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MILLER STOOD AND WALKED to the kitchen window, looking out at the shadow filled yard beyond. The snow which had threatened had regressed back to rain which left streaks on the window where it landed. Hapgood had seen the pain in Miller’s eyes and knew speaking about it had taken a tremendous toll on him.
‘The following weeks were somewhat of a daze, Hapgood, and unfortunately, I cannot recall specific details of that dark time to relay back to you as part of this story. I know my frustration and sorrow were quelled somewhat by my kills which escalated to proportions never before indulged. I knew even then that rats and dogs would not long satisfy my growing desires. My hatred for whores was cemented on that day. They are filthy creatures, Hapgood. Women, I mean. Carriers of disease and illness who use sex to manipulate a man. I was still a young man and yet stood alone in a world which had shunned me and left me confused and broken. A man without direction. Is it any surprise knowing what you do now that my journey took the course it did?’
Hapgood looked up from his writing. ‘Despite my sympathy to your ordeal, I cannot condone or justify your later actions.’
Miller turned to face his host, a curious smile on his lips. ‘How so Mr Miller? All women had ever brought to me was misery. The world would be a better place without them. You cannot possibly understand Mr Hapgood, not in the fullest sense anyway. The words as I tell them have a certain impact, but even that pales in comparison to actually having to live through those experiences. Yes, life has indeed been cruel to me. First my mother then Lucy and later, as you will learn, there were other situations which did all they could to push me towards the path I was desperate to resist. Of course, will can only help for a certain length of time and I made a decision. The world had decided to show me how cruel it could be and so, in return, I responded with cruelty to it and took my vengeance on those who had wronged me.’
‘Are you saying you hold no regret for the slaughter of those women even now after the passage of so many years?’ Hapgood asked.
‘What is to regret? Instead of being hounded and called a monster I should have been commended. By ridding the streets of those filthy disgusting creatures I was acting with the best of intentions. A great work indeed for the good of everyone.’
‘That is a fiendish justification. One I cannot agree with.’
‘You have no right to judge me. You are here only to record the facts. To be impartial in the telling. My judgement will come soon enough from God, and I will stand before him without shame nor fear if I am to be held accountable for my great work.’ Miller sneered.
‘I fear that you will stand not before God but the devil himself, and perhaps even he will deem you too evil for hell and return you to earth.’
Miller smiled. ‘Perhaps... and yet here you are Hapgood, drinking tea with the man you deem too evil for the devil himself. I wonder, does that make you as bad, if not worse a monster than I?’
Miller returned to his seat and folded his hands in front of him. He focused his stare on Hapgood, enjoying watching the writer squirm under his gaze.
‘George and Lucy would go on to marry, and the last I heard of them, they moved to Yorkshire and have two children. Neither of them spoke to me again of course, and as far as I know, George made no complaint of my assault of him. I started to receive money from them, however. Regular amounts which were generous, certainly far more than I could earn through my lowly position at the hospital. I suspect guilt drove them to it, perhaps by way of apology for their betrayal. Nonetheless, I took the money if only because I could not bear to make contact with them again to inquire as to its purpose. The thought of seeing either of them again filled me with an all consuming dread like no other. And so we separated. George and Lucy to their new life together, myself mired in the desperation of Whitechapel. For a time, I was a ship without anchor lost in a sea of darkness. I began to have dreams, Hapgood, twisted dark visions of flesh flayed from bone, of skinless women, lined single file as far as the eye could see waiting to enter the slaughterhouse. Dreams of blood running the cobbled streets of London. These would occur later in my life as we will cover in due course. However back then those visions terrified me as I did not understand their meaning. I would wake in the dark of my lodgings biting my fist to avoid screaming into the night. It was one of these nights, restless and unable to find sleep that the next stage of my journey found me. Unwilling to endure any more of my dreams, I dressed and set out onto the heart of Whitechapel. I liked to walk back then, Hapgood. Unfortunately, I have since developed problems with my knees which mean that I am not quite as mobile as I once was. Back then, however, I would walk everywhere, taking in the sights, and the sounds, even the smells of the filthy streets around me, feeling at home with the wretches and the scum, the poor and the destitute. The hopeless. I was, after all, one of them. Unlike George, I had never escaped it. Take up your pen, Mr Hapgood. There is much more of this story yet to tell.