#kate eddowes

[littlequeenies]

Catherine “Kate” Eddowes

[Previous post]

Last days & murder

Catherine was five feet tall, with dark auburn hair, hazel eyes. Friends described her as “intelligent and scholarly, but possessed of a fierce temper” and “a very jolly woman, always singing.”

On Saturday September 29th 1888, at 8:00am, Catherine met her common-law husband John Kelly at Cooney’s lodging house where he spent the night, saying there had been some trouble at the Mile End Casual Ward where she spent the night and was turned out early. Between 10:00 and 11:00am, Frederick Wilkinson, deputy at Cooney’s, saw Catherine and John eating breakfast in the kitchen of Cooney’s. Wilkinson noted that Catherine had on an apron. It was agreed that Catherine would pawn a pair of Kelly’s boots at a broker, Smith or Jones, in Church Street. Catherine got 2/6d (12 1/2p), and the ticket was in the name of Jane Kelly. With the money, they bought tea, coffee, sugar, and food. In the early afternoon she told him she would go to Bermondsey (London Borough of Southwark) to try to get some money from her daughter Annie, whom she believed was living there. She said she would have returned by 4:00pm and she and John separated in good terms. With money from pawning his boots, a bare-footed Kelly took a bed at the lodging-house just after 8:00 p.m., and according to the deputy keeper remained there all night.

At 8.30 p.m. Catherine Eddowes was found lying drunk in the road on Aldgate High Street by PC Louis Robinson. She was taken into custody and then to Bishopsgate police station, where she was detained, giving the name “Nothing”, until she was sober enough to leave at 1 a.m. on the morning of 30 September. On her release, she gave her name and address as “Mary Ann Kelly of 6 Fashion Street”. When leaving the station, instead of turning right to take the shortest route to her home in Flower and Dean Street, she turned left towards Aldgate. Around the same time, Louis Diemschutz found Elizabeth Stride’s body in gateway of Dutfield’s Yard.

Catherine Eddowes was last seen alive at 1.35 a.m. by three witnesses, Joseph Lawende, Joseph Hyam Levy and Harry Harris, who had just left a club on Duke Street. She was standing talking with a man at the entrance to Church Passage, which led south-west from Duke Street to Mitre Square along the south wall of the Great Synagogue of London. Only Lawende could furnish a description of the man, whom he described as a fair-moustached man wearing a navy jacket, peaked cloth cap, and red scarf. Chief Inspector Donald Swanson intimated in his report that Lawende’s identification of the woman as Eddowes was doubtful. He wrote that Lawende had said that some clothing of the deceased’s that he was shown resembled that of the woman he saw—“which was black … that was the extent of his identity [sic]”. A patrolling policeman, PC James Harvey, walked down Church Passage from Duke Street very shortly afterwards but his beat took him back down Church Passage to Duke Street, without entering the square.

Discovery

Catherine was murdered and mutilated in the square between 1:35 and 1:44 a.m. At 1:45 a.m., a mutilated body of then an unidentified woman was found in the south-west corner of Mitre Square by the square’s beat policeman PC Edward Watkins, who said that he entered the square at 1:44 a.m, having previously been there at 1:30 a.m. He called for assistance at the Kearly and Tonge’s tea warehouse in the square, where night watchman George James Morris, who was an ex-policeman, had noticed nothing unusual. Neither had another watchman George Clapp at 5 Mitre Square or an off-duty policeman Richard Pearse at 3 Mitre Square. ”For God’s sake, mate, come to assist me,“ said PC Watkins. ”What’s the matter?“ asked Morris. ”Oh dear, there’s another woman cut to pieces.“ replied PC Watkins. Morris returned with PC Watkins to view the body. At the same time, Inspector Edmund Reid arrived at Dutfield’s Yard. Superintendent Thomas Arnold arrived shortly after. Around 3 minutes later, at 1:47am, PC Watkins stayed with the body while Morris blew his whistle, running down Mitre St and into Aldgate. One minute later, PC Harvey heard whistle, saw Morris running, and went over to him. Morris Told PC Harvey about the body. Morris saw Police Constable Holland and called him over. One minute later, PC Harvey, PC Holland, and Morris went to Mitre Square. After viewing the body, PC Holland went to fetch Doctor George William Sequeira from his surgery at 34 Jewry Street. At 1:55am Inspector Edward Collard notified at Bishopsgate Police Station about the body and sent a PC to notify Doctor Frederick Gordon Brown, City Police Surgeon, 17 Finsbury Circus. Dr Sequeira was notified about the body. At 1:58am Detective Constable Daniel Halse, Detective Constable Edward Marriott, and Detective Sergeant Robert Outram, at bottom of Houndsditch near St Boloph’s Church, responded to Morris’s whistle and went to Mitre Square.

At 2:00am PC Holland returned with Dr Sequeira, who pronounced Catherine dead. DC Halse, DC Marriott, and DS Outram arrived at scene. Three minutes later, Insp. Collard arrived and immediately organized a search of the district. At the same time, Dr Sequeira was informed of Dr Brown’s impending arrival and waited before conducting the exam further. At 2:05am, DC Halse went into Middlesex Street and then on into Wentworth Street. Police surgeon Dr. Brown, who arrived at 2:18 a.m., said of the scene: “The body was on its back, the head turned to left shoulder. The arms by the side of the body as if they had fallen there. Both palms upwards, the fingers slightly bent. A thimble was lying off the finger on the right side. The clothes drawn up above the abdomen. The thighs were naked. Left leg extended in a line with the body. The abdomen was exposed. Right leg bent at the thigh and knee. The bonnet was at the back of the head—great disfigurement of the face. The throat cut. Across below the throat was a neckerchief. … The intestines were drawn out to a large extent and placed over the right shoulder…. The lobe and auricle of the right ear were cut obliquely through… Body was quite warm. No death stiffening had taken place. She must have been dead most likely within the half hour. We looked for superficial bruises and saw none… Several buttons were found in the clotted blood after the body was removed. There was no blood on the front of the clothes…”

Investigation

At 2:20am, Detective Superintendent Alfred Lawrence Foster and Superintendent James McWilliam arrived at the scene. DC Halse was in Goulston St returning to Mitre Square, and PC Alfred Long was on patrol in Goulston Street - saw nothing suspicious there. It was also at this time that PC Pearse first heard about the murder. At 2:35am DC Halse back in Mitre Square as a part of his beating. The body was placed into ambulance and taken to Golden Lane Mortuary. Sergeant Jones found three buttons, a thimble, and a mustard tin containing 2 pawn tickets issued to Emily Birrell and Anne Kelly beside the body. These eventually led to her identification by John Kelly as his common-law wife, after he read about the tickets in the newspapers. His identification was confirmed by Catherine Eddowes’ sister, Eliza Gold. No money was found on her. Sergeant Phelps, Inspector Izzard, and Sergeant Dudman went at the scene to preserve the public order. DC Halse and Insp Collard went to mortuary, where the body was stripped and a piece of ear dropped from the clothing. Inspector Collard itemized Catherine’s possessions and DC Halse noticed a piece of her apron was missing.

Dr Brown, Dr Sequeira and Doctor William Sedgwick Saunders, Medical Officer of Health and Public Analyst, City of London, conducted a post-mortem that afternoon attended by Dr Phillips. Dr Brown noted: “After washing the left hand carefully, a bruise the size of a sixpence, recent and red, was discovered on the back … between the thumb and first finger… The hands and arms were bronzed… The cause of death was haemorrhage from the left common carotid artery. The death was immediate and the mutilations were inflicted after death … There would not be much blood on the murderer. The cut was made by someone on the right side of the body, kneeling below the middle of the body. … the left kidney carefully taken out and removed. … I believe the perpetrator of the act must have had considerable knowledge of the position of the organs in the abdominal cavity and the way of removing them. The parts removed would be of no use for any professional purpose. It required a great deal of knowledge to have removed the kidney and to know where it was placed. Such a knowledge might be possessed by one in the habit of cutting up animals. I think the perpetrator of this act had sufficient time … It would take at least five minutes. … I believe it was the act of one person.”

Police physician Thomas Bond, disagreed with Brown’s assessment of the killer’s skill level. Bond’s report to police stated: ”In each case the mutilation was inflicted by a person who had no scientific nor anatomical knowledge. In my opinion he does not even possess the technical knowledge of a butcher or horse slaughterer or any person accustomed to cut up dead animals.“ Local surgeon Dr Sequeira, who was the first doctor at the scene, and City medical officer Saunders, who was also present at the autopsy, also thought that the killer lacked anatomical skill and did not seek particular organs. In addition to the abdominal wounds, the murderer had cut Eddowes’ face: across the bridge of the nose, on both cheeks, and through the eyelids of both eyes. The tip of her nose and part of one ear had been cut off. 

Due to the location of Mitre Square, the City of London Police under Detective Inspector James McWilliam joined the murder enquiry alongside the Metropolitan Police who had been engaged in the previous murders. Though the murder occurred within the City of London, it was close to the boundary of Whitechapel where the previous Whitechapel murders had occurred. The mutilation of Eddowes’s body and the abstraction of her left kidney and part of her womb by her murderer bore the signature of Jack the Ripper and was very similar in nature to that of earlier victim Annie Chapman.

Goulston Street Graffiti

At about 3 a.m. on the same day as Eddowes was murdered, PC Long found a blood-stained fragment of Catherine’s apron lying in the passage of the doorway leading to Flats 108 and 119, Model Dwellings, Goulston Street, Whitechapel. Above it on the wall was a graffito in chalk. There are at least 4 different versions of what was written in the graffiti:

PC Long told at an inquest that it read ”The Juwes are the men that Will not be Blamed for nothing“. Superintendent Arnold wrote a report which agrees with his account.

DC Halse arrived short time later, and took down a different version: “The Juws are not the men who will be blamed for nothing”.

City Surveyor Frederick Foster recorded a third version: “The Juws are not the men To be blamed for nothing”.

A summary report on the writing by Chief Inspector Swanson rendered it as “The Jewes are not the men to be blamed for nothing”. However, it is uncertain if Swanson ever saw the writing.

A copy according with Long’s version of the message was attached to a report from Metropolitan Police Commissioner Sir Charles Warren to the Home Office. PC Long searched staircases and surrounding area. The writing may or may not have been related to the murder, but either way, and despite the protests of PC Halse, it was washed away before dawn on the orders of Metropolitan Police Commissioner Warren, who feared that it would spark anti-Jewish riots. Mitre Square had three connecting streets: Church Passage to the north-east, Mitre Street to the south-west, and St James’s Place to the north-west. As PC Harvey saw no-one from Church Passage, and PC Watkins saw no-one from Mitre Street, the murderer must have left the square northwards through St James’s Place towards Goulston Street. Goulston Street was within a quarter of an hour’s walk from Mitre Square.

To this day, there is no consensus on whether or not the graffito is relevant to the murders. Some modern researchers believe that the apron fragment’s proximity to the graffito was coincidental and it was randomly discarded rather than being placed near it. If, as some writers contend, the apron fragment was cut away by the murderer(s) to use to wipe his hands, he could have discarded it near the body immediately after it had served that purpose, or he could have wiped his hands on it without needing to remove it. Author and former homicide detective Trevor Marriott raised another possibility: the piece of apron may not necessarily have been dropped by the murderer on his way back to the East End from Mitre Square. The victim herself might have used it as a sanitary towel, and dropped it on her way from the East End to Mitre Square.

On 30th September, John Kelly read in paper about victim having pawn ticket with Birrell’s name on it. He presented himself to the police and identified the body. Until then, he had no idea that Catherine was the victim.

Inquest

The Eddowes inquest was opened on 4 October by Samuel F. Langham, coroner for the City of London. A house-to-house search was conducted but nothing suspicious was discovered. Brown stated his belief that Eddowes was killed by a slash to the throat as she lay on the ground, and then mutilated.

October 11th, 1888 was the last day of her inquest. Verdict: “wiliful murder by person or persons unknown.”

Funeral 

Catherine Eddowes was buried on Monday, 8 October 1888 in an elm coffin in the City of London Cemetery, in an unmarked (public) grave 49336, square 318. John Kelly and one of Catherine Eddowes’s sister attended. 

After Catherine’s burial, her former husband Thomas Conway was located. The October 16th, 1888 issue of Echo, said: “Conway was at once taken to see Mrs. Annie Phillips, Eddowes’s daughter, who recognised him as her father. … He knew that [Catherine] had since been living with Kelly, and had once or twice seen her in the streets but has, as far as possible, kept out of her way, as he did not wish to have any further communication with her. Conway had followed the occupation of a hawker. The police describe him as evidently of very exemplary character. He alluded to his wife’s misconduct before their separation with evident pain”.

Today, square 318 has been re-used for part of the Memorial Gardens for cremated remains. Eddowes lies beside the Garden Way in front of Memorial Bed 1849. 

In late 1996, the cemetery authorities decided to mark her grave with a plaque. The plaques used to have “victim of ‘Jack the Ripper” on them, but since 2003 have been replaced with ‘Heritage Trail’ markings instead. The grave can be found either side of the path in ‘Gardens Way’, to the east of the cemetery.

Aftermath

The Royal London Hospital on Whitechapel Road preserves some crime scene drawings and plans of the Mitre Square murder by the City Surveyor Frederick William Foster; they were first brought to public attention in 1966 by Francis Camps, Professor of Forensic Medicine at London University. Based on his analysis of the surviving documents, Camps concluded that “the cuts shown on the body could not have been done by an expert.”

In 2014, mitochondrial DNA that matched that of one of Eddowes’ descendants was extracted from a shawl said to have come from the scene of her murder. The DNA match was based on one of seven small segments taken from the hypervariable regions. The segment contained a sequence variation described as 314.1C, and claimed to be uncommon, with a frequency of only 1 in 290,000 worldwide. However, Professor Sir Alec Jeffreys and others pointed out this was in fact an error in nomenclature for the common sequence variation 315.1C, which is present in more than 99% of the sequences in the EMPOP database. Other DNA on the shawl matched DNA from a relation of Aaron Kosminski, one of the suspects. This match was also based on a segment of mitochondrial DNA, but no information was given that would enable the commonness of the sequence to be estimated. The owner of the shawl, British author Russell Edwards, claimed the matches proved Kosminski was Jack the Ripper. Others disagree. Donald Rumbelow criticized the claim, saying that no shawl is listed among Eddowes’ effects by the police, and mitochondrial DNA expert Peter Gill said the shawl “is of dubious origin and has been handled by several people who could have shared that mitochondrial DNA profile.” Two of Eddowes’ descendants are known to have been in the same room as the shawl for 3 days in 2007, and, in the words of one critic, “The shawl has been openly handled by loads of people and been touched, breathed on, spat upon.”

On July 2, 2015 Russell Edwards unveiled a blue plaque to Catherine Eddowes at Wolverhampton Civic & Historical Society. The plaque features an image of Catherine Eddowes and is inscribed, “Catherine Eddowes. Born nearby, at 20 Merridale Street, Graisley Green on 14-4-1842 and murdered on 30-9-1888 in Whitechapel, London. An innocent victim of ‘Jack The Ripper’.”

Photos from: Escrito en Sangre blogspot & Pinterest.

***

To know more:

Wikipedia

Casebook website - Wiki Casebook - Casebook Message boards - Casebook Timeline - Casebook Last Movements - Casebook Forums

Dissertation: Catherine Eddowes and Gallows Literature in the Black Country

Dissertation: Catherine Eddowes: Wolverhampton and Birmingham

Catherine Eddowes wordpress

JTR Forums

Find a Grave

Jack The Ripper Experience

Jack The Ripper.org - Jack The Ripper.org Catherine-s last night

Whitechapel Jack

Ripper Vision

Jack The Ripper Tour Mitre Square - Jack the Ripper Tour Double Event

Jack Ripper

Jack The Ripper Time

Jack The Ripper Map

BEGG, Paul (2003): Jack the Ripper: The Definitive History.

BEGG, Paul (2013): Jack The Ripper. The Facts.

COOK, Andrew (2009): Jack the Ripper.

EDDLESTON, John J. (2001): Jack the Ripper: An Encyclopedia.

EDWARDS, Russell (2014): Naming Jack the Ripper.

EVANS, Stewart P. & RUMBELOW, Donald (2006): Jack the Ripper: Scotland Yard Investigates.

EVANS, Stewart P. & SKINNER, Keith (2000): The Ultimate Jack the Ripper Sourcebook: An Illustrated Encyclopedia.

EVANS, Stewart P. & SKINNER, Keith (2001): Jack the Ripper: Letters from Hell.

FIDO, Martin (1987): The Crimes, Death and Detection of Jack the Ripper.

FROST, Rebecca (2018): The Ripper’s Victims in Print. The Rethoric Portrayals Since 1929.

HUME, Robert (2019): The hidden lives of Jack the Ripper’s victims.

KENDELL, Colin (2010): Jack the Ripper - The Theories and The Facts.

MARRIOT, Trevor (2005): Jack the Ripper: The 21st Century Investigation.

PRIESTLEY, Mick P. (2018): One Autumn in Whitechapel.

RANDALL, Anthony J. (2013): Jack the Ripper. Blood lines.

RUBENHOLD, Hallie (2019): The Five: The Untold Lives of the Women killed by Jack the Ripper / The Five: The Lives of Jack the Ripper’s Women.

RUMBELOW, Donald (2004): The Complete Jack the Ripper: Fully Revised and Updated.

SHELDEN, Neal E. (2013): Mary Jane Kelly and the Victims of Jack the Ripper: The 125th Anniversary.

SHELDEN STUBBINGS, Neal (2007): The Victims of Jack the Ripper.

SUDGEN, Philip (2002): The Complete History of Jack the Ripper.

TROW, M. J. (2009): Jack The Ripper: Quest for a Killer.

WHITE, Jerry (2007): London in the Nineteenth Century.

WHITEHEAD, Mark; RIVETT, Miriam (2006): Jack the Ripper.

WILSON, Colin; ODELL, Robin (1987): Jack the Ripper: Summing Up and Verdict.

WOOD, Simon Daryl (2015): Deconstructing Jack: The Secret History of the Whitechapel Murders.

WOODS, Paul; & BADDELEY, Gavin (2009): Saucy Jack: The Elusive Ripper.

[petermorwood]

Funny what you hear...

A couple of days ago I found a TV series on YouTube that I haven't seen since 1973: "Jack The Ripper - Barlow & Watt Investigate".

It's an intriguing show, using two of the currently most popular TV policemen: they'd appeared in about three linked-but-separate crossover series, "Z Cars", "Softly Softly" and "Softly Softly Task Force".

However in this instance the crimes they're investigating, and the theories they're examining, are the notorious non-fictional Whitechapel murders.

*****

After about 50 years, watching this Is like seeing it for the very first time, and the very first episode contained the following exchange, which made me laugh a bit.

("Jack" is slang for a policeman, like "Bobby", "Peeler" or "cop", though I think Jack is more regionally North of England, where the Barlow and Watt characters originate.)

Barlow: "They had eight inspectors on the case." Watt: "And two Lancashire Jacks are worth how many from the south?" Barlow: "Well, at least we are Jacks. Starting with the evidence, and testing some theories. Not starting with the theory and selecting the evidence…"

*****

Why did I laugh?

It's because Barlow's final observation sums up Patricia Cornwell's infamous approach to her "Portrait of a Killer: Jack the Ripper: Case Closed".

Like any detective-story writer, she started with her chosen perpetrator (artist Walter Sickert) then arranged the rest of the book to "prove" it was 'im wot dunnit.

It's a book crammed full of circumstantial evidence and leap-of-logic speculations such as "...while there is no evidence Sickert was in London on that date, there is no evidence that he wasn't".

Well, duh.

Cornwell goes after her target with such obsession that one reviewer - a lawyer - pointed out that if Sickert had been still alive, the book would have been Exhibit A in a case of malicious libel. (Another comment, however, suggested he would have revelled in such notoriety...)

*****

As for closing the Ripper case or providing solid proof of who he / she / they was or were, it won't happen; the speculation industry is worth too much money and new books, new names and new theories - or old stuff recycled - keep coming out, with the most recent in July of this year (2023).

The only names that really matter are Mary Ann "Polly" Nichols, Anne "Annie" Chapman, Elizabeth "Long Liz" Stride, Catherine "Kate" Eddowes and Mary Jane Kelly.

They were people, not just names to tick off a check-list.

[snarkleharkle]

Why am I shocked that this is a thing now?

Also? No. First of all the shawl where they found the DNA was in privat collection and is not verifiee as having belonged to Kate Eddows. Also the only "match" is through mitochondrial DNA so not even an actual match.

[conradscrime]

The Canonical Five: Catherine Eddowes

March 31, 2023 

Catherine Eddowes was born on April 14, 1842, in Graiseley Green, Wolverhampton. She was the 6th of 12 children born to George and Catherine Eddowes. 

In 1843, the Eddowes family moved to London, where the family moved around a lot in the city. Catherine’s mother died of tuberculosis on November 17, 1855 at the age of 42. 

By 1857, both of Catherine’s parents had died, and as a 15 year old Catherine was admitted to a Bermondsey workhouse as an orphan. During this time, Catherine and a few of her siblings attended a local industrial school where they would be taught a trade. Catherine, with the help of her sister Emma, and her aunt got employment as a tinplate stamper in Wolverhampton. She then moved there and resided with her aunt, while continuing her education. 

Within a few months, Catherine was fired from this job, with claims that she had been caught stealing. Losing this job was said to cause tension between her and her aunt, and she relocated, living with an uncle Thomas Eddowes in Birmingham. 

Catherine moved around over the next year, between Wolverhampton and Birmingham. She was only 5 feet tall, slim, with dark wavy auburn hair and hazel eyes. She was described as a “very jolly woman, always singing, intelligent, and scholarly but possessed of a fierce temper.” 

When in Birmingham, Eddowes began seeing a former soldier named Thomas Conway and had two children with him, a daughter in 1863 and a son in 1867. There is no evidence that the two actually got married, though Thomas often called Catherine “Kate Conway.” She later got Thomas’ initials tattooed in blue ink on her left forearm. 

In 1868, Catherine and Thomas moved to London, living in Westminster. The couple had a third son, born in 1873. During this time in London, Catherine began drinking, causing arguments between her family. According to Catherine’s daughter, Catherine and Thomas began living on “bad terms�� throughout the 1870′s, mostly due to the drinking. 

In the late 1870′s, the relationship turned more violent physically, as Catherine was often seen with black eyes and bruising on her face. It was said that Thomas found Catherine’s drinking “intolerable.” 

Catherine left Thomas and their children in 1880, and in 1881 she had moved in with a new partner, a man named John Kelly. The two had met at Cooney’s common lodging house located at 55 Flower and Dean Street, Spitalfields, a known spot for criminal activity. After this, she became known as “Kate Kelly.” 

The deputy of the lodging house stated that Catherine’s drinking wasn’t to excess, however there is a record that she was brought before the court on a charge of being drunk and disorderly in September 1881. She was discharged without being fined. 

Catherine made money by cleaning and sewing around Spitalfields, however it is believed she engaged in sex work from time to time to pay her daily rent. 

In September 1888, it was said that Catherine had told a superintendent that she was going to claim the reward money for the arrest of the Whitechapel murderer (Jack the Ripper) saying “I think I know him.” 

In the early afternoon of September 29, Catherine told John she was going to travel to Bermondsey to borrow money from her daughter. She told John she would return by 4pm. 

At 8:30pm, a police officer named Louis Frederick Robinson saw a group of people outside 29 Aldgate High Street. When he approached he found Catherine laying drunk on the pavement. Catherine was then taken to the Bishopsgate Police Station to be detained while she sobered up. When Catherine arrived she said her name was “Nothing” and had fallen asleep in her cell. 

After 12:30 am on September 30, 1888, Catherine asked the police if she could be released. At 1am, Catherine was released. Instead of turning right to take the shortest route back to Flower and Dean street, Catherine turned left. 

She was last seen in a narrow walkway named Church Passage at 1:35 am. Three witnesses saw her there: Joseph Lawende, Joseph Hyam Levy and Harry Harris. 

Joseph Lawende would later say that Catherine was standing and talking with a man of medium build, with a fair moustache. Catherine was facing the man and had one hand on his chest, although it did not appear to Joseph that she was resisting the man. 

The man was described as around 30 years old, about 5′7″, and wearing loose fitting pepper and salt coloured jacket, a grey peaked cloth cap and a “reddish” neckerchief. Joseph said the man resembled a sailor. 

At 1:44am, Catherine’s body, which had been mutilated and disembowelled was found in the south-west corner of Mitre Square by policeman Edward Watkins. Catherine was found lying on her back with her head resting on a coal hole and turned towards the left shoulder.

Edward Watkins had previously walked by the area 14 minutes earlier, at 1:30am, and did not see anything. Watkins had gotten assistance from a watchman at the Kearley and Tonge warehouse, George James Morris who had been an ex-policeman. Morris claimed he had been sweeping the landings inside the warehouse with the door opened but had not heard anything. 

Other police officers who were around the area also reported that they heard nothing. Around 2:55am, a blood stained piece of Catherine’s apron was discovered at the bottom of a stairway on Goulston Street, Whitechapel. A police officer claimed to have not seen the garment at 2:20am when he passed through. 

Scrawled on the wall above where the apron was found in chalk was written, “The Juwes are the men that Will not be Blamed for nothing.” It is unclear whether this was written by the killer or had already been there. 

During the autopsy it was determined that Catherine’s throat had been cut, and her intestines had been removed from her body and placed over her right shoulder. Her body was warm, and no stiffening at taken place. It appears she had been dead within half an hour. There were no superficial bruises and no blood on the abdomen. Catherine’s face had been mutilated. 

Catherine’s cause of death was haemorrhage from the left common carotid artery. The mutilations had been inflicted after death, as her death was immediate, thus there would not be much blood on the murderer. Catherine’s left kidney had been taken out and removed carefully. 

The murderer was believed to be someone who knew knowledge of cutting up bodies, such as animals. It was said during the autopsy that the person responsible would not possess enough anatomical knowledge to be a surgeon, but perhaps enough that they could be a butcher or a slaughter man. 

However, a police physician named Thomas Bond disagreed with this, saying he believed the person did not have any anatomical knowledge. George Sequeira, the first doctor on the scene, and the city medical officer, William Sedgwick Saunders also agreed the killer probably did not have any anatomical skill. 

The official inquest began on October 4, 1888. John Kelly testified saying he had last seen Catherine at 2pm on September 29. John also claimed that Catherine did not work as a sex worker, didn’t drink much and made her earning by hawking goods. 

The testimony from others also deemed that Catherine must of died around 2:20am, and the mutilations on her body had been from a knife at least 6 inches in length after death. The murderer most likely kneeled on the right side of Catherine’s body while doing them. 

Police went door to door to search for the perpetrator but found nothing suspicious. It is believed that Catherine was a victim of Jack the Ripper, as the murder took place close to the boundary of Whitechapel and the mutilation of her body, specifically the removal of her left kidney and part of her womb was similar to Jack the Ripper killings. 

Catherine’s injuries were very similar to Annie Chapman, one of Jack the Ripper’s previous victims. 

It is believed that the murderer had left Mitre Square northwards towards St James’ Place, towards Goulston Street, where he had dropped a piece of Catherine’s apron. 

Goulston Street was a 15 minute walk from Mitre Square, directly on route to Flower and Dean Street, where Catherine lodged. It is believed her murderer also lodged around the same area and was perhaps on his way home after the killing. 

On October 1, 1888, the day after Catherine’s murder, a postcard from signed by Jack the Ripper, known as the “Saucy Jacky” postcard was received by the Central News Agency. The writer claimed he had killed both Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes as a “double event.” 

It’s been reported that the postcard had been mailed before the murders had gone public, making It less likely that a random person would be playing a prank. However, this later was postmarked more than 24 hours after the killings took place, which was long after the details had already been known to journalists and the public. 

It was later claimed by public officials that the author of this postcard was a London based journalist, and they dismissed this as a hoax. Most Ripper historians believe this to be a hoax as well, as many believe all of the correspondence from Jack the Ripper was not from the true killer. 

On October 16, 1888, a parcel was delivered and received to the Chairman of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee, George Lusk. Inside the parcel was a human kidney, and the infamous “From Hell” letter, as the writer had written the address as from where the letter came from. 

The writer said they had fried and ate the missing kidney half, and the writing was similar to that of the Saucy Jacky postcard. 

The kidney was taken to a nearby London hospital where it was determined that it was most likely a human kidney, from the left side, and the organ had been preserved. It was believed the kidney came from a woman who was 45. 

However, the next day it was reported that it was near impossible to be able to tell the age or gender of who the kidney belonged too. It was also not determined how long the organ had been preserved before being sent. 

It was believed by some that the kidney was that of Catherine Eddowes, as it matched the length of the renal artery that was missing from her. The kidney also showed Bright’s disease, which Catherine had. 

Police surgeon Brown said the kidney had been trimmed up, and that the renal artery was absent, meaning it cannot be confirmed to be Catherine’s and that it could’ve been anybodies. 

Catherine was buried on October 8, 1888. She was laid in an unmarked grave at #49336, square 318 in the City of London Cemetery. Her coffin had a plate inscribed which read, “Catherine Eddowes, died Sept. 30, 1888, aged 43 years.” Catherine now lies beside the Garden Way in front of Memorial Bed #1849. In 1996 cemetery authorities gave Catherine’s grave a plaque to formally mark it. 

In 2014, DNA matching one of Catherine’s descendants was extracted from an 8 foot section of a shawl that was supposedly from the scene of her murder. The source of stains on the shawl could not be actually classified as blood, but are hypothesized to be from blood spatter and possibly semen. 

The DNA on this shawl is believed to be matched from a descendant of Jack the Ripper, a suspect named Aaron Kosminski. 

The shawl was supposedly taken by a policeman investigating Catherine’s murder scene and had been passed down to family generations. The shawl ended up at Scotland Yard’s Crime Museum in 1991, but unsure of how authentic it is it has never been publicly displayed in the museum. 

[fuzzysparrow]

Who was Catherine Eddowes?

On 30th September 1888, a policeman came across the mutilated body of a woman in Mitre Square, London. After alerting other officers, it was concluded the body was the fourth victim of “Jack the Ripper”. The victim was identified as Catherine Eddowes (1842-88), known to her friends as Kate. "Jack the Ripper" was the nickname of an unidentified serial killer active in and around the Whitechapel district of London in 1888.

Eddowes was originally from Wolverhampton where she worked as a tinplate stamper. She married an ex-soldier, Thomas Conway and moved to London where they lived with their two sons and daughter. Unfortunately, Kate became an alcoholic and left her family in 1880, moving in with a new partner John Kelly the following year.

On the evening of 29th September 1888, a drunken Eddowes was found lying in the road on Aldgate High Street. She was arrested and held in police custody for a few hours. By 1 am, the police had no choice but to let her go; she had not committed a crime and they needed the space. With a flippant “Goodnight, old cock,” Catherine left the station in the direction of Aldgate.

Catherine Eddowes’ body was identified by John Kelly who recognised her description in a newspaper. Three witnesses claim to have seen her alive at 1:35 am talking to a man at the entrance to a passage leading to Mitre Square. In less than ten minutes she was dead. The murderer was never caught.

[ninjaofthepurplethings]

Catherine “Kate” Eddowes (14th April 1842 - 30th September 1888)

When Catherine was just over a year old, she and her whole family crowded onto a laden canal barge for the two day journey from Wolverhampton to London. Being eight in number they couldn’t possibly afford to pay the train fare for a quicker journey.

Catherine’s father George worked in the tin-working trade and tensions had run high between certain factory owners and their workers. Many of the men unionised in response to their working conditions and pay and ultimately called a strike. Edward Perry, the owner of the factory who employed George, was no friend of the working man and was known for prosecuting strikers for breaching their contract. They could expect two months hard labour in prison as punishment. Perry offered £30 to anyone who could identify anyone who could provide information about the “daily secret meetings... inducing our men to leave our employment”. The finger was pointed at George, he was tried and found guilty. After his release from prison, George had to accept that he would no longer be able to find work in Wolverhampton and decided to try his fortunes in London.

Among the poor and working classes there was little knowledge about contraception, and even if they did know about the primitive version of condoms made out of sheep guts or contraceptive sponges, they likely couldn’t afford them. Socially it was considered both a woman’s duty to bear children and to take responsibility for contraception. Despite inadequate knowledge and access to contraception, the middle and upper classes looked down with disdain on the poor and their large families, pointing out that they would not be so poor if they did not have so many children. Maternal Rights campaigner Margaret Llewelyn Davies spoke about “a life of excessive childbearing” and the toll on the wellbeing of women. The more children they had, the more likely the mother was to suffer a physical toll and the further resources had to be stretched, the more it fell upon mothers to deny themselves food in order to ensure that her wage earning husband and children could eat. Malnutrition was a common cause of miscarriage, stillbirth and failure to thrive in the 19th Century. Ultimately, Catherine’s mother bore 12 children, 10 of whom survived. As soon as one of the children was old enough, they would be expected to find employment to help support the growing family. Although Catherine did attend school, at least for a while, she was not fully literate (only about 49% of women were able to read and write at that time) despite being described as having “...an unusual degree of intelligence”.

In 1855 Catherine’s mother developed a cough and she grew weak and thin. Catherine was only 13 when her mother died from consumption (tuberculosis) at the age of 42- the average life expectancy of women of her class at that time. Two years later Catherine’s father also became unwell. Catherine and her siblings had to start to seriously consider how to survive without parents or an income, with younger siblings who still required a lot of care. Sadly, their disabled older brother and the youngest siblings were sent to the workhouse after their father died. Catherine was sent to an Aunt and Uncle’s in Wolverhampton with the promise that they would help to find her employment.  

Catherine’s Aunt and Uncle were able to find her a position as a scourer in a nearby tin factory. This work involved dipping tinware into oxide baths in a room full of fumes from acid vats for twelve hours a day. Apparently Catherine wasn’t too overjoyed by her new position, as she was caught stealing items and dismissed, but fortunately not brought before the Magistrate. At 19 Catherine decided she needed another fresh start and set off for Birmingham, a 14 mile walk, in order to live with another Uncle who was well known as a bare-knuckle boxer.

Meanwhile, Thomas Quinn, who had changed his name from Conway, had served in India with the Royal Irish regiment. Thomas was medically discharged due to rheumatism, a heart defect and lung damage caused by chronic bronchitis. For a working class man the majority of jobs available would have involved some form of physical labour, something Thomas would have found difficult due to his health. Thomas instead became a “Chapbook man”; part vagabond, part door to door salesman, storyteller, singer and seller of song sheets and pamphlets. Thomas would pick up local news and gossip to regale prospective clients with while he tried to sell them knickknacks and charm was an essential skill. When unable to earn enough shillings to pay for food or a bed for the night, Thomas would have had to go hungry and sleep outdoors. It is not clear exactly how Catherine and Thomas met, but she fell head over heels and began following him, trudging around the country and assisting him in entertaining strangers, singing in pubs and markets in order to sell their goods. Catherine was described as good natured, gregarious and outgoing so her personality was well suited to this. 

Catherine became pregnant soon after they met. In 1863, with no permanent home and at 9 months pregnant, Catherine had to seek assistance at a Workhouse in Norfolk. Hygiene and good sanitation as a preventative measure against infection and disease was little understood at the time, so sanitation was poor and expectant mothers would also share wards with patients with infectious diseases such as small pox, tuberculosis and syphilis. Babies were delivered without soap and water and in that particular Workhouse the gas jets were often left on in order to deter rats. Catherine gave birth to Catherine “Annie” Conway on 18th April 1863 and re-joined Thomas tramping about the country with Annie strapped to her back. 

Several years later, after travelling up and down the country, the couple decided to stay more permanently in London and moved into a small house near Westminster in 1868. Catherine had a second child, a son named Thomas and in 1869 a daughter Harriet, named after one of her sisters. Thomas’ plans of making a better living as a pedlar in London did not come to fruition and little Harriet died of malnutrition at only a few weeks old. Thomas took off to Yorkshire in the hopes of making money while Catherine remained in London and by January 1870 Catherine, Annie and little Thomas were in Greenwich Union Workhouse. Sadly this become a pattern for Catherine over the next 10 years. In 1873 she gave birth to another son, George, named after her father; again giving birth in a Workhouse. The “Poor Law” would not allow destitute mothers to receive financial relief from the parish, as the local authorities were concerned that providing money to “immoral women” would equate to state subsidised prostitution. It made no difference that Catherine was in a monogamous Common Law relationship with the father of her children, there was no distinction made between women like her and sex workers. Catherine had no choice but to bring some or all of her children with her whenever she entered the Workhouse. They would be stripped, given Workhouse uniforms, separated by gender and age, with children under seven being allowed to remain with their mothers and older children being taken to live separately. Parents were allowed weekly “interviews” with their children in the dining hall. In 1876, when Catherine was expecting her fourth child, Frederick, and presented herself at Greenwich Workhouse, her older two children were dispatched 18 miles away to the Industrial School in Sutton.

Thomas Conway’s frequent absences and the financial hardship this caused the family began to lead to physical altercations between the couple. Catherine also began to drink heavily, while Thomas did not drink alcohol at all. Catherine’s family blamed Catherine for the beatings she received, as was the common attitude at the time, when it was deemed necessary for a husband to impose discipline within the home through physical violence. In terms of victim blaming, these attitudes have not really changed that significantly since then. 

Between November 1876 and December 1877 Catherine was in and out of Workhouses on at least seven occasions. In August 1877 she had been arrested for being Drunk and Disorderly and sent to Wandsworth Prison for 14 days. Despite blaming Catherine for her misfortunes, her sisters did try to offer her shelter and support. Shortly before Christmas Catherine and Thomas had yet another altercation and her family was shocked at her disfigured appearance on Christmas Day. Catherine repeatedly returned to Thomas and they changed addresses frequently due to their lack of stable income. In 1879 they returned to hawking ballads together, with Annie now being old enough to look after her siblings. However, on 4th October they took little Thomas and George out with them and instructing the boys to stay where they had been put, wandered off. The boys were found and taken to the Workhouse. It took a week before Catherine was located and made to reclaim her children. A similar incident occurred in November that year. On this occasion Catherine (or Thomas it should be noted) could not be found and after a month 16 year old Annie came to claim them. It is not know what Catherine’s state of mind was at the time, but she had lost her infant son Frederick earlier that year and she was using alcohol to excess. 

Catherine and Thomas’ relationship limped along until 1881 and Catherine turned to her sister Elizabeth for assistance. However, as her sister’s Emma and Harriet had already discovered, Catherine’s behaviour made it difficult to be supportive of her. She was arrested again for drunken disorderliness and was spared prison on this occasion. But, by the end of the year, Elizabeth broke of her relationship with her sister and Catherine turned to her remaining sister Eliza who lived in Spitalfields. Eliza was also struggling in poverty so when Catherine had the 4 pence to do so she would stay at a lodging house on Flower and Dean Street. There she caught the eye of another lodger, John Kelly. If Catherine’s sisters had disliked Thomas Conway, they had utter disdain for John Kelly. Although he was described as “quiet and inoffensive” he was a dosser and a heavy drinker, while Thomas had been a teetotaller. Nevertheless, Catherine and John were popular with their fellow lodgers and Catherine was known to be always ready with a song or to give away her last few pennies to those who needed it. Catherine and John could not always afford to pay for their bed at Flower and Dean street and on those occasions Catherine would sleep rough and was well known among other homeless women, some of whom were the first to come forward and identify her after her murder.

Catherine’s continued drinking and resultant itinerant lifestyle also caused her to lose her relationship with her children and she became entirely dependant on John Kelly and he on her. In the summer of 1888, Catherine and John headed for Kent to join thousands of others in seeking casual work picking berries, fruit and later hops. Unfortunately, the harvest had been poor and they returned to penniless to London on 27th September. The spent a night at a parish ward and the next day John was able to earn a few pennies at the market, enough to pay for one bed but not enough for two. John’s version of events is muddled and unclear, but it does appear that Catherine almost certainly slept rough while John paid for a bed for himself. On the 29th they wandered off, presumably to try and earn some money. According to John, Catherine went off in an attempt to find out where her daughter Annie lived in order to ask her for money, promising she would be back at 4 O’Clock. Despite having no money, Catherine was found in a crumpled, drunken and incoherent heap by Police at 8:30 that evening. 

Catherine was taken into custody and put in a cell to sober up. She was then released at about 1am. With no money and no possibility of getting a bed for the night Catherine wandered the dark streets, perhaps looking for someone she might know or ultimately somewhere to sleep. A few hours later her mutilated body was discovered. 

On the 8th of October 1888 hundreds of people lined the streets to watch the carriage carrying Catherine’s coffin to Ilford Cemetery and five hundred people gathered to pay their respects as she was interred- whether out of genuine regard for Catherine or some ghoulish fascination with the Ripper Murders remains unknown. 

[Source: The Five: The Untold Lives of the Women Killed by Jack the Ripper by Hallie Rubenhold (2019)]

PREVIOUS // NEXT

[dalekofchaos]

Jack The Ripper fancast

On the off chance we might ever see a new adaptation for Jack The Ripper, this is my fancast for Jack The Ripper

Was inspired to make this fancast by this piece of fanart/fanedit

Mads Mikkelsen as Jack The Ripper

or David Tennant as Jack The Ripper

Thomas Kretschmann as Inspector Fredrick Abberline

or Jared Harris as Inspector Fredrick Abberline

Emily Blunt as Mary Ann Nichols

Kate Winslet as Annie Chapman

Winona Ryder as Elizabeth Stride

Jodie Comer as  Catherine Eddowes

Katie McGrath as Mary Jane Kelly

Martin Freeman as Inspector Edmund Reid

James McAvoy as Freddrick Best

[bobmccullochny]

History

September 30 587 (Earthquake) Atioch (now Turkey)

1452 - Johann Guttenberg's Bible was published.

1659 - Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe was shipwrecked.

1888 - "Jack the Ripper" killed two women, Liz Stride & Kate Eddowes.

1911 - The first movie stuntman was hired as a stand-in for 'The Military Scout'.

1946 - 22 Nazi leaders were found guilty of war crimes at the Nuremberg Trials.

1947 - The first World Series game was watched by an estimated 3.9 million people, television's first mass audience event.

1949 - The Berlin Airlift came to an end.

1951 - The Red Skelton Show debuted on NBC.

1954 - The Nautilus, the first atomic-powered submarine, was commissioned by the US Navy.

1960- The Flintstones debuted on ABC during primetime.

1961 - The bill for Boston Tea Party (December 16, 1773) was paid by Mayor Snyder of Portland who wrote a check (to 'Great Britain') for $196, the total cost of all tea lost, but with no interest. This factoid has been seen on several online websites, but we have been unable to verify it.

1965 - Thunderbirds premiered on ITV, in the UK.

1975 - The Muhammad Ali vs Joe Frazier title fight from the Philippines ("Thrilla in Manila") was sent via satellite to the U. S. and shown on HBO

1982 - Cheers premiered on NBC

1984 - Murder She Wrote debuted on CBS

1985 - MacGyver debuted on ABC

1997 - Microsoft released Internet Explorer 4.0.

[adamwatchesmovies]

From Hell (2001)

It’s been some since I read Allan Moore and Eddie Campbell’s From Hell but I remember two things about it: the length and amount of research poured into it. This film adaptation is by no means as definitive as the graphic novel but it is as compelling, believable, and frightening. 

In Whitechapel, London, 1888, a serial killer is targeting prostitutes. The crimes' brutality leaves the city in a state of shock and the police are ill-equipped to stop whoever is responsible. Whitechapel Police Inspector Frederick Abberline (Johnny Depp) is charged with finding answers. His interrogations of the victims' friends, Mary Kelly (Heather Graham), Polly Nichols (Annabelle Apsion), Annie Chapman (Katrin Cartlidge), Liz Stride (Susan Lynch), and Kate Eddowes (Lesley Sharp) show a possible link between "Jack the Ripper" and London's high society.

Once in a while, we get a fictionalized account of true events so radical and so well put together you wished it were true. Much of this film’s appeal comes from the real crimes themselves. Set in a time that’s not so far back that superstition overtook reason but not so far into the modern era of humanity that they didn’t have idiotic prejudices hindering the police investigations. Deep down, you know Jack the Ripper was never caught, which makes you wonder what kind of revisionist history we'll get here. That’s when our hero comes in. He's an intelligent investigator that, like the audience watching this film, looks at the facts. While suffering from a crippling opium addiction, he manages to get the clues, eliminate the red herrings, and orient the pieces in a way that seems to be leading to the ultimate answer. Too bad society itself is unknowingly helping the killer get away with the murders.

This film takes the already fascinating story of Jack the Ripper and makes it doubly entertaining. Not only do we get the police's viewpoint, we see what the situation was like for the victims. Times were already tough enough but it was even harder for the women being preyed upon. Poor, uneducated, seen as garbage by the other members of society and assumed to be in their situation because of some genetic trait, no one is the least bit concerned when they turn up dead but you do. The film develops them effectively. They don’t want to be prickpinchers but make the best of their situation. They have their jokes amongst themselves, they have dreams, friends, moments of sadness, and families. When they're forced to return to the streets night after night, you're worried.

There's much more going on in From Hell than just the investigation of the Whitechapel murders. This movie is one great paranoid development after another. You're excited to see where the murders lead but when we see the crime scenes, it turns from thriller to horror film. More often than not, the ghoulish slayings are hinted at rather than shown but once in a while, you'll see a scene you can never unsee.

From Hell is a great thriller that keeps you wondering, and curious to see more. Its most intense scenes will shock even seasoned movie-goers. If I were a gambling man I’d put my money on From Hell being the best Jack the Ripper film brought to screen. (On DVD, October 23, 2014)

[ninasoden]

Elizabeth "Long Liz" Stride and Kate Eddowes ~ Victims of Jack the Ripper Speak

#theredheadedauthor shares the story of Elizabeth Stride and Kate Jack the Ripper's 5th & 6th victims. Plus hear from the actresses who played them and the author who gave them a voice. #virtualtheatre #jacktheripper

Virtual Theatre Performance from The Belles of Whitechapel ~ The Victims of Jack the Ripper Speak, written by Wayne Miller / Directed by Nina Soden

Actress Leslie Gates

LESLIE GATES is very excited to be part of this project. She has been seen on stage in Huntsville in The Importance of Being Earnest, The Diviners,…

[blamed-for-nothing]

[feelingsinwinter]

Loving a Vampire

Art by @crystallized-iron - post original

Also on AO3

September the 30th, 1888 - Late at night

The walk back home should have been quiet and calm, but despite the late hour and the way the smoke from the chimney-pots darkened the streets, there were people chatting away everywhere. Some recognizing him and lowering a hat or bowing their head, distracted respect as they went along with their own lives, some others only acknowledging him in the way they adjusted their path in order to avoid him.

Multiple heels hitting the pavement, the cars rolling around and the rhythmic sounds of the horses’ hooves against the streets’ stones. Anthony Edward Stark watched it all, eyes sharp and mind taking it all in as if it wasn’t something he saw every damn night, each time he came back home from work.

But there was something in the air, aside from the heavy smell of soot, shit and damp stones. Something in the eyes of men and women alike. They looked left and right with more attention than they had a month ago, they avoided dark alleys all the while conscious it wouldn’t save them. Men were less likely to be made into preys and victims, but that knowledge couldn’t keep the fear away.

London’s streets were full of predators, but one in particular had started haunting Whitechapel’s, and its prowesses were more vicious and worrying than those of a simple murderer.

Tony had seen quite a lot of things since he had started working with the police. Women stabbed to death and left there to die, men beaten into a pulp over a debt, orphans running up the street and working in order to win the right to a meal. Honestly, that was the easiest part of it. There were other cases were meant to stay in the dark once they were closed, and Tony was all too happy to leave them be. But the killer who had started his macabre handiwork on that fateful August 31st, that one was giving the police a hard time. And making people nervous.

The one known as the Whitechapel Murderer had had quite a busy night, last night. Tony wasn’t entirely sure what had caused the two murders, but he had a few hypothesis. One of them began with the fact that Elizabeth Stride’s body was mostly untouched compared to Eddowes’. Nothing more frustrating than being unable to finish one’s task, being interrupted by some steward driving a cart.

Whitechapel’s murderer had found another victim rather quickly, as soon as an hour after being disturbed. He also had left his first message since the beginning of this whole shitshow. “The Juwes are the men that Will not be Blamed for nothing” had been written in white chalk on a wall, above a piece of Eddowes’ apron thrown on the ground. The letters were written in fire in Tony’s mind. Along with the Metropolitan Police Commissioner’s words, Sir Charles Warren had almost instantly ordered that the wall was washed and the words erased before dawn. It could spark anti-Jewish revolts, he’d confided to Tony, soon after barking his orders.

As if the concern wasn’t already on his mind. It would be the spark that would ignite the whole city on fire, as if the walls were covered in black powder. Minds were already reeling in fear and alcohol, more bellies full of booze than actual food. It wouldn’t take much to get to a full blown revolt. It was indeed better to make sure nobody knew about any of this.

It could be one of the Ripper’s games, a way of creating more chaos around him so that his deeds could be committed freely, lost in the midst of a rebellion. Who would then have time to try and stop a murderer, no matter how horrendous the slaughters were.

Sighing, Tony pushed his door open, closed it behind him and hung his coat. With a tired hum, he made a beeline for the kitchen and the bottle of scotch hidden behind the cupboard’s door. Pouring himself a glass, he leaned a hip against the counter and let himself regret his decision to leave his house unattended. There was no maid to attend to the linens or his clothes, no butler to take care of him as soon as he was home. He missed Jarvis with the kind of deep ache he would have expected feeling for his mother. Yet, here he was, alone in a mansion too big for him and chores he never had to take care of before. He was used to it, now, but it didn’t mean he liked it and even less the idea of having to tend to them once his own day of work was done.

But his choice hadn’t be a hard one to make, and while he regretted the lack of easiness of having staff around to take care of things, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Setting his empty glass aside, Tony strolled into the living room, a small smile curving the side of his lips.

This, of all the things, was what made every day worth living.

Comfortably settled in the chesterfield, book in hand and feet extended toward the fireplace, Bucky looked as dashing as he always did. He had his long hair held back with some dark silk ribbon, the fire playing a game of light and shadows over his features but they couldn’t hide the subtle smirk curving his lips, even if they tried.

“How long have you been here?”

Bucky peered at him from the corner of his eye, looking up at Tony as his smirk grew.

“I arrived a few minutes ago. Thought you might enjoy a fire and some warmth, after today.”

Tony yawned and nodded as he circled the furniture Bucky was sitting on and flopped on it, laying his head in the man’s lap. Without missing a beat, Bucky’s hand carded through his hair, fingers digging gently into his scalp and massaging slowly. Tony purred and shifted on his side, pressing his nose against Bucky’s stomach and closing his eyes, enjoying the touch and the familiarity of Bucky’s smell.

“Bad day?”

Tony made an angry sound and Bucky chuckled, his fingers running gently through Tony’s long strands of hair. Maybe he should consider cutting it sometime in the near future. As soon as the Ripper’s case was over, maybe he’ll have the time to do it. As it was, he barely had enough time to enjoy Bucky’s presence. He would not reduce that precious gift furthermore, not for something as trivial as too-long hair. Especially when Bucky looked so good with his going farther down than his shoulders. Maybe Tony could try the long hair look too. Considering how things were going with Jack the Ripper, he’ll get a fucking mane before he got the chance of finding his way to a hairdresser.

Bucky tugged gently on the hair on the back of Tony’s head and the inspector looked up at him, frowning slightly.

“I could hear your thoughts and if you keep frowning like that, your face will get stuck.”

Tony rolled his eyes and bit into Bucky’s belly through his clothes, pulling a face when the fabric’s taste got on his tongue.

“God, never thought it would taste that bad,” he sighed, letting out a tired purr when Bucky resumed his petting. “He did it again,” Tony mumbled after a bit, eyes closed again and shoulders dropping. Bucky closed his book and set it aside, looking down at him. Tony couldn’t see him but felt every shift in the man’s body. “His last murder was on the eighth of September and since then… well, I mean, we weren’t lacking in murder cases, but I knew it wasn’t his work. But this time...” Tony curled up tighter, frowning as he rubbed his thumb over the fabric of Bucky’s shirt. It felt soft under his skin, grounding. As was Bucky’s breathing and his general presence. “We found two. Probably happened Saturday night. He didn’t get the chance to do what he wanted on one so he found another.”

Bucky’s hand settled at the nape of Tony’s neck, his thumb swiping gently over his pulse, caressing his skin.

“Is it unusual?” His rough voice made Tony shudder and he turned on his back, looking up at him with dark eyes, the fire turning the warm brown of his eyes into melted gold.

“No, it is not. What is, on the other hand, is the pace.” His hands resting over his belly, flat as he breathed slowly, Tony inhaled deeply before letting out his doubts. “One was killed beside Dutfield’s Yard at one in the morning. The body was still warm and the blood fresh, just spilled. Forty five minutes later, the other one -- Kate -- was found at the south-west corner of Mitre Square by Watkins. He… He had quite the time to do a lot of damage. In forty five minutes, he went from that place to another one, found another victim, got the time to… disfigure her, disembowel her and that’s not all of it. At half-past, Officer Watkins had been through that area, he came back a quarter after and she was there. The killer had taken the time to position her the way he wanted her to be. She was still warm when they found her.”

He closed his mouth, let his words hung in the air between them. Bucky looked down at him, eyes shining brightly as he frowned. If Tony’s eyes looked brighter in the fire’s light, Bucky’s looked like shining ice. Hard and pale.

“You think a vampire did this.”

Tony shrugged, looking up at the ceiling, past Bucky’s shoulder. Unable to hold his gaze.

“I don’t think anything anymore,” he said weakly. “There’s always blood, enough to think he didn’t drink from his victims before mutilating them. Can a vampire resist the appeal of blood?”

“Old ones can,” Bucky said slowly, thinking hard and fast. “I know I can. A young one wouldn’t be unable to resist the call of the warmth and smell. If it’s a vampire, he’s strong and he’s old. I wonder where that killing spree would come from, though,” he added as an afterthought.

Tony shrugged once again, his lips taking on a downturn.

“Don’t need a reason in this godforsaken place,” he said bitterly.

Bucky snorted, the bastard, and Tony glared at him from his half opened eyes.

“I mean,” Bucky said with a smile to match Tony’s words, “I’m here. So you can’t be that wrong.”

Tony remained silent for a few seconds before snorting too. Bucky couldn’t be wrong, probably. Tony was mostly atheist but kept it as quiet as he could, appearing as much a believer as his colleagues and his peers, but Bucky’s existence was a big question mark.

Vampires couldn’t be real. Yet Bucky felt very real under his head and shoulders, very strong when he pounded Tony into the mattress, very soft when his hands carded through Tony’s hair or kneaded knots out of his muscles. Bucky was a vampire and he still was very much there, to Tony’s ever growing pleasure and happiness.

“I don’t care about god, but you might be the only light in this dark place as far as I’m concerned.” Bucky’s bitter smile morphed into something softer and Tony felt compelled to add something in order to change that. “Besides, better Him not being around with what we’re up to in the bedroom. And pretty much everywhere else, for that matter.”

The snort it drew out of the vampire had Tony smiling. He loved a soft Bucky, it made his eyes look like melting ice, the small wrinkles it made at their corner or the way he cocked his head ever so slightly to the side. Soft Bucky was a wonder and a gift, but considering the actual subject where God was mentioned, soft Bucky tended to turn into bitter and self-loathing Bucky. Tony couldn’t let that happen, not if he could help it.

“So… you hungry?” Tony asked casually, stretching lazily over Bucky’s thighs.

The flash of fangs peeking from under Bucky’s upper lip was answer enough but the smile Bucky was directing at him was mischievous, not starving.

“You will eat,” he said in a low purr, “then we will head upstairs and I will fuck you senseless all the while drinking from you. You always taste so good for me, sweetheart.”

Awesome, Tony thought tartly as he could feel his blood rushing south. Cooking with a hard cock would be a bitch but if Tony had to eat in order to get to the rest of the program, he would damn try his hardest.

November the 8th, 1888 - Late at night

Since Catherine and Elizabeth’s murders - Stride and Eddowes, Tony reminded himself with a frustrated frown - the idea of the murderer being a vampire hadn’t left him. While it felt far-fetched, like Tony was trying to reject the possibility of a mere human being behind such atrocities, it also felt like the truth. A hard certainty had settled in his chest when the thought had first occurred to him but he had feared Bucky’s reaction to it. Which had been the right thing.

Since mentioning it, Bucky’s gaze had taken on a distant haze, a sad smile curling the side of his lips when he was looking at Tony and thought Tony wasn’t seeing him. Bucky had entirely embraced the idea of being a vampire. It had taken him a long time to reach that point — and even still, self-hatred was an old friend he sometimes still greeted during his dark days— but he accepted it a long time ago, though he wouldn’t say to Tony how long exactly.

Bucky had seen some horror in his life that Tony could barely even think about, but sometimes Bucky forgot Tony had seen his own share of atrocities. He seemed to forget that Tony dealt with some of the worst of what humanity could come up with in the horror department on a daily basis. Sometimes, Bucky could only see the way Tony could still feel amazed at the simplest thing, could still trust in humanity and its future. He saw Tony like one would look at a child, with just enough consciousness of his adulthood to feel comfortable having a relationship with him.

Loving another man hadn’t always been a shame and worthy of God’s wrath, among other punishments Tony sometimes came across in his line of work. Bucky had told him that much, whispered stories in his ear, late at night, about a time where someone could love someone else without fear of being killed or imprisoned for it.

The thing was, Bucky had a lot of issues and one of them related to Tony thinking about the Ripper being a vampire. Bucky hadn’t said he thought of it as an accusation to his own being, but he sure acted like it. He had withdrawn from Tony, coming back home later than usual and sometimes only when Tony was already in bed and asleep, exhausted from another day at work. His gaze took that far away look that spoke of deep thoughts, of Bucky being there in body but definitely not in mind.

It had been hard to have a conversation with Bucky since that night. As he walked distractedly along the streets, Tony let his hand wander over his neck, fingers following the necklace’s chain until they found what he was looking for. The ring felt soft and polished under the pad of his fingers, except for the inside where words were engraved. They were married, as far as they were concerned, despite everything telling them they couldn’t. Shouldn’t. Yet, over a month had past since what had been called “the double event” and Tony had only enjoyed a handful of evenings with his “husband”. Half of them spent with a barely there man. There was despair, clinging to Tony’s heart and making his whole being ache in fear, a part of him whispering words made of misery. He should withdraw too, protect himself for the break-up soon to come. He should attack Bucky first, hurt first to be hurt less.

Another voice, however, spoke of hope and trust. Though it was sometimes hard to hear it amidst the dark smoke covering the city, death lurking around the corner and despair hunching down shoulders like the soot mist had taken weight and was weighing down London’s inhabitants.

Hope was a faraway light, barely visible through the smoke. It blinked and vanished at times and Tony felt like he was withering without Bucky’s smile and kind voice. They were each other’s light in the ocean of darkness London had become.

The beacon was faltering, though, and Tony found himself lost and afraid.

Something slammed hard into the back of his head. Not so long ago (exactly thirty-nine days ago, his mind supplied viciously), the bright hot pain would have spiked instinct and want/need to fight. He would have fought against any and everything, reeled and striked, struggled until he couldn’t anymore.

As it was, however, he welcomed the darknesses with open arms.

November, the night between the 8th and the 9th 1888

There was noise around him, Tony realized distantly. Feet walking around, wood cracking and creaking, quiet voices shaping words Tony couldn’t understand. He frowned and winced as a bolt of pain raced from the back of his head to the front, pounding with an intense headache. With a mind moving too slow for his taste, Tony cataloged what he could feel and sense, all the while keeping his eyes closed. He was lying down on a wooden floor, his hands behind his back and - yep, definitely bound together with a thick rope. It was even a well done knot, made so that he couldn’t twist out of his restrains. Not even if he popped his thumb out of its joint.

He still had his clothes and shoes, which was concerning. It wasn’t uncommon to find unconscious people, left entirely naked behind some building. If he was still alive and enjoying the comfort of his clothes, whatever he had been taken for couldn’t be good.

“I forgot how annoyingly long humans take to wake up,” said a cold voice, a foot or two from where Tony layon the floor. “Drop the pretense,” the voice added, the edges of a warning underlying the sweet tone. “I won’t repeat myself.”

Tony sighed, opened his eyes and looked up to see a well dressed man. His pants were tailored to fit him perfectly, his shirt was perfectly white, except for the few discrete patches where the dark soot of London’s mist had left its traces. His sleeves, however, were rolled up his forearms and he held a long knife in his right hand. The blade looked sharp, thin and probably between six and eight inches long. Tony shuddered when his eyes fell down on the figure lying in the narrow bed beside the man.

On it rested a young woman, probably a little over twenty years old, and she was looking straight at him. Her eyes were huge in her pale face, she was so scared that her pupils had almost entirely swallowed the blue of her eyes. Her ample bosom was raising and falling too fast, her mouth slightly open on panicked breaths. She was entirely naked, beautiful and terrified.

The man, handsome and smiling, left Tony to look at her, silent and observing. It was the whole purpose of this, Tony realized with dread. Let him watch, let him see.

Someone came closer and, before Tony could struggle and kick them, maybe find a way to free himself from the situation, he was grabbed by his bounded arms and pulled up to his knees so he could have a better view of her. Whoever was holding him stayed behind him, hands on his shoulders and ready to restrain him even further if needed.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” Tony hissed angrily.

Hard, unforgiving fingers dug into his shoulders, but Tony held gazes with the man in control of the situation. There was just something in his eyes, in his subtle, cruel smile, the way he held the knife. His fingers were light over the handle, like he was holding a piece of chalk instead of a deadly weapon made to pierce flesh and take lives.

Swiftly, steps light and graceful, the man came closer and lowered himself into a crouch and, as his eyes bore into Tony’s, Tony recognized the dangerous red glint hidden in the dark pupils.

“You’ll know in time who I am. It’s not relevant at the moment,” the man said flippantly. “For now, I want you to watch.” The smile that curved his lips was polite but infinitely cruel. “I present to you the beautiful, spiteful Mary Jane Kelly. And you, my friend, have been looking around and searching for answers I am, tonight, willing to give you.”

Behind him, the woman was slowly creeping closer to the edge of her bed, her eyes, big and frightened, never leaving the man’s back. Her face was as white as her sheets and probably as dirty, but her feet, when she set them on the woodfloor, didn’t make any sound.

“I wonder, however,” the man added with a pensive face, “if you are ready for them.”

As swiftly as he came, the man rose to his feet and Tony let words tumble out of his mouth, desperate to keep the man’s attention on him. Despite knowing all too well the one holding him down could see as much as he could what she was up to. “I’m fairly sure I can handle it. So what is it? Tell me, I’m dying to know,” he said precipitaly, eyes staying firmly on the handsome man’s face. He was admittedly beautiful with his pretty blond hair, the clear blue eyes and the kind of smile that made women fan themselves and giggles coyly. All strong jaws and lips made to be kissed. He looked like an angel came from heaven. Except for the coldness in his eyes and the predator edge of his smiles.

The man snorted, the sound surprisingly inelegant for him, and turned around. His hand came down on the woman’s lower face and he threw her back on the bed, hold her down effortlessly.

“Oh, but you will, in time. Die, I mean. But not before she does.”

Expertly, like he had done it a hundred times before, he turned and sliced her throat, the knife diving into the flesh like paper. Blood rushed to the surface, running down her breasts and belly, down the side of her neck. Her screams died instantly as the blade cut her windpipe. It took her unending seconds to die, her gurgles covered by Tony’s screams. He was, however, quickly silenced by a hand covering his mouth and, as he struggled in despair, fighting against their hold, fighting the light fading from her eyes, he felt another set of hands holding him back and on his knees.

She kept looking at him him, desperate and scared beyond words. Right up until she couldn’t see him anymore, her blue, blue eyes, however, stayed on Tony. She was staring unseeingly at him, beautiful and dead, her white skin now tainted with blood.

There was no word for the fury that rose in his chest or the hatred burning in his guts.

Nevertheless, the vampire, when he looked at Tony and saw it, only laughed, going so far as to throw his head back, throat open and clear as the sound cascaded from it. Cheerful where hope had been slaughtered without mercy mere seconds ago.

***

There was a limit to what a human’s brain could take in before protecting itself from reality. Tony had seen his fair share of horror during his life and his work with London’s police. He thought he had seen, maybe not all of it, but had been close enough to be ready for anything a life in London could throw at him. Thought he had seen the insides of a corpse one too many time and it had became some kind of banality. There was pity, still, and revolt against those who committed such atrocities. He was still humain enough, he thought, to fight against evil, against what was wrong and bad. But not enough anymore to feel sick at the sight of spilled guts and sliced throat. What Jack the Ripper had done, before, had probably proved it.

Tony was certain he could handle the worst humanity could throw at him.

Right up until Jack the Ripper himself or, rather, Alexander Pierce, hands deep inside what had once be Mary Jane Kelly, proved him wrong.

It was hard to say at what point his mind decided it was too much. Probably between the part where Pierce had cut the thigh in broad pieces of flesh and set it aside. One fairly simple thing but it was made as if he was cutting a cow or some animal. It wasn’t medical per se, he knew where to cut and he cut well, but it wasn’t as precise and as well done as the Doctor Phillips (1). But he cut the piece, set it aside and went back to work. Hands covered in blood, sometimes licking a drop of it with one of his sick sweet smile.

And Alexander Pierce kept talking, hands deep into the woman’s chest cavity, blood stains all over his once upon a time white shirt, blood stains darkening the blond of his hair, blood coloring his lips and staining his chin. He was a twisted angel covered in his victim’s blood and Tony couldn’t think past the removal of the organs, the cut through the flesh, the blood spilling and spilling until the floor and the sheets couldn’t drink it anymore.

His own knees were bathing in the girl’s blood and he couldn’t move.

He could feel it, seeping through his pants, sticking to his skin and climbing farther up as more blood kept dropping from the bed where Mary Jane Kelly was thoroughly broken apart.

“You see, I’ve been wondering for a long time how to get my Winter back,”

And it didn’t make any sense to want winter back, Tony thought distractly as his vacant eyes stared at the… the spleen, goddammit why was his mind able to fucking remember everything the Doctor ever said to him as he proceeded to the autopsies, nestled against Kelly’s left side. Pierce had left it there after cutting it out.

Winter was an ever present mist over London. Or a far away threat of death and cold and hunger. Well, seeing what Pierce was currently busy doing, Tony thought it couldn’t be that weird coming from that man.

“and he has been quite stealthy, hiding his whereabouts but I guess it’s not a surprise,” Pierce said, pushing a blood wet strand of hair off of his forehead with one blood stained wrist, his icy eyes swiping briefly over to Tony. “Winter has always been sneaky.” Bucky’s eyes never were icy, Tony thought idly, enraptured by the tremors in the spleen as Pierce moved around the bed, jostling it. It was disgustingly hypnotizing. “He never stayed more than a few months in one place, I discovered,” Pierce kept going, his voice staying terrifyingly even as he struggled with a stubborn rib. The sickening crack resulting from the short struggle made bile rose in Tony’s throat. Pierce, Tony realized with detachment, was talking about someone. Not the actual weather and seasons. “But I caught up with him and first I thought I had been quicker on the trail than he expected. Until I realized I was wrong. Winter had gone soft,” Pierce spat the last word, his face twisted in an ugly expression.

Grabbing the knife’s handle like he was about to dive it into what was left of the woman’s chest, Pierce mutilated her face mercilessly, relentlessly. The blade came up and down in fury, madly, slashing and breaking what had once been a beautiful woman. Suddenly, Pierce wasn’t any angel anymore but rather one of the most terrifying demons. Well, if Tony had had faith, he thought with a detached smirk. It all was pretty funny, after all, that all atheist as he was, he kept referring of Pierce as angels and demons and it all was crazy.

The rage came slowly to a stop, the arm came up one last time but didn’t sink into Mary Jane Kelly’s face turned into meat pulp. Pierce was panting, frowning darkly and lips twisted in an angry pout. “He stayed for you,” Pierce said sullenly, like a conclusion. “He stopped running away from me in order to stay and live for you. Do you think he forgot me?” Pierce asked, almost dream-like, the sharp blade of his knife running along Mary Jane Kelly’s arm. The edge dipped into her flesh, drawing blood, red lazily coloring her skin as it trickled down. On its path, pale white turned into cherry red.

Tony didn’t answer. The words weren’t making much sense anyway. They were mere sounds, as much as were the cracks and the soft tearings of the flesh. But slowly, despite the words blurring into each other, the pictures they were starting to draw were terrifying him beyond the macabre show Pierce was actually putting on, just for him. He was cold, down to the bones, but it had nothing to do with his removed coat and the low temperatures, and everything with what his damn brain was putting together despite its own best attempts at shutting down, in order to survive and remain mostly sane.

The sound of skin hitting skin reached him before the bolt of pain did. Tony blinked and looked up to see Pierce glaring down at him, hand still raised. The pain didn’t come alone, though, and the feeling of thick wetness slowly running down his cheek startled him awake.

The bright, hot surge of blind fury took hold of him, burning through his blood and limbs like a wildfire. He was too far gone to be surprised when he leapt from the ground, the top of his skull hitting his captor’s chin with a sick crack. The pain barely registered when Tony threw himself at Pierce, shoulder first.

His hands were still bound behind his back, his upper back hurting from the strain of it, but nothing could have stopped him. Pierce went down satisfyingly fast and Tony went with him, following him with the firm intention of tearing him apart with his bare teeth if he had to. Hands were already reaching for his arms, pulling him backward. Tony used it to increase his momentum when he headbutted Pierce, a feral smile twisting his lips when he heard the crack of a broken nose. The wild satisfaction that curled inside his chest was both foreign and welcomed at the same time.

There was a brief moment of startled calm as Pierce cradled his nose now heavily bleeding and the hands on Tony’s arms remained unmoving, holding him with slack fingers. Tony felt a twisted urge of satisfaction when he thought of Pierce’s hands now covered with his own blood, not only Mary Jane Kelly’s anymore.

The calm didn’t last.

With an unnatural growl, Pierce lunged for Tony, fingers curved like claws. Tony barely had the time to throw himself backward, feeling a line of fire burning along his cheek where Pierce’s nail dug into his flesh. Tony scrambled to his feet, dodging just in time the extended hands of Pierce’s guards. The room was small and crowded with furnitures, the ground covered in blood and slick, treacherous and dangerous.

In one swift, strange motion, Pierce was up and glaring at Tony. Red glowing underneath the clear blue of his eyes, Pierce moved and Tony remembered he was but a human fighting a vampire. He tried to duck and put himself out of reach but the room was tiny and crowded and there was no escaping it any longer. Strong arms wrapped around Tony’s frame and held him in place as Pierce closed the distance between them.

The body behind him was taller than him, Tony realized, and strong. It was hard to say if the man was human or vampire, but previous experience told Tony the chances of him being human were greater. Tony struggled against the hold, using his shoulders and pinching his lips tight when the pain in them grew as his captor’s grip tightened and pulled on the joints. When Pierce grew closer, though, Tony bared his teeth in a snarl.

“Come on, bastard, come closer. We’ll see who's got the strongest skin, heh?”

Like he perfectly knew what Tony had in mind, Pierce grabbed him by the jaw, fingers digging in painfully. Effectively pinning his mouth closed, Pierce leaned closer, upper lips uncovering slightly as he spoke, showing his perfectly white teeth, canines long and deadly.

“You’re brave, for a monkey,” Pierce hissed cooly, nose bloody and lips curled in an ugly snarl, “but don’t forget, you’re only alive because I wish to make James suffer by making your pain and suffering last as long as your pitiful body can handle it.” Pierce bared his teeth even further, uncovering his fangs and Tony felt fear coil tightly in his guts. His instincts were screaming, losing their shit over smell of blood and death and the predator glaring at him from barely a feet away. Tony, however, was nothing if not stubborn and he rose his chin, glaring at Pierce with all his might. Pierce’s smile sweetened and the fear became ice creeping up Tony’s veins. “Rest assured,” the vampire said, voice soft and sugary, “that I will not hesitate to kill you sooner if you become an inconvenience. I can make him suffer in many, many ways.” The smile that curved the vampire’s lips held nothing if pervert cruelty as he gestured disdainfully toward the ravaged body. “How do you think James would react if he was to find you in such a shape, hm?”

The name in Pierce’s mouth only confirmed Tony’s thoughts, transforming the ice in his veins into iron and straightening his shoulders. When Tony had met him, it was clear as day James was on the run from something, at the time his eyes looked more like those of a prey feeling on its neck the breath of its pursuers. The look had left his face a long time ago and never came back. Nowadays his eyes were a calm sea waiting for the storm to come and wreck havoc over their waves. They were soft and loving where Tony was concerned.

Now, Tony realized, the fear had crept back in James’ eyes in the last days. Tony had been too worried about James leaving him to see it.

James had never mentioned any stories of human winning a fight against a vampire but Tony was hell bent on taking Pierce down with him tonight. If Tony had to die tonight, he wouldn’t die alone.

Still holding him close, Pierce stared intensely at Tony and sighed. There was an unmistakable kindness in his smile, as his shoulders dropped and his hold over Tony’s jaw softened. “I can see it,” he said gently. “I should have known, I guess. Winter wouldn’t love a coward, would he? He always had loved brave, reckless hearts. Darling, you’re only making it difficult, and you leave me with only one solution.”

His words were as smooth as the blade as it tore through Tony’s skin, diving in without meeting resistance. Tony gasped, eyes widening in realization, but Pierce’s grip over his jaw only tightened painfully, and the softness in Pierce’s eyes, there for a second and gone again, was replaced with cold determination. The vampire stepped further into Tony’s space, his body lining up along Tony’s, supporting him as Tony’s knees weakened under his weight.

The blade crawled deeper into him, tearing him apart as the hand holding it twisted, ripping a cry out of Tony’s mouth. The sound was covered by Pierce’s palm. The blood was rushing in Tony’s ears, the screams he couldn’t howl reasonating in his head but when Pierce talked, his lips disgustingly close to his ear, it was crystal clear. “I only have to make sure you will stay compliant,” he said, a slight twist to the last word like it meant more than it said, “until I am done with you.”

Abruptly, the blade was removed and Pierce let go of his hold on Tony’s jaw, stepping back with a satisfied smirk.

Tony fell, his knees buckling under his weight as he could feel warmth spreading from the side of his stomach along his leg. It was the only source of warmth he could feel. The blood he fell in, sticking to his cheek and clinging to his clothes as he laid on the ground, was cold. He gasped for breath, unable to apply the pressure he knew he needed to put on the wound.

“Watch, Stark,” Pierce ordered, and Tony looked up at him, unable to keep himself from complying and hating himself for it. “Watch attentively for you are next. You will be my first man in a long time and I want to make it right,” Pierce, turning around and resuming his macabre task, slashing through Mary Jane Kelly’s body like a sick artist to his chef d’oeuvre.

Although, Tony thought bitterly, maybe Mary Jane Kelly was only the draft. Tony would be his final piece of art and James would be the only one meant to see it. And suffer from it.

So Tony watched, eyes glazed over as more time went by, fear and anger keeping him awake along with the pain.

***

Tony woke up with his head resting on humid, smelly dirt and in a dark place. It was hard to tell when he had lost consciousness, he couldn’t even say if he did it on his own or with someone else’s help. Say, one of Pierce’s handman for example or Pierce himself. The man definitely wasn’t against getting his hands dirty.

All Tony could tell, at the moment, was that he was still bound and wearing his clothes, and he had been thrown carelessly on the ground and left there. The biggest surprise of them all, though, was still being alive. With a heartbeat to prove it. His stomach, where Pierce had stabbed him, was hurting like hell and burning - which couldn’t be a good sign - but it felt dressed which might explain why he was still breathing.

Struggling slightly and moving around to get a good glimpse of his surroundings, Tony squinted but there wasn’t much to see. On the far side of the tiny room he was most certainly locked in, was the shape of a door, a barely there ray of light outlining it in the otherwise dark room. If his lack of hearing anything outside of his own harsh breathing was anything to go by, he was alone and unsupervised.

Taking a deep breath, Tony rolled on his side and bite back a moan as it stretched the skin around his wound. Goddammit. Rolling his aching shoulders and stretching his neck until he heard a few joints pop, Tony got to work. The rope around his wrists had loosened during his struggle with his abductors and they hadn’t taken the caution to tighten them. Which meant that, with a couple twists, some well thought moves, he could-

“Tada,” he whispered as his right wrist slipped free from his bindings.

It took a bit of effort but he managed to crawl to the closest wall until he could sit and rest his back against the cool, humid stone. He didn’t know how much time he had, but Tony knew more than anything that he better be quick and thorough. With shaking hands and numb fingers, wincing against the pain in his shoulders and the burn in his belly, Tony untied the rope from his left wrist. He wanted nothing more than to throw the piece of shit away but he lacked the strength or the will to do it, so he just dropped it beside him.

He was free to roam around and find his way out, but his legs felt like cotton, his muscles like noodles. Laying there and waiting felt like the only thing he could do without risking total failure. Small failures were stills possible, Tony thought as his head dropped backward onto the wall. His neck could barely support his own head. If he wasn’t careful enough, his body might well flop to the side and he wouldn’t be able to gather the strength to sit again.

Sighing and gazing unseeingly in the dark, Tony felt around his neck, resenting the way his hands shook for such a simple motion. It still felt like lifting the world and keeping it over his head. Tony struggled for a few seconds but ended up finding the thin string around his neck. It took him a long time to manage and pull it over his head but he did it. As soon as it was done, he let his hands drop in his lap, his fingers rubbing gently over the smooth surface of the vial attached to the string.

It was a strong, sturdy and tightly sealed vial. Something James had given him some time ago, wrapping his hands over Tony’s holding the vial. Tony could still hear his deep voice as he said, firm and almost pleading, “Keep it on you, at all time. Only use it when there is no other way. You know what it is, you know what it does, and I know you are clever, but if you are ready to have it this way, I’m offering you a way out without any chance of loss.”

Tony had looked at their joined hands and thought it wouldn’t be a victory either. But at times like the one he currently was in, there wasn’t much Tony could do aside from staying there waiting for a death on its path to get him. There was no winning scenario in this situation either. Vampires were dangerous and predators, no way Pierce had left him here without staying around. Tony had seen how possessive and protective Bucky was. How he had been lurking around and watching Tony during the first months of their relationship. How his eyes would stay on Tony, watching him like a hawk and never missing anything Tony did.

Pierce was here. Somewhere. And if he had left Tony in this dark, wet room, it only was because the day had come. Young vampires usually fell asleep, James had told him once. They couldn’t fight off the slumber, they fell right into its arm as soon as the sun breached the horizon and ghosted a ray over the land. Older vampires, though, could stay awake. They were slower, weaker, but awake and deadly still.

Pierce couldn’t be anything but old. If he knew James, or Winter or whatever names Bucky had held at the time, he could only be old. He must be awake, lurking somewhere in the dark and waiting for his time to come.

A flash of the destroyed body of Mary Jane Kelly came to the forefront of Tony’s mind, straightening his resolve.

Tony battled against the vial’s lid for a few seconds, his fingers numb and slippery, the lead tightly sealed, but after sticking his nails into it, he managed to open it without dropping any of its contents.

“Well… Here goes nothing, I guess,” he said, voice rough.

His throat tight from nerves, Tony rose the vial to his lips and, after a second of hesitation, emptied it in one long swallow. He pulled a face, licking his lips clean of the liquid, and pouted.

“You usually taste better, Buckaroo.”

Resting his head against the wet stones, Tony waited. Feeling more patient than he ever had, and wondering if he hadn’t just made a huge mistake. It was hard to say how much blood he had lost but he couldn’t say he never thought about becoming one before.

A deep, burning warmth suddenly spread through his limbs, warming him from the inside but Tony kept waiting, a sly smirk twisting his lips. First came the unbearable smell of wet dirt, of a cave and underground stuff nobody wanted to look too closely at. The smell of blood, then, his own he knew. The feeling of his pants’ fabric against his thighs was more accurate than ever but it was entirely unconcerning when compared to the way the darkness progressively lightened up.

A silent, giddy laughed breached his lips and Tony looked hungrily at the wooden beam stuck on the ground and supporting the ceiling. At the disgusting dirt covering the ground and on which he was currently sitting. He looked down at his unshaking hands and couldn’t held back a dizzy giggle. He could see every details of his hands, the small scars he thought had disappear long ago, the dirt and the blood - Mary Jane Kelly’s this time - stuck under them.

With a feral grin, Tony stood in one slick motion, feeling better than he had in a long time. He needed to be stealthy, Tony reminded himself despite the thrill of the hunt slipping slowly into the stream of his own blood. He could hear his own heartbeat, feel it beating strongly in his chest, could hear the rush of his blood - and James’ - in his veins.

Approaching the door, light on his feet, Tony reached out and broke the knob without much effort. He slipped his fingers along the door’s side and opened it in one, quick pull. The lock gave away and Tony heard it like a gun fire, so close to his ears. He winced and shook his head, frowning. If he heard it…

Well… it wasn’t like Pierce could go anywhere, could he ? And if Tony was nothing but a mere human, he currently was stronger than the old vampire. The sun was nothing if a warm promise for him, once he was outside.

“Let’s play a game,” he said, smirking and snarling at the same time. Thrilled and dangerously aroused by the mere idea of hunting, “how about we change rules, just for this once.” Pierce could hear him and if he couldn’t… well, it wasn’t like Tony would play a fair game if he could avoid it. “You run, I hunt. If I find you,” he purred as he made his way up the stairs leading to the main part of the house or whatever Pierce had chosen for his resting site, “you lose.”

Arriving at the edge of the stairs, Tony toed his shoes off, breaking the shoelaces when they opposed. Bare feet would be stealthier, Tony knew. That much he learned from his games with James. It was maddening to now know all those victories had been a lie. There was no way Bucky hadn’t known and heard Tony was coming for him. He had let Tony win. Tony would make him pay for it, as soon as he was out of this rathole.

Tony had never felt such a thrill before. Sure, hunting down criminals and finding a lead, following it and resolving a case was exciting and delighting in its own way. But the visceral pleasure he was taking in the way he prowled along the corridors, ears strained and listening to every creak and crack of the wood to find Pierce was something else entirely.

The house had a life of its own, but Tony quickly learned to dissociate the natural sounds he heard before as a human, only amplified by his new hearing. Fuck, no wonder vampires kept their blood and protected it like a treasure. If human found out about the effect, vampires wouldn’t be hunted and killed, they would be hunted and drained. A drug made without effort. Aside from the murderers they would foolishly be hunting down. Vampire blood had a wonderful effect, sharpening the world, the strength in Tony’s body had no bound and Tony felt more powerful than he ever had in his life.

He felt giddy from it, a laugh tickling his lips and a burning need to sink his teeth into someone. Tear them apart and watch them die.

The ominous crack behind him at Tony whirling around and ducking at the same time. Pierce’s hand, crooked like claws, whized over his head and Tony laughed when he dive forward.

He shouldered into Pierce’s stomach and they stumbled backward. Tony followed him, overly conscious of his balance but ignoring it all the same. He didn’t want to avoid and stay out of reach from Pierce. He wanted to break him, piece by piece, and reduce him to less than what he had left of Mary Jane Kelly.

Falling with all his weight, Tony elbowed Pierce in the chest and took great pleasure in the gasp he drew out of the vampire. Nails like talons dug into his shoulders but Tony didn’t care. He sat on Pierce, straddling him and looking down at him, fury etched on every line of his face, teeth bared on a silent snarl, disguised as a smile.

“Gotcha,” he sing songed.

“How-”

Pierce’s nose had healed during the time but it only meant Tony could break it again. And he did, throwing a solid punch down on the vampire’s face. Pierce was struggling under him, pushing with his legs and thrashing. He was strong, stronger than a human, and wouldn’t have had any difficulties had Tony been himself.

But Tony wasn’t. Not anymore.

In his veins ran James’ blood, strengthening him if only for a short time. Making him stronger than an old vampire, slowed down by day and weakened by the sun. Tony struck again, punching and punching over and over until Pierce’s face was nothing but a mess of broken bones and pulp of blood and flesh.

Tony had no knife, nothing to use in order to achieve his goals, but he was nothing if not resourceful.

Looking around, listening to the gurgles Pierce was making as he tried to breath through the mess of blood washing down his throat and what was left of his nose. With a disgusted snort, Tony pushed on his legs and, keeping sight of the vampire, backtracked to the stairs. A quick glance and he reached out for the closest spindrel from the railing and pulled sharply. The wood gave away in a loud crack that resonated like a bang to Tony’s ears. His hands wrapped around the piece of wood, he walked back up to the vampire.

Pierce had manage to roll on his front, digging his fingers into the wooden floor and pulling him forward, leaving behind him a trail of blood.

“I bet you never crawled away from a human, didja?” Tony drawled.

He knew his time was limited, he had to be quick and effective, but his hatred for Pierce burned bright and high.

Tony couldn’t unsee Kelly’s big blue eyes staring straight at him. Superposed to it was what had been left of her when Pierce had been done with his macabre chore.

Lips twisted in loathing, Tony brought down his naked foot on Pierce’s back to immobilize him.

It felt like setting his foot down on slippery mud. One second, the sole of his foot made contact with the back of Pierce’s shirt, the next the bastard was twisting to the side and Tony found himself without anything to support him upright.

Falling with a yelp and gasping as he hit the ground, Tony heard the thumps of Pierce moving around and thought the vampire was trying to get away. Panting as pain erupted from his stomach and burned its way through his body, Tony tried to will his head into focusing and his body to move.

A hand, like a vice, closed around his ankle, nail digging painfully into the skin. It pulled him or dragged the body it was attached to over him and Tony panicked, his guts wrenching for an entirely different reason than the pain it was experiencing. Looking down, he saw Pierce’s eyes like unnatural embers burning with hatred looking up at him from his butchered, ruined face. Holding back a scream and trying to reign down on his terror, Tony bashed the heel of his naked feet into the raw flesh of the vampire’s head.

The howl that tore its way out of his throat when Pierce plunged his fangs into his foot, scraping against bones and tendons, broke down into a scream of rage. He repeatedly struck the vampire’s face with his other foot, the strength behind each hit weakening as blood was drained from his veins and James’ strength was stolen away from him.

Remembering the piece of wood he was still tightly clutching in his left hand, Tony clenched his jaw and grabbed it with both hands but when he tried to strike, Pierce wrenched himself away from him, hissing.

“I smell him,” he accused, tongue swiping out and licking the blood staining his lips. “How? When?”

Tony grinned, baring his teeth in a snarl, spatting his words. “If I don’t kill you, with a bit of luck curiosity might.” Though the fear, the stillness in the vampire’s body gave him a pause, triumph bloomed in Tony’s chest as an idea struck him with the strength of a lightning bolt. “Or… who knows. Maybe James will.”

Weakened by pain and blood loss, Pierce could barely repress the shudder James’ name elicited. Pierce couldn’t know how Tony had gotten the vampire blood that was strengthening him, didn’t know if James was around, lurking for his chance to get a lucky shot. It was far from the truth, James would never let Tony be in such situation without stepping in himself, he wouldn’t just let Tony take a bit of blood and leave him deal with the situation on his own. But Pierce didn’t seem to know that and there was something deeply satisfying in seeing how fear could distort a crushed face.

With a sense of urgency, Tony saw where the healing had started to work its magic, helped along by the blood the vampire had drained from him.

Standing painfully on his legs, Pierce stood to his full size as Tony fought his way onto his knees and then to his feet. The loss of blood was weighing heavily on his body, slowing him down, and Tony realized he had made a mistake. James’ blood had made him stronger, faster, sharper in more ways than just one, but taking on Pierce had been stupid. He should have gone outside and run away, find a place to rest and find help. Find Bucky and tell him everything, warn him and make sure his husband could get to safety in any way he could get it. Even if it meant leaving London and settling down somewhere else for just a few years before moving on again.

Pretty deception, Tony thought bitterly. As if he could leave London without making sure Pierce wouldn’t make any more victim than he already had. That monster deserved to die. No prison could keep him for long, no human should come near him.

Pierce had to die. If it meant Tony must follow him in order to make sure of it, then so be it.

Tony was raising his piece of railing and holding it with both hands like a sword when two things happened. There was a wet, crushing noise and blood suddenly spilling from Pierce’s destroyed lips as dark red blossomed over his heart. A human hand stuck out of his chest like a gruesome flower.

“Don’t you remember, Alexander?” Over Pierce’s left shoulder, James’ face appeared from the shadows, eyes dark and dangerous, lips twisted in a vengeful snarl. “Never turn your back on the shadows, you never know what lurks among them. You taught me that lesson.”

Pierce tried to talk but more blood just gurgled from his throat, cascading along his chin, tainting his throat and spreading on the white fabric of his shirt. Which was quickly turning more red than white, as seconds ticked by.

The utter shock of seeing Bucky transformed Tony’s knees into jelly and almost managed to make him burst into tears right then and there. The powerful wave of relief washed over him and close to took him away with it. Slumping his shoulders and stepping to the side until his shoulder met the wall and supported him, Tony let out a small laugh. He dropped the piece of wood he had intended to use as a makeshift stake. Leaning his cheek against the wall, Tony looked up at Pierce.

“We’ll tear you apart,” he said softly, “and we’ll burn you.”

Pierce snarled, fury etched on his ruined face. His healing factor had stopped working, pieces of bones sticking out of his cheeks and flesh torn off in places. He looked terrifying and awful, but, as James tugged his hand free, he mostly looked dead.

James let the body fall to the ground without sparing it another glance. Cold determination and murder slipped from his face, quickly replaced by worry. As he strode forward, almost running, he took in Tony’s shape and what he was seeing couldn’t be reassuring if Tony was to trust the way his eyes shone with fear.

With hands light and careful like feathers, Bucky cradled Tony’s face, eyes roving over his body, taking in the bloody shape of his shirts and the way Tony used the wall as support. “What do you need? What should I do?”

Tony sighed, nuzzling into James’ palm and closing his eyes, taking in a breath and holding it in. It smelt like blood and molded wood, it smelt like decaying bodies and earth. Now, it also smelt like James and safety and love wrapped in concern. Cautiously, oh so gently, James wrapped his arms around Tony’s frame and hugged him, pressing his body against his and holding on for dear life. There would be bruises, Tony knew, where James’ hands were digging into his waist and ribs but he couldn’t care less. Not even with the way it painfully pressed near his wound.

“I don’t know if I will turn into a vampire,” Tony mumbled tiredly in the crook of James’ neck, revealing in the smell of sweat and man and James. “I don’t know how much I lost when I drank your blood.”

James kissed the top of his head, his arms tightening briefly around Tony. “We’ll figure it out, I promise, but first I need to take care of Pierce.”

Tony snorted but nodded nonetheless. James’ blood was still running in the stream of his own… probably. It was hard to tell, but he could still smell and hear and see well enough, he just didn’t need it anymore. It was good enough to let Bucky take care of all this mess, to let himself be moved around until he was sitting on the floor, his back resting against the wall. He could help, he knew, but he was also conscious enough of the situation to know he needed to stay as calm as possible. The vampire blood might have accelerate the pace at which his wounds would heal but he had still lost too much blood. Tony didn’t know, yet, if he wanted to join James in his way of living. Being a vampire wasn’t much of a hardship, especially in London where mist and soot made the sun that much absent but it was still a step he didn’t know if he was comfortable enough to take.

At this point, it wasn’t even disturbing to watch James tear a body apart, limb by limb, lips twisted in a silent snarl and eyes shining bright with a brutal anger. He looked more appealing than Tony had thought he would, given the circumstances. The raw strength James was demonstrating was astonishing. Tony knew how powerful James was, James had told him, had been honest with him about any and everything he could be but it was another thing entirely to see it. Never, before, James had needed to demonstrate that level of savagery and raw strength. He wasn’t even phased by his task, remained entirely unaffected by the blood and the sounds he was tearing from the body he was taking apart, bit by bit, piece by piece.

Bucky glanced at him from time to time but Tony remained expressionless, watching him work, his thoughts working at a slower pace than he was used to. Which was oddly agreeable. And relaxing. Tony never get to relax that much. Even on his back and resting his head on James’ lap while he read, enjoying fingers running through his strands and massaging his scalps, his head remained full of a never ending whirlwind of thoughts. It was exhausting.

When James came back from his macaber chore, the vampire carried him effortlessly toward the house’s exist, seemingly knowing the layout of the place perfectly. Tony huffed out a laugh as he rested his head against James’ shoulders.

“You were hunting him,” he said slowly, voice thin and low.

“Yes.”

“That’s why you didn’t come home all those nights. Not because you were considering leaving me because you thought I hated vampire when I said I thought Ripper was one?”

There was a small part of him that hated how his words slurred around the edges and Tony frowned, burrowing closer against James’ chest as the vampire carried him outside.

“No,” James said hoarsely. “I would never leave you, Tony. Not if I have a say in it.”

Burning down the house put a halt to their discussion but Tony didn’t mind. He felt tired, not in a worrying way, not for him anyway, but he had had a rough night and a rough day before that and even before that he had had an awful month. This time he might get answers and there was nothing that would keep him from understanding. Not when it could kill, once and for all, that treacherous voice whispering about how unworthy he was, how James couldn’t possibly stay with him for more than a few years. Until Tony starts getting old and ugly.

James was fast and ruthlessly effective if nothing else. In a matter of minutes, the beginning of what promised to be a massive fire was crackling in the house. Had Bucky found a way to put fire to the body and made sure Pierce would be reduced to ashes?

“I was afraid,” Bucky admitted quietly as they took back their path toward their house. The sky was covered in thick, heavy clouds and rain was falling down in fat drops, drenching them in a matter of minutes. The rush of the water covered almost everything, except for the sound of horses’ hooves hitting the pavement and cars rolling down the streets. Explosions could have ringed all around them and Tony would have still heard every single word falling from James’ lips. “When you told me you thought the Ripper might be a vampire, I understood what made you think so. And it made sense,” he said forcefully, “terrifyingly so.” James would probably not be able to carry him all the way to the house. The same way Pierce had been weakened by the sun, James was probably struggling to keep his hold on him and keep going forward. He left nothing of it to be seen, though, his face was devoid of any struggle or pain or effort. He looked scared and sad and tired. But when he looked down at Tony, he most certainly looked in love. “So I started my own investigation,” he smiled, soft despite the worried creased of his eyebrows. “I found him four days ago but I thought I would wait for the right moment. Alexander is old, older than me, and powerful. Timing was important. I shouldn’t have wait so long-”

“I’m fine,” Tony drawled, wrinkling his nose. “I had worse.”

Bucky snorted but the guilt didn’t fade away. “When you didn’t come home, last night, I thought you were mad at me but I didn’t found you at your usual spots and I started to worry.”

“I said I’m fine, stop worrying you idiot.”

“He could have killed you.”

“Or,” Tony interrupted forcefully, trying to cover Bucky’s voice as he squinted up at him, frowning. “maybe I could have killed him.”

James looked down, one eyebrow raised. He didn’t even have to speak, he already sound deadpan.

“I could have!” Tony protested, exhaustion fading away in the face of his offense.

James smiled, walking all the while holding his precious human. He should have expected his reaction would put him in a world of pain and noise but Bucky wouldn’t have it any other way.

Notes:

Mary Jane Kelly’s exact appearance was unknown, though there’s a lot of possibility. While the color of her eyes was reportedly said as “blue”, her hair, however could either be blond, ginger or brunette. There were a lot of indication going to one side, then the other and why not the last one. So nothing is entirely for certain. Though I kind of saw a picture (... not recommending it for sensitive minds or anything, though, gore warning all over, seriously) of some shot taken by the people who found her. So it’s in white and black and her hair looked dark, though it could be the real color or just blond darkened by blood, or just ginger badly rendered by the picture. In any way, I decided to have her be a brunette).

[blooper0223]

Sunday staplin'

Sunday staplin’

Some bad things have happened on Sept. 30—the Elaine race riot, two more Jack the Ripper murders (Liz Stride and Kate Eddowes), among other things—but today I’ll focus on one particular event in 1841 that should make office workers happy.

On this day, inventor Samuel Slocum of Poughkeepsie, N.Y. (not the one in Arkansas… imagine that!), patented what is believed to be the first stapler. And thus…

[svanly-by]

Jack the Ripper parte 2

Desde esta carta se le da el nombre de Jack el Destripador, después de la llegada de esta nota llega una nueva ola de asesinatos en la zona.

Con ello pasamos a la tercera víctima, Elizabeth Stride, rondando la edad de 21 años se entera de que estaba esperando un bebe de uno de sus patrones, trabajaba como empleada del hogar, y en esa época tener relaciones extra matrimoniales era ilegal y aun mas si llega un bebe así que gracias a esto se le consideraba una prostituta. Tenía una enfermedad venérea. Su asesinato se cometió el 30 de septiembre de 1888, lo sucedido fue que ella estaba caminando y fue atacada por su detrás llegandola a matar instantáneamente pero justo un hombre logró ver la escena y el asesino no tuvo tiempo a mutilarla solo llegó a cortarle la garganta.

Jack the Ripper no quedo satisfecho con su primera victima de ese día y esa noche muere Kate Eddowes que estaba en estado de embriaguez y fue apresada por mala conducta en plena calle sin embargo fue soltada, lo raro fue que la policía vio que tomo dirección contraria a su casa y la última ves que fue vista estaba acompañada de un hombre que vestía elegante aun que solo 10 minutos mas tarde fue encontrada de la misma forma que todas las víctimas solo que ahora también le faltaba una oreja y se vio que el ataque fue demasiado rápido sin darle tiempo a defenderse.

Unos pocos días después la policía recibe otra carta de Jack:

"No bromeaba querido jefe cuando le di el soplo. Mañana tendrá las noticias del "Bueno de Jack". Esta vez, un doble acontecimiento; la primera chilló y no pude rematara, no me dio tiempo a quitarle la oreja para la policía, gracias por retener mi última carta hasta que volví al trabajo

Jack el Destripador"

Y después de esto en tan poco tiempo reciben otra:

"Desde el infierno. Señor Lusk. Señor le adjunto la mitad de un riñón que tomé de una mujer y que he conservado para usted, la otra parte la freí y me la comí, estaba muy rica. Puedo enviarle el cuchillo ensangrentado con que se extrajo, si se espera usted un poco. Firmado, atrapeme si puede Señor Lusk.

Jack el Destripador"

Y con ello llegamos a la que podría ser la última victima, Mary Jane Kelly era una de las inmigrantes que llegó, se casó a sus 16 años pero solo dos años mas tarde su esposo muere. Ella cae en el alcoholismo debido a lo que pasó y empezó a salir con demasiados hombres llegando a casarse con algunos y teniendo intimidad con todos. A pesar de que ella estaba enterada de los múltiples asesinatos que ocurrían en esas fechas no le tomó la debida importancia y así llegando al día de su muerte, a la una de la mañana su vecina vio algo parecido a un destello que provenía del cuarto de Mary pero no le tomó importancia ya que ella estaba tomada. La vecina se levanta a eso de las 4 de la mañana por que su gato empezó a caminar encima de ella y justo en ese momento escucha un grito pero no hizo nada pensando que era parte de su sueño. Ya en la mañana el señor que le alquilaba el cuarto a Mary le pidió a su ayudante que la busque para que pague la renta de esos días. El fue a buscarla pero nadie abría la puerta, entonces decidió mirar por una ventana que había en aquel cuarto encontrándose con una horrible escena protagonizada por el cuerpo de esta mujer, su cuerpo estaba partido en dos, sin sus partes intimas y las mitades de su cuerpo estaban en diferentes lugares y no tenía cara, es decir, le sacaron su nariz, ojos, boca, etc, se podía ver los huesos de la pierna y sus órganos estaban en una mesa. La hora en la que murió concordó con el grito que su vecina escuchó en la madrugada. Fue la que en peor estado se la encontró.

Se le dice ultima victima por el echo de que las siguientes no fueron tan sangrientas, por otro lado las cartas del asesino seguían llegando pero al final la policía optó por archivarlas y dejar de mostrarlas al público. Se le interrogó alrededor de dos mil personas entre ellos médicos, cirujanos, carniceros, entre otros, se le apresaron alrededor de 80 personas pero los crímenes seguían ocurriendo y llegaban a la misma conclusión de no encontrar al verdadero asesino.

Pero ¿quién era el que estaba detrás del nombre de Jack the Ripper? ¿porqué el rencor hacia las mujeres prostitutas? ¿cómo hizo para no ser descubierto? Tantas preguntas sin respuestas y almas esperando descansar en paz.

[lighthouse1138]

Jack the Ripper killed Polly Nichols, Annie Chapman, Liz Stride, Kate Eddowes, and Mary Jane Kelly. He's not a fun monster. He's a long dead, evil little man who hated women.