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Craig Ramsey woke with a start from his dreaming. A thumping sound filled his head, which ached as though crushed under a truck. What kind of dream was that?
But the knocking didn't stop from waking, and he realised it was someone at the front door. Craig rose from his bed, rubbing his weary head, and trudged out to answer. Who the hell would visit at this time of night?
Emily, too, appeared and waited near the front door as Craig approached it. "A visitor from the past," she said. "Friendly."
With a nod, Craig unlocked the door and opened it to see a tall man he hadn't seen in nearly twenty years. "Khan! What -"
"Listen, Craig, this is important," the mysterious stranger replied. "Jack is back!"
Who? What? Craig's head still felt muddled.
Khan pushed past Craig without waiting for an invitation to enter, striding straight to the lounge-room. In a fluid motion, he whipped off his leather jacket and tossed the garment neatly upon a nearby coat-rack without looking.
"Make yourself at home," Craig intoned, a wry smile crossing his lips as Khan flopped into an armchair. "Would you like a drink?"
Khan nodded and looked towards Emily. "A double schnapps, please, madame."
The phantasmic lady glared at Khan and refused to move. "Do I look like hired help to you?" she retorted. "Get it yourself, you great ape"
Khan scowled back with dark eyes piercing Emily. Craig held his breath, waiting and wondering, until both Emily and Khan laughed aloud at each other. Emily floated forward, giving the large man an ethereal kiss upon the cheek while Khan stood to hug her back. They couldn't connect physically, but Craig realised something he didn't know.
"The two of you have met before?"
"Yes," Khan responded as Emily floated away towards the liquor cabinet. "Decades before your birth, Craig. But I dropped by six weeks ago too."
"Don't you remember me telling you, Craig?" Emily confirmed, returning with a large bottle of Schnapps and a glass. Khan took the bottle, twisted the top off and drank loudly from the vessel.
Craig shook his head. "Perhaps. But I was busy." He took the glass from Emily, found a brandy next to his own armchair, and poured himself a measure. "Khan, who is Jack?"
"Jack," Khan responded, "was the scourge of Whitechapel. I had a run-in with him, or I should say 'her', many years ago in 1888. At the time, we thought he -"
Craig shook his head, uncertain if he heard Khan correctly. "Her? And how can he, I mean she, be back?"
Khan's annoyed glance silenced Craig. "If you would allow me to continue, I can tell you." He slugged some Schnapps. "Years ago, while on my way to visit a particular contact, I chanced upon a man and a woman fighting in a Whitechapel alley. Her screaming was loud enough to summon the police, but no authorities could hear her. The fog was thick enough to distort the sound. And the streets were dark." Khan took a breath and another swallow. "Well, when I ran to aid her, it turned out she needed no help. Indeed, the man did. She had killed him with a large Liston. By the time I realised that, she -"
"She killed you," Craig answered, his voice trailing as he recalled parts of his dream. "Is that right?"
"You must quit interrupting me, Mr Ramsey," Khan responded, raising an eyebrow. "It's rude. As I was saying, she killed me. You know I'm immortal and can spring back to life, but the resurrection takes time. By the time I awoke, the authorities had taken me to the local morgue. A doctor was about to cleave me from sternum to stomach. The poor chap dropped in a dead faint when I asked if it would hurt."
Craig smiled having witnessed firsthand Khan's ability to regenerate himself, thanks to a wish granted centuries earlier by a rogue genie named Azriel.
"Are you telling me this woman is Jacqueline the Ripper, not Jack?" Craig asked.
Khan finished the bottle, burped, and set the empty bottle on the side table. "Not only that, Craig," he answered. "The bitch is as immortal as me."
"Have you seen her?" Emily asked, glancing towards Craig and at his eyes. Her telepathic voice spoke in Craig's mind. The poor man. I wonder if he wants to catch her for another reason.
Craig nodded, understanding Emily's point that Khan was a lonely man. Immortality wasn't a blessing for him. Azriel's granting of the wish proved as much a curse as Khan had endured watching his loved ones die many times, never seeing them alive again.
Khan smiled, watching Craig and Emily, and his face turned grim. "You doubt me. I suppose it's natural. I've met no one else who lived for more than my one thousand years. But I swear to you, by my soul, this woman is still alive today." He stopped to look around, his gaze fixing upon the liquor cabinet; Craig nodded with a "Help yourself" expression, and Khan rose from his seat to walk towards the drinks.
"But first, when I resurrected in the morgue, I noticed another cadaver next to mine. It belonged to my friend, Turner, the Cockney I needed to - Yes, Craig? I see you want to interrupt. What would you like to know?"
Craig was apologetic. "Did you just say 'Turner'?" He looked at Emily who shrugged non-committally. "Did he happen to be a pickpocket and raise children in his gang?"
Khan thought for a moment. "Why, yes, I believe he taught children the art. And he inspired such loyalty from them. Do you know him?"
"Perhaps," Craig leaned closer as Khan returned with a large bottle of vodka from which he drank straight.
"As I was saying," Khan continued, "when I saw my dead friend, I realised something more. This was the man I saw fighting the woman in the street. She had killed him a moment before I struck him down. I immediately felt saddened for selfish reasons... He promised information that could lead to curing my affliction."
Craig remained silent. Khan swigged more vodka before sighing and gazing at the bottle's contents as though lost in thought. Craig wanted to tell him about his dream and his connection with Turner, but waited. Did this relate to the present murders and, if so, how? As far as Craig knew, the psychotic killer killed women - not men.
Khan continued: "My only chance lay in his cohort, Bosworth, who could take me to their gang leader. Perhaps he could lead me to the information Turner's death denied me. So, being naked, I liberated the unconscious undertaker's person of his clothing and hurried back to Whitechapel where I'd last met the gang."
"Bosworth accommodated me and had heard of Turner's demise through the urchins. Nothing happened in Whitechapel, or anywhere else in East London, without the Workhouse Swig gang knowing. They and a rival group, The High Rip gang, came under blame when one of the Ripper's victims, Emma Smith, met her demise. This came about because Emma had visited a doctor before her untimely death and mentioned being attacked by a group of youths. While the High Rip gang could have attacked her, I find it unlikely as they usually attacked sailors and dockers of the time; their three R's involved random violence, robbery, and revenge killings. Their main weapon of choice was knives, which brought the authorities obvious blame in the beginning, but they also used leather belts as a lethal weapon. But, as I said, I doubted the High Rip gang's guilt in the deaths of all those women because they were family.
"Bosworth's gang, almost as well known as a gang of delinquents known as The Lemon Street Gang, weren't known for their violence. Most of the Workhouse Swiggers gang comprised urchins, children of prostitutes who either abandoned them or couldn't look after them because of their work. They dealt with smaller crimes - pick-pocketing mostly and burglary. Much of their loot came from strangers in the streets, but on occasion, they specialised in grand theft and acquired many pieces from wealthy citizens, including esoteric items.
"That is how I came to approach the Workhouse Swiggers. As you know, I've been searching the past five hundred years for two special items: a mask of Egyptian origin and a lamp that King Solomon owned. Legend says the mask can undo time, reverse things that happened, and the lamp holds the Father of all Genies. Either one of those artefacts can reverse my immortal affliction, caused by my foolhardy wishes with Azriel.
"Bosworth knew as much about the items as Turner, it seems, and he pointed me towards an address on the other side of London. There, he said, I would find the mask. A fence named Darling who lived in the unlikely area of Marylebone; Gloucester Place, if I remember correctly. But I could be wrong. As immortal as my memory is, some things still escape me.
"But I remember the house itself. Behind its short brick wall fence with the decorative wrought iron piece on top stood a stunted tree, naked of leaves for London was approaching winter. The gate was on the property's corner, and rosebushes lined the path that ran alongside the house's front windows. The interior drawing room's lights blazed, but I saw no one. But I knew someone had to be home. No one left the lights on, and if Mr Darling wasn't home, surely a servant would be present.
"When I reached the front door, tingles ran up my spine. Most long-lived men tell me their longevity came from listening to such a premonition. To me, it means as much. Danger. For when I saw the door sitting ajar, a black cat standing in wide-eyed startlement at my appearance, that sensation nearly overcame me.
"In those days, I often carried my faithful sword or a smaller one, but that night I entered unarmed. The door squeaked on its hinges as I pressed my way in, but I continued anyway with my ears pricked for any noise. No sound reached me, save for the terrified cat's hurried passage into the cold night.
"Inside, everything seemed fine. A tall clock stood nearby, its pendulum dutifully counting time like a metronome. Was the master of the house home?
"No. My senses told me something else. Someone was there, besides me, and he or she was intruding too. The sound of their hushed breathing whispered through the air, tempered with my heartbeat's excitement. My fingers found the welcoming texture of polished wood and wrapped around an umbrella. Although not as effective as my faithful sword, the umbrella's solid handle could prove useful for striking a temple, and the tip as a stabbing point. A master of swordplay could turn it from an inefficient slapping device into a decent weapon.
"With my brandished umbrella, I waited outside the door and listened. The intruder was searching for something. Had he heard me too? Curiosity gripped me. Who were they? Did they have the mask in their possession? At last the person stopped searching. A faint voice reached my ears; the words escaped me but sounded remorseful. How puzzling.
"Throwing caution to the wind, I stepped from my hiding place around the corner to stand in the corner. The intruder caught the sound of my boots on the carpet, the squeak of the floorboard, and whirled to face me. I'm not sure who was most surprised. Me... or her! What was she doing there?
"Yes, it was she who had killed me. I recognised the soulful brown eyes, deep as mysterious pools and filled with menace. Dressed as a man, her speed astounded me. In a fluid motion, her lithe figure reached to her waist and flung a knife towards my throat. But I caught it by the handle, its blade less than an inch from my throat, and threw it back at its owner.
"She moved fast. The knife sliced through the air, vibrated as it stuck in the wall, and a piece of her long raven tresses floated to the floor. I've seen no one move that fast before. In a moment, she advanced upon me, throwing exotic punches and kicks at me. Through all my travels across the world, I had never seen such martial art moves. Judo, Kenpo, even Ninjutsu. It was all of these and something else, something more. My own reflexes saved me from some blows, but more often than not, she connected with me. Luck, however, was on my side, and I circled around her and manoeuvred her towards the wall. But she saw through me and dropped to her knees, aiming a punch where even my immortality can't protect me.
"The pain in my groin startled me, I wanted to vomit, and my assailant took the advantage. Somehow I flailed a hand out to catch her, tripping her foot, and her shoulder hit the door on the way out. No sooner had I stood, I saw the woman dashing down the hall towards the front door. It slammed and her hurried footsteps vanished in the night.
"All I had were the bruises from her blows to my face, shoulders, and torso to remind me of her. The memories of her athletic display and exotic looks. I've never seen a woman in Britain fight like that.
"Perhaps I should have chased after the woman. But I wanted to check on Darling. It didn't take long. There, in a pool of blood, lay the poor man. He was sitting up in a corner of the room, on the floor, with his legs before him and his head on his lap. A long dagger, its handle engraved with ornate pictures of something resembling Greek gods, protruded from his chest. Exotic weapons were nothing new to me. But the likes of this, I had never seen before. I pulled hard on the dagger, expecting resistance from the body's suction, but it came away easily, thanks to holes and grooves in its blade - part of its design.
"A gurgling sound bubbled from the corpse's severed neck, making me jump in surprise. The body twitched, and a thick grey cloud erupted from it, swirling and turning in the surrounding air. For a moment, I felt as though eyes watched me from the smoky mass before it passed through the wall and disappeared.
"How strange! It reminded me of the first time I encountered Azriel in the bottle. But it felt worse, forbidding. The horrible sensation lingered over me as I watched the body drop back to the floor in a heap.
"Knocking at the front door jolted my senses. Voices reached me, calling out for me to open the door. Footsteps moved around the front of the house, and I heard a whistle blowing with urgency. The police!
"The dagger felt warm in my hand, and I felt a guilty surge overcome me. I couldn't open to door for the authorities who would ask too many questions. Their logic wouldn't understand since the media was howling for answers to the Ripper cases. And I was a stranger in London. Easy to blame.
"So I rushed upstairs, ignoring the incessant banging and whistle-blowing, and found a window. But it was no use. While a tree stood outside the window, five officers stood at its bottom. They didn't know I was upstairs, and I could have surprised them into submission, but not before they called for help. I had only one other option.
"The fireplace. It took me five minutes to scale from inside the flue up the chimney, being careful not to drop the chimney pots and alert the officers below. And there I sat in the cold darkness, mist billowing from my mouth and nose as I waited and listened. A full hour passed. I cursed the woman, the magnificent warrior who had evaded me twice now. And I wondered about the dagger now fastened to my belt with a cord.
"I needed to investigate it, learn more about the curious blade, its power and what it symbolised. And I knew just the man to tell me."
Craig had been leaning forward while listening with rapt attention to Khan's story. In the years he'd known Khan, Craig had rarely heard accounts of the immortal's past; this was a treat. Eight empty bottles sat beside Khan's feet. If there was one thing the tall man loved, it was a drink while story-telling.
"And what did you learn about the dagger?"
Khan peered into a bottle that once held Southern Comfort and sighed before tipping it upside down above his upturned open mouth. A solitary drop fell upon his waiting tongue, and he placed the bottle on the floor next to its other fallen comrades. "I took it to a friend of mine, a man whose name you may know: Reginald Ramsey the second."
The eyebrows on Craig's face raised in surprise. "An ancestor of mine?"
A smile crept across Khan's face along, contrasting with his narrowing eyes. "By your reaction, I believe you never guessed my previous involvement in your family."
Craig shook his head, curiosity growing. In all his life, Craig had heard little about his father's side of the family, having been raised by his mother's sister. He looked towards Emily, who was taking an interest in some dust on the DVD library, brushing it away with a rag. The ghost cast a quick glance at them before resuming her task. Craig glimpsed Khan in a thoughtful expression watching the Scottish lady too. Sensing Craig's gaze, Khan turned back towards him.
"Yes, Reginald is your great-great-grandfather and was active within a particular society interested in, shall we say, exotic items and history," Khan explained, casting another glance towards Emily who was now hurrying off towards another part of the house. He opened his mouth, as though to say something else, paused, and turned towards Craig. "Reginald was beside himself when I showed the dagger to him. He recognised the symbols in an instant, which surprised me. But a lot of things surprise me about humans. For instance, I have lived since the eleventh century and possess time in abundance. I have witnessed many things, even some events not recorded in history despite their importance and influence upon everyday life. Yet some mortals, having lived for only fifty-to-sixty years accumulate knowledge rivalling my own. Reginald's knowledge staggers me."
"And what did you learn about the dagger?"
Khan sighed, eyeing off the liquor cabinet, his thoughts trailing. Despite having imbibed enough alcohol to kill an elephant, Khan's speech and actions had not suffered. "Not a lot. Reginald told me the symbols on it were old, older than those found in Sumerian ruins. I wonder if it's as old as Azriel's bottle, maybe older. Although I think differently today, we concluded the woman may have been an adventurer or archaeologist. Or something else. The question came into her involvements in the killings."
Craig eyed the clock on the wall and saw it was a quarter to midnight. Khan wasn't ready to slow down; he stood and walked towards a bookshelf, fingered the spine of one, and turned back towards his host and said, "That is until nearly a century later when I saw her again."
"The search for my immortality's cure had taken me around the world three times in those many years. Two world wars each delayed me, including a time when Adolf Hitler's men captured me in Poland. I'd been imprisoned for a few years while his scientists studied my affliction. I could have escaped sooner, but part of me thought they might succeed in finding a cure. They didn't, and when the Allies released me, I had the devil of a time destroying all evidence of the research. But that's another story.
"In 1971, my journey took me to Yorkshire. Once again murders were taking place, and yes, you can guess the name. The police believe it was a man named Peter Coonan, also known as Peter William Sutcliffe. The press came up with the name of The Yorkshire Ripper. If there's one thing I learned while watching human civilisation. Their imaginations have declined since the heady heights achieved in the 1700s to 1930. They can think of nothing original and have to rip - pardon the pun - names from the past.
"Such an incredible coincidence though. The murdered women were prostitutes again. Coonan used their services regularly, it seems, but I know he wasn't the only one.
"One night, while walking the streets to clear my head, I came across another mugging. Can you imagine my sense of déjà vu? The screams, the scuffling in the foggy darkness, the sickly sound of a blade penetrating flesh. Muggings in English towns are common, particularly around Liverpool and Leeds. I would have let it pass if a turning car's headlights hadn't shone upon the scene.
"There she was! Just as lovely a picture as I remembered. Long, black, wavy hair in a style common to the time. Her high cheek-bones and smooth skin. The clothes were different. In fact, she wore something like leggings and a long coat. As the headlights passed, she glanced in my direction and the recognition upon her face told me everything.
"I shouted, but she had already dropped the person to the ground and run in the opposite direction. The thrill of the chase excited me nearly as much as my other thoughts. The woman had not aged a day since I grappled with her in 1888. Amazing. Was she immortal too?
"Pausing long enough to ensure the victim was indeed dead, I dashed after the lady, following her echoing footsteps through the foggy streets. Her feet flew fast, tapping quick staccato steps in time with her hurried breathing. My heart hammered too as I gained ground.
"It took me five blocks before I dared reach my finger for her collar. I felt her hair graze my hand, but I missed. All I grabbed was her long leather jacket as she escaped into the darkness like a will-o'-the-wisp.
"Despite my failure, I couldn't help smiling. Yes, the woman had vanished again, but I knew I wasn't alone in the world. But such a shame. Why did I share my immortality with a soulless killer of victims in the dark alleys of England?
"The police were already at the murder scene when I returned. One of them stopped me upon sight, asking my name and identification. Rather than create suspicion, I answered their questions. Yes, I did hear something. Running in the opposite direction. No, it looked like a woman. I gave her details but otherwise kept myself out of the picture as much as possible. If the police were looking for her, perhaps they may lead me to her and I could learn the secret of her immortality. Had she stolen the item I wanted from Mr Darling nearly a century ago? If so, I needed it, and any help would prove valuable.
"Nothing came of it though. Sutcliffe came out. Something tells me he's just a confessor. Yes, he'd been involved with the women murdered by the 'Yorkshire Ripper', but he would have confessed to anything, and he still does today. What I haven't figured out is how he knows so much when I'm certain that woman is the killer."
Craig's eyelids threatened to collapse and surrender his eyeballs from their sockets. The dry redness on the edges stung, and his head hurt from fatigue. But his mind ticked. "How do you know the woman killed the women?"
Khan's right eyebrow raised as he looked upward. Craig wondered if Khan had even considered that question before.
"My point of asking," Craig explained, "is her appearance could be circumstantial evidence. If you see a bloody knife next to a dead man, you can't assume the knife killed him; it might be his enemy's blood on the blade."
Khan shook his head in disagreement. "There is more, my friend. Just a week ago, here, in Statton, I learned more. You may be aware of the media's reports of recent murders in this city?"
Craig nodded, thinking of Brianna's work and their discussion the other day. He glanced at his watch.
"I will not keep you too much longer, Craig," Khan promised. "On this particular night, I was in your nightclub district, for my pure pleasure this time." He took a breath allowed a smile. "I'm immortal, you know. Not dead. I had left the nightclub on Bank Street when I chanced to see one of the dancers leave her workplace. My eye was upon her when something else caught my attention. Another man was following her. I knew of the killings and thought I might be of assistance. But I hung back too, in case it was pure coincidence, or circumstantial as you suggest. Then something occurred to me. The man, who was dressed in a long leather jacket, didn't have the stiff-hipped walk of a man. Instead, the person's hips swayed like one of those Victoria's Secret models one sees strutting the catwalk. The first woman walked through an alley, probably as a shortcut, or maybe she intended to escape her pursuer.
"A bus drove by then, obscuring my vision for a second, and when it was gone, the stalker had vanished too. So I ran towards the alley, and there I heard a commotion from the alley. Stabbing sounds, the ripping of the blade's withdrawal from the flesh, struggling against the vacuum. A man shouted, two women screamed. Struggles. Then a sound like something spitting in anger, a large cat perhaps. Another scream.
"When I reached the source of the calamity, it had all finished. My immortal heart could have stopped. There, before me, she stood, wiping her blade upon the man's corpse. Nearby lay the female dancer's body, legs spread in a disgusting pose. But that's when I saw the oddest thing. The female assassin glimpsed the woman's body and hurried closer. A curious wailing left her open mouth, and I fancy sobs reached my ears. I've never seen a person wantonly kill another and mourn over their victim.
"In a sudden fit, the killer convulsed. Her back arched as though electricity coursed through the spine and a guttural moan left her throat. The seizures continued, contorting her body and causing her to jump back in the shadows. Whatever the mad fit, I hung back and waited. Perhaps I should have moved then. The lights and darkness created strange shapes on the walls that awoke a primal fear inside me. These things were best seen from a distance.
"At last, the scene quietened, and I watched the lady emerge from the shadows. Craig, it was strangely terrifying, even for me, but I managed to summon the will to step in front of her, barring her exit.
"Upon seeing me, she stopped still, a look of fright upon her face. This amused me and I couldn't stop the laughter. How arrogant I was, and foolish. I lost my opportunity.
"In a flash, she leapt and grabbed the uneven brickwork, scaling towards the top. I jumped, tapping her ankle enough to jar her from her handholds. Anyone else would have fallen in an ungraceful heap, but not this woman. She landed on her feet better than a cat, even kicking me in the face, before running out the alley. The blow surprised me. By the time I recovered, she had disappeared."
Khan relaxed back in the chair and gazed at Craig who was fighting hard against sleep. Oblivious to his host's condition, Khan cleared his throat. "The reason I came to you, Craig, is I require your help."
"In finding your girlfriend?" Craig grinned, attempting to stifle a yawn and failing miserably, but his host remained still as an Easter Island statue, only fleshier, and stared.
After a moment, the immortal broke his stare, and his baritone voice filled the room. "Fatigue has its claws in you, my friend, and I fear I have imposed upon your time. But I must know. Will you help me find this killer?"