TimeRipper

by D E McCluskey

  Polly was not as agile as Martha, and her attacker had the better of her in no time.

  ‘Mary Nichols…’ he growled, ‘…you’re going to pay for what you’ve done. Did you think travelling back this far would help evade capture?’ he snarled, as his hands wrapped around her throat.

  ‘It doesn’t matter if you kill me,’ she croaked. ‘They’ll still bring my body back to complete the mission.’

  ‘Not if I have your slug,’ he replied, producing the device he had used in his last attack.

  Kosminski was close enough to see her eyes, which, although in pain from the chokehold he had her in, shifted to look at the device. He noted them changing, recognition widening them, before fear took over. It was almost as if this situation she found herself in meant a whole lot more to her.

  Suddenly there was a movement from behind the mysterious man, and he turned to see what the noise was. As he did, another woman flew at him from out of the shadows; her feet connected with his jaw, and again he dropped his device. His hold on Polly weakened as he crumpled to the floor.

  Try as he might, Kosminski could not make out who the other woman was, so he pressed himself further into the shadows as the newcomer knelt by the side of the mysterious man’s head. She took him in the same embrace Martha had used on the sailors. After a moment or two, the mysterious man stopped moving and flopped to the floor. Kosminski assumed he was dead. The newcomer stood up, and wiping her hands on her dress, she admired her work. That was when he recognised her as the one they called Emily. She was in the same vein as Martha, strong, fit, and seemingly well trained.

  She knelt, helping Polly up off the floor and supported her towards the house.

  Kosminski was dumbfounded at what he had just witnessed, he was also curious, and intrigued; but mostly he was scared. ‘Not tonight, old man,’ he told himself. ‘But soon, very soon.’ As he slunk back into the street, he offered one more gaze towards the yard. He thought he saw some movement, but dismissed it as his shocked brain playing tricks. Tonight, he thought, is not going to be a night of my dreams.

  34.

  EMILY CALLAGHAN LAID the shocked and shaking body of Polly on a mattress in the poorly furnished lodging they had paid for. Dark bruises were already showing on her neck from the attack. Her face had drained of colour, and she was shaking violently.

  ‘Will you be OK there for one minute? I knocked the bastard out. I’ll have to go and finish it.’

  Polly nodded as she looked up at her.

  Emily paused on her way out of the room. ‘Did he have what I think he had in his hands?’

  She sat up, touching her neck as she tried to speak. ‘H- he was talking ab- out the slu- slug.’ She swallowed hard, looking pained as she did. ‘He knew everything, Em. Everything.’

  ‘Shit! OK, I’m going back out there. I think he dropped something in the yard when I hit him. I need to see what it is. You stay here, I promise, I’ll be back.’

  Polly nodded and lay down on the bed, touching her neck.

  Emily ventured out into the dark yard. She cursed the lack of technology in this age and went back into the larger, downstairs room, that was used as a communal sleeping room. The smell was rank as she manoeuvred around several sleeping bodies leaning on a rope that had been crudely hung the length of the room. The smell of cheap alcohol, vomit, faeces, and sweat should have been overpowering, but she was becoming used to it these days. She found a flint lucifer and used it to light a small candle. A few of the sleeping bodies murmured, in protest at the light, but she knew none of them would wake from their stupors and challenge her. Eventually, she made it back to the yard, where she gratefully took in a deep breath of the semi-fresh night air. She then set about doing what she had come out to do. To kill the man she had just incapacitated.

  She shone the light around the yard, but to her amazement, the body was gone. As were his tools.

  Every instinct in her military training was now on high alert. How the Hell did he get up from that? I knocked the bastard out cold. He should be out for at least an hour! Slowly, she retreated into a corner of the yard, deeming it as the best location to defend herself from any surprise attack.

  A noise on the other side of the yard caught her attention. Something, or someone, was there. He’s heading for Mary’s room, she thought and left the protection of her corner, heading towards the direction of the noise.

  None of her training could have helped her in what happened next.

  The world went darker than it already was as she felt something strong wrap around her head. Her hands and legs went stiff, and the next thing she knew, she was lying on the cement floor, face to face with the body of the man she had knocked out earlier. She felt her hands being tied behind her back but was unable to do anything about it. Something was pushed beneath her. There was a quiet beep, and she felt herself floating. As the ground got further away, she tried her best to scream, but no sound escaped her. A brief glimpse of a black trouser leg and a strange kind of cane came into her limited line of sight, then disappeared as she floated off down the deserted street.

  A few minutes later, again from her limited viewpoint, she saw that they were entering an old building. Whoever it was controlling the platform activated something and the door dissolved into light particles. It was something she had seen a million times before, but it scared her more than anything else. It meant that whoever this was, was definitely from her time. It meant that right now, she and all the others, were in real danger. This person could kill her without disrupting the paradoxical laws of nature.

  The platform landed, and someone stood over her. Then her vision went fuzzy and the world turned black.

  ~~~~

  Polly was in the room, lying on her mattress, shivering. She couldn’t believe what had just happened to her. Who could it have been? She’d had her doubts about the paradoxical laws, and those doubts were running through her mind now. Slowly, she lifted herself off the filthy mattress, the one they had paid far too much money for and swung her legs onto the floor. Her throat was tight; it felt swollen. Maybe he can’t kill me, but he can have a bloody good go at it. She attempted to smile, but it hurt so much, she gave up.

  ‘Where is she?’ she mumbled, getting up to look out of the window where the body of her assailant should have been. By what little light there was down in the yard, she could see that the body was gone. Has she moved it by herself? She knew that Emily had been in the military and was stronger than she looked, which was the main reason she’d been chosen for this mission, but moving a grown man, that quickly?

  A noise from outside the room alerted her. ‘Emily? Is that you?’ she croaked. It could have been anyone from the multiple rooms in the lodging house, but there was something about the noise that put her on the alert; it sounded… stealthy. With her heartbeat thrashing in her sore throat, she made it to the door and looked outside.

  ‘No… it’s not Emily,’ the voice from the other side announced. ‘It’s me!’

  As the door burst open, she backed away, losing her balance as her feet hit the mattress. She only just managed to dodge the dark figure as he poured into the room. Luckily for her, he stumbled too, lost his balance, and fell. This brief reprieve gave her a chance to get off the mattress and out of the room; she took full advantage of it.

  She raced along the landing, and down the stairs. As she reached the ground floor, she risked a glance back towards her assailant who was still on the stairs. It was a man. He had longish dark hair and a thick black moustache, fashionable in this time by the gentry. As his cape flowed in his pursuit, she noticed there were several devices tucked into his belt, devices that were, by no means, of this time and age.

  Putting this information to the back of her mind, she focused all her attention on her escape route.

  The mystery man was out of the house and after her faster than she had bargained for. The slight advantage she had, was now lost by her dithering, and she no longer had much of a head start on him. She
burst out of the yard, running blindly through the streets of London, trying to find her way back to White’s Row. She needed to alert Carrie and Mary. In her panic, she took a wrong turn onto Brick Lane. She thought she was heading for Fashion Street, which would lead onto White’s Row, instead she had turned left and found herself on Old Montague Street, the opposite direction, heading towards Kempton Court.

  Disorientated and terrified, she turned many times to see if her attacker was still in pursuit, mentally giving thanks to Mary Kelly who had motivated them into maintain the best physical shape they could.

  The adrenaline in her system was burning low now, and she found herself slowing down. She had run full pelt for almost a mile, and a stich was burning a small inferno in her stomach.

  A man was walking along the street, he was about a hundred yards before her. Without any thought, other than to get away from her pursuer, she ran towards him. Somewhere, deep down, she knew that a man walking the streets alone at this time of night was probably not going to want to offer her help, but considering the alternative, she felt she had nothing to lose.

  ‘Sir, sir, please help me! I’m being chased by a stranger. I think he’s done one of my friends in, maybe even two,’ she panted, clearly out of breath. ‘I think he’s wanting to do me in too,’ she pleaded to her potential saviour.

  She could smell the alcohol on him before she got within five steps of him. As she grabbed at the lapels of his jacket, his eyes widened, as if the idea of a woman accosting him in the street was totally out of the realms of reality.

  ‘You!’ he growled at her. ‘You filthy, unholy witch! Unhand me, you whore. I thought you’d been done in for sure by now!’ His face became a fierce snarl beneath his moustache. ‘But no,’ he spat. ‘You and your like, it’s my reckoning that you probably have nine lives like a filthy cat. I watched as one of your coven killed that man, and I saw…’

  Polly gave up on this man protecting her and wasn’t even listening to his drunken ramblings anymore; she realised she was on her own and had now lost valuable time pleading with a drunkard. The assassin following her had now turned the corner and was making his way towards her. She thought that she might have out run him, as there had been a few twists and turns through the dark side streets, but nevertheless, he was still in hot pursuit.

  The drunkard was still rambling and cursing at her as she left him behind, turning into Bucks Row, a gloomy, dimly lit street. There, she found a small hiding spot inside a dark gateway that lead to a stable. She pressed herself into the gateway, turning this way and that, taking stock of the street—there was a single streetlamp and a few lodgings a little further up. These stables will have to do, she thought as she fought to catch her breath.

  She pulled on the gate, but it was locked. She looked up, looking for a foothold, or anything that would allow her to climb over it, but there was nothing.

  Exhausted, she dropped down into the dark corner, cowering in the shadows, attempting to make herself as small and she could and, hopefully, invisible.

  ~~~~

  Kosminski had been drinking heavily when the witch had accosted him. He couldn’t believe his luck. He leaned back against the wall and watched as she moved away from him and continued, heading towards Bucks Row.

  Maybe he’d get another crack at her after all. After what he’d witnessed in the yard, he thought it had been his lot for the night. But it seemed fate had other ideas for him. A tight smile took over his lips. Maybe there’ll be murder after all. This thought pleased him, at least until he saw the mystery man skulking in the shadows.

  Now’s my time, he thought, making his way over towards where the shadow was lurking.

  ‘Excuse me, sir?’ a deep voice from behind shocked him.

  He jumped a little as he turned, on his guard, wondering if there really had been two shadows, ready to wreak revenge on him for watching the other witch attack him, and not helping.

  To his relief, and also his chagrin, there was a policeman standing behind him.

  ‘Can I ask what you’re doing walking alone at this time of night, sir?’

  ‘Oh, Officer,’ he slurred. ‘I’m just out trying to walk off the legion of ales I supped tonight in the Frying Pan. The missus’ll have my guts for garters if I get in stinking of booze and tarts again, and no mistake.’

  The policeman’s eyes narrowed as he looked at him. ‘Where do you live, sir?’ he asked with authority.

  ‘Wodeham Gardens, just around the corner, actually.’ Kosminski spoke this address with authority too, knowing that the policeman would discontinue his line of inquiry if he knew he lived in Wodeham Gardens. It was as nice an area as the East End could offer.

  ‘Well, just see that you get back there, sir, and soon. It’s not safe for a gentleman to be walking alone at this hour of the morning.’

  ‘Very well, officer, and thank you,’ he replied and turned as if heading towards his stated destination. He watched as the policeman walked off, heading towards Whitechapel.

  He cursed the policeman under his breath. He’d lost sight of his little witch now. He felt in his pocket and was relieved to feel the cool handle of his razor. He was ready, and set, to continue his wrath against these unholy women. He scanned the road, searching for any evidence of the shadow he’d seen before the policeman poked his nose into his business. He knew there wouldn’t be any. He was beginning to think that this mystery man might be some kind of supernatural being. He had witnessed his death earlier and then seen him again only moments ago. Normal men don’t get up so soon after having their necks broken, he thought, causing a chill to run down his spine. There was no sign of him now, and that suited him fine. The witches were his prey, and he was more eager than ever to get to them now.

  ~~~~

  From her sanctuary in the shadows, Polly witnessed the drunken man talk to a policeman, and a sense of relief descended over her. She was just about to stand and call out for help when something in her peripheral vision stopped her. It was a swish of red on black, like the inside of a gentleman’s cape, the same cape of the man who had been pursuing her. It disappeared behind a wall at the entrance to the row. She turned back towards where the drunken man and the policeman had been talking, and to her horror, she saw that they were now both gone.

  She was alone!

  Only not quite as alone as she hoped to be.

  ‘Mary Ann Nichols…’ The whisper came from behind her, and instantly she felt goose-bumps raise over her entire body.

  The mystery man was standing next to her.

  He reached out and grabbed at her.

  She managed to dodge this advance and escape from the shadows, running in the direction of the small row of houses by the streetlamp. Panic had taken over, and in her confusion, and disorientation, she readied herself to scream. She was just about to release it and raise hell, waking every single occupant of Buck’s Row from their slumber to get them to come to her aide; but no sound escaped her.

  A strange sensation enveloped her. She tried to move, she needed to get away, as far away from this man as she could, but no matter how hard she tried, her limbs refused to comply; only her head had any freedom. She looked down at her body and was surprised to see it bathed in a green light. She looked towards her attacker. He was holding a small sphere in his hands, it had a nozzle on the end, and it was glowing green.

  Killed by my own invention, she thought. This man is from our time!

  She looked back down at her body and saw the tell-tale purple signal flashing within the green.

  It was her slug.

  The man produced a laser scalpel, and she watched, with dawning horror, as he activated the switch at the side and the red cutting beam blinked into life.

  ~~~~

  Kosminski was once again relegated to the role of voyeur. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The assassin was indeed back from the dead. He shook, uncontrollably, as he witnessed the drama before him. The ghost ignited the same red candle from his gun and point
ed it towards the glowing purple thing that was flashing inside the green light, covering the witch’s body.

  He knew what was going to happen.

  The purple blip began to move. It looked like a game, like the blip was playfully attempting to evade the red beam. As it made its way up to her neck, the red light followed it. In death, he didn’t seem to be as experienced a user as he had been in life, and he made two clumsy passes attempting to catch the purple within the red. Where the beam touched her, it bit into her flesh and Kosminski was forced to watch as her face contorted and writhed in agony. Dark, fresh, blood began to flow from the cuts produced by the light, it steamed as the warm liquid met the cold air of the night.

  Alas, for Polly, the purple light was not to be caught so easily, and it changed direction again, darting down her body towards her abdomen.

  The beam cut through Polly like a surgical knife, ripping into the soft flesh of her belly. It chased the elusive blip, travelling down towards her crotch. The shadow’s hand wavered a number of times in the pursuit, causing untold carnage to her body wherever the light touched her.

  Polly’s eyes were rolling to the back of her head; the pupil-less whites glowing with the reflection of the green mist holding her.

  He watched, in rapture, as saliva drooled from the witch’s mouth as it hung wide and helpless. It looked to him as if she were attempting to vocalise her torment for the world to hear, to scream blue murder, to cry for help, but it was all to no avail; the night, and this murderous assault, were both as silent as the grave.

  Eventually, the red beam caught the purple flashing light, and Kosminski watched its illumination bloom as it was torn from the pouring wound in the woman’s stomach. As it hit the air, the light dimmed before eventually dying out completely. The man reached out and snatched the gore-soaked object. He held it up towards the single light in the street and admired it, just for a moment, then the top of the sphere he was holding opened and he deposited it inside. The object gave a small, clink as it landed inside.