Dead Horizon (3 page)

She began to lift her frock, all business. The frock never made it beyond her knees. Cecil grabbed her by the throat with two hands and squeezed, pressing his thumbs hard against her windpipe. Her eyes bulged from their sockets. She was a tough old bird who tried to fight back, but Cecil squeezed tighter about her neck until she went out.

He laid her on the ground, then he was on top of her, whipping the dagger from inside his coat, stabbing and slashing. He was clumsy at it, this being his first time, and soon he became ill. His stomach heaved. He raised the dagger again, his hand trembling, but before he could plunge the knife into her again, he ran off, wanting to leave the terrible scene behind him.

He made it home without detection, but a heavy weight fell upon his shoulders when he realized he had failed his brother and that the killing of the whore had been for naught. He would have to go out again, and very soon, or risk losing his dear brother altogether. The thought of losing Edward made him shudder. It was not an option. Edward was a good man, and if the killing of a whore or two was what it took to keep Edward from going away entirely, then the death of a whore or two was exactly what Cecil would accomplish.

* * *

It was near daylight. Cecil again carried the black bag, which, he reasoned, would serve to pass him off as a doctor should someone spot him. His knife, freshly honed earlier in the day, was tucked beneath his coat.

Cecil saw no one until a destitute and drunken woman approached him with an offer of sex in exchange for enough money to purchase a loaf of bread. Cecil agreed, and off the two of them went, disappearing down a side street and into a backyard on Hanbury.

The woman quickly lifted her frock and started to turn her backside to Cecil, but before she could turn even partially around, Cecil lashed out with the knife and drew its thin, gleaming blade across her neck, opening a slit in her throat that nearly severed her head.

Cecil fell to his knees beside her and made quick work of it, slicing through her abdomen and drawing out her intestines. He cut a portion of the entrails away and dropped them into his bag, then he removed her uterus and dropped it beside the corpse. He considered taking some coins and other personal belongings from her in order to make the killing look like a robbery, but changed his mind and placed the items at her feet.

He was not a thief, nor did he wish to give such an impression. He even left the money with which he had paid the drunken woman for services never rendered. Justified homicide was one thing, but stealing was only for the hooligan types who frequented the East End.

He would not stoop so low.

Cecil was in the process of closing his bag when he heard low, muffled voices coming from inside a nearby flophouse. He closed his bag and hurried away, narrowly avoiding discovery as a man dressed for factory work came out of the house.

Cecil slowed his pace once he was back on the main street so as not to draw undue attention. The streets were still relatively deserted, though Cecil saw the occasional laborer heading out to earn a day’s wage.

Once tucked away inside his house, Cecil carried the black bag into the room where he kept his brother locked away. He hated to keep Edward locked away, but it seemed a wise measure.

Edward stood in one corner, looking down at his feet, and he immediately raised his head at the sound of the door to his room opening.

“Good morning, brother,” Cecil said.

He set the bag on a small table beside the bed and opened it. Edward sniffed the air, caught the scent of fresh meat, and shuffled over to the table. Cecil drew out the bloody organs and offered them to Edward.

Edward hesitated. He leaned closer and sniffed at the bloody entrails. He looked up at Cecil, then down at the organs again.

“For you,” Cecil said. “It’s what you must have.”

Edward reached out and placed one hand on the intestines. He picked up a piece of the entrails and licked it with a tongue that had become blackened and bloated. Cecil nodded encouragement.

Edward stuffed the entrails into his mouth and chewed, reaching for more even before he had worked through the first serving.

Cecil unloaded the bag, placing the remainder of the intestines on the table, then he exited the room, leaving Edward to enjoy his meal in peace.

Later that day Cecil picked up a copy of the
Illustrated Police News
and read an article about the Murder in Whitechapel, this one referring to the first. It was then he learned the name of the woman he’d killed. Knowing her name made him a bit sorrowful. He had not fancied his victims with names, which now put a sinister twist upon his deeds.

He went out that afternoon to a pub called the Ten Bells. He had a glass of gin, which was uncustomary for him. He normally did not drink, nor did he smoke, but now, to soothe his nerves, he engaged in both vices.

He was quite surprised at the number of men and women in the establishment, and he listened with great interest as some of the women gathered round one table and began talking about the discovery of a body earlier in the morning. They were truly frightened, and it gave him a perverted sense of satisfaction to sit so close to them without their having the slightest inkling as to his identity.

He watched the poor women for some time, imagining each as a possible victim, and he even picked out one he had seen working the neighborhood regularly. She would be a prime target.

He finished his gin and left the pub, walking the streets hours as he plotted his next move, for Edward would not survive long on the meager offerings Cecil had recently provided him. Already his flesh had begun to peel away from the rotting bones beneath, his teeth were dropping, and his ribs were beginning to show. Soon there would be nothing left at all.

Cecil had to kill again, and fast, if Edward were to continue living.

* * *

Cecil sat with Edward more frequently as the cold, damp September nights passed by. He would read to Edward, spend hours brushing the few strands of hair Edward retained, and talk to Edward about days gone by.

One night while Cecil read a news article in the
London Times
about the Whitechapel Murders, he glanced up and saw that Edward’s nose had fallen crooked. He reached up to fix it, and for a moment he simply stared into Edward’s one good eye, connecting with the despair he saw there.

“They are making arrests,” Cecil said suddenly. “These killings confuse them. They have no idea. To them it is simply the work of a madman, and now I’m afraid the publicity may get to be too much, then what will I do for you?”

He leaned up and kissed Edward’s cold, gray forehead.

“I will not let you perish,” he said in a tired voice.

* * *

Cecil awoke with a start. Something was wrong. He felt the cold grip of terror in the pit of his stomach. He rose from the chair in which he’d dozed without realizing it, hurrying to check on Edward. He gasped in horror to see that the door to Edward’s room stood wide open.

He rushed through the house, desperate to find Edward, hoping he was simply wandering around. Cecil had never forgotten to lock the door to Edward’s room before. Edward was not accustomed to wandering about in  such a large area, and Cecil worried he might get himself into trouble.

After searching high and low, it was apparent Edward was not to be found in the house. Cecil grabbed his coat and went outside to look for him.

The sheer madness of thinking Edward was wandering these fog-shrouded streets was enough to scramble the brain. Edward could be anywhere. Fear for his well-being made it nearly impossible for Cecil to function with any degree of confidence. He rushed through the maze of streets and alleyways, he searched courtyards, and he even checked pubs, all to no avail.

And then, simply by chance, Cecil rounded a corner and saw Edward attacking a woman of ill repute. The woman was putting up quite the struggle, wailing away at Edward, who hardly seemed equipped to fight back. Cecil rushed to Edward’s defense, and just as the woman started to scream, Cecil silenced her by opening a wide gash in her soft throat.

A man somewhere nearby called out, “hurt her,” or “murder,” or something to that end. Cecil took Edward by an arm and rushed him down a dark alley, heading in the general direction of Mitre Square.

When Cecil and Edward reached the square, a dark-haired woman in her forties had the misfortune of meeting them. She turned on the charm so as to solicit business, realizing much too late that she had made a terrible mistake. When she got a look at Edward’s rotting features up close and not hidden by fog, the woman changed her demeanor quite quickly.

“What the bloody hell—”

Cecil had the knife in his hand in a flash. He moved before the woman could finish her sentence, swiping the blade across her neck, nearly removing her head in the process. When she fell to the ground, Cecil threw himself on top of her and began to mutilate her with abandon.

He cut off her nose and one of her ears, then he carved up her face until it was an unrecognizable pulp. He opened her belly and dragged out her organs, then he sliced and chopped until he was soaked with blood and exhausted beyond measure.

Edward stood by passively. Cecil looked up at him, breathing heavy and gasping as he spoke. “Go on,” he said, nodding at the slain woman. “She’s all yours.” He got up and took a few steps back from the corpse.

Edward knelt beside the dismantled corpse and buried his face in her open abdomen, and with both hands he filled his mouth with her steaming organs, only occasionally looking up at Cecil.

Cecil slipped some of the woman’s kidney inside his coat. He waited patiently for his brother to finish, though he kept casting nervous glances over his shoulder, fearing the man who’d called out earlier may come snooping about.

“Come, Edward, that’s enough,” Cecil said, eager to be gone.

Edward looked dejected, but he took one more bite of the viscera and followed after Cecil, who moved carefully, peering around every corner before moving ahead.

The two made quite a pair and could quite possibly draw negative attention if a constable were to see them creeping about in the fog.

When they were finally home again, Cecil coaxed Edward back into his room with the stolen kidney and left him chewing as he locked the door.

Cecil returned to the front room and dropped into his chair. He noticed that his hands were shaking rather violently. He drew a deep, calming breath and closed his eyes. There was no sound save for the occasional thump that came from Edward’s room. Cecil half-expected a constable to bang on his door, demanding the surrender of the creature Cecil harbored, but no such knock came.

Soon Cecil fell into a deep, undisturbed sleep.

* * *

The newspapers gave him a name—Jack the Ripper. Quaint. Letters purporting to be from him had been received by the police and the news hounds. The authors of those letters bragged about deeds they knew nothing about. Utter nonsense, all of it. What drove the fools to seek such unearned attention?

The mockery they all made of his work. What he did was for love and for the benefit of Edward. He was not a thrill seeker. His motives were of the highest order, and for the newspapers to give voice to such rubbish was despicable.

“They’re making it difficult, Edward,” Cecil told his brother. “The publicity, I’m afraid, will have a dire effect on us.”

Edward hardly paid Cecil any mind. His condition had grown much worse. His eye sockets were empty save for a few squirming maggots. Most of his skin had withered away, and that which remained was nothing more than parchment. His lower jaw hung by strips of rotted tissue, and all but three of his teeth were gone.

Though little remained of the thing that Cecil called his brother, Cecil refused to give up hope. He would kill more whores if it would bring Edward back.

He went out into the night again. He slipped through the shadows and down narrow passageways, cutting through darkened courtyards in search of an easy victim. He came upon a woman he recognized from the pub. He approached her and spoke to her briefly. She said she was turning in for the night, and he offered her double her rate if she would accommodate him.

“Come along then,” she said after consideration. “I’ve a room nearby.”

Cecil slipped his arm around her waist.

“You are frisky, ain’t ya, now?” she said.

She glanced down at his black medical bag for the first time and pulled away “Are you a doctor?” she asked, a sudden, nervous edge in her tone.

“That I am,” Cecil answered with authority, hoping to quell her fear.

“You’re not that bloke that’s killin’ all the ladies?”

“Heaven’s no,” he said. “I’m not that sort.”

She giggled and led him into the courtyard. Her room was first on the right, number thirteen.

An unlucky number for her tonight.

He struck almost immediately upon entering the room. He attacked from behind, slicing her throat from left to right. He’d become quite adept at wielding his dagger in a professional manner, so he made quick work of her, pushing her down onto a nearby cot even as he drew the knife across her neck.

He was in the midst of stabbing and ripping when he saw Edward in his mind’s eye. His poor, tortured brother, a man who had once been the savior of many, now nothing more than a rotting corpse.

Poor Edward, who thought he could save the world by finding the elixir that would sustain life forever. It was unfair that a man of Edward’s caliber should suffer the indignities associated with the rotting of a human corpse.

The thought enraged Cecil. He slashed and ripped and tore at the young woman beneath him. He dragged out her intestines and hung them over the edge of the bed. He carved away body organs and removed her breasts, then he sliced and peeled away her skin, baring raw meat and tendons.

The entire episode took perhaps twenty minutes. Cecil finished by placing some of the woman’s remains over her shoulder. He put her uterus, her kidney, and a breast under her head, and he left her liver between her feet. If they wanted Jack the Ripper, Cecil would give them Jack the Ripper. If they wanted a callous, mysterious killer, then so they would have one.