London, England

August 1888

Whitechapel District

"Go t’ hell, you bleedin’ cocks hound!"

"Hell is where ya be headin’ if you don’t get yerself away from my establishment, Polly." The burly proprietor of the public house raised a meaty fist at the dismally dressed woman.

His dark, beady eyes gave Polly a quick once over. He felt repelled by what he regarded as what was left of the woman. There was a time he thought Polly could have been considered pretty, yet now as his good eye took in her petite stocky frame, he found it near impossible to even decipher her age. She was wearing the hardships of her life as a drunken doxy of the Whitechapel district in every pockmark that scarred her mottled face.

He also couldn’t dismiss the fact that she smelled like something he had fished out of the Thames. Could it be because she wore the same filthy rags, consisting of a simple black straw bonnet, resting, upon greasy brown hair and a tattered brown overcoat with brass buttons fastened up to her double chin?

At least the coat was hiding most of the piss and vomit-stained brown frock she wore beneath He shook his head as he finished his observation at the mud-splattered black woolen stockings and well-worn men’s boots.

How could a man not want to help such a wretched soul? Nevertheless, he couldn't run a business off pity. Polly and the other prostitutes had previously left him holding their outstanding commitment vouchers and he wasn't budging.

"Come, come, Percy, how's about generously offerin’ a lady another nip? Just t’ knock the chill off me frail bones is all I be needin’," Polly slurred, her dark eyes watered as she licked her cracked lips. She gazed at the rows of bottles behind the bar.

"If ya eye a lady walkin’ in here, Polly, I would gladly pour her a snippet, but you have already had more than your fair share of spirits out of the likes of me." He cleaned a glass and set it aside, reaching for another. "Go on now woman…go and sleep it off."

"I don’t have nowhere t’ go." Polly whined. "Would you be havin’ a bed for me t’ use, or I can rest me eyes on the kitchen floor out back? I promise t’ repay you on the morrow."

"Ya pulled this on me afore, Polly, and I never received reparation. So either ya pay up or get out."

Polly sighed, knowing what he said was true. She spread her thighs for several men and managed to gain nine pence Instead of acquiring a hot meal and a place to lay her head, she spent it on alcohol. Once again, she swore to herself never again would she do something so foolish. She would go out and get more money and this time she would do the right thing.

"I will be back before the sun comes up. Please save a bed for me. I promise t’ have your funds," Polly whispered before staggering from the alehouse.

The night was heavy with its shroud of darkness. In between blinding showers and steady drizzle, only the occasional thunder and lightning brightened the otherwise starless night.

Polly's boots pattered over the wet and blackened cobblestone walkway. She gathered what remained of her kerchief and placed it over her nose to keep from breathing in the soot and rancid smell of lingering smoke from the earlier Shadwell Dry Dock fire.

She knew she could find men in that area easily, but she couldn’t risk the Bow Runners that remained in the area investigating the fire. As the occasional thunder sounded in the eerie silence Polly jumped, wondering why she felt so skittish tonight.

She had walked these streets hundreds of nights before but for some reason it didn't feel the same tonight. She shrugged off the sensation, pulled the collar of her coat closer to her face, and hastened her gait down Bucks’ Row, passing several poorly maintained two-story houses.

Suddenly, she was captured from behind. Polly struggled and tried to see who it was but, she was being held firmly with one hand clamped over her mouth and another wrapped around her waist from behind. Lifting her off the ground, the perpetrator proceeded to edge backwards between two of the houses. Her eyes darted this way and that, but no one was out at this late hour. She writhed and thrashed, to no advantage. Her assailant was too strong.

Polly flailed, as helpless as a rag doll against her captor’s brutish strength, as terror seized her in its grip.

Was this truly happening? Would he let her go if she stopped fighting and allowed him a free tumble betwixt her thighs?

She received the answers to her questions when she felt the sharp, intense pain across her neck. Polly welcomed the numbness that quickly followed. Peace…blessed peace was her final thought.

The throes of madness continued to seize the beast. By the time the blood lust decreased, Polly’s entrails were resting upon what was left of her breasts.

***

The sun emerged on another day, clearing off the night's mist. Cobbled-row caretakers extinguished burning lanterns. The dockside shopkeepers swept off their stoops. A group of fishermen preparing their boats to set sail shook their heads with woe as the lone newspaper boy ambled past, yelling the current headline from the London Gazette.

"Get your paper! Get your paper! Jack the Ripper strikes again!"

"Here lad I will take one of those." Justus appeared from the shadows of an alehouse doorway. He threw the boy a few coins as he perused the headlines noting the location of the last murder.

"I was at this location the night before last." He wondered if he was still shadowing Lucus, or was Lucus shadowing him? "Damn you, Lucus, I must stop you before you kill again."He heard Lucus’s diabolical laughter ringing in his ear. "Try…try…and try again, if you dare, Justus; however, you shall always be too late."

                  CHAPTER 1