NaNoWriMo 2009 part 7

"Death is caused by swallowing small amounts of saliva over a long period of time. " ~Attributed to George Carlin
***
And so Miriam, under the name Michael Barker of course, was now in charge of the morgue, mourning the loss of the boss she'd found so handsome and continuing to be oblivious to Charles Jones's affections for her.  She had just gotten used to spending her days alone and surrounded by corpses - though an assistant would have been absolutely wonderful in her opinion - when the autumn fog began to roll in.  It was a thick, yellow fog that left her with a nasty cough, though it also made her voice deeper, and therefore made it a bit easier to pass as male.  It came in early that year, in late August, in fact.
It was that very August, on a cool morning, that the police brought a most unusual murder victim in.
"Wha's this?!" she exclaimed, mustering up her deepest male voice.
"She was a prostitute, Mr. Barker," one of the officers answered.  "Found her earlier in the morning in front of a stable on Buck's Road.  Not a lot of blood, oddly enough.  She was probably moved after she was killed, I think.  What do you make of the body?"
"Definitely murdered," Miriam's nose wrinkled at the gruesome site.
Five teeth were missing, and there was a slight laceration of the tongue. There was a bruise running along the lower part of the jaw on the right side of the face. That might have been caused by a blow from a fist or pressure from a thumb. There was a circular bruise on the left side of the face which also might have been inflicted by the pressure of the fingers. On the left side of the neck, about one inch below the jaw, there was an incision about four inches in length, and ran from a point immediately below the ear. On the same side, but an inch below, and commencing about one inch in front of it, was a circular incision, which terminated at a point about three inches below the right jaw. That incision completely severed all the tissues down to the vertebrae. The large vessels of the neck on both sides were severed. The incision was about eight inches in length. the cuts must have been caused by a long-bladed knife, moderately sharp, and used with great violence. No blood was found on the breast, either of the body or the clothes. There were no injuries about the body until just about the lower part of the abdomen. Two or three inches from the left side was a wound running in a jagged manner. The wound was a very deep one, and the tissues were cut through. There were several incisions running across the abdomen. There were three or four similar cuts running downwards, on the right side, all of which had been caused by a knife which had been used violently and downwards. The injuries were from left to right and might have been done by a left-handed person. All the injuries had been caused by the same instrument.
"Christ, what do you want me to do with this?" She finally asked.
"Nothing yet, Mr. Barker, as we're still awaiting our captain's orders.  We were just wonderin' what an experienced mortician like yourself would have to say about it."
Miriam cursed under her breath, then gave the officers her assessment based on the quick look over the body, then asked if they wanted her to perform an autopsy.  They agreed and she did so before their very eyes, though having to pause to get a bucket when one of the younger officers looked as if he might go sick.  (Luckily, he didn't.  She didn't much like cleaning up vomit.)
"If tha'll be all, officers," she nodded afterwards, about an hour later.  "Keep me notified if you find anything else out about the little lady, alright?"
She later found out the lady's name had been Mary Ann Nichols.  Over the course of that next month, the police had no evidence, but still brought her more and more bodies, each one more gruesome then the last, but leaving no real clues to what kind of a beast could do such a thing.
First there was Annie Chapman, who'd been found in some poor sod's backyard.  Like Mary Ann, her throat was severed by two cuts.  Unlike Mary Ann, her abdomen was slashed entirely open, and it was found that her uterus - a woman's most private organ! - had been removed, leaving a mocking gap amongst the poor victim's inner organs.
Next there was Elizabeth Stride, and found only a few hours later, another woman called Catherine Eddowes.  All whores.  All horrendously murdered and mutilated.
Elizabeth's neck had one very clear cut incision - whoever had slit her throat had known exactly what he was doing, maybe even from practice on Mrs. Nichols and Miss Chapman.  She'd lost a lot of blood, but the kill had likely been interrupted, as her torso was, for the most part, unmutilated.  Catherine was not so lucky.  Her throat was severed by not one, but two clean, expert cuts.  Her abdomen had been absolutely torn open by a long, deep, jagged wound.  The left kidney and almost the entire uterus had then been taken out.  She was the worst of all the corpses so far.
And then, near the end of September, something happened that caused Miriam's blood to run cold.
She read it in the newspaper that morning that the police had received a taunting letter, presumedly from the murderer of the four whores.  They had initially thought it a hoax until the findings of Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes, which proved the letter all too true, sickeningly enough.  It read, grammar errors and all:
"Dear Boss,
I keep on hearing the police have caught me but they wont fix me just yet. I have laughed when they look so clever and talk about being on the right track. That joke about Leather Apron gave me real fits. I am down on whores and I shant quit ripping them till I do get buckled. Grand work the last job was. I gave the lady no time to squeal. How can they catch me now. I love my work and want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little games. I saved some of the proper red stuff in a ginger beer bottle over the last job to write with but it went thick like glue and I cant use it. Red ink is fit enough I hope ha. ha. The next job I do I shall clip the ladys ears off and send to the police officers just for jolly wouldn't you. Keep this letter back till I do a bit more work, then give it out straight. My knife's so nice and sharp I want to get to work right away if I get a chance.  Good Luck. Yours truly
 Jack the Ripper
Dont mind me giving the trade name
PS Wasnt good enough to post this before I got all the red ink off my hands curse it No luck yet. They say I'm a doctor now. ha ha"
Miriam shouted and dropped the paper to the ground, causing Eva to give her a very strange look (Death was off reaping souls from an accident in Arizona at the time) and ask:
"Miriam, are you quite alright?  What is it?"
"No, Eva, I am most certainly not alright! Lo-" she was interrupted by the door opening and let out another shout of surprise.
"Miriam?" It was only Charles, who was over so often that Eva had given him a key after they finally fixed the shoddy locks.  "Oi, Miriam, are y' okay over 'ere?  I 'eard shoutin', I did!"
"I'm fine," Miriam stood up, embarrassed and brushing herself off.  "No need to worry about me, Charles, I've just read something in the newspaper abou' a murder case tha' I'd been consulted on before that gave me a bit o' fright, tha's all."
Eva then picked up the paper and read for herself, her face going from pale to deathly white as she read aloud the name of the killer, "'Jack the Ripper'?  But that..."  She shuddered as she remembered her sister and her joking over the name months earlier, back when Daniel Shaw had still been alive for Miriam to have romantic dreams about.  It didn't seem so funny now.
"Oh, yes, the 'omeless sod down on Pinchin Street told me abou' 'im," Charles nodded, then said,  "But Miriam, you said you'd dealt with vampires.  What's one man, sick as this Ripper fellow is?"
"I'm not afraid of vampires," Miriam answered, "not after all this time, the godless beasts.  Neither werewolves nor ghosts can make my blood run thin, not after all I've seen.  But what real human beings - with souls and all - can do to other human beings, Charles.  That's what truly frightens me after all this time."
"Not to mention," Eva added, still shocked at the killer's name, "the killer is calling himself Jack the Ripper."
"And?" Charles had a blank expression on his unseeing face.  "Not the most creative name, no, bu' it serves its purpose."
"Charles," Eva said, "Last summer I had been playing with anagrams in a children's book and came up with that name!  At the time I thought it silly, but now?  Now?"
"I'm sure its jus' a coincidence, tha'," Charles turned his face in Miriam's direction.  "Are y'sure you two are okay?  Maybe I ought t' stay wi' you until this sick man is caught."
"That won't be necessary," Miriam adjusted her eyepatch.  "We're not prostitutes, and even if we were, we have the bloody grim reaper to protect us."
"Miriam," Eva replied sternly, "Charles lives alone and is probably scared!  Of course you can stay here, Charles.  I'll prepare the couch for you later.
"Oh, thank you, Miss Eva," the blind boy smiled.
"Don't mention it," Miriam pat him on the shoulder.  "Now if you'll excuse me, Michael Barker had best be gettin' off to work!"
***
"Life is wasted on the living." ~ Douglas Adams
***
It was that night when Death arrived home - a late day for him, as it were, what with so much fighting going on in Imperialistic vampire - as Eva was already in her night gown, sitting in bed reading.
"You wouldn't be so fond of those books if you knew how they made the covers," he muttered under his breath - though not literally, as he didn't need to actually breathe and take oxygen from the living.  (If he did, how would he ever collect the souls of drowned men?)
"I know perfectly well how they cure the leather and how they acquire the pure to do it with," Eva answered, not looking up from her book.  "I've long since gotten over that piece of information, though I thank you for the concern."  She closed the book, folding the page back to mark her spot in the story, and looked up at him, "What do you know of these murders?"
"What murders?" Death rested his scythe on the floor and sat at the foot of the bed, watching her intently.  "My dear Eva, I go through at least fifty, maybe sixty murdered souls a day.  You can't honestly expect me to remember every single one!"
"I mean the local ones!" Eva answered in an exasperated tone of voice.  "The ones by that Jack the Ripper fellow!"
Death looked at his beloved blankly.  "Jack's a very common nickname Eva."
"The local ones!" she exclaimed.  "With the whores!  He dismembred them, tore out their inner organs and slit their throat!  They've got poor dear Miriam - and the rest of London at that - positively paranoid!"
It was as if a light went off in Death's head - truly, as the murders had been the most unique he'd seen in a while, it was difficult to forget them.
"Eva, my dear," he slowly edged closer to her, "what exactly are you thinking?"
"Well..." she trailed off, biting her lip in that cute little way she did.  Probably on purpose too, as she knew it absolutely drove him mad!  "I was wondering if you knew who he was.  You are the Grim Reaper himself, after all; you were with those poor women when they died."
"Honestly Eva, I have no idea, and even if they did, I wouldn't be allowed to tell you.  You know that as well as I do after all these years."
"Well he'll strike again!" she exclaimed again.  "You can get a good look at him then."
"Eva, you know perfectly well unless he's supernatural, I'm not allowed to touch him until his assigned time.  Besides, I rarely notice the living anyhow.  My job is to deal solely with the dead."
"You noticed me," she teased lightly.
"You're different, my love," he lightly kissed her forehead, causing the woman to giggle in a singsong tone, almost like a schoolgirl.  "You've always been different."
"Even if I weren't, would you still love me?"
"Probably not," he answered honestly.  "Had you not spotted me, I doubt if I would have noticed you. "
"But you're glad of how it turned out?"
"Of course I am," beneath his cloak, Death raised an eyebrow.  "Why are you giving me this curtain talk, Eva?  It's not like you, and frankly, I rather dislike it."
"I don't mean to admonish you," she shook her head, picking up her book.  "I was merely worried about Miriam.  You realise if such a thing keeps happening, she's likely to go after this Ripper fellow herself, the dumb little thing.  She's grown up in such an unladyike fashion ever since Alice's misfortune... Though I suppose I should be happy.  I never wished to marry and lose all the freedom I had on my own, so why should I wish such a thing upon poor Miriam?  Though I do want her to be happy."
"You're babbling, dear.  Kindly shut up."
"Death, I'm worried about her!  And any woman out on the streets with this sick devil running all about London to cut them up like they're some game bird!"
"Don't be worried.  Miriam's hunted down hundreds of vampires singlehandedly, and moreso, most of London thinks she's a man, not a prostitute by any means.  Miriam will be okay.  And so will you, so calm down, Eva.  I won't let Jack the Ripper get near the skin of my beloved."