In the end, he decided there was nothing more he could do about the men tonight. He finished off his brandy and headed to bed.
He just hoped they wouldn’t come back.
What he didn’t know was that if the men hadn’t shown up, five minutes later he would have seen Jack appear, looking for Liz Stride’s items. As it was, Jack appeared after Phillips had left and saw the blood on the floor. Jack was bemused.
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE
London, England – October 1888
The courtyard was empty and the darkness was thick. Not thick enough, however, to suppress the surprised scream of a woman.
The man came up behind her and placed his hand over her mouth. He was not quick enough as a scream escaped her lips but he remedied a second chance at the vocal alarm with a blow to the side of her head. The strike was not intended to be gentle and she went down to the ground. He wasted no time in following her there.
She was not sure of his intentions. Would he simply rob her or was he after more than that? She knew if he wanted her body, he was strong enough to take that from her. At that point, the thought that she would escape alive still lived within her. Then she saw the knife.
Just at the moment that the knife was pulled from his pocket, the moon slipped from behind the dense midnight clouds. It was as if a single ray of moonlight shown down on nothing in the area but the knife in his hand, causing a glint that refracted into her frightened eyes. The moonlight gave away the fear that was locked within her.
He knew she was afraid – he could feel it emanating from her – but until that point he could not get the full effect. He saw the complete terror she felt in the moment and it excited him. It was almost sexual in the way he was aroused but he did not intend to violate her in that way. It would not be his body but his blade that tortured her.
He paused for just another moment to enjoy her dread before placing the knife against her throat and pushing. The blade entered her skin as easily as an egg shatters between two bricks. Her blood sprayed across his face and dripped into his mouth and in that moment, he became a god. He had the power over life and death. He could create life by letting her live and he could create death. The knife that sawed into her sealed that decision.
He accepted her blood as an offering to the god that he had become. The blood renewed his sense of being just. He had never felt so scrupulous. He was ridding the world of those who dared to stand in his way of creating history.
He slid his knife slowly across her neck, severing her windpipe and ended the gash at her artery. He was careful to only nick the artery at the end of that stroke of genius. With her windpipe cut, she could not call out and he finally removed his hand from her mouth. It was almost a game at that point – to watch her mouth move in wrenching pain but with no sound in the still night.
She reached up and grabbed at her neck, trying in a state of shock to stop what had happened. He nearly laughed at her futility. Only his seriousness with himself as the sculptor of a masterpiece stopped the laughter before it came. Because her artery was only partially cut, she bled but bled slowly. He sat on top of her and watched her the full minute and-a-half it took her to die.
When he was done, he returned to where he had left Jasper in the alley. Jasper had insisted that Jack bring him the next time he traveled. After much debate, Jack reluctantly agreed.
The stench of the time hit Jasper the instant they arrived. “Will you stop whining?” Jack ordered at Jasper’s squirming. “You’re in London. You should feel right at home.”
“I don’t know how you’ve stood the stench this many times.”
“I guess you get used to it.”
“Maybe. So where are we exactly?” Jasper asked.
“We’re on Goulston Street. Just down the street across from Miller’s Court is where Mary will be murdered.”
Jasper took a moment to take in the view. He had seen old pictures of London but they were generally taken of the aristocracy in London and on their side of town. He had seen a small number of photos of the East End but the photos paled in comparison to the experience.
They walked together down Goulston Street until they reached the location at which the murder would occur. “Now what do we…?” Jasper started to ask but was stopped short. He felt something collide with his head; then, he blacked out.
Jack felt a pang of regret as he picked up the wooden axe handle. With Jasper’s back turned to him, he raised the handle and brought it down hard on Jasper’s head. The handle was solid oak and Jasper collapsed onto the wet ground; his face pressed into the filth scattered upon the street.
Jack grabbed Jasper under his arms and dragged him into a small alley. He hid him behind some broken wooden boxes and arranged him in such a way that if anyone came by, they would think that he had become drunk and passed out.
That done, Jack walked across the street to the home of Mary Jane Kelly. He knocked on her door and waited for her to answer. She answered and saw him with money in his hand. The message was clear – that he would accept her body in exchange for his coin. She came towards him, not knowing that by the
