TimeRipper

by D E McCluskey

  The lights on her portal flickered. ‘I can confirm I’m receiving signals from Cardiff, from…’ she paused as the telemetry came through, then she smiled and wiped the tear from her eye. ‘…from one-hundred years ago, exactly. It looks like he’s made it safely. Thank God.’

  55.

  London. 1888

  CARRIE MILLWOOD WAS in her lodging room with the remaining members of The Quest. They’d had confirmation of the murders of Liz Stride and Catherine Eddowes. Emily Callaghan was still missing. It left only four of them. ‘This can’t go on. I’ve sent a message to twenty-two-eighty-eight, to the castle, but on our own instructions, they’ll not be able to retrieve it for at least another five weeks. The problem we have is, if there is someone here from the EA, or worse, then my communication back home may well allow them to locate our quantum signals. We’ll have to watch out for each other at every stage until The Quest can retrieve us.’

  Mary Kelly stood, her face grim, as she regarded her best friend. ‘You know that you’ve compromised our situation?’ She shook her head, there was more sorrow than anger in her face. ‘All of this could be your doing.’

  Carrie shook her head. ‘No, it can’t. I only sent the message two days ago. There’s already been at least five murders, and God only knows where Emily can be.’

  Mary closed her eyes and breathed through her nostrils. ‘Did you not listen to anything I told you about temporal shifting?’

  Carrie looked a little embarrassed—after all, this whole thing had been her idea. She had thought that they had covered every base of this operation, and now she had contravened everything.

  ‘Time will carry on back in twenty-two-eighty-eight, but the temporal shift will allow for events to happen here that the people in the future will be able to use just by going backwards a little later.’

  Everyone in the room looked baffled.

  Mary sighed and continued. ‘If the EA intercepted Carrie’s signal, say they’ve compromised the castle, then they’ll be able to decipher every move we’ve made since we got here. They could then send their operative back to the same time we arrived but armed with all the knowledge that they have obtained from the codes.’

  ‘But what about the paradoxical law? I thought that nothing that we do here could affect the timeline back in twenty-two-eighty-eight,’ Rose Mylett asked. ‘So how can this affect what they’d know then?’

  ‘That’s a good question,’ Mary replied, looking at the woman who had asked it. ‘What you have to take into consideration is that we can do anything we want to each other while we’re here, we just can’t do anything to any key people from this time. So, when Carrie sent the signal, because she is from twenty-two-eighty-eight, all she did was change events in twenty-two-eighty-eight. It’s a good bet that they’re monitoring us right now.’

  The room went very quiet.

  ‘I think, from here on in, we need to stick together at all times, especially at night. We need to keep our eyes peeled and our ears on the street to find Emily. Other than that, we stay in each other’s company at all times,’ Carrie commanded, obviously shaken.

  ‘Agreed,’ Annabelle Farmer—one of the four left—commented. ‘But what are we going to do about work and the like? Regardless if we’re getting recalled in the next few weeks, we’ve still got to live. I’m not letting the filthy wretches of this time get their hands on me.’

  ‘What are our cash reserves like?’ Mary asked Carrie. ‘Do we have enough for us all to live for the next few weeks together in one lodging?’

  ‘Doubtful. We could find somewhere a little more ramshackle and ask the landlord nicely if he’d allow us all to live together, but the odds of that are slim. I’ll make it my priority to start searching today. Does anyone else have any ideas?’

  ‘I can get another one of us a job in the Princess Alice; they’re always looking for more staff,’ Annabelle suggested.

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ Carrie replied. ‘If two of us can work the same shift and make sure we always finish together, then the others can sit in the bar each night and we all walk home together.’

  ‘What are we going to do about food?’ Mary shouted. ‘It’s going to be tough living on two wages and eating at the same time.’

  ‘Remember Martha’s trick with the men?’ Rose Mylett spoke up. ‘You know, where she tricked them up into the alley and then knocked them out. I know how to do that. She was making a fortune from it.’

  Carrie gave her a reproachful look. ‘But that would mean you would be off, in secluded locations, with no backup.’ She shook her head. ‘I'm sorry, Rose; but it’s out of the question.’

  ‘Just a thought, but what if we offered two at a time? The dirty bastards would love that,’ she continued with a playful smile, trying to make a little light of the dire situation.

  ‘OK, listen, we’ll keep it in mind, but we’ll have to play it by ear for now. Let’s all get to our jobs for today, and I’ll begin looking for new lodgings.’ She paused and looked around the room at the three scared and desperate faces looking back at her. ‘Let’s be careful out there, ladies.’

  They all mumbled agreement and filed out of the room.

  When Carrie was alone, she put her head in her hands and wept.

  56.

  ‘SIR, IT’S CONFIRMED. The Dear Boss letter was genuine.’ Officer Bellis walked confidently into Abberline’s office with the news.

  Abberline looked up at him. ‘What makes you so sure, officer?’

  ‘The coroner has finished his preliminary reports on both the bodies found two night ago. It’s his consideration that the women were killed with the same blade. He thinks he must have been disturbed with the Stride woman and didn’t get the chance to finish his mutilations. The Eddowes woman was mutilated, sir, he had a right old go at her, but all evidence points to the fact that he cut off her ear lobe, as promised.’

  Abberline cursed inwardly. Kosminski, you bastard, he thought.

  ‘There was also writing on a wall, sir, a few yards from where she was found, along with her shawl covered in blood. We read it, and it looked like the same writing in the Dear Boss letter.’

  Abberline stood up, suddenly angry. ‘Take me to this writing,’ he demanded.

  ‘Can’t,’ was Bellis’s one-word reply.

  ‘What do you mean, can’t?’

  ‘I mean, the sergeant on duty wiped it off, sir. He reckoned what it said would have caused a major incident if he’d left it on there.’

  ‘Do we at least know what it said?’ Abberline snapped.

  Bellis took out his notebook, licked his finger, and opened it. ‘The Juwes, that bit was spelt wrong, sir, not that I’m a good speller or anything but even I know you don’t spell Jews j – u – w – e – s-.’

  ‘Please continue, Officer Bellis,’ Abberline said, sitting back down at his desk and putting his hands to his head.

  Bellis cleared his throat again. ‘Anyways, it said, ‘The Juwes are the men that will not be blamed for nothing.’ That’s all, sir. Although a few of the lads are saying that it actually read ‘The Juwes are not the men who will be blamed for nothing.’ And another officer said it read ‘The Juwes are not the men To, with a capital T, sir, be blamed for nothing.’ Although, there is still a differing of opinion that the word Juwes was spelled—’

  ‘Enough,’ Abberline cut him off. He rubbed at his temples with his hands. ‘Does the press know anything about this?’

  ‘Not yet, sir, but you know how leaky a police station is. It won’t be long, by my reckoning.’

  ‘Right, I want this played down as much as possible. I think it’s a diversion, as I think the letter may well be. I have an individual in mind.’

  ‘Kosminski, sir?’ Bellis asked.

  ‘Yes, him. I’ll be seeing him this very afternoon.’

  ‘Right-o, sir, I’ll get myself attached to your investigation pronto.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Bellis, but I’ll be going alone. I don’t have enough ev
idence to arrest him yet, but I do want to let him know that we’re watching him.’

  ‘Agreed, sir, good plan.’ The officer, looking a little disappointed, turned to leave.

  ‘Erm, Bellis?’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Were there any other murders reported last night?’

  ‘Not that I know of, sir, and I’ve been on most of the morning. Do you want me to check?’

  ‘No, no, it’s fine. That’ll be all, officer, you are doing a fine job.’

  Bellis tried not to beam too much as he walked out of Abberline’s office.

  ~~~~

  Kosminski hadn’t slept a wink in two nights. Every time he closed his eyes, the visions of the mutilated women flashed before him, with Abberline coming from the future to kill them; and that bitch, the one who had possessed him and made him think that she was some sort of relation, laughing at him, pointing at him, accusing him of murders that he hadn’t committed. As if someone like that could be related to me, he thought. He was also torturing himself with his longing. He had come so tantalisingly close to ‘ripping’ one of them himself. So close that it frustrated the hell out of him that he hadn’t been able to finish the job.

  He was also thinking of the violence, and the chaos, that will be unleashed when the rubbish he wrote on the wall came into play.

  He looked down at the small postcard he had on his desk before him. His first letter had been so well received and used, that he now just wanted to play.

  I was not codding dear old Boss when I gave you the tip, you'll hear about Saucy Jacky's work tomorrow double event this time number one squealed a bit couldn't finish straight off. Had not time to get ears off for police thanks for keeping last letter back till I got to work again.

  Jack the Ripper

  As he read his words back, he couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. This will give that time traveller something to work on, he thought.

  He had been busy in the marketplace today. He’d purchased a cloak just like the mystery man had worn, and he had purchased himself a surgeon’s bag and tools from a shady man on a market stall in Spitalfields. He was determined to ‘rip’ at least one of the witches, even if it killed him in the process.

  He had also bought himself a large kidney. It was a pig’s kidney, and he had two intentions with it. The first one, he was going to make himself a large pie from half of the organ; he did enjoy a bit of kidney pie, with ale. The other half he was going to package up and send to the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee, along with his letter. He wanted to see what mischief this would bring.

  The game was becoming fun!

  A long line of drool hung, unnoticed, from his bottom lip as he re-read the postcard, when a loud bang from downstairs in his barber shop snapped him back to reality; or what passed for it these days. It was closely followed by another bang, this one accompanied by the shattering of glass.

  He jumped from the table and grabbed one of the knives from the surgeon’s bag. His heart was thumping in his throat as he grasped the handle of the small, but sharp blade, ready to defend himself against whoever it was who had broken into his shop.

  ‘Kosminski, are you in here, you bastard?’ came the shout.

  Oh, shit! he thought, Abberline. He realised that the small surgeon’s knife he was holding was not going to do much against the weaponry that this man had in his arsenal.

  ‘Up here, Inspector,’ he called, his voice wavering. ‘What can I do for you?’

  As Abberline made his way up the stairs towards the living area, Kosminski could hear every boot stomp on every stair. He struggled to put the knife back into the bag and hide it underneath his table.

  ‘What the fuck were you doing the other night? Why are you trying to mess with this operation?’ the inspector shouted at him.

  Kosminski backed away from the smaller man until he hit the corner of the room and could back off no more. ‘I was observing, like you told me to, and I reported it all back, as promised.’

  ‘I don’t know how, or why, you’re connected to what’s going on here, but if you try to mess this up, you’re doing something really stupid, something that will have huge repercussions hundreds of years from now.’

  ‘Talk to me, will you?’ Kosminski begged. ‘I’m haunted here. My head is raging with manic thoughts.’ He slid down the wall into a crouching position. He put his head into his hands and began to cry. ‘I’m not a good person, this I know, but when I watched that bitch appear that night, I knew I was destined to do something about it. Then that other one touched me, it took me to another place, like she was a future version of me or something. I lost my mind on that one, like I’d been taking laudanum. Then you turn up with your fancy glowing paper, and the killer, whoever he is, with his fancy glowing…’ he paused as if thinking of the words to use, or just to take in a shaky breath, ‘…I don’t know, death rays. Nobody is listening to me; you’re not listening to me. You may well be from the future where all this is commonplace, but I’m a simple-minded man from this time. I know I’ve gotten myself too deep into something I’ve no right being involved in.’

  Abberline sat on the arm of a chair and looked at the snivelling man. ‘Listen to me. Broken or not, you’re my only link to what’s going on here, and I need you. So, pull yourself together, man. I need whatever link you have to this case to find me the time and location of the next murder. There’ll only be another four of them, of this I can assure you, but I can’t see the other man’s signal on my portal, in much the same way that I can’t see my own. You have to get back out there and find me the person responsible for these killings; I have much to discuss with them.’

  ‘You and me both, sir, you and me both,’ he muttered underneath his breath as Abberline made his way out of the room.

  ‘And don’t forget to contact me with your wrist communicator. I’m always listening!’ he shouted as he descended the stairs.

  57.

  ‘TWO MISSING SLUGS. I was disturbed in one extraction, and the other one was Emily. I had her in captivity. I was hoping to flip her into giving me the codes, but she’s gone. Is there any way we can track her?’

  The voice from the other end of the communication replied with a burst of static. ‘We’re receiving telemetry from…’ the voice paused for a second, ‘…four signals. How many have been harvested?’

  ‘Martha Tabram, Mary Nichols, Annie Chapman, Catherine Eddowes. Liz Stride was the one I was disturbed before extraction, and Emily Callaghan is the one who’s missing.’

  ‘So, the four we’re reading must be Mary Kelly, Annie Farmer, Rose Mylett, and Carrie Millwood. Is everything all right back there? Are you having any settlement issues?’

  ‘No, but I’m looking forward to coming home.’

  ‘Roger that, we’re looking forward to having you back too. OP-One, out.’

  58.

  THE TWO BUILDERS were easing themselves, lazily, into their working day. The hour was early, even for them. To combat the morning cold, they were both wearing long, woollen coats and leather boots. Neither looked like they had been washed since yesterday’s shift had ended, in fact, one of them looked like he hadn’t even been home.

  ‘I can’t be bothered with this today,’ the larger of the two men mumbled as he opened the doors to the vault they’d been assigned to. He was feeling as bad as he looked, and that was bad. George, his partner, looked inside and squinted his eyes, trying to see down the steps. It was pitch-black inside. He sighed and reached into the inside pocket of his coat, pulling out a large hip flask. He took a long swig from it before passing it over to his colleague.

  ‘Oh, Christ, George. You’re a life saver, and no mistake,’ he muttered, accepting the flask.

  George took it back, had himself another nip of whatever rot was inside, then slipped it back into his inside pocket. ‘Right,’ he said with an Irish lilt. ‘We need to start on this cement. I hope this frigging bunker kept all the tools dry. I’m not lumping a big heavy bag of ruined cement backwards
and forwards again, that’s for sure,’ he said as he made his way down into the dark vault.

  ‘Hold your horses there, George, I’ll light the lamp. Don’t want you going arse over tit down there.’ He fumbled around for the matches in his pockets while bending into the doorway to fetch the lamp. ‘Jesus, that’s a funny smell. It stinks like something’s died in here.’

  ‘You’re not wrong, Pat,’ George said as he leaned into the bunker. He felt around in the darkness for the bags of dry cement they had left by the door in easy reach for today. ‘Bastard rats down here are a nuisance. It feels like the frigging cement has gotten wet too, this bag’s awfully queer,’ he said as he gripped it and swung it over his shoulder.

  Patrick swung the illuminated lamp down inside the vault. The first thing he saw was his friend’s face; it was covered in something black and sticky. He jumped back, dropping the lamp. ‘George, what the fuck have you got there? That’s not cement, by the Lord Jesus Christ on the cross, that’s not cement!’

  George did a little dance, trying his best to drop the bag from his shoulder. Once satisfied that it was off, he turned around and took a long, hard look at what he had just picked up.

  ‘Oh Lord! Oh, Sweet Jesus the Saviour,’ he spat while crossing himself. ‘In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Is that what I think it is?’ he shouted as he clambered, shivering, out of the dark vault.

  ‘If what you think it is, is a dead body, then yes, it’s what you think it is,’ Patrick shouted running off towards the main gate of the New Scotland Yard building site. He turned to see George running after him, still covered in gore.