Through time; The ripper

The odd one out

*Lily*

The moment Leo and I step onto the streets of London, a wave of sensations washes over me. The air is thick with the scent of coal smoke and damp earth, and the distant sound of horse-drawn carriages clattering against cobblestones fills my ears. It’s a world that feels both alien and familiar at the same time. I take a deep breath, letting the chill of the morning air invigorate my senses.

As we weave through the maze of streets, my eyes dart around, soaking in the details… there are more people out and about than I had expected…. I watch top hats perched jauntily on men’s heads, women in elegant dresses bustling about, and children playing in the alleys. The atmosphere is electrifying, yet there’s an undercurrent of tension that makes my skin crawl, a sensation I can’t quite shake off. I feel the weight of history pressing down on me, urging me to engage with it.

“Keep close,” Leo advises, his voice barely rising above the murmur of the crowd. "You do not want to get lost.”

I nod, but my curiosity is insatiable. “So you where born in this time, right?” I ask, glancing up at him as we navigate a particularly narrow lane.

“Yes,” he says, glancing at me. “I was born in 1861.”

Before I can respond, we encounter a tired-looking man in a rumpled coat, his expression weary and drawn. He’s heading toward the Scotland Yardbuilding, a faint glimmer of urgency in his eyes. Leo stops him, and it is clear to see that they know one another.

“Any news?” Leo asks, his voice steady, but I can sense the underlying concern.

The man glances around, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world rests upon them. “Two more bodies have turned up,” he says, his voice low and grim. “One at Dutfield’s Yard off Berner Street in Whitechapel, the other at the corner of Mitre Square in the City.”

My heart races at the mention of Whitechapel. The name resonates like a thunderclap in my mind. I remember the stories… that was the do ain of Jack the ripper.

“Are you sure it’s him?” Leo probes, his brow furrowing. “Two in one night?”

“Quite sure,” the man replies, a shudder passing through him. “The Ripper’s at it again, they both fit in with the others.”

A chill runs down my spine. Jack the Ripper. The very embodiment of fear that haunts these streets. I meet Leo’s gaze after the other man has moved on, and he raises an eyebrow, gauging my reaction.

“Lily,” he asks carefully, “are you sure you can handle seeing a dead body?”

I give him a look, my resolve hardening. “I’m studying to be a nurse, Leo. I think I can manage.”

His expression softens, a flicker of admiration dancing in his eyes. “Very well then, but stay close. The sights may be more gruesome than you expect… so if too much, tell me, okay?”

As we make our way toward Whitechapel, I notice that in this part of the city it is like the fog clings to the ground like a shroud. We do not talk much as the urgency of our stride quickens. This is slightly scary, but I can’t deny that it is also interesting in a twisted kinda way, experiencing true history up close.

When we arrive, the scene is chaotic. Constables bustle about, their faces pale and strained as they cordon off the area. A crowd has gathered, murmuring their expression ranging from morbid curiosity to fear, their eyes darting toward the covered form lying on the cobblestones.

Leo halts, his expression shifting to one of grim determination. “Stay here,” he instructs, and I nod, though I can feel the pull of the scene tugging at my insides.

He strides forward, addressing one of the officers. “What do we know?” he asks, his voice firm.

“Victim’s name was Elizabeth Stride, a woman of the streets” the officer informs him, his tone clipped. “Throat cut, but no other mutilation.”

My heart sinks as I absorb the name. Elizabeth Stride. A life extinguished in the blink of an eye. I step closer, unable to resist the pull of the covered body. Leo seems to sense my intent and doesn’t stop me as I approach.

He reaches down and gently pulls back the sheet, revealing the pale, lifeless form beneath. My breath catches in my throat. Elizabeth’s face is serene, as if she’s merely sleeping, but the deep, angry cut across her throat tells a different story. I swallow hard, fighting the urge to recoil.

“Hmmm,” Leo murmurs, stepping closer to examine the wound. “This doesn’t feel right.”

The officer frowns, his brow furrowing in thought. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Low hesitates, and I can almost see his mind racing. “While the Cut looks similar to the other, being precise and almost surgical, why is there no mutilation?”

The officer’s eyes narrow as he studies the body, and I can see the wheels turning in his mind too. “You’re suggesting it wasn’t the Ripper?”

I take a breath, feeling I need to say something. “Perhaps he was interrupted. Look at the angle of the cut; it is very much the work of the ripper, right? If he was disturbed, he might have fled, which is why he struck again so soon after, he was not satisfied.”

Leo’s gaze sharpens, and I can see the gears shifting in his mind. “That’s an interesting theory, but we need more evidence to support it.”

I nod, feeling the adrenaline coursing through my veins. “Then we need to find out what happened here. Who saw anything? Who was nearby?”

Before Leo can respond, the crowd shifts, and the constables begin to clear the area. The grim reality of the situation settles heavily on my heart. We’re standing at the precipice of a dark mystery, and even as fear grips me, I can’t help but feel exhilarated.

“Let’s find out what we can,” Leo says, determination etched into his features. “And remember, Lily… stay close. We are not exactly in the most friendly part of the city.”

I nod, adrenaline surging through me. “I won’t leave your side.”

To be honest I have absolutely no desire to be left alone in this place, most of the people watching doesn’t exactly look friendly.