▶Welcome to Whitechapel
We open to a stately-looking study. A fireplace crackles within a mahogany mantelpiece, giving the room a warm, cosy feeling. Sitting in a plush-looking leather armchair is Danny B, a book open on his lap. He smiles an empty smile directly at the camera.
“Come one, and all. I shan't keep you waiting long. Today I wish to take us all out of reality and into a story. Spinning a tale within fiction removes the restraints of reality and allows me to tell the story I actually want. So sit back and relax. I'm going to take you back to the year 1888 and tell you a story about a Detective and an insufferable Lady who always finds a way to have her nose in everything. Please note that all characters in this story are fictional, regardless of any similarities to people living or dead. Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Whitechapel.”
**********
THE SCENE
Dusk had fully crept in, leaving the narrow cobbled streets shrouded in early nightfall. The street was unusually busy for such a nondescript part of the world’s most famous city. Policemen in tall hats redirected the populace, shooing them away from the centre of the alleyway and the centre of all the commotion. Good thing too, as the sight was not one for innocent eyes. Lying in the middle of the circle of onlookers was the corpse of a young woman, her abdomen split from chest to navel, her entrails left lying neatly next to her. This visage was causing numerous members of law enforcement present to turn up their noses, but one detective had his attention on another, oft-overlooked detail. She was pale, almost grey. A symptom consistent with a calling card he had seen all too often recently. This woman, while her heart was still beating, had been relieved of her entire supply of blood. The detective scowled as he watched his colleagues work, collecting samples and talking to those at the scene. This case had exploded into something that would generate headlines for years to come. Four women, all seemingly of a lower class, left for dead in forgotten Whitechapel alleys, each of them having been surgically dissected in one way or another. The killer had remained elusive. The Detective had deduced early that only one person was responsible, due to the precise nature of each attack. This was no copycat; this, once again, was the real article. He was sure tomorrow's inflammatory headline was only going to cause further panic.
As if his mood couldn’t deteriorate further, a familiar voice reached his ears. He looked up from the scene, his scowl deepening. Pushing past the barrier of enforcement officers was a local noblewoman and complete busybody who had shown a little too much interest in these cases for the Detective's liking. Born into high society, the Lady further cemented her place when she married an Australian Nobleman. The Lord wasn’t known for being all that present these days, regularly off on his dalliances, leaving London for long stretches at a time. This left the Lady spending her time mostly interfering in matters she had no reason to stick her nose in, much to the Detective's chagrin. When she had arrived at the first murder, he had protested her presence, but apparently being close personal friends with both Police Chief Rishel and Mayor Mia had its privileges. One of which seemed to allow her presence at matters that didn't concern her. The Detective’s mood only worsened as he spotted her cousin, the Esquire, trotting along behind her. A weedy-looking man who bore little to no resemblance to his cousin, he always seemed to be within a few feet of Lady whenever she appeared. Some in the community had likened him to a vampire, due to his pale skin and awkward behaviour patterns. The Detective found this likening laughable. He wasn’t a creature of the night; he was a whipping boy with an unhealthy obsession.
“Detective.” She spoke with poise as she approached him, seemingly ignoring his hostile demeanour. “Has it really happened again?” The Detective looked right past the irritating presence before him, noting that the Esquire seemed to be scribbling something in a notebook. As always, he kept his head down, avoiding eye contact.
“I’m sorry to say that it has. There is no doubt this is the work of the same person.” The Detective answered, his gruff voice betraying his carefully chosen words.
“I find it interesting you don’t state that the killer is a man. Are you suggesting a woman could be behind this?"
“I think it foolish to assume only man capable of such violence.” He responded, not looking at her. One of the constables was trying to get his attention from across the circle of people, but he didn’t dare leave the Lady unattended. He didn’t trust her.
“And you are still no closer to finding who is behind it all?” She began again. He hated that sweetness in her voice. It fooled everyone else, but he heard the malice behind it. The intonation, the accusation. Made him sick.
“We have leads, but it seems we spend too much time answering asinine questions to follow them properly.” He snapped, not even trying to cover his annoyance at her presence. He gained his composure quickly enough to turn to her and continue. “You know, M’Lady, I recently spoke to Miss Flair. I recall telling you I hadn’t heard from her after I had extended an invitation for her to join me for a private engagement. Well, she returned to London recently. I am sure she was mistaken, but she seemed to be under the impression that the Chief had warned her to stay away for a little while. I couldn’t possibly believe she would have such an idea planted in her head.” He finished, smirking a little as he watched her eyes narrow. Miss Flair and The Lady were known for not exactly getting along, and the last time they had come face to face, Miss Flair had quite embarrassed her rival. A sight the Detective would not soon forget.
“Isn’t that interesting, and tell me, Mr King, has he been heard…”
“Mr King has nothing to do with my investigations. I believe he returned home; nothing more to it.” The Detective interjected, seeing her play coming. The Esquire continued scribbling away behind her, his pen wearing a hole through the paper.
“You know, M’Lady, I have never asked you how you always seem to get word of these incidents so quickly. I presume a Lady of your stature isn’t simply waiting on the streets for news of catastrophes.
“I just so happened to be having tea with the Mayor when word reached her. You know I am close with the Mayor, and she understands that I care about this city as much as she does."
“I know she does. Enough to keep handing out special treatment to her favourites and ignoring those of us who actually make a difference. If you will excuse me, M’Lady, I have some work to be doing.” He stepped away, denying her a chance to respond. He quickly tapped a uniform on the shoulder, telling the beat cop to keep an eye on the Lady. The Detective slipped around the gathered people to converse with the officer who had attempted to get his attention. The officers had completed their initial questioning, and to no one’s surprise, no one saw anything. The Detective begrudgingly took the stack of papers that contained the witness statements. He instructed the officers to disperse all non-essential personnel, including the Lady and her freaky family member, to allow the Coroner to do their job.
The officers began to do so. The Detective retrieved a blank page and pen from one of them and scribbled an address. He walked back to the Lady and shoved it forcibly into her hand.
“I would like to formally question you. Due to your… personal relationships… I would like to do this away from the station. This is my address. Please come by in a couple of hours. I am sure you have nothing to hide, but you may be able to provide some insight. Do not be late.” He didn’t allow her a chance to respond, stepping away immediately and climbing into a carriage that would take him away from the scene.
THE STORY
The sun had fully set over the smoky city as a knock rang through the door of the Detective’s study. A creak followed as a handsome young man in immaculate dress stepped in.
“The Lady is here to see you.” He spoke with a Mediterranean twang that betrayed his stiff upper-lip personality.
“Very well. Thank you, Giovanni.” The detective set down his drink before striding past the Butler. To his surprise, the Lady sat alone. She looked immaculate, which came as no shock.
“M'Lady. Thank you for coming. Can I get you a drink?”
“I think I will pass on this occasion. Please do not let that stop you.” She responded sweetly, looking around the room. The Detective instead slipped into the chair opposite her.
“So, this was a surprise. How does a detective afford to live in a home such as this?” She asked, barely concealing her surprise.
“I am sure my humble home is nothing compared with your manor, my Lady, but to answer your question, a detective does not. A family heir does.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
“Some of us fulfil the expectations of our birth; some of us find more purpose in what we do rather than what we are.”
“You mean who you are.”
“Something like that. Regardless, I am no Lord; I have no title. I have a job. That is why I have called you here. However, I must express my own surprise first. You seem to have come alone. I wasn’t aware your cousin could actually leave your side.”
“We received word that my husband is coming home this evening; he stayed back to greet the Lord.” She replied coolly, not looking at the Detective. Ignoring the odd behaviour, he launched right into why he had called her to his home.
“You have ears around the city that I couldn’t ever dream of. The cases aren’t solved. The city is starting to panic. What do you know?” He asked bluntly.
She considered the question, finally fixing the Detective with an unblinking stare. He could see her running through scenarios in her mind. Finally, she seemed to settle on her angle, fixing him with that sweet fake smile.
“Aren’t you supposed to be the Detective? What can I tell you that you don’t already know?” She asked, knowing exactly what she was doing.
“Miss...”
“I do beg your pardon? Miss?” Finally, a real reaction.
“Does your title matter that much to you? This is the real world with real consequences. Does the perception of who you are matter that much?”
“I expect proper decorum.”
“And I expect someone who has her nose up the ass of the two most important political players in the city to be more useful.”
“What has my friendships…”
“Do not insult me. You are not a person who keeps friendships. You keep pawns upon your chessboard. A board upon which you believe you are the Queen."
“I am sorry to hear that the conversation is headed this way. I must say I feel I am wasting my time.” Her voice carried a note of bitterness.
“You’re wasting your time? Strange, I find that you and your family have made it a personal mission to waste my time. You, in particular, have interjected yourself into every aspect of my life in recent memory. How many opportunities have been handed to you, one who has never earned anything, instead of me, who has earned everything?” He spoke with a viciousness that caught her off guard. “Yet, for all of your machinations, the answers you seek evade you.”
“Didn’t you ask me here to help you do your job?” She interrupted with a triumphant sneer.
“See, you miss everything. I have the answer. I always did. That is not what you are doing here this evening.” He watched as her eyes flicked over her shoulder to where the Esquire would normally be.
“You know who the Ripper is?” She asked incredulously, disbelieving the words coming from his mouth.
“I have always known, ever since the first kill. Let’s lay out the facts. Lower-class women who had a habit of spreading a little too much gossip, cut down in the darkness, just out of sight, left in a distinctive pattern to attract the attention of the city’s most important.” He drawled, fixing her with an unblinking stare.
“You think I had something to do with this? She snapped, eyes widening. He let out an unnatural laugh, a sound that hauntingly filled the cavernous reception room.
“You? You? Really? You’re a gnat. A buzzard. I don’t care what opportunities and privileges you are handed; you are not worth the effort you think you are. You wouldn’t have what it takes. You’re average. Mediocre. A waste of my time.” He continued calmly. The words hung in the air. He watched her eyes flicker during the pregnant pause, the cogs in her mind whirring.
“You. It was you all along?”
“You have always underestimated me, you and your little friends in high places. I just wanted to live my life by the night, but people like you make sure that isn’t an option.”
“By the night… shit. The blood… You aren’t?”
“I am, I’m afraid. Don’t all those silly rumours about your incestuous cousin seem a little mad now?”
“There was no evidence of…”
“You read too many stories, M’Lady. Now, I believe you have probably ascertained why I called you here, and why I ensured you would come alone. You probably shouldn’t have made it such public knowledge how jealous of your husband the Esquire is. Now. I believe our time has come to a close, Miss. You have challenged me one too many times, but you made one fundamental mistake. I will die before I quit, and unfortunately for you, that is no longer possible.”
He rose from his seat, descending on the Lady. Whatever it was that she saw in his eyes transfixed her, leaving her unable to move a muscle. She tried to scream, to flail, to do anything, but as the colour drained from her face, as her eyes glossed over, she realised once and for all there was nothing anyone could do to stop this demon. His reign of blood would last forever.
**********
The embers were low as Danny closed the book and rested it upon his crossed leg.
“The moral is simple, Calednoia. Once and for all, this ends at Crossing Lines. This thing between us should never have been, but no angel is watching over you now. This time, I show you what happens when the best version of The Ripper stands across from you. Gordy King faced me when I barely cared, and I ended his career. I honestly hope you never quit, because I don’t want to be stopped. You mistakenly thought you could walk into my world and leave with your smug little head held high. I don’t plan on forgiving that mistake. I don’t care what comes next. I’m dragging you to hell with me. Goodnight, Cali. May the world mourn you for the person you tried to be.