1888
Strike.
Eight days, nine hours and about ten minutes since they discovered Rosalie, dead out the front of a brothel. I have a good memory don’t I? I can’t forget the looks on everyone’s faces, the horror, and the grief. Most importantly I can’t forget dear old Edward’s face when he saw his wife dead. It’s hard to lose a loved one isn’t it Edward?
The only grief I feel are for those two little boys. If their mother hadn’t been so unkind to my heart she would still be alive. But then, the boys wouldn’t be alive. Rosalie and I’s children, our sons and daughters would be. Though, there was some doubt in my mind whether Nathaniel was actually Edward’s son. He seemed a little old to be his own.
The two policemen, Quinn and Jeph had been taking me with them most nights for patrol. They need me because they don’t know every nook and cranny in Whitechapel, neither do I to be honest. But, I know more brothels than the two of them put together.
Jepha was a nice man, we did get along. He’d take me around to some of the more nicer pubs in Whitechapel, he hung out with a respective bunch of people, much like the type Rosalie used to be surrounded by. Jepha could talk till the early morning hours; get the women blushing at the faintest of smiles. He was respected, I guess being captain pays off.
Quinn on the other hand...well, there really isn’t much to say actually. He didn’t talk to me as much as Jepha did. He worked hard, had a girlfriend and basically followed a routine, same beer every night, same crowd. He didn’t really let me get inside his head much, I have tried talking to him, my mother was wrong, the McCracken charm doesn’t work on everyone.
“Another round?” Jepha asks, I look down at my empty glass and signal for another one. “Same order Bert?” Jepha slurs a little. I giggle slightly, making Jepha chuckle. I watch him slowly get up and collect the next round of drinks. For a policeman, Jeph sure liked his liquor. “Here you go,” Jepha tells me, sloppily handing me a new beer, Quinn grabs one of him and sculls as much as he possibly can in one mouthful.
“So Bert,” Quinn starts, nosily putting down his glass “what brings you to Whitechapel?” I bite my lip hesitantly before replying.
“A girl, just wanted to forget her,” I explain glumly. Forgetting her was hard when you killed her. Jepha sympathetically pats my shoulder and I drown my sorrows with the auburn liquid.
“Tough break,” Jepha adds, I nod slowly. I look down at my hands, the way they’re grasped around my mug; it reminds me of how I held Rosalie that last time. “To new friends.” Jepha raises his glass for a toast.
“To old friends,” Quinn adds, raising his mug also.
“To new beginnings.” We clink our glasses together before downing the liquor.
-Time Elapse-
Eight days, nine hours and twelve hours ago I found myself walking down the familiar street, with the familiar wooziness and sadness. It was hard keeping up this lie, and I couldn’t just disappear of the face of the earth, I know Quinn and Jeph would be asking about me.
The cobbled street rocks beneath my feet, it’s a trick my mind’s playing on me. The auburn liquid infusing my cranium with delusions, headaches and swirls. I blink my eyelids a few times rapidly, struggling to keep myself upright.
The streets are littered with the filth of the wealthy. The people Rosalie used to be around. I tip my hat slightly over my head and stagger towards a small alleyway. A few underprivileged people peer out of their wreckages of homes, small children at their feet. Once glance at me and the parents hurry their children back inside.
They needn’t worry about me. I wouldn’t hurt their children; I wouldn’t hurt a single hair on their heads. Those children still have lives to lead, people to love and leave, people’s hearts to break. I can only hope dear little Nathaniel’s heart was not to be toyed with like mine has.
I become closer to the end of the alleyway. I can hear the shrieks of laughter rippling through the sky, coming inside a small, secluded brothel. I’d almost forgotten about this minute area. I used to come here before I met Rosalie, before my world became consumed by an obsession of one woman. This brother kept to themselves, only a few people knew its whereabouts.
“Can I help you there handsome?” I breathe in deeply before looking vaguely up the woman’s body.
I’m greeted with a small, delicate pixie face and a light complexion. Her eyes are as black as the night sky and about as wide as an owls. I watch her examine my face, searching every nook and cranny. Oh dearest Madeline, don’t you remember me? I guess time does eradicate old friends. Or did you too, like Rosalie just pretend I had never existed?
Madeline gasps and takes a small step back from me. I glance down at the filthy floor and look back up at her. Madeline tries to make herself decent and I can’t help but chuckle.
“Old habits die hard, don’t they?” Madeline bites her lip and runs her fingers through her hair.
“Robert...what happened to you?”
“I could ask you the same question,” I reply, trying to avoid the question. Madeline boldly steps towards me, grabbing one of my hands gently.
“Rosalie...she’s...she’s, dead Robert.” I try and pretend to be shocked, I let go of Madeline’s hands. How much longer must this little charade go on for? “I-I’m sorry...” Madeline trails off. She looks crushed, not once as lively as I once remember her.
“Who...who’s still here, in Whitechapel?” I ask quietly. Madeline gives me a sympathetic look.
“Edward, and he has sons now...but I’m sure they’ll be leaving...I’m not sure, but I think they are. I’m still here...and Dawn, William, Simone, I think Harrison moved...I’m not sure...and Evangeline...they’re all still here,” Madeline informs me.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
“Robert...where have you been?” Madeline asks again, I walk towards her.
“I’ve been away, thinking.” I press my lips harshly against hers; I feel her kiss back for a moment before Madeline pushes me off. I giggle slightly. “Oh come on Madeline, for old times’ sake.” Madeline shakes her head rapidly.
“N-No...you, Rosalie...I-“
“Oh that didn’t stop you all those years ago, remember? Only I declined, because I had Rosalie.” I kiss her lips again, but her response is slapping me hard across the face.
“That was a long time ago, I’m different.” I laugh.
“So am I,” I respond, I press my lips back down onto hers and stroke her neck gently. I can see a glint of sliver and Madeline goes to strike me. I grab her wrist and smile. “You wouldn’t use that on me, would you Madeline?” There’s no kindness behind the words, I’m sick of pretending, I’m sick of lies.
Madeline tries to strike again, but I twist her wrist sharply, making her shriek out in pain. I know people will be out here soon, it’s not like Rosalie where her death was subtle. Madeline had always exaggerated things...death would just be another.
I grab the knife from out of her hand and grab Madeline by the throat. She’s shaking terribly, she goes to scream but my fingers find their way to her mouth. Madeline looks up at me, terrified of what’s going on. I gently stroke her neck, bringing the dagger’s tip to the top of her neck.
And without a second thought I thrust the knife into Madeline’s neck. The dark, sickly crimson blood starts to dribble down her neck; I rip the dagger out of her throat, allowing more blood to spill. I back off quickly, trying not to get Madeline’s blood all over my clothes. I fling the dagger back into the darkness, small puddles of blood trapped in crevices in my hands.
Its good catching up with old friends.
The only grief I feel are for those two little boys. If their mother hadn’t been so unkind to my heart she would still be alive. But then, the boys wouldn’t be alive. Rosalie and I’s children, our sons and daughters would be. Though, there was some doubt in my mind whether Nathaniel was actually Edward’s son. He seemed a little old to be his own.
The two policemen, Quinn and Jeph had been taking me with them most nights for patrol. They need me because they don’t know every nook and cranny in Whitechapel, neither do I to be honest. But, I know more brothels than the two of them put together.
Jepha was a nice man, we did get along. He’d take me around to some of the more nicer pubs in Whitechapel, he hung out with a respective bunch of people, much like the type Rosalie used to be surrounded by. Jepha could talk till the early morning hours; get the women blushing at the faintest of smiles. He was respected, I guess being captain pays off.
Quinn on the other hand...well, there really isn’t much to say actually. He didn’t talk to me as much as Jepha did. He worked hard, had a girlfriend and basically followed a routine, same beer every night, same crowd. He didn’t really let me get inside his head much, I have tried talking to him, my mother was wrong, the McCracken charm doesn’t work on everyone.
“Another round?” Jepha asks, I look down at my empty glass and signal for another one. “Same order Bert?” Jepha slurs a little. I giggle slightly, making Jepha chuckle. I watch him slowly get up and collect the next round of drinks. For a policeman, Jeph sure liked his liquor. “Here you go,” Jepha tells me, sloppily handing me a new beer, Quinn grabs one of him and sculls as much as he possibly can in one mouthful.
“So Bert,” Quinn starts, nosily putting down his glass “what brings you to Whitechapel?” I bite my lip hesitantly before replying.
“A girl, just wanted to forget her,” I explain glumly. Forgetting her was hard when you killed her. Jepha sympathetically pats my shoulder and I drown my sorrows with the auburn liquid.
“Tough break,” Jepha adds, I nod slowly. I look down at my hands, the way they’re grasped around my mug; it reminds me of how I held Rosalie that last time. “To new friends.” Jepha raises his glass for a toast.
“To old friends,” Quinn adds, raising his mug also.
“To new beginnings.” We clink our glasses together before downing the liquor.
-Time Elapse-
Eight days, nine hours and twelve hours ago I found myself walking down the familiar street, with the familiar wooziness and sadness. It was hard keeping up this lie, and I couldn’t just disappear of the face of the earth, I know Quinn and Jeph would be asking about me.
The cobbled street rocks beneath my feet, it’s a trick my mind’s playing on me. The auburn liquid infusing my cranium with delusions, headaches and swirls. I blink my eyelids a few times rapidly, struggling to keep myself upright.
The streets are littered with the filth of the wealthy. The people Rosalie used to be around. I tip my hat slightly over my head and stagger towards a small alleyway. A few underprivileged people peer out of their wreckages of homes, small children at their feet. Once glance at me and the parents hurry their children back inside.
They needn’t worry about me. I wouldn’t hurt their children; I wouldn’t hurt a single hair on their heads. Those children still have lives to lead, people to love and leave, people’s hearts to break. I can only hope dear little Nathaniel’s heart was not to be toyed with like mine has.
I become closer to the end of the alleyway. I can hear the shrieks of laughter rippling through the sky, coming inside a small, secluded brothel. I’d almost forgotten about this minute area. I used to come here before I met Rosalie, before my world became consumed by an obsession of one woman. This brother kept to themselves, only a few people knew its whereabouts.
“Can I help you there handsome?” I breathe in deeply before looking vaguely up the woman’s body.
I’m greeted with a small, delicate pixie face and a light complexion. Her eyes are as black as the night sky and about as wide as an owls. I watch her examine my face, searching every nook and cranny. Oh dearest Madeline, don’t you remember me? I guess time does eradicate old friends. Or did you too, like Rosalie just pretend I had never existed?
Madeline gasps and takes a small step back from me. I glance down at the filthy floor and look back up at her. Madeline tries to make herself decent and I can’t help but chuckle.
“Old habits die hard, don’t they?” Madeline bites her lip and runs her fingers through her hair.
“Robert...what happened to you?”
“I could ask you the same question,” I reply, trying to avoid the question. Madeline boldly steps towards me, grabbing one of my hands gently.
“Rosalie...she’s...she’s, dead Robert.” I try and pretend to be shocked, I let go of Madeline’s hands. How much longer must this little charade go on for? “I-I’m sorry...” Madeline trails off. She looks crushed, not once as lively as I once remember her.
“Who...who’s still here, in Whitechapel?” I ask quietly. Madeline gives me a sympathetic look.
“Edward, and he has sons now...but I’m sure they’ll be leaving...I’m not sure, but I think they are. I’m still here...and Dawn, William, Simone, I think Harrison moved...I’m not sure...and Evangeline...they’re all still here,” Madeline informs me.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
“Robert...where have you been?” Madeline asks again, I walk towards her.
“I’ve been away, thinking.” I press my lips harshly against hers; I feel her kiss back for a moment before Madeline pushes me off. I giggle slightly. “Oh come on Madeline, for old times’ sake.” Madeline shakes her head rapidly.
“N-No...you, Rosalie...I-“
“Oh that didn’t stop you all those years ago, remember? Only I declined, because I had Rosalie.” I kiss her lips again, but her response is slapping me hard across the face.
“That was a long time ago, I’m different.” I laugh.
“So am I,” I respond, I press my lips back down onto hers and stroke her neck gently. I can see a glint of sliver and Madeline goes to strike me. I grab her wrist and smile. “You wouldn’t use that on me, would you Madeline?” There’s no kindness behind the words, I’m sick of pretending, I’m sick of lies.
Madeline tries to strike again, but I twist her wrist sharply, making her shriek out in pain. I know people will be out here soon, it’s not like Rosalie where her death was subtle. Madeline had always exaggerated things...death would just be another.
I grab the knife from out of her hand and grab Madeline by the throat. She’s shaking terribly, she goes to scream but my fingers find their way to her mouth. Madeline looks up at me, terrified of what’s going on. I gently stroke her neck, bringing the dagger’s tip to the top of her neck.
And without a second thought I thrust the knife into Madeline’s neck. The dark, sickly crimson blood starts to dribble down her neck; I rip the dagger out of her throat, allowing more blood to spill. I back off quickly, trying not to get Madeline’s blood all over my clothes. I fling the dagger back into the darkness, small puddles of blood trapped in crevices in my hands.
Its good catching up with old friends.