Caveat: some of this is disjointed, as I sometimes write in stream of consciousness. Critique welcome.



The plot is this...

Everyone knows the history of the Whitechapel murders of the autumn of 1888. Some madman goes off and hacks up a bunch of prostitutes in the streets of East London. He goes as far as to taunt the police and the neighborhood society's chairman to find him. the day of the Lord Mayor's parade dawns, and London finds his last work to be the brutal dehumanization of the youngest of his victims, in her own home. And then he vanishes. Without any true leads, her inquiry is closed in a few days, and the case goes totally cold...and stays cold and speculated to this day.

What I would like to explore is the possible impetus behind the brutality of that murder, an exploration of Mary's time in London, her possible connections to her killer, and the general underworld of London at that time itself.

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The autumn of 1888 in London England saw the inhabitants of the city living in fear. A madman was on the loose, terrorizing the East End and killing prostitutes, leaving the Metropolitan and City Police with the pieces....quite literally.

On the day of the Lord Mayor's parade, the "Ripper" strikes for the final time, leaving more questions than answers for the people. A mysterious gentleman, seen by many in Whitechapel during the murders is known to the Metropolitan Police, and let to pass every day in the inner workings of the ongoing investigation to catch the meanest serial killer London had ever seen.

Who is he? What does he want? Will he strike again? Is this just the beginning, or will the police convict him for his misdeeds?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pitch Black

Footsteps in the dark
On wet streets
Gaslight from a corner lamp
News of the crier
Doesn't quite sink in

She carries on down the street
Must earn the doss-money for the night
Or it's off to sleep off the gin in Trafalgar Square
And if the coppers find her
It's off to Bishopsgate

Please sir
The doss-money's gone into the gin
But it's the only way to keep warm
You see
It's just business as usual

Spitalfields Market to Stratford
Is a mere few miles
To hawk a ware
Berner Street to Miller's Court
Is a mere few blocks
To hawk a body

Isn't it funny, they think me a doctor now...

...

Position of body

The body was lying naked in the middle of the bed, the shoulders flat, but the axis of the body inclined to the left side of the bed. The head was turned on the left cheek. The left arm was close to the body with the forearm flexed at a right angle & lying across the abdomen. the right arm was slightly abducted from the body & rested on the mattress, the elbow bent & the forearm supine with the fingers clenched. The legs were wide apart, the left thigh at right angles to the trunk & the right forming an obtuse angle with the pubes.
The whole of the surface of the abdomen & thighs was removed & the abdominal Cavity emptied of its viscera. The breasts were cut off, the arms mutilated by several jagged wounds & the face hacked beyond recognition of the features. The tissues of the neck were severed all round down to the bone.
The viscera were found in various parts viz: the uterus & Kidneys with one breast under the head, the other breast by the Rt foot, the Liver between the feet, the intestines by the right side & the spleen by the left side of the body. The flaps removed from the abdomen and thighs were on a table.
The bed clothing at the right corner was saturated with blood, & on the floor beneath was a pool of blood covering about 2 feet square. The wall by the right side of the bed & in a line with the neck was marked by blood which had struck it in a number of separate splashes.
Postmortem examination
The face was gashed in all directions the nose cheeks, eyebrows and ears being partly removed. The lips were blanched & cut by several incisions running obliquely down to the chin. There were also numerous cuts extending irregularly across all the features.
The neck was cut through the skin & other tissues right down to the vertebrae the 5th & 6th being deeply notched. The skin cuts in the front of the neck showed distinct ecchymosis.
The air passage was cut at the lower part of the larynx through the cricoid cartilage.
Both breasts were removed by more or less circular incisions, the muscles down to the ribs being attached to the breasts. The intercostals between the 4th, 5th & 6th ribs were cut through & the contents of the thorax visible through the openings.
The skin & tissues of the abdomen from the costal arch to the pubes were removed in three large flaps. The right thigh was denuded in front to the bone, the flap of skin, including the external organs of generation & part of the right buttock. The left thigh was stripped of skin, fascia & muscles as far as the knee.
The left calf showed a long gash through skin & tissues to the deep muscles & reaching from the knee to 5 ins above the ankle.
Both arms & forearms had extensive & jagged wounds.
The right thumb showed a small superficial incision about 1 in long, with extravasation of blood in the skin & there were several abrasions on the back of the hand moreover showing the same condition.
On opening the thorax it was found that the right lung was minimally adherent by old firm adhesions. The lower part of the lung was broken & torn away.
The left lung was intact: it was adherent at the apex & there were a few adhesions over the side. In the substances of the lung were several nodules of consolidation.
The Pericardium was open below & the Heart absent.
In the abdominal cavity was some partially digested food of fish & potatoes & similar food was found in the remains of the stomach attached to the intestines.

...

“Poor unfortunate girl. Something should be done about them, really.” The gentleman looked down dispassionately at the mutilated body on the table before him.

Wiping his freshly cleaned hands on a linen towel, Dr. Bond turned back to the gentleman, nodding. “This one is too far gone, I’m afraid. The Neighborhood societies seem to be doing a great deal to clean up the streets, but I fear the unfortunates are not part of the great plan they have…” The surgeon sighed, looking down at what once was a face. “The inquest will be in a few days. Will you be there?”

“The Lord gives….and the Lord takes away…” the gentleman murmured softly, before looking up to catch the coroner’s eye. “Hmm? Yes….I believe I shall, if I can get away. Shall I take your report to the office? It is on the way…”

“Ah, good man. Let me sign the report and you shall have it. I believe the Inspector is collecting the evidence. There isn’t much left to do here…and we shall be finished soon enough. You need not stay…” Dr. Bond assured the man, as he stepped away from the mortuary table and signed the report. His assistant penned the woman’s death certificate into the ledger kept at a secluded desk, and tried not to look as sick as he felt.

Slipping the report into an inner pocket of his great coat, folded once, the gentleman’s gaze rested once more on the obliterated face of the now nameless victim, the very latest to baffle the London police force. Giving the body a curt, albeit respectful nod, he turned and walked through the door of the small cottage and into the dreary drizzle of the November afternoon.

The crunch of gravel under the man’s feet as he strode down the narrow walk made a cacophonous racket at his quick step. He nodded curtly to others on the street as they passed, barely noticing their faces. He was sure he could return to his business as soon as he delivered the report.

Damn them. They would surely know now. There were few in the city as skilled with a knife as he was, and there was little chance he could put them off. He would swing for sure.

The whore had led him on a merry chase, and what of the few that had gotten in his way? Surely there was nothing to be done. The less of them there were wandering the stinking streets at night, the less anyone would have any worry over their sorry condition. Filth and drink and nightly pursuits filtered away, and there would be a shining city once more. But for now, the denizens of the underworld would have to wait…with this, the police would surely be able to name him…Monro the most likely of all.

He would have to make arrangements. Keep the attention off himself, find a suspect to implicate. Foreign, illiterate would do nicely….better to keep the man unawares. The wonderful thing about these pauper streets…most didn’t know what happened from day to day without a glass of gin under their noses. And that served a purpose of its own. Anonymity.

+

The clamor of [Scotland Yard] waxed and waned around him as he strode through the chaos. Like a newspaper office, but rather more morbid at times…in times like these. He made his way to the Inspector’s desk and laid the report on the cluttered desk, and turned to leave. Of all those there, he would be the most noticed, the best dressed, but he seemed just another ant in the nest…piled in by young men trying their best to make it in the world of justice.

Justice. They knew not the meaning of the word. Justice would mean the eradication of all unsavories from the face of London. In that regard, he was doing them all a favor. He did not understand the uproar the deaths had caused. For on the one hand the very same people that lamented the deaths had been loud voices complaining of the whores taking up their breathing and living space. Was it, then, not followed by someone who took the problem to heart…and removed the offenders?

And would anyone remember their faces a month from now? Or a year? Not likely. London was a bigger place than to mourn for its whores. And there were always more to follow in their places…

A small smile quirked the edges of his lips as he found his way to the stairs