06-07-2014, 12:37 PM
The White Chapel district; London, England, 1888. The sun has just set, as the temperature drops into the lower levels that the night usually brings upon the world. People rush to get home, so not to freeze in this blistering winter air. The few that remain, are of a different breed. They chose this lifestyle and continue to wear it proudly, regardless of what the skeptics and religious folk scream. The brothels are booming with business, as the various "Johns" parade in and out of the establishments. When the brothels begin to close, the night gets a bit more chillier. There was a rumor flooding the ears of the prostitutes and ladies of the night. Not your ordinary, he said; she said rumor about the financial state or well being of another person, but the possibility of a reason. Several women, whose line of work happened to be in the pleasure field, were missing from the houses of ill repute. Some were never found or heard from again, with out a trace. Others, turned up in back alleys, with their throats slit from ear to ear. As if that wasn't enough for a murderous psycho, parts of the women were also removed. Kidneys, uterus', hearts and even breasts were taken from these victims. The problem in this day and age, there was no technology. No way to find out who the killer really was, so he was never found. Many folks have heard him called by other names, including "Leather Apron," after a victim who was going to be slaughtered, narrowly escaped and had that to her recollection to what he was wearing. More of the world, knows this murderer by another name... "Jack The Ripper."
The White Chapel district; London, England: 2014. The sun has just set, as the temperature drops into the lower levels that the night usually brings upon the world. Present day, the White Chapel district, is a much more technologically inclined residence. Plenty of businesses throughout the area and plenty of people. Though the times have changed, some things remain the same. This is a common occurrence, but it mostly applies to tradition, or heritage. Usually, the enduring acts from the past, aren't copy cat murderers. The only difference with the present day eliminations and the ones from over a century ago, are the victims. Hooking and harlotry, isn't as large of a profession as it once was. Women have a lot more respect for themselves and a lot more opportunities to do more with their lives. So the victims are not the fornicating hustlers of the past, but just women in general. One thing that is veraciously identical to the antecedent murders, the person responsible for the deaths of these innocent women, and the person responsible for the removal of their internal organs, hasn't been caught. There isn't a positive identification of the police forces target. No one has a clue what the perpetrator looks like. No one has been lucky enough with a narrow escape. The only elusiveness that is untroubled, is the liberation of the slayer.
Two A.M. strikes the clocks and watches of the people in London. The bars begin to close during a slow weekday run. One bar in particular has been targeted by a shadow, lurking in the alleys. A young woman walks out of a close by alehouse with some friends. They say their goodbyes, we will see you soons, have a goodnights... The young woman turns left, to head to her flat as the others go the opposite direction. Her phone rings in her purse and she pulls it out to answer it.
Young Lady: 'Ello?... Hi Meredith! How are you?... Things are great, I just moved into a flat near the hospital..... Yea yea! It work's out perfect for me!... Uh huh... yes... ok.... I will definitely be there sis, tell mom I said hello and that I love her dearly..... Dad passed out drunk?... Haha.... He's retired he can do as he pleases.... I agree... Ok sis... Love you!
She hangs up her phone and places it back into her bag. She adjusts the purse to be more comfortable, continuing the same pace towards her home. Four blocks away she is torn from her trek, pulled into a dark lane. A cold musky hand placed over her mouth, keeping her from screaming. She tries to bite down upon the hand, but before she can bring her teeth and jaw into motion, she is slammed violently to the pavement. Other than the young woman and her assailant, the avenue is bare of human life. The man drops to his knees, planting his body firmly across her abdomen. With all his weight placed upon her core, she is unable to move. The hand that once covered her attempts of screams was now replaced with an even colder leather glove. She bit, gnawed and chomped at the tough material that protected this mans hand, but to no avail. She tried her best to make out who the person was that wanted to harm her. He must have a reason, what did she do? What has she done to upset this man to such a degree, he would risk prison to take her into a back street. All that rushed through her mind was the possibility of her being abused. She hoped more than anything this man would NOT try to violate her. She had worked long and hard for 23 years to remain a virgin, saving herself for her future husband. But that wasn't what this criminal wanted. It was made very evident, with the icy touch of steel that softly kissed her throat. The caress of the blade was chilling to her core. Goosebumps covered her skin from head to toe. She knew the end was near. She couldn't do anything more but allow this man to take her life from her. He never spoke a word. She never had a chance to. Her life force exiting her jugular vein, slow and steady. She looked to the eyes of her assassin, hoping for an answer before her essence, ceased to exist. But nothing. No words, no gestures, no sign or good reason for sending her to an early grave. Her eyes locked onto his, darkening as her pupils dilated.
The next morning, the trash collectors of the neighborhood discovered her corpse in the same place she was executed. The police came, taping off the alley, keeping rubber necks and journalist from the scene. People were frantic, asking each other questions, trying to find out solidified information and facts from officials. Something, anything, that would give them a clue to what had happened. More than half of the crowd wanted to know more than that. What had happened wasn't the deciding factor to the curiosity. It was why... Why had it happened.. Coroners come through the crowds of people, pushing away the onlookers to get a stretcher under the tape and to the deceased. She was placed into black bag. She was zipped up and lifted onto the gurney. Then she was gone again. Investigators sweeping through the scene, other officers taking photographs and placing markers down to identify any clues or evidence. A detective is finally pulled aside by a news reporter, his face saying more than he could ever put into words.
Reporter: This Alana White with BBC and I'm here with Detective...?
Detective: Hall... De... Detective Hall..
Alana White: Detective Hall, the is a gruesome scene behind us, can you give us any clue to what has taken place in this alley?
Detective Hall: Um.. It's probably already known that there is a "Jack The Ripper" copy cat, running around The White Chapel district of London. We have yet to find any evidence as to whom the man or woman is, but this seems to be the method of operation that has been observed in the past few murders that have occurred.
Alana White: To remind our viewers Detective, what is the m.o. of this murderer?
Detective Hall: - he sighs - Um.. Anyone from this area knows, that "Jack The Ripper," would slit the throat of his female victim, and then remove an internal organ from the deceased body.
Alana White: And was there any organs removed from this victim, Detective?
Detective Hall: - wipes away some sweat from his forehead - Yes.. Her uterus was removed.. Three incisions were located on her lower abdomen, the skin was pulled away and the organ was then, taken from her body.. If you would excuse me, I must get back to work, no further questions, thank you....
The detective walked away from the cameras. He couldn't say anymore. He had said enough already. Our view of the public and the officers, slowly faded to the pitch dark black.
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