
* * *
The newspapers were full of the horror George Lusk experienced when he opened the package he received by post on October 16, 1888. Jake devoured every word he could lay his eyes on. Maybe now they would start to take him seriously and the whores would cease to tempt the weak and sin-filled men of Whitechapel. Aggie had the Daily News spread open on the counter when he came in from the back of the shop.
“Have ye seen this then, Jake?” She waved a hand over the newsprint. “What divil would pull a stunt like that? Poor Katie, they’re after sayin’ it’s her kidney the rotter sent the man. Poor Katie….” her voice trailed off and she wiped moisture from her cheek.
Jake bit his tongue and forebode to tell her the woman got what she deserved. The Peelers were being more watchful and asking questions of everyone. There was no need to tip his hand with some random remark, no matter how appropriate, and have them down his neck. There was still much work to be done. Instead, he shook his head and dropped the half side of beef onto the butcher block for auld man Fleischer.
“Did ye have a grand time at the play?” Jake cursed hi
mself as soon as the words left his lips. Why torture himself with her tales of time spent with the fucking detective. He must be getting soft and it had been far too long since he had taken Father’s knife out for a proper job.
A bright smile graced Aggie’s face and her eyes lit up with pleasure. “I did. Thankee for askin’.”
His guts churned and he dropped his head to hide the sudden anger that twisted his face. With a sullen grunt he turned and headed toward the stupid beasts awaiting their fate in the rear yard. Jake went about his work methodically, allowing his mind to explore the options open to him. A bloody Blue Bottle would be harder to make disappear than the eejit German. Too many questions would be asked. The thought of slicing Aggie crossed his mind more than once. He could save her from herself and the slovenly area she lived in, he mused. The warmth of her smile and the glint of sunlight on her golden hair made him reject the idea.
“Witch,” Father hissed from the shadows. “Witch, beware her charms, Jacob. Do what your conscience demands. The Lord’s work is never easy.”
Jake ignored the whispered imprecations which buzzed from the darkening shadows. When the last steer was dispatched he sluiced himself clean and threw a couple of buckets of murky water over the stone floor to wash out the worst of the mess. The October evening was cool and rain threatened again, but at least the fucking flies were few and far between. His skin crawled at the thought of the filthy beggars creeping on him and biting. He lifted his cap and scrubbed his fingers through his hair.
On his way to the Star he tossed the newsboy a penny and took two copies of the Evening News. He shoved one in the inner pocket of his jacket and stuck the other under his arm. The Star was crowded but Jake found a place at the bar and ordered his usual from Will. He pulled the paper from under his arm and folded it so the Lusk story was front and centre. Taking a long suck of the pint in his right hand his eyes scanned the article. A thrill ran through him when he read that Dr Wiles’ assistant, who examined the kidney in the doctor’s absence, speculated that it might have been ripped from Eddowes’ body. He snickered at the report that the kidney had been sent to the Leman Street Police Station. Like those bloody losers would ever figure anything out.