Every muscle in his body tensed, but he could make out nothing in the darkness that surrounded him on either side, the gaslight flickering so low that it was almost useless in the storm. The scent of human was faint, muted by the buildings on either side, and for an instant he remained there, suspended between reality and fantasy, his tension gathering as he realized why he could not sense it, why the rain did not dilute it, why it tasted so pure in the air. It was not coming from an alley like the others had, but from one of the rooms that faced the street, at no great distance but near enough that he was confused as to its origins.
For an instant he refused to believe the truth, and then a haunting thread of assurance came over him, for there was but one window of importance to him on this street, one human that he cared at all for, a pretty little twenty-something girl from the country who had sought to trust him even when he demanded so much from her. The single room that she occupied was just along the street, and from here he could see a faint glow coming from within. He approached the door with trepidation, no scent arising to meet him beyond that of fear… and blood. It was far stronger now, as his hand turned the knob and found the door unlatched, allowing him into a small, meager space that he had seen many times before. He stared within and then entered, finding the room empty of all but its victim, spread out across the bed, her throat cut, nothing but a gaping wound where her chest had been. Dr. Caville had not taken her organs like he had done the others, for many of them were left in the room, positioned almost mockingly, all but her heart. It alone was gone, into that gruesome little black bag, to be carried off into the darkness.
This was not a random choosing of a victim, or even a game of sport, for it was meant for him. The doctor must have known, must have heard, or seen him some night, watching this window, or speaking with the girl in the street. Perhaps his accomplice had witnessed an interaction, or even suspected. Maybe he had asked questions around the surrounding streets, but something had brought him here, to intentionally leave a brutal message for the vampire that had nearly ended his life. The glee with which it had been done was obvious, but also evidence of a trembling hand, no doubt worried he would be discovered. Josef did not need to witness the crime to sense what had happened. His hand came to rest on the last thing Mary had touched, resting her needlepoint on the small shelf near the door. It was beautiful, the only beautiful thing she possessed, a slender circlet of roses that had left her with a smile as she had answered the knock, no doubt anticipating one of her friends.
He had pushed her violently, hard enough that she had struck her head, her scream silenced as he slapped her to the floor, then dragged her across to the bed. Streams of red had spurted in all directions, a mercifully swift death that had preceded absolute butchery. Josef was so furious that he could not move, immobile as soft footsteps entered behind him and he sensed Endrella's presence, her eyes enormous beneath the damp cloak that sheltered her unruly curls. "Where is he?" he demanded, and there was such absolute rage in his voice that she did not attempt to thwart him.
"He has a small room off of Buck's Row, number fourteen." Her hand reached out to catch his arm, and he saw the concern in her eyes as she said, "Be careful. For God's sake, remember that we must all pay in the end if you are careless!" But she did not attempt to halt him, brushed aside as he passed out into the downpour, caring nothing for his appearance or the icy raindrops seeping through his garments, his anger becoming settled during the long walk, but by no means quelled. It became calculated, intentional rather than a mindless rage that he could not control.
Number fourteen was nondescript and uninteresting but there was a faint pinprick of light that adorned one of the grubby windows, and an outdoor series of steps that led up to a narrow doorway. It might have creaked beneath his footsteps but for the rain, which drowned out everything, even the creak of the door as it opened, revealing a gaunt form bending over the fireplace, a foul smell issuing from beneath his fingertips as he turned something over in the ashes. It was the cold that crept in around the vampire as he entered that alerted his companion to his presence, a ghoulish smile crossing his face as the door closed behind the slender form, leaving them alone together. The room was quite small and plain, with only a cot and an array of silver instruments set out on a strip of velvet on the near table. Josef knew which one had been used to butcher Mary without having to touch it, for the scent of blood lingered on the end, her blood. His fingertips traced the handles, coming to rest on one of them.
"So," said the Ripper with obvious pleasure, "you found your little whore, did you?" He did not move, remaining at the fireside, a hunched devil against the flames of hell. "She was so pretty, too, the only truly beautiful one among them all, so innocent and unassuming… I thought someone would hear her plaintive cries, but they didn't. She begged me, pleaded with me, even cried, but I did not mind. Her heart, though… so different from the others…." He then stood and revealed the poker in one hand, as well as the churning, blackened remnants of her heart in the ash beneath the fire. The vampire's eyes flickered to it, distant in his emotions, repulsed at its presence, and the grotesque man who stood before him, pleasure in every line of his evil, contorted face. There was no fear in it, only a perverse sense of elation at having triumphed one last time.
"It was her kind that nourished yours the most often," continued the physician, happily. "I watched vampires all across Europe, in darkened arches and alleys, engaging in the most horrific activities, the trading of blood, the taking of blood, and the giving of it. These women gave it to you as readily as they would have given you their bodies—they gave you, and others like you, their essence, and portions of their soul. Most of them were willing enough, but a few were not. Oh, those like you are not bound to them, true, but they are the easiest source of nourishment. If they can offer immortality for your kind, might they offer it for mine? That is what I have been searching for, the answers… not only to eternal life, but for the end of your unnatural race. Vampires, the monsters of children's stories and lurid fantasies, all charm and superiority and underneath, nothing but bloodsucking drabble. I know what you will do to me. I know that you will kill me, and then the truth will come out, all of it. My associate will make it known what happened to me, and there will be such slaughter as was never seen!"
The blackened heart in the grate was no different from the man's eyes, demonic in their fascination, enthralled with the notion of so much bloodshed. It stained his fingers and his cuffs, Mary's blood, now dry but lingering of her essence. Josef had remained silent throughout and only now did his companion seem to notice, approaching him in the midst of that terrible room beneath the eaves, the rain pounding against the roof and muffling all sound from carrying across the street. His hand left the table with the surgical instrument in it, and excitement appeared momentarily in the figure before him. "Come," he said, extending his arms in a gesture of welcome, "and avenge that bloody little whore! Kill me! Go on, do it, and my associate will make your presence known throughout the world!"
"Giving you what you want is hardly punishment," Josef answered. "I have quite another fate in mind." He leapt forward and the man slammed to the floor, knocking the wind from his lungs and causing the back of his head to rebound off the wooden planking. Frost entered Josef's eyes, muting all of their customary rich brown tones, and he snarled, his sharp teeth appearing against the others. There was a moment of realization, of comprehension, in the man he held to the ground, of sudden fear that was deeply rewarding before Josef tore free the bloodstained cravat and seized him by the throat. There was a strangled cry and then nothing, as the Ripper's blood flowed into him, rich and passionate, hot against the coldness of his fangs. He did not make it comfortable, did not make it nice; it hurt as much as he was capable of, for Mary's sake, for Mary and the others, he made it a living hell that lasted as long as it could, until the heart weakened and nearly gave out, until his companion was so white that death was eminent. Victims could live for hours if left alone and Josef did, retreating to watch him suffer, sitting in brooding silence on the sidelines, watching as the pale lips moved but no sound came out, fear causing those murderous hands to contort at his side.
When it was almost too late, when death had all but taken him, Josef calmly took the silver instrument with which the man had caused such devastation and sliced open his forearm. Dr. Caville shuddered and would have shook his head if he was able, but he was too weak to even close his mouth, still open in the silent cry that had been halted forever. With deliberation and more than a trace of meanness, Josef held the wound over the man's mouth and allowed his life force to drip slowly onto the purple tongue. Once he was assured of the result, he arose to his feet and stood over him as the Ripper died. It was agonizingly painful, the transition between life and immortality, this made even more so by the man's repulsion at what was happening to him. When it was finished, and he sat on the floor at the fireside, nothing but hatred glimmered in his eyes. Rather than remain, Josef turned and left the way he had come, encountering Endrella on the stairs.
"You may take responsibility for him now," said Josef to the young woman, so childish in her mannerisms but so ancient in her presence. There was a flicker of respect that accompanied the turn of her eyes, his following as they sensed something transpiring in the room above them. The door was flung open to the sight of a man engulfed in flames, for the Ripper had thrown himself into the fire and now it was eating at him, the screams of his pain soon vanishing as he went up in a magnificent inferno that crumbled into a pile of ash in the center of the room. There was no emotion from either of them, only satisfaction that he had come to such an end, and Endrella said, "I will see to it. You have done more than enough tonight. Go, before my father comes. He must not know what happened."
The rain continued to pour down the gutters as he fled, strengthened by the new blood flowing thickly through his veins. Josef did not know what made him stop, but he did, turning his gaze to the far alley, where movement had caught his eye. It was a trap, sitting there in the darkness, the horse shifting its weight as it endured the rain. Tension passed through him as he approached, disconcerted to find that there was no driver in sight, but he was certain it was the same hansom the Ripper had escaped into that night when he had nearly captured him in the fog. There was a scent of blood about it, but also something else, a fainter but more distinguishable fragrance that reminded him of someone. But he did not know who it was until his hand fell on the card resting on the seat, waiting for him. It was a simple, spiral arrangement, silver against the somber blue, nothing more than a name, but one he knew well: Coraline.