Do you know Jack? The Ripper? Saucy Jack? Leather Apron?
The most infamous serial killer in history has long been fodder for the imagination of authors and artists alike, but his true identity remains an enigma to this day. Take a fresh look at the...
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"JACK THE RIPPER HAS KILLED AGAIN!"
I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets and turned away from the little boy selling newspapers on the corner.
"JACK THE RIPPER HAS KILLED HIS FIFTH VICTIM!"
The cobblestone streets of Whitechapel were bustling, but I ignored everyone. I had to get home and prepare. Pledging to take down the infamous Ripper had been a vow I had yet to make good on. In the beginning, I had been too slow and it had cost four more women their lives. Tonight, would be different. Tonight, I would finish him off once and for all.
A grey mist filled the sky as my thoughts faded to my Aunt Mary Anne, but I just called her Aunt Polly. She may have been forgotten by most of our family, but I still cared about her. Sure, she drank too much and funded this bad habit by being a lady of the night, but she and I still had a connection. When mother would make soup, I always insisted on cleaning up, saving the last bit for Aunt Polly. The joy in her eyes when I would visit with food and a little pocket change was undeniable.
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While I had hoped that she would stay off the streets, there wasn't much work for women like Aunt Polly. Far from her youth and addicted to the bottle, she wasn't able to contribute to society, like she once had, but she was still a human being and a member of our family.
Letting out a slow exhale, I ascended the stone staircase to my family's apartment. Enjoy your last few hours, Jack.
As I pushed through the front door, my mother greeted me with a tired smile. "How was your day, Olivia?"
"Fine, Mother," I replied. Little did she know, in a few hours I planned on killing the man responsible for her sister's death.
"How are your fingers?" she asked.
Looking down, I curled my fingers and winced. Red and sore, I let them fall to my sides. "Feeling a bit better." Lying to my mother about my life had become a regular practice. At least after tonight, I could lie about one less thing...
"Supper will be ready soon. Would you mind cutting the bread?" my mother asked.
Nodding, I rinsed my hands before grabbing a razor-sharp knife.
