Post by JACK THE RIPPER on Jul 17, 2011 22:34:15 GMT -5
For the fifth time, he stalked the streets; for the fifth time, that sticky, scarlet passion would engulf him; for the fifth time he would feel warm at his core, instead of the stabbing icicles that usually plagued him. The time had come to grab NYC by the handle bars and start directing it where he wanted it to go- right toward him. The most dangerous game of Chicken he'd ever played; he was determined not to swerve first, and so the city must.
Either that, or they would crash.
He was probably the most quiet thing on the streets right now, the encircling area polluted with loud whoops and hollers. Ah, Independence Day. A holiday to celebrate the most fake and laughable concept of all: freedom. Perhaps he wouldn't mind it so much if they didn't all rattle Hell's gates with their noise and pretty lights.
This gave him the advantage of being able to slip passed everyone in the streets-- most of them were either stinking drunk or on their way to Central Park to start blowing things up. Of course the most entertaining thing for people on a holiday like this was big, loud, shiny things...at two in the morning. Typical of the human race.
Exactly why did he not include himself in the category of the "human race"? Well, they certainly didn't; to them he was a freak, a monster--there was something wrong with his mind, they said, when really, they were the ones who had something wrong with them. The least they could do for him was recognize what he was doing as a positive thing; that would never happen. Even in this violent day, he was a "bad guy", not "any guy."
Jack had learned to crave the attention.
How deserted the City Hall building was, which was so surprising as to almost be appalling to him. No security needed, no security even attempted. No lights were on. How convenient and yet depressing at the same time, to realize that they didn't feel threatened by him.
Even with Mayor Tormei's new little rule, there were plenty of ladies out at this time. In fact, as he turned into the square, someone touched him on the arm.
"Hey," she said, making him turn his head. She was soft looking, as if she tried her hardest to wash up. Light makeup around the eyes, but dark lips; her freckles were discernible, even in the poor lighting. "Why aren't you at the fireworks, Mister?"
"They're not really my scene," he replied, turning fully to face her. They were standing close to the poorer-lit side of a streetlamp, and she could hardly make out his face.
"Why? Noise, I bet. I don't like the noise either. Y'know, we could always have our own little firework showing..." Her dark lips curled into a juvenile smile. A new one, perhaps?
Jack only chuckled. "You're cute."
"I try! Wanna?" Eagerly. If she was new, she was good at it.
"Sure... where's a good view?" He looked around, and gestured toward City Hall. "Maybe over that way..."
"If you want. We might get in trouble, though!" This made her giggle as she added, "You can protect me from the Ripper, yeah?"
Jack's smile did not waver. "I'd be honored, Lady."
"Gen'nleman! What's next, linking arms with me?"
"As you wish!" He playfully held an arm out to her, and she took it just as playfully.
"Well, you're delightful. I saw you over there all broody and I thought that maybe you'd be mad at me if I said something. I guess you just are tired?" She nodded at the bags under his eyes.
"Very." He let her go when she tried to wiggle away, and watched as she scampered up the side-most set of stairs. He slipped behind her, using the shadows of the pillars to whatever advantage he could. Shaking unseen eyewitnesses was something he was good at.
"We should pro'lly stay away from the street side," she said, and he nodded at her in agreement. The whore sat down near one of the pillars, looking out into the street, which was less crowded than usual. "You wanna just look for a bit?"
"Are you supposed to show how much you resent me?" he asked her sharply, commenting on the wary tone of her voice. She obviously didn't want to get to work just yet.
The whore glared at him. "Jesus, why don't you calm down. I don't have to do it, you know."
He sat next to her without another word on the matter, looking past her chin. It's chin...
"You know..." it commented quietly, watching the beginnings of the sloppy, unofficial fireworks, "...all this Ripper stuff? I think it's made up. I don't think that it's the same guy every time."
Jack's lids became heavier and his gaze slowly rolled to the whore. "It is."
It gave off an indignant scoff and began to turn its head toward him. "Wh-" His hands were on its mouth and throat in a minute, his heavy leather gloves blocking any sound it might give off. He squeezed down on the windpipe with his right hand until it stopped fighting, letting the body slowly lower to the marble.
He hefted up the head-end of the body and dragged it quietly behind one of the pillars. It would be far less risky to do it there, out of the way and hidden from the street.
Jack loomed over the body a moment, forcing his knife out of his pocket. The pulse was still going, though very weakly, and so he slit the throat through for good measure, severing the carotid artery and feeling the blade hit bone. Blood spurted very weakly, across the back of the pillar and onto his arm; a light spray landed on the marble where they had been sitting. He looked down and couldn't help but shiver as he watched the lights blink and then fade from the whore's eyes--what immense, profound power he felt. Another life taken, another person who he'd dominated. God, he loved it.
The reverie could only last a second, though, as there was still plenty to do. He tugged impatiently at the whore's fur-embellished miniskirt, flicking his knife into a ready position...
The end result was no less than art. The body was stretched out straight, with the arms straight at the sides, palms facing the marble. The chin was tilted up, and the posture in general suggested something ritualistic about it all. He had his own fun with the mutilations, completely detaching the vagina and part of the uterus, but only placing it about ten inches from the place it took it. The liver was the only thing absent, and it had not been ripped but carefully removed, almost lovingly, and had found a new home in his heavy briefcase. The body was cut up the middle, from just under the navel to just below the rib cage, and the intestines were draped across the wounds on the neck and shoulders, much like a scarf. The face of the whore was cut along the jaw, her bottom lip ripped down and off--missing--and a sinister pair of long scars set her cheeks into a permanent grin. He had cut two triangular points on her forehead, as is to give her comical eyebrows.
The wounds on the body were relatively unremarkable for his usual work. However, blood had seeped across the marble and onto the first step under the body. Where the blood stopped, a deep red motto was scrawled:
And as Jack turned to leave, he remembered one more thing. He sat back down on the stairs, taking his time to compose a note on a piece of the nearest newspaper which littered the steps. When the note was complete to his satisfaction, he went back and took one of her bobby pins, picking off the plastic seal and forcing the sharp end directly through the skin above her left breast, like it was a damned Frequent Flyer's pin. On this, he fastened his note, only then straightening up again.
Jack had finished without a sound or a trace--no bloody footprints, no stains, no fingerprints. Just nothing, as always. It was as if a demon really had sacrificed her, and had vanished into the Bowels just as soon as he'd come. He had never believed there was a Hell. After all, there was no need of one; all the demons were here.
1. Mary Nichols
2. Annie Chapman
3. "Sally Fay"-grocery store
4. Unnamed as of yet- Leather Apron
5. Present; City Hall
Either that, or they would crash.
He was probably the most quiet thing on the streets right now, the encircling area polluted with loud whoops and hollers. Ah, Independence Day. A holiday to celebrate the most fake and laughable concept of all: freedom. Perhaps he wouldn't mind it so much if they didn't all rattle Hell's gates with their noise and pretty lights.
This gave him the advantage of being able to slip passed everyone in the streets-- most of them were either stinking drunk or on their way to Central Park to start blowing things up. Of course the most entertaining thing for people on a holiday like this was big, loud, shiny things...at two in the morning. Typical of the human race.
Exactly why did he not include himself in the category of the "human race"? Well, they certainly didn't; to them he was a freak, a monster--there was something wrong with his mind, they said, when really, they were the ones who had something wrong with them. The least they could do for him was recognize what he was doing as a positive thing; that would never happen. Even in this violent day, he was a "bad guy", not "any guy."
Jack had learned to crave the attention.
How deserted the City Hall building was, which was so surprising as to almost be appalling to him. No security needed, no security even attempted. No lights were on. How convenient and yet depressing at the same time, to realize that they didn't feel threatened by him.
Even with Mayor Tormei's new little rule, there were plenty of ladies out at this time. In fact, as he turned into the square, someone touched him on the arm.
"Hey," she said, making him turn his head. She was soft looking, as if she tried her hardest to wash up. Light makeup around the eyes, but dark lips; her freckles were discernible, even in the poor lighting. "Why aren't you at the fireworks, Mister?"
"They're not really my scene," he replied, turning fully to face her. They were standing close to the poorer-lit side of a streetlamp, and she could hardly make out his face.
"Why? Noise, I bet. I don't like the noise either. Y'know, we could always have our own little firework showing..." Her dark lips curled into a juvenile smile. A new one, perhaps?
Jack only chuckled. "You're cute."
"I try! Wanna?" Eagerly. If she was new, she was good at it.
"Sure... where's a good view?" He looked around, and gestured toward City Hall. "Maybe over that way..."
"If you want. We might get in trouble, though!" This made her giggle as she added, "You can protect me from the Ripper, yeah?"
Jack's smile did not waver. "I'd be honored, Lady."
"Gen'nleman! What's next, linking arms with me?"
"As you wish!" He playfully held an arm out to her, and she took it just as playfully.
"Well, you're delightful. I saw you over there all broody and I thought that maybe you'd be mad at me if I said something. I guess you just are tired?" She nodded at the bags under his eyes.
"Very." He let her go when she tried to wiggle away, and watched as she scampered up the side-most set of stairs. He slipped behind her, using the shadows of the pillars to whatever advantage he could. Shaking unseen eyewitnesses was something he was good at.
"We should pro'lly stay away from the street side," she said, and he nodded at her in agreement. The whore sat down near one of the pillars, looking out into the street, which was less crowded than usual. "You wanna just look for a bit?"
"Are you supposed to show how much you resent me?" he asked her sharply, commenting on the wary tone of her voice. She obviously didn't want to get to work just yet.
The whore glared at him. "Jesus, why don't you calm down. I don't have to do it, you know."
He sat next to her without another word on the matter, looking past her chin. It's chin...
"You know..." it commented quietly, watching the beginnings of the sloppy, unofficial fireworks, "...all this Ripper stuff? I think it's made up. I don't think that it's the same guy every time."
Jack's lids became heavier and his gaze slowly rolled to the whore. "It is."
It gave off an indignant scoff and began to turn its head toward him. "Wh-" His hands were on its mouth and throat in a minute, his heavy leather gloves blocking any sound it might give off. He squeezed down on the windpipe with his right hand until it stopped fighting, letting the body slowly lower to the marble.
He hefted up the head-end of the body and dragged it quietly behind one of the pillars. It would be far less risky to do it there, out of the way and hidden from the street.
Jack loomed over the body a moment, forcing his knife out of his pocket. The pulse was still going, though very weakly, and so he slit the throat through for good measure, severing the carotid artery and feeling the blade hit bone. Blood spurted very weakly, across the back of the pillar and onto his arm; a light spray landed on the marble where they had been sitting. He looked down and couldn't help but shiver as he watched the lights blink and then fade from the whore's eyes--what immense, profound power he felt. Another life taken, another person who he'd dominated. God, he loved it.
The reverie could only last a second, though, as there was still plenty to do. He tugged impatiently at the whore's fur-embellished miniskirt, flicking his knife into a ready position...
The end result was no less than art. The body was stretched out straight, with the arms straight at the sides, palms facing the marble. The chin was tilted up, and the posture in general suggested something ritualistic about it all. He had his own fun with the mutilations, completely detaching the vagina and part of the uterus, but only placing it about ten inches from the place it took it. The liver was the only thing absent, and it had not been ripped but carefully removed, almost lovingly, and had found a new home in his heavy briefcase. The body was cut up the middle, from just under the navel to just below the rib cage, and the intestines were draped across the wounds on the neck and shoulders, much like a scarf. The face of the whore was cut along the jaw, her bottom lip ripped down and off--missing--and a sinister pair of long scars set her cheeks into a permanent grin. He had cut two triangular points on her forehead, as is to give her comical eyebrows.
The wounds on the body were relatively unremarkable for his usual work. However, blood had seeped across the marble and onto the first step under the body. Where the blood stopped, a deep red motto was scrawled:
HECTOR TORMEI- A MAN FOR THE PEOPLE.
And as Jack turned to leave, he remembered one more thing. He sat back down on the stairs, taking his time to compose a note on a piece of the nearest newspaper which littered the steps. When the note was complete to his satisfaction, he went back and took one of her bobby pins, picking off the plastic seal and forcing the sharp end directly through the skin above her left breast, like it was a damned Frequent Flyer's pin. On this, he fastened his note, only then straightening up again.
Jack had finished without a sound or a trace--no bloody footprints, no stains, no fingerprints. Just nothing, as always. It was as if a demon really had sacrificed her, and had vanished into the Bowels just as soon as he'd come. He had never believed there was a Hell. After all, there was no need of one; all the demons were here.
1. Mary Nichols
2. Annie Chapman
3. "Sally Fay"-grocery store
4. Unnamed as of yet- Leather Apron
5. Present; City Hall
