I Was Jack the Ripper (Part 4)

by Bray, Michael

  She sat beside him on the bed. In the glow of the fire, he couldn’t help but be mesmerised by her beauty.

  Miller knew it was time to raise the subject both of them had so far been avoiding. ‘I want to apologise for my behaviour the last time we spoke. I was the worse for drink and….’

  Mary shrugged. ‘I’ve heard much worse. You should hear some of the things people say to me out on the streets. I know you’re a nice man, Mr Miller. Everybody makes mistakes from time to time. I took no offence.’

  ‘Still, I am ashamed of the way I acted. I…’

  Miller listened for the voice inside his head to see if it objected to what he was about to say, but it was silent, basking in its recent bloodlust. Miller knew it was as good an opportunity as any to come out and say it. ‘What I mean to say is, that I believe you are worth more than this life you currently lead. I would like to take you away from it if of course, you were interested. I-’

  She leaned forward and kissed him. For a Moment, Miller was lost in euphoria, it seemed his answer had arrived. No longer would he be without love. And if he had love then he wouldn’t need to complete the work he had started. He could be happy, he could have a life and learn to forget the torrid past he had endured. They pulled apart, both smiling awkwardly.

  ‘I’ve wanted to do that since we first met,’ Mary said, folding her hands on her lap.

  ‘Yes, so have i. I’ve felt an attraction to you that I cannot explain.’

  ‘Sometimes there are no explanations and things are just meant to be.’

  Miller could feel the black thing inside his mind starting to stir. He knew what it would want to do if it discovered him alone with a whore, with such a perfect opportunity in front of him. Miller stood. ‘For now, I should say goodnight. It is late.’

  ‘Will you see me tomorrow?’

  ‘Of course,’ Miller said, knowing that by then word of his exploits would have reached Mary. He hoped she wouldn’t connect the blood on him with the work he had done. The excuse of being mugged and attacked in the process was a good one, and he hoped it would hold. Dismissing it, he forced a smile. ‘I look forward to us getting to know each other better. Shall I come here tomorrow?’

  ‘No, not here. Meet me in the Ten Bells tomorrow night. Joseph is still paying for this place and if he comes back and finds another man here he’ll put me out on the street. The Bells is better.’

  Miller nodded. It was likely safer too to meet her in a public place considering what he was capable of doing. He walked to the door, opening it to the chilly air. He turned to face her, her beauty enhanced by the flickering firelight. ‘I shall see you tomorrow then.’

  He wanted to kiss her again but decided against it. The thing inside him was stirring and he was as afraid of it as the populace of Whitechapel were afraid of him, an irony which was not entirely lost on him.

  ‘Yes, tomorrow night at the Ten Bells. I look forward to it.’ Without another word, he headed down the narrow passage and was swallowed by the darkness. He made his way home, away from the spoils of his labour that night. He knew by now they would likely have discovered the second body and panic would be escalating. For the first time, there was no joy in that idea. The work he had set himself suddenly seemed unimportant, vile, even. Love, he realised was a strange beast. It had, in a short space of time completely changed his outlook and left him with lots to think about.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘You were having second thoughts.’ Hapgood said as he prepared a new stack of paper. ‘It seems to me you didn’t want to kill anymore.’

  ‘At that moment, I would have agreed with you.’

  Hapgood frowned, his mouth wavering.

  ‘Say whatever it is that is in your mind, Hapgood. I think I have an idea of the line of questioning to come.’

  ‘There are two questions I wish to ask, if I may. One to further prove your story.’

  ‘Surely you know enough now to be sure I speak the truth?’

  ‘Of course, yet this whole evening has been so surreal I sometimes think it cannot possibly be true.’

  ‘If there is something I can do to further convince you, name it. You will be the one to tell it all. The importance of you believing my words are true is vital. Ask your questions so we can move on.’

  Hapgood cleared his throat. ‘You mention the wound you inflicted on yourself in error which Mary dressed for you. I imagine such a wound would be deep and leave a scar.’

  ‘Ah, yes, now I understand.’ Miller said. ‘You wish to see physical evidence. I can oblige your curiosity, Hapgood. Fear not.’ Miller stood and removed his outer jacket, which he folded over the arm of the chair. Without it, Hapgood could see how painfully thin he was. Miller walked to the table where Hapgood sat, removing his cufflink and rolling up his sleeve. ‘It has faded somewhat with age but still quite visible. Go ahead and look, Hapgood.’

  Miller held out a skinny arm. Hapgood leaned closer, heart drumming in his chest as the last shred of doubt as to who Miller was dispersed. Within the tangle of wispy arm hair, the jagged scar on the underside of his left forearm was clearly visible. Thicker at the top and tapering off towards the bottom.

  ‘I was fortunate not to sever an artery. Do you see how it happened?’

  Before he could reply and to his absolute horror, Miller moved, giving a macabre physical performance of what had happened. He balled his left fist as if grabbing something. ‘I was straddling her of course but for the purpose of this, I shall remain standing. I had a hold of the whore’s hair like this at the back of the head. A fistful in my left hand so I could pull it back as I went to work.’

  As Hapgood looked on, mesmerised and horrified in equal measure, Miller then made a stabbing motion with his right hand towards the invisible figure he was holding. He went on, lost in the act.

  ‘I stabbed like this. Over and over. Remember, Hapgood, it was dark, and there was a lot of blood. I suspect in my enthusiasm to cause more damage I sliced down my own arm as I targeted the whore’s face.’

  Miller straightened, breathing heavily at the exertion of activity. It was a perfect example of an old man trying to cling to his youth. ‘And so… you see how it happened.’ Miller said in breathless gasps. He returned to his seat, struggling to catch his breath. He coughed more blood into his handkerchief and Hapgood struggled to take in what had just happened.

  Miller finished coughing and wiped his mouth. ‘Does that satisfy your curiosity?’

  Hapgood nodded. Words would not yet form.

  ‘Good. You said you had a second question to ask of me?’

  Hapgood composed himself, forcing the horror to the back of his mind. ‘Yes, I do. I don’t quite understand what happened. You talk of love and changing your ways, you talk of a fresh start and a chance at life with a woman who felt the same way as you, and yet less than a month later she would also be dead and in the most brutal of circumstances. I struggle to see how things could have changed so quickly.’

  Miller considered for a moment and then stood. He walked to the window, looking out into the night, his back to Hapgood.

  He spoke as he stared out into the street. ‘I understand your confusion. Even now, so many years later it confuses me equally as much. It is a situation I have thought about every day of my existence and still have no satisfying resolution for other than my original reason for starting my work was correct.’

  ‘The things you did to her, the violence of the attack... How could you go from love to hatred in such a short period of time?’

  Miller stared out of the window. Across the street, an alley cat stalked through the sleet in search of food. ‘As you will soon hear, something happened which forced my hand as soon as the very next day. I wonder, Hapgood, have you ever felt betrayal? Have you ever experienced an event so unexpected and devastating that it renders you completely shocked?’

  ‘Before this night, no, Mr Miller. That all changed when you came to my door, so I think I can identify with the type of feeli
ng you describe.’

  ‘Ahh, you think so, but when it concerns love and a woman who was supposed to be the one chance to put things right, then before your eyes that is proved to be another lie… then your outlook would be different.’

  Miller watched the alley cat disappear into the dark, leaving the street empty, yet he didn’t turn around. He continued to stare out of the window, cheeks wet with tears.

  ‘This is your story, Mr Miller, I am simply making a record of it. Feel free to tell me what happened in your own time.’

  ‘Betrayal, Hapgood. Betrayal in the worst possible way. First, it was my mother who betrayed my intentions to protect her. Then later it was Lucy who betrayed me when all I ever wanted was to love her. And then Mary, on the very next morning despite the connection I know we both felt, betrayed me. Tell me, how many times can a man be dealt such a blow and be expected to live with it?’

  ‘I understand the pain, truly I do. What I fail to understand is how the answer you concluded to fix it was brutality. There can be no sane reasoning given for what you did to that woman. There are so many things still unanswered. Why the sudden change? Why was her murder so much more brutal than the rest and if the betrayal you speak of was the very next morning, who the delay before acting on your feelings? Your story is raising many questions, Mr Miller.’

  Miller took his blood spattered handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed his eyes, wiping away the tears. Composed once more, he returned to his seat by the fire.

  ‘You are right, of course. There are many questions to which the answers will soon become apparent. Just know that when I saw her that following morning, when once again my dreams of happiness were crushed beyond all hope, it was clear to me what must happen and what I must do.’

  ‘You seem reluctant to discuss this part of the story.’

  Miller adjusted his position, glancing over at Hapgood. ‘Even time, I’m afraid, has not eased the betrayal I felt. It burns as strong as ever and know that if not for my body being too broken to continue my work, I would still be on the streets slaying whores for their vile misuse of their bodies.’

  Silence befell the room and even with the fire blazing, Hapgood felt a chill brush down his spine at the ferocity in his guest’s voice. He was reluctant to ask, but also desperate to hear more of the story. For better or worse, it had utterly transfixed him and drawn him in. ‘Please, I would like to know what happened. I feel this could be a vital section of your tale, Mr Miller. If you wish me to write a true account of your life, then it is imperative you leave nothing unsaid.’

  ‘Yes, you are correct,’ Miller said, now back to the calm and considered persona he had portrayed for most of the night. ‘I shall tell it, and then perhaps even you may understand why I struck next with such ferocity.’

  Hapgood made no reply. He knew he would never understand the actions of such a cold and calculated murderer, but was desperate to hear more. He waited in silence, pen ready to write.

  Miller composed himself, ready to tell the rest. ‘As you recall, I left Miller’s court, which, incidentally you will realise is the same as the name I have given you as my own. That, you will learn was no coincidence. That hovel would be my court, and even though Miller is not my true name, justice was served there at my hand.’ He glanced at Hapgood who squirmed in his seat at the vile smile spreading across the lips of his guest. ‘However, I digress. We will reach that time soon enough. We will pick up the story where we left it. Mary and I had kissed for the first time and I was giving serious thought to stopping my work and trying for a chance at love and true happiness. I returned to my lodgings, giddy with excitement at the future, the deaths of the two whores secondary and almost forgotten initially. I was far too excited to sleep, so after cleaning myself of the blood residue still on my clothes and body, paced the house thinking of scenarios where Mary and I could enjoy our lives together, things we could do, places we could go. I would ask her to leave London with me, to go somewhere new away from the squalor and the city where we both might start again. Even as I thought of happiness, the thing inside me was rousing, perhaps recovering from the initial bloodlust. It wanted us to go back to see our work, to hear the people and how they feared the work we had done. Of course, with Abberline’s warning still fresh in my mind I was reluctant, yet I also felt something else. A sense of pride, perhaps. I wanted to see him and know his reaction to what I had done, so I decided we would go and look. We found him where I had left the second whore, the one I had savaged. I saw Godley first, and couldn’t see the inspector initially due to the size of the crowd. I took up position across the street, basking in the fear as people talked about what I had done. Even then, my mind was drifting back to Mary and our future together. The work I had done seemed less important than her, and I was, at that point, convinced that I had killed my final whore. There would be no more. That was when I saw him, Abberline, and it was also when my heart exploded, Hapgood. I remember it well, I am certain even now that for a moment, it stopped beating. She was with him. Mary. The two of them speaking by the Yard entrance. I couldn’t hear them of course but it was clear what the subject matter was. I remember looking down at my arm that she had so carefully bandaged and knew what had happened. Later, upon finding out about the work I had done, she had understood the true reason I was bleeding and trying desperately to clean myself at that horse trough.’

  Miller sneered, gazing at the fire. ‘I should have known someone like me would never find happiness. It was clear she had told Abberline about our encounter, and then he, in turn, would come looking for me. If you want to know the reasons for what came next, Hapgood, then know that they were born at that very moment.’

  ‘No.’

  Miller looked over to Hapgood, confused as the writer left his desk and crossed the room.

  ‘I don’t think that’s what happened at all.’ he said as he went to his mountain of research and notes on his Abberline book.

  ‘I believe it is my story to tell, Hapgood. How could you possibly know?’

  Hapgood found what he was looking for, an old journal. He started to flick through it. ‘I don’t know anything that is correct. But something I read in Abberline’s journals is too close to your recollection to be a coincidence. Here it is.’

  Hapgood turned to Miller, who looked on, still confused. ‘I appreciate this is your story, Mr Miller, yet I feel obliged at this stage to read this to you. I was convinced I was right before and upon reading again now I am utterly sure. This entry from Abberline’s journal tells of that morning too, when he was there at the place where Eddowes was murdered.’

  ‘I have no interest in what the inspector had to say. Betrayal or not, he did not catch me.’

  ‘Please, Mr Miller, allow me to indulge myself and read this to you. You may find it changes everything.’

  ‘Then read it, Hapgood. Tell me what it is you think is so important I know.’

  Hapgood took a deep breath, unsure how what he was about to say would be received. He started to read, afraid of how Miller would react when it was done.

  END OF PART FOUR

  In Part Five: A devastating revelation changes everything, and as Miller recalls the chain of events which led to his most brutal murder yet, we learn that rather than the end of the story, there is a whole new chapter yet to be told…..