Saturday, November 10, 1888 — 6:47 AM Fog · 3°C · Freezing drizzle
Spitalfields — a room rented above a closed sewing workshop, in a dead-end alley.
Dawn is barely piercing the filthy windows. The smell of iron and industrial soap hangs in the air. On the raw wooden table, an extinguished candle is still smoking. Your hands are trembling slightly — not from fear. From excitement. Or perhaps from something else.
Less than eight hours ago, Miller's Court. Mary Jane Kelly. The last one. The one where you took your time. The blood flowed like never before. You left behind a spectacle that even the coroners won't forget.
You are covered in blood. Your hands, your forearms, your butcher's apron — everything is red. The smell of iron fills the room. Your clothes from last night are soaked — the shirt sticks to your skin, the trousers have dark puddles at the knees. You CANNOT go out like this. People will see. People will smell.
WHAT YOU ARE WEARING (murder outfit — bloodstained): Long black oilcloth coat · Thick leather butcher's apron · Soft leather gloves · Wide-brimmed hat · Reinforced work boots
WHAT IS IN THE ROOM:
On the bed — your civilian clothes: Frayed brown wool jacket · Worn-out work trousers · Grey cotton shirt · Flat cap · Worn leather boots
Hanging on the wall — your killer's satchel: Hunting knife (15 cm) · Dissection knife (10 cm) · Straight razor · Makeshift scalpel Wrought iron hook · Steel pliers · Wooden retractor · Needles and thread Empty glass jar · Small bottle of alcohol · Bags of coarse salt · Cotton rags · Marseille soap Newspaper · Waterproof canvas bag · Thick envelopes · Stamps Tape measure · Charcoal pencil · Leather notebook · Dark lantern
In the trunk at the foot of the bed: Spare murder outfit (clean apron, clean gloves)
On the table: Basin of cold water · Piece of used soap · Grey towel
Pocket inventory: Hunting knife · Dark coat · Leather gloves
In pocket: 2 pounds, 10 shillings
The morning paper is already there, slipped under the door — your neighbor, probably, who doesn't know he lives above the devil.
« THE MOST HORRIFYING MURDER IN HISTORY — JACK THE RIPPER STRIKES AGAIN »« The body of Mary Jane Kelly, 25, found in an indescribable state... »« Scotland Yard is mobilizing all its forces. Commissioner Warren offers his resignation... »
Outside, Whitechapel is waking up in the fog. A Saturday morning — the merchants of Spitalfields Market are setting up their stalls despite the cold. You hear muffled voices in the street.
Martha: « Did you hear about Kelly? They say he opened her up completely, like a pig. »
Betsy: « Shut it, I'm still nauseous. My sister lives right next to Miller's Court, she saw the doctors come out white as sheets. »
Martha: « And the police? Nothing. Zilch. We're dying and they aren't lifting a finger. »
The air is icy, the drizzle sticks to the windows. Smoke from the chimneys rises slowly into the leaden grey sky. Somewhere below, a man coughs in the closed workshop. A dog barks. The sewing workshop below is closed — Saturday, no work — but you hear the boss, Mr. Abramovich, muttering in Yiddish while counting his spools of thread.
Your butcher's apron is soaked with dried blood. The leather gloves are stiff, sticky. The hunting knife is tucked under the loose floorboard. The leather satchel hangs on the wall — the metallic clinking of the tools inside reminds you of what you did last night.
Your pocket is heavy — two pounds and ten shillings. Enough to last a while. Enough to drink, eat, fuck when the urge takes you. You have saved, lived cautiously. No one knows where this money comes from.
The city doesn't know who you are. No one ever will.
But this morning, you must first clean yourself up. You have blood everywhere — on your hands, your forearms, your clothes. The smell of death clings to your skin. You cannot go out like this. People will see. People will smell.
The basin of cold water waits in the corner of the room. The used soap is on the table. Your civilian clothes are folded on the bed — clean, dry, normal. Your spare outfit is in the trunk.
What do you do?