The Secrets of Whitechaple

Chapter 2

"Frances-" I began, but she cut me off.

"No, John. Don't."

"But-" 

"No."

She looked me in the eyes and slowly took off the satin gloves covering her hands. 

Once they were off I saw her hands clearly in for the first time in a long time. Red spots covered her hands from her fingertips all the way up her wrist. They were not the normal red spots you would expect to find for any common illness. They were the kind of spots I was taught to look out for in medical school. They were the spots that were common symptoms of the disease Syphilis. 

"Frances." My eyes began to tear up. Not because she was sick, not because her husband was dead. But because red spots on the hands of a person with Syphilis is the symptoms for phase two. Syphilis can only be treated and cured in phase one. Death is the next phase, a very painful death.

"John, I need you to do something for me." She as still looking in my eyes. Speaking quietly and clearly. 

"Anything." 

"Kill me." I stopped breathing.

"WHAT?!" I yelled at her. 

John, please." Her eyes were beginning to fill with tears as well. 

"NO! I won't do it. I won't hurt you." I stood up and began to pace. 

"Please?" Her voice was weak.

Tears began pouring out of my eyes and sobs racked my body. Looked up at her, tears blurring my vision. 

"Please don't make me do this." I gave one last plea.

"No. You have to. I don't want to die in pain." 

I feel helpless. There's nothing I can do. My only option is to comply and do what she wants.

                                                                       *      *       *

I was staring at her. I had been for a long time.

"I can't do it myself." She was still pleading, the Frances I knew in the past would never plead with anyone for anything.

I got up and walked into her kitchen down the hall. I walked to the cabinet above the counter. I searched through it until I found what I was looking for. The cyanide bottle. 

I walked to the drying rack to find a glass and filled it with water. When it was about halfway full I stopped filling it and broke open a cyanide capsule. The powder dissolved in the water almost instantly.

As I walk back into the parlor I'm completely numb. I reach the room and walk towards her to give her the glass. 

"Thank you, John." She gave me a pained smile. 

She sat for a while, moving the glass in a circle in her hands. Until finally she spoke.

"I am sorry, John." She drank the water-cyanide mix and softly place the glass onto the center table in front of the chair she was sitting in. 

"Goodbye, John." She sat back in the chair and closed her eyes, waiting patiently for death to take her.

"Goodbye, My Love." I cried harder and fell back in the chair with my hands on my face and sobs racking my body.

She let out a long deep breathe. After that she didn't move again. 

For a long time I just sat there staring at her now dead body. Why did this have to happen? If only she was with me. If only she was with a man that wouldn't have done that to her. If only her husband hadn't had sex with prostitutes. If only those women weren't so disgusting.

Yes. That's it. I have it now. It's all their fault. If they were never here Frances wouldn't be dead. She would still be alive, well, smiling and stubborn. 

If I wasn't sure of it before, I'm sure of it now. I'm going to take care of the problem. It has to be done and if I have to do it, so be it.

*    *     *

I'm now siting in my office looking at a piece of paper. Matthew Arnold's death certificate. 

I already reported his and Frances' death to the Queen. She was quite upset, but understood.

I sighed deeply. What am I going to do? I have lost the only woman I will ever love because of those things. Why do they have to be here? Why do they have to be alive? They are monsters. They are devils. They are the scum of the earth. I hate them.

Those goddamn whores. They have taken everything from me; my home, my peace of mind, and now my love. I-.

My personal rant was interrupted by my secretary knocking on my office door and entering the room.

"Sir? Your three o'clock appointment with Amanda Graves is in five minutes." 

I set down the piece of paper and got up from my chair. 

On my way to the examination room I began thinking of my current problem. 

If I could just find a way to do this without anyone recognizing me or my name. Well if I used a new name nobody would know. Wait. A sudden realization hit me. I have a death certificate for a man who regularly visited the slums to meet prostitute during the night. All I have to do is pass myself off as Matthew Arnold. If I can do that I can get my revenge on those things. That's it. That's all I have to do. It's perfect.

I reached the examination room as soon as I finished my plannings. "Hello, Mrs. Graves. How are you feeling today."