London guard isn't able to figure out who the ripper is, is someone toying with them? Is it even real? Maybe it is someone on the team.
"August 13, 1888
Mary Ann Nicolas
Approximate Age 42
A local prostitute in Whitechapel was on a stroll home from a pub when she was murdered on Buck's Row street."
"Damn," the man said, unwilling to read any more for all the gory details. He already knew the case since he had read it before, the two gashes from her neck to her abdomen and her multiple stab wounds.
"Franklin, why are you reading that again?" There came a voice from behind me, no other than Damien Whyler, of the London Guard.
"Damien, why do you care," I said.
"I don't particularly care I just wondered. I mean, this is about the fourth time I've come past you and you were reading that."
"Well, I don't need you loitering around me," I snapped. He rolled his eyes and walked away, mumbling something about me being too sensitive.
The rest of the day went slow as the rain beat at the windows and the streets were empty. A couple hours later the boss, Edward Stone, told me to go home and rest. He must have seen the bags under my eyes from lacking sleep.
I grabbed my umbrella and my coat as I went out onto the streets of Whitechapel, England. The sky was a gray colour as usual and the rain beat down so hard that I could barely see a thing. It was cold as usual here, probably around 40, and the streets looked lonely from lacking people.
Just then I heard a wretched scream come from a couple streets away. I ran toward it and saw a dark cloaked figure standing over a women. He had a razor sharp blade in his hand and the woman looked like something from a horror film. Mangled and contorted in a terrible scene. Her neck was cut to her abdomen in one long gash. Her guts were removed and held in a bag at his side. His face was something I'd never forget. His eyes were like two black pits, his smile was long and had jagged looking cuts like someone thought to carve his smile, and blood was dripping from his lip. He hissed and started coming near me, I thought my life was over, but then he just looked at me and continued walking. I waited for him to pass the corner then went home as fast as I could. I know my first instinct should have been to tell someone but I felt like it would be too dangerous.
I locked the door behind me and made sure all my windows were locked then made some tea with my tea kettle and went up to my study to read. I forgot about the murder scene earlier as I read Mary Shelley's Frankenstein and I found myself in a fantasised trance. Once I couldn't keep awake I went to my bed chamber and curled up under my covers. I could have sworn right before I passed out from exhaustion I heard some menacing voice say, "go to sleep."