1888

I was racing through the streets. I can’t remember when and where I had fallen into a deep slumber. Nor did I really care at this point in time. I had killed her, I had killed Rosalie. Sure, it had felt wonderful, like a huge burden had been lifted off my shoulders. I’d dealt with Rosalie, but not the way I had ever planned. I killed a woman; I left her, alone, in that grimy place of a brothel. She’ll just become another myth, told only to scare small children into being good and going to bed on time. But she was more than that, she was my Rosalie.

The only woman I thought I would ever love.

I needed to find a place to stay. The coarse, grubby skin encasing the muscles and veins in my hand felt the dirtiest it had ever felt. I needed to wash them, scrub at them till they were scrubbed red raw. To get rid of the feeling of her skin, her picturesque skin. To get rid of the smell of Rosalie, I swear I could smell it, more strongly than ever before.

Two policemen started walking past in hushed tones. I could feel my heart trying to escape from my chest, the beat pounding in my ears was deafening, I was sure that the two men could hear it. I slip through a tiny gap in between two shops, waiting for the two policemen to disappear.

“Like I said before Jeph, this isn’t uncommon.” I focus hard on what the two are saying. “Women go missing all the time.” My heart stops racing, it dies down. So much so that I’m concerned that it’s stopped all together. I know they’re talking about Rosalie. It’s too coincidental that two woman would go missing in the same night. I brush away some soil that residue on my coat. I try to make myself look presentable before quickly striding towards the two policemen.

“Excuse me, sirs?” I make myself heard quickly. The guilt seeps out of my pores, I’m sure they can smell a guilty man. A blonde man turns around almost immediately. His eyes flicker up and down, judging my appearance. I become more self conscious and try flattening my pants also. “I couldn’t help but hear your little dilemma...with the missing woman.” I continue hesitantly. The other policeman looks at me curiously, while the blonde man looks at me doubtfully.

“I’m the captain in this area...what would you know about a missing woman?” the captain enquires. I scratch my nose quickly before grimacing.

“Apparently a body was a found down at a brothel this morning-“

“It can’t be her Jeph, Rosalie was wealthy.” My blood boils terribly. Not even her own husband, Edward had known. Had I been the only one? If they knew, oh if only they knew everything about Rosalie, maybe they wouldn’t be so quick to make assumptions.

“Quinn.” The captain hushes the other man. I smirk at him; I can see the malice in Quinn’s eyes. He doesn’t even know me yet, how pitiful.

“Outside this one brothel, I can take you if you want. I know no one’s touched it.” I offer.
“I guess you would know lots about brothels then?” Quinn spits at me. If he knew who I was once with, whom I was worthy enough to once be with, he wouldn’t treat me like this. If I had only stayed in Whitechapel, I’d probably be one of the most respected people in London.

“I don’t know too much about them actually.” I sneer at him. Oh how he thinks he’s better than me. I could change that if I wanted. “If you don’t want to solve this case than go ahead, run around the city. Or you could come with me and maybe be able to find out about this woman, Rose, or whatever her name be.” I let my words sink in for a moment before heading off in the opposite direction.

“Wait!” the captain calls out. I grin sinfully before heading back over towards them. “Please, show us Mr..?”

“McCracken, Bert McCracken.” I hold my hand out, the captain shakes it first.

“Jeph Howard. Bert, I’m presuming that’s short for Robert?” Jeph queries. I nod hesitantly, letting go of his hand.

“Quinn Allman.” Quinn introduces himself. But he refuses to shake my hand. He’s the wisest. He won’t have the smell of feel of Rosalie on his skin. I smile curtly at him.

“Mr McCracken, if it’s not too much trouble could you show us this brothel?” The captain, Jeph questions. I nod quickly.

“Of course, this way.” I direct them simply.

Brothels aren’t the simplest things to find in Whitechapel. Although they are allowed, Whitechapel is home to some of the wealthiest people in London. I know from listening to conversations years back that most people want them gone. I remember watching Rosalie’s perfect face harden when family friends suggested the things they should do to those people. She used to come to me and cry, sobbing miserably at the society in which she was so unfortunately born into. She had wished sometimes that she were dead.

Looks like she got her wish.

I lead the two policeman through the most dank and grubby streets in Whitechapel. Strangers sneer at us, some bearing yellowed teeth and scraggly hair. Quinn turned his nose up at me; he doesn’t know much about some people in Whitechapel.

“Mr McCracken. How much farther away is this brothel?” Quinn hastily asks. I ignore his question and turn left into the familiar street.

“It’s here.” I state simply, turning left again into a small street.

As I suspected, no one’s touched the body, but they’ve all gathered around it, marvelling at the corpse in front of them. Some women have shielded their eyes, not wanting to bear their eyes to such a tragedy. I pretend to be shocked, but that’s not the easiest thing to do when you’ve killed the woman.

“T-that can’t be her.” Quinn doubtfully speaks up. Jepha glances down at Rosalie, my god she was beautiful. May the good lord be kind to her, she was stunning. Jeph steps back for a moment and scribbles down on a small notepad I hadn’t even realised he’d been carrying.

“We’ll have to get a photographer in, we have no other ways of identifying her-“

“So, we’re just going to hand the man a picture of his possibly dead wife and ask him if it’s her?” Quinn snaps, he seems disgusted at the idea.

But dear old Edward won’t care, he never loved her. Not the way I did. Rosalie was like a queen, I would have given her a castle, anything her heart desires. It should be Rosalie and I with the two children, not her and Edward. How I loathe Edward, taking away everything that was important to me. No, he too will know how it feels to lose someone you love.

“Quinn, we have to. We have no other ways to identify this woman.” Jeph repeats sadly. I try and look sorrowful, the grand finale in my little theatrical play.

“My deepest sympathies to her friends and family.” I pretend to be sincere. I don’t have any sympathy for them. The only feeling I have for them is malice, I can feel it running through ever vein, every artery. The malevolence isn’t over yet, nowhere near done yet. I’ll make them all pay, for all the anguish I’ve been in all these years.

Rosalie and Edward Williamson will pay. Not only through their own bereavements but through their friends and families too. Rosalie and Edward will pay.

And I, Bert McCracken have come to collect.