He hurried to the window and peered out of the lace curtains. Two men were looking through the window of his closed barber shop downstairs. One was wearing a policeman’s uniform, the other was not, but by his demeanour, he could tell that he was the law.
Today was Saturday. By all rights, the shop should be open as this was traditionally his busiest day, but due to his fragile mental state his mind had wandered during the last few haircuts and he had cut two of his customers and ended up giving them their cuts for free. Other than this, he had no excuse as to why his shop was not open today. But it was his shop, and he could open and close as he saw fit.
‘Aaron Kosminski are you in there, sir?’ the plain clothed policeman shouted as he banged his fists on the door. ‘If you are, I have a few questions I’d like to ask you. I assure you that you’re not under suspicion of anything. I just want to ask a few questions regarding a certain letter I’ve obtained.’
At the mention of the letter, Kosminski flung himself against the wall, trying his best to meld into the shadows of the room, as if they could see him. How could they have gotten that letter back to me so quickly? he thought. I didn’t put an address on it. Shit! Shit! Shit!
There was another loud banging on the door. ‘Mr Kosminski, we know you’re in there, so please, open up.’
How am I going to talk my way out of this one? ‘I’m on my way, I’m just finishing lunch,’ he shouted out of the window. ‘Give me a minute.’ He watched the uniformed officer stand back in the street, straining to look into the window from which he had just shouted. There was something odd about the officer in the plain clothes, he had a feeling that they had met before. ‘Bastard thoughts,’ he whispered, hitting himself on the side of his head with his fists. ‘Get out of my head, leave me alone!’
By the time he got downstairs, the uniformed officer had commenced banging impatiently on the window again.
‘You took your time, sir. May I inquire why?’ the officer asked as he unlatched the door.
‘Bellis, stand down, there’s a good man.’ Abberline put his hand on the officer’s shoulder, and he reluctantly backed off.
‘What can I do for you gentlemen?’ George asked, his eyes switching from man to man. Even though he knew why they were there, he feigned innocence regarding the nature of the call.
‘May we step inside, sir? What we have to discuss is probably not something that should be debated in a public thoroughfare. It will also be something you might not want the neighbours to hear.’
Raising his eyebrows, he stepped back, offering the men room to enter. ‘You mentioned a letter, sir,’ he spoke as the two men looked around the small barber shop. ‘Can I ask you to clarify what you mean?’
‘Bellis, would you be so kind as to stay down here in the shop and make sure no one enters? Our friend here, and I, are off upstairs for a chat; we shan’t be long.’
‘Very good, sir. Holler if you need me,’ Bellis said, eyeing Kosminski as if to tell him he would not tolerate any funny business.
Abberline smiled a pleasant smile. ‘I will indeed. If we may?’ He motioned towards the stairs at the back of the shop that led to the living quarters above.
~~~~
Kosminski was attempting to light his stove with a long match. His hands were shaking so much that he was making rough work of it. ‘How do you take it, sir?’ he asked from the small kitchen area, his back to the policeman in his lounge.
‘With a small drop of milk, if you have any, otherwise pretty much as it is,’ Abberline replied.
Satisfied that the stove was lit correctly, he walked back into his living quarters. He considered himself a lucky man that he hadn’t been carrying the cups of tea in with him, as he guessed that he would have dropped them, probably scalding himself in the process, as he gazed, slack-jawed, at what was happening in his room.
The policeman had laid out what looked like a placemat on his table. He had extended it, unfolded it somehow, revealing a shiny surface that had moving pictures, and words, that were scrolling down the sides.
‘Don’t start playing the fool with me now, Kosminski. I know that you’ve seen some fantastic sights of late. Strange lights trapping and cutting the women, people appearing from out of nowhere. Do any of these things sound familiar?’
Kosminski was too dumbfounded to speak.
Abberline smiled. ‘I thought so. This should be a trifle to your senses now, sir.’
Kosminski dragged his eyes from the flashing placemat to look at the policeman. He shook his head, slowly. ‘What are you?’ he whispered.
Abberline chuffed. ‘Sir, I assure you, I’m quite the same as you. Human, that is. Flesh and blood. But unlike you, I don’t belong in this time. That’s all you need to know, for now.’ Abberline paused, rocking back on his heels. He regarded Kosminski and smiled again. ‘Now, may I bring your attention to this?’ He pointed at the screen on the table.
The big man sat down and leaned in to get a closer look. ‘Is… is that London?’ he asked, his wide eyes drinking in the sight, with all the wonder of a child in his voice.
‘It is, and these purple dots are technology. Technology that should not exist in this time.’ He highlighted with his finger seven points of purple spread out over the map.
‘You would think there should be eight points on here, but there’s not. This device doesn’t show my own tech. The others it does show are related to the recent murders. Murders that you seem to know a thing or two about, Mr Kosminski.’
Aaron looked horrified, ‘I, I…’ he stuttered.
‘Oh, don’t worry, I know you didn’t do them,’ Abberline soothed, with a disarming smile. ‘However, there should be a ninth point on this map, that point would correspond to the murderer. But it doesn’t, and I don’t know why. Now, I’ve been running a few checks on you, and I’ve found that you do seem to have a propensity for violence. So, as you may have already fathomed, there is something ‘different’ about these women, and I’m guessing that you’ve witnessed all three murders, not including the one who is still missing. I need to engage your services.’
‘I didn’t see the last one, honest,’ Kosminski uttered, his eyes shifting from the marvel on his table to the man in his living room—the one with his moving pictures and the talk of time, technology, and murder. ‘What, what do you want me to do?’
Abberline smiled, almost as if he had been asked if he wanted tea, not talking about killing witches. ‘Nothing too taxing. Your job will be to follow this map. I’ll give you times, dates, and locations. You will be my unofficial eyes and ears on the street.’
‘You’re an inspector in the police, can’t you run your own investigation? Run disinformation, or whatever you call it?’
‘I can, but I need to continue my official investigations into these events and whatever happens from now on. I can’t be seen to be doing both. That is why I need you to keep your eyes open and report everything you witness back to me. You will do this, won’t you, sir?’ There was a threat in Abberline’s voice, it was subtle, but it was all too apparent for Kosminski.
He nodded.
‘Excellent!’ Abberline grinned as he pressed a button on the side of the strange screen. Kosminski was dumbfounded as it disappeared into itself, becoming a box small enough for Abberline to pick up and slip neatly into his inside pocket.
‘I’ll be in touch, Mr Kosminski.’
‘How?’ he asked, looking like a child awaiting instructions from a stern adult. Abberline smiled and threw something at him; blessed with good reflexes, he caught it easily.
‘Put this on,’ he ordered. ‘It slides over the wrist. It’ll allow us to communicate over distances.’
He rolled the device around his hands, marvelling at what it was.
‘So, if we have no more business here today, I don’t think I’ll bother with that cup of tea, sir. I’ll be off. I have a murderer to catch. Good day to you.’
As he walked down the stairs, Bellis was eager to greet him. ‘Did
he admit it, sir? Is he the murderer?’
Abberline screwed his eyes and frowned. ‘I’m not quite sure on this one. Come now, Bellis. I feel we’ll be having an eventful few days.’
As both men exited the barber shop, Kosminski watched them, peeking through the nets covering his windows. On his wrist was his brand-new communications device.
49.
‘THIS IS YOUR last chance, Emily! Give me the transponder codes or Stride dies tonight.’ He dangled the small metallic shards before her again, allowing the small metallic slivers to clang together in his hands. ‘Time is not on your side, not this time anyway.’
Emily was exhausted. She was covered in her own filth and stank to high heaven. Her hair was dank and lifeless. She wanted to cry, but due to dehydration and hunger, her body wasn’t willing to let go of the nutrients required to release tears. ‘You know I can’t tell you; you know I can’t, and won’t, give up that information. I’d rather die,’ she whispered; her voice had long since given up on her.
‘And die you will,’ her captor nodded. ‘Believe me. But first, I’ll cut out your slug, slowly and without anaesthetic. You’ll see your own innards steam as the heat of your body escapes into the chill night air. This is something that you can look forward to, I assure you!’
Emily shook her head. Even the smallest of movements made her feel dizzy.
‘Do you want that? Then give me the codes. You can save yourself, and your friends.’
‘I CAN’T, YOU BASTARD, I CAN’T,’ she shouted into his face. The effort of the scream brought fireworks into her vision, and she struggled to keep conscious.
‘Can’t or won’t?’ he asked quietly.
Emily’s head dropped, and she began to sob. ‘Won’t…’ she whispered.
Her captor leaned in close and whispered into her face. ‘Well then, say goodnight to Stride, maybe that Eddowes too. Millwood, Mylet. They could all die tonight.’
Emily lifted her head and spat some much-needed saliva into his face. He stood, wiping the spit away. She noticed something then, something that could be significant.
‘Well, it doesn’t matter now either way,’ he said. ‘You’ve killed your friends when it was in your power to save them.’ He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and cleaned the rest of his face. ‘I’ll let them know as they die, horribly, that you could have saved them the pain of the extraction, but you chose not to.’
Emily was thinking about what she had just seen on the murderer’s hands as he put his handkerchief back in his pocket. She pondered on it as he turned and walked out of the dank warehouse, slamming the door behind him.
~~~~
Elizabeth Stride was nervous. She’d been a nervous person all of her life, but since they had come back four hundred years, her nerves were getting the better of her. The only time her confidence had never been a problem was when she had been in the lab. Her knowledge and understanding of the Higgs Storm had been second to none. Ever since the first time she had encountered it back in the EA labs when that poor woman lost her life, she had been fascinated. She wanted, no she needed, to hold it. The feeling of pure, unadulterated power in her hands excited her more than anything else ever could. It had been her and Youssef who had conceived and developed the field for the mass containment.
Right now, all that seemed like another lifetime away. Or several lifetimes away, to be precise. The months she had been here had been the worst she’d ever endured. She couldn’t get used to the squalor they had been forced to live in, or the way the men of this age thought they had a God given right to manhandle her at every given opportunity.
During her time here, she had tried her hand at several jobs. She had sold matches and coal in the market, but she had been too shy to shout out her wares, resulting in poor sales. Next, she tried to work behind the bar in a pub, but the men were far too rough for her. She had the disadvantage of standing at nearly five foot nine, tall for a woman in this age, meaning the men of the time felt that she was a challenge and that they could do, and say, what they liked to her. When they saw her crying while pulling pints of ale, it made them worse, they had sensed blood, and doubled their efforts. This job hadn’t lasted long. The last job she tried was working in a small solicitor’s office as a junior clerk. She got this because of her ability to read and write, skills that were rare in a woman of this time and age. However, she lost this job because she proved herself to be cleverer than her employer; he didn’t like being corrected by an ‘uppity’ woman and promptly fired her.
Eventually, she had resorted to selling her body to the local men. This had made her feel physically sick, not only due to the terrible personal hygiene practiced in this time, but also because she had been a lesbian for all of her sexual life and the thought of a man touching her made her ill. Her one and only outing resulted in her being violently attacked by her punter for not letting him touch her where he wanted. He also took what little money she had managed to scrape together and the whole event had been a disaster.
Out of all the women who had travelled back, Liz thought that she was the least suited for the harshness of these times.
Eventually she found work as a cleaner in an eatery on the corner of Berner Street, just off Commercial Road. The work suited her as she didn’t have to talk to anyone, and she enjoyed the fact that she was able to clean, even if it was just a small, tiny section of this squalid world. She took pride that her area would be the cleanest area in at least a square mile. It was hard going as there were no hygiene laws in eighteen-eighty-eight, but she took solace in knowing that she was only going to be here for a year. After that, they all—well nearly all, God rest her friends’ souls—would be going back to twenty-two-eighty-eight to take their rightful place as rulers of the new order.
It was dark outside. The eatery stayed open until late, catering for the hungry revellers from the local pubs. Liz was hard at work scrubbing, attempting to get the deep-set grime from the floors. She was alone in the shop; exactly how she preferred it, and the owner was more than happy to allow her to lock up. It gave him more time to drink in the nearby Northumberland Arms, a nasty pub, in a mean side road, that was a popular haunt of their customers. With it being mid-week, the place was quiet, and she could happily scrub away at the grease and the grime with her bucket of warm, soapy water.
As she scrubbed, a strange feeling befell her. She became aware that there was someone else in the shop. She looked up from her work and was shocked to see a man, whom she didn’t recognise, standing in the doorway. He wore a large bushy moustache, and she noticed that it looked funny on him, as if it didn’t belong. He also wore a hat and a cape and carried a cane. None of this attire was out of place in this eatery. Some of the more affluent gentry would eat here prior to going home for the night or going out wenching for the evening.
He stood and walked towards the counter, careful not to stand in Liz’s cleaned area. Strange, she thought. No one usually cares, they usually walk right through. She averted her eyes as he passed. She didn’t care what he looked like, she just wanted to finish her work, go home for the night, and sleep until late tomorrow.
He didn’t say anything before selecting a table opposite where she was working. He sat there, as if waiting for her to serve him. Eventually, she built up the nerve to look at him. He caught her eye and smiled. She found herself smiling back. There was something disarming about the smile, something… attractive.
This in itself was strange, as she had never found a man attractive before, especially one who had such a bushy moustache. But there she was, smiling back at him, feeling her heart beat a little faster. He raised his hand as if heralding her, and she felt her face instantly heat up. ‘I’ll be with you in a moment,’ she called. ‘But I have to tell you that were nearly closed. There’s not much left, I’m afraid.’ She then abruptly turned her back on him, picked up her bucket and cloth, and headed towards the back of the shop.
As she emptied her bucket down the drain, she heard the door ope
n and close again, announcing that the man had left. She felt relieved, but also a little sad. Why do I hope he hasn’t left? she thought, when a gruff voice shouted from the counter.
‘Is anyone serving here?’ There was something about this voice that she didn’t like, and she remembered Carrie’s warnings about keeping their eyes peeled for anyone strange.
She thought back to the meeting they had had after Annie Chapman’s murder.
~~~~
They had gathered in the small room where Carrie lived with Mary Kelly. Liz had always been a little jealous of this arrangement as she’d always had a bit of a crush on Mary. She thought she was beautiful with her Celtic features, her auburn hair and deep green eyes.
Carrie Millwood was standing at the front of the group, she was crying. Everyone could feel that her sorrow was as deep as it was true. ‘We need to keep vigilant,’ she said once she had composed herself. ‘There’s someone in this time who knows who we are. This can be the only explanation. The paradoxical laws simply do not allow for people of this time to harm us, yet someone is. The only clue we have is the information on the streets about the man shouting and screaming at Annie the night of her…’ she paused for a moment, dabbing her eyes with a small handkerchief, ‘…her murder.’
Everyone in the room shifted uneasily.
Carrie was unable to go on, so Mary stood, put her arm around the taller woman, and whispered something in her ear. Carrie nodded and sat down, a little shakily, on the stool behind her. Mary smiled at the group and continued the address.
‘The man in The Ten Bells was apparently screaming at her, calling her a witch, shouting that he knew what she was. He’s reported to be maybe five foot nine or ten. He has a thick moustache and a foreign look to him. He has a gruff voice and dark eyes. Some say he’s a local barber, others say he works in the meat factory. How much of this is true, I don’t know. I’m surprised how quickly horror stories pass around these parts, but it’s all we have to go on. We know that Martha, Polly, and Annie are dead, and Emily is still missing, presumed dead.’
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