Jack's Heart

The streets of Whitechapel were covered in a soggy filth that seemed to fit this revolting place. The gas lamps only added to the horror by casting the muck in a burnt haze. It was the perfect backdrop for my work.

Slinking back into a corner of Dorset Street, with the humid night air thick around my shadowed silhouette, I watched the actors go to and fro. This was my theater, where I came to find my chosen one. Tonight was special and The One had to be perfect. I would accept no less.

The play had begun, but I didn’t find any of the actors interesting. That is until I saw her. She was in the company of a rag of a woman with no discernable features. Just a bland tapestry who only gathered my attention because of the shining star that was walking with her. Yes, this red haired beauty was The One.

I watched as she and her insipid counterpart entered one of the public houses, looking for drink and companionship I’d imagine. Most of the women in Whitechapel sold their bodies for what few coins they could get. I had no reason to suspect she would be any different.

It didn’t matter anyway; I didn’t care what her profession was. The fact that all my other victims were whores was just a product of Whitechapel. I wasn’t out to rid the world of sinners, no matter what the papers said.

No, all I had done before was to prepare me for this night. They were merely practice. Their deaths were my little twists and turns into the plot of the play. Before tonight, the ones I had chosen hadn’t mattered. Tonight, though, was different. Tonight would be the climax!

I walked into the public house unnoticed, just another customer come to drown their sorrows in a pint of ale. I took a seat in the corner and watched my beauty as she played her part perfectly.

She was sitting at the bar with the hag of a friend who came in with her. I heard her companion call her Marie Jeanette. She didn’t look French though, more Irish. She was a young thing, mid twenties at the most. Her red hair was pulled up into a stylish bun, although she wasn’t wearing a hat. She had delicate blue eyes that glistened before the drink hazed them over.

I took in every part of her, drank in her beauty while the other customers drank their pints. I felt it ignite a fire deep within me. Her subtle features, the way her linsey frock and red shawl clung to the curves of her body, the spotless white apron she wore…it all incited me.

I watched as she continued to drink until her money ran out. She then pounced upon the first unsuspecting fool she could find.

Charming her way into his pockets was an art for her and I watched carefully, mentally taking notes. Knowing her ways would make gaining her trust easier.

The more she drank the more aggressive she got and the more she sang; Irish tunes mostly. I watched her converse with one of the frumpy fellows who wanted to buy her time…and her body. They seemed to have come to an agreement that pleased my drunken beauty and she wandered out of the public house with him. I soon followed.

They headed east down Dorset Street, stopping at Miller’s Court. One of the dwellers of the place stopped and wished Marie Jeanette goodnight. She stumbled over her words but finally managed to reply. Giggling she began to sing. I could have listened to her for hours.

“Scenes of my childhood arise before my gaze,
Bringing recollections of bygone happy days.
When down in the meadow in childhood I would roam,
No one’s left to cheer me now within that good old home,
Father and Mother, they have pass’d away;
Sister and brother, now lay beneath the clay,
But while life does remain to cheer me, I’ll retain
This small violet I pluck’d from mother’s grave.”

Her companion was a shabbily dressed fellow with a blotchy face and only a faint hint of facial hair. It wasn’t due to his age, for he looked to be somewhere in his mid thirties. He was carrying a pail of beer, which is probably what made him the prize catch of the evening.

I followed the couple, hiding in the abundant shadows, down an arched passage way that lead to her door. It had the number 13 on it. She reached in through a broken window pane and unlocked the door. I committed this to memory.

She was still singing as they entered the room. I found a recessed area beside it and sunk back away from prying eyes. I could hear everything that was going on inside. This was bittersweet for I knew what she had brought the man back to her room for. A tinge of jealousy coursed through my veins. I almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of it.

‘Miss Marie Jeanette, I think I fancy you,’ I thought as a smile curled upon my lips.

Soon the singing and laughing stopped and the squeaking of the bed could be faintly heard through the wall. I wondered how she felt and what she thought of during those times. Quickly, I pushed the ridiculous thought from my mind.

“Thank you Miss,” the man said as the door opened a bit later.

Her singing was his only reply. He chuckled then closed the door behind him. Not noticing me at all, he walked passed and headed out of Miller’s Court.

I thought about entering her room right then and there but I knew it was still too early yet. The streets of Whitechapel would be alive with people for a few more hours. I had to bide my time and find the patience to wait for the perfect moment.

I didn’t have to wait long to see her again though. She soon left her room, replacing the rags that she used to block the broken window pane.

After she passed me, I began to follow her again. She walked down Dorset Street and turned onto Commercial Street and quickly entered one of the public houses there.

A few moments later I entered and sat just a few tables away from her. I thought she was there for more drink but to my surprise she used the coins she had just received to buy a plate of fish and potatoes.

I watched her hungrily feast on what was probably the first and only meal of her day. As she was almost finished eating, I got up and went out onto Commercial Street to wait for her. It was time to make my move.

I stood leaning against a lamppost right outside of the public house. She came out, more sober now from the food in her belly, and saw me right away. She smiled and walked over to meet me.

“What’s kept you up to this hour of the night, dear Sir,” she purred, laying her charm on thick.

I appeared to have money, at least more money then the last man she had been with. I knew this was the only reason I had caught her eye. It made my stomach knot a bit, but I used it to my advantage anyway.

“I’ve been following you,” I said in all honesty. I wanted to gauge her reaction.

“Well, I’m glad you seem to fancy me,” she said, drawing closer to me.

I placed my hand on her shoulder and she nuzzled into my touch. She was still playing her role, but I still had hope that I could change her.

“More than you’ll ever know,” I said laughing. She began to laugh with me.

She wrapped her arm around mine and we began walking back down Dorset Street, sharing idle chit chat. I knew where she was taking me. Everything was working perfectly.

We stopped outside Miller’s Court and she turned to face me, a playful grin upon her lips.

“Is this where you live?” I questioned, already knowing the answer.

“Yes it is. It’s not much but I’ve tried to make it as cozy as I could,” she said.

“You really are beautiful,” I said, letting the words slip out of my mouth before I could stop them.

Regaining my composer, I reached into my pocket and grabbed a few six pence. Uncurling my hand, I showed them to her.

“All right, my dear. Come along. You will be comfortable,” she said, taking the coins and putting them into her apron.

I put my arm around her and she leaned over and kissed me. It was all part of her act, but I couldn’t help but react to it. I had to stay in control but something about this woman had changed something within me. I didn’t want to kill her anymore. I wanted her to love me.

“Oh no. I’ve lost my handkerchief,” she said, a frown forming on her face.

“Here, have mine,” I said, pulling out the red piece of silk from my pocket.

She held it in her hands, rubbing her fingers over the soft material. A smile was her thank you.

She took my arm and lead me to her door, opening it the same way she had hours before. As it was opened, it bumped a bedside table. I peered inside the tiny room. No wonder just opening the door had bumped furniture.

Across from the door was a fireplace. Next to it was a small cupboard that contained a few bits of cheap crockery, some empty ginger beer bottles from earlier I’d imagine, and a little stale bread. On the left of the fireplace was a small table with one chair. Above the table was a worn framed print entitled “The Fisherman’s Window”. The bed was on the other side of the bedside table. It was snuggly fit into the corner with one side completely against the wall.

She invited me to take a seat in the lone chair as she sat down on the edge of the bed. The small quarters just made my passion that much stronger. It was almost engulfing me now.

I watched as she removed her boots and placed them in front of the fireplace. Slowly she began to remove each layer of clothing, folding them neatly and stacking them on the table before me. When she was finished, she walked back to the bed wearing only a chemise.

I couldn’t sleep with her, not for money. The thought revolted me. I wanted her to want me as much as I did her. Somehow, I had to convince her to let me be more than just a paying customer.

“I don’t want to do this for money,” I said flatly.

“But I can’t take your money and give you nothing in return,” she said, looking over at me puzzled.

“I want something more,” I whispered.

“Why don’t you just join me over here, dear. We can talk about what it is you want then,” she said, giving me a sly smile.

“No, I want to know what you feel,” I said, my heart completely taking over.

“What I feel?” she asked, lying down on the bed.

“Yes…” I said, feeling the anger inside me start to rise. “Is this nothing more than a job to you? Don’t you feel anything?”

“I need to eat, dear, and this is the only way I can do that. Now, come on over to the bed. I promised to make you comfortable, remember?” she asked, flashing me another smile.

I got up and walked towards the bed. With each step the pain grew inside me, turning to rage. I reached down and grabbed her by her throat, wanting to choke the life out of her.

“Murder!” she yelled in a raspy tone.

I grabbed the knife from my pocket with my other hand and sliced her throat. I felt the thud of the knife as it hit her neck bone. Her body rolled towards the wall and became still. Blood coursed from the gaping slice in her neck and ran down onto the mattress and the floor below.

I stood there and listened to see if anyone had heard her cry of ‘Murder’. If they had, no one was coming to her rescue.

As the moments passed, I felt the rage boil inside me. I grabbed her body and pulled it closer to the side of the bed I was standing near.

Her head turned and faced me, her eyes still open. At that moment something took over…something deep inside screamed out in pain.

She had used that pretty face to lure me here, just for a few coins. That was the face that had moments earlier looked at me, not with longing and love, but with disgust. That was the face that thought I wasn’t good enough to be anything more than a customer to her.

“Me! Not good enough for you?” I said between clenched teeth. I had to erase that face!

In a frenzy my arm began raising and dropping, slashing anything that would connect with the blade. I didn’t care how I cut it, I just wanted it gone…turned into an unrecognizable bloody mass.

As blood splattered the dingy walls, I kept cutting. A piece of her nose was cut off, followed by a part of her ear. The bones of her face shown through on her cheeks and forehead. I sliced through her lips down to her chin. I slashed until I lost all strength. My rage finally spent, I sat back down in the chair to catch my breath.

She was dead and now faceless, but my time with her wasn’t over. Before my heart intervened, she was to be my masterpiece, and those plans hadn’t changed.

I got up from the chair and crossed over to the bed once more. Laying her flat, I began to rip her chemise to get to the flesh beneath it.

Carefully, I cut the flesh away from her belly in three equal parts. I sat these bloody pieces of tissue on the bedside table. I removed the flesh from her thighs until only bone was left, also placing those pieces on the table.

Ah, but I was not finished. Oh no! This had to be the most gruesome sight anyone had ever seen. This would put me into the history books. This would confuse the police even more. This was, after all, the pinnacle of the play!

With one steady circular stroke, I removed one of her breasts. I did the same with the other. Returning to the hole in her stomach, I began removing her organs. They were nothing more than props to me.

Putting my hand into the opening at her belly, I reached inside her rib cage and grasped her heart.

“You stole mine, I’m taking yours too you whore,” I said, ripping her heart free.

I placed it in one of the small crockery pots she had. I couldn’t have her heart in life but now in death, I would own it forever.

I began arranging my masterpiece. I took her uterus, both kidneys and one of her breasts and placed them together under her head. Leaving her right arm as it was, I took her left arm and draped it over her belly.

Knowing it might take the police a while to figure out who she was, I placed her legs in the position a women is in when she takes a man. I doubted they would catch the clue but I had hope.

I placed her other breast by her right foot, and then arranged her intestines by her right side. Between her feet, I placed her liver, and then her spleen on her left side.

I took a step back to admire my work and make sure it had the effect I wanted. It was simply…perfect.

I needed to clean myself up. Looking through the cupboard, I found a pair of trousers and a jacket. They were both a bit big but would have to do.

Carefully removing my own clothes, I placed them in the fireplace and set them on fire. I watched as the flames licked at the blood soaked fabric until they became nothing more than ashes.

I washed my face and hands using the washbowl that sat on the table. Throwing the rag into the fire, I waited until it had burned away before throwing the bloody water on the flames putting them out.

After getting dressed in the clothes I had found, I took a moment to inspect my work once more.

‘This will be remembered for all eternity,’ I thought, smiling at myself and what I had accomplished.

Taking the small crockery pot, I left 13 Miller’s Court and walked home, my mind full of pain and satisfaction.