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Jack is fast. Infuriatingly fast. His boots strike the cobblestones ahead of me as he weaves through crates, rubbish bins, and narrow passages with the confidence of a man familiar with every escape route. I am gaining on him. Slowly. Painfully.
But undeniably.
He turns into another alley and discovers a brick wall awaiting him.
At last! Excitement builds within my chest as I gain on him. The thrill of the hunt. The predator is now my prey!
Jack looks back at me. I slow my approach, drawing the sickle from beneath my coat.
“Do you ever wonder,” I call, fighting to steady my breath, “whether murderers are born or made?”
He stares at me.
“Excuse me?” he sneers between his teeth in a pompously posh tone.
“Well, society insists monsters simply appear fully formed. I find that remarkably lazy. Surely there must be a sequence of events. A catalyst. Some formative injury that—.”
Jack bolts toward the wooden fence. I blink rapidly.
“That was exceedingly rude!” I shout at him.
He climbs with impressive speed and disappears over the top.
Rushing forward, I tuck my sickle back under my coat and leap after him. Sweat trickles down the side of my brow. My hands catch the upper section of the fence.
The tip of my boot finds a narrow foothold.
For one glorious moment, I believe I have accomplished something remarkably athletic. Then something violently pulls me from behind, and I’m met with my familiar friend; gravity.
The tail of my coat catches upon a protruding nail, and the fabric jerks tightly around my throat. The force caused my feet to leave the fence. I am left dangling several feet above the ground like an improperly displayed curtain. Jack stops on the opposite side and he turns. Even through the darkness, I can tell he is staring at me. Neither of us speaks.
“Oh, you have got to be joking,” I mutter.
His shoulders begin to shake. The bastard is laughing. The man I have come to kill is bloody laughing at me.
“Do not become overly confident,” I warn while attempting to free my coat. “This is a temporary inconvenience.”
Jack dashes around the corner, his laugh trailing behind him as he disappears from my sight. I wrench myself loose, tearing the back of my coat in the process, and tumble onto the opposite side of the fence. There is no time to mourn the tailoring. I resume the chase. The pounding of my footsteps echoes from the cobblestones and off the alleyway walls.
Jack overturns a stack of wooden crates behind him. I attempt to clear them in one magnificent leap. But my boot catches the uppermost crate, causing the entire structure to collapse. I collapse with it. Wood splinters beneath me as I strike the ground shoulder-first and roll directly into the street.
Unfortunately, the street contains a fresh mound of horse manure, and my face finds it with astonishing precision. By the time I lift my head, Jack has disappeared. For several seconds, I remain perfectly still. Rain patters against my back. Something warm slides from my cheek. I sincerely hope it is blood. The judgmental tabby cat trots into my view at the mouth of the alley.
“Not one word,” I mutter. It cleans its paw in disdain as it side-eyes me.
Oh, bollocks.
9. How Dare You Breathe - Olive
Never Know
This should not be happening in Lockham. It began in Whitechapel, and now that terrible demon has crept into our home. How dare he. How dare he believe he can escape punishment for these heinous crimes. How dare he treat lives as pieces in some perverse game. How dare he breathe the same air and walk the same streets as the women he has slaughtered. My leather gloves creak over my clenched fist as I stare into the alleyway. Another one of my girls lies upon the cobblestones.
Her throat has been opened. Her face remains frozen in terror, as though death arrived before she could fully understand what was happening.
Pure rage rushes through my veins. We were supposed to be safe.
She may not have died upon the grounds of Le Havre, but that distinction offers no comfort. She belonged within our protection. Every person who enters our establishment does.
