Phillips had gained the ability to travel in time. He knew that and he knew that the others knew it as well. None of them, himself included, were sure when Phillips had gained that ability. The only way to be safe was to go back when Phillips was working the Ripper case. He knew if Phillips had the ability to travel during that time, he would have followed Jack’s patterns, killed Jack and the investigation would have been closed. That led him to the conclusion that Phillips would be unaware of time travel during the murders of Jack the Ripper and that would be the best time for him to be approached by the others to conclude his life.
With one final inhale, he disappeared from the shadows of the trench. It was as if he had never been there.
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR
London, England – October 1888
Phillips sorted through the personal belongings of Liz Stride. The murder scene had been horrific and he shuddered at the recollection. Her items were spread out across the table so he could take another look.
He turned his back only for a moment, walking across the filing room to get a pencil and piece of paper from the desk but when he turned back around, he saw something he was not expecting: one moment, there was only a table with the belongings of Liz; the next moment, two men appeared next to the table. Phillips didn’t recognize either of them.
Phillips started forward but as he did, another man appeared. The two men were obviously not expecting him.
Phillips watched as the new man raised his hand and in the dim light of the room, metal glinted. The man had a blade.
The man drove his hands forward twice; Phillips had never seen anyone move that fast. The room exploded with blood as the man’s blade pierced the throat of the white-haired man. He fell to the floor and his warm blood began spreading across the floorboards.
The man then turned on the remaining man. With his blade hand he swung at the remaining man. (Blood from the dead white-haired man splattered on the table as the blade moved through the air.) The remaining man threw up his forearm, intercepting the blow before the blade could strike.
The two men wrestled for possession as Phillips watched, stunned. Only moments before the room had been quiet and still; now it bustled with rage.
Then, the companion of the white-haired man disappeared.
The man with the blade stepped back in surprise before turning to look at Phillips. Phillips wasn’t sure of the man’s intentions and he reached for the wooden club he kept in the room with him (he was a man who put away criminals after all and one could never be too careful).
The man looked at Phillips and smiled. Then, he reached down and touched the corpse and both of them disappeared.
Phillips stood motionless for quite some time. He was not sure what he had just seen. He knew there must be some sort of rational explanation but he couldn’t think of an explanation at that moment. He tried lying to himself that it had all been an illusion but the blood on the floor and table demonstrated that it was not.
He walked back over to the table, nervous as he walked. He reached the table and looked down at the items, just trying to focus on something. Then, the world began to spin. He leaned forward, supporting himself on the table.
The moment caught up with him and he retched until his sides and throat hurt.
When he was done, Phillips wiped his mouth and absentmindedly picked up the lantern that had illuminated the scene. The lantern was something real. Something he could literally touch and feel. He needed that at the moment.
He turned his attention back to the items of Liz Stride. Blood now decorated some of them and he decided he was not in much of a state of mind to do anything further. He placed the items back in their envelope and blew out the lantern.
On his way out of the police station, he told one of the officers that he had spilled a jar of blood from a previous autopsy (he didn’t mention the vomit). The officer assured Phillips that he would see to it that it was cleaned. Phillips thanked the man and exited the station through the rear.
He wandered his way home, deep in thought. He had lived in the same home in Whitechapel for many years and knew the journey quite well. That was fortunate for him as he was so lost in contemplation of what had happened that he didn’t realize he was home until he arrived at his door. How did I get here? he asked himself as an afterthought.
After dinner, he stoked the fire and sat down with a drink in his favorite chair. His wife, Eliza, had already gone to bed for the evening. She wasn’t overly tired but could tell something was bothering her husband. She had seen him that way many times and found it was always best to just leave him alone.
Phillips stared into the fire and sipped his brandy as he considered what he had seen. The men were strangely dressed. Their clothing reflected a style with which he was unfamiliar.
They appeared right in front of him. He thought long and hard on that aspect. He was trying to think of something rational so that he could rule out that he was losing his mind. It was dark, he said to himself. Perhaps they slipped in among the shadows. The moment was certainly shocking. Perhaps in my surprise I did not notice them leaving. The mind can play tricks at night.
He told himself this many time before he
