I am Jack
Warnings: EXTREMELY GRAPHIC! This story contains graphic scenes of disembowelment, blood, demons and other sensitive things. If this kind of thing bothers you, I highly recommend a dose of puppies and kittens before going to read something else. Seriously, this is nightmare fuel! This is alternate universe with many, many demons and Jack the Ripper (Based off of the manga, of which I cannot remember the whole name). You are warned.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia characters, the story of Jack the Ripper, and the manga based off of Jack the Ripper. I did create Miss Anne.
"More tea, sir?"
The man nodded to the maid, slouching in his chair with his elbow propped on the armrest, his head resting on his fist. He looked the part of any English gentleman: neatly pressed black trousers, dark grey vest hiding the spotless white shirt, and a black jacket. There was even a gold pocket watch chain trailing into a pocket. The maid noticed the man's mussed up blond hair, sticking up in various directions as he mulled over something unknown to the outside world. As she poured fresh tea into the empty teacup, she saw the newspaper laid out in front of the man. "Jack the Ripper Strikes Again! Young Woman Found Mutilated!" it read.
"Did you sleep well, sir?" the maid asked, clearing away the barely touched and very cold pieces of toast and eggs.
The man slowly attended to his tea, adding the sugar and cream. He took a long swig of it before answering.
"Not particularly, Miss Anne." He said slowly.
"I can understand that, sir. Why, how can anyone get a night's rest with that killer running around? Sends a shiver right up my spine it does." The maid said suppressing a shiver.
The man gave her a smile.
"I shouldn't worry about that, Miss Anne. I would say you are perfectly safe. This "Jack the Ripper" only strikes young women of questionable… professions, ones in Whitechapel and the impoverished areas of London. None in our area." The man said, green eyes drifting the article covering the front page.
"Yes, sir. Will there be anything else you need, Mr. Kirkland?" Miss Anne asked.
The man took another slow drink from his tea. His eyes looked off across the room at nothing.
"No, thank you. That will be all for now." He said.
Miss Anne did a curtsy, holding the tray still.
"Of course, sir. What shall I say if anyone comes calling for you?" she said, knowing that the other man's mood meant he wished to be alone.
"Tell them I shall not be in until this afternoon. And if Mr. Bonnefoy comes calling, kindly tell him to jump from a very high place onto a very hard and preferably rocky landing." The man said, a hidden sneer at the mention of the man he disliked so much.
Miss Anne nodded and quickly left her employer. The man stared at the wall for a few moments, listening as the woman's footsteps faded into nothingness in the large house. Then, with a sigh, he looked down at the paper. His green eyes became fierce, his large brows furrowing. He could picture the scene clearly. A young woman, age twenty, with her dirty dress ripped to shreds, displaying bruised and paled skin. Blood would be pooled beneath her body, rapidly chilling in early hour's air, spilled from the slash across her neck and gaping incision on her abdomen, sternum to hips, left void of most of her internal organs. Her face would still be frozen in that look of fear and shock, the tears that had matted her brown hair already dried. It was a shame. She had been a prostitute, a choice she had not wanted to make but was forced to do so. No one would miss her except the clients whom she warmed the bed for and the black hearted man who took her earnings. It was unfortunate.
"You are going insane, Arthur." The man mumbled to himself.
To be honest with himself, he felt nothing. He was numb to it all. He supposed he should feel some sadness, even more guilt and feeling of being ill. Over the years, he felt himself feel less and less of those emotions. There was nothing he could do for them, any of them. Not for any of the five victims of what the newspapers had called "Jack the Ripper". Not for any of the countless others that came before them, spanning generations prior. Arthur lifted his teacup to his lips. The tea was instantly spat back into the cup, dripping down the corners of his mouth to chis chin and down the side of the cup. He stared down at what had been tea when he had picked the cup up. Instead of the dark brown liquid, it was red. Dark red and thick blood. He could feel it on his face, leaving his skin itching with discomfort. But worst of all was the taste. Arthur reached shaking fingers to his lips then pulled them away. They came away clean, free of blood. The taste and feeling was gone once again, leaving him shaken. He looked to the cup, its dainty handle nearly snapping in his clenched fingers. Tea. Not blood. He let out a shaky laugh.
"Definitely insane." He said.
Arthur picked up the newspaper and stood. He walked over to the fireplace and without hesitating, threw the paper into the flames. He watched it quickly catch and burn. When it was mostly gone, Arthur threw his tea into the fire, making it hiss angrily. He nearly threw the cup in as well but thought better of it. His maid would not be happy to lose another cup. Instead, he placed it back down on the abandoned table. Arthur reached into his pocket and retrieved his pocket watch. The glass within was cracked but the hands still moved and behind the plate showing the clock face, the gears still turned. Arthur looked up at the mirror hanging over the mantle. His reflection stared back… or rather something that looked eerily like him. This Arthur had red hair. Arthur recognized the image but unlike his first few reactions of it, he did nothing but look blankly back. Ordinarily, he did not like to work in the mornings. But today, he might make an exception…
Arthur found himself unusually busy by the time afternoon rolled around. Like usual, there were those who came in with the usual complaints. For those he listened to their symptoms, checked their pulses as they sat on the examination table, and the like. Most received a written note to take to the chemists for a cure. Some were told quite bluntly that they were being silly and childish. As a doctor, Arthur did not have the best bedside manner. But then, he had little tolerances for those who got so worked up about illnesses that their minds decided that they were suffering from the exact same symptoms they had heard rumored that the illness had. He was a good judge of whether or not a person really did have the symptoms they described. He was seldom wrong. It was because of this that people still came to him, rather than travelling further to the hospital or going to another doctor. Near midafternoon there had been a rush of emergencies. An accident from one of the building sites down the road. Several men had broken bones and deep cuts needing to be stitched after being sanitized. A few were worse. Heavy beams had fallen onto a few men, crushing limbs beyond saving. Arthur was forced to amputate the useless arms and legs. Only one man survived the surgery, one more man than was usually expected to survive. By the time Arthur was finished with him, he was covered in blood and the hardwood floor beneath his feet had more stains to be covered by a new and clean rug.
Arthur prided himself in his skill as a surgeon. He could say with great confidence that there were few if any in London who could match his skill. Still, he was glad for the chloroform. Without anesthetics, his job would have nearly been impossible. He had only his maid as help in his office, and she was neither qualified nor had a stomach for blood. Arthur never had nurses for long. Neither did he have assistants for long. They usually tired of his temper quickly. Just as well. Arthur usually tired of their uselessness quickly. He preferred to be alone when he could get away with it. Arthur washed the blood off of his arms in the large washbasin of hot water, sanitized by antiseptic. He had peeled off the disgusting plastic apron and tossed it into another basin to be cleaned later. There was no saving his shoes but he was thankful the treated leather kept the blood out lest he be walking in it literally. He dried his hands with a towel, watching Miss Anne check on the men lying on cots as they recovered. She purposefully avoided the cots of the dead men. The coroner would be along soon for the bodies, putting her at more ease. If Arthur was lucky, the stitched up men would leave eventually, bandaged and more than ready to rest up at home. The man with the amputation would be staying longer, until he was stable enough to make the journey to the hospital to have better chances of survival.
Arthur pulled out his pocket watch. Unsurprisingly it was well after eight. A look out the window confirmed this. He rubbed his face, feeling exhaustion creeping up on him, before running his fingers through his hair. This habit is what usually caused his untidy hair. He'd fix if before going out or seeing patients, mind you. He was still an English gentleman.
"Miss Anne, I will be in my study. I do not wish to be disturbed unless of dire emergency." Arthur said kindly but firmly.
The frazzled woman nodded as she helped one of the men with broken bones take a drink of water.
"Yes, sir. Shall I bring you something to eat?" she asked.
Arthur shook his head as he crossed the room to the door.
"No, thank you. I'm afraid I have no stomach for food at this time. Good night, Miss Anne." Arthur said.
The hallway was dark as he left the lamplight of his office, but he did not bother lighting any of the lamps he passed. He felt more at ease in the dark anyway. He walked up the staircase, not avoiding the squeaky steps here and there. He let the floorboards creak, as if to announce his presence. He walked into his study and shut the door behind him. Arthur turned the key, locking the door. The room was just as dark as the hall and, like in the hall, he did not light a lamp. Instead, he stood in the middle of the room. He shut his eyes as he listened to the ticking of the tall grandfather clock positioned against the wall. It was regular, never missing a tick or a tock. The hands moved into position and the old clock began to chime the hour. The chime seemed to wake Arthur from his trance. He opened his eyes and walked over to the clock. He ran his hand along the side, feeling the spot where the wall met the polished wood of the clock. His fingers caught on a hidden switch, filling the silent air with a small click. Arthur put both hands on the clock and pulled. The heavy clock slid easily out like a door, swinging on well-oiled and well-hidden hinges. Behind the clock was a hidden compartment. Arthur pulled out the long dark coat and boots sitting beneath. He laid the coat over his desk and kicked off his ruined shoes. He sat down in his chair and put the boots on. After the laces were tight, he stood. He swung the grandfather clock back into place, making sure the latch clicked. Just in case.
Arthur then took off his vest, having left his coat in his office. He tossed it over the back of his chair before unrolling his sleeves and unbuttoning a few buttons on his shirt. Arthur put on the long coat, rolling his shoulders a few times and cracking his neck for good measure. He turned and walked to the window. He opened it and climbed out onto the ledge. He carefully shut the window as he crouched there. His eyes surveyed the dark alley below for a moment before he leaned forward and jumped. His coat rustled as he fell breaking the silence of the night with soft sounds. Arthur landed on his feet, boots making a light tapping sound as they met cobble. He followed his momentum, landing in a crouch with one hand shooting out in front to balance. He stayed in the crouch for a few moments, heart pounding with adrenaline. His mouth was twisted into a feral grin, green eyes glowing. He stood slowly. As he did, his hair turned blood red from roots to tips. Arthur turned and took off running down the alley. He didn't slow as he neared a wall, the alley coming to a "T". Instead he leapt up, as if his legs were made of springs. He cleared the top of the small building, landing easily on top. He continued running, this time on rooftops, jumping from one roof to the next. Up here, in the smog and smoke of the city, no one could see him. No one could see the demon of London.
Arthur kept running and jumping, feeling no traces of the fatigue that had plagued him before. He passed quickly through the rich neighborhood he lived in, and then the middle class neighborhood with houses packed close together. They didn't interest him tonight, or any other night. Instead, he ran to the impoverished side of London, where the brothels and work houses were built. Few dared to go out in the dark of London at night, but there were a few that wandered the areas near the brothels. Because of the serial killer known as Jack the Ripper, there were even fewer prostitutes on the street corners. Most sought the safety of the brothels, where the men who managed the brothels could protect them. But there were a few poor women who did not have such luck. They shivered on the street corners in ragged dresses, weary eyes darting at the shifting of shadows where a murderer could lurk. They were afraid so unnecessarily.
Arthur jumped down into an alley and began walking. He couldn't just walk out here. Those who roamed the streets were on alert should someone suspicious appear. Besides, he wasn't interested in those people. It was fine with him; he preferred to be alone when he went out like this. It made his job… easier. Arthur slowed as he heard it. Stumbling footsteps, worn soles scraping against the stone. Every so often he would hear a sniffling sob in between moans of pain. Arthur looked ahead to see her, walking unsteadily toward him with her hands on the wall to attempt to steady herself. Her wide eyes looked up, revealing bloodshot and watery blue eyes under a curtain of stringy blond hair falling out of a messy bun. She smiled a little in relief when she saw him. In her eyes he was nothing to fear. He was help. Arthur stood still as the young woman approached, his face blank. She reached out a grubby hand toward him.
"H-Help… H-help me! P-Please! Oh h-help m-me!" the woman begged.
The woman stumbled into him, arms reaching around his torso to grab at the back of his coat. She pressed her face into his shirt, shivering as her forehead touched the skin of his chest above the buttoned front. Her body was ice cold.
"I-It hurts… p-please… M-make it s-stop…" the woman whimpered.
Arthur exhaled sharply. Slowly he placed his hands on the woman's shoulders. Feeling this, the woman loosened her grip on him and leaned back to look up at him. She smiled weakly. That smile was quickly extinguished as Arthur brought his foot up and kicked her abdomen. She flew back onto her rear, landing hard enough to send out a wheeze. She curled up onto her side, trembling and wheezing in pain and shock.
"I cannot be fooled, madam." Arthur said coldly.
The woman slowly sat up, hugging her chest. Her head was down, forcing that curtain of filthy hair to cover her face. Her shoulders began to shake.
"W-why...? Wh-why won't you h-help me? I-It hurts… s-so much…" she said.
Arthur stared down at her with cold eyes, one hand reaching into his pocket on the inside of his coat.
"I apologize, madam. But I will help you. Forgive me for not finding you sooner. May you find peace and freedom in Heaven." Arthur said, his long knife flashing in the darkness.
The woman barely let out part of her scream before the knife ripped through her throat, sending a spray of blood over Arthur. She gasped and gurgled, hands shooting up to her neck as Arthur's fingers tangled in her hair. Her wide eyes looked up at him, tears rolled down to mix with blood dribbling out of her mouth. Her eyes accused him. How could you be so heartless? Arthur would see those eyes for months in his dreams, just like the five others she now joined. It was a pity really. She could have been saved. If he had only gotten to her the day before, she could have been saved. But if he had waited another few hours, she could have been spared the pain of her death. Arthur lay the woman's body down on the rough ground. He took hold of the front of the woman's dress and hooked his blade under the fabric. Quickly, he sliced down the dress, exposing the woman's torso. It was littered with bruises, a day old by his judgement, joined by the one he had given when he kicked her. The woman looked on the verge of being emaciated, her face and torso gaunt. But her stomach wasn't as sunken in as it should have been on a starving person. Arthur placed a hand above the woman's breasts as he placed the tip of his knife just below the sternum, pricking the skin. He plunged the knife into the woman's flesh and began to slice downward with surgical precision.
The woman's hands spasmed, clenching and unclenching as if alive. Arthur tried to hurry, to finish. He became aware of the low growl beginning to rumble through the woman's chest. He jumped up and away as the woman's hand shot up. She let out an inhuman shriek as she jumped up, irises quickly turning black as coal. Arthur grimaced as the woman's blood gushed from both of her wounds as her body stood barely balanced on two feet. It leaned heavily to one side, wobbling as it took a step forward. The thing couldn't yet use its new body. Arthur was grateful the woman was dead. He couldn't imagine the horror and pain of being possessed by this… creature. Or perhaps it would have already overwhelmed her, assimilating her poor mind into its own to use.
"Y-You… h-horrid… m-man…" the thing in the woman's body hissed, "I… know… wh-who… you… are… J-Jack th-the Ripper…!"
"That is what they are calling me these days, yes. Who are you, demon?" Arthur said, reaching into his coat to pull out a second knife.
Arthur heard the thing give a hoarse laugh.
"Wh-What a… m-monster you… are. Preying on p-poor women. K-Killing th-them, you murderer." The thing sneered.
Arthur jumped straight up into the air as the creature pounced at him, hands reaching to claw at him. The height and speed that Arthur jumped surprised the creature. It whirled around as Arthur came back down, slashing at her. It shrieked as he cut into the cold flesh of her chest. Enraged, the creature slashed at him, only to have him jump back.
"Wh-What are you? Are y-you human?" the creature asked in shock.
Arthur pointed one of his knives at the creature. His green eyes smoldered, glowing supernaturally in the darkness.
"I asked you a question! Answer when I speak to you, you pathetic shadow!" Arthur bellowed.
The thing shrieked in rage. Arthur took a step forward. Ah, he thought, it has no name. It was far too young of a demon. Its creator was being careless in unleashing them on the poor women of this part of London. How unusual of his foe. Normally it was careful, secretive. It attacked these women to infect them with its demon hoard. If not for his diligence, it would have grown confident and taken over all of London by now. He'd stopped it before, foiling its plans to devour human kind. Sometimes he could carefully remove the demons without killing those poor souls. Luckily for them, they did not remember the horrible ordeal they had gone through. But here in London, it was more difficult to spot the demons possessing the population. Their creator was particular in its selection. It had an obsession with women. Prostitutes were the easiest to get a hold of. It disgusted Arthur to think of how it would assault them.
"You and your master disgust me! Where is it, where is your master? Where is that coward hiding!" Arthur demanded.
His demand made the demon laugh. The demon began to change. Its bones shifted under its skin, deforming the woman's body as its arms lengthened and thinned, claws ripping through the fingertips. Sharp, jagged teeth grew from the jaw, pushing out the woman's teeth until they fell out of the gapping maw.
"Disgusting." Arthur murmured.
"Aren't I beautiful? Has my beautiful form shocked you into becoming immobile?" the demon said with a laugh.
Arthur flipped his knives around, the tips pointing downward. He crouched ready to leap out of the way should the thing attack. He sneered at it.
"I was thinking the opposite. I was thinking you had to have been the most vile and hideous thing I have laid my eyes upon thus far." Arthur said.
Arthur felt even more disgust as the incision he had caused sealed itself. One step forward, two back, he thought to himself. He would have to finish this soon. The noise will attract someone. It always did. The demon shrieked.
"HOW DARE YOU! I am beautiful! You humans are the ugly ones! Constantly fighting each other, always taking pleasure in abusing those below you!" it bellowed.
Arthur jumped up again as it pounced. He flipped over its head and dug his knives into its boney back. It howled as he sliced it open. He jumped up and off of its back as it reached its long arms behind to grab him.
"STOP JUMPING! DAMN YOU HUMAN AND YOUR JUMPING!" the thing shrieked, causing Arthur's ears to ache.
Arthur dug one of his blades into the wall high above the monster, allowing him to hang off the wall, his feet planted flat against the surface. The creature looked up at him to meet those glowing green eyes. The rest of his face was completely hidden by shadow. The creature shuddered. It felt something that it hadn't felt in its short lifetime: fear.
"Didn't your creator tell you? I am no human. Let me introduce myself. I am the immortal demon hunter who was first called Spring-heeled Jack! I laugh at my new nickname of Jack the Ripper! They call me a demon but they have no idea! I am a nightmare! I am the nightmare that hunts the nightmares. I am the darkness that haunts the alleyways of London! Humans fear me as your kind fears me! Your kind is not worthy to know my real name. To you I am Jack, your executioner! Soon I shall send your maker to meet you in hell… make sure to give them my regards when you see them." Arthur called out.
Arthur yanked the knives out of the wall. As he fell, he slammed the two blades together. They sparked then glowed and melded into a single, long blade. A sword. Arthur raised the sword above his head and swung it down onto the monster. The blade sliced through the demon's head as if slicing through soft warm butter. It couldn't utter a sound. Its eyes widened as the blade cut down to its hips. Arthur pulled the sword out, splattering blood on the walls around him. He didn't move as the monster fell back, shifting back into the form of the young woman, a slash still across her neck. Arthur didn't relax. It wasn't dead yet. He twisted his sword, forcing it to separate into the two knives. He put one back into his coat. Again he descended upon the body. This time he worked quickly, though just as precise as before. He sliced through the woman's abdomen and set the knife down next to the body. He slid his hands into the incision, grabbing hold of the flaps of skin. He pried the flesh open, revealing the internal organs within. However, instead of healthy pink organs, his sight was met with greyed organs entangled by black fleshy strands. Like a tumor. He picked up the knife again, the other hand reaching into his pocket to retrieve a sack. He carefully cut out the mass and the entangled organs, the black blood like substance oozing from them ignored. He put it all into the sack. The stomach, small intestine, kidneys, liver, gallbladder, large intestines, bladder and womb. It was all infected with the tumor like mass. Arthur found himself shaking his head. This woman hadn't had long to live as herself. She really had been in so much pain and looking for some comfort, spurred on by the demon possessing her. The demon had been looking for its first meal. Manipulating the woman into finding comfort would have given it a near effortless meal.
Arthur tied up the bag and put his remaining knife away. He stood up, bag clenched in a fist. He sighed. These poor women were such easy targets. No one cared for them, many lived on the streets, and they were easily tricked by his foe. Its smooth talking tongue was like that of Lucifer's. What promises had it spoken? Promises of their pain going away? That their addiction to opium would be cured, allowing them to think clear enough to get out? Promises that he would reward them? Arthur didn't know. He was no closer to finding the answers he sought. He was no closer to ending the violent bloodshed. Arthur's head shot up as he heard a clank. He turned, eyes wide.
"Lia…? B-Big sister…?" the little boy said.
The boy was very young, dressed in pathetic clothing. For a moment, Arthur thought he was looking back in time, into a very demented mirror. A little pale skinned boy, covered in dirt and grime, his blond hair so dirty it looked brown and brows unusually big. But those weren't green eyes staring in total fear at the scene. Those eyes were blue. How long…? The vomit at the boy's feet told that he had seen most if not all of what had transpired. The boy looked from the dead form of his elder sister to Arthur as the man pieced it all together. Arthur lifted a finger to his lips, unable to resist flashing a wicked smile, stopping the boy from letting out the scream that clawed at his throat. The boy's blue eyes rolled back into his head as he fell over in a dead faint. Well, that took care of that. Arthur turned and leapt up. He landed onto the roof of the building next to him. He took a step toward his next location… and stopped.
What was he doing… he had to go burn the remains of the demon. But that boy…
Arthur let out a groan of annoyance. This was weakness. Weakness would get him caught. But that child had been so young. His sister… the woman he had killed… that probably had been the only one to care for him. He knew an orphan when he saw one. Without his sister… he would probably die. If not of starvation, then he would die in the factories as he was old enough to be put to work. Arthur let out a frustrated growl. He turned and jumped back down to the alley. He felt like stomping like a child. Instead he strode over to the little boy. He looked down at the bucket he had dropped. Inside was food scraps, the kind even dogs would hesitate in eating. Arthur pieced this together. The boy had probably noticed his elder sister's ill condition. Being a naïve little human child, he must have thought if he could bring her some extra food, she would get better and go back to normal. He must have been so proud of himself. He'd run off with the scraps in his little bucket to go find his sister, forgetting that she was working. But then he stumbled upon the alley and watched as his sister was murdered… then turned into a nightmarish monster… then die again before being disemboweled. This child would be scarred for life. To add to this, the police would drill the child for information on the identity of the killer, of Jack the Ripper. It would force the boy to relieve this moment repeatedly for days. He would never forget this way. He would be forever changed regardless but how long would he survive with his sanity intact?
Arthur picked the boy up in one arm, carefully cradling him as if he were his own brother. What a mess, he thought to himself. Arthur leapt up onto the roof again. As he ran he heard the exclamation of the poor soul who had found the latest victim of Jack the Ripper. Arthur wouldn't be found out tonight. However, he hoped that the boy would remain unconscious until after he had burned the demon's remains in purified fire.
Light streamed in through the window, hitting the youth's face. His face scrunched up as he woke. Bleary blue eyes opened and looked around, unable to remember. Where… was he? Oh, was he in one of his sister's "friend's" homes? He sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. That had to have been it. Sometimes his sister found some really nice men who let them stay the night in his house. They were always unmarried men and they would have to leave through the back door when it was time to leave. He didn't know why he had to sleep in another room than his sister. His sister always slept with her "friends" in their beds. But he never argued with his sister. She was all he had left. Their parents were dead and no one wanted orphans.
"Lia? Amelia? Big sister?" the boy called out.
He didn't want to go wandering. His sister's friends got mad when he wandered around their houses. They would hit him and accuse him of stealing silver or be afraid he would be seen. His sister always slapped them until they let him go. He didn't mean to cause trouble. He only wanted to see his sister. So there was a rule: he was to wait until sister came and found him. It was like a game. He rubbed his face. It felt… clean. His sister must have given him a bath when he was asleep again. He must have been so tired he must have slept right through being carried there and then through the bath. He felt really hungry. He hoped his sister would come soon. He couldn't wait to show her the food he had found…
The boy let out a terrified gasp, eyes widening as tears spilled out. He put his hands over his ears. His sister was dead. He saw it! He saw it like a nightmare. A man… he…
The boy looked up as the door opened. A woman wearing a black maid dress and white apron. She noticed he was awake and briskly walked over.
"Are you alright dearie? Such a fright you gave us! Don't fret, little one, you're quite safe now." Miss Anne said as she knelt next to the bed.
Arthur closed the door softly behind him. He walked over to the bed to join Miss Anne. The boy hadn't noticed him yet.
"Do you remember anything that happened, little one? Mr. Kirkland found you laying on the front step last night!" Miss Anne tried.
The boy didn't seem to be able to speak. For a moment, Miss Anne thought maybe he couldn't. But his blue eyes rose to look at the third person in the room. His eyes widened even more and he began to shake as he stared at Arthur. He saw the man from last night. The man with horrible green eyes and red hair. The boy screamed. Miss Anne grabbed hold of the boy in strong arms, hugging him tightly as he went into a panicked fit. He was trying to get away and she was worried that he would harm himself.
"Calm down lad! It's alright! No one will harm you here! You're safe!" Arthur called out, crouching down.
Arthur took hold of the boy's hands and gently squeezed. Miss Anne continued to speak soothing words to the boy. Finally, after some time, the boy stopped screaming to gasp in some needed air. He sobbed and sobbed.
"Red! Red!" the boy choked out.
"Easy, easy, Lad. What was red?" Arthur said.
The boy looked up at him again. Those green eyes were different than those he'd seen before. These were kinder, human. The boy took hold of the man's hands in a tight grip.
"Jack! Jack the Ripper! He-He had red hair! Like blood! H-He-He ki-killed Am-Amelia! He k-killed my s-sister! Th-Then-Then a-a m-mo-monster! H-He killed a-a monster! An-and chopped u-up my sister! And-and!" the boy said.
Arthur gave him an encouraging smile, his eyes hiding the truth well.
"You were dreaming lad. There is no such thing as monsters. Just a dream-" he said.
"No! I saw! I saw! H-He did kill Lia!" The boy shouted, "Y-You j-jerk!"
"I never said he didn't. Calm down lad. Where? Where did you see this Jack the Ripper?" Arthur said.
The boy froze. His eyes darted around. He didn't know. His sister always led him around London so he didn't get lost. He didn't know how to read; therefore he couldn't read the street signs. All he could do was say that he was in the alley near the building where his sister's friends worked but his sister wasn't allowed to go into. Not that she wanted to. She always spit on the building, calling it an even worse sin than she was forced into committing. His sister always told him never to go in there. She told him to always go to church, confess and beg forgiveness for their sins. Pray to get out of this life of sin. When he was silent, Arthur pressed a different question.
"What is your name, lad?" he asked.
The boy looked back up from his lap, looking timid.
"P-Peter." He said.
Arthur smiled kindly and warmly.
"My name is Doctor Arthur Kirkland. You are in my home. I can assure you that you are in good hands. Will you trust me?" Arthur said, holding onto the boy's hands firmly.
Peter looked up at the man then averted his eyes. He puffed up his cheeks.
"My sister said never to trust strange men." He said.
Arthur's face slid into a surprised look.
"Strange… man? Now see here! I'll have you know I am a doctor and a gentleman!" Arthur said indignantly.
Peter narrowed his eyes, still looking away.
"You're a jerk, Mr. Jerk-land." Peter muttered.
Arthur was about to reprimand the child in a way only he knew how: hissing and spitting like a cat. Luckily, his ear was grabbed insistently, stopping him in his tracks. Miss Anne gave the ear a gentle tug.
"Now, now, Mr. Kirkland. Shouldn't Peter rest now? He has been through a lot." Miss Anne said.
She turned back toward the boy on the bed.
"Are you hungry, Peter? I will bring you a nice stew. Best in all of London or my name isn't Anne! Mr. Kirkland, will you give me a hand?" she said.
Arthur stood.
"Fine. Rest up, Peter. I will be along to check on you later." Arthur said.
Miss Anne followed Arthur into the hallway. She closed the door and followed her employer, picking up her pace until she was right behind him.
"What now, Mr. Kirkland? If what the boy says is true, he has nowhere to go! And furthermore, shouldn't the police be alerted?" Miss Anne said.
Arthur stopped, hand on the banister leading down the stairs. He slowly turned.
"That is difficult to say, Miss Anne. We do not know if the boy is speaking the truth or if it had been a nightmare. He could just be a common urchin roaming the streets. He could have been starving and merely fell unconscious on our doorstep. His mind so tired it came up with horrid visions. If we go to the authorities on the word of a child, they would only torment him by grilling him for information before he is ready. I will make an inquiry as to if the boy's story checks out and decide from there. Perhaps even take steps to find him a place to stay." Arthur said.
Miss Anne followed closely behind Arthur as he descended the stairs. She wasn't letting him go so easily.
"A place to stay? Could he not stay here? At least until after Scotland Yard does their investigation? Mr. Kirkland!" Miss Anne said.
Arthur abruptly stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He turned his gaze on her, his expression unreadable.
"This is hardly the place for a child to be taken care of. He is better off with someone more capable." Arthur said, his eyes darkening.
Miss Anne reached a hand toward him.
"Mr. Kirkland… This… this isn't like that other time. It is different than it had been with Mr. Jones." Miss Anne said gently.
Arthur stiffened. He turned.
"You're right. Peter isn't Alfred. This situation is completely different. I know better this time. Peter will be in better care under someone else. Someone more qualified to raise a child. Someone not deluded with fantasy and illusions of a happy family. Excuse me." He said.
Miss Anne hung her head, looking at her feet.
"I apologize. I overstepped my bounds, sir. I only wished… To see you happy again." She said.
Arthur stopped. He turned and gave her a small smile.
"I know, Miss Anne. I know. I appreciated. Someday, maybe. Those wounds have yet to heal completely. Peter deserves more than a man hanging his mind in the past. I should find someone far better with no skeletons in his closet. Thank you, Miss Anne. I will be back after I visit my brother at Scotland Yard. He should be able to tell me if the boy's story matches up with reality." Arthur said.
Miss Anne nodded.
"Yes sir. Good luck." She said before hurrying to the kitchen.
Arthur lingered in the spot a moment longer before he walked to the front door. He put his coat on and stepped out the door. The busy street greeted him, smothering him with chaos and sound. He walked down the side of the street with no intentions of going to talk to any policeman or to his brother. He had no interest in speaking with that man. Not unless he wanted to go prematurely deaf from yelling and perhaps half of the office thrown in his direction. He'd leave that old coot alone. It was unfortunate that Arthur hadn't been the only one in the family to be given immortality. Arthur hadn't been the first, nor the last. Arthur was soon aware that he was being followed. He didn't need to turn around to see who. He knew. Arthur led his pursuer away from the crowded street, seeking refuge in the secluded alleyways. He stopped once he was far enough away from any innocent passerby. His green eyes smoldered, red leaking from the roots of his hair.
"It isn't polite to follow people. Were you not taught this, Jersey Devil? Or should I say…"
Arthur turned, hair fully red and green eyes glowing dangerously.
"Alfred F. Jones."
A fanged grin was met with the glare, blond hair already turning dark black. Blue eyes became electric, like lightning.
"Hello to you too, big brother."
Note: Thank you for reading! I wrote this a long time ago after seeing a very… interesting manga at the bookstore with my sister. It was a version of Jack the Ripper as a demon hunter and all his victims were demons disguised as human women. I based some of demon Arthur and Alfred's appearances on the Sweet Demon MMD videos I have seen as well as doujinshi. I don't really plan on making much more of this, so for now his adversary, the demon spawning all the other demons will remain identity-less. He isn't Francis. Francis is another character entirely. Neither is Alfred. Amelia is Fem America by the way… very unoriginal I suppose. I hope I didn't make anyone sick with this… it made me feel rather ill afterwards. I write horror, I read horror and I enjoy horror movies… but… jeez… still ill from this. I need puppy therapy now.