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Clockwork Heart Chapter 2.5 (RIPPER)

Ripper

The day was still bright outside but the Ripper was still awake. For the Ripper did not sleep – ever. Thus even after a night of bloody activities, the figure sat alone in a dusty storage shed that was utilised by a local drapery with eyes open and alert. Fabrics were piled high in long stretching aisles that zigzagged through the space.

And there, hidden at the back, the hooded figure slumped to the floor and stared at its hands. They were coated in blood that was slowly crusting over and flaking as it dried.

Idly curiosity had the being turn them over and over. They rubbed their fingertips together and watched the dried blood crumble from their skin in a crumbly powder. There was no pain, guilt or emotion as its eyes watched this. There was only disappointment.

It could remember clearly as if it were doing the act over again. The surprise was always what caused the ripper to pause. Surely their target would know that the Ripper was coming for them... that they held what the Ripper wanted. Why would they resist and hide? They should give themselves over freely if they did not want anyone else to suffer.

But there was always surprise on their faces when its victims found themselves facing their deaths and the Ripper’s need was too great. Thus, it was with relative ease and lack of conscience that the being, cloaked always in shadow, pulled back its hood to display just how monstrous they really were. And as realisation struck so did the Ripper’s immensely strong hand as it punched a hole through their chest.

Closing its eyes, the being ticked over the memory as it continued to grind the blood dust between its fingers. That moment when they truly discovered what stalked the streets of Portside stealing hearts was one that brought a strange feeling to the being. It was confusing and went against everything hardwired into the Ripper’s mind.

Shuddering and stilling its fingers the Ripper tried to force the corrupting emotion away.

After a few seconds of silence and unaccustomed to stillness, the Ripper reached into the corner beside it. The tattered paper rustled in the Ripper's tight grip as the sure and strong hands flicked through the pages until it stopped. Lines of reddish brown streaked through words that brought a dissatisfied frown to the shadow cloaked face.  

Bringing its blood stained hands to its lips, it darted its tongue out to wet the tip, and then using the now moist blood as ink, it crossed through the name Elaina Banner from the long list of female names. It had been intended as a list of the debutantes appearing this season but this innocent list in the high society pages had quickly become a bloody checklist for the Ripper's work. One of these women selfishly held onto what the Ripper needed to survive. They had stolen what rightfully belonged to the notorious killer and none were safe until the Ripper had their revenge.

Its eyes fell upon the next name.

There was no joy in the words as they were spoken, only cold hard truth. “Michaela Booth, it appears your time is up.” And like the sentence had been pronounced, the Ripper pushed to its feet and wiped the dirt from its clothes. “Enough wallowing,” the eerie figure chastised itself – it was time to plan.