My Dearest Emily

Untitled Part 1

My Dearest Emily,

The past several weeks have been a blur, time moving at a near break-neck speed, urging to closer and quicker completion. That, however, is no excuse for not taking a few moments of my time to write to you, to keep you company in the dark space you’re trapped in, even if my company can only come in hastily scribbled words. Please, forgive me. I am so close, though, my dear. So close, I can almost taste it. The aroma of my impending victory permeates the air around me, dancing in graceful waves, twirling around my head dizzily, swirling around my fingertips. Come, it whispers to me, you’re so nearly there. Just reach out a little further. Just hold on a little longer.

It whispers in your voice.

You are so beautiful now, Emily. All that you wanted, all that you desired, I got them for you. The dainty feet from a market girl in Boston, the long pianist fingers from a lawyer’s wife in Philadelphia, full lips and button nose from a lord’s mistress in Savannah, the voice of a lovely tavern waitress in Richmond, all part of you now, the most finely made doll I ever had the fortune to craft. I even found for you the dual colored eyes you dreamed to have, the deepest of twilight blue and the boldest of forest green, the sky and the mountains at sunset. Those came from two call girls from New Orleans, sisters if their story could be believed. They were gentle, Emily, with an air about them that resembled you. You would have liked them.

Now, I know what you wish to know. I know it, and I shall tell you what I know, but please know that I do not approve of your inquiries.

The man named Marshal Brandt, the one you fancy so, has fled to New York, taking with him his whore of a sister, Fiona. Ernst Dawson and Henry Grey followed behind them a short time later. They are all currently staying at the Brandt’s city house, your name passing their lips only to mock and ridicule. Perhaps they think they are safe, that they have silenced me since they took you away, that I do not watch them, taking notes. But I do, and they are not. I may have drawn back my fangs, but I only wait to strike again. They will pay dearly for each and every hair they have harmed upon your head. Just a little longer, then I will get them. After all, despite all her flaws and horrid temperament, Fiona has the perfect ears.

Darling Emily, I would like to warn you of something. When you awaken, when you see the world with your new eyes, the only words that will be spoken of me will be to call me a monster. The title of ‘The American Jack the Ripper’ is used often to describe me in the papers, as well as the ‘Fine Woman’s Frankenstein’. You will undoubtedly hear these, but do not take them to heart. They are insignificant and misused words, as I do not murder women for the joy of it, nor do I rob graves to make a monster. I am no murder. I saved those women. Together, they came and made you, and you are no monster, Emily. You are the epitome of beauty and perfection. No one will ever call you ugly or simple or insignificant again.

My darling, darling Emily, my dearest doll, I would do anything for you. I want you to know that. Know it, keep it close to your heart, slip it under your tongue, and know I love you. You will take the world in your palm and have all the power to crush it or cherish it if you so desire.  Of that I am sure.

My time grows short, Emily, and I must go. Forgive me, and feel my lips upon your fine fingers as I bid you ‘good day’. I wish I did not have to go, but I am so close. You are so close. Soon, we shall be together again.

With all love,

                        Tobias Crate

                                    1899