A/N:
Here's a short story I wrote for school last week. Just thought I'd let you guys read it and please give med some feedback :] I haven't gotten any grade on this yet. Still waiting, biting my nails... :/
Happy reading! :D
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It’s dark and cold outside. Behind a layer of thick and grey clouds, the moon has just entered its place on the evening sky and the first drop of rain starts falling as the door to one of the local pubs is opened. It’s the eight of November, 1888, and the man that leaves the pub puts on his high black hat and pulls his coat tighter around his body.
There’s a photo in his inner pocket. It’s a photo of a happy family; the man that just left the pub is smiling next to his pretty wife and hugging their two children. They are standing in front of their beautiful house and the sun is shining and reflects in the many windows. And the family is laughing, like no problem in the world can reach them. The photo does not show the reality, though. The photo does not show that the man’s wife is deadly sick, that she’ll die if she doesn’t get a new heart. But the hospital where the man works cannot provide his wife with a new heart. And that’s why the man is heading for East End as the church clock strikes midnight.
He doesn’t belong there, a surgeon of his caliber. He doesn’t belong in the poor blocks of London. He, a surgeon at the Royal Hospital, shouldn’t be there.
The man is very familiar with the small and dirty streets, though. He was born there, left alone by his mother who had been forced to sell her body to be able to afford food for the day. He was abandoned by the only human being that new he existed. He had lived in the dark alleys and on the streets for over a year, stealing what he could to survive. But the little boy had gotten away from East End, had gotten himself a loving family and a proper education. Now, he is back.
The man straightens his hat and scratches his small moustache as he keeps looking over his shoulder, making sure nobody is following him in the dark alleys. He is heading for Whitechapels, to the pub where his biological mother used to spend her nights. He knows what he must do, knows that it will save his wife’s life. Otherwise, he wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t have done it before if it hadn’t been to save someone else’s life. A life for a life. A life for a life. That’s the sentence the man is repeating in his head, over and over again, as he enters the shabby pub in Whitechapels.
The first thing the man does is selecting his victim. As he is standing by the wall and looking around the room, a young girl catches his gaze. She is not very tall and thin from the lack of food. The girl reminds him of his wife when he first met her, beautiful, sad and helpless. The man pulls his hat down, making sure his eyes are put in shadow, and watches her beautiful features. She is standing next to another man, asking him for money to her rent. But as the man tells her that she cannot help her, she turns around, tears burning in her eyes, and makes eye contact with the mystic man in hat.
“Please, sir…” she begs and walks over to him. He looks down at the girl, hiding his disgust behind a smirk. “If you have time and money, sir, I’m willing to do anything,” she whispers and tries to hide her tears.
“What’s your name, love?” the man asks, carefully looking around the pub to see if they are being watched. Only the man the girl spoke to earlier, Mr. Hutchinson, is giving them a second look.
“Mary, sir,” the girl answers, gaining some confidence as the man is showing intrest. “Mary Kelly…” The man mentally goes through the list of patients; he knows her blood type, her exact height, weight, medical history and previous diseases, just like he remembers all previous patients’ information. In that way, his photographic memory has served him well. Mary Kelly… The perfect victim…
His memories are crystal clear as he leaves East End in the early morning to return home to his wife and children. He remembers how Mary Kelly had led him to her small apartment at 13 Miller’s Court, and how she had opened the door. He remembers how she had lit the candle on the small table, the only light in the moist room. He remembers the cold air from the broken windows and he remembers her pretty smile before he put his hand over her beautiful mouth. He remembers the feeling of her warm blood pouring down his hands as he cut her throat open with the long and sharp knife he kept inside his coat.
As the man pulls out a key from his pocket and unlocks the door, he is happy to know that the girl didn’t feel any pain. She didn’t feel any pain as he started cutting through her body. She didn’t feel him removing the skin from her nose. She didn’t feel him cutting her abdomen open or when her intestines fell out on the bed together with another eight cups of blood. She didn’t feel anything at all…
The house is dark as he enters. The children are asleep upstairs and in the master bedroom, his wife is fighting for her life. She doesn’t know it yet, she doesn’t know that her husband has given her a new life. She doesn’t know he has given her a new heart.
But he knows. The man knows. He knows everything. He knows that a girl was killed tonight. He knows that Mary Kelly will never breathe again. She will never open her eyes again, nor feel her heart beat. This is what the man is thinking as he puts the hat on the shelf and takes his coat off. He reaches for his inner pocket, feels the soft organ in the plastic bag touch his fingers. He can almost imagine the heart beat in the girl’s chest, can almost hear the regular sound. But he is proud of himself, proud that he has saved his wife’s life. He doesn’t think of himself as a ripper as he walks through the house, the heart held in his hand.
Suddenly, he hears his wife’s weak voice call his name.
“Jack…? Jack, is that you?”
“Yes, love. I’m home…,” he answers and smiles gently. He is not a ripper. Jack is not a ripper. But he doesn’t know that his wife will not survive the surgery. He doesn’t know that he will lose her. He doesn’t know that he will kill her with Mary Kelly’s heart. He doesn’t know. But he is proud…
He is a doctor. He is a doctor and he saves lives. He is not a ripper. Jack is not a ripper…
