Stalking Jack the Ripper

Father walked over to the contraption, then lifted one of the tubes carrying the black substance. He followed the tube around the table, halting when he got close to Mother. In that moment I saw an entirely new side of my father. Here before us was a man who seemed as if he’d been fighting a battle for years and had just realized it was close to coming to an end. He sucked in a deep breath and turned his attention back on me, his gaze locked onto my arm restraints. “How could you do this, Son?”

  It disturbed me how still we all were. Nathaniel seemed to be stuck to the floor, unable to move his feet even the slightest inch, while Father shifted and quietly stared at his wife with growing horror and denial.

  Without turning around again, Father said, “Untie your sister. Now.”

  “But Father, I’m so close to waking Mother…” Nathaniel squeezed his eyes shut at the glare Father shot at him. “Very well, then.”

  Finally, my brother faced me, jaw clenched and eyes still defiant. I followed his gaze taking in my bound wrists and tear-stained cheeks. He nodded curtly. Once. The heavy charge electrifying the room seemed to build to a crescendo.

  For a few tense seconds he glanced between the syringe and our mother, his chest rapidly rising and falling to the same manic beat of the steam-powered heart.

  “Very well.” He peeled his own fingers away from the syringe, then set it on the table. A sob broke out of my chest and he turned to me once again. I steeled myself against my fear as he slowly stepped closer, mumbling.

  “Be quick about it,” Father barked.

  Nathaniel took a deep breath, then nodded again, as if comforting himself about something before finally loosening the ropes at my wrists.

  I stared at my brother, but he simply hung his head. Whispered voices cried, “Run! Run!” but I couldn’t force my feet toward the stairs.

  Father lifted a lock of Mother’s hair, his expression wiped clean of all emotion except for one: disgust. “I’ve never claimed to have succeeded in taking care of either of you. As parents, we only do what we think is best. Even if we fail miserably at our duty.”

  Tears collected in the corners of his eyes as he continued staring at my mother’s ruined face. I swallowed, unsure of where to go from here. It seemed my family relationships were not at all what they appeared to be. Nathaniel moved closer to our father and gazed down at Mother. It was too much. I had to leave this place.

  Monsters were supposed to be scary and ugly. They weren’t supposed to hide behind friendly smiles and well-trimmed hair. Goodness, twisted as it might be, was not meant to be locked away in an icy heart and anxious exterior.

  Grief was not supposed to hide guilt of wrongdoing.

  In what sort of world could such vast dichotomies co-exist? I longed for the comfort of a scalpel between my fingertips, and the scent of formalin crisp in the air. I wanted a cadaver that was in need of forensic study to clear my mind.

  My attention strayed back to my mother. Perhaps I should focus on healing the living from now on. I’d seen enough death to last ten thousand lifetimes. Maybe that’s precisely why Uncle and Thomas started experimenting with organ transplants.

  Thomas. With a sudden jolt, I realized how much I loved him and needed to be with him. He was the only truth left in the world I understood.

  “Where do you think you’re running off to?” Father asked, a demanding edge in his tone.

  Even now, in the face of this sinister lab and all that was revealed, he wanted to protect me from the outside world. He was too mad to see this place was exactly the kind of thing he’d been keeping me from all my life.

  A disease much worse than pox or cholera or scarlet fever lived here.

  Violence and cruelty were something else entirely.

  “I’m going upstairs, and I’m locking Nathaniel in here,” I said, sparing my brother one last glance as he petted Mother’s hair. “Then I’m paying Scotland Yard a visit. It’s time each of us owned our truths, no matter how twisted and horrendous they are.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Nathaniel gasped, looking to our father for assistance. I moved across the room, studying Father. He seemed torn between wanting to do right and wanting to protect his child. Indecision lifted from his features.

  “They’ll have your brother hanged,” he said quietly. “Could you honestly watch that happen? As a family, have we not suffered enough?”

  It was an arrow shot straight through my heart, but I couldn’t bury the truth. If I didn’t go to the police, I’d live a thousand lifetimes in regret. Those women did not deserve to suffer at all. I couldn’t ignore that.

  “Mother would expect me to do the right thing, even if it’s brutally hard.”

  I looked at my father, feeling sympathy for him. What must it be like, knowing you raised the devil? It probably felt the same as knowing you sat by a monster day in and day out, never noticing the blackness of his soul.

  Father gazed at me for a long moment, then nodded. I offered him a weak smile before facing my brother. Even though he’d committed wretched things, I still couldn’t find it in my heart to hate him. Perhaps we were all mad.

  “Wadsworth? Audrey Rose!” A panicked shout rang out from the stairwell, followed by a clatter of feet banging down the stairs. A second later Thomas dashed into the room, looking rumpled for the second time in his life. He halted before me, his eyes running over my face and body, pausing on my wrists. “You’re all right?”

  I stared at him, unable to answer his question. Unable to comprehend he was actually standing here with me. There was a flash of relief in his face before he looked away. He eyed Nathaniel as he moved farther into the room.

  “I suggest you leave before Scotland Yard comes for you.” He glanced from my father’s stunned face to Nathaniel’s, his tone as somber as their expressions. “You didn’t honestly believe I’d show up unprepared, did you?” Thomas smiled sadly at me. “I’m truly sorry, Audrey Rose. This is one instance I hate being right.”

  “How did you—” Nathaniel began asking.

  “How did I discover you’re our infamous Jack the Ripper?” Thomas interrupted, moving closer to me, sounding more like himself. “It was quite simple, really. Something had been bothering me from the night Wadsworth and I followed your father home from Miss Mary Jane Kelly’s flat.”

  “You what?” Father flashed an incredulous look our way.

  “Apologies, sir. Anyway, there are no such things as coincidences in life. Especially when murder is involved. If your lordship was not involved, then who?”

  “Who indeed,” Nathaniel muttered, not very impressed.

  “I studied Superintendent Blackburn this evening, finding his actions genuine. Plus, he was missing the biggest clue I’d come across. When I went over details in my mind a thought occurred to me—our murderer might be involving himself in our case somehow. Lord Wadsworth and Blackburn, though good leads, were not involved. I could not find a single motive for either of them. Nor could I locate a particular clue I’d unearthed to implicate them.”

  Thomas moved directly in front of me, planting himself between me and my bloodthirsty brother, who looked as if he was about to rip Thomas’s limbs from him.

  “You, however, were quite curious about the case. Starting that vigilante group was a nice touch,” Thomas said almost appreciatively. “Then there was the pesky matter of those women with connections to your father. Since I’d ruled Lord Wadsworth out, that allowed my mind to stray. Your uncle has this theory, fascinating, really, about career murderers killing those they know. At least to start with.”

  Nathaniel’s attention flicked to the blade he’d left near Mother. I gripped onto Thomas’s arm, but he wasn’t through showing off his deduction skills.

  “While on my way to Scotland Yard tonight, I remembered seeing drops of blood on our last victim’s flayed skin. From the way the drops had fallen, it was obvious it didn’t come from Miss Kelly. Leading me to deduce our murderer would’ve sustained injuries of his own.”

  “And h
ow, exactly, did that lead you here?” Nathaniel asked, moving toward the knife on the table.

  Thomas was not intimidated, though I was about to shout or jump for the weapon myself. “I recalled seeing cuts on your fingertips a few weeks prior. At the time it didn’t seem important enough to comment on. As I mentally walked through your last crime, I finally understood where you were hiding your weapon.”

  He allowed a knife to fall from the inside of his own overcoat, surprising us all as he held the weapon up.

  “I was able to replicate the very same wounds on myself. See?”

  Nathaniel clenched his fists, staring at Thomas like he was a rat that needed to be exterminated immediately. “You must feel extraordinarily clever.”

  The smug expression normally kissing Thomas’s face was absent when his eyes found mine. “The only thing I feel is extraordinarily sorry you’ve hurt your sister so deeply.” Thomas glanced around the room, then checked his pocket watch. “I wasn’t jesting about Scotland Yard. I told them a crime was being committed in this house. Either stay and accept your fate or start again new. Be the brother Audrey Rose thought you to be, and the son your father deserves.”

  Father looked upon Thomas with appreciation gleaming in his eyes.

  Thomas was offering my brother a chance at life. A chance to atone for his sins and still know the police would be looking for him. It wasn’t right, but it was a chance I was willing to take for my family.

  I took a deep, shuddering breath and faced my brother. “Either your reign of terror is over, or your life is over. You decide.”

  Nathaniel released a nervous bark of laughter before his expression turned cold. “Here’s a warning for you, dear Sister. Should you ever threaten me again, I’ll destroy both you and your idiotic friend before he ever dreams of finding me.”

  “Nathaniel.” Father shook his head. “Do not intimidate your sister.”

  Nathaniel’s words stung, but not as badly as the icy look he gave me. All the warmth that made him my brother was absent.

  Sensing my hurt, Thomas reached for my hand. He was offering me his strength and I gladly accepted. It was time to be finished with this nightmare. I turned to give my brother one last look, hoping to remember him exactly as he was before I walked away. Only he was no longer watching me with those cold, dead eyes.

  Grabbing the syringe, he flipped the electrical switch, intent on finishing his unseemly work. Blue and white light hissed and fizzed, cracking the air with its power as it whipped along the needle and into Mother’s coffin. Something wasn’t right, though.

  There was disorder to Nathaniel’s process. He was doing things all wrong. He was supposed to inject Mother with the blood first, then flip the switch. But why? My mind whirled as the electrical buzz filled the air.

  Nathaniel raised the metal syringe, a startling realization crashing through my mind exactly one second too late.

  “No!” I shouted, my voice sucked away with the clamor. Thomas held fast to me as I struggled in his arms. I needed to run to my brother, to save his miserable life. Nathaniel stared, unseeing, through me, and I cried out for him again. “No! Nathaniel, you mustn’t! Let go of me!”

  The buzz was overwhelming. It set my teeth clattering and made breathing nearly impossible. My brother appeared unaffected. I shouted again, to no avail.

  “Stop this madness, Nathaniel,” Father growled over the din. “I said—”

  My brother thrust the syringe into our mother’s chest, metal connecting to metal with nothing protecting him from its surge. Mother’s body lurched forward before collapsing back onto the table and twitching. I tore my gaze from her, desperate to help my brother.

  “Nathaniel!” I screamed as he shook in place, unable to drop the metal syringe and disconnect himself from the malevolent current.

  A bloody stream poured from his nose and mouth at the same time smoke rose around his collar. I wrestled and kicked like a wild animal refusing to be tamed.

  “Let go, Thomas! Let me go.”

  “You cannot help him,” Thomas said, his arms fused around my body, caging me. “If you touch him now, you’ll suffer his same fate. I’m sorry, Audrey Rose. I’m so sorry.”

  I sunk against Thomas, knowing he’d never let me fling myself into death. It felt like years had passed when suddenly Nathaniel flew back from the force, his body smashing into the wall and crumpling in a heap of smoldering clothes.

  Silence blanketed the room like freshly fallen snow. Everything was too quiet and too loud all at once. Even the machines had finally stopped pumping.

  Mother’s body jolted once more, then fell still.

  I blinked, needing to focus on one horror at a time. My attention shifted to my brother. Nathaniel’s head hung at a fatal angle, but I couldn’t accept it. I wouldn’t. He’d get up. He’d be sore and bruised, but he’d live. My brother was young and he’d survive and make up for his sins. He would apologize and seek help to fix whatever had made him violent. It’d take time, but the old Nathaniel would return to us. I waited, holding my breath. He would rise. He had to.

  The scent of burnt hair filled the space and I suppressed rolling nausea.

  I watched my father slowly collapse to his knees, covering his face with his hands and sobbing, “My precious boy.”

  It was too much to take in. I felt myself swaying but had to be sure of one thing before I lost myself. I peered at Mother’s body, relieved she wasn’t moving. Then a terrible sadness crushed me: Nathaniel’s rampage had been for naught.

  “Please. Please get up.” I stared at my brother’s ruined hair. I wanted him to stand up and reach for that blasted comb. He needed to fix it. He’d hate it if someone saw him that way. I silently counted to thirty. It was the longest he’d ever gone without addressing disastrous hair. When I reached thirty-one he still hadn’t moved.

  I fell to the ground, dry-heaving as realization sank in.

  Nathaniel would never care about his hair again. He’d never drink another bottle of imported brandy. He’d never picnic with a hamper from Fortnum & Mason or help me escape Father’s pretty cell. He’d done horrific things, then left me to pick up the shattered pieces of our lives. Alone.

  I screamed until my throat was raw. Thomas tried soothing me, but all I could think was: Jack the Ripper was dead. My brother was dead.

  I continued screaming until darkness held me in its welcome embrace.

  THIRTY

  DEATH TO LIFE

  DR. JONATHAN WADSWORTH’S LABORATORY,

  HIGHGATE

  23 NOVEMBER 1888

  “Use the larger bone saw to cut the cranium.”

  Uncle’s hands twitched, but he didn’t reach for the blade. He knew I needed the distraction more than he needed to perform this postmortem. I took a deep breath and pushed with all my might, moving the serrated edge back and forth.

  This time I wore a facial mask to avoid breathing in bone dust.

  I’d watched Uncle do this procedure many times now and had learned there were some things I did not wish to be exposed to.

  Two long weeks had passed since we’d buried Nathaniel next to Mother. Father was more remote than ever and I was slowly losing myself to insanity. The house felt empty, sullen, as though mourning its own loss. It was amazing how much one person could fill up a space and leave it so hollow when they were gone.

  Nothing was the same, nor ever would be again. Not only did I lose my brother, I had to suffer through the knowledge of the murderer he’d been the last months of his life. Lord Edmund covered up Nathaniel’s involvement, I didn’t ask how. One day I’d let everyone know the truth, but the pain was too raw now.

  A tear slid down my cheek, but I continued sawing into the skull, not bothering to wipe it away. Some days were better than others. On good days I only cried myself to sleep. On the bad I found myself tearing up randomly throughout the day.

  “Good. Now lift the top part of the skull up,” Uncle said, motioning toward the top half. It reminded me of the
small side of an egg. “Might offer some resistance at first, but it’ll suction off with the right amount of pressure. Stick the scalpel in and pry it.”

  I did as I was instructed. The top of the skull pulled off with a slurping noise, not unlike a sealed jar being opened. An unpleasant scent lingered in the space around us, apparent even through my mask.

  Thomas coughed, drawing my attention briefly to him. Truthfully, I’d forgotten he was even here. He’d been quietly perched in the corner of the laboratory, writing notes and studying my brother’s journals. I couldn’t bear to read them just yet, though from what I’d heard they contained breakthrough science.

  My brother’s Autumn of Terror might end up being used for good one day after all. It was Thomas’s hope he’d be able to perform a successful transplant on a living person during his lifetime. I didn’t doubt it.

  Uncle handed me a tray and I set the upper portion of the skull on it. “Now, you’ll want to remove this little piece of the brain… here.” Uncle used a scalpel to point out the specimen.

  I plucked the scalpel from his hands and brought it to the brain when a knock came at the door. A servant popped her head in and forced her eyes to the ground. I couldn’t blame her; there was nothing beautiful about decay.

  “Lord Wadsworth is in the parlor. He’d like to speak with Miss Audrey Rose, sir.”

  Uncle made an exasperated sound and tossed his hands in the air. “Then tell Lord Wadsworth he’ll either have to wait or bless us with his presence in the laboratory. This cannot hold.”

  The maid dared a glance at the mortuary table where I was standing, my apron bloodied and my hands stained in death. I could see her throat bob when she swallowed. “Very well, sir. I’ll tell him.”

  Before Uncle could utter another word, she disappeared back up the stairs. Thomas met my gaze and offered a wary smile. If Father was here, that meant I was in trouble and would be dragged back to my gilded prison, kicking and screaming if need be. I sighed. Father was bound to notice my absence sooner or later, and I was hardly hiding my activities from him as I used to.