Jack Acquires a New Coat

Jack Acquires a New Coat

Part I

A thick mist had descended upon the streets of Victoria that night. It curled around the marble statues, and wound its way over the cobblestone streets and through the alleys. In this particular part of the city, however, it went largely unobserved. What was usually a bawdy part of town at this time of night, peopled be raucous drunks and whores, was near silent as the grave. For there were mutterings that the Ripper went out on nights like this.

If anything, he was a little irritated that they’d called his number like that. Still, here he was, wandering the streets much as was said, though he refused to skulk around as may be assumed. He walked calmly down the empty road, the only sounds the echoes of his footsteps and the tune that he was whistling quietly. He had to click his tongue slightly at the lack of options. It had been much easier to find a target before he’d gotten his work in the paper.

Yet there were always some too desperate to let the Ripper keep them from their work. Leaning against a brick wall, her breasts already half out of her corset, heavy makeup caked onto her face, a whore stood smoking a cigarette. The smoke mixed into the fog, making the haze even thicker. She was a bit too young, she might still have time, but she would have to do.

He approached her, and she looked up, sighing slightly. “Ten bob for a plow in the alley, thirty for a room,” she gestured to the building behind her, where a soft, yellow glow mingled with the mist through a small window.

Though the thought of haggling occurred to him, he brushed away the thought. The longer he was out in the open, the more likely someone would see him. And the constabulary had been getting awfully nosy lately. Of course they were hesitating putting all that effort in for some whores, but perhaps he’d been too hasty with his work, too specific. It was just going to get more difficult from here, wasn’t it? So he accepted her price, shoved the pounds into her hand, and she led him into the dark damp of the alley.

He wasted no time, undoing the top clasp of her corset. Her breasts spilled out, and he grabbed one in each hand, sticking his face between them. She moaned slightly, though it was put on. They always were. But that’s when he felt it: her beating heart. The sound of it aroused him more than any flesh ever could.

The whore could have never followed, let alone stop, what happened next. For faster than anything, there was a flash of metal and her moan turned abruptly into a choking sound. After just a second of horrible gagging, her chest was covered in something warm and wet. She was not able to even wonder about it, however, for the light left her eyes and she collapsed into his arms.

He adjusted his weight to compensate, and to allow him vision out of the alley. The last thing he wanted was observation. Then, after he was sure she was truly dead, he set her down on the slightly muddy ground. Not an ideal location, but it would have to do.

It was time for the real work to begin.

~ o ~

The next morning was cold and wet, the fog having condensed into a heavy layer of dew come the weak morning sun. This caused the body to rot faster than it should have, and when the morning patrol came upon it, it was already swarming with flies.

A look of surprise was carved into her frozen features, and her head was tilted back slightly too far on a neck that had been sliced deeply open.

The patrolmen found themselves at quite a loss of what to do, so the luckiest among them ran back to the yard to call in the captain.

When he arrived a few minutes later, huffing and puffing in his slightly ill-fitting suit, he just stared down at the whore’s body for a minute, as if he could somehow make this situation less worrying.

“And you found her just like this?” he asked the patrolmen, who nodded vigorously.

The captain sighed heavily. “Bullocks,” was all he said for a minute. And then added: “that’s the fourth one in the last two weeks,” under his breath.

“So it’s true then, Captain,” came a sudden, out-of-breath voice from behind them. The men turned, only to be confronted by a petite woman, her skirt and suit jacket askance. She had rushed over so fast that she hadn’t even put on a coat.

“What are you doing here, Aberline?” the captain sighed.

Adela Aberline took a few deep breaths before answering. “I came running as soon as I heard, sir,” she explained. “Do you think it’s the work of the Ripper?”

The captain swiveled around, making sure there were no gawkers to overhear. “Not so loud!” he hissed. “Do you want to cause panic?”

“Sorry, sir.”

He sighed again, deeper this time. “Can’t say anything conclusive yet.”

“You’ve said that about the last two bodies, sir.”

“I hadn’t finished.” The captain looked a little irritated. “I’d bet the Saint’s knickers that’s exactly what we’re looking at.”

“Respectfully, sir, has an inspector been assigned to the case yet?”

“Whores are sliced every week, two or three wasn’t necessarily impressive.”

Aberline clicked her tongue.

“But now four with identical methodology…” he pursed his lips. “We’re going to have to now. There’ll be an uproar otherwise.”

“Sir, if I might suggest—”

“I’m not putting a rookie inspector on a serial case, Aberline.”

“It doesn’t have to be the whole affair, but at least let me investigate this body, sir. Then you don’t have to announce it as serial, after all.”

He thought about this for a second. The Bishopery would not be pleased to hear that they’d dawdled so much on a serial case. But if he didn’t have to announce that it was such, if he could keep this investigation quiet, end it as quickly as possible…

“Alright,” he said finally, “but only because we’re spread so thin right now. Use whatever methods you need, just get this case solved. We don’t want any more panic than there already bloody is.”

“Thank you, sir. You won’t regret this,” she beamed.

He was already regretting it.

~ o ~

The holding cells always surprised her with how quiet they were. One would think some of the men awaiting trial would make more noise. At least the ones in the drunk tank. But the only sounds were the occasional cough and the flicking of the guards’ cards as they played to pass the time.

Aberline was quite familiar with the holding cells. New Inspectors spent nearly the first month in their position assigned to guard them. The senior inspectors always said it was so that they’d “get a good idea of the sorts of scum” they’d be dealing with, but Aberline was pretty sure they just didn’t want to do it.

Her own tenure here had just recently ended, so most of the criminals awaiting trial were still the same ones that she’d had to deal with.

She sent the guards out for a cigarette—they weren’t supposed to have breaks like this but they weren’t about to question it. Then she started making her way down the row of cells. It was damp and dark, and the walls and floors were a rather off shade of brown. It was the best way to hide how disgusting they probably were. There were cells on both sides of her, creating a pathway in between them. One or two of the prisoners—the one’s she didn’t know mostly—glanced her way in interest. There weren’t many female inspectors of the yard, so she always found herself a bit of an anomaly.

But she was able to ignore them, mostly. Aberline kept her eyes on her destination: the cell at the very back of the row. Due to the lack of illumination, it was impossible to tell who was behind those thick, rusty bars, at least until her eyes adjusted properly. Yet she could still feel eyes upon her.

“Is that you, Aberline?” asked a voice from the darkness, hoarse from disuse.

“Quite obviously,” she shook her head, squinting to try to make him out. “I didn’t think you’d go blind after only a month in here, Jack.”

The man in the cell, sitting with his back against the wall on the hard cot, laughed then. Aberline had never liked his laugh; it sounded a bit like he was choking on razor blades. “Nah,” he said, “just hadn’t seen you in a while. Thought they might’ve sacked ya.”

She also didn’t like how easy he was to talk to. “Quite the opposite, actually. I’ve been given a big case.”

“Really?” he leaned forward, suddenly interested. “You wouldn’t happen to be chasing the Ripper, would you?”

“How would you know about that?” Her eyes narrowed.

Jack shrugged. “Bloke in the next cell over got here ‘bout three days ago. He told me about it.”

Aberline turned, and indeed, the man in the cell to her left nodded and smiled toothlessly.

“Honestly, I’m a little miffed about the whole thing. I thought I was the nastiest bastard around, but not even a month later that this blighter comes along, slicing up whores and ripping out their hearts. How in the bloody fuck am I supposed to compete with that? I mean, the sheer drama of it all...”

“You’re probably hoping we catch him soon then, huh?”

“Might be nice,” Jack shrugged, trying to come off as indifferent, though Aberline could tell he was curious.

That would also be the word that Aberline would use to describe their relationship. Most criminals spent at most maybe two weeks in these cells. They either went to trial or got bail by that point. But Jack Steel was a strange case. There was simply no record of him… anywhere. It was a little hard to prosecute someone who didn’t exist. So the judiciary was still figuring out what exactly to do with him.

He’d been brought in a few days after Aberline had been assigned to the cells, and he’d been the only constant presence for the last month of duty so boring as to be almost torturous. Spend that amount of time in the same room with someone and you end up talking.

Of course, Aberline didn’t quite view him as a person. He’d knifed about three people before they’d finally caught him. But in his more lucid moments, she found him to be considerably more intelligent than most of the inmates that came through here.

“Well,” she sighed. “I might be a little over my head on this one, I think.”

“How many stiffs?” Jack asked, tilting his head.

“Four,” she admitted. “Newest one was found just this morning. But that’s technically the only one I have access to.”

“I thought you said the case was yours.”

“As much as it is a case at all. The captain’s not treating them as serial. He just wants the whole affair closed with little fuss.”

“They’re only whores, after all.”

Aberline gritted her teeth at that, but ignored the comment. “But I was told to use whatever means necessary.”

“Ahh, I see now,” Jack nodded. “So that’s why you’re here. Come to pick my brain, have you? Ask me where I would strike next or some bullocks like that?”

“Not quite,” she muttered, approaching the bars. “I’m actually here to make a deal with you. This is my very first case. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I must solve it. So to that end, I’d like your cooperation.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll let you out, and if you don’t run, and help me solve this case, then you’re a free man. As long as you promise to leave Victoria at once and never come back.”

Jack just stared at her for a moment, and then laughed. “Can you even do that?” he asked.

“Technically, no,” she admitted. “Realistically? Yes. Besides, according to our records, you’re literally nobody. I’m sure they’d all be secretly overjoyed if you just disappeared.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “Sorry. I’m just fucking flabbergasted. Why me, exactly, of all the bloody people in the whole world?”

“Well, there’s the obvious, for one. You think like him in a way that no one at the yard can. You’ve been on his side of the law. For another, when you’re not going on about crochet with intestines, I actually think you might be slightly intelligent.”

“But there’s got to be more to it than that,” Jack insisted.

She looked down for a second. “You’re the only one I know to ask. It’s like you said… no one cares about a few whores.”

He looked like he wanted to continue questioning her, but then he looked back at her again and thought better of it. “Alright then, love,” he stretched a little, his shoulder joint cracking loudly. “’S better than rotting away in a cell, I s’pose. Plus, I don’t like copycats. So let me just finish up in here and let’s look at a body, eh?”

“Finish up? What are you doing?”

“Cutting myself.”

“What?”

“Well does it look like there’s anybody else to cut up around here? What do you expect me to do, papier mache?”

He waved his arms around in exasperation, and as they caught the light Aberline could indeed see row upon row of thin red lines dripping down onto his rolled up sleeves.

She grimaced. “I’m going to have to get a bandage for those.”

~ o ~

The sky was that grey, almost white color that always appears before snow, yet there was no sign of any yet. Jack blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light, and he arched his back as he stretched.

“Must have been hard being stuck in that cell for so long,” Aberline commented, trying to make conversation.

But Jack just snorted. “Believe me,” he grinned, “I’ve had worse.”

She’d managed to scrounge up his jacket from a bin somewhere in the cell’s storage. It was shorter than most, and made of a material that she thought might be leather. She had never seen one quite like it, and it was so thin that she imagined he had to still be cold. Especially here in the back streets, with no light or other warmth to speak of. But it was for the best they stay out of sight on their way to the crime scene.

“I’m surprised you haven’t tried to run yet.” She hadn’t quite realized she’d said that out loud until she had actually done it.

He was still stretching out his various stiff appendages as they walked. “Why would I?”

“Because you’re a bloodthirsty maniac who’s just been given a golden opportunity to wreak havoc again scot-free.”

“I s’pose that’s true,” he shrugged. “But this whole detective business seems fun. And maybe I’ll learn some tips about how not to get caught in the future, eh?”

“Fantastic,” Aberline sighed.

He then pushed his sleeve down a little to examine the bandages on one of his arms. “Besides, I’m actually in the pretty bloody decent amount of pain right now. I doubt I’d get very far.”

But before she could retort, they had rounded a corner to find themselves back at the crime scene. The patrolman put on guard there looked antsy, and his expression became all the more vivid when he saw them.

Bad luck. He’d been one of the men on the scene when they’d taken Jack in. Apparently, he still had nightmares about it. “Aberline,” he pointed a shaky hand over her shoulder. She shot a look back to Jack as he grinned at her, pleading he understand to let her handle this. He grunted, but turned away.

“W-what is he…?” the patrolman stuttered out.

She was going to have to get used to this. “He’s helping me,” she said firmly. “The captain said to use whatever means necessary, and he has… “ they both glanced over to where Jack was now squatting over the corpse. He was sniffing one of its limp arms. “...Obvious experience in the matter.”

“He’s not even in handcuffs!” the patrolman’s eyes widened. “He’s gonna kill someone as soon as you turn your back!”

“I’m keeping an eye on him,” she frowned. “And if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll make sure to let slip to the captain about your opium habit.”

That shut him up, though he still wouldn’t take his eyes off of Jack.

“Oi! Aberline…” Jack called out to her, and she shot the patrolman one more hard look before approaching the body.

“Find something?”

“Just bare in mind,” he began, “the only experience I have with bodies is cuttin’ em up.” The look on his face made her stomach churn. “But here…”

He lifted the blood-hardened fabric of what was left of her corset with his bare hand, and now Aberline did almost barf. There was a huge, empty cavern where the center of her chest use to be.

Jack poked a sawed-off segment of rib. “These cuts are bloody clean,” he commented. “The Ripper knew exactly where on the ribs would be the easiest to cut through. Also what side of the chest the heart was on.”

“Side?”

“Heart’s never in the exact center, y’see,” he explained. “One rib’s bigger than the other, to accommodate. He’s good enough he knew which one it was at a glance.”

“Which means we’re looking for someone who’s used to cutting flesh,” Aberline nodded. “A butcher, or a doctor. Maybe an alchemist.”

Jack nodded. “A butcher, if I had to guess. He killed her with one cut.”

Now he moved aside a few tresses of the corpse’s hair to reveal what was left of its neck. “Right to the jugular. Must’ve bled out within a minute or two. Pretty painless, all things considered.”

“So he wanted it quick and quiet.”

“Possibly,” he shrugged. “Personally, I think he just don’t like killing much.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“If she’d been alive when he sawed her ribs open, there’d be some struggle. Wouldn’t get it clean through like this, even if he was an expert. No other cuts or bruises either. He only cut her the one time, killed her as quick as possible, and didn’t so much as touch her until after she was dead.

“See, I’d never leave a body this clean. The less recognizable the better, I say. But then again, I don’t really care what happens after they’re dead. He clearly does.”

“I’m familiar with your… work. But by the Saint, how do you know all this?”

He chuckled, almost a little sheepish. “Like I said, I’ve got bloody loads of experience.” Then he looked away from her. “Also used to know someone who was really into this sort of shite.”

Aberline blinked a few times, honestly surprised. She didn’t know exactly what she’d been expecting from him, but it certainly wasn’t this. Jack was sharp, sharper than she’d imagined, even after talking to him for a month.

She hadn’t been quite sure what she was getting herself into, so it honestly came as a bit of a shock to her that this might actually work.

Part II

Aberline had to breathe a sigh of relief. The coroner assigned to the bodies so far was an external doctor. The constabulary had very few actual doctors on the payroll, and so often relied on outsourcing to outside help when it came to autopsies. This particular coroner had also gone over Jack’s victims, but he didn’t know who he actually was, so that was one less explanation she had to give.

Technically, she didn’t have access to any of the other corpses, but she didn’t tell him that. They were acquainted, so he believed her when she said she was assigned to the case. Jack looked a little impressed to see her lie so effortlessly.

She didn’t introduce him, and the coroner didn’t ask.

“Primarily, I’d like to ask about the condition of the bodies,” she said, as the coroner browsed through his files. His office was well-furnished and cozy, the light from the lampshade surprisingly warm against the greys outside. Jack looked wildly out of place with his ratty clothes and greasy hair.

“Ahh, here they are,” the coroner adjusted his spectacles as he examined the several papers in the file he’d pulled out of a cabinet, each written in his somewhat loopy scrawl. “Yes, yes. It looks like each of them were… uh, painted women.”

Aberline shot Jack a look as his shoulders silently shook in the corner, but the coroner didn’t seem to notice.

“All three between the ages of thirty and forty-five. You said this cadaver was younger?”

“Aye. Mid-twenties, maybe,” Jack chimed in. “Mite fewer layers of paint than expected.” He did laugh this time, and the coroner looked confused.

“And each of them had their hearts removed?” Aberline attempted to redirect the conversation.

“Ah, yes. Ripped right out,” he nodded. “It seems there may have been several delicate instruments involved, based on the marks on the bone.”

“Delicate, you say, huh?” Jack asked. “Would you say they was a professional, then?”

“Well, it depends on what sort of professional you mean…” the coroner blinked. “He definitely has a skill set.”

“Knows his way around knives, does he?”

The glimmer in his eyes seemed to be making the coroner uncomfortable. “I would say so…” he seemed to hesitate meeting his gaze. “A butcher, maybe.”

“Yeah, that was my thought as well.”

She was going to have to contend with Jack making a lot of people uncomfortable, wasn’t she?

“There’s another thing I’m curious about,” Aberline pointed to the files in the coroner’s hands. “Where the bodies were found.”

“Ah!” the coroner shuffled through the files again. “The first victim was in an alley off Bram Street.” More shuffling. “The second was Justine’s Way, and the third… on the corner of Hawthorne and Stevenson.”

Aberline nodded to herself, trying to picture the map in her head. “And with today’s off Moreau, they’re all actually pretty close to here.”

“That’s why the yard called for my services,” the coroner added.

“So we should definitely focus on questioning around the immediate area.” Aberline frowned, thinking. “Clearly, the Ripper either lives or works within a mile or two of this area, perhaps both.”

“Unless there’s another reason he picked this part of the city,” Jack countered. “Lots of whores in Albuscross.”

“That’s true, but there are plenty of other districts with whore houses. Why pick this one in specifics?”

“Could be something else entirely, but it’s a good place to start.”

Aberline took a deep breath. There was going to be a lot of work ahead of her now, and she had to keep Jack in line on top of that. But now she had a direction at least. She glanced over at the sketches of the victims in the profiles that the coroner was still browsing through. She needed to solve this case, because if she didn’t, no one else would.

~ o ~

Unfortunately, the “glamorous” part of the work—if one could call it that—was complete, and now the hard part began. Ideally, she would have been assigned a few patrolmen to help her, but the case wasn’t serial, so no such luck. It would just be her and Jack, and it wasn’t like she could let him out of her sight. He’d been behaving himself so far, but letting him wander off by himself was just asking for it.

Aberline would’ve liked to canvass the entire neighborhood of Albuscross, interview as many people as she could. Anyone at all could have seen something important and not even know it. But with just the two of them, that would have taken days, if not weeks. And they didn’t have time like that. So she narrowed down their targets. They visited every butcher’s shop in the area, interviewed every employee they possibly could.

Most of them were typical, salt-of-the-earth working men. She systematically went through the nights of the murders with each of them, but for the most part, they were all with their families or down at a pub when the murders were happening.

One youngish fellow squirmed as he admitted that one of the nights he was with a lady of the night, but he swore it was an alive whore. Still breathing; he had her name if they wanted it. Aberline declined, but she was pretty sure she saw a piece of paper pass between him and Jack when she looked down to take some notes.

They were missing a few individuals here and there, but their fellow butchers vouched for each and every one of them, claiming them to be men of fine moral character. In the end, they had not one man without alibi for at least one of the murders.

It was not as if this was a terribly novel outcome. Any one of them could be lying, and they’d have to spend a lot of time corroborating those alibis. Legwork like this often took days to see any results.

After that initial pass was done, Aberline elected to head to the cattle boats in the docks. The current assortment had been sitting there for the two weeks since the murders began, after all.

The alibis of the men aboard were less concrete than those of the butchers. The city was large, and they knew very few people in it. They were also more reticent, more distrustful of her, and the constabulary in general.

Jack, on the other hand, had a much easier time. Maybe they just thought he was one of them. Luckily, he’d been listening to Aberline all day, so he knew basically what to ask.

In the end, they had a list of a few people to question personally, but no strong suspicions.

By this point, it was getting dark. The previous bodies had each had a few days between them, so Albuscross should have been safe for the evening. Aberline almost decided to call it a night and get a fresh start in the morning.

“Throwing in the towel already?” Jack asked, a little amused, as they walked down the too quiet streets. His voice echoed against the brick and stone of the high buildings. “Don’t want to take a patrol around first?”

“You just don’t fancy going back to your cell,” she almost found herself smiling a little.

“‘S a fair cop,” he shrugged. “Still, this is right around the time for the Ripper to strike, eh?”

“Newest body was found this morning, remember? We’ve still got a day or two.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” His words were caught by the cold, and Aberline had trouble reading his expression through the cloud they created.

“Why not? The pattern’s been well established.”

“Ah, but there’s one thing you haven’t considered.” He stopped walking, and leaned against a wall. “Repetition.”

“What do you mean?”

He paused, squinting like he was really considering something. “It’s like… cigarettes.”

“Cigarettes?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “You know, when you first start in on em, you maybe have one in a down moment, gives your hands something to do, right? But at some point, you start thinking one’s nice and all, but you know what would be better? Two.”

She thought she might be seeing where he was going with all this.

“Then pretty soon, one doesn’t do it like it used to. You need the two. Killing’s the same way. The more you do it, the more you need to do it. And now that he’s perfected his technique, he’ll have to start upping the amount to feel the same.”

“So he has to kill more.”

“It’ll either be more frequent or more gruesome. You better pray it’s not both.”

Aberline was tired. Her feet ached. At points she struggled to keep her eyes open. “You think he’s going to strike again tonight?”

“I think that’s a likely possibility, yeah. And if not tonight, odds are he’ll soon hear the constabulary’s after him.”

“I suppose we weren’t the most subtle.”

“No, that’s good. There’s a reasonable possibility the attention causes him to panic. He panics, he’s not thinking so hard about all the mistakes he’s making.”

“You’re almost talking like we’re baiting him.”

“That’s the idea, love.”

“Even if more women are killed?”

“Well, if you don’t like the idea of more ‘painted ladies’ in red, then we better bloody well catch him, eh?”

Aberline shook her head, trying to clear it. “You’re right,” she admitted. “But just simply wandering Albuscross in the middle of the night, hoping we just run into him won’t do anything… Ah!”

Jack tilted his head in interest as she thought of something.

“There’s a police depot right near here, Let’s check there first and see if anyone’s left a tip.”

Even if there was no official investigation, people had been writing in tips about the Ripper for the past week already. You couldn’t trust most of them, of course, but it wouldn’t hurt to check.

The patrolman’s eyebrows raised as they stepped inside. “Don’t ask about him,” Aberline sighed. “Anything come in about the Ripper recently?”

“Actually, I was just about to bring this to the Yard, but now that you’re here, someone just left an anonymous tip not ten minutes ago, said they saw someone who matched the Ripper’s description slinking around right about Allen Street.”

That was about a ten minute walk to the north.

“It might be nothing,” Jack warned. “Lot of people around here with long coats and shady dispositions.”

“But it’s better than what we have now,” she insisted. “Let’s go.”

It only took eight minutes to make it to Allen Street. If they hadn’t kept moving , the frigid wind that swept between the buildings might have been more of a bother. This also meant that Aberline didn’t necessarily want to stop, even when they reached their destination.

“Which way do you think we should go?” she asked, still not willing to leave Jack on his own.

“Well, heading east is out of his turf so far, aye? Hell, whole street’s pretty far north for him as it is.”

Aberline turned west, about to see what was down in that direction, when she froze. “Jack,” she hissed, grabbing his arm.

He turned, and there, far down the street, a figure in a long coat stood stock still, staring at them. He was too far away to make out any features, but it seemed he guessed who they were. After one more second of hesitation, he turned and bolted.

Before Aberline could so much as blink, Jack was off like a shot, chasing the man down. She almost called after him to wait, but there was simply no point when he was already a block away.

“Saints alive,” she muttered, before scrambling after them, thankful that she was wearing her sensible shoes today.

It occurred to her then, as she desperately avoided the bumps in the road, that if he wanted to, Jack could simply sprint away and she’d never be able to catch him. So why hadn’t he? He was a very strange man, and Aberline was pretty sure she could never understand him, even if she really tried.

Even now there was something a little inhuman about how he chased his target. He wasn’t running right after him. Rather he almost seemed to hold back a bit, just enough that he could lead the man into going exactly where he wanted him to. It was nearly predatory. Aberline shivered thinking about what it must be like to be on the wrong side of that hunt. And this was the monster she was going to set free after all of this was said and done.

However, she did have to admit: he was bloody efficient. The way he herded his target allowed Aberline to catch up bit by bit, and it soon became clear to her that the only one in this whole cat and mouse game who was used to any sort of physical activity was Jack.

The suspicious man had started to slow, and stumble more, nearly tripping and falling several times. When Jack finally cornered him in a dead-end alley, he didn’t even struggle.

Jack grabbed him by the back of his coat and almost proudly presented him to Aberline. “There we are. One Ripper right as rain. How much d’ya think I can rough him up before someone screams ‘police brutality’?”

“N-no, no no, you have it all wrong!” The man tried to squirm out of his grip, but had too hard of a job getting his arms out of his coat sleeves. “I’m not the Ripper!”

“You know that’s exactly what the Ripper would say,” Jack grinned unpleasantly.

But Aberline frowned. “Then why did you run?”

“Well, you looked like coppers, and I was afraid you would think I was him.” The man seemed very uncomfortable with how close Jack’s face was. “He’s supposed to be around here tonight, after all.”

“How did you know that?”

“If I can just get into my coat pocket for a second, I can show you!”

Aberline hesitated, but motioned for Jack to let him go. He almost growled in displeasure, but released his grip on the man and paced a few steps away to block his only exit.

“Here,” the man began riffling through his pockets. “My name is Lusk. I work for the Enquirer.”

“Wait…” Aberline blinked. “You’re Alfred Lusk?”

“You know this sob?” Jack asked, regaining interest.

“Only as the pain in the arse he’s been for the last two weeks.” Aberline huffed. “Keeps hounding us for info about the Ripper and writing articles about him. He’s the one who gave him that bloody name.”

“The people deserve to know what’s killing them,” Lusk straightened his collar, trying to regain a bit of dignity.

“The Enquirer?” Jack asked. “Ain’t that the rag with all the penny dreadfuls in it? Sure, you’re telling the people what’s killing them, and making a quick pound at the same time, eh?” Jack smiled. “Bet they gave you a nice, fat bonus for such a smashing moniker.”

“I’m rather proud of it myself.”

“We’re getting sidetracked,” Aberline ignored him. “Why are you out here in the middle of the night?”

“Right. As I was saying, the office received this letter just a matter of hours ago,” he resumed the search through his rather worn coat. “Son of a—ah, here it is.” He presented to her a slightly creased envelope, which she accepted and opened.

Inside was a single page on which all that was written was: “Those whores didn’t deserve their hearts, so I took them. I’ll strike again tonight. Maybe to the North this time. And I like the name.”

The handwriting was very dramatic and loopy, and it was signed simply by: ‘The Ripper’.

“Looks like that tip-off was just about this minge-kisser,” Jack looked nearly angry.

“But it led us to the right place,” Aberline tried to redirect his mood. “The Ripper’s letter said he was coming here.”

“Why in the bloody fuck would he tell anyone where he’s headed?”

“There, uh,” Lusk cut in. “There was a lot of debate around the office whether the letter was fake or not. We’ve been receiving a lot of them…”

“Then this has just been a waste of time,” Aberline sighed heavily.

But Jack’s eyes narrowed. “It think it’s worse than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s all a bit convenient, innit?” He leaned back on a nearby wall. “We receive a tip that the Ripper’s been spotted up this way, only to run into someone else, who’d been specifically sent here by—allegedly at least—the Ripper himself.”

Her eyes widened. “You don’t mean…”

“Aberline, I think we’ve been had.”

She sent Lusk home, but warned him that there should be no more funny business about tracking down the Ripper. Then they hurried back to the closest depot. They didn’t even need to ask the patrolman on duty if something had happened. His face was white as a sheet.

“Down on Usher…” he could barely get out. “There’s been… there are… two…”

~ o ~

Just as he said, Aberline and Jack hurried back to the south to find that the Ripper had struck not once, but twice. The bodies were about half a mile apart.

The first one they saw Jack commented was very recent. “Still a bit warm, I reckon,” and had all the hallmarks of a typical Ripper killing. Jack noted that while the cuts were still very neat, they were a bit more jagged than the others.

“Like I said,” Jack muttered, “he’s escalating. This kill was not as methodical as the previous.” He noted a couple of fresh bruises.

The second body was… odd. Aberline wasn’t even sure it was the Ripper’s work at all. The body was almost untouched, heart still very much intact.

“Nah, this is still him,” Jack insisted. “Throat slit same as the others.”

“But if he’s escalating as you say, then why did he not finish?”

“This body ain’t as warm as the other. I think this one was first, and that he was interrupted.”

Aberline questioned the old, toothless woman who found the body, and indeed, she claimed she saw someone fleeing the scene seconds before she stumbled upon the corpse.

“So he distracts us,” Aberline reviewed. “Goes for a victim, gets interrupted.”

“But he hasn’t got what he set out for.”

“Right, the heart. So he goes for a second victim, and this time finishes the job.” She found herself once again on the verge of vomiting. This was her fault. If she hadn’t been led astray, two women might still be alive tonight.

“Something don’t feel quite right,” Jack frowned, unaware of her inner turmoil. In fact, he looked entirely too put together for someone who’d just been fist-deep in a corpse not a minute ago. “He’s panicking, just like I thought he would. That’s why he buggered it up, and probably why he tried so hard to keep us out of the way.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Well, I figured it’d take a day or two for word to get round that we was investigating. But somehow, the blighter knew within a matter of hours.”

“He could have been someone we interviewed, we haven’t corroborated any alibis yet.”

“Maybe…” Jack stared off into the middle distance. “Where’s that letter? Wanna see it again for a mo.”

She shrugged and handed it to him.

He snatched it away, examining it intently for a moment, then looking upwards as if trying to recall something specific. Soon, a grin started spreading over his features.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, before turning back to her. “Aberline,” he almost seemed giddy. “I think I know who the Ripper is…”

Part III

“What do you mean: ‘you know who the Ripper is’?” Aberline pulled Jack away from the crime scene and around the street corner. “It could be anyone.”

“No, actually, it couldn’t.” Jack was grinning. After how dour he usually was, it was frankly a little unnerving. “Not just anyone knows we’re investigating yet.”

“Right, there’s all the blokes we interviewed…”

“Nah, it’s not any of them. Look at this note again.” Jack shoved the paper in her face. “He tried to hide it, but don’t this handwriting look familiar to you?”

She grabbed the paper, stared at it intently for a moment. “Now that you mention it…”

“It should. We just got done staring at it this morning.”

Aberline’s eyes widened as the answer suddenly clicked into place. “You don’t mean—?”

“The autopsy reports. All written up by the coroner himself.”

“Why in the bloody fuck didn’t I think of that?” she berated herself, a deep frown setting into her features. “We were thinking butcher, maybe doctor…”

“But a coroner would have just as much experience hacking up bodies.”

“And everything else fits. He knew we’ve been investigating since this morning, and his office is right in the middle of Albuscross.”

“Truth be told, I thought he was a little odd.”

“How do you mean?”

Even Jack looked a little uncomfortable. “It was the sketches, you know, of the whores. He kept touching ‘em. You didn’t notice?”

“At the time I was a mite overwhelmed by both the case and you.”

“Who is this bloke anyway?”

Aberline wasn’t overly familiar, but she tried her best. “His name is Dr. Arthur Druitt. He started out as a normal doctor, if I recall, but we were paying better than private practice. Do… do you think he was always like this?”

Jack shrugged. “Only one way to find out.” The fatigue of the day seemed to be catching up to even him, as he had to shake himself and blink a few times to keep his feet. “Let’s pay the Ripper a little office visit.”

~ o ~

Obviously, the lights in Druitt’s office were off and the door was locked. It was nearly midnight, after all. But locks didn’t means much to Jack. Aberline tried to argue that they weren’t one-hundred percent sure he was the Ripper yet; Jack mostly ignored her and kicked the door in.

Aberline readied her pistol. It was the first time on this job that she’d felt like she might have to use it, and she was hit with a disappointing intimation that it wouldn’t be the last.

Inside, the office was submerged in an inky blackness. They couldn’t turn the lights on—they were technically breaking and entering, after all. So they had only the nearest street-lamp outside to work with for light.

On the far side of the room, the desk was covered in clutter. Aberline headed in that direction, hoping to get some evidence in writing, or at least more examples of his characteristic script. On top of the pile were a few autopsy reports, each several pages long. But wait a second. Aberline looked at the names, the drawings done by the constabulary’s sketch artist.

An elderly man, an alchemist’s apprentice, a merchant’s wife. Random, entirely. These were not the Ripper’s victims. And yet, they looked familiar. Aberline thought long and hard, before finally remembering. That’s right. She’d seen that last body herself.

The sight would probably never leave her head. The nearly hollowed out corpse, the cackling thing, more animal than man, squatting over it. She could bring these images to mind more clearly than her own mother’s face. These weren’t just any bodies. They were Jack’s.

But why have these out now, a whole month after the last incident? Aberline had never mentioned Jack, and Druitt should have never met him as such. Unless there was some other reason…

“Aberline,” Jack suddenly called from across the room, and she jerked up at the sound. He had a small closet door open, and halfway inside he’d turned back around. “You’ll wanna see this.”

She approached the closet, and didn’t like how the interior seemed darker than it should have. Aberline opened the door all the way so that the street light would shine inward… and for a long time, didn’t say a single word.

The inside was lined with shelves, and on those shelves, in neat little rows, were jars. It was difficult to tell just what was inside each of them, the contents were far too dark and murky. But the soft light from all the way across the room showed that each one was dyed a deep shade of maroon.

“Th… those are…” Aberline could barely get the words out.

“Hearts, I’m pretty sure,” Jack nodded. “Every single one.”

“But there must be at least fifty here!” Aberline raised her voice in confusion. “Where by the saint’s grace did he get all of… the autopsies.”

“Bloke’s been taking hearts for years, looks like.” While Aberline’s stomach was busy doing somersaults, Jack just mostly looked impressed. “Probably ripped ‘em right out in the middle of the autopsy, sewn ‘em right back up like nothing was missing.”

Despite her stomach, Aberline was having a hard time taking her eyes off those jars. Each was adorned with a handwritten label. All that was written was a last and first name. “I think you were right about the escalation.”

“Yeah, ‘cept it’s been happening for years. Murder was the escalation.”

“But the way you described it, escalation occurs due to repetition, yet he’d been doing the same thing for years without so much as a pause. Why suddenly change now?”

“Couldn’t tell ya.” Jack shrugged, but then turned as something at the back of the closet caught his eye. On the very center of the farthest shelf, one of the jars was empty. Aberline followed him, and together they squinted to read the label.

Jack looked a little shocked, but Aberline immediately understood. For the name on that label written in that now familiar, loopy hand, was “Aberline, Adela.”

Though Jack opened his mouth to say something, Aberline spotted something that had been tucked underneath the jar and didn’t let him say anything.

“Look, a note.”

She opened it, and they both read it silently. “Come to the roof of the Hall of Justice at 1AM. Come alone. If you bring the girl with you, you know where her heart ends up.”

Another moment of pause for the both of them. “I thought…” Aberline said finally. “I thought that note must have been for me.”

But it wasn’t Aberline the Ripper wanted to see. It was Jack.

~ o ~

The Hall of Justice was pretty funny, in a way. It had been built only ten years ago, and while the front was a marvel of architecture, done in a classical style, all marble columns and lion statues, the back looked just like any other building in the city. Back here it was flat and square and made of bricks. It even had a plain old metal fire escape. They probably saved a lot of money doing it this way.

Aberline thought there had to be a metaphor in there somewhere, but she had never been good at those.

Upon arrival, they’d found all the entrances locked. Of course they were, middle of the night as it was, so that left the question of how they—or Druitt for that matter—were supposed to get in.

They still had a good while before the appointed time, however, so they figured they’d cross that bridge when they got to it. For now, it had been a very long day, and so they sat on the chiseled marble steps of the front, smoking a cigarette and watching as a light dusting of snow started to fall.

“You know,” Jack said, his breath a combination of the cheap cigarette smoke and the chill in the air, “I thought the Ripper sent a pretty clear message back in his office, yet here you are right as rain, not a nerve in ya.”

“I’m a constable,” she chuckled. “I can’t let something like one little threat scare me. Besides, it’d be idiotic to let you wander off on your own.”

“I can’t tell if you’re brave or just stupid.”

She sighed as he passed her the cigarette. “If I’m honest, probably the latter.”

“Sometimes you need to be, to keep going on this bitch of an earth.”

“Aye…” Aberline took a deep drag, considering something.

Jack observed her face. “Ahh, now that I’ve brought it up, you’re finally getting the jitters, eh?” He grinned, but she shook her head.

“No, that’s not it,” she passed back the cigarette.

“It is curious though,” Jack pontificated. “Why you in specifics? It can’t be just cuz you’re after him. Don’t think he works like that. You’re a stand-up woman of the law, not really his normal type.”

“You’re wrong about that,” she sighed.

“About what?” he paused with the cigarette halfway to his mouth.

“I’m actually exactly his type.”

Jack still looked confused.

“I got this job only a week before we brought you in, right? Well, up till then, I was no better than any of his victims.”

Jack tilted his head. “You was a whore?”

She nodded hesitantly. “Two of those girls were my friends.”

“So that’s why you’re so desperate to put the Ripper behind bars…” he trailed off, staring somewhere off into the middle distance.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, it’s just… you already reminded me of her…”

“Her?”

He seemed to struggle with himself a little, and his expression was complicated. A bit angry, a bit guilty, maybe a little sad. It made him seem… almost human.

“I had a sister,” he said finally. “Our parents died; I was all she had. I had to go far away for work, sent her money every month.”

“But you said ‘had’.”

“Aye. Something… happened, and she was forgotten. Later I learned that she’d whored herself out just to survive. All because of me.”

“Huh…” Aberline shook her head, and when Jack tilted his in response she explained. “That was not the sob story I expected from you.”

“What were you expecting?”

“Something more along the line of ‘my father beat me and now I kill to feel alive’.”

“That’s a fucking penny dreadful plot.”

“You belong in one regardless. You’re a strange one, Mr. Steel.”

His demeanor suddenly changed. He stiffened, his gaze hard. “Don’t call me that,” he almost growled. “That man died a long time ago.” He flicked the butt of the cigarette somewhere away to land in the snow.

“So it’s just Jack then?”

“Aye. Just Jack.”

Somewhere in the distance, the cathedral bell began the sluggish process of reaching the entire city with its deep, mournful tones. Aberline stood now too, counting out the chimes. It was time.

She glanced around, and her eyes widened as she caught the flicker of a lantern in one of the upper floor windows. Jack followed her gaze, and stared at that light himself. And then he took off, nearly ramming into her in the process. But to Aberline’s surprise, he wasn’t running towards the front entrance, but rather, around the side.

Unfortunately, he got a couple second head-start before she realized what was happening, and chased after him. By the time she scooted around the corner, she was already too late. Jack had shimmied up the fire escape and was wrenching up the ladder behind him.

“Sorry, Aberline,” he called down, waving lazily. “You’re gonna stay right down there. Not getting in the way.”

“What are you going to do?”

He leaned over the railing, grinning horribly. “I’m gonna fucking kill him!”

“No!” Aberline shouted back, but he was already gone and through the window.

She reached for her holster, though she had no idea what she would do with her gun when she drew it. Except as she felt around, her stomach dropped as it hit her: her gun wasn’t there. It had been there when they’d sat down on the steps, she was sure of it. Her eyes widened. When he had run into her, Jack must have grabbed her gun.

“Bloody fucking… prick!”

The window at the top of the fire escape was unlocked, and beyond it, Jack found himself on the top floor. It was mostly offices up here, not really for the general public, so it was respectable but a little cramped.

But there was no time to waste. Jack found the nearest stairwell and took them two at a time. At the top, the door to the roof was also unlocked. Jack had the distinct feeling this had all been planned for. He didn’t like it.

The roof was pretty emblematic of the rest of the building. In the center was a large dome with a flagpole at the top that one could see from the street below, but it was surrounded by simple concrete. Above, the snow still fell gently, eagerly sticking to the cold surface. Jack’s boots crunched through the thin layer as he took his first few, calm steps forward.

Through the snow, he saw the shadow of someone on the far side of the dome.

“I hoped you would come,” said that same shadow. He took a few steps forward, revealing that same gaunt, bespectacled face that Jack had first seen just this morning.

Jack stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. The wind whipped fiercely up here. “You panicked once you saw we was investigating. Should’ve had someone else write the note at least, or written it with your other hand.”

“You’re right,” Druitt laughed. “I didn’t even think about the fact that you’d seen my hand-writing just this morning.”

“Extensively, at that. But you realized your mistake just in time to set up this little rendezvous, eh?”

“I cut it close,” he admitted.

“There is something I’m still confused about though,” Jack scratched his head. “Why try to scare Aberline off? She may be a constable, but you have to know that I’m more dangerous than she is.”

“I wanted to meet you.”

“Pardon?”

“I should hope you know by now just how long I’ve been doing this for,” Druitt explained, smiling a little. “Thieves, whores, back-alley alchemists and the horrid twisted things they’ve left behind, they have all graced my autopsy table. Each and every one a lying, cheating, terrible individual. They didn’t need their hearts, didn’t deserve them even. So I took them. Most of them were burned after I’d seen to them anyway.”

“So what changed?”

“What do you mean?”

“You had it all figured out. Why endanger that? Why start going after live ones?”

“Why, you, of course.”

Jack looked confused.

“I performed the autopsies on every one of your victims.” That smile on his face was getting a little too wide. “One even still had her face, if I recall. She looked almost… remorseful in death, like she had finally understood her own sins. And I realized then that I knew why you did what you did. Some people don’t deserve to live, they cause more evil by being alive than that caused if they were… removed. You are the one who purges them.

“I was almost… disappointed when you were caught. I was honestly rooting for you. But there was nothing I could do. Or so I thought. After much debate, I decided that it would be for the best for me to take up the work in your stead.”

“I’m sure you were fucking surprised when it turned out I was the one trying to catch you.”

“Coerced into it, I’m sure, by that filthy whore. People like that don’t change. She wanted to use you to take all the credit for herself. Still, it worked out in the end. It gave us a chance to speak face to face.”

“Aye,” Jack nodded, noting a change in the air.

“Unfortunately, you are also one of those who cause more evil than you’re worth.” From his coat, Druitt pulled out an immaculately shiny scalpel. “Now that I’m here, you’re not needed anymore. So I’ll have to kill you too. Don’t worry, I’ll keep your jar on my desk. I respect you too much to lock it away in the dark with the others.”

Jack shook his head, smiling a little. But a second later, it fell off his face as he met Druitt’s gaze. “No, I don’t think so.”

He pulled the pistol out of his pocket, aimed, and fired.

The sound ricocheted around the roof, and Druitt fell backwards, his eyes widening in shock. Jack had only hit his shoulder, but the man clearly wasn’t used to pain, for he writhed around wretchedly.

“You know why I do the things I do?” Jack stood over him, pinning him to the ground with a steel-toe boot. “Because I have to. If I don’t, I’ll just lose whatever fucking little bits of my soul are left. Sobs like you, The righteous who kill for whatever divine fucking purpose your sick mind has come up with to excuse you… you disgust me. I thought I might be able to have some fun with you, off someone who deserves it for once. But takin’ it all slow-like… I’m not gonna give you the fucking satisfaction.”

“No, no wait!” he pleaded, but Jack just smiled.

“What, don’t wanna die? I thought people who caused more evil than they’re worth don’t deserve to live. Oh, did you think you didn’t count?”

Druitt looked terrified. Served him right. Although Jack knew, of course, that he really wasn’t any better. At least he knew what he did was terrible. So he aimed the gun and fired again, right into Druitt’s skull.

Good riddance to bad rubbish.

Below him, he was starting to hear a commotion. Of course, the gunshots must have alerted everyone in the immediate area that something was amiss. Jack glanced over the side of the roof, only to see Aberline organizing the inspectors and patrolmen who had started to gather below. Sensing someone’s eyes on her, she looked up, their gazes meeting for just a moment.

She must have noticed the blood on his cheek. Their pact was finished, the case was solved. Aberline nodded at him. Jack was a free man, for better or worse.

His gaze roved around the roof, and seeing another close enough, he leaped over to it. Although how he was actually going to get down from here, he had no idea.

~ o ~

In the end, Aberline got a commendation for her work, and all the credit. It made her a little uncomfortable, if she was honest, but she hoped that someday, she’d be able to be praised for her own work.

But at the end of the day, the rest of Albuscross’ numerous whores were safe from being brutally murdered for just trying to survive. And ultimately, that’s why Aberline had taken the job in the first place: to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. She was far too familiar with what that was like.

All of this celebration was undercut by the fact that somehow, that very same night, a dangerous inmate had managed to escape from the constabulary’s holding cells. A few of his cellmates claimed to have seen exactly what happened, but of course they were just trying to cover for him. Why would an inspector of the yard simply let a crazed madman walk free? Bloody ridiculous notion.

~ o ~

Jack did intend to leave Victoria—and the whole of Ravden, really—immediately, as he said he would. He really did. But for some reason, in that hour just before dawn, he found himself wandering those odd little side streets no one usually would want to find themselves at this hour. Probably because of people like him.

Maybe he was trying to work off the last of his energy from the encounter with Druitt. He’d been denied his fun, after all.

Maybe he was just looking for the excuse.

As these things tend to go, he quickly found one.

Rushing down the street just ahead of him was a very familiar coat. It was attached to a man hurriedly writing something down on a notepad. What was his name again? Lunk? No, Lusk, that was the bastard. A reporter, he’d said he was. No doubt he’d found his way to the Hall of Justice and was now running back to try to get the story in the evening paper.

Jack stepped in front of him, and Lusk nearly ran straight into him. “My apologies, I…” he mumbled, before looking up from his notepad to see Jack’s face. “Oh, its you! I’m surprised to not find you at the scene, as it were.” He hesitated just a second, before an idea seemed to strike him. “Your partner was a little frazzled, so I didn’t get a chance to speak with her. Would you maybe mind giving a little interview?”

“Cor, why not?” Jack laughed in a way that Lusk clearly found unpleasant, because he shivered slightly at the sound. “In fact, I can even show you exactly how he did it.”

Okay, maybe it wasn’t exact. Jack admitted that he did things a little out of order, but how was he meant to illustrate if Lusk was dead by step one? He took his time explaining too, he was awfully proud of how he’d figured it out, after all.

At the end of it, Jack decided that while ultimately a good change of pace, the Ripper’s method was not for him. It was too painless. Jack had already escalated way beyond basics like that.

He looked over and groaned. He’d tried to keep a little tidy, but while he’d been musing, blood had begun to leak out of the gaping hole in the body’s chest. “Fucking hell,” he spat. “That’s a nice fucking coat.”

Jack ripped it off the body to examine it. It was black, and he’d caught it in time that not too much blood had sunk into it. It really was a nice coat, if a little worn; one of the sleeves had clearly been patched near the elbow. But the collar was fur-lined, and it looked much warmer than whatever the fuck he had now. He tried it on, and it fit perfectly.

For a few seconds, he admired his new acquisition, but then paused. He’d just given a thought to what he was doing. It was so absurd that he had to laugh to himself. But it really was a nice coat, and that corpse certainly wasn’t going to need it anymore.

“Sorry, Aberline,” he still had one or two little chuckles in him. “I didn’t keep my end of the bargain. But just think of it as a little parting gift from me to you, eh?”

And so, before anyone had a chance to stumble upon what would inevitably become the biggest unsolved case of the last few years, Jack dipped his finger in some of the still dripping blood, and began to make a door.