“Oh, I get it,” Mick said slowly, as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. “You killed your husband—my guess is you poisoned him—to throw me off the trail. You didn’t want anyone to know that Sir Willoughby DeWitt, the patron saint of fallen women, had succumbed to temptation.” And goddamn her, it had worked. It had thrown him off the trail. He’d never even considered that DeWitt had died by the Ripper’s hand.
“These women use every wile at their disposal to tempt good men away from their wives. Like animals, the whores of Whitechapel have no qualms about fornicating in public. I have witnessed this with my own eyes! And though you may take issue with my methods, I have done this city a great service.” With a wild fanaticism burning in the depths of her eyes, the Ripper tightened her grip on the knife that she held to Lettitia’s throat.
Realizing too late that he shouldn’t have pushed that particular button, Mick quickly changed course. “You know, you’re gonna have a helluva time of it in the future. I mean you don’t have any money, at least none that will buy you anything in the twenty-first century, and you don’t know a damned soul.” As he spoke, Mick took an innocuous baby step. He had only one goal—to remove the knife from of the Ripper’s right hand and save his beloved from a certain death.
If I can just get close enough to the Ripper, I can overpower her. I’m faster and stronger. She won’t be able to fend me off.
“I know that I shall encounter a world of strange, new customs, not unlike those that I encountered when I traveled to Afghanistan to work as a nurse during the war. Moreover, I shall be taking Miss Merryweather with me. Because she has already traveled to the future, she can help me navigate my way.”
“Take me instead,” Mick blurted. “Lettitia doesn’t know squat about the future. Not only that, I can take you to a health clinic and help you get a prescription for your, um, medical condition. I’ll personally see to it that you receive a quick cure.” No way in hell was he going to let the Ripper abscond with the woman he loved.
“I am no fool, Detective. I know that your gracious offer of assistance is merely a ruse to entrap me. And I do not intend to ever be caught,” the Ripper snarled as she flipped open the time device.
When, in the next instant, she pointed the device at the time portal, Mick knew he had only seconds to act.
Figuring that the Ripper couldn’t manipulate the time device and slash a throat at the same time, he lunged forward.
He figured right.
Shrieking loudly, the Ripper shoved Lettitia aside. She then frantically began to push the buttons on the watchlike mechanism, trying to make good her escape.
An instant later, a beam of bright light radiated from the device.
“No!” Mick hollered.
Screaming like a banshee, the Ripper dropped the time device to the ground. Mick made a desperate grab, hoping to nab her before she blasted into the future.
But he was too late.
Within a microsecond of dropping the device, the Ripper vanished into a burst of white light.
Chapter 19
“Mick!”
Hearing Lettitia’s strangled cry, Mick rushed forward. “Thank God,” he uttered, taking her in his arms. There were no words to describe how grateful he was that she’d survived the ordeal.
As Mick clasped Lettitia tightly to his chest, he momentarily lost himself in her scent, her feel, her voice. Covering her face with kisses, he murmured incoherent words of endearment.
“You’re not hurt, are you? Please, Tisha, tell me that you’re not hurt.”
“I suffered no injuries,” she assured him. Then, smiling shakily, she stood on tiptoes and kissed him on the lips.
What started innocently enough soon turned into a profound affirmation of love. Mick lost himself in the magic of Lettitia’s kiss, the warmth and silkiness of her lush lips. In that instant, he was certain that he’d waited his whole life for this one moment. This one extraordinary woman.
At hearing a discreet cough, Mick reluctantly pulled back. Before releasing Lettitia from his embrace, he whispered the word “later” in her ear, the promise accompanied with a knowing wink.
“While I did not witness what transpired, I assume that the Ripper has escaped through the time portal,” Phoebe Mazursky said as she approached them.
Turning around, Mick was relieved to see that the older woman appeared to have fully recovered from her chloroform-induced stupor.
“Yeah,” he confirmed with a nod. Then, as the reality of what had just occurred hit him, he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “God Almighty. As we speak, Jack the freakin’ Ripper is loose on the streets of New York City. I mean, they’ll never catch her. She has no fingerprints on file, no known history, no social security number, no driving record. There’s no way the police can track her. I’m the only one who can apprehend her.”
“No, Mick! It’s far too dangerous,” Lettitia cried, clutching at his frock coat.
Covering both her hands with his, Mick said, “I know that this is kind of sudden, but we need to return to the future right now. There’s no time to waste. If I don’t stop her, the Ripper will murder an innocent woman on Larimer Street. But I swear to you, Tisha, you’ll be completely safe. The Ripper will be on my turf, which gives me the home team advantage,” he affirmed in a confident tone of voice, hoping to assuage her fear.
After giving him a considering glance, Lettitia slowly nodded her consent. “Though I dread the thought that you must confront this murderous fiend, I understand why we must depart for the future posthaste.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Madame Mazursky said quietly as she bent over and retrieved the time device from where it’d been tossed to the ground. Wearing a grim expression, she held it aloft in the palm of her hand. “The crystal shattered in the fall. There’s only a small amount of magnetized fluid still remaining in the device. Alas, there is only enough fluid for one of you to return to the future. I am truly and deeply sorry.”
Stunned, Mick stared at the time device, the muscles in his gut painfully clenched. “How do we know until we try?” he argued, unwilling to accept the ramification of what he’d just heard. “I mean, if there isn’t enough magnetized liquid, then—”
“Then you and Lettitia could very well spend the rest of eternity suspended between two different time dimensions,” Madame Mazursky interjected. “Only one of you can journey to the future… and I think we all know who that must be.”
In that instant, Mick felt as though his beating heart had just been ripped from his chest cavity. “No!” he bellowed, refusing to yield to that dire fate.
Lettitia began to tremble; her hand frantically clutched at her throat. She knew, like he did, that they’d just been handed a death sentence. The fact that it was a figurative one didn’t lessen the blow.
“I am sorry, Michelangelo. The die has been cast. You are duty-bound to apprehend this monstrous fiend.”
Fuck my duty. I can’t leave Lettitia behind. “But you said that Lettitia and I are soul mates,” he insisted heatedly, giving vent to his rage. At that moment, it was a far easier emotion to deal with than the searing agony that gripped his heart. “And you know what? I freakin’ believed you. Yeah, I actually bought your crazy-ass story, Phoebe. Although I don’t need you to tell me that Lettitia is the love of my life.”
“And you are Lettitia’s first true love,” the older woman insisted, placing a consoling hand on his arm.
Not in the mood to be comforted, Mick shrugged her off. “You are so full of it, Phoebe. Lettitia told me that the village parson, some guy named William Hardwicke, was her first love.”
“As I said, Michelangelo, you are Lettitia’s first love. Her only love, in fact… lifetime after lifetime.”
Beside him, Mick heard Lettitia gasp, clearly shocked by Phoebe’s startling revelation.
“Are you saying that… that me and this Hardwicke guy are—” He stopped mid-sentence, thunderstruck.
“Are tw
o different men, but possessed of the same soul,” Phoebe said calmly. “You and Lettitia already had an opportunity to be together in this time and place. An opportunity that you both foolishly squandered. Do not squander the same opportunity in your lifetime. In each incarnation, we are given but one chance to find our destined soul mate.”
“Christ, what are you saying, Phoebe? Like I can decipher all of this new-age crap,” Mick muttered, still trying to wrap his brain around the idea that he and William Hardwicke were the same man. Or soul. Or whatever. It was all way beyond him.
The older woman smiled. A sage, enigmatic smile. “I speak of the mystery of life,” she replied, as if that explained everything.
The mystery of life? Was she for real?
“You and Lettitia are twin flames, divinely united throughout eternity,” Phoebe continued, still smiling patiently at them as though they were two small children who couldn’t quite grasp an adult concept. “Come what may, you can never be truly separated from one another.”
Turning to Lettitia, Mick tried to think of something to say, something that would alleviate the pain he knew she had to be suffering. Hell, one look at her bleak, tortured expression and he knew that her agony was as intense as his.
No words came to mind. Not a one. Simply put, there were no words, no sentiments to express what he felt at that moment. The pain was too deep, too vast, too profound for mere words.
Stepping toward them, Madame Mazursky placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “Lettitia’s soul has already reincarnated in the twenty-first century. She is there, one hundred and twenty-five years in the future, waiting for you to find her.”
“And just how the hell am I supposed to do that?” All of Phoebe’s vague, arcane mumbo jumbo was more than he could handle.
“That is entirely up to you,” was Phoebe’s vague, arcane response.
“Do you have any freakin’ idea how big a place New York City is? Not to mention the world at large.” Christ, the least Phoebe could to do was give him a road map. About to crash land, he needed something concrete to grasp onto.
“The love that you and Lettitia share is fathomless. When next you two meet, you will know. The recognition will be that immediate. That palpable. However, you must bear in mind that, because you are endowed with free will, the decisions that you make will either lead you to this love or steer you far afield. Remember, Michelangelo, we are each given only one chance per lifetime. Choose wisely.”
* * *
Choking back a sob, Lettitia buried her face against Mick’s chest. Caught in a maelstrom of turbulent emotions, the pain in her heart was nearly unbearable.
Was God truly so capricious to give them such joy, only to snatch it away from them at the last?
And what did Madame Mazursky mean when she implied that Mick and William Hardwicke were one and the same? The notion was incomprehensible to her. The only thing that she could grasp with any certainty was that Mick must return to the future… while she’d been condemned to remain in the present.
“I don’t want to leave you, Tisha. You know that, don’t you?” Mick murmured against her ear, tightening his hold on her. “If I could, I would stay here and live out the rest of my days with you. But I have to return to the future and stop the Ripper from killing another innocent woman.”
Hearing the anguish in Mick’s voice, Lettitia knew what had to be done. Later, she could yield to the pain. Right now, at this moment in time, she had to be steadfast in her love. Long years from now, that was how she wished to be remembered.
Lettitia pulled back slightly, tipping her head so that she could peer into her beloved’s face.
“You, Mick Giovanni, are my brash, intrepid knight,” she told him as she gazed into his soulful brown eyes. “Someday, we will be together. Whether in this world or the next, I know not. But rest assured, my love, we shall meet again.”
Mick grabbed her by the upper arms. “I’ll find you, Tisha. No matter what it takes. No matter how long it takes me. I will find you.”
“Of that I am certain, my love.”
“I just wish that we had more time to—”
“Go!” she ordered, shoving Mick toward the time portal. “Capture this madwoman and bring her to justice. Do not let Emmaline have died in vain.”
With a resigned nod, Mick turned and walked away. He’d taken no more than three steps when he suddenly spun on his heel and charged back toward her.
Grasping her face between his hands, he held her captive. “You listen to me, Tisha. And you listen good,” he rasped, his gaze fiercely intense. “From this day forward, I want you to be your own woman. You do what you want to do, not what your family or society wants you to do. I need you to promise me that you’ll live a happy life.”
“As though you were by my side,” she solemnly vowed.
At hearing that, Mick smiled, the expression on his face so sweetly tender that it tore at her heart.
“Most important of all, Tisha, never, never forget that, somewhere in this world, there’s a man who loves you. And I’ll continue loving you until the day I die.”
Returning Mick’s smile, Lettitia raised up on her tiptoes and softly brushed her lips against his. “Until we meet again.”
“Michelangelo, you must hurry!” Madame Mazursky implored, placing a hand on his forearm. “As we speak, the magnetized fluid is seeping from the device. Time is running out.”
His expression resolute, Mick took the device from her and walked toward the portal.
Clutching her sister’s locket in her hand, Lettitia watched as he was soon enveloped in a beam of pure white light.
Then, a heartbeat later, he was gone.
Into the mist-filled silence, she whispered, “Farewell, brave knight.”
* * *
Emerging from the time portal, Mick hit the dark alleyway running.
When he caught sight of a three-foot long piece of steel rebar laying on the ground, he bent at the waist and snatched it in his hand, never breaking his stride as he charged toward Larimer Street. He had assumed that he’d returned to the future at the same moment in time as the Ripper. However, since he didn’t see her anywhere in the vicinity, he figured a time lag must have occurred. Maybe as a result of the time device having been broken.
From the chill in the air and the deathly silence, Mick gauged that it was sometime in the wee hours of the early morning. Three o’clock, or thereabouts. Not having a cell phone on him, he couldn’t call for back-up. And given that this was the abandoned warehouse district, he didn’t have a prayer of finding anybody who did have one.
But he did know where the Ripper would ultimately end up. He just hoped that he made it there before she found her next victim.
As he reached the end of the alley, where it merged into Larimer Street, Mick saw that he was too late–on the other side of the road, Sister Gillian, a knife in her upraised hand, was in the act of plunging it into a woman’s chest.
“Halt! Police!” Mick yelled as he ran across the street.
The strident command stopped the Ripper in mid-motion.
Lunging to her feet, Sister Gillian turned and faced him. From her stupefied expression, it was a sure bet that Mick was the last person she expected to see.
“I’d say you’ve been caught red-handed,” he told her, coming to a halt some six feet from where she stood. Holding the rebar rod like a baseball bat, he hefted it into the air. While he wasn’t an All-Star slugger, he’d pit his weapon against hers any day of the week. “Unless you want this to get real ugly, real quick, I suggest you drop the knife.”
Glaring at him, the Ripper stood her ground, the knife clenched in her right hand. For several tense seconds, she speculatively eyed the length of steel rebar, weighing the odds. As Mick knew already, they weren’t in her favor.
“I told you that I do not intend to ever be caught,” she hissed between clenched teeth.
“That’s too damned bad because escape isn’t an option for you.”
“As well I know,” she replied calmly.
In the next second, wearing a ghoul’s smile, she raised the knife. Then, before Mick even realized what was about to happen, she viciously slashed her own throat.
“Shit.”
In a gushing eruption of blood, the Ripper collapsed onto the pavement.
Mick rushed forward. Kneeling beside her, he felt for a pulse. Not surprisingly, he couldn’t find one. The Ripper had nearly severed her head from her body with that one violent slash.
Staggering to his feet, he suddenly detected a movement out of the corner of his eye.
God Almighty! She was still alive.
Mick offered up a quick prayer of thanks as he rushed over to the knife victim who was sprawled on the sidewalk several feet away. As he crouched next to her, he saw that the woman had suffered numerous cuts, most of which appeared to be defensive wounds to her forearms. Clearly, she’d been putting up one hell of a fight. Yanking off his frock coat, he covered her shivering body.
“You’re gonna be all right,” he assured her, as he grabbed her handbag and dumped its contents onto the pavement.
Seeing her cell phone in the pile, he snatched it.
“Don’t worry. An ambulance will be here in just a few minutes,” he said as he pressed 911.
The victim’s eyes fluttered opened. “You… you s-saved my life,” she sputtered, a stunned, disoriented look on her overly made-up face. “Who are you?”
Mick’s heart constricted painfully. The one thing, the only thing, that he wanted to be was Lettitia Merryweather’s husband.
“I’m just a cop doing his job.”
* * *
Mick hung up the telephone. The ICU nurse had assured him that aside from the 100-plus stitches, Georgia Patterson, the prostitute who’d been knifed on Larimer Street earlier that morning, was doing just fine.
He wished that he could say the same thing.
It’d been a helluva day, all eighteen hours and twenty-three minutes of it, he noted as he shot a quick glance at the clock that hung on the far wall of his Williamsburg loft. Not only had Mick stopped a murder in progress—Len Walkowski, the detective who caught the case, was still trying to trace the identity of the psycho-maniac who slashed her own throat—but he’d apprehended Paco Rivera at Delgado’s Cantina. A textbook takedown, and even Lieutenant Chu had given him a “thatta boy” slap on the back.
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