Beyond The Ripper

The Mysterious Address

(L's POV)
[9th of June, 1889]

While we made our way towards the address specified in Jack's letter, I was bumped into by a man wearing a black cloak over what seems to be a black suit without a tie. A cold liquid seeped into my waist coat from the man's cloak.

"I apologize about that, sir! I just wasn't looking where I was walking," I said.

The man turned towards me, and glared at me with a pair of crimson eyes that gave me shivers. Now, his face was hidden in the shadows of his hood, but, from what I could make out, there was a very faint scar circling the neck just above his Adam's apple. He then broke eye contact, and bolted away, quick as an arrow.

"Strange fellow. Maybe he's that Spring-Heeled Jack we've been hearing so much about! Ha ha ha!" Mr.Davis joked.

"This is no tine for jokes. We mustn't let the Ripper get away," I replied, and we began to run towards the address.

I burst through the door, looking around for the Ripper. Across from the door, a single chair was facing towards the empty fireplace, a man slumped over in the chair.

"Stand up with your hands in the air!" Instead of standing, the man kept sitting in response to Mr.Davis. "Stand up! Now!"

Mr.Davis pulled on the man's shoulder, and the man collapsed in response, falling on his back. His throat was slit, and, carved into his revealed chest, was a message.

"III IV IX Jekyll. See you there."

"Dammit! We're no closer to catching Jack than when we started!" Mr.Davis shouted when seeing the fourth victim's corpse.

"No. We're closer than we ever have. He's getting sloppy. This man is still bleeding, meaning he was killed very recently, and the message is rushed, as shown by how jagged the cuts are, and how short the message is. Jack likes to flaunt his murders, and praises them like one would praise a painting. But this isn't poetic or a work of art. It was rushed. As if he didn't know that I would be helping and thought it would take you longer to find the address. This means that someone who was on this street is Jack," I replied.

"That could be anyone we passed, or even someone we didn't! It could be anyone in London!" Mr.Davis cried out in anger.

"Yes, but we do know which way they went. Follow me," I said, calming the angry police cheif.

I brought them through the house, and outside, following a trail of blood drops, most likely caused by the killer's knife.

The trail led exactly where we had been walking when I was bumped into.

"The trail stops here. And look," I said, squeezing where the liquid had seeped into, and showed them the crimson imprint it left on my fingers.

"The man who bumped into you, is he..."

"Yes, Mr.Davis, he is Jack the Ripper,"