I am once again staring at Matthew Arnold's death certificate, but this time I also have every piece of personal information he had in his study.
Earlier today I had gone back to the Arnold residents. It was difficult to do, but know that I am doing this for Frances gave me strength to be able to go back there and collect what I needed.
My office door opened abruptly. "Dr. Williams?"
"Yes?" I asked my secretary.
"Mr. Parker just sent a message saying that he will be canceling his 12 o'clock appointment."
"That's fine Melissa." I took a deep and long breath. " You can go for lunch if you would like."
"Thank you, Doctor. I think I will do just that." She left, closing the door behind her.
I get up from my desk and walk over to a stack of parchment I keep in the corner on top of a cabinet. As I walk back to my desk with a few pages of the parchment in hand, I cannot help but look out the window and glance at the skyline of the city. It is so beautiful. This thought assures me that I am doing the right thing to protect this city, avenge my love, and set my own mind at ease.
I reach into the first drawer in my desk to get my quill and vial of ink. I dip the quill in the ink and hover my hand over the parchment. I think of anything to write. I need a name for my mission. But what would perfectly describe what I am doing. Yes. I have it. I will call it The Cleansing.
***
It's now near 10 o' clock at night and I am in the slums of the the East End of London, also known as Whitechaple.
"'Scuse me, Sir. Spare change." A heavily cockney voice sounds from behind me.
"No. I do not." I sneer at the beggar.
I continue walking, glancing left and right and forward until I find a place that is crawling with those things. However, it doesn't seem to be as hard as I thought it would be because one has already walked up to me offering its services.
"'Ello, Love. You lookin' for a good time, Hun?" Straight to the point, good. I don't want to waste much time on this filth.
"I might be. How much?" Despite my personal thoughts, I responded immediately.
"One Euro if ya want yer knob sucked, Five if ya want ta shag. What d'ya s-. Oi," Something behind me has distracted it. I turn to see another one walking down the street. " Back the fuck off ya wanker. This is my street." The other prostitute runs in the opposite direction almost immediately.
"Anyway, Hun." Its attention now back on me. " What d'ya say? Wanna go find some place more private?" The disgusting thing comes closer to me clinging to me, its horrible breathe invading my space. God, it's repulsive.
"Of course." I reply, barely able to keep my composure.
It grabs my hand and begins to lead me some place. "What's your full name?"
I pull out my parchment and prepared quill as it answers. "Well yer a curious one, aren't cha." It was more of a statement that a question, " Mary Ann Nichols, at yer service."
It didn't look back at me when it answered. I pulled my hand from its grasp and began to write its name under the date I had written in my office earlier, August 31, 1888. It looked back to see why I had broken apart from it and stops, forcing me to stop too.
"Why ya writin' it down?" It seems to be getting a bit worried. I need to do something to calm it.
"Do not worry. It is simply for my own purposes. I like to be organized." I try my best and it seems to work. It relaxes and smiles at me with those horrible teeth.
" Oh I understand, Love." I nearly flinch at the pet name. " I been wiff types like you before." It turns and begins walking in front of me again.
I now see where it has been leading me all this time. Buck's Row. By far one of the most horrible places in London. Dirty and crawling with scum. I, however, put on my black face. I cannot afford to mess this up. It's too important.
"It's jus' ova' 'ere." It points and I can see it, a grungy little place.
"What's yer name, Hun?" It asks.
"Matthew Arnold." I answer just as we enter the horrible little shack. She turns on a little light in the center of the main room and it is only now that I get a good look at it. Hair done up in a modern bun, face done up with paint, and short dress showing a lot of cleavage. Prostitutes. You get what you pay for. She walks father into the room, I follow her.
I pull out my surgical knife that I had gotten for the shop earlier this week. "So, Matthew." The seduction still in its voice, "I 'ope ya 'ave decided what ya want."
"Oh I have." I answer menacingly as I walk closer to it.
It drops its shawl off on a chair and begins to turn towards me. "Goo-."
It doesn't get to say anything else. Just a gasp. I'm not surprised. My knife is sticking out of its chest.
I pull the knife out of her violently and it falls to the floor still alive but nearly unconscious from the pain I have brought it.
"Hmmm." I hum as I walk to the table to set down the parchment and quill still in my hand form when I had written down its name.
I wrote exactly where it had taken me, where I had stabbed it, and how long it took for it to fall unconscious. Judging from my perception of time, about 4 minutes. That's how long my personal musings took and I can see now that its eyes are completely closed.
YOU ARE READING
The Secrets of Whitechaple
Historical FictionThrough the dark of night he walks, determined and on a mission.