Sample Chapter

 Chapter 1 - The Beginning

Whitechapel, England
July 17, 1923

 The Ten Bells Pub, located at the intersection of Commercial and  Fournier Streets since 1851, was typically frequented by locals and  those who enjoyed warm beer and lousy gin. Here, men could speak  and expound their thoughts, regardless of whether those opinions  were popular. As most patrons were drunk on gin, very few cared or  listened. 

The pub's interior was decorated with Victorian tiling from floor  to ceiling. Two of the walls featured a blue-and-white floral pattern,  and colourful rectangular grooves were cut into the woodwork, circling the room. On another wall, a mural made of painted tiles,  entitled Spitalfields in Ye Olden Time—Visiting a Weaver's Shop,  commemorated the area's weaving heritage. 

The pub had a notorious reputation as two of Jack the Ripper's  victims, Annie Chapman and Mary Jane Kelly, were seen in the pub  shortly before they were murdered. The police believed that the  Ripper had met these women at the Bells before performing his  murderous deeds. This reputation had not stopped the bar from being  a place where many prostitutes frequented to make their rent, and as  such, many men were at the Bells looking for a lady who would  provide comfort and company.

Sir Robert Thompson was one of those men. He was a politician  and felt he should spend time with the locals. He enjoyed the Bells  because, although he did not live in the area, the patrons treated him  like one of their own. He knew he could find a young lady's company here. He was seated at his usual corner table, drinking gin and  listening to the typical complaints of the pubgoers. 

"When are you going to do something about all these foreigners  coming to Whitechapel and stinking up this place?" 

One drunk patron asked Thompson. Another one said,  

"Those Jews and Poles need to go back where they came from."  Thompson twitched his nose and had to hold his breath as his drinking  buddies smelled like stale cider and day-old fish. 

Thompson pretended to listen to the complaints, but he had heard  them so many times that he ignored most of the rants. He was also  getting very drunk; his brain was foggy, and he was starting to slur  his words. "You know who's the worst…," Thompson said. 

The first drunk picked his head off the table, "Who?" Thompson looked at him with glazed eyes," Who? What?" 

Another half-drunk customer put his hand on Thompson's  shoulder and said, "You were going to tell us the worst!" 

Thompson shook his head to try to regain composure, "Oh yeah,  those damn molly boys! You think the Jews are bad … at least they  are not perverts like those bloody pansies!" 

"Tryin' to solve the world's problems, are ya?" he heard a woman  with a Scottish accent say. Thompson looked up and produced a  drunk, drooling smile.

"My Scottish lovely, Sissy! I was hoping I'd find you here  tonight. I missed you." Thompson's eyes were half closed. 

Sissy pushed herself in between Thompson and his drinking  buddies and sat on his lap. He felt her lips on his neck, and he reached  under her skirt. As usual, she was not wearing knickers. Sissy  squirmed and pressed her backside down on Thompson's lap. "Why  don't ya come outside with me and leave the world's problems to be  solved by your drinking buddies? By the time I'm done with ya, ya  won't have a care in the world." 

Thompson looked up at Sissy. Her hair was frizzled, and her  lipstick was smeared. He caught sight of her cleavage, and his face  fell between her breasts. Sissy pushed his head back and said, "My …  my … you're a little frisky this evening." 

"How about we go to your place and you entertain there?"  Thompson slurred. Sissy preferred to take care of her clients in  alleyways. In that way, she could move on to the next one more  quickly. Going to her place would cost her some time, so she always  charged Bobby extra. 

"Okay, we will go to my place. Here, my dear Bobby, let me help  ya up." Sissy had a hard time with Thompson's dead weight, and none  of his buddies were in any condition to lend a hand. 

"Can I help you?" Sissy heard a voice say from behind her. She  turned to see a man standing behind her with a beer in his hand. He  was a good-looking man, and Sissy started to turn on the charm. 

"Oh yes, dear. My friend is very lushy, and I need to get him  home. If ya can help me to the door, I would appreciate it in ways you  cannot imagine," Sissy said and tossed a wink. The man was much smaller than Thompson, but the two of them managed to get him up  and shuffle him to the door and outside.  

"I'm fine! I'm fine!" Thompson slurred as he regained some  strength in his legs. 

Sissy turned to the man and said, "You are so kind. If you are  here later, I'll repay the favour. I can manage from here." She gave  him a toothless smile and a kiss on his cheek. With Thompson leaning on Sissy, they walked out onto Commercial Street. She turned her  head around to see the man scurry in the opposite direction. 

Thompson was sobering up a little bit and was able to walk with  Sissy's assistance. Sissy was walking proudly with her newly found  prey, hoping that the residents would think that Thompson might be  her beau. Rather than walking through the soiled streets of  Whitechapel, Sissy imagined she was in Paris, strolling along the  Champs-Élysées and going on a shopping spree with her fiancé. But  the sound of a prostitute yelling at a vomiting client brought her back  to reality. 

They crossed Whitechapel High Street, where Commercial Street  jagged to the left and passed the Aldgate East tube stop. The smells  of ethnic bakeries and butcher shops permeated the air. Those smells,  combined with the stench of the streets, made Thompson gag. He  looked up and said, "Those boys should be home with their families.  Not hanging and smoking around the tube stop." Sissy ignored him,  just wanting to get him home and complete the job, but then she  smelled something awful. "Oh my God, ya pissed yaself," she said,  looking at his soiled pants.  

Thompson put his face up against hers, desperately trying to grin,  and said, "Get these pants off me then!"

They walked along Berner Street and then turned onto Boyd  Street. Halfway down the block, they turned into an old tenement  building. Sissy's flat was on the second floor, and she wondered how  she was going to get Bobby up the stairs. Slowing, leaning on the  handrail, Thompson was able to pull himself up the stairs. Sissy  opened the door of her flat and pushed Thompson in. It was a one room flat, with a bed in the centre and a pile of dirty dishes in the sink  in the corner of the room. The counters were covered in dust and filthy  rags, and clothes were littered throughout. 

"Take off your clothes," Sissy ordered. 

Thompson sat on the only chair in the flat. He slowly peeled off  his urine-soaked pants and undergarments. He had a tough time taking  off his shirt, so he ripped the buttons off. Sissy was kneeling on the  bed as she watched Bobby get undressed. He stood in front of her  naked, fat belly, hairy chest, and knobby knees. He lay on the bed, his  arms and legs outstretched. “I’ve been a naughty boy, Sissy.” 

Sissy got on top of him and pulled off her dress to reveal a dirty  corset. She used the rope remaining from the last session with him to  tie his arms and feet to the frame of the bed. She climbed on top,  tickled his member, “Awwww … Bobby …. what a little thang! What  can you do with that - only please ya’self!” She saw the dried drool  on his chin, and he stank of alcohol and piss.  

"Oh God," she thought, "Let's get this over with quickly!" She  closed her eyes and tried to go back to Paris. 

A loud bang and the sound of the front door swinging open  interrupted her fantasy. She opened her eyes, and Thompson tried to  look around her. His eyes opened wide as she felt a strong force push her off the bed, hitting her head on the chair as she fell. Everything  went dark. 

Sissy awoke with a painful headache and reached up to rub her  throbbing head, and felt a lump on her temple. She looked towards  the bed and saw a figure in black furiously working over Thompson.  The smell was putrid. Blood everywhere. She tried to scream, but  nothing came out. 

The black figure stopped the work, turned to her, and walked out  to where she was lying. Sissy saw a black figure loom in her sight,  and then she heard the words, "They call me Jack!" She felt a puddle  of warm urine form under her as her eyes rolled back in her head.  Everything went dark again.