Chapter 1

Mary Kelly

November 9, 1888

13 Miller's Court

The faint sound of clapping was heard over the rain. A young woman stepped out from behind the half closed door. The man in black spun around and placed a long thin knife up to her neck. As he did, a piece of her blonde hair fell to the ground.

"How much did you see?" he said pressing the knife harder to here throat, cutting her slightly.

"Ow!" she cried out and then began to speak again, "Everything, sir." She looked over at the mutilated body of the young prostitute, lying on the bed.

He let the knife go and the young woman wandered over to the dissected heap of flesh. The girl had watched it all. At first she was disgusted and the thought of running ran through her mind faster than she couldn't. She then decided to stay. She watched the girl die. A slit to the throat had been the cause of death, but it wasn't the cause of death that interested her. It was what he did to the body. Her chest and face were torn to shreds. The front of her hollowed body was like an empty bloodied ocean. Her organs were spread out on the bed and table; her heart was still in his hand.

"It's brilliant," she stated and put her hands on his hat, removing it so she could see his face. He was strangely attractive. He had one scar on his face, she reached out to touch it but he pulled away.

"Your Jack the Ripper, aren't you?" she smiled.

"What's it to ya, ya little bitch," he barked back, looking her straight in the eyes.

"I've seen you kill all of them," she said not breaking his stare, "You have a way with murder. It's like art to you."

"Maybe," he said getting closer, "Or maybe it's just for my sick pleasure." She smiled at his terrible sense of humor.

"Maybe," she answered while placing the hat on her head.

He didn't understand why he wasn't slitting (or already had slit) her throat. She was different; she wasn't your garden-variety piece of cockney English shit. She seemed like a lady to him, one that understood (or at least was interested in) his blood lust.

She looked back at the body again. Jeyna was never really the normal child but she was smart enough to stay out of the sanatorium and in collage. She studied anatomy there. The woman on the bed looked much like one of the test subjects that they dissected in class. Her stomach was used to the gore. Being the only woman in her class she had to act tough.

He stepped up behind her and slipped one arm around her waist, "You got yourself a name girly?"

"Jeyna Crooke," she said looking up from the body and into his pale green eyes. He was beginning to like her company. He suggested that she was a drunken prostitute, which had no idea what she had just witnessed.

"What line of work are ya in Ms. Crooke?" he asked, waiting for her to confirm his thoughts.

"Science, human anatomy, actually," he breathed a sigh of relief.

"So she's not here for money," he thought. "Me, too," he took the knife and whipped the blood from it. Then, placing it in his box and walked to the door.

"Where now?" she called after him as she left the body.

"My house," he said snatching the hat from her hands. "And your not coming either," he added in thought but refused to say.

"Thanks," she said walking outside.

"For what," he asked.

"For letting me see. I'm sure no one else knows who you are," she smiled taking the hat from his trebling hand and placing it on his head.

He in return took it off and put it back on her head, "It's a little big on ya, but it'll remind ya of me," he said beginning to walk away, "Don't let the coppers see ya with it all right!" He slumped as he walked, maybe it was to add to his character, but what ever it was she couldn't keep her eyes off him until he disappeared into the fog of the muggy London night.

Chapter 2

The Top Hat

November 9, 1888

20 Aldgate Street

Jeyna opened the paper as she bit into the strawberry from the fruit basket on the table.

"Jack the Ripper strikes again," it read, "the mutilated body of 25-year-old Mary Kelly was found in her rented bedroom. Body was in various pieces. Heart still missing."

She snickered to herself, "He must still have it." She glanced over at the top hat sitting next to the basket on the table. She picked up and hat and turned it over to look inside. As she placed her face to the hat, the smell of spices and liquor filled her nose. Who ever he was, he smelt good. Then something caught her eye.

A small label was inside, "127 Duke Street." She looked at he tag with a smile, opening it slowly.

"I knew you'd follow me again. I planned ahead. Come see me. I'm dying to see you." The note was written in red ink, her eyes moving over the letters. She meant for him to find her and that's what she intended on doing.

Chapter 3

Bath Time Visit

November 9, 1888

127 Duke Street

She reached out for the door and knocked three times. She could hear a great deal of sloshing about and moving. The door opened and she was surprised the mystery man from last night standing there in a towel, dripping on the floor. He had clearly been taking a bath.

He pushed back his lengthy black hair and smiled, "Come in, I'm glad you came," he said grabbing another towel off the table and placing it over his head.

She walked inside and took off her jacket, "Did I come at a bad time?"

He walked over to his phonograph and turned it on, "Just a little." He walked over to the sink and took out his shaving kit. He gently ran the razor over his face.

"Why did you kill them," she asked, surprising him with her question.

"I don't know," he said as he looked at her progressing reflection through the mirror.

As he looked back he suddenly moved and began to rummage around for another towel. He had cut himself. Jeyna quickly grabbed one and came to help.

"Here," she said placing it to his bleeding cheek.

"You'd think, all that you use knifes that you'd be able to shave well," she snickered. He laughed at her and sat down so she could reach his face. He took his hand away and let her look at it. She took the towel away and examined it.

"It's just a scratch," she said with faux anger. She touched his face causing shivers to go down his spine. She noticed his reaction. He slowly placed his hand over hers and closed his eyes. All at once it took her and she leaned in to get closer to him. Their lips were so close.

"No," he said pulling back, "I'm sorry, I can't."

"I know," she stood up, blushing heavily, and grabbed her jacket. "I'm sorry, I got too close," she said taking one last look at his modest house and then she was gone.

Chapter 4

Drinking

November 9, 1888

127 Duke Street

"What the fuck is wrong with me!?" he threw the blooded towel over the side of the washtub. He dropped the towel that was around his waist and slipped into the warm bath. The hot water covered his body. He sunk to the bottom, holding his breath until his lungs begged for air. He came back to the surface.

"She wanted to kiss you, Rich. Think of what else you could have gotten out of her! She practically worships you." He let his head rest on the back of the tub. Taking a puff of his cigarette, he filled up a glass with bourbon.

"Stupid bastard!" he said still clenching the fag in his teeth.

Chapter 5

My Hat

November 9, 1888

Aldgate Street

"Dammit!" she said as she walked the dirty streets of London back to her own house. People lined the sides of the street.

"Ello, da'lin'! Ow' about a bit o' fun, ey!" a drunk said reaching out to try and touch her.

"Piss off," she snarled dodging his grip and kept walking.

"Why would you do that? He kills women like you," she thought to herself, "Don't get involved. You know what he did to the others."

"Shit," she yelled as she touched her head, "I forgot my hat!"

Chapter 6

Familiar Murder

November 9, 1888

127 Duke Street

"What the bloody hell is it!" he yelled as he grabbed a pair of pants and put them on quickly. He opened the door while buttoning them up.

"Hello darling," he smiled, while lighting another cigarette.

"Hey," she said looking at the ground. He let her inside and offered her a smoke. She gladly took one and shoved it to her lips. He offered a match and she put it to the end. She took two long puffs and the adjusted her chest.

"You got money?" he asked her.

"What the hell does it look like," she said looking down at her rags, "Do you have the money?" She walked to the shelf and helped herself to a drink.

"Maybe," he said taking the glass and bottle from her hands. He placed the bottle on the shelf, took down a different one, and poured her a glass. She drank it down quickly and dropped the glass on the table.

"And now some grapes?" he reached out his hand and offered her some.

"Where did you get grapes," she squealed shoving them in her mouth.

"Egypt," he said walking up behind her and put the long surgical knife to her neck. With one swift motion she was dead.

Chapter 7

Dissection

November 9, 1888

127 Duke Street

A knock came from the door.

"What the hell do you want!" he yelled, getting up from the body. He opened the door, "Oh, it's just you."

Jeyna stepped inside and glanced over at his prey, "Why do you insist on doing this. I've only been gone for half and hour."

"Well," he looked at the whore, "I don't know." Jeyna walked over to the dissection kit next to the body.

"Can I help?" she asked, looking up at him.

"You really want to?" Jeyna took out one of the knives from the box and made a long incision down the whore's chest and began to cut inside. He watched her in amazement. She worked quicker than he did. She reached inside the body and made two cuts and then pulled out the organ. It was the girl's heart. Her hands were covered in blood from not using gloves. She tried to blow the hair out of her face but it continued to fall in her eyes. He walked up to her and tucked her hair behind her ears and took the heart from her. He walked over to the shelf and placed it in a jar.

"That was amazing darling, where did you learn?" he asked.

"I already told you that I go to collage for anatomy." She walked over to the sink and used her wrists to turn it on.

"I could do this for as long as you want," she smiled, "I have a strong stomach."

He picked up the glass jar, "It looks great, and you did wonderfully."

"Thanks," she turned off the water and used the towel to dry her hands. She saw his walking up from behind her. She stayed put. She trusted him enough to do so. He reached one arm around her and then the other, this one was holding operating gloves.

"So your hands won't get bloody again," he said giving her a peck on the cheek.

"Does he like me or not," she thought to herself as she slipped on the gloves, "Are you gonna help?"

"If you like, but it looked like you were having so much fun alone," he smirked, "I'd hate to ruin it for you."

She turned around and leaned up against the sink, "I hardly doubt that you could just watch. You wouldn't be able to contain yourself."

"True," he said as he slipped on a pair of gloves himself. He then turned around and walked over to the body. He sat down next to the body, "Well are you gonna help or not?"

She was hesitant but sat next to him, "I'll watch I suppose."

"Alright," he began by himself. She watched his every move. She was utterly speechless by the time he was finished. The product of an hours work looked like the butchers cellar.

Chapter 8

Unfamiliar Pleasure

November 11, 1888

19 Miller's Street

"Here dar'lin," he said as he placed a tankard of beer in front of her.

He took a large gulp and then slammed it down on the table, "A well deserved drink for a job well done." He signaled for the wench and she filled Jeyna's glass.

"Thank you," she said smoothing her hair back. He sat across from her and looked at her with a funny grin on her face.

"What," Jeyna snapped back and then took another sip.

"You just look funny is all…" he chuckled.

"I won't look funny when I'm standing over your dead body," she gawked back, slurring with every word she spoke.

"I doubt that," he took a drink from his own glass and smile up at her. She slowly stood up and walked to his side of the table.

She leaned over him and then sat next to him, "Look," she said as she placed a hand around his neck, her face dangerously close to his, "you already are conditioned to my touch; I could plan your murder if I wished it."

"Who do you take me for," he said allowing himself to indulge in the pleasure of her.

"Some amateur? I'm Jack the Ripper my good lady. And you," he mused, "You're just an anatomy student." She stood up sharply and slammed her cup on the table. No one noticed; it was fairly noisy in the tavern.

"How dare you," he could tell she was a bit over the edge, "You act like your this great and wonderful person, but in reality your just the ordinary stupid ass!" He took this in no offence and took another sip of his beer.

"Listen, my darling-"

"Don't you call me darling, you don't have a darling. Hell you don't have a heart!" He stood up from the table and walked directly up to her.

She wasn't afraid of his and showed no sign of backing away, "You don't give a damn about any one or anything. You're a heartless bastard," she snapped at him.

"I never show anyone my heart. So how would you know," he said bringing himself closer to her.

"Because you know you want to kiss me. I know it, but you don't. You show no courage. Maybe if you did then you wouldn't be so odd," he drew himself even closer as she spoke, taking her shoulders forcefully into his hands.

"Sadly you have no way of showing it," she snapped.

"And let me go!" she said, baring her teeth. She pulled one of her shoulder free and slapped him sharply across the cheek.

"You've had to much to drink," he said taking her forcefully by the arms.

"No I haven't! Let me go!," she yelled as she struggled from his grasp.

"Jeyna, just relax," he said, beginning to stroke her shoulder.

"I'm- I'm ok," she said. She took a step backwards and then moved in to catch her balance. She never made it to his arms for she fainted before their bodies had a chance to touch.

Chapter 9

Alone in the House

November 12, 1888

127 Duke Street

There was a sharp pain in the back of her head of Jeyna. She looked around and noticed the room was unfamiliar.

"This isn't my home," she thought to herself, "Where am I, what happened?" She had a million questions and only one possible answer. Jack. He brought her here. It was his home.

"Does he want to kill me," she thought. She got up out the large oak bed and felt around for the oil lamp. She finally found it and lit it. As she shielded her eyes from the light she noticed a note on the table. It read;

"My Dearest Jeyna,

I'm afraid I'll be gone for a while, off on business you know. Make your self at home. My house is your house. Your welcome to look around if you wish. Food is in cooling box and the liquor is in glass the cabinet. Hope you enjoy yourself.

Richard"

"So I finally know his real name," she smiled to herself. She walked out to the large room at the center of his house; a living room of sorts with a large washtub off to the side.

"Well it's not much but it's good enough for me," she said to herself, stroking the banister leading to the staircase. She led herself down it, being careful not to fall; she was still a bit woozy. When she got downstairs her bad habits took over again as she opened the liquor cabinet. She took out a large bottle of brownish liquid and then sat down on the sofa. She sprawled herself across the sofa and took a gulp of what only god knows what.

After finishing the bottle she walked over to a large door.

"It must be his room," she thought. She turned the doorknob slowly and then pushed through the door. She opened it upon a large bedroom with little to no light. It was beautiful in all of its magnitude. She reached over to his deck and lit the oil lamp, which had a deep and shining gold color as the light hit it, which sat upon a large map of the city. She lifted it up to reveal various places that he had pin pointed on it, murder sites, she suspected. "How does he do it," she said allowed. She turned to the wall the left. It was lined with shelves from the ceiling to the floor. On these shelves were jars, home of organs long unfit for human or animal use. Yet, there was no smell of rotting or dead flesh, only the smell of men's' aftershave or cologne. The dim light coming from behind the shelf caused them to look like they were glowing and upon inspection she found that they were are floating in their own share of embalming fluid. These were the organs he collected; strange hobby, she though, although everyone had their perks.

She turned around her toe was formally introduced to the bedpost. It hurt something bad but she paid it no mind. Even though no one was there, she didn't want to let any emotions go in this place. And for the life of her she couldn't even remember what had happened the night at the tavern. Did something unwanted happen in this bed or the one she had slept in? Unwanted wouldn't have been the world she would have used, her attractions to him were obvious and with the addition of a glass or two of her choice beverage, it might have been the proper equation for a night of fun for Mr. Ripper. She had no idea what happened or where it happened, if it even did. She placed her hand on the bed and felt the smooth velvet. Had she wanted that to happen? She didn't know for certain what she felt like she wanted. Everything in this damned house seemed like an alternate reality to her, like she had fallen threw a mirror in to wonderland, where the main attraction was a man that killed for pleasure, or fun. She felt a mixture of feelings as the she hit a brick wall.

"Did I sleep with him? Did I want to? Do I want to sleep with him," so many questions flooded her mind. It was too much. Regardless whether she wanted to admit it or not, she was in his room and something might have happened besides murder, a cup of tea, and dinner. Maybe she was the dinner. Why hadn't he killed her? Maybe he favored her. Whatever it was her stomach was beginning to feel sickly in this room, with its emerald velvet bed and secluded and seductive walls. She wanted to leave.

Chapter 10

Familiar Surroundings

November 18, 1888

127 Duke Street

She had survived the loneliness of the old house for almost a week now. She knew for sure now that the note hadn't been a clever ruse devised as bait for his clever trap. At first she had thought maybe he didn't kill her because he preferred to kill the conscious. The live bait always made animals go batty. She considered him an animal, even though he really had never done much to hurt her. She wasn't the hunted. She knew this now.

She freely knew her way around the grounds of his house now and could get a glass of brandy in her sleep if she wished. The organs and the smell of the sweet perfume of death had become accustomed to her nose. She didn't mind the stench now. Unlike his room the sitting area was much more obvious that it had seen its share of the black shroud that filled his life. The body of the girl he had dissected was all gone now. It had been there when she came to. She thought maybe he brought her here to fix up the place. She cleaned up the blood and washed the woman's clothing. She fancied the dress something awful. For a whore she dressed well. She wore the dress. It was a bit tight around the bosom but it fit nonetheless, and she was sure Richard wouldn't mind. She did after all keep his secret. She didn't regret it either. Getting all the nice things his victims carried.

"I guess I deserve all of this," she said to herself, examining the dress in the pale light of the oil lamp in her room. She twirled the rouge fabric and lifted it to reveal her stockings. She did like dressing up. The dress was lucky. She insisted that he removed it before the dirty operation began. No cuts or blood ruined it. It was rather strange to be wearing the clothing of the dead but she figured she wouldn't be wearing it any time soon, and her breasts wouldn't fill it out as well anymore (they were in a jar after all).

Chapter 11

A Day Out

November 20, 1888

London, England

"I'm sorry to disappoint you sir but I don't have that much money," she said placing her purse on the counter.

"It's the finest silver. I can't give it to you for less that a nine pounds."

"Well I ain't got that kind of money," she was beginning to get angry with him. He didn't even want to bargain.

"Of course we have that kind of money, my pet." She heard long footsteps come up behind her and then she felt to cold hands run along her exposed shoulder. She spun around quickly to see the face of Richard. He was wearing stunning cloak, along with a top hat.

"Did I miss church dearest?" he asked. She was stunned at his comment but the clerk was right there.

"No darling, we're going tonight. You don't need to buy me this," she said holding up the silver necklace chain with an emerald attached to it.

"Don't worry about it, sweetheart, you can pay me back," he leaned in and gently brushed his lips against her neck. She enjoyed it while it lasted; a part of her even wanted more, but then she remembered the last time she saw him. Visions of that night played in her head. She couldn't talk to him or act like that unless she knew about what happened that night.

"Yes, I suppose I shall," she said placing a warning look upon her face.

Richard was slightly embarrassed but he cleared his throat and began to speak, "Here, nine pounds" He handed the clerk a small pouch and took the necklace from his hands.

They walked along the street back to the house. The same beggars and street wanderers and horrible perverts still walked along the same streets.

Then he stopped by a coach, "Go ahead and get in. It's fine."

She was reluctant to get on; wasn't this how he lured his victims? "It's all right, kitten, I won't hurt you," he said taking her hand. She stepped up on the cart and sat down. He followed and sat next to her, as she suspected he would.

"Here, let me help," he reached out and took the diamond-crested necklace from her hands. He made her nervous but she lifted her hair and let him clasp it around her neck. It was a choker, how appropriate. The emerald gems were speckled every so often on the band and a silver chain dangled down her neck. He let it fall down the back of her neck.

He looked down at her bare back and wished he could touch her but he just couldn't. How could he? She never trusted him. She looked so soft and pale. He reached out his hand and touched the middle of her back and slowly traced her spine upwards until he reached her shoulders. She knew she should have stopped him but she was enjoying far more than he. He leaned down and kissed her shoulder.

"Don't stop," she whispered in a musty voice. He did as he was told and continued up her shoulder to the back of her neck. She turned around so he could reach her better. As the carriage began to move he moved in closer. Jeyna looked up at his eyes; they looked to full of desire, as did hers. She didn't know what to do. She had just led the poor man on.

"Thank you," she said placing a hand on her necklace. He only smiled and leaned in closer forcing her against the apposing wall. She held off as long as she could but then her feelings took over. He leaned in closer, and then the carriage went over a pothole. Jeyna fell off the seat and Richard hit his head on the ceiling. As he rubbed his head he whispered curses.

"Sorry!" the driver said, tapping on the carriage top.

"Thanks for nuthin ya dumbass!" she screamed back.

She looked up at Richard awkwardly and then smiled as he offered his hand to lift her off the floor. The carriage came to a halt and there was a knock at the door.

"We're here sir," the footman stated. Richard opened the door, and her own house greeted Jeyna.

"Do you wanna come inside," Jeyna asked politely. He nodded and followed her to the oak door. She didn't know why she invited him in, her intentions weren't polite at all, then again neither were his. It was beginning to become obvious that Jeyna was very much attracted to him. She opened the door and they both looked inside the dark house, not knowing exactly what was to happen next.

Chapter 12

Unexpected Visitor

November 20, 1888

London, England

Jeyna pushed herself through the wide door and stepped into the dark house; her footsteps sending a melodic rapping upon the wooden floor. She smiled at the couch and approached it slowly. The moonlit offered as a path around the room until she reached the oil lamp and turned the knob. The pale blue fire lit the room. She sat down next to the table on the sofa and curled up tightly.
Richard turned and locked the door, then joined her on the sofa. He glanced over towards her neck and smirked at the necklace. He felt content knowing he put it there.

She smiled back towards him, knowing he put it there. She reached up and touched her neck, feeling the small gems beneath her fingertips.

"Richard," she smiled, "You didn't have to buy

me this."

"I know, but I wanted to"
She leaned in and rested her head on his shoulder, "Thank you."
Richard's ear narrowed quickly, looking over at the mantle.

"What's wrong?" Jeyna said looking up at him quickly. Then she

looked up to the mantel, the shadow of a human figure. Her eyes grew wide

and she gaped at the shadow, slightly afraid to turn around.

"Oh god," she whispered, feeling her body go numb.
"Jeyna?!" the voice said in disbelief. Richard looked back to her and

raised an eyebrow, Jeyna returning the worried look. They both turned to see who exactly it was. Jeyna's eyes grew wide in recognition. It was Teddy. She raised an eyebrow towards him. She looked over towards Richard and gave him a knowing glance.

"Hello Theodore," she said seductively, getting up from the sofa. She slowly slinked over to him and touched his cheek lightly, smiling up at him. She knew Theodore well. He was always there for her and up until now, her for him. He loved her something terrible and when she'd been missing for so long he went looking for her. Theodore wasn't nicest looking of all people, but he was kind, and he could give her a good home and family.
He slowly looked down at her teary–eyed and red and touched her cheek slowly.

"I thought you were dead, the entire family's looking for Jeyna," he spoke softly.

"H-how did you find me Theo," she whimpered, glancing up into his eyes. She loved him too, and she couldn't help herself. She's known him so long that it was hard not to have feelings for the unkempt-looking man. Then she looked back at Richard, his eyes burning hot. She stared back at him for a moment and realized how jealous she was making him. Although, he was really the only one in the situation that didn't know what Jeyna was thinking entirely. She smiled sweetly at his grimace and turned back towards Theodore, her hands holding a shiny metal object in her small hands.

"How did you find me here?" she asked, looking desperate. The trick was to make him think she was trapped and then turn on him. Jeyna, having to deal with men on a daily basis, knew that men were stupid and you had to stroke their ego. Theodore was no different.

"I saw you at the jewelry shop with that thing," she growled, pointing at Richard, "I followed you here, I'm coming to take you home." He grabbed her arm protectively and she pulled her arm away. Her hand flung quickly to his cheek, the blade slashing his skin, and he gasped for air, a burning sensation stinging his stomach. His lips were colored with red as if he'd just drank a glass of wine, but the liquor pouring from his neck and lips was of much greater value than some cheep poisoned drink. A twisted smile curled upon her lips, as he felt helpless to the ground.

"I'm sorry darling," she said, her voice cracking as unexplained tears took up root in her eyes. Richards helpless glace melted into a hellish smirk. He slowly approached her as her love lay dieing on the wooden floor.

"I had no idea what you were up too," he chuckled, holding her around the stomach. He leaned over her shoulder and began kissing her neck. What ever had gotten into Jeyna was now all too familiar and all too strong. Her body began to burn with this feeling of hate and disgust for the heap on the ground.

"I hate you," she muttered, throwing the knife to the ground, it stabbing him in the chest. They final breath of escaped his lips as Jeyna turned to Richard, crushing her lips forcefully against his. This was getting all too out of hand. Her bloody hands were placed to his cheeks, smearing the crimson fluid against his unshaven skin. She pulled away quickly, dropping next to the body. Pulling his shirt open, she pulled the knife from his ribs. Her hands moved quickly, slashing the warm flesh from his bones. As she worked Richard moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her stomach. He loved her so, this creature he'd created. Everything she was now was all because of him. He could take life as easily as give a new.

He kissed her softly, countering her rash and violent actions, the tension in the room building by the second.

"I love you Jey," he murmured into her flesh. He could feel her hot pulse against his lips. He smiled lightly as she looked down at the body. He'd never seen someone, other than himself, mangle anything so quickly. Theodore was no longer was he used to be. He was only flesh and blood now; nothing else to cling to the exposed bones other than air. She finally stopped, her heart pounding in her neck.

"I love you too," she panted, dropping the knife over the body. Her eyes closed tightly, the fire dwindling to ashes in her chest. Slowly she took something from the body and held it in her hand. The red flesh of the man's kidney pulsed within her hand.

"Can I cook dinner tonight," she suggested, looking up at him.

Chapter 13

The Last Dance

November 21, 1888

127 Duke Street

The blood trickled down her cheeks, her eyes burning in the hot light of the candles. This room seemed so familiar behind those red eyes. These glasses of every organ possible to dream and now she cradled her own. It felt as if her grave were being blessed by this ritual she chanted. Her small figure sat on the bed as she glanced down at the heart of Theodore. It was such a lovely heart; red and pulsating. Richard looked over at her from the chair in which he sat in the corner of the room. Glancing over her body, he found his own beginning to tingle and churn. His eyes slowly sweltered to black as he lingered closer to her. Every second seemed a year; it was just too much.

Without warning his hands were on her shoulders, his lips pressed against her neck. He grabbed the necklace from her neck, pulling it from her body and nipped at her neck, pulling her hard against him. Jeyna lay back against him, the heart thudding between her fingers. The tearing sound was next as her petticoat was pulled away, and then her shirt, and finally everything was gone. Holding the heart in her hand, she smeared the blood over her soft skin and pulled him down to her. His tongue played tricks over shoulders and chest, licking the fresh blood from her skin. Slowly she did the same for him, removing his clothes and smearing his bare chest with the blood. The salt of his sweat along with the blood fed her nicely and she feasted until she was content.

What came next was hot and passionate and rugged and warm. He slowly leaned in over her body, pulling her legs apart forcefully. A squeal of pain escaped her lips as he pushed deep inside her. Behind black eyes all there was, was lust and pain, forcing her body to conform to his. His smooth, slow, and comforting motions quickly turned to blood-boiling rage. His heart pounded in his chest as he thrusted himself in and out of her as quickly as he could. The fire between them began to burn as the ashes of her soul turned black with hate. Like a disease, the anguish was spread from one to another, and as their bodies braced over in one final moment of pleasure, it was over and the fires of hell had consumed this innocent girl.

Chapter 14

The Taste of Blood

November 22, 1888

127 Duke Street

The taste of blood lingered on her lips, her eyes fluttering open. The room was dark, but she knew she wasn't alone this time. She smiled lightly remembering dinner and the following events. She dragged her palm down his chest, her head placed on his shoulder gently. After everything was over, they had cleaned up the bloody mess, but there was still that fire. That was gone now, but she knew that fire would always return for him. Jeyna would always have a heated passion dwelling in her heart for Richard, and even though she knew what he'd done, she knew what he'd done to her as well. And even though Jeyna was insane, she couldn't well forget him, especially not now; after all that they'd done. She was in love with Richard and he loved her as well.

Both of them had taught each other one thing or another. Richard had learned to love another person other than himself, and Jeyna had learned to live her life as she'd always fantasized about. She was the lover of a killer, and as she laid there, on her love, she swore to herself that she'd never leave him, not for anything in the world. He's given her all that she'd ever want and she would be more insane than he if she left such a man. Her heart was now his and she'd taken his back in return.

He's given her all that she'd ever want and she would be more insane than he if she left such a man. Her heart was now his and she'd taken his back in return. And now as she looked down at his body, he looked almost pure. The red blood that soaked the black sheets was now his own. The killer has become his own victim. In creating the beast that lived in Jeyna's soul, he created a murderer, one whom he trusted. You should never trust a murderer; that's just silly. That's where Richard when wrong.

"Oh Richard," she muttered softly, "Look at you now. You're so handsome. So bare." Her face was blank; just a hysterical smile, glancing over his body. His heart was still in her hands; pulsating. It was still beating in her eyes. He was alive. She got up slowly from the bed and placed his heart in a jar.

"G'morning, my love. Was it good for you," she breathed softly, tapping the glass, the heart still beating and thudding on the glass. With one soft motion a pain struck her innards. She glanced down at the knife in her side, her eyes still wide and red.

"Oh look, I forgot to put that on the night stand. Silly me, Jack. We should have that fixed in no time." The black and red vision slowly began to fade. Her hands dragging against the wall, the glasses falling out and to the ground. The sweet scent of death and blood; gore and hell filled the room. She slumped over on the ground, her eyes closing gently.

"Good night, Jack," she cried softly, falling back on the ground.