Blood in White Chapel

Chapter Seven

A deep breath drew past Myron's lips, his pale finger crumpled around a small folded piece of paper. It had been a month since the discovery and Myron had just returned from his trip to see the Association. He was now adequately equipped and prepared to handle the last name on his list.

Yet, he still had one more to finish off before her. The dracuella whom had been turning the prostitutes of White Chapel.

The November wind bit at his face as he walked the dark night streets towards the address on the paper. It was easier to find this one. It seemed she was a desired commodity. A whore who was young and beautiful? No one would ask questions if you inquired where to find her.

Myron roamed down the way, a nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't scared. He knew what came after this. He knew and he couldn't wait. A grin stretched his features as he shoved his hands into his pockets, stalking the night.

Minutes later, he arrived. Blue hues glanced to the pale piece of paper again, confirming the address. 13 Miller's court. He jittered, lifting his hand to the wooden door. His knuckles rapped against it three times. He could hear movement within the small apartment. The sound of metal clunked out of place within the lock and the door opened but a crack.

"Yes?"

Her voice was soft and causing Myron to cringe.

"Mary Jane Kelly?"

He questioned. He heard a gentle 'yes' in reply. He turned his face upwards at that point, blue hues fell on her appearance.

Time stood still.

Myron had forgotten how to breathe.

His body began to move on his own, fingers sliding into the door which was cracked open inches wide. The grip he had on the door creaked the wood beneath his hand. The brunet took one step up the stairs. Then a second as he forced the door further open, causing Mary to gasp and stumble backward.

The door clicked ever-so-tenderly back into its home within the door frame. A dull clunk indicated the door lock was re-engaged. Tears were running down Mary's face as her knees hit the back of the bed. It were as if she knew where fate had finally brought her.

"Millicent...?"

Myron's voice was weak, almost like he didn't want to hear the answer. But he knew. His heart knew. His mind knew. There was no mistaking those ruddy-clay coloured eyes and those rose-mahogany locks. Her skin had always been paler, but under her condition, it made it almost translucent in the light.

The brunet shuddered as his fingers extinguished the candle light. It left the two dimly lit through the window with the street lamps. He heard sobs from across the room. She looked just like her. His own eyes brimmed with an unfamiliar dampness. She looked just like her. It was undeniable. He grew closer to her with each step, his hand outreached. His fingertips brushing her cheek and she jolted upright, staring him down.

"Millicent has been dead for years."

She growled through clenched teeth, fangs growing rapidly. Tears ran down Myron's cheek. He forced himself to take a deep breath.

"I'm so sorry Millie..."

He whispered to the girl in front of him.

"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you..."

His swollen blue eyes flickered back up to her face, where he had drifted away from in anguish.

"I failed you and your mother..."

Surprise splashed across her snow white features as the older man pulled her swiftly into his embrace. One arm around her own and her waist, the other on the back of her head. Her heart ached as this man held her and her own eyes leaked blood red tears down her cheeks.

"...Father..."

The night was full of unexpected spectacles. Her mouth opened in a wordless gasp of pain before she noticed his hand was on her throat. Myron pushed her onto the bed. His blade falling onto the bed beside him so his other hand could encompass her throat. His grip closed in on the weak bones, cracking could be felt under his fingers as he stared down into her eyes. She clawed at his arms, nails tearing off chunks of his flesh. She kicked and flailed her legs as she left the darkness overwhelming her.

"Good night my precious little girl..."

Her eyes half-lidded, ruddy hues still burning into him, fear clouded them.

"...papa...papa...no..."

With one hand still on her porcelain throat, he grabbed for his blade and the action was set. Blood splattered on the wall beside them as the blade dug once into her throat. Twice on the way back, hitting the bone with ease.

Her eyes were still boring into his skull as he sat back on the bed between her legs. He was again numb and the blade within his hand seemed to take a life of its own. He pushed her face to the left, closing her eyelids at the same time.

He was almost too relieved at the next sight. Before long, he found himself eye to eye with her uterus and slicing it up just as Hayes had, he was as ease to find it barren. It was only then that his blue hues trailed upwards.

Myron almost fell off the bed with an audible heave for air. He was dumbfounded at the amount of gore in front of him. His mouth opened and closed. He tried to speak. He needed to do something to dispel the aura which was overtaking the air within the small room.

The brunet was quivering as he climbed off the bed. Pieces of Millicent or "Mary" were everywhere. Chunks were cut from her torso and body, far more organs than intended were removed. He brought his blade to her hair and lopped a small curl. He slid the strands into his pocket before he mindlessly left the flat.

His heart was remarkably settled within his chest. It dared not race and, in there, calmed his overactive thoughts. And without a second spared sentiment, he continued back to his own solitary abode.

Five dead.

One Remain.