Abberline still has yet to decipher who the killer was in these heinous acts of crimes disguised as art were. It could be a Jew in a mental asylum, who was curled on top the dirtied tiles in his disgusting-browning-straight jacket. Perhaps a fellow lady of the night was just so happening to be eliminating any and all competition, since customers don't come running in at her beckoning call. The fiend could indeed be the author of Alice and Wonderland, who on this gracious earth knows! Certainly not the genius Abberline and his pathetic excuse for police officers!
Exactly how Arthur was praying how this show would proceed.
Forged letters have been sent in, people running their traps and claiming left and right that they themselves saw the killer with their very eyes, and the tabloids fueling England's crazed state with an abundance of fibbed information. Even the queen herself questioned the safety of her people, but she is often cooped up in that glamorous palace of hers that the public is unaware of that information.
No soul, other than Abberline, second guessed Arthur's presumed angelic innocence.
Even when he was strolling through Whitechapel on a typically cloudy and chilled day, no one dare to paint him as the villain. No not the daylight prostitutes keeping a well placed eye on their companion's backs. Neither the pub owners who surveyed their patrons for any twitch of abnormality. Not even the poor lady who Arthur accidentally bumped into while he scouted for his next canvas for his knife.
This lady was absolutely stunning, dazzling sky blue eyes paired with darkened brown hair (Nearing the shade of a darkened red), and she was carrying a handmade woven basket filled with immature fruits plucked from some Welsh lady's garden three blocks away and near expired beef from the questionable butcher down the road that used filthy tools smuggled our of the workhorses. However, she appeared to be a bit… young for such a provocative environment. The clothes on her back gave off an air of scandalism, and the messy makeup barely covering any flaws on her face seemed to confirm the previous allegation.
"My apologies, Miss…?" Arthur began, after watching the girl adjust the basket laying in her forearm with hungry eyes picking apart at every inch of her body.
She cleared her throat. "Mary Jane Kelly." She introduced herself, an Irish accent evident on her voice. Only driving Arthur wild in return.
"Ah, my apologies, Miss Kelly." Arthur continued with this Mary only bowing her head just a bit for that phrase. "I was… out of my body for a moment."
"Isn't everyone 'round here, love?" Mary replied, shifting her gaze to the galloping stallion hauling a carriage besides them on the road. "Eh, somethin' about Leather Apron."
"You mean this 'Jack the Ripper' bloke? A letter turned up with that very pen name." Arthur interrupted.
"Ain't that the same fella?"
Arthur chuckled. "You have a point, love."
Another girl decided to pop into the picture. Stout lady, curvy body complimented by a heavily fastened corset-that seemed more or less as if it was choking her than aiding with her depleting looks-and clothes rugged and torn in many places. "Mary?" She called out, disregarding the conversation she budged in on. "Mary is that you?" She barked out once more, allowing herself in between Miss Mary and gentleman Arthur here.
"Elizabeth?" Mary called out, her lips curling up at the sudden appearance of a presumed friend. A presumed friend who wasn't welcomed in Arthur's book. "Ah! I didn' know you'd be out here!"
Now isn't this just a tad bit rude.
Mary averted her attention from Elizabeth for a moment to return her gaze on Arthur. "Sorry, love, it was nice chattin' with you for a bit." She said before walking past Arthur with Elizabeth at her side-a displeased frown prominently on display on Arthur's face.
"Good evening Ms. Stride, I'll see you tonight! Flower and Dean street, right?"
"Long Liz, Mary, good seeing both of you! I haven't seen you both in the longest time!"
"Flower.."
"...and Dean..."
"...Street."
"Tonight."
"Why don't you visit me tonight, Arthur?"
Arthur hadn't known whether or not those conversations were either occurring in his mind or as he stealthily tailed the two girls he was recently acquainted with. He recently began having that problem, yet talking to a doctor would label him a madman worthy of the asylum. But he knew one thing for absolute certain, Flower and Dean Street would be Jack the Ripper's new stalking grounds.
He could simply imagine the thick, crimson, blood cascading down his knife like a waterfall. How adorable!
Abberline better be getting his precious pets, or the police as most of the British population labeled them, together. The death of Elizabeth Stride was to be that very night. The most gruesome, horrendous, and despair-inducing homicide of Arthur's yet! Well, that's what it was planned to be in Arthur's head at least.
AN: Thank you kindly for reading! I'm attempting to stay as accurate as I can when I am writing this. But, as evident by Elizabeth Stride and Mary Jane Kelly being acquainted, history will be altered just a tad bit. I hope this doesn't bother every reader out there.
Nonetheless, would you kindly leave a review? I'd love to know how I'm faring so far!