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jasmine-jules · 7 years ago

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Slave to the Game(A Jack the Ripper Story): Chapter 4

Word Count: 4900+

Warnings: Graphic depiction of violence(the murder), Murder, Mild language, Implied rape

Here’s our master list for the next chapters, and if you want more!

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I’ve read plenty of crime novels in my youth, stealing moments at night to read The Murders in the Rue Morgue by Edgar Allen Poe, The Rector of Veilbye by Steen Steensen Blicher or A Study in Scarlet by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The one thing that is never actually discussed in these books is how dull and painstakingly long the interrogation process is - person after person going through the police department giving us nothing more than extra paperwork. To only give the department some gray hairs and the need to pull all nighters at the morgue.

In addition to the long nights, there was one other thing that seemed to cause my accelerated aging. The police station had recently had an accident in their crime lab, making it unusable, so they elected our morgue to do assist in the investigations. This means my alone space is constantly violated by the same three policemen, and each of them having an air of disapproval surrounding them. That not only means I don’t have my space, but my space is being filled with bigoted men who don’t think women deserve to be in the workforce, especially those of a higher class like myself. Bigoted men who think they know my lab better than I do. Bigoted men who clearly don’t deserve to be in law enforcement because they are idiots who don’t know how anything works.

“Are you sure that goes there?” a voice said from behind me.

“I’m pretty sure I am doing this right.” I said coldly as I was pushed aside from my work table by Mr. Arnold James. I mean seriously, even his name sounds bigoted, “I have worked here for nearly 3 years now, and I was practically raised here as my father owned this facility before he passed.”

Having elected to ignore me, he pushed aside the evidence that I had been working on, and replaced it with almost an identical piece of evidence then proceeded to use the tool wrong. I threw my hands up in the air and walked out of the morgue in defeat.

“Miss Bellaus! I thought you’d be working!” Archer exclaimed as I walked into his office area, where he was filing the reports to send to the police department. Don’t get me wrong, I still don’t trust him but I would rather be with someone who might be on the wrong side than those who are on the wrong side. Even if they are two completely unrelated topics.

“Can we kick them out. Please. Let them do things wrong at a different morgue. I cannot stand another moment of their bigoted...ness.” Archer chuckled at my comment.

“I wish, but if we don’t let them use our morgue then we will not be allowed to continue working on the Leather Apron murders and we really can’t have that happen.” I gave him an inquisitive look, “...with the murders being connected to your relationship with Jessamine? Now, how about you get back in there and show those bigots who’s the boss around here.” I grimaced at the thought but walked out of his office towards the morgue anyways. As I stepped down the stairs back to where the bigoted men resided, I couldn’t help but feel that something was off about that conversation.

“Oh, look! The little girl is back again.” Mr. Arnold James exclaimed and I nearly punched him in the nose right then and there.

“For one, my name is Miss Bellaus not little girl.” He looked indignant at the apparent disrespect I was showing him, but I barreled on, “Number two, you are doing that wrong. If you look at the piece of evidence I was examining and compare it with yours, you’ll see my subject will show quite a bit more of what you are looking for. Your subject, while it is bigger, it has less blood on it, while if you look at mine you can see a much larger amount of blood on it, allowing me to have an easier time of collecting the sample and twice as much evidence. Though that is not where your mistakes began. The first mistake was believing that everything I did was wrong and proceeding to re-do every experiment I had already completed only because I am a woman.”

Shock rose on their face and Mr. Arnold James looked ready to explode, his face turning more red than the crimson dress I was wearing, “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? I am quite a bit more observant than any of you pigs are,” I spat. “Which is why while you weren’t looking, I went back and replaced it with my specimen once again because you had even been using the microscope wrong while completing your experiment. I mean, how hard is it to use a microscope anyways??” I exclaimed.

I turned to the other two men in the room, having finished tearing Mr. James Arnold a new one. “Number three, you two have not been using gloves the entire process so there is a good chance that if I had used that evidence for a testimony in court it would be disbanded because we would’ve been accused of tampering with it. Now, if you would be so kind and start actually doing this right then maybe we'll get along or I am going to kick you out and have Mr. Clay report you to the chief of police for insubordination towards the head of the morgue.”

They didn’t bother me for the rest of the time they were there. I’m pretty sure they had asked Archer for my schedule of when I would and wouldn’t be there because I actually never saw them again. The only evidence that they hadn’t ran away completely was the crumbs of food left on the work tables. Which goes to show their incompetence once more.

Another highlight is that after my outburst whenever I walked into the police station to bring a report that Archer or I had filled, it’d get very quiet and the men would nearly jump out of my way to let me pass

That being quite a happy improvement, especially since Archer and I were present for many of the interrogations involved with the Leather Apron case. Although, all interrogations we were present for had quite similar results since most of them were only questioning the witnesses, not actually interrogating suspects. They all had the same thing to say about what they saw the night of the murders. The prostitute was seen entering her apartment with a young person, most likely a boy. The young boy wasn’t seen leaving the apartment but the next time someone went to find her, she was dead. Giving us absolutely nothing to go on. Then the police would find a lead from the thousands of letters sent into the police station, follow it, arrest someone and release the suspect within three hours because the police found they had a rock solid alibi.

Then came one letter. At first, it was just set aside as some person trying to rile up the police but then they sent it down to my lab for examination. They did this with every letter they got. They were trying to see if anything useful could come of it. Nothing ever did. They were all fakes and I could easily pull some fingerprints, which if the Leather Apron was as smart as we all thought, I wouldn’t be able to find any incriminating evidence. I also never read them, it would take up time that I really didn’t have. I don’t think the police read these letters either. Although, this letter was spotless. No fingerprints. No stains. Not even a spec of dirt that I could try to trace. Absolutely nothing. So I did read this letter.

Dear Boss,

I keep on hearing the police have caught me but they wont fix me just yet. I have laughed when they look so clever and talk about being on the right track. That joke about Leather Apron gave me real fits.

I am down on whores and I shant quit ripping them till I do get buckled. Grand work the last job was. I gave the lady no time to squeal. How can they catch me now. I love my work and want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little games. I saved some of the proper red stuff in a ginger beer bottle over the last job to write with but it went thick like glue and I cant use it. Red ink is fit enough I hope

ha. ha.

The next job I do I shall clip the ladys ears off and send to the police officers just for jolly wouldn't you. Keep this letter back till I do a bit more work, then give it out straight.

My knife's so nice and sharp I want to get to work right away if I get a chance. Good Luck.

Yours truly

Jack the Ripper

Dont mind me giving the trade name

PS Wasnt good enough to post this before I got all the red ink off my hands curse it No luck yet. They say I'm a doctor now. ha ha

The letter slipped out of my hands and a thud echoed in the room as my back hit the wall. I clasped my hands against my mouth as a scream threatened to escape. It wasn’t even the fact that this letter was possibly the real thing but something about it felt familiar. But I had no idea what. My first instinct was to call out for Archer but if he was apart of this somehow then what would he do if I showed him this letter? Try to destroy it? If I left it here and he found it, would it disappear like that piece of cloth did? The letter did say to keep it until something else happened but should I even be listening to whoever wrote this letter? Was anything in this letter even valid? My train of thought was interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Hey Miss Bellaus, can you look over-” Archer’s voice abruptly stopped as his eyes fell upon me. He dropped the papers he had in his hands and rushed over to me. “What happened? Did something happen to Jessamine?” I shook my head.

“No. Nothing’s happened to Jessamine.”

“Well then what’s wrong?” he exclaimed.

“One of the letters the police sent to us just... caught me off-guard. It felt too real but I don’t think it’s gonna be anything to worry about.” I responded.

“You sure?” I nodded again. “Alright then.” Disbelief shone from his eyes but if I was truly in shock, I wouldn’t be in the best state of mind, right? “I just wanted you to look over a report I had written out for the police about the heart attack victim we had yesterday.” he said, changing the topic.

“Right. Sure.” I walked numbly over to the table where he had set the report. “What did you want me to look for?”

“Just double check I had everything right. It’s just been a hectic few weeks so I haven’t been completely focusing on wording.” I read over it and handed it to him.

“That seems fine.”

“Right. Thank you Miss Bellaus.” and after a few seconds, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes I’m absolutely fine.” I said sharply, “I’m just going to finish up testing a couple more letters before I head out.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow.” I nodded as he walked away. He paused and turned his head, “You know you can always talk to me. Right?” I smiled at him tersely. I took a deep breath and released it when he finally disappeared through the door. I don’t think our conversations have ever been like this. Even when we first met, our conversations flowed without any weirdness about it. I felt my shoulders slump with frustration. I really do hope he has nothing to do with the Leather Apron, or I guess Jack the Ripper now, because then once this is all over we can go back to how everything was before. Which would be nice. I sighed once again and walked back over to where I had dropped the letter. I slipped on some gloves - no point in contaminating it even more right? - and started looking it over again.

I wasn’t exactly lying when I told Archer I would be going over letters before I left. It just wouldn’t be letters, only one. I examined it and began writing down every little thing about it, the color of the ink, the material of the paper the letter was written on, the possible utensils used, really anything that could give me a lead on who wrote this. By the time I had finished, nothing stayed undocumented. That just left me with one thing. What to do with the report and letter. Logically, I should leave it here and file it away because that’s what would have done before all of this but every warning bell goes off in my head when I think that because if Archer is involved, then leaving this for him to find would possibly be catastrophic. So if I didn’t leave it here, where would I put it? My house? Where any of my servants or mom could find it? I do have a locked drawer where I keep all of my work related stuff, but that doesn’t mean someone could still get in. Though my room is the only place Archer wouldn’t go because even a serial killer has to follow proper manners in this era. My eyes flickered over the letter as I pondered what to do.

“I’ll bring it home with me.” I decided aloud. I slipped the letter and report into my handbag and made my way to the door. The carriage ride passed with little incident and by the time I got home it was almost dusk. I had decided to stop at a little sweet shop, I felt deserved something tasty.

“Good Evening Miss Bellaus, are you up for some dinner?” One of my maids, Elizabeth asked. I smiled sweetly as her,

“That would be amazing. Thank you Elizabeth.” She smiled at me and I walked to my room. I took the key that hung behind my dresses and opened up my drawer, sliding the letter and report in. Now I guess I just wait.

~~~~

September 30th

I shuffled my legs beneath the covers before rolling onto my back. Sharp pain ran through my body and I shot up into a sitting position. I cursed under my breath as I twisted my arm around to my back and ran my fingers across. A hiss of pain escaped my lips as my fingers ran across already scabbing scrapes. What the hell. I rolled out of bed, stumbling as I hit the ground. I stripped off my nightgown and twisted to look at the scrapes on my back. I stared in horror at the reflection. Calling them scrapes was an understatement. They were more like gashes running in long streaks across my back. They resembled the kind of marks that were left on Jessamine’s back after one of the nights we had spent together, only a more extreme version. They were deep and they were colored a dark red, implying that whoever had given them me was in extreme pain...or in immense pleasure. I paused at the thought, What happened to me last night. And why can I not remember. I broke out of my train of thought as I heard footsteps approaching the door.

“Miss Bellaus? Do you need any help? I heard crashing.” One of my maids, Grace, asked through the door. I closed my eyes in annoyance. She must’ve heard me getting out of bed.

“I’m fine, Grace. Thank you.” It was a few seconds before I heard her footsteps leading away from the door and I let out a breath. My breath was sucked back in as an idea came to me. I rushed to the door and ran to catch up to Grace, not caring if the door slammed.

“Actually, Grace!” I reached her side, “I do have one question.” She dipped her head, allowing me to continue, “Do you know when I left the house last night and about what time I got back? If so, do you know where I was headed?”

“You only left the house for a short while, Miss, then you came straight back with a friend. But don’t worry, I won’t tell your mother.” she said with a small smile.

“No, no. I don’t worry about that. I can’t remember,” I spoke in a small whisper, my fear getting the better of me.

“I don’t understand, Miss. You don’t remember a single thing from last night?” I shook my head and I felt panic sweeping across me. Why don’t I remember anything? I have three gashes on my back. Surely I would have to remember getting those.

“Did I leave the house after I came back with the friend?” I asked, trying to get a better picture of what might’ve happened. Grace nodded,

“About two hours later when I was tending to the fireplace, you and your friend snuck out. I assumed you were going out to a pub or something. I don’t think you saw me. Then as I was heading to bed just a little after one in the morning, you came back to the house. I couldn’t see much as the lamps were all out, but you were staggering like you had been hurt. I went to bed shortly after that; I wouldn’t know if you snuck out again after that.”

My heart plummeted. I went out twice last night maybe more. Both of which I had a friend with me. Both of which I couldn’t remember a single second of. Grace seems to think that the friend I had with me was… but I would never cheat on Jessamine. At least… I had thought I wouldn’t.

“Thank you Grace. That’s all for now.” I said, dismissing her. She looked reluctant to leave me alone but she walked away after a few seconds. How do I not remember any of it? It was obviously a rough night, with the deep gashes on my back and my staggering in last night. My hands involuntarily gripped my head, pulling harshly at my hair. Why don’t I remember it. I should remember it.

Memory flashes took over my thoughts in a second. Days where I could remember waking up but don’t remember actually falling asleep. Moments halfway through the day where I lost hours of time, moments where I thought I just had gotten lost in thought or in whatever I was doing. Moments where I was in the middle of making dinner but the next thing I remember was getting ready to go to bed. Full nights missing and if I thought hard enough I would be able to line them up perfectly with the last two murders.

I let out a strangled cry. What the hell is happening to me. Filled with panic, I fumbled through my closet for something that I could get on easily. I tore off one of my dresses off the hook and put it on. I fumbled with my brush on the desk and the letter from Jack the Ripper floated to the ground. With shaking hands I lifted it up and suddenly I knew why it felt so familiar. I shook my head in panic. No No No No No. It can’t be. My hands blundered on my desk as I looked for something with Archer’s handwriting. With trembling hands I compared them.

They didn’t match.

I gasped in relief, my eyes filling with unshed tears. But why does this letter still spark recognition? There is no reason I should still feel this way towards the letter. I felt my chest start to constrict as I felt the now familiar symptoms of panic start to settle in.

In the throes of my panic, I shoved my feet into a pair of shoes, not even caring if it looked presentable and rushed out of my room. I almost crashed into Grace but I rushed past her, ignoring her cries of worry. I let my instinct lead me and I honestly had no idea where I was going, but the path I took felt eerily familiar. Only I did not remember ever going down this street. But that’s the problem, is it not? I can’t remember. How many days or nights have gone by that I don’t remember.

The scene that I came upon was swarming with policemen. I pushed my way through into the scene of the crime, bile rose in my throat and I could not push it down this time. I reached a wastebasket just in time as I retched. Her ears were missing. Just as the letter from Jack the Ripper said.

“Miss, you can’t be in here.” A policeman said with worry. I shook my head.

“I’m with the police department, head of the Morgue involved with the Jack the Ripper case.”

“Jack the Ripper, eh? Fancy new name you got there.” he replied cockily.

“It works better.” I whispered as I walked back over to the body. “What’s her name?”

“Catherine Eddowes.” I nodded and surveyed the body. From first glance her face had been mutilated, her throat severed, and a giant jagged wound in her abdomen. As I stepped closer I could tell that her kidneys and uterus had been removed, just like the last victims. Only in Eddowes case, the mutilations to her body were way worse than the others. Just like the last victims, I knew she would look similar the Jessamine even though I couldn’t actually see her features anymore. “We actually found a first body, just a few blocks from here. Although we don’t know if it is is connected to, what is it..Jack the Ripper?”

“Two murders?” I choked out in horror. The policeman nodded,

“The only thing we don’t know is if she is connected. Only her throat had been slashed. No wound in the abdomen, like the previous two and Eddowes.”

“Do you have a picture?” I asked, my voice a little stronger now.

“Of course.” He called over to a man with a camera and the man walked over. “I need the picture from Elizabeth Stride’s crime scene.”

“Did you just say...Elizabeth Stride?” I blurted out. The policeman sent an inquisitive look to me,

“Yes, why? Do you know her?” The man with the camera pulled a picture out of Elizabeth Stride.

“She is...was one of my maids. She’s usually the one that checks on me in mornings so that the kitchen maids can start with breakfast if I am up but...it was a different maid this morning. I mean I would normally notice if one of my maids are missing but...I wasn’t in the best mindset this morning.”

“That’s a start. We’ll need you to come in at some point for some questioning. You aren’t in trouble, but we need to know everything about Miss Stride. Do you know anything about Miss Eddowes here?” I shook my head reluctantly,

“Only that she looks like one of my friends Jessamine, as have the other two but I have already told the police this.”

“Thank you for all your help.”

“Much obliged. I will send in a report of Eddowes later today, same with Stride.”

“Thank you. I will call a carriage for you to head over to the crime scene.”

“I will not need one. I need to go somewhere first before I go see Miss Stride.” I walked out of the room as proudly as I could but the moment I got out of view from the scene I broke into a run with a destination in mind.

Robert James Lees. The clairvoyant Archer and I had run into almost three weeks ago, after we went to the first Whitechapel Vigilance meeting. I got to the edge of his street and paused. Do I really want to do this? Sink this low? I took a deep breath and walked the rest of the way there. I only hesitated briefly before knocking on the door. I saw a quick flash of someone looking into the peephole before it disappeared again.

“Miss Bellaus. I’m surprised to see you here.” he said, opening the door just enough so his face could look out. He was obviously opposed to letting me in.

“I need your help. I’m...forgetting things. Huge blocks of time.” I could still sense hesitancy, and I shared much further than I wanted to, “Time missing over the nights of the Jack the Ripper murders.” His eyes widened at the last phrase.

“Come on in.” He opened the door wider to let me in and as I walked through I felt a sense of finality as the door clicked shut behind me.

“I was hoping you would be able...maybe bring back up past memories or something. Or I don’t know, talk to the victims….I just need to do something.”

“Follow me.” he told me, leading me in his sitting room. “Now you need to know something Miss Bellaus, I cannot actually bring back memories for you. That is something you need to figure out how to do yourself. The one thing I can do is give you some insight for why you are having these blackouts.” He gestured for me to sit down, and as I did he walked over to a cabinet, opened it and pulled out a letter. “This is something I received from your father. Shortly before his passing.” He held it out to me and tears welled up in my eyes as I recognized my father’s handwriting.

Dear Mr. Lees,

I am sending this letter in hopes that you will be able to someday help my daughter understand. I know she will come into contact with what I am to share with you, and I wish you will share this when she asks about certain things.

There is a drug. Commonly known as the Devil's Breath but she will know it as Scopolamine.

I let out a sobbed breath as I read the last line. Scopolamine is a drug that if used correctly, can quite literally take the free will of any victim but if used another way, would be seriously addictive.

I became addicted to it after an unfortunate accident with the chemical. I never realized the effects until later. Major blackouts. Periods where I would make dinner and not remember eating it. Going to bed but not remember waking up. I don’t know what I did in the duration where I was on this drug.

I eventually rid myself of this illness but I never truly recovered. I still had frequent blackouts even after I stopped taking the drug and I began to notice not only my memory was affected, my physical health began to decline as well. I guess that is why I am on my deathbed now.

My daughter did come in contact with it once, but I quickly steered her away from it but even once can be the downfall of anyone.

One reason I am writing this letter is someone who had become like a son to me had taken an interest. One of my students wanted to do a research paper on it, I tried steering him away from it as well but once he had his mind set on something, he never let it go. I took this student under my wing in hopes of putting this mind of his to something useful, maybe one day taking over my morgue and in league with my daughter, I knew they could do anything if they had each other. Though every once in awhile I would find him back at his old reports with one of those wretched white flowers in front of him scribbling away and I knew I didn’t try hard enough. I only hope he doesn’t go any further with his research. Clay really did achieve anything he put his mind to.

I gasped at the revelation. Clay. Like Archer Clay. But a wave of doubt ran through me, Archer had never mentioned he knew my father, let alone having had him as a mentor or father figure. It couldn’t possibly be my Clay.

I wrote this letter with a second reason. To warn my daughter of the possibility Clay never stopped his research.

Don’t show her this, or let her know this letter even exists if she never asks. But if she comes to you with worries of blackouts, please show her this. I just want her to be safe.

Sincerely,

Thaddeus Bellaus

P.S. I love you my dear Dinah Fae. Always live with love in your heart.

“Thank you for showing me this, Lees.” I told James with a sob, clutching the letter tightly against my chest, holding onto one of the last things my father made.

“Oh my dear. I wish you had never shown up on my doorstep and I wish I never had to give you that letter.” he murmured.

“Me too.” I whispered.

“Now be on your way. I’ve done all that your father wished me too. I hope you find your way in this mess.” he replied. I smiled sadly at him and dipped my head to him before walking out the door with the letter held tightly in my hand. I have some work to do.

#my writing #a slave to the game #jack the ripper #chapter 4

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