Mississippi DEAD

by Weaver, Shawn

  He had come to New Orleans in pursuit of a powerful vampire named William Carpenter. With the help of his friend, Helena, he had accomplished his goal. After destroying Carpenter, the victory fell short of expectations. Jack felt no elation or sense of accomplishment.

  Helena sat beside Jack in the restaurant, looking at her friend as he stared out the window. She pitied him for what he had endured over the past months, but admired his strength and determination. Helena was a white witch, gifted with amazing psychic abilities. Even though she could have easily used her powers to read Jack’s mind, there was no need. She knew his feelings without the use of her powers. She decided to let Jack be with his thoughts for a few moments.

  Helena sipped tea from a small cream-colored china cup as she conversed with the man who sat on her other side, the legendary Doctor John Watson. Known for his famed adventures alongside the great Sherlock Holmes, the man held true to his word to help Jack rid the world of the monster who had caused the death of Jack’s one true love.

  Watson had not been a willing participant in the hunt for William Carpenter, but had become involved along the way. Upon their first meeting on the ship from London to New York, Helena and Watson had taken a liking for one another. John was a charming man, witty and knowledgeable on a great many subjects. He had soon swept Helena off her feet. He enjoyed her company, and wanted to stay near her, fearing for her safety. They had grown close, and Watson hoped to nurture their relationship.

  Jack’s thoughts drifted between Sarah, his beloved fiancée, who had died at the hands of William carpenter, and the vicious little vampire known as Becca, who had gotten away the night before. Becca still prowled the streets of New Orleans, aided by the current Vodou Queen, Lilly Boudreaux. While Becca appeared as a child, Jack knew she was a ruthless vampire who had served Carpenter for years before Jack destroyed him. She was every bit as dangerous as any other vampire he had ever encountered.

  How many other vampires wandered the streets of this city? Could Jack leave them without further challenge? He had completed his mission to destroy Carpenter, but the thought of leaving the little vampire alive bothered him. He would have to be wary of her while he remained in New Orleans.

  They were safe for now, as the daylight shone through the restaurant’s lace curtains. The trio ate their breakfast, but only Helena and Doctor Watson seemed to be enjoying it. While the New Orleans food was scrumptious, they enjoyed each other’s company even more.

  “Jack, eat,” Helena said, setting down her cup of tea.

  Jack managed a grim smile. “I am not hungry,” he said as he looked out the window.

  “So, lad, what do we do now?” Watson asked.

  Jack looked out the window for a long moment before responding. “I’m not sure,” he replied. He turned to Helena. “Is Sarah’s soul still trapped in purgatory?”

  The look in Jack’s eyes told her everything she needed to know. Since he had learned that Sarah’s soul was trapped in Purgatory, and therefore could not pass on until the vampire who killed her was destroyed, Jack had been on a determined mission to free her. He had become the murderous Jack the Ripper in order to draw out the vampires of Whitechapel by mutilating their consorts—something intended to get their attention. Jack now needed to know if his mission proved successful.

  “I need to prepare in order to make contact,” Helena said as she gently placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I also need to rest. My abilities have been tested to their limits and need to regenerate.”

  Disappointed, Jack turned away.

  “This evening, Jack,” Helena said, giving Jack’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be ready this evening to try to contact Sarah.”

  “Let’s go for a stroll,” Doctor Watson said to Jack after a moment of uncomfortable silence. He looked at Helena, “You do not mind, do you?”

  “Not at all,” Helena replied, sensing the men needed to talk.

  Doctor Watson gave Helena a warm smile as he patted her hand. “We won’t be long. You get your rest. Knock on my door if you need me.”

  Helena nodded, and then gave Jack a light kiss on the cheek as she stood. “Soon, Jack,” she whispered to him. “We will know very soon.”

  Jack stood and hugged Helena. He was a man of few words, but Helena seemed to read him like a book. Helena then hugged Watson, lingering in his embrace a moment before turning to leave.

  “Come, young Jack,” Watson said. “I’ve a great many things to ask you about. Let’s get some fresh air as we walk along Lake Pontchartrain.”

  Less than enthusiastic, Jack followed Watson to the door.

  The pair remained silent as they made their way beyond the crowded sidewalks around the hotel. Once they were alone, Watson began to ask questions.

  “What are your intentions now, Jack?” he asked.

  Jack took in a long breath before answering. “I guess I’ll be going back to New York before departing for London.”

  “What of that nasty little creature, the one who got away from us last night?” Watson asked.

  “Her name is Becca,” Jack said. “She is not my concern. As long as Sarah is free, I will let others tend to the creatures of the night. I’ve had my fill.”

  Watson nodded as if he understood. “I can’t say that I blame you there. I have only been involved in this for mere days, and I’ve had my fill as well.”

  Jack said nothing, just kept his head down as he walked toward the lake.

  After a moment, Watson grabbed Jack by the elbow. “I’m sorry, Jack. I have something to ask you that will require a straight answer.”

  Jack stopped and looked directly in Watson’s eyes. The man had saved his life on more than one occasion, and Jack felt he deserved answers.

  Watson placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Jack, are you…” He paused as if looking for the right words. “Oh, Bloody Hell. Are you Jack the Ripper?”

  The statement stunned Jack. He thought he had hidden all traces of his months as Jack the Ripper. He pulled loose from Watson’s grasp and continued walking. Watson hurried along to match Jack’s pace, but his bad leg slowed him down. His cane only tapped the ground on every other step.

  “Damn you, Jack,” Watson said in an agitated voice. “Answer my question, man! I need to know. I need to look out for Helena.”

  Jack stopped in his tracks, grabbing Watson by the lapels. “You insult me if you think I would allow any harm to come to Helena,” he said through gritted teeth. “I would protect her with my very life.” As he let go of Watson’s jacket, Jack continued to stare Watson in the eye.

  Watson stared back. “You are Jack the Ripper,” he said. “I can see it in your eyes.”

  Jack turned and walked away.

  “Tell me why, Jack!” Watson called. “Tell me why!”

  Jack once again stopped. “I did it for one reason,” Jack said. “I did it to save my Sarah from an eternity in Purgatory.” Jack moved closer to Watson, almost nose to nose. “But you already knew that, didn’t you, Watson? What you really want to know is why I mutilated those women. You want to know why I carved them up after they were dead. Am I right?”

  Watson nodded.

  “Each of those women served vampires,” Jack said. “I tried to save each one. I offered each one a chance to escape. I offered them protection. Not a single one took my offer, except Agnes, and you saw what happened to her.” Jack took a deep breath. “I carved them up as a direct message to the vampires of Whitechapel. I killed them all at night, and the vampires were the first to discover the majority of their bodies. I think they got the message.”

  Watson looked intensely at Jack, studying his face for a clue to his thoughts. “So you condone the killings you did in London?”

  Jack returned Watson’s gaze. “None of my alternatives were acceptable. After all else failed, I killed those women as a way to draw out William Carpenter. The other option was to leave poor Sarah trapped between the world of the living and the dead, with no chance of reachin
g Heaven’s gate. I chose in favor of my Sarah, damning those who enable the likes of William Carpenter.”

  Jack turned away, watching traffic on the street. A blur of colors, aromas, and sounds became like a soup around him. He took a deep breath then looked back to Watson.

  “What you really want to know is if I’m a cold-blooded killer. You want to know if I enjoyed killing those women, or if I feel any sense of remorse concerning my actions. You want to know if I will kill again.”

  Watson only nodded—almost imperceptibly.

  “In truth, I’m sick over killing so many. I am sick of whom I’ve become, and the life I lead. I am sorry those women had to die. Taking their lives, along with their dignity, haunts my days. I’m saddened beyond words that I may have taken someone from their true love, as Sarah was taken from me. I wonder if I have become to them, what William Carpenter has become to me—a ruthless monster.

  Jack clenched his fists as he spoke, his jaw tightened and his eyes were moist. “I wonder what might have become of those women had I not walked the Earth. What might they have become later in life?” He paused, and then looked toward the sky. “Worst of all, I wonder if I have become as evil as them. As vile and feared as they are?” A tear streaked down Jack’s face, leaving a shiny, wet trail. He turned to Watson, getting so close that the brims of their hats touched.

  “I do not regret what I have done. I didn’t choose the route I took. Circumstances were thrust upon me and I reacted as I felt I had to. While I do regret that lives were taken, those lives were not innocent. They all played their part in the drama that befell me, and I did what I had to do. Once Sarah is free to move on in death, my battle will be over.”

  Watson placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I’m bound by oath to tell the truth, Jack. While I understand your plight, I am obligated to reveal what I know to the proper authorities in London. I don’t know how to escape that obligation, as much as I am tempted to do so.”

  “Give me time,” Jack responded. “Let me know that Sarah has safely passed, then do what you must. If I am to hang for saving my love, then so be it. I will walk to the gallows with my head held high, looking toward Heaven. While men may condemn me for my actions, I believe that God will pass the ultimate judgment, and in that, I am confident of redemption.”

  “Aye,” Watson said. “I will give you some time as I think this over. I have fought at the side of Jack the Ripper, and he has saved my life. I know his story, and I see that he rids the world of evil. It brings me no joy to be the person to bring Jack the Ripper to justice, but I must think on it.

  Available U.S.

  http://www.amazon.com/Rippers-Wrath-ebook/dp/B00AX8R5KC/ref=sr_1_7_title_1_kin?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1378418729&sr=1-7

  Available U.K.

  http://www.amazon.co.uk/Rippers-Wrath-ebook/dp/B00AX8R5KC/ref=sr_1_1_bnp_1_kin?ie=UTF8&qid=1378418895&sr=8-1-spell&keywords=rippers+wraith

  Little Valley

  CHAPTER ONE

  Little Valley, Wisconsin, a small village of five thousand, sat twenty miles from Green Bay and just a stone’s throw from Lake Michigan. Surrounded by trees, this little town grew roots into a valley that at one time was a boon for logging. But now Little Valley stood on its last legs, trying to survive in a world of progress that was slowly sweeping into the upper peninsula of Wisconsin.

  No large companies thrived here, and most people drove the twenty miles to Green Bay, or further to Manitowoc, to earn their daily bread. By delivering basic necessities, a few businesses still scrapped out a living along on the town’s one road. Sid’s Tackle and Bait, A & P Groceries, Dawn’s Laundromat, and Volkmann’s Used Tires and Gas dotted the main road through town, along with a small assortment of shops only open during the tourist and hunting seasons.

  Just outside of town, the wind raced through the open window of Allen Young’s 1999 Chevy S-10 pickup truck. Its rust-stained white paint dully shined as the gravel of the road dinged occasionally off of the sidewalls. In the bed of the truck, head held as far from the truck’s side as he could, Allen’s Golden Labrador, Stinker, soaked in the wind as it rushed by.

  Looking through the rearview mirror, past Stinker’s jostling body, Allen watched the boxes bounce against the tailgate. He hoped that the glass contents inside the boxes did not break before he arrived at his destination -- 1223 Fair Brook Road.

  The quaint, two-story home once owned by his grandmother was now his after her failing bout with pneumonia. Originally, the state of Wisconsin awarded the house to his mother, Samantha, after a long drawn out probate battle. Then, as soon as she signed the papers, she turned the keys of the house over to Allen, not wanting anything to do with the home. Allen knew his mother’s reason was because his father had died in one of the upper bedrooms twenty-one years ago, when Allen was only just six years old.

  But even so, Allen did not have any reservations about taking ownership of the property. The house was a sturdily built beauty, made by his grandfather’s own hands after his stint in the army ended in the year 1945. A proud and brave World War II veteran, Grandpa Paul had reached sergeant at the end of his last tour, but all the blood and bullets had taken their toll on him in Germany, and he did not want to continue on in the service.

  So, taking his life savings, Grandpa Paul came home, married his high school sweetheart from Brookfield High School in Chicago, Illinois, and brought her to Little Valley to live the American dream. The American dream — ideals set by people with high hopes. Allen wished he and his small family of four could find their new life far from the busy streets of Richmond, Indiana, the city where Allen’s mother had moved to be closer to her parents after his dad’s death.

  “Gina will love this place,” Allen said to the rushing wind, as he drove the winding road towards their new home.

  He was sure his kids would love it too. Kaylee, age six, and Paulie, age five, were similar in so many ways, though Paulie was an unexpected bundle of joy. Born exactly one year and fifteen days after Kaylee, he was, nonetheless, a whirlwind who would make his name-sake proud.

  Looking at his watch, Allen saw that it was quarter to ten. He was supposed to meet Gina and the kids at the house a half hour ago, but a fender bender on Interstate 43 had backed up the traffic for miles.

  Allen turned right off of Fair Brook Road onto a gravel drive that meandered a hundred yards up a slight incline through a mass of tall evergreens. Looking again into the rearview mirror, he saw Stinker’s tail start to wag vigorously, beating the rear window. Stinker started barking towards the two story white house as it came into view.

  Allen pulled to a stop behind a gold Geo Prism with its trunk popped open, filled with small boxes and three suitcases; its lid pulled down tight by three black and green striped bungee cords. Glad to be finally home, Allen put the truck into park and cut the engine. Before the billowing dust of the gravel driveway settled, Stinker leapt from the truck’s bed. In a heartbeat, he disappeared around the corner of the house’s large screened-in porch.

  “Stinker,” Allen called through the open window.

  He left the keys in the ignition and stepped out. Shutting the door, he was met with the happy cries of his children as they raced around the corner of the house with Stinker close on their heels.

  “Daddy!” Kaylee yelled jumping into Allen’s arms.

  He twirled her around and then reached out a hand to ruffle Paulie’s mass of sandy blonde hair.

  “Hey, Bud,” Allen said, as Paulie pulled away from his hand and slapped him five before running off into the wide yard with Stinker nipping at his heels.

  “You’re late.” Gina stepped out of the screened in porch. The door slapped closed behind her with a rattle.

  “Fender bender on the highway,” Allen replied, setting his daughter down.

  As Kaylee ran off to catch her brother, Allen met his wife halfway in the yard. Embracing, he gave her a quick kiss on the neck, breathing in the fresh strawberry scent of her hair.

  “Not you, I hope,�
�� Gina said, giving Allen a squeeze before letting go.

  “Nope, some moron who thought he was on the autobahn,” Allen replied, hooking a thumb into a belt loop on the back of Gina’s black jeans.

  With his arm securely around her, they walked towards the house. Allen looked up at the coal colored shingles and noticed the gutters needed cleaning. Making a mental note, he reached for the white painted screen door and pulled it open. Letting Gina go in first, Allen looked back towards the tree line of the property.

  “Stay in the yard,” Allen said loudly to the kids.

  Kaylee and Paulie waved their acknowledgement, though in their state of play they did not hear a word he said. Allen closed the door firmly, but a warp in the wood caused it to pop back open.

  “Like the house?” Allen asked, as he followed Gina into the living room.

  Not answering, Gina stepped into the center of the empty room.

  “No?” Allen asked.

  “Well…” Gina replied, not looking back as her voice trailed off.

  A bad feeling slipped through Allen — the sudden thought that he had made the wrong decision in dragging his family states away from the home they had always known. But that did not last long as Gina could not hide the smile that forced its way out.

  Stepping forward, Allen took Gina in his arms again and hugged her tight. Gina gave him a quick kiss on the lips and said, “I love it.”

  Turning away, she walked further into the long, empty living room. Glancing out of the windows set on either side of the fireplace on the far wall, Gina saw Stinker shoot by, his long tail held up high in the air.

  “Delivery van will be here on Tuesday,” Gina continued. “So I guess we will have to sleep on the floor till then.”

  “The kids will love it. It’ll be like camping. We can have marshmallows in the fireplace.” Allen looked over the room’s empty white walls. He barely remembered this house. But a few images did still stand out.