Ripper Row

Pilot

Today is November 9, 1888 in Whitechapel, London. Posters are hung on every building on every street, the windows plastered with warnings of the new serial killer roaming about the streets and how everyone is to obey the nightly curfew. Everyone that is around are no longer carefree and chatty, instead they all seem cold and wary of everything around them. Paranoid is what they all are... creating their own theories of who Jack the Ripper may be, accusing family members and friends. I am not too bothered by it, considering all of my friends are storybook characters or they do not exist at all. So that limits me to accusing them of being an actual killer.

The only person I actually socialize with is my sister. Mary Jane and I walk on the sidewalk, heading back to our apartments on Miller's Court. She slowly drags her feet behind me, her arms crossed as she scowls at each poster she passes. "It's not fair," she huffs.

"Mary..." I warn, but it is no use.

"No! Why should we be punished for that scoundrel's crimes?" she asks demandingly.

I glance back at her, catching a small glimpse of her golden curls bouncing off of her shoulders as she walks. "It is for our safety," I say.

"Well I don't care! I was supposed to see William tonight," Mary Jane says, sighing happily at the mere thought of him.

I sigh. It is hard to believe that she is the older one. "The curfew is set in order to prevent any more deaths from occurring at the hands of that murderer," I state, "and as for Will, I still do not know what you see in that man."

William Spencer is one of the several drunks that drift from bar to bar in order to get sloshed and have sex. All he is in Whitechapel is a smelly, repulsive man with a large potbelly. "What? Do you think Will's the Ripper now?" she asks.

I attempt not to gag. William? The Ripper? "Absolutely not," I say, "the Ripper would have to be someone respected or trusted, maybe at least some what attractive in order to lure women in- and Will is none of those things."

Mary gawks at me for a moment before giving me a pointed look with her piercing blue eyes, tilting her chin up. "I think that you are just jealous," she sniffs.

I stifle a laugh. "Jealous of William? God no," I say.

"No," she says, "you're jealous that you haven't fallen in love yet."

"Oh please," I mutter.

Mary halts on the sidewalk, tapping her foot sternly. "Then tell me, have you ever been in love with anyone else?" she asks.

I chew on the inside of my cheek. A few have caught my attention, but never would I have called it love. Then no one has ever gone out of their way to try and grab my attention either, and why would they? Especially when my sister is plenty more attractive than I could ever dare to dream and will part her legs for any man who gives her a single lustful look. "Exactly," Mary Jane says after a moment of my silence, "no wonder why you aren't happy."

"What are you talking about? I am happy," I say.

"You're lonely," she says.

"Am not. I have my family and my books," I say, waving a small red book in my hand for her too see, "and that is all I will ever need."

"Well what about your friends?" she asks.

"What friends?" I grin, walking away.

"Riley! This is what I mean!" Mary Jane shouts from behind me.

She groans, following me the entire way back without another sound. I could try to argue with her more about it, but it is hopeless. It is always my fault because apparently I am a heartless hag who refuses to talk to anyone new. I may be slightly lonely, but I am certainly not a heartless hag. When we reach the apartments, I am not surprised to find Mary following me into my room. Unlike me, she cannot stand being alone for long. She must constantly be talking, absolutely in love with her own voice to the point where it becomes sickening to deal with at times.