The Requiem Collection: The Book of Jubilees, More Anger Than Sorrow & Calling Babel

by Eric Black

  The man looked at Phillips and smiled. Then, he reached down and touched the corpse and both of them disappeared.

  Phillips stood motionless for quite some time. He was not sure what he had just seen. He knew there must be some sort of rational explanation but he couldn’t think of an explanation at that moment. He tried lying to himself that it had all been an illusion but the blood on the floor and table demonstrated that it was not.

  He walked back over to the table, nervous as he walked. He reached the table and looked down at the items, just trying to focus on something. Then, the world began to spin. He leaned forward, supporting himself on the table.

  The moment caught up with him and he retched until his sides and throat hurt.

  When he was done, Phillips wiped his mouth and absentmindedly picked up the lantern that had illuminated the scene. The lantern was something real. Something he could literally touch and feel. He needed that at the moment.

  He turned his attention back to the items of Liz Stride. Blood now decorated some of them and he decided he was not in much of a state of mind to do anything further. He placed the items back in their envelope and blew out the lantern.

  On his way out of the police station, he told one of the officers that he had spilled a jar of blood from a previous autopsy (he didn’t mention the vomit). The officer assured Phillips that he would see to it that it was cleaned. Phillips thanked the man and exited the station through the rear.

  He wandered his way home, deep in thought. He had lived in the same home in Whitechapel for many years and knew the journey quite well. That was fortunate for him as he was so lost in contemplation of what had happened that he didn’t realize he was home until he arrived at his door. How did I get here? he asked himself as an afterthought.

  After dinner, he stoked the fire and sat down with a drink in his favorite chair. His wife, Eliza, had already gone to bed for the evening. She wasn’t overly tired but could tell something was bothering her husband. She had seen him that way many times and found it was always best to just leave him alone.

  Phillips stared into the fire and sipped his brandy as he considered what he had seen. The men were strangely dressed. Their clothing reflected a style with which he was unfamiliar.

  They appeared right in front of him. He thought long and hard on that aspect. He was trying to think of something rational so that he could rule out that he was losing his mind. It was dark, he said to himself. Perhaps they slipped in among the shadows. The moment was certainly shocking. Perhaps in my surprise I did not notice them leaving. The mind can play tricks at night.

  He told himself this many time before he even slightly believed it.

  In the end, he decided there was nothing more he could do about the men tonight. He finished off his brandy and headed to bed.

  He just hoped they wouldn’t come back.

  What he didn’t know was that if the men hadn’t shown up, five minutes later he would have seen Jack appear, looking for Liz Stride’s items. As it was, Jack appeared after Phillips had left and saw the blood on the floor. Jack was bemused.

  CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

  London, England – October 1888

  The courtyard was empty and the darkness was thick. Not thick enough, however, to suppress the surprised scream of a woman.

  The man came up behind her and placed his hand over her mouth. He was not quick enough as a scream escaped her lips but he remedied a second chance at the vocal alarm with a blow to the side of her head. The strike was not intended to be gentle and she went down to the ground. He wasted no time in following her there.

  She was not sure of his intentions. Would he simply rob her or was he after more than that? She knew if he wanted her body, he was strong enough to take that from her. At that point, the thought that she would escape alive still lived within her. Then she saw the knife.

  Just at the moment that the knife was pulled from his pocket, the moon slipped from behind the dense midnight clouds. It was as if a single ray of moonlight shown down on nothing in the area but the knife in his hand, causing a glint that refracted into her frightened eyes. The moonlight gave away the fear that was locked within her.

  He knew she was afraid – he could feel it emanating from her – but until that point he could not get the full effect. He saw the complete terror she felt in the moment and it excited him. It was almost sexual in the way he was aroused but he did not intend to violate her in that way. It would not be his body but his blade that tortured her.

  He paused for just another moment to enjoy her dread before placing the knife against her throat and pushing. The blade entered her skin as easily as an egg shatters between two bricks. Her blood sprayed across his face and dripped into his mouth and in that moment, he became a god. He had the power over life and death. He could create life by letting her live and he could create death. The knife that sawed into her sealed that decision.

  He accepted her blood as an offering to the god that he had become. The blood renewed his sense of being just. He had never felt so scrupulous. He was ridding the world of those who dared to stand in his way of creating history.

  He slid his knife slowly across her neck, severing her windpipe and ended the gash at her artery. He was careful to only nick the artery at the end of that stroke of genius. With her windpipe cut, she could not call out and he finally removed his hand from her mouth. It was almost a game at that point – to watch her mouth move in wrenching pain but with no sound in the still night.

  She reached up and grabbed at her neck, trying in a state of shock to stop what had happened. He nearly laughed at her futility. Only his seriousness with himself as the sculptor of a masterpiece stopped the laughter before it came. Because her artery was only partially cut, she bled but bled slowly. He sat on top of her and watched her the full minute and-a-half it took her to die.

  When he was done, he returned to where he had left Jasper in the alley. Jasper had insisted that Jack bring him the next time he traveled. After much debate, Jack reluctantly agreed.

  The stench of the time hit Jasper the instant they arrived. “Will you stop whining?” Jack ordered at Jasper’s squirming. “You’re in London. You should feel right at home.”

  “I don’t know how you’ve stood the stench this many times.”

  “I guess you get used to it.”

  “Maybe. So where are we exactly?” Jasper asked.

  “We’re on Goulston Street. Just down the street across from Miller’s Court is where Mary will be murdered.”

  Jasper took a moment to take in the view. He had seen old pictures of London but they were generally taken of the aristocracy in London and on their side of town. He had seen a small number of photos of the East End but the photos paled in comparison to the experience.

  They walked together down Goulston Street until they reached the location at which the murder would occur. “Now what do we…?” Jasper started to ask but was stopped short. He felt something collide with his head; then, he blacked out.

  Jack felt a pang of regret as he picked up the wooden axe handle. With Jasper’s back turned to him, he raised the handle and brought it down hard on Jasper’s head. The handle was solid oak and Jasper collapsed onto the wet ground; his face pressed into the filth scattered upon the street.

  Jack grabbed Jasper under his arms and dragged him into a small alley. He hid him behind some broken wooden boxes and arranged him in such a way that if anyone came by, they would think that he had become drunk and passed out.

  That done, Jack walked across the street to the home of Mary Jane Kelly. He knocked on her door and waited for her to answer. She answered and saw him with money in his hand. The message was clear – that he would accept her body in exchange for his coin. She came towards him, not knowing that by the time he left he left her side, she would be dead.

  When he was done, he returned to Jasper and found him still out. He pulled Jasper’s body back out into the open area and then grabbed the axe handle once more. Grippin
g the handle, Jack hit himself in the side of the face making a mark that filled with blood under the skin. The pain was excruciating but he was still full of the adrenaline of the murder and remained conscious. He hit himself once more, this time opening a gash across his forehead. As he bled out, his blood mixed with Mary Jane Kelly’s blood, which would dissuade the questions from Jasper.

  He dropped to his knees next to Jasper and as he did, Jasper began to stir. Jack placed his hand on Jasper’s chest and the two traveled home.

  “What happened?” Jasper asked. He had come to and realized they were back in their lab. His head felt like it would split in two. Jack appeared to not have fared much better.

  “I’m not sure. One moment you and I were standing across the street from the site of the final murder and the next everything went black,” Jack answered.

  “Did you see who it was?”

  “No. I caught a glimpse of someone in a dark suit but that was all.”

  “So the murder took place?” Jasper asked.

  “I would need to reference the Ripper files we have to see if anything has changed but I would assume that the murder took place that night.”

  Jasper thought for a minute. “Can we go back again?”

  Jack looked at Jasper. “If we go back, the same thing will happen. Whoever hit us knew we were there.”

  “How could somebody know that?” Jasper asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe the Ripper saw me prowling around the murder scenes and grew suspicious. Maybe he decided to hang back this time to see if I might show up, and when I did, he decided to take me out in case I caused any problems for him.”

  “But why would he single you out? Have you really…”

  Jack interrupted Jasper. “Jasper, I don’t really know. What I do know is that you were knocked out. Luckily, I regained consciousness in time to bring us back here before something really bad happened.”

  Jasper considered Jack’s words. “Well,” Jasper said, “however he knew we were there, he did. And that raises another question. If the Ripper knows about you, perhaps the police know about you. If they see you, they just might arrest you on the spot. That could change history. And it could scare off the Ripper. Think about it – if the Ripper went underground for a while, he could pop back up at a later date and kill many more times.”

  Jack nodded his head in understanding. “So we need to stop him.”

  Both men reflected silently on the situation before Jack broke the silence. “How close are you to getting back the DNA results?”

  “They should be here in the next few days.”

  “So we need to wait and see if that incriminates any of suspects that I so efficiently collected DNA from. Have you decided on a way to inform the police of that time on the true identity the Ripper?” Jack asked.

  Jasper shrugged. His shrug revealed a small of level of frustration. “I really haven’t. I thought that it would be easier to come up with a way to transpose the evidence to mesh with the forensics of that time but I haven’t been able to.”

  “What if I go back and plant some of the Rippers’ personal items at the crime scene?”

  “That would change history and might confuse the investigation. We don’t know the extent that change could bring.” Jasper put his head down and sat silent in thought for a few minutes.

  Jack gave him time to think without interrupting.

  Finally, Jasper raised his head. His eyes were opened wide and Jack knew Jasper had thought of something.

  “What is it?” Jack asked.

  “We know when each murder will occur and where, correct?”

  “We do,” Jack answered.

  “Then we need to send a letter to the police. We could make it from the Ripper. In the letter, we would do some sort of riddle as if the Ripper was playing a game. The riddles would indicate what night, what time and what location the murders would take place.”

  “Won’t that change history?”

  Jasper nodded his head. “Yes, it will. I know we have gone round and round about this but it seems to be our best bet. We can offer assistance to the truth and let the officers of that time do their work without our interference. If the police figure out the riddles, they’ll catch the Ripper and the murders will stop. If they don’t solve the riddles, then nothing will change. The Ripper will kill his seven victims and history will remember Jack the Ripper as we always have.”

  “Do you think the police will buy it?” Jack asked.

  “We have a copy of the letters from the Ripper. We’ll use similar handwriting and similar language. I read that Phillips was quite the riddle solver. We’ll send the letters to him.

  “I’ll write the letters. But I’ll need your help with the riddles. You have actually seen the places where the murders occur so I need you to describe them to me so I can leave hints about each.”

  Jasper wrote four letters in all. When he finished, Jack took them back and delivered them to Phillips during different times in 1888 London.

  After Jack left, Jasper went upstairs and gazed at his poor reflection in the bathroom mirror. He looked almost as dreadful as he felt. He took a hot shower and afterwards, felt almost human again.

  The next morning Jasper opened his eyes. He looked over at his clock and saw that it was not quite five in the morning. “Just a dream,” he whispered aloud in the morning darkness.

  He sat up in bed and the disorientation of the dream left him. The dream was still fresh but recollection of that dream fleeted in the morning air. He concentrated on the images in his mind that desperately tried to dissipate.

  Then, it hit him. It was not just a dream, he said to himself. My memories of the night in London are coming to me. The blow must not have knocked me out entirely but was enough to cause me to suppress my memories of what I actually saw.

  Jasper was excited. The figure in the darkness was not revealed but he knew if he was patient, the reminiscence of that night would come to him. He knew the man he saw in his dream had to be the Ripper leaving the last victim.

  Perhaps I saw his face, he thought. Then, he thought on Jack for a moment. If I saw the man, then maybe Jack did also. I’ll have to remember to ask him.

  CHAPTER FORTY SIX

  London, England – in the Near Future

  He had never killed anyone. He had never been a hunter and had never really wanted to be as he had no interest in killing something else. Then, the encounter with Jack happened and the feelings he held of killing changed.

  He never thought he had the ability to kill anything. But at that moment he knew that he possessed that ability. He could definitely kill.

  Many years prior, he had traveled with Jack to 1888 London. There he had been hit in the head and had blacked out, but only for a moment. Then, he came out of it just in time to see Jack for who he really was. It took some time for the memories to revive in his stricken head but eventually they returned.

  “You’re Jack the Ripper,” Jasper had accused Jack.

  Jack had tried to interrupt him but he would not be disrupted.

  “Jack, I saw you. You came from the house covered in blood. You’re the Ripper. You killed those women in London.”

  He knew he had to stop Jack.

  He didn’t let Jack react to the accusation. Instead, he leveled the handgun in his hand and fired once. The gun was aimed at Jack’s chest. He had time to aim steadily. He was angry and yet he was calm. As he pulled the trigger, he knew the bullet would fly true and would hit Jack in the chest, exactly where he had aimed.

  He looked at Jack as he pulled the trigger. He saw the shocked expression as Jack watched the gun rise and the trigger being pulled. But Jasper didn’t see the one reaction for which he had been hoping. He didn’t get to see Jack’s face as the bullet hit his chest, killing him. The moment that he pulled the trigger, Jack disappeared.

  Over the next few years, he was aware that Jack had come back periodically. Jack would leave newspaper clippings of the murders he had done
or handwritten notes of murders he was planning.

  After some time, Jasper moved back to his hometown of Chepstow, England. He married Marni and they had a daughter. It was there that Bagster Phillips visited him.

  “Are you Jasper?” Phillips had asked opening the conversation.

  That conversation had reawakened something inside of Jasper. For weeks he tried to shake the feeling but it wouldn’t go away. “I can’t give in.” The temptation seemed harmless enough but the consequences were too great.

  He made it three months before he succumbed. He told Marni that he needed to get away for a period of time to work on something. He wouldn’t explain what it was only that his meager laboratory in Chepstow didn’t have the capacity for the type of research he would be doing. That afternoon he made the trip to London.

  He spent the next six months redeveloping the technology for time-travel. He had destroyed all of their notes and therefore completed the new device by memory and experimentation.

  He was mindful of the complexity of Jack’s troubles with the time-travel device and was determined not to repeat those mistakes.

  He almost got it right.

  The new device was one that did not have to be implanted in the brain as Jack’s device had been. The new device resembled a small hearing aid.

  After months of work, Jasper tested the device and found it worked. It was not perfect as he later discovered.

  In the end, the device captured his subconscious just as their original device had imprisoned Jack’s subconscious. It was not as severe as Jack as Jasper had made some improvements on the device but it took the primitive instinct of murder that was exposed when he tried to shoot Jack and exploited it.

  The effect didn’t take place immediately as it had with Jack. It took just long enough for Jasper to convince himself that he was okay before the rage set in.

  Jasper did not kill right away. His process began as homicidal thoughts. They started as dreams and then worked their way into everyday thought. The dreams terrified Jasper at first but soon he became used to them. It wasn’t long before he was enjoying them.