Ripper Row

Lauren & the Letter

Nothing happened.

None of the men were sent to my room to injure me, insult me, or anything of the sort. Jack has not visited me since either. Which is fine, I do not want to look at his face or hear his voice. It tricks me into thinking that I could possibly be safe and it is all a lie. I know that now. I am and forever will be a prisoner in this place. All I have is that damned book.

I still love to write, but it is not the same as it was before. It does not give me that small taste of freedom. Because that freedom is fake; a pointless dream. A dreadful lie. I turn the pages of the book, blank pages all with the hopes of the future set out before them. All of them mostly guaranteed to be filled with ink that tells beautiful stories, tortured thoughts, and... a letter?

I stop at a page that is actually filled, lost in the sea of blank ones. The handwriting makes a lump grow in my throat. It belongs to Jack. Except the ink is more faded and worn on this page, like it was written a long time ago. As much as I do not want to, I have to read it. Even if I have a bitter hate towards the Ripper, his handwriting still seems to charm me...

There is a ring of faint knocks on the door and I quickly slam the book closed. The door opens slightly and a new face peers in. A woman that looks around my age with extremely bright, fiery red hair and blue eyes slip into the room and closes the door behind her. "Hello," she says, smiling.

I stay planted in my seat, frozen in shock. "Oh- I am so sorry, I must be a complete shock to you," she says and I nod slightly.

There is another girl here? "I'm Lauren. Lawrence keeps complaining about you, so I had to see for myself," she says, inspecting me.

"I'm sorry, I am still extremely confused," I say, "how are you here?"

"Oh, I love here. Most of the men aren't supposed to know about me, but I am sure a few have figured it out by now," she says, "I do the cleaning and cooking most of the time around this dump."

I nod slowly. "So... you are a relative of Jack's?" I ask.

"Gods no," she says, brushing off her dress, "I'd hate to be related to that sick bastard."

"Oh," I say, still wondering why she is here. Especially if she hates Jack.

"I'm Lawrence's wife," she says.

Wife? And she called Jack a sick bastard; Lawrence is not must better. "Yes I know, it's..." she sighs, "I know."

"I just wanted to met you after all of this time and hearing Lawrence talk about you-"

"He talks about me?"

Lauren nods, sitting at the foot of my bed. "Not in a pleasant way if that is what you were wondering," she says.

"Well I knew that he was not going to be paying me compliments on my hair," I say, smiling slightly.

"It is just Law being is usual crabby self, nothing wrong with you. Honestly, I would say that you are doing something right," she says.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

Lauren bites her lower lip, as if debating on if she should say something. "Promise me you will not tell Law that you have met me?" she asks.

"Is it bad that I have?"

"No... maybe. Technically the men are not supposed to know me either, but like I mentioned earlier, the kitchen is not enchanted to make them dinner every night," she says, "I would just prefer for him not to know."

"Quite honestly I do not think he would tolerate me long enough for me to make small talk with him," I say, "but please... what does he say about me?"

"Again, nothing good. He's convinced that you are going to destroy the work that Jack has created so far if they do not get rid of you soon," Lauren says.

"It is not like I am going to be succeeding in a jailbreak and going to the authorities and even then he would be there to stop me," I say, thinking back to the night that Lawrence caught me.

"That is not what I am trying to say though. You are not-"

"Mrs. Garrison."

Both Lauren and I look at the door, where Jack is standing. He looks a tad bit more tired that he usually does, but other than that he is the same as the first day I met him. "I see that you have meet our guest," he says.

She nods quickly. "Yes sir," she says, "I apologize for intruding."

Lauren stands, ready to leave when Jack clears his throat, causing her to freeze in her tracks. "Actually, Ren," he says, as if it is some sort of pet name, "I am glad that I have run into you. For tonight's mean, I would like you to make mine and Miss Kelly's portions separate from the others. We will be eating together later in the evening." 

Lauren ducks her head. "Would you like me to prepare something special for her?" she asks.

"That will not be necessary," he snaps, "what you normally serve will be well enough."

She nods one last time before stealing a glance back and me and walking out of the room. I focus my attention on jack and cross my arms over my chest. "What if I do not wish to dine with you tonight?"I ask.

"I would prefer to avoid arguing with you at the moment," he says, looking down at the floorboards.

"If you do not want confrontation then I suggest you do your best to ignore me," I say, "you have been doing very will with that recently."

"We will be dining together tonight and that is final," he says, his voice cutting through the air as sharply as his knife would. 

Jack glances up at me and for a moment I saw the same eyes I got that one morning in the basement when I was severely injured. The next moment it is gone and he disappears from the room as quickly as he had arrived. I look at the journal laying on my desk from where I had quickly shut it. Slowly, I stroll over to the desk and trace my finger along the book's binding. The last thing that I should do is read the older message Jack has written inside... but it is tempting. 

I take the book off of the desk and flip through the blank pages until I find his handwriting again. I take a deep breath, knowing that this is my last chance to back out and ignore whatever he has written down. The only complication with the situation is that I know I will not be able to resist. My eyes graze the page, yet again admiring that gorgeous penmanship. 

Phillip,

England is... different. Certainly not like it was back home. I really do miss the hustle and bustle back in the city- along with you and Ma. Before the voyage, I do not think I thought much of how I would miss you both. How are you all doing? I hope that Dicky and Rodge have not been annoying you all since I asked them to drop in and check up on you both occasionally. I am almost positive that Rodge has been harassing Ma for her cooking as well. You would think that he has learned since the last time and she hit him over the head with her ladle. Although I have just arrived, things are going fairly well. I have been looking for a few jobs to pick up on while I am here in order to pay for my meals and rooms in case I cannot find anyone who is willing to open up their homes for me. Please, do not worry about me- I am perfectly safe. As soon as I find her, I promise I will be back home before you know it.

Best regards, your son,

Pierre J. Marius

His name is Pierre... Pierre J. Marius. A million questions fly through my mind as they bounce off the sides of my skull. Who is Phillip? Or Dicky? Or Rodge? Who was he trying to find here in England? If he is not from England, then where did he come from? How am I going to be able to attend this dinner tonight with him now that I know his true name?