The Raven Watcher (The House of Jack the Ripper Book 7)

by Amy Cross

  “You have reservations, old chap?”

  “I wonder whether the dead should be resurrected in such a manner,” I mutter.

  “Well, they don't know anything about it, do they?” he splutters. “It's just a dead body, after all. The spirit or soul, or whatever you want to call it, that's long gone. Why, once I'm dead, I don't give two hoots what's done with my flesh and bones. They can feed me to dogs for supper, for all I care.”

  “A romantic sentiment,” I reply through gritted teeth. “I wonder, however, whether perhaps the truth is a little more -”

  Before I can finish, I spot movement on the far side of the street. Glancing over, I'm just in time to spot two urchins hurrying through the shadows, and for a moment I'm reminded of the times Delilah and I used to hide ourselves away and watch gentlemen and ladies. Is that what these urchins are doing now? Are they watching me, and thinking that I am a gentleman? Indeed, I spot them again a moment later, hiding behind a set of rustling bushes. They most certainly seem to be watching me, and I cannot help but wonder what they are thinking.

  “I should have liked to get a proper view of how that contraption worked,” the man continues, clearly oblivious to our little audience. “Do you think it was clockwork? Or do you think he had a little man back there, pulling all sorts of levers? I dare say it was extremely complicated, and certainly beyond my own meager understanding.”

  “You are a doctor of dead bodies, are you not?” I ask.

  “A doctor of...”

  He hesitates, before chuckling.

  “Well, I've never heard it described quite like that before,” he continues after a moment, “but yes, you've got the basic idea. Might I ask how you know?”

  “You were described to me once,” I explain, “and I never forget a face. A mutual friend at the party pointed you out and told me that I should try to engage you in conversation. He said that you are a very interesting man, with a great deal of knowledge when it comes to the human body. You work at the mortuary on Ethel Road, do you not?”

  “Why yes, I do,” he replies. “I had no idea I was the topic of so many conversations! I must be more interesting than I had realized. Why, to me my work is rather monotonous. One simply receives new bodies each day and deals with them as best as one can. I suppose one becomes rather immune to the horror of it all, really. Sometimes I even -”

  Suddenly he trips and stumbles. I reach out and steady him, and he clings drunkenly to the railing for a moment. He is clearly drunk. As he recovers, I hear the jangle of keys in his pocket.

  “Thank you,” he says, straightening himself up a little. “One doesn't like to admit it always, but sometimes one becomes a little out of sorts after one's third or fourth brandy of the night. Sometimes I -”

  “Are you heading to Colchester Road, by any chance?” I ask.

  “Why yes, I am. Are -”

  “Then permit me to show you a shortcut,” I add, stopping in front of him and pointing my cane along a rather dark alley that runs behind the library. “It's quite safe, and it'll cut out a good five minutes of walking time. And that is one of the glories of living in a city, is it not? The ability to take a shortcut and thereby cheat the map a little?”

  “That's a rather queer way of putting it,” he says with a furrowed brow.

  “Yet I believe that it is true,” I tell him. “The streets of the city are immovable. One man's map is the same as another. Yet even here, a smart man can find an alleyway or a passage that confers upon him a small advantage. There is great value in this, if you ask me.”

  “Really?” He peers drunkenly in the direction that I have suggested. “I never knew of a shortcut that goes that way. Surely that would make the journey longer, would it not, by looping around the back of the road?”

  “You will soon see,” I reply, taking his arm and steering him off the main street and into the darkness of the alley. After a moment I glance over my shoulder, but fortunately it seems that the urchins have no intention of following us further. Good. “Trust me, my dear Mr. Mynot, I have walked this way a hundred times and I have never come a cropper. There are no dangerous fellows in this alley whatsoever.”

  “Are you sure?” he asks hesitantly.

  “I am indeed,” I continue, reaching into my pocket and slipping out a small bottle and a cloth. I quickly apply some solution from the bottle onto the cloth's surface. “Indeed, I fancy a man could take a sleep here all night if he were drunk, and come sunrise he would awaken quite unmolested.”

  “Do you really -”

  Before he can finish, I place the cloth firmly against his face and push him back against the wall. He struggles briefly and helplessly for a few seconds, and then I feel the fight quite slip from his body. He falls unconscious, and I support him as he slithers down the wall. In the alley's darkness, of course, I can see next to nothing, but that is of no matter. As Mr. Mynot bumps to the ground, I hold the cloth over his face for a few seconds longer before moving it away. The man is absolutely unconscious and will remain so for several hours yet.

  “You will wake in the morning,” I tell him, “and be quite alright. Although you will have a headache, I fancy, and you will likely remember none of this.”

  Reaching under his coat, I feel in his pockets for a moment, and finally I take out the ring of keys for which I came tonight.

  “And you will most likely believe,” I continue, “that you merely lost these somewhere during your drunken stumble home. Perhaps next time, Mr. Mynot, you should reconsider how you spend your evenings. Egyptian mummy unwrappings are not really fit for a gentleman, are they? Not even in Fitzrovia. I mean, I must say, I am surprised by the vulgarity of the evening's entertainment.”

  With that, I get to my feet and slip the keys into my pocket, before turning and making my way along the alley. It is almost midnight, and I must get quickly to the mortuary on Ethel Road so that my work can begin.

  Chapter Four

  Maddie

  Today

  “Isn't it beautiful? God, it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life. See the way it sparkles? I reckon that's a sign, you know? It's a sign that we're on the right track, that a miracle has begun here today. I'm only sorry that it took me so long to figure out, but I'm pretty sure Jack – I mean, Doctor Grazier – has put everything right. That's why he's been so keen to protect you, Maddie. Don't you get it now?”

  I feel his hand slide onto my waist, and then over to the front of my belly. His fingertips brush against the stitches, pulling them against the sore skin.

  “It was the most amazing thing I've ever seen,” he continues. “I don't know if you remember me cutting you up this time, but I did you good. And then I watched while something put you back together. It's like you're the invincible woman or something. I mean, I guess there's like a limit to what he can do, but he's like a super doctor. Assuming that's him, obviously. I just wish he'd appeared in front of me or spoken to me or at least looked at me. Just some kind of acknowledgment, you know?”

  He sighs.

  “Next time,” he adds finally. “I'm gonna lure him out some more. It's amazing, he even gathers the spilled blood back up into your body. I guess that's one of the big advantages of having a ghost doctor, yeah?”

  With that, he runs his hand down my belly and then back up. It's as if he's feeling the stitches, as if he sees them as some kind of masterpiece.

  Staring at the window, I can feel dried tears sticking to my face. I haven't moved since I woke up, since the pain stopped knocking me out and starting pounding through my body. The truth is, I'm scared to move, because then I might start feeling something. I'm not talking about the physical pain, of course, which was immense. I'm talking about the pain in my thoughts, the pain that's going to start up as soon as I start moving and talking and reacting. Right now, even though I'm terrified, it's somehow easier to just stare at the light that's coming through the cracks at the edges of the window. Until I move, I can stay numb.

  �
�I saw it, you know,” Nick whispers. “I saw the flaps of your belly being pulled back across, like there were invisible hands working on you.”

  I feel him place a cold ear against my belly.

  “It's a miracle,” he adds, pulling away and sitting cross-legged now next to me. “That's what it is, it's a goddamn miracle. Don't worry, I'm going to let you rest for a while before I do it all again. I need to get him back here, Maddie. And you should be proud, 'cause you're getting operated on by Jack the freakin' Ripper. Isn't that the most amazing thing ever?”

  Trying to ignore him, I continue to watch the shards of light.

  “Hey, Maddie?”

  He nudges my arm. When I don't respond, he does it again.

  “Maddie. Hey, come on, look at me. Don't be a sourpuss. It's all part of the grand experiment. And now at least you know nothing bad can happen to you, right? I mean, Doctor G will always stitch you up, but I'm not gonna hurt you now.”

  He reaches out and touches my belly again.

  “For some reason,” he adds, “Doctor G's got a real thing for you. Any idea why that might be? Come on, there has to be a reason. It can't all just be random.”

  I shudder slightly at his touch. I try to stay still, to stay numb, but that little shudder was enough to stir something deep in my thoughts. I can feel the fear starting to grow now, and tears are starting to fill my eyes. I try desperately to push it all away again, to force everything down so that I don't have to feel any of it, but my body is starting to tremble and I don't think I can hold the deluge back for much longer. Finally I start biting my bottom lip in a desperate, last-ditch attempt to keep the rush from coming, but at the same time Nick moves his hand slowly over my belly and then back again.

  He's stroking me.

  I bite my lip harder, until I taste blood, and I start gasping with the effort of trying to stay numb. Deep down, I already know that I'm not going to succeed.

  “I'm going to look after you, Maddie,” Nick continues. “You'll be safe here, I promise. You'll have time to rest and recuperate before I try again, and eventually you'll understand that I've only got your best interests at heart. I'm totally confident that by the time Doctor G puts you back together the next time, you'll have come around to my way of thinking about things.” He leans closer. “Think about it,” he whispers, his breath hot now against the side of my face. “The Jack the Ripper was in this room with us. His ghost, anyway. Do you have any idea how privileged we are?”

  I bite even harder. Blood is trickling down my chin now.

  “You'll get it,” Nick adds. “I promise.”

  With that, he kisses me on the cheek.

  “Think about it,” he chuckles. “That cop wanted to stop all of this. Good job I killed the asshole, huh?”

  Letting out a monumental scream that I never knew was within me, I turn and lunge at him. I'm not even in control now, and I startle myself by opening my mouth wide and then biting down hard on the side of his neck. I feel his skin rip open, and hot blood rushes into my mouth, but somehow I keep pushing against him until we fall together off the side of the bed. I land on top of him, with my legs still on the bed itself, and then I hear a faint metallic scraping sound nearby.

  Reaching out, I immediately feel the knife's handle. Taking a firm grip, I pull the damn thing toward me.

  “Stop!” Nick gasps, as I let go of his neck and pull back to see blood pumping from the wound. “Maddie, I -”

  Before he can finish, I drive the knife straight into his chest. I scream as the blade sinks into his body, and he immediately tilts his neck back and lets out a cry. I feel his hands trying to push me away, but I manage to find the strength not only to stay on top of him but also to pull the knife out and then stab him again, this time trying desperately to get closer to his heart. I can feel the blade scraping between his ribs, but he's still spluttering and trying to fight back. My hands are starting to shake, but I manage to pull the blade out again and move it a little further up his chest, still trying to work out where exactly to find his heart.

  “Maddie!” he gasps, as blood runs from the sides of his mouth. “You're not -”

  I scream as I stab him again. The knife slides effortlessly between two more of his ribs, and then I feel a moment of resistance before the blade runs deep into his chest. He instantly jerks wildly, but only for a couple of seconds before falling still. Keeping my hands on the knife's handle and pushing down with all my remaining strength, I squeeze my eyes tight shut as my scream fades, and then my face slumps down against Nick's chest.

  “Maddie,” he groans, as blood runs from his lips. “You're a genius. He'll come and save me now, won't he?”

  “Go to hell!” I gasp.

  “He's coming,” he continues, somehow managing to force a smile. “Oh man, yeah, he's coming to save me. You and me, Maddie, we're special. He likes us more than he likes other people. He's gonna save me, and then we'll know we're both in his little group. We can figure out why later, but for now I just wanna prove that I'm blessed. Thank you, Maddie. Thank you for giving me this opportunity to -”

  Suddenly he stops speaking.

  I wait, but his lips remain still. It's almost as if he's dead, but I don't dare let go.

  Not yet.

  What if he's faking? What if I let go of the knife and he instantly throws me aside?

  So I wait, shivering and sobbing on the floor, still on top of Nick and still with the knife embedded in his chest. After a while I try twisting the handle, but the knife doesn't move very much and Nick doesn't react. I want to believe that he's dead, but I don't even dare look at his face again for a few minutes until finally I look up past his chest and see that his dead, glassy eyes are staring up toward the ceiling.

  I guess Doctor Grazier didn't come back to save him after all. So why does he keep saving me?

  Chapter Five

  “Doctor Charles Grazier”

  “It's money, silly! It's so much money!”

  “It's enough for a suit, maybe,” Delilah says, eyeing the banknotes with a degree of caution. “Where did you get it from, anyway?”

  “Never you mind.”

  “You're not doing anything bad, Jack... Are you?”

  “Such as?”

  She hesitates, and I can see the fear in her expression. In that moment, I realize that she believes I am a good person, and I realize too that I can never, ever let her down.

  “I don't know,” she continues cautiously, “but one hears of things. Why, just the other day I was offered the chance to go and try out for a job near the docks, but -”

  “You didn't take the offer up, did you?” I ask, horrified by the idea.

  She shakes her head. “Of course not. I know what it's like down there. There's more opium than air. I just don't want you to feel that we have to take any shortcuts. There might be a lot of money on offer for doing bad things, but I could never live with myself. I want us to remain pure, Jack.”

  “I have done nothing bad.” I hesitate, before leaning over and kissing her on the cheek. Then I linger, my lips close to hers, before pulling back. “I'm going to buy a suit and turn it into gold,” I tell her. “Why, if a man can dress himself in a proper suit, there's no stopping him. It's like alchemy! When a man is wearing a suit, he's respected by everyone he meets. I'll have a proper job soon, a respectable job!”

  “You really believe all of this, don't you?” she replies. “Can't you just be happy with a modest life?”

  “I want the best for us,” I reply, reaching out and taking hold of her hands. “I want us to get to a better part of the city as quickly as possible, so that we're far away from the rougher areas.”

  And then I stop speaking, as I realize that her hands are deathly cold. Looking down, I feel momentarily confused as I stare at her hands and see that they look perfectly normal. After a few seconds, however, the color drains from her fingers and her skin begins to turn bloated and gray, and I look back at her face just in time to see that she has
become rotten.

  “You're too late, Jack,” she gurgles, barely able to get the words out. “You failed.”

  Horrified, I shake my head.

  “You failed years ago,” she continues, leaning closer to me and in the process causing me to notice the most foul stench of salty rotten flesh. “You let me die. If I hadn't loved you, I'd still be alive!”

  “No!”

  Suddenly I sit up straight. Startled, I look around and see that I am sitting in Doctor Grazier's study. I came up here to fetch some equipment after taking the body down to the basement, and then I sat down for a moment to read and...

  I must have fallen asleep. And then I had another dream about Delilah. About the first Delilah. It's such a beautiful name. Why, I cannot conceive of anybody named Delilah who is not among the most beautiful and most kind people in the whole world. All Delilahs must be saved. Despite my exhaustion, then, I get to my feet and start carrying the equipment out of the study. I must go down to the basement and get quickly to work.

  First, though, I stop in the middle of the room and try to regather my bearings. That dream of Delilah seemed so real.

  ***

  Sunday October 7th, 1888

  “What did they do to you?” I ask, my voice trembling with rage. “What did those heathen bastards do?”

  I am in the basement at Doctor Grazier's house. It is two or three in the morning now, and I have finally returned after liberating Delilah Culpepper's body from the Ethel Road mortuary. I wrapped her in sheets and carried her quickly through the darkened streets, then I went up to the study and fell asleep for a while, so it is only now that I have managed to get a proper look at her. And after unwrapping her on the slab, I have found that there is very little left of her at all.

  Between them, Doctor Grazier and the butchers at the mortuary have cut her apart several times over. Most of her organs have been removed, and what is left is little more than a skeleton with some skin and flesh attached. Even the top of her skull has been cut away and then crudely sewn back into place, and this process has twisted the skin on her face so that Delilah barely resembles herself.