Her Name Was Merle

London, 10 December 1888

"Jack the Ripper," he mumbled to himself as he looked over the newspaper. "That's the name they're giving me? It seems so barbaric." It certainly felt barbaric, just the way it rolled off his tongue. He'd been looking at this same paper every night since it was first published almost two months ago. He was not a "ripper." He was too precise, too careful in each little incision, in the way he had gone over their bodies. They were lovely women, each of them. He was so disgusted that such women would throw themselves into prostitution. Money was tight, yes, but their beauty could have carried them, despite their being pauper women. And they all reminded him of his wife, Liz. She was precious; he had rescued her from that life, but she had not lived long. Those damn diseases! They had taken her from him too early. So, he wanted to save as many of them as he could, before the damn diseases could ruin their beauty, too. Rather abruptly, and perhaps out of almost forgetting of the importance of what he meant to do, he shot up and grabbed his frock coat from the hanger. Merle was just about to leave the brothel for the night; he was sure of it.

Merle smiled and waved at the patrons standing at the front desk as she straightened out her dark brown, rather dull dress and headed out into the late evening. Her younger sister, Carol, was waiting at home with dinner ready. She had been incredibly lucky to get a small bit of beef for tonight's dinner. After all, it was Carol's birthday, and they needed to celebrate with a good meal. She was ashamed that her sister had to cook her own birthday dinner, more so this late at night, but it was the best they could do, what with their mother and father passing away five months ago from typhoid. The girls were quite lucky not to catch it themselves, since the doctors insisted they be careful interacting with their parents. It was the whole reason Merle had taken the job at the brothel. They couldn't afford the shabby room without it, whether she wanted to work the job or not. This was for Carol, and she had to remember that.

She had stopped by the little shop down the road earlier today to buy a small cloth bag of candy as a present. They were all of Carol's favorites, so she was sure her sister would be excited, even with the cheapness of the present. It was less than what she had gotten when their parents were alive, but Carol would be grateful for a present at all.

A wave of uneasiness hit her as she turned into the alley, the only shortcut to her home. It was the fastest way there, and the only way she could reach the place before it got awfully dark. She wished, in that moment, that she had a suitor of her own to protect her as she made her way down the narrowness of it. It had always been a bit unsafe to be traveling alone at night as a lady, especially with the Whitechapel murders, but Merle had no friends who lived nearby. It was why she often hurried down the path, so that she could get into the openness of the street as soon as possible, in hopes that there would be some random soul on the other side who would give her a sense of ease at not being so alone. At least then, if something happened, someone would be able to help. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being followed and looked over her shoulder only to see the empty darkness of the alley. Perhaps it was only in her imagination, but still, she hurried a bit faster than usual to ease her mind.

It was March of 1886 when he first met Elizabeth Caine. He was lonely, and some of his buddies suggested he visit a brothel, said he needed a little woman in his life so he wouldn't be so uptight about everything. They had laughed as they said it, but he knew they were serious. He really had been uptight most of his life, so when he met Liz, it was the first time he found out how to let go.

The missus had recommended the young blonde with amazing birthing hips and oceanic eyes to him. Said she was a favorite of most of the regulars. She was certainly beautiful. As she strode atop him in his bedroom, in fact, he thought to himself that she was far too beautiful to be a prostitute. He felt as if she could have done other things or could have nabbed herself a wealthy partner who could carry her through life. But his thoughts were interrupted by a tender kiss, and so he fell into her, in love with her.