by T. A. Uner
Contents
Copyright Information
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Epilogue
Message to the Reader
Final Thoughts
Also by T.A. Uner
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, whether living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE BLOODY RIPPER
Copyright © 2014 by T.A. Uner
Cover design by Melody Simmons of eBookindiecovers
Ebook formatting by Indie Author Services
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems — except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews — without permission in writing from the author.
For Arya, more than ever
One
November 10th, 1887. Victorian-Era England
The great red locomotive, Blood, moved with purpose through the night.
Its crew looked like any other, except for their strange red uniforms that matched the steam locomotive’s exterior. The Conductor watched the stoker load more coal into the firebox. Flames leaped from it as it swallowed the coal, creating energy that drove the side rods connected to the wheels and fed the pistons, marking its impressive speed other trains could only envy.
The Conductor had been doing this for almost two hundred years, but that was before this assignment had found him. He checked the control console and it detected a railroad switch. No action was necessary as the computer would make the necessary adjustments. He appreciated the technology that Vampiress had installed. It had taken time to convince the Section Chief, but Vampiress was a woman who usually got what she wanted.
Still, it had rendered his position to one of observer status. Pretty soon his kind would be obsolete. Does she suspect me? If so, why did she request me for this assignment?
He didn’t like The Sect, and wished he was still in the service of his previous employer, Lord Batius — now there was a vampire one could admire. But after Reptokk’s armies had flushed The Sect out of Kaotika, he found his previous lord’s status diminished, his position gone, the victim of Reptokk’s persecution. It was unfair, but life was never fair, most of all on Kaotika.
Now here he was, on an alien world, in an era he knew little of, working as a clandestine operative with the Grand Militia. He wondered what the humans had done to deserve this? Then he remembered Vampiress and sighed.
The stoker appeared in the stairwell next to the reactor and wiped his hands on a black towel, before climbing up into the cab next to him. “Blood should have full power by the time we reach the anomaly,” he said, knowing they had taken on much cargo before departing Liverpool Street Station.
“Thank you Rolfe,” the Conductor said, “I will be grateful when this assignment is over.”
“As will I, Conductor.”
Rolfe’s family had been taken by “The Black Arm,” and offered lives of luxury and comfort in exchange for his services. The Conductor’s had not been so fortunate. When Reptokk’s armies had conquered Kaotika, his had been crushed under the conquering heel of the reptilian warlord’s forces. Without any warning he had been forced to work for The Sect and aid them in their cause; he had travelled to multiple realities and seen many horrific acts committed by his saviors. Now his work had brought him to Earth, during its early industrial era. It seemed The Sect always chose time periods where the indigenous population could offer little resistance to Sect technology and methods.
But he was old, and longed for rest. Rolfe had been assigned here to help him manage Blood, it was an assignment he regretted ever since.
“I’m going to check on our cargo,” the Conductor told Rolfe. “Watch the controls.” The younger Vampire nodded and slid into the Conductor’s seat to mind the helm.
He left the cab and passed the replica fuel bunker — filled with coal to give off the impression that this was a legitimate train of 19th-century Earth — before looking through one of the next car’s windows, up at the night sky. A charcoal hue, with a smudge of a hazy full moon buried under thick wrinkled clouds. He felt Blood switch track under him, its process was second nature to him now. Soon they would approach the anomaly, and pass into another reality where their cargo would be delivered to The Sect.
He moved into the next car. Inside were the canisters filled with precious contents, courtesy of the Vampiress’ deeds. Inside them he could see the faint glow of their contents. Some red, others were green or yellow depending on the gender or age they were taken from. The stolen items carried life-force. Through transparent tubes they were transferred into canisters where they would sleep during their voyage.
Two Black Arm operatives sat in the room, keeping a watchful eye on their ill-gotten gains. They nodded and the Conductor acknowledged them by returning the gesture. Even though it was highly unusual for him to visit this box car, the operatives did not question or suspect his motives — he was in the service of Vampiress, that was all that mattered.
“When will we reach the anomaly?” one of the operatives asked.
“Soon,” he answered.
They did not question him further. The Conductor was grateful for that. He might’ve given himself away had they chosen to probe his mind.
He was tired of this game, it would stop, and tonight felt like the perfect time to end it. He smiled at the first operative who reached for a newspaper called The Daily Telegraph and began reading it. The other operative turned his back to the Conductor and started making a blood martini behind a makeshift bar. This was his chance to make his move.
He drew the silver-tipped knife from his overalls’ pocket and tried remaining calm, which was not easy to do considering his precarious situation. He took a deep breath and plunged the dagger into the first operative’s chest. His aim was true, slicing through the newspaper before arriving at its final destination in the Vampire’s heart. The operative discharged a hiss and collapsed before his body disintegrated into dust.
Without waiting the Conductor picked up his weapon and leaped over the bar. His actions had caught the second operative by surprise, and before it could reach for its weapon, the Conductor worked fast.
His knife cut through the other vampire’s wrist. It too turned to dust, but his opponent wasn’t finished yet. He head-butted The Conductor, sending him sprawling backwards onto the compartment floor.
“I don’t know what you plan to accomplish by this attack,” the second operative said, “but you shall not live to see your plan succeed.” He kicked the old Conductor in the midsection. The Conductor had taken worse blows in his long life, and had lived to tell, however, he needed to get to his feet quickly, or else his plan would fail.
The operative grabbed The Conductor by his overall straps and snarled. Despite his age the Conductor was not daunted by his task. He rammed his silver knife into the jawbone of his assailant and the Black Arm operative cursed his name just seconds before dissolving. Now he was alone. Time to finish his task. He removed the micro-disc from his pocket and stepped up to the console. He was appalled how his people had so little regard for life, even if it was foreign. Before him stood the rows of energy canisters containing the stolen lives. He overrode the computer’s security program with his password, slipped the disc int
o the mainframe, and waited as it downloaded the information he needed to perform his task. Seconds later it fed back the information to him. With his Vampire sight and reflexes he read the instructions on how to free the trapped souls and started programming the system to release them into his disc. Seconds later his job was complete. He eyed the canisters. They no longer glowed. Empty. He slipped his disc into his overalls pocket and retrieved his knife. He would have to use it one more time, against Rolfe. Taking life was against his nature, but what The Sect was doing was more repulsive.
As he reached for the compartment door it slammed open and he staggered backwards. Before him stood four more Black Arm operatives, these were not Vampires but Hollow Men. One pointed a Gravitizer at him, but before he could act he felt his muscles freeze. “There is no escape for you, old man,” said the lead operative. It was Volz, the Prefect. The Conductor stared at Volz’s vacant eye sockets behind the red-tinted sunglasses.
“This is wrong,” the Conductor said.
“So is betraying your own kind,” Volz replied. A pulsating red hue appeared inside his sockets and spun like breaking wheels. The Conductor now saw the Prefect’s sockets (where eyes should’ve been) highlighted by whirlpools. “Bring him closer,” Volz ordered.
The Conductor felt his muscles awaken before he was manhandled by the powerful hands of the other Black Armsmen. He summoned his last bit of strength and head-butted one of them. For a moment he had caught them off-guard, and he felt their hold on him weakening. Then Volz’s hands grasped his jaw and the Conductor knew his small victory would be short-lived. “Look into my eyes, old man; repent for your sins against The Sect.”
The Conductor felt his remaining strength seep from within him, like a sponge being squeezed dry of fluids. “Others will rise up against your evil deeds,” The Conductor said. “Our cause is strong.”
“If you are referring to The Grand Militia, then you are mistaken.” Volz’s whirlpool eyes bore into the old Conductor’s soul.
Seconds later, he felt nothing.
November 13th, 1887. London, England
Vampiress stared at the crowds gathered in Trafalgar Square.
The strike had started peacefully, but that was before the police had arrived. She didn’t care much for this time period, or its people, but she did admit that they were passionate about their causes. Apparently this demonstration was to protest the unfair labor conditions that the working classes were forced to endure; and unemployment was also an issue here.
The Sect had chosen well. England’s empire was at a crossroads, in this reality at least, and its population was ripe for the picking. There was also the matter of finding the Five who had deserted The Sect. She would enjoy hunting them down and punishing them, personally.
The police were struggling with a group of protestors when the fracas started. An English policeman was shoved in the back by a protester. He immediately retaliated by wresting a protest banner from a female protester which caused two male protestors to come to her aid.
She wanted to laugh at the primitives, fighting for basic rights that they should’ve had already. No wonder humans were weak, they had no unity. Her race knew how to deal with insurrections of this nature.
A group of police moved in on the rising tide of protestors, and found themselves struggling against the commoners who had armed themselves with gas pipes, knives, clubs and iron bars.
She’d seen enough and turned to leave, even though a part of her wanted to stay and watch the violence develop. It was in her nature to enjoy a good fight: whether she was involved or not, it made no difference. Casting one final look at the riot that had spread out at the foot of Nelson’s Column she proceeded to her new destination, bypassing Trafalgar square fountain she found herself in Charing Cross district. A statue, cast in bronze, came into view. It was erected in honor of one of England’s past monarchs, Charles I. The dedication plaque on its plinth was dated 1633.
She changed course to make her way toward Liverpool Street station. The newly-refurbished Sect locomotive, Blood, would be arriving within the hour, and she wanted to interview the new Conductor that had taken charge after the unfortunate incident with his predecessor whom she had distrusted enough to promote to Conductor in order to expose him as a Grand Militia agent. As always, her instincts had proven correct.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned around. An Englishman, a well-dressed one at that, wearing a two piece suit with a striped waistcoat smiled at her. He was stocky with a bulbous nose and his breath smelled of alcohol. “What is it?” Vampiress said crossly.
The man did not look intimidated by her defiant tone; instead, he removed his top hat and grinned sheepishly at Vampiress. “My, yer a spunky one,” he said excitedly. “Juss the way I like ’em…so…how much?”
“Is there a point to this conversation?” Vampiress slipped her hand inside her cloak and gripped the hilt of her dagger sheathed behind her corset.
The chubby little man laughed. “Why of kors’ there’z a point. Tell ya what, I know a quaint little hotel close by. So, I ask ye again, lass: how much?”
Of course, he probably thought she was a prostitute. If she wasn’t so amused at the situation she might’ve been offended. She decided to play along. Vampiress opened her cloak, revealing her corseted chest and tight leather slacks. Almost immediately, the man’s eyes bulged from their sockets. That should get the old bastard’s prick hard, she thought. Across the street was a hotel. She pointed to it and the man nodded eagerly. She took his hand and led him. Don’t cum your undershorts, grandfather. She almost laughed. When they arrived at the hotel, she pulled him into an alleyway adjacent to the hotel.
“Where are ye taking me?” he asked, breathlessly.
She smiled. “You’ll see.”
After walking a few meters she pushed him up against the alley wall and pressed her lips against his. She felt his hot breath mingling with hers and she felt his heart beat against her bosom. The man tried pushing her away but she kept him occupied with her kisses before she nibbled on his ear. “Dear God, yer a randy lass, aren’t ye?” Not as randy as you think, grandfather. She moved her hand toward his crotch and felt a sticky wet patch greet her slender fingers.
“And we’ve only just begun,” she said, casting a disappointed glance at him. “Well, I must say I’m a bit disappointed. She grasped his manhood (not an impressive size she might add) and squeezed it, hard. He yelped like a frightened puppy and tried pushing her off of him. Using her other hand she grasped his neck and found a spot. Licking her lips she sunk her fangs into the old man’s skin.
He tried screaming but only a short bawl escaped his lips. He grasped her cloak’s hem and tore off a small piece as he struggled to free himself from her grip. She feasted on his blood, it wasn’t the best she’d tasted, but it would do, for now. After she had drank her fill she grasped his neck and twisted it around like a bottle cap. His neck snapped like a twig and she hurled his body toward the cobblestone street. His lifeless face stared up at her, pale as a sheet of typing paper. She smiled, wiped her bloody mouth with a handkerchief, and resumed her journey to Liverpool Street Station.
{2}
Today was the happiest day of Jack Mansfield’s life.
He kissed his fiancé, Mercedes, and looked deeply into her golden brown eyes surrounded by a bevy of brown curls. “I’m so happy Jack,” she said in her Spanish accent. He wished his parents had lived to see this day. They would’ve been happy to see their youngest son become a doctor. His older brother Robert poured two glasses of champagne and handed them to Jack and Mercedes.
“This sounds cliché,” Robert began, “but I would like to offer a toast, to my dear brother, Jack, now a medical Doctor, and the only one of the Mansfield bothers with any sense.” Everyone laughed before downing their champagne. Jack offered his hand to Robert and the two brothers shook before hugging. “I’m proud of you too Jack,” Robert said. “Well done, mate.” He drew a small package from the inside of his
blazer. “A small gift.”
Jack couldn’t help but feel touched. This was the second gift of today. The first being a new custom-tailored suit from Mercedes. “I don’t know what to say, brother,” Jack said, staring at the small oblong box.
Robert smiled. “You could say thanks, and open it.” Robert tore open the wrapping paper and opened the cover, inside a gold pocket watch stared back at him, on the back was inscribed: To Doctor Jackson Mansfield, From your beloved brother, Robert
“It’s so beautiful!” Mercedes said. Taking a closer look at the watch.
“Not as beautiful as you, my dear,” Robert interjected, “but a close second. Now, if you two love birds will excuse me, I must be leaving.”
“So soon? Stay a bit longer brother,” Jack said.
Robert put on his hat and overcoat. “Wish I could but Swanson wants to see me; it’s about a new case.” Jack accompanied his brother to the door and they shook hands one more time.
“Well we have some time before my family gets to London, later today,” Mercedes said. “I wonder how we can spend it?” She and Jack were going to surprise them with the news that they were getting married next summer.
“I can think of one thing we can do,” Jack added. He pointed to the bedroom door and Mercedes giggled.
“You men are all the same.”
• • •
After they had made love, Jack held the sleeping Mercedes close to his chest. It was typically improper for an unmarried couple to have sex before they were joined in matrimony, but he and Mercedes considered themselves liberated from such conservative thinking. Still, her parents, staunch Catholics from Barcelona, probably would not approve of their unwed daughter going to bed with a man, even if he was her fiancé.
