I Was Jack the Ripper (Part 4)

by Bray, Michael

  He lurched to his feet, the black thing inside alive and intending to make him pay for trying to repress it. He could hear it in his mind, a distant echo moving closer as it demanded blood. As he lurched to his feet, Miller nudged the table with his legs, knocking over his glass, Mary flinched away from him, clearly disturbed.

  This is why you are alone. This is why we have to do our work. Delay no further. Too much time has been wasted. Let us show Abberline how capable you are.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he slurred as he staggered towards the door. The monster inside him was close to taking full control. He could feel it growing inside, filling his veins, occupying his muscles, its oozing filth polluting his brain. He knew there was only one way to sate its thirst. One thing that would give him respite. It was demanding blood and blood it would get.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘I have a question, if I may.’ Hapgood said, setting his pen down and stretching his arm out in front of him. Miller looked at him his expression neutral. Taking the silence as the go ahead to ask his question, Hapgood continued. ‘You speak of the thing inside you driving you to do the…things you did. It seems to me that it or you were quite ready to claim another victim there and then on the night of the twenty eighth. I was curious as to why it took place two days later instead.’

  ‘Would you like me to answer now or give you a moment to rest your writing hand?’

  ‘By all means answer, I will make notes before we continue.’

  ‘Very well.’ Miller said. He watched as Hapgood stood and walked towards the window, stretching his arms and trying to banish the stiffness which was setting in on his muscles. Hapgood looked out at the wet and deserted streets and realised he no longer had any desire to escape. He wanted to hear more. He glanced at Miller who, to his surprise was staring at him.

  ‘Would you like another drink, Mr Miller?’

  Miller shook his head. ‘No, thank you. Fortunately, the man I am now has more control over his habits than the one we have been discussing. That, in part, is the answer to your question, Hapgood. That night, as I left the Ten Bells, the thing inside was enraged, ready to spill the blood of any whore in its path and the intention was to do just that. I recall little in the way of detail due to the ferocity of the rage. I remember making for my lodgings, anticipating collecting my knife and adding to my tally. Sadly, my drink addled body was incapable. I recall reaching my lodgings and heading inside then my next recollection daylight had broken and I woke on the floor of my lodgings, my previous evening’s consummation in great pools around me.’

  ‘The drink stopped you.’

  ‘Yes. It appears so. Perhaps it was for the best. I was in no condition to complete the task I had set myself.’

  Hapgood returned to his seat. He was exhausted by the sheer volume of knowledge he had taken in. ‘Alcohol it seems was a constant in your existence.’

  ‘Indeed it was. I had developed an uncontrollable shake of the right hand which would only be stilled by more consumption.’

  ‘You had become addicted.’

  ‘Yes. And I was aware that the consequences of the drink rendered me powerless to do my work. As fate would have it, the very thing that I detested, the dark part of my psyche that was desperate to gain full control over me was more powerful than the need for drink, and so that day, it made me suffer the pain and ignore the need to drink. It was later, before midnight that my hand was still enough to conduct my work, and with Inspector Abberline’s words fresh in my mind, I set out to once again strike fear into the streets.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Miller walked the filthy cobbles, enduring the steady rain which continued to fall without respite. He was colder still inside, though and thought only of his task ahead as he passed anonymous faces in the night, cap pulled low over his eyes. Despite the killings and the hysteria in the news, it seemed the destitute still filled the streets, and the whores still went about their business and took their customers to dark and secluded areas where their bodily transactions could be completed. He walked without aim. Assessing opportunities. He desperately wanted to stop at the Ten Bells and apologise to Mary, but he dare not see her with the thing inside him in control. It was the one guiding his actions and its need for blood would not be denied. For Miller, it had become an external experience. He felt like he was detached somehow from himself and that he was merely observing the events unfold. Certainly, there was a sense of excitement and anticipation. The thing inside him reminded Miller that this was what he wanted. It reminded him of his mother, and of Lucy. He passed a patrolling policeman, the oil lamp he was carrying hardly strong enough to puncture the deep black shadows at every turn. The thing inside reminded him of Abberline and what he had said. It was this which reminded him to allow the monster inside him to take control. He had been scouring the streets for more than two hours in the search of a perfect opportunity, each passing moment the fury within him growing to something he knew he would not be able to control. He had already chosen his victim and was awaiting his opportunity to strike. There was no reason he knew of why he had chosen her. Something about her look had drawn him. He wondered again if there was some unknown connection to his mother or Lucy which was controlling his selections. No matter, he had decided that this was the one he would take as soon as the opportunity arose. He followed her at a distance, watching as she tried to solicit herself to anyone who may show interest. He watched from the shadows as she stood on Berner Street talking to a man. The man grabbed her by the arm and tried to pull her into the street. Miller watched, hoping he wasn’t about to lose his victim. The man then shoved the woman down onto the ground and walked away. Miller watched him go, the street deserted. The thing in his mind told him it was time to make his move. He walked out of the shadows and approached, flashing his broadest smile designed to instil trust.

  ‘Are you alright, miss?’ he said as he helped her to her feet, his eyes flicking to the open doors to Dutfield Yard at her back, the enticing opaque passage an open maw ready to receive those looking for privacy from prying eyes. She too was mostly dressed all in black, another detail which would help him keep prying eyes away from them within the dark.

  ‘I’m fine, bloody idiot rough handled me a bit, that’s all.’

  Up close she was older than she first appeared. She was staring at him, trying to assess if he was a potential customer. Miller would have liked to play along but knew time was of the essence if he were to do two, and was cautious of the man she had just been arguing with and if he might come back. She took a packet of Cashew nuts from her pocket.

  ‘Thank you for helping me up. It’s rare to find nice people around here. Do you want a nut? They really are-’

  He struck. Clamping one hand around her throat and the other over her mouth, he pushed her back into the pitch dark of the archway, the interior of the yard offering complete darkness. Surprised by the suddenness of his actions as he pushed her, she stumbled over her own feet, the two of them landing hard on the ground. Miller could hardly see her, and let his instinct guide him, he squeezed her throat as hard as he could, reaching into his jacket for his knife which was wrapped in rags as she clawed and scratched at him, desperate to escape. Sitting astride her, he let go and she squirmed onto her side. He struck her on the side of the head, the force making her skull hit the concrete hard enough to stun her. She stopped fighting but he could hear her wheezing, still alive but unable to call for help. Miller unwrapped the knife, the weight of it solid in his hands. He had decided to make a real mess of this one. To string the innards up over the entrance to the yard. He had decided if Abberline wanted to see what he was capable of, then that’s what he would do. He put a hand over her face and pushed her head to the side, exposing her neck. He could just see it in the almost total darkness. The knife split the skin easily, the fury within him making him cut deep enough to slice through the neckerchief she was wearing. Blood which looked black in the gloom seeped out, pooling over her throat. She exhaled one last time an
d was silent, the nerves and arteries in her neck severed. He was preparing to start the next phase of his work when he heard a sound, an approaching horse and cart. He stopped moving, hoping it would pass and let him continue. He looked over his shoulder from where he sat astride the body, the relative light of the street ensuring all his fears were realised. The horse appeared and turned into the alleyway. Miller knew the path ahead was blocked and there was no way out. Reacting on instinct, he scrambled to his feet, startling the horse which shied away and reared back. This was it. He knew he would be caught. There was no way he could escape the alley without being seen. Slightly ahead, the yard veered off to the left into another short passage terminating in a wall. Miller turned into it, pressing himself into the brick in the hope of remaining unseen. He watched as the horse and cart entered the yard, the horse still unsettled by the presence of Miller. He only hoped the man on the cart couldn’t see him too. He watched as the horse stopped by the whore, and lean over, nudging it with his whip. Miller looked on, his nerves on fire, heart thundering so loudly he was sure the man on the cart would surely hear it. The man on the cart didn’t panic. He hopped down from the horse and walked towards the building adjacent to the yard. Music was spilling out of it, a club of some sort, Miller presumed. He could hear the laughter and the drunken chatter from within. It was his one chance to flee. Quickly, he walked towards the entrance to the yard, forcing himself not to rush. He exited and crossed the street, just as the man who had interrupted him returned from the club, three men with him. Miller started to walk away from the yard, unable to believe his good fortune and more convinced than ever that if there was a God, then he must be on Miller’s side and agree with his work. Miller heard the man say something about a drunk asleep in the yard as he showed the men into it, then was lost in the dark, out of range to hear more. He walked quickly, the thing inside him determined to fill its promise of doing two in a single night. Miller touched his fingers to his neck, it was sore and as he pulled his fingers back, he could see blood. The whore had scratched him in her desperate fight for life and he knew if he intended to do another, he must hide the evidence of what had been done. Miller took a red handkerchief from his pocket and tied it loosely around his neck. It wasn’t perfect, but it would be enough to hide the scratches. Soon, he started to encounter people rushing past him in the direction he was coming from. One man, wide eyed, stopped him as he passed.

  ‘Have you heard? He’s struck again!’

  Before Miller could respond the man was on his way, desperate not to miss getting a look at the body. More people passed him, racing to the scene, and with each one, the rage grew inside him. For the first time, he and the thing that lived inside him were one, a joint force with the same goal in mind. He quickened his pace, knowing time was against him. The police would be on the way and if he were to do as he promised to show Abberline how serious he was, then he knew he must act quickly. He approached Mitre Square, the dark shadows afforded by the surrounding buildings swallowing him. As if God were presenting another opportunity to him, he saw here, waiting by the wall for business to come her way. With the dark thing in his mind on command, Miller was without the caution he would have ordinarily shown. He stalked towards her, blood pounding thick in his temples, heart beating with ferocious tempo. She saw him coming, a frown, a brief flicker of fear. He was ready to strike, and would have done so there and then had he not realised there were people close by who would see him. Miller scrambled to regain control, slowing his pace as he walked towards her. He even managed a smile in order to put her at ease.

  ‘Apologies, I didn’t intend to startle you.’

  ‘I did wonder what you were doing, hiding in the dark.’

  ‘Haven’t you heard?’

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘The Ripper. He’s struck again. I saw you standing here alone and wanted to check you were safe.’

  The woman grimaced, fear in her eyes. ‘He’s struck again? Bloody hell, I thought that business was all over with.’

  Miller looked around, noting that they were at last alone. ‘Yes, it’s not safe on the streets. I hear he’s going to strike again.’

  ‘You hear? And how would you know that?’ the woman said, emitting a short bark of laughter.

  Miller said nothing. He lunged for her, allowing the fury to take charge as he wrestled her to the ground. He cut her throat, the dim sounds of her gargling her last breath driving him on more to complete his task. He transcended then into a fury as if seeing the events through someone else’s eyes. He lifted her skirts as she bled out and the knife slide into the soft flesh of her belly then rip with ease toward the breastbone. The smell of her innards, the warm coppery scent as he went about his work drove him into a frenzy as if he were a shark feeding in bait laden waters. He reached into the cavity, pulling some of the slick innards out and tossing it aside, stabbing at the rest. He looked down at her lying there, the life expired from her. She reminded him of his mother, the way she would lay on the floor and have man after man come in and climb on top of her. The fire inside was further stoked as he hacked at her face with his blade, slicing off the nose, savaging the features so they were unrecognisable. The knife was slick now with blood and he almost lost his grip on it as he cut her in the almost near dark. He stabbed her again and again until he grunted in pain. In his frenzy and with the blood making everything slick, he had cut his own forearms he was stabbing down at her body. The pain receptors exploded in him and told him he had to go. He had ridden his fortune once tonight and had seemingly done the same a second time. He wrapped the blade in its rags and slipped them into his jacket, his hands covered in a mixture of his and the whore’s blood. He couldn’t tell how deeply he had cut himself and only knew the pain was intense. He clambered to his feet and walked quickly, heading away from the mess he had made and hoping to make it home without anyone seeing him. He knew he must be bloody, the whore had bled well and he suspected some of it was on him. He had a way to fix that problem at least. He crossed the street, keeping to the shadows. The people were now focussed on the first kill, and all attention was diverted there. Most we removing in groups towards it, which helped him as he stuck to the shadows and kept himself out of sight. Soon enough, he saw what he was looking for. He hurried to the trough used for feeding horses. The water was cold, but it would suffice, he scooped it up, wiping his face and washing the excess blood from his hands.

  ‘Mr Miller?’

  Miller spun around, startled, spilling water down his front. For a split second, everything froze in place, there were no sounds, no smells, no euphoria at the work he had just done. Just silence. Mary was staring at him.

  ‘Why are you drinking out of there? That’s for the horses.’ It was then she shifted her gaze and saw the blood on his hands. ‘Why do you have blood on you?’

  He couldn’t answer. His brain couldn’t find the words to make a viable reason as to why he was covered in blood that wasn’t the truth. He was dimly aware that it was only a matter of time before she made the connection between him and the murders, and yet each passing second felt as if it had stretched for an hour. By self-preservation or by design, the black thing, still basking in the blood it had spilt, took over.

  ‘I was attacked. Three men. One of them cut me with a knife.’ Miller held out his arm and showed her the deep gash which was still weeping blood. ‘I was just trying to clean it here in this trough.’ He was surprised how easily the words came and how convincing they sounded. More importantly, it seemed Mary believed it too.

  ‘That’s terrible. Did they take anything from you? Money or anything?’

  ‘Just my pride. This is quite a deep wound. I should go to the hospital I think.’

  Mary shook her head. It seemed she had not yet heard the news of the murders which Miller felt was in his favour. ‘No. you’ll have to wait for an age for them to see you. Come with me, I live close, just over at Miller’s Court. I can dress it for you to stop it bleeding at least. Then you c
an get to the hospital.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Miller asked, knowing that going with Mary would be the perfect way to get off the streets amid the mass of activity that would soon fill the streets. ‘I would really appreciate the assistance.’

  ‘Of course, come on, this way.’

  Mary led him away, into the warren of streets away from the violence of the work he had just committed. Miller kept his arm hidden and knew anyone who might see them together would think they were just a couple walking together, there would be no link between him and the whores he had just killed. Even the beast inside him was silent, satisfied with its night’s work. It allowed Miller a clear head and some respite from its constant demands. He allowed her to lead him deeper through the streets, away from where he knew the police would be. She led him to her home, unaware of who he was, what he was capable of, and what he had done.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘It’s not perfect but it’s the best I could do.’

  Miller looked at the makeshift bandage on his arm. He had watched as she cleaned the wound and made the covering from a man’s shirt she pulled out of a drawer. ‘It’s good, really good. Thank you. I hope the owner of the shirt won’t miss it too much.’

  Mary sat on the edge of the bed, the room was tiny, no more than a box and Miller could see every detail of her skin in the light of the fire in the grate. ‘No, that used to belong to Joseph.’

  ‘You live together?’ Miller asked, surprised how much the news she may be unavailable hurt him.

  ‘Not anymore. He moved out again. We can’t seem to avoid arguing over everything.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘There’s nothing for you to be sorry for. It’s not your fault. All I have now is this place, but even that is better than sleeping in a doss or on the streets.’