Disclaimer: I own nuffin except my fictional character McKayla James!..This is my first From Hell fanfic, so be gentle!
Summary: While on a trip to London, 19 year old McKayla James is swept up into the realm of Jack The Ripper, London circa 1888, and her favorite movie 'From Hell.' What's Inspector Abberline to do with a modern girl from the year 2004 who claims to know who Jack the Ripper truly is, and possibly even his own fate.
Right so, I'm in London. Me, 19 year old, fresh from high-school me aka McKayla James, enjoying myself in all the very legal ways all the while waving these little British flags my sister Jessica picked up at the air port. We were all into basking in the hotties with delicious accents, doing our best Simon Cowell impressions at every available moment, and being the generally annoying tourist I'm supposed to be. Or that's what I thought when I followed Jessica in line for this Jack the Ripper Tour. Woo-fucking-hoo.
" And here…upon this very cobblestone the first gruesome murder, excuse me, butchering took place." Insert eye roll here at the 60plus old brit now kneeling to the ground and motioning with his cane, the outline of a body. " An educated man he was, The ripper, used only the finest surgical equipment, steady quick hands they were as he went to work slicing open the woman. Ah, but this was one unfortunate of many prostitutes to end in a bloody fate at the hands of Jack The Ripper."
I leaned against Jessica, staring boredly at our tour guide and sneering at his choice of 'stage wardrobe'. He was decked out in the black garb and bowling hat, and for some unknown reason I felt it was time for me to take some of the limelight and entertain the crowd. I've seen the movie with the luscious Johnny Depp and walking through these damp age old alleys wasn't giving me the same thrill. I nudged my friend and smirked before raising my hand in question.
" Unfortunate? Hell, I'd say so, not exactly the best whorin' spot in town now was it? Now that I think of it, shouldn't it have been Jack The Pimp?" I said condescendingly, twirling my hair for effect. This old douche' bag can't act as well as I can… A few of my friends were stifling giggles and my smile grew wider as the older man inched forward, his act completely fooling a few kids in the crowd.
I wrinkled my nose and smirked. The man looked me up and down, tapping his cane against his ankle with unusual force. " Whore! " He shouted and trampled off grunting for everyone to follow. After the shock , and the urge to go 'ghetto' on his decrepit old ass, I cleared my throat and looked down at my baggy cargo pants and black tank, picking off invisible lint long enough for the red to fade from my cheeks.
By the time I looked up, I was alone. Just me, the London smog, and the tattered messenger bag at my feet. Groaning, I bent over, slung it over my shoulder and began to wander ahead, following different pathways that resembled catacombs more and more as I went along. Thoroughly pissed off at this point, I threw my bag down into the black abyss of the next alley. " Bloody Hell!" Hey, I watched too many Buffy reruns in the hotel the night before, and now I was trapped in a never ending episode of my own.
Running sweaty hands through my shoulder length blonde hair, I whimpered and examined one of the blue streaks I had put in before the big Euro-trip and grimaced at its now dull inky appearance.
" Permanent my ass.." The clapping of hooves, and a shrill cry from a stallion were heard approaching, and I jumped first in fear but then in excitement. I was saved!
All smiles, I saw a carriage in the mists of the humid evening, presumably one from the tour, and I began a sprint towards it. Remembering my bag I cursed under my breath and spun back around, skidding in a puddle. Squinting into the sinister shadows where I had thrown my bag, I caught my breath in my throat and looked to the carriage once again seeing its green lit lanterns.
Closing my eyes, I forced my self down that alley and began to search for my bag, leaning down and feeling for its leathery material. " whore?..I'm not a whore..what an asshole!…where the hell are you?….damn you Jessica!….ugh what the fu-" I stood up, shaking my hand violently as my fingertips touched something stiff and brittle. Amidst my foolish and very girly moment of being scared by a stick, I further looked at what was tangled in my ring and saw it to be nothing more then grape stems.
Upon examination I saw a sliver of light at my feet, and my eyes followed it to my ever familiar satchel only a yard away. " Salvation at last.." I sauntered over to it, twirling the stem in my hand happily. Doing a little hop and ditty over to it, I sighed and picked up the bag, "At least now I can grab a taxi and head back over to the Hilton..." I mused out loud as I skipped over to the lighted street with renewed energy.
Expecting the late night hustle of London's busy neon streets and usual punk euro-trash, I saw a crowd of closely huddled men, large bobby hats peering down at something surrounded by a long white sheet. Involuntarily I staggered forward to catch what I figured to be the end of the tour, my green eyes widened. " Wicked! I Shoulda stuck around longer!" My voice pierced through the heavy silence and I poked my head between two of the actors dressed as police as I desperately tried to shimmy my way between them.
Stopping, my mouth went dry, my tongue soured at the sight of the whitened corpse of a woman dressed with a shagged green dress with intestines strewn about and drenched in blood. I could handle Freddy Vs. Jason but this was over the top. I could almost smell ….
Before I could gladly back away, a strong hand pulled my arm and roughly heaved me to the ground. An uproar of thick Londoner accents were barking at me, and I threw up my hands in protest. " Look, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to bail!" Two of them grabbed McKayla under each arm, pulling her to her feet again and one was looking her over. " Unfortunate?" One man asked the other to her left, who slid his billy club from its holster. " Not sure, looks..foreign. Ask Godley."
No streets, cars, no group and further more no Jessica but oddly all this seemed familiar." Did I reach the tour later on then everyone else??" Her breathing had quickened and McKayla was making animal like noises, whimpers in frustration. " Let off will ya, Jesus Christ!" Thump. Ground. Yell. Yank. And I was back up on shaky legs again, cringing in pain at the Billy Club taken to the back of my neck.
Through the slits of my heavy eye lids eyes I saw a heavyset man, grim facial expressions, wearing 19th century apparel and shaking his head. " Right, Gimley. Foreign, dressed as a man to boot. Out for a late night jaunt through my crime scene are we?" I realized he was questioning me and now sniffling I saw the white sheet again and turned back to face the man addressed as Godley. " I wasn't jaunting??..I swear, please I lost my group and now nipple head over here is beating me with obscene looking objects! Let go of me, I've got rights damn it!"
The men laughed boisterously. Godley looked behind him to the photographer and smiled. " Rights? Oh she's a spit fire." Adjusting his belt, Godley sighed and gazed from McKayla's Black Doc Martins up to her low cut tank top, her breasts heaving with every quick breath. Godley's tone was somber once again. " Alright alright-"
Before he could finish, I elbowed one man in the gut and frantically struggled against the other, teeth bared as I used all my strength to get free. I stumbled back as the policeman let go, and I whipped around to see a handsome face as stone set and intense as mine. At that moment he looked strikingly familiar to Johnny Depp. I shouted out to him, to anybody in a pathetically squeaky yelp. " Hel-!" I went down into a murky puddle, never to finish my cry for help.
Standing over McKayla's domicile body was Godley, arm still raised and club in hand. He turned back around to the two shameful looking bobby headed policemen and shook his head in disappointment. "Christ. London's best, and you can't contain a silly girl." Throwing the club at the shin of Grimley, Godley turned back to look down at the only woman among them with a pulse. He saw Inspector Abberline cradling McKayla's head with one arm and holding grape stems in his other hand.
" More bloody stems, eh?" Removing a hanky from his pocket, Godley wiped sweat from his brow and it dawned on him what had already came to Fred Aberline. " They were on the girl! Inspector, you don't think she's-? "A smile tweaked at the lips of Abberline. " A lucky girl. Very lucky indeed."
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Summary: While on a trip to London, 19 year old McKayla James is swept up into the realm of Jack The Ripper, London circa 1888, and her favorite movie 'From Hell.' What's Inspector Abberline to do with a modern girl from the year 2004 who claims to know who Jack the Ripper truly is, and possibly even his own fate.
Right so, I'm in London. Me, 19 year old, fresh from high-school me aka McKayla James, enjoying myself in all the very legal ways all the while waving these little British flags my sister Jessica picked up at the air port. We were all into basking in the hotties with delicious accents, doing our best Simon Cowell impressions at every available moment, and being the generally annoying tourist I'm supposed to be. Or that's what I thought when I followed Jessica in line for this Jack the Ripper Tour. Woo-fucking-hoo.
" And here…upon this very cobblestone the first gruesome murder, excuse me, butchering took place." Insert eye roll here at the 60plus old brit now kneeling to the ground and motioning with his cane, the outline of a body. " An educated man he was, The ripper, used only the finest surgical equipment, steady quick hands they were as he went to work slicing open the woman. Ah, but this was one unfortunate of many prostitutes to end in a bloody fate at the hands of Jack The Ripper."
I leaned against Jessica, staring boredly at our tour guide and sneering at his choice of 'stage wardrobe'. He was decked out in the black garb and bowling hat, and for some unknown reason I felt it was time for me to take some of the limelight and entertain the crowd. I've seen the movie with the luscious Johnny Depp and walking through these damp age old alleys wasn't giving me the same thrill. I nudged my friend and smirked before raising my hand in question.
" Unfortunate? Hell, I'd say so, not exactly the best whorin' spot in town now was it? Now that I think of it, shouldn't it have been Jack The Pimp?" I said condescendingly, twirling my hair for effect. This old douche' bag can't act as well as I can… A few of my friends were stifling giggles and my smile grew wider as the older man inched forward, his act completely fooling a few kids in the crowd.
I wrinkled my nose and smirked. The man looked me up and down, tapping his cane against his ankle with unusual force. " Whore! " He shouted and trampled off grunting for everyone to follow. After the shock , and the urge to go 'ghetto' on his decrepit old ass, I cleared my throat and looked down at my baggy cargo pants and black tank, picking off invisible lint long enough for the red to fade from my cheeks.
By the time I looked up, I was alone. Just me, the London smog, and the tattered messenger bag at my feet. Groaning, I bent over, slung it over my shoulder and began to wander ahead, following different pathways that resembled catacombs more and more as I went along. Thoroughly pissed off at this point, I threw my bag down into the black abyss of the next alley. " Bloody Hell!" Hey, I watched too many Buffy reruns in the hotel the night before, and now I was trapped in a never ending episode of my own.
Running sweaty hands through my shoulder length blonde hair, I whimpered and examined one of the blue streaks I had put in before the big Euro-trip and grimaced at its now dull inky appearance.
" Permanent my ass.." The clapping of hooves, and a shrill cry from a stallion were heard approaching, and I jumped first in fear but then in excitement. I was saved!
All smiles, I saw a carriage in the mists of the humid evening, presumably one from the tour, and I began a sprint towards it. Remembering my bag I cursed under my breath and spun back around, skidding in a puddle. Squinting into the sinister shadows where I had thrown my bag, I caught my breath in my throat and looked to the carriage once again seeing its green lit lanterns.
Closing my eyes, I forced my self down that alley and began to search for my bag, leaning down and feeling for its leathery material. " whore?..I'm not a whore..what an asshole!…where the hell are you?….damn you Jessica!….ugh what the fu-" I stood up, shaking my hand violently as my fingertips touched something stiff and brittle. Amidst my foolish and very girly moment of being scared by a stick, I further looked at what was tangled in my ring and saw it to be nothing more then grape stems.
Upon examination I saw a sliver of light at my feet, and my eyes followed it to my ever familiar satchel only a yard away. " Salvation at last.." I sauntered over to it, twirling the stem in my hand happily. Doing a little hop and ditty over to it, I sighed and picked up the bag, "At least now I can grab a taxi and head back over to the Hilton..." I mused out loud as I skipped over to the lighted street with renewed energy.
Expecting the late night hustle of London's busy neon streets and usual punk euro-trash, I saw a crowd of closely huddled men, large bobby hats peering down at something surrounded by a long white sheet. Involuntarily I staggered forward to catch what I figured to be the end of the tour, my green eyes widened. " Wicked! I Shoulda stuck around longer!" My voice pierced through the heavy silence and I poked my head between two of the actors dressed as police as I desperately tried to shimmy my way between them.
Stopping, my mouth went dry, my tongue soured at the sight of the whitened corpse of a woman dressed with a shagged green dress with intestines strewn about and drenched in blood. I could handle Freddy Vs. Jason but this was over the top. I could almost smell ….
Before I could gladly back away, a strong hand pulled my arm and roughly heaved me to the ground. An uproar of thick Londoner accents were barking at me, and I threw up my hands in protest. " Look, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to bail!" Two of them grabbed McKayla under each arm, pulling her to her feet again and one was looking her over. " Unfortunate?" One man asked the other to her left, who slid his billy club from its holster. " Not sure, looks..foreign. Ask Godley."
No streets, cars, no group and further more no Jessica but oddly all this seemed familiar." Did I reach the tour later on then everyone else??" Her breathing had quickened and McKayla was making animal like noises, whimpers in frustration. " Let off will ya, Jesus Christ!" Thump. Ground. Yell. Yank. And I was back up on shaky legs again, cringing in pain at the Billy Club taken to the back of my neck.
Through the slits of my heavy eye lids eyes I saw a heavyset man, grim facial expressions, wearing 19th century apparel and shaking his head. " Right, Gimley. Foreign, dressed as a man to boot. Out for a late night jaunt through my crime scene are we?" I realized he was questioning me and now sniffling I saw the white sheet again and turned back to face the man addressed as Godley. " I wasn't jaunting??..I swear, please I lost my group and now nipple head over here is beating me with obscene looking objects! Let go of me, I've got rights damn it!"
The men laughed boisterously. Godley looked behind him to the photographer and smiled. " Rights? Oh she's a spit fire." Adjusting his belt, Godley sighed and gazed from McKayla's Black Doc Martins up to her low cut tank top, her breasts heaving with every quick breath. Godley's tone was somber once again. " Alright alright-"
Before he could finish, I elbowed one man in the gut and frantically struggled against the other, teeth bared as I used all my strength to get free. I stumbled back as the policeman let go, and I whipped around to see a handsome face as stone set and intense as mine. At that moment he looked strikingly familiar to Johnny Depp. I shouted out to him, to anybody in a pathetically squeaky yelp. " Hel-!" I went down into a murky puddle, never to finish my cry for help.
Standing over McKayla's domicile body was Godley, arm still raised and club in hand. He turned back around to the two shameful looking bobby headed policemen and shook his head in disappointment. "Christ. London's best, and you can't contain a silly girl." Throwing the club at the shin of Grimley, Godley turned back to look down at the only woman among them with a pulse. He saw Inspector Abberline cradling McKayla's head with one arm and holding grape stems in his other hand.
" More bloody stems, eh?" Removing a hanky from his pocket, Godley wiped sweat from his brow and it dawned on him what had already came to Fred Aberline. " They were on the girl! Inspector, you don't think she's-? "A smile tweaked at the lips of Abberline. " A lucky girl. Very lucky indeed."
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