Stalking Jack the Ripper by Kerri Maniscalco

Given his station, he'd probably have a small army out patrolling for me. We were going to be here all night if I didn't hurry, and Father, the all-important Lord Edmund Wadsworth, would send for Scotland Yard if I wasn't home soon. I glanced about the basement, where several other bodies were lined up along the wall, their pale limbs stiff as snow-covered branches. I should've remembered to wipe the other one down. Antiseptic was pervasive in his basement laboratory and amongst his blades. 'One moment, Audrey Rose,' he said, plucking the soiled blade from my fingers.Ī sharp scent sprung into the air, mixing with the stench of decaying organs as Uncle uncorked a bottle of clear liquid and splashed it onto a cloth. Proving myself incapable would not help my case, especially if I hoped to attend school the next morning. Uncle's ongoing feud with Father-neither one claimed to remember its origin, but I recall it well enough-had him wavering on continuing my apprenticeship. I bit my lip, despising myself for forgetting a step from his lesson so soon. I readied myself for the next cut, but Uncle held a hand in the air, stalling my movement. I wiped the blade on my apron, leaving an inky streak in its wake.

Had the man been dead less than thirty-six hours, it might've spilled onto the table then onto the floor, saturating the sawdust. It was too thick and dead to flow crimson, and too foreign to be truly frightening. I stepped back, my slippers lightly crunching sawdust, and examined my work.īlood barely seeped up from the wound. I had a sneaking suspicion not all our subjects were obtained through proper legal or voluntary measures and was regretting waving away Uncle's earlier offer of a breathing apparatus.įoggy wisps of breath escaped my lips, but I refused to give in to building shivers. It wasn't much different from cutting into a pork loin prior to its roasting, a thought that should have been more disturbing than it was.Ī sickeningly sweet smell wafted from the incision I'd made. Human flesh flayed much easier than I'd anticipated.

My brows raised a fraction before I schooled my face into an unreadable mask. Without hesitation, I dragged the scalpel from one shoulder to the sternum, taking pains to push as deeply as I could. I felt Uncle hovering behind me, studying my every move, but had my view set entirely on the blade in my hand. I took my time eyeing the placement of metal upon skin, ensuring proper angling for the cleanest cut. Getting the preliminary incision correct was imperative.

I placed my thumb and forefinger on the icy flesh, spreading it taut above the breastbone as Uncle had showed me.

Stalking Jack the Ripper by Kerri Maniscalco