Blood in White Chapel

Chapter Three

Myron heaved a heavy sigh as he wandered the streets aimless. It had been almost a week since he eliminated the first name on his list. He made a sound of annoyance, wandering down an alley towards a pub. Glancing down to his bandaged but gloved hand, he heaved another sigh. It was healing just fine, but, it was a symbol that solidified his resolve to finish the list.

His fist clenched.

The entire list, he reminded himself. He pulled a white rolled smoke from the paper package in his pocket. He lit the end with the quick strike of a match and drew a quick drag. Myron had told Hayes a month and a half about to bring him some cigarettes from London.

"Lazy prick..."

He muttered just under his breath. That was when the shimmer of amber hues caught his immediate attention. Myron stopped with his hand on the pub door. His blue hued gaze pulled to the prostitute walking down the way, a bottle of alcohol in her hand. Myron released the door and turned on the balls of his feet, quickening his pace as he called out to her.

"Oi, Madame!"

He must have caught her off guard because she jumped a little before she turned around to see who was shouting at her. When she caught sight of Myron's features, her eyebrows perked and she adjusted her cowl on her bosom.

"Good evening, sir."

She smiled upon Myron's arrival to her. He took all but half of a moment to compose himself, hooking his arm with hers in a gentlemanly fashion. It was second nature for Myron to flash his sophisticated smile, winning her in charm.

"Oh my..."

She giggled in a drunken manner, her free hand rested on her chest.

"Might I steal a few moments from my fair Madame?"

He knew how to dress words, it came with little effort to him. Their eyes met in a brief clash of blues and browns.

"Sir, steal as many of my moments as you wish."

She was quite cheeky. With ease she lead him away. She drew him towards an alley that connected to the backyards of the local residences.

"Would you oppose some questions? Occupy the time until we can be alone?"

She smiled again to her sophisticated suitor. With comfort, she pressed the side of her body into his, bringing her voice closer.

"Ask me anything."

Myron had to force down the repulsion in his chest as her brown eyes glistened again. He mentally bit his tongue and constrained himself to abide his time.

"What is your name, my lovely primadonna?"

He felt her body shiver at his words as he blew a puff of smoke into the night air. Sometimes he hated where his line of work lead him.

"Name's Evangeline Chapman."

She moved her free hand to his chest.

"But you can call Annie, laddy."

She finished, too drunk to realize much of what she was doing. He assumed all she could think was that she had made a superb 'sale' for the evening. Myron peppered the walk with more and more questions, questions about the others on his list. Alcohol made her lips quite loose with information. And much to his dismay, it made her lips quite loose in general.

He found himself in the grass of some residential backyard. The woman straddling his waist. She placed fluttering kisses on his face whilst her hands wandered lower. Myron released a groan from deep within his chest which the woman mistook for a sound of pleasure.

She gasped as she found herself with her back to the dew-ridden grass.

"Aye, sir.."

Were the last slurred words she choked from her throat before the silver blade tore into it. It was far easier this time, he only needed to slice twice before she would be silent for all eternity. He sat back on the grass, avoiding the oozing blood which seeped into the earth. He looked over the body when he noticed something particular about her hands.

They lay over her lower abdomen.

His eyes narrowed as he flipped his knife around in his hand. Curiosity clouded his blue eyes as he dug the silver into her flesh. He was cutting away slabs and pushing intestine out of the way.

Myron had heard stories. Tales from Hayes of things the doctor had seen for himself from his dissections.

He almost couldn't tear his eyes away from the swollen organ. Pure shock riddled his bones. Myron steady his knife as he sliced the thing free. He pulled her satchel from her side and rummaged her belongings.

Footsteps nearby sent him into a panic and he ripped cloth from her apron. He bundled the pound of flesh in the canvas with haste before making his escape.

Much to his luck, he had his black bag on him and slid the bundle within. It would strike a commotion if he was seen walking around with a package wrapped in bloodied cloth. He washed his hands in a nearby horses trough before making his way home.

He closed and locked the door to his abode on Wenworth Street. Drawing the curtains, he pulled the package from his back and set it on a new cloth he had on his desk. Nervous hands shook as Myron withdrew the bundle of surgical knives from his drawer.

His fingers twitched as he opened the wicked parcel. He sliced into the meat. Moments later, He found himself staring at something he did not quite understand. He had never seen such a thing before and with that notion, he re-bundled the eerie anomaly.

Myron honestly hadn't a clue how he found himself in the vast morning glow on his rented home's roof with a smoldering pile of ashes at his feet, but it felt just.

Two dead.

Four remained.