Dr. Snip

Jacks trademark was that he first cut the women's throat to stop her screaming and kill her. He then thrust a long knife up into their vaginas and cut upwards into the abdomen, disemboweling them. Some women were mutilated more than others, but the similarity was obvious to even the police of the day.

The newspapers, mainly the Pal Mall Express made much of his activities as news like this sold newspapers, and in the process made Jack famous. Steve collected the gear he thought he would need and after kitting himself out in a long black cloak. He made his way to the modern location of the last murder.

Since 1904, Dorset Street had been renamed Duval Street. Then in 1929 the entire north side of Whitechapel was demolished, and an extension to Spitalfields Market created. In Steve's time it was an un-named service road, next to Whites Row car park.

He went there, set the time co-ordinates and jumped back to 2am Friday 9th November 1888 He wasn't sure of the exact time of the attack, as the body was found already dead. The clocks of the day were far from accurate, so he gave himself a few hours leeway so he wouldn't be late.

It was dark but not foggy as he chose a doorway to wait in, which had a clear view of Mary's doorway. The first thing he noticed was the stench. Whitechapel was the poorest district in London, and had little in the way of Sewerage systems.

The enormous horse population also added to the constant flood of raw sewage, that assaulted his nostrils with every breath. There was also a background smell of coal fires, spewing their fumes out of every chimney lucky enough to have some coal to burn.

It was dark because there were very few Gas lamps in this area, and most of the pools of light were claimed by Prostitutes as their patch. There were often fights over these territories as a prospective punter liked to see what he was getting for his threepence. Consequently Steve waited in a dark area so as not to come into conflict with these women.

After waiting only a few minutes, he saw staggering towards him a woman obviously the worst for drink. She spotted him in the doorway and altered her course to speak to him. 'Hello handsome, fancy a good time? It only costs three pence for normal or sixpence for dirty,' the slurred words came to him wrapped in the smell of cheap gin.

The standard price of three pence was arrived at because a glass of gin was three pence, dirty was a euphemism for anal sex. which the well bred women of the time wouldn't allow their husbands.

'No thank you,' he answered kindly 'I'm just waiting for a friend, but here is sixpence for your trouble,' and he pressed a sixpenny piece of the era into her grubby hand. 'Bless you Guv,' she said in drunken bewilderment, showing him her black and gap toothed smile, and staggered off down the street towards her local pub clutching her sixpence.

This distraction almost cost Steve his chance of discovering who the Ripper was, as when he looked again at Mary's doorway he saw a man in a long cloak coming out of the house and walking quickly towards his position. Steve quickly readied a piece of equipment and as the man passed his position he whispered 'Hi'.

The man stopped suddenly and looked straight at Steve, who took a Polariod photo of his startled face. The unexpected brilliant flash as the camera captured his image, panicked the man and he yelled in shock and sprinted off into the darkness rubbing his eyes.

Steve considered chasing after the man but as he had achieved his main objective of getting a picture of the Ripper, he decided to go home and consider his next move. However before he jumped back home he went over to Mary's house and went in.

She lived in Room 13 and he made his way up the dark stairs until he came to the room he sought. Even though he knew what to expect from historical record, the reality was sickening.

The room was splattered with blood, and Mary's body had been ripped apart. Heaps of flesh were on the tables, and the smell of blood and faeces was overwhelming. Steve felt his gorge rising and ran back out into the street, where without further delay he jumped back to his own time.

When he got back to his flat he needed a strong drink to calm his nerves, he downed a glass of Brandy from a bottle that he had left over from Christmas. Sitting at his breakfast table he looked down at his prize, the only photo of Jack the Ripper in existence.

The face he saw was thin and haggard with a shock of black hair, the picture was perfectly clear but didn't help Steve identify the Ripper. To do that he would have to jump back to 1888, and show it to the people involved in the hunt. He would have to have the image copied by a local artist, so it became a drawing that he could show to those who may recognise the man. Steve was in a state approaching shock, he hadn't realised just what he was doing when he had planned to confront the Ripper.

He had thought that his trip back in time would be similar to watching an old black and white film, or actors acting out their parts in history. The actual reality of the sights and smells of Victorian London, especially the Reality of Mary's poor dismembered body, brought home to him that these were real live people living their real miserable lives.

What the fuck had he been thinking of, he had stood by whilst a young woman had been brutally murdered, and had let the perpetrator escape. The worse thing was that he couldn't go back earlier and stop it happening, because he had already met the Ripper coming out of his last murder.

If he went further back and stopped the murders he couldn't have seen Mary's body as he had done. This would cause a paradox and he didn't dare risk that. He should have gone back to the first murder and stopped the Ripper then and there, but it was too late now and he would have to live with it.

He swore he would be more careful next time, and do his duty as a cop to protect the innocent from murderers. If nothing else he could ensure that Mary and her sisters would be avenged, and he would be the one to do it.

He took the photo to his local art shop, luckily the owner was a talented artist herself and was only to willing to draw him a picture from the photo. She chatted away to him as she worked, had he been more experienced with women he would have realised that she was interested in him. However he was a naturally shy person, and her subtle invitations to have her draw him went over his head.

He took the pencil drawing home and after a light supper went to bed and slept until the next morning. Steve researched all those involved in the investigation of the Ripper murders. The main reporter seemed to be a grizzled old chap who worked for the Pall Mall Gazette named Charles Anderson.

He frequented the Ten Bells Pub in Commercial Street, this was the same pub that all the victims used so Steve thought it a good place to start.

Steve jumped back to just after Mary's murder and found Charles having a drink in the public bar of the pub. He introduced himself as a writer and offered to buy the next round, Charles thanked him and invited him to sit at his table.

'I hear you are the man to speak to regarding the Whitechapel Murders', Steve said. 'I know as much and as little as anyone I suppose,' Charles replied honestly. Steve took out the drawing of the Ripper and passed it to the reporter, 'Do you recognise this man?' he asked.

Charles looked at the drawing and his glass shook in his hand, ' Good God, I certainly do, but I've never seen him looking so shocked and afraid as this drawing shows, what has frightened him so, and how could you have such a drawing?' he asked Steve curiously.

'The artist has a style of drawing that brings out the hidden face of her subject, and that must have been what she saw in this man, who is he anyway?' Steve asked.

'His name is Mountague John Druitt, he is a 31 year old Barrister, he has been included in the list of suspects for the murders but there has been no real evidence to make him stand out from the others,' admitted Charles. 'He apparently frequented this area looking for sex, but he denies it, and no one from round here will come forward officially to accuse him.'

'Any idea where I can find him?' Steve asked. Charles thought for a moment and then with a resigned sigh wrote an address on a scrap of paper. 'Can you tell me what is going on?' 'I'm just keeping a promise I made to a young woman,' Steve replied grimly.

He said goodbye and thanks to Charles, and walked out of the Pub. Steve jumped back home and gave serious thought to what he should do next. He now knew for sure who the Ripper was, but didn't know what to do with the information.

He couldn't go to the police and tell them he was an eye witness to Mary's murder, because he didn't exist in this time. He decided that if he wanted justice for Mary and her sisters, he would have to deal it out personally. No time like the present he thought, and before he could talk himself out of it he gathered his equipment and jumped back to Druitt's house in November 1888.

For want of a better plan he simply knocked on the man's door and waited. The door opened and Mountague stood in the doorway looking up at Steve warily. 'Yes, who are you and what do you want?' he asked belligerently.

'I am a Policeman, Mr. Druitt,' Steve said truthfully,' and I would like to talk to you about the murder of Mary Kelly, may I come in please?' Druitt was a Barrister, and recognised a policeman when he saw one, their manner was unmistakable.

'Oh very well, come in out of the street, although I am sure I can't help you.' Druitt said leading Steve into his drawing room. Steve refused a chair and stood in front of the fireplace, ' We now have an eyewitness who claims to have seen you leaving Mary Kelly's home on the night of her brutal murder, you may remember that a bright light was shone onto your face at the time. Do you have anything to say before we go to the Police Station?' Steve said in an official voice. Druitt turned away and leaned against a sideboard, his body slumped in despair and with his head bowed, admitted that it was him that had been seen.

'Why on earth did you do those things to Mary and the others?' Steve asked. Druitt opened a drawer of the sideboard and took out a letter, without turning to face Steve he threw it on the table.

Steve picked it up, it was from Druitt's doctor, informing him that he had contracted a virulent form of syphillus. It was untreatable and regretting that in the Doctors opinion he would first become insane, and then die within the year.

'I caught it from one of those whores,' he grated, 'I told Polly about it first, she just laughed at me and said it was my own fault for liking it dirty.' His face contorted in hate. 'I went back to see her the next night and cut her throat to make sure she wouldn't laugh at me again. Then I cut out all the other bits that had infected me.' He continued.

'The problem was that I had sex with all of them, Polly, Annie, Liz, Cathy and Mary over a period of time, and it could have been any one of them. I couldn't be sure which of them it was that had done this to me so I killed them all.' Druitt again reached into the drawer and said in a conversational voice.

'However there were others that may have infected me and I have to kill them too, so you understand why you have to die don't you.' So saying he spun around with the large butchers knife that had been in the drawer, and with a scream of rage thrust it into Steve's chest with manic force. The impact threw Steve backwards, and he tripped over the coal scuttle by the fireplace and crashed to the floor.

As Mountague leapt onto Steve to finish the job he met Steve's boot coming up towards him. It caught him in the throat and with a strangled scream he fell backwards towards the kitchen.

He dropped the knife and ran from the room, Steve heard the back door slam as he got to his feet. Although the flak jacket that he wore under his cloak had stopped the blade penetrating, he was still bruised and sore.

'Oh no you don't you bastard, your not getting away from me,' Steve swore as he ran in pursuit of the man. By the time Steve caught up with him Mountague was at the center of London Bridge. The man was exhausted from his run and stood at bay by the side of the bridge as Steve approached.

'Give up Mountague you cannot escape me,' Steve ordered. 'Oh no? watch me,' he sneered, and leapt onto the parapet of the bridge, from there he jumped into the river far below. Steve watched him splash into the freezing cold water, and waited there until he was convinced that the Ripper wasn't coming up again.

With a heavy sigh he set the co-ordinates for home and disappeared from sight. Sitting in front of his fire at home Steve considered the possible ramifications of his actions, the records showed that Druitt's body had been found in the Thames and it was thought he had committed suicide.

What had surprised him the most was the sheer reality of the episode, he was not immune from physical attack. If he had not taken precautions he would now be lying dead in 17th century London.

Steve realised that it was dangerous to meddle too far back in time, as he couldn't know all the ramifications of his actions. Logically if it was dangerous to meddle in history far back in time, it must be safer to intervene closer to the present.

There were lots of cases he could consider and he determined to study the police files as soon as he could, and see what he could do to make things better. He went to the file room at the station and photocopied all the recent files on child abductions, and murders, he slipped them into his bag and took them home to study.

Angel Hunting

Although impulsive and rebellious by nature, when it came to a mission Angel was a complete professional. She studied the data on Red's mission, and learned that he was doing archeological studies on toxic and radioactive waste dumps in the twentieth century.

His area of interest stretched from the first operational nuclear power station, to the end of the Twentieth century. Angel's problem was that Red could have hit trouble anywhen between that first dumping of waste, to the end of the century. She would have to jump back to the end of the Twentieth Century and start the lengthy process of checking hospital and police records, looking for an anomaly that would indicate a time traveler.

She kitted herself out for the period and jumped to the year 2000 to begin he search, she was confident it wouldn't take her too long.

The Head Librarian noticed the blond woman working at one of the computer terminals, and went over to offer his assistance; the fact that she was beautiful may have prompted his actions. It wasn't every day that he saw such a lovely woman in his Library, as he got closer he realized that she wasn't as old as he had first thought.

She had pulled her golden blonde hair into a severe bun, and was wearing heavy rimmed glasses through which she was glaring at the screen. 'Can I be of any help?' he whispered to her. She looked up at him and with a brilliant smile answered 'Yes please, I cannot get this information to download to my modem.'

He sorted out the correct cables and soon the data was being transferred to his satisfaction. 'Are you a student?' he queried 'No, I'm with the police, we are trying to find a missing person.'

He could believe she was a policewoman, she had swimmers shoulders, and her arms were unobtrusively muscular. 'I'm glad I could help, I hope you find the person.'

The woman thanked him and as she stood up to leave, he realized with a start that she was over six foot tall. He watched her leave and noticed that although she was wearing a frumpy cardigan and a long tweed skirt, she walked with a smooth catlike grace. Must be working undercover, he thought to himself.

Angel had learned to hide her true appearance when working in the past. The last thing she needed was to be surrounded by testosterone driven males everywhere she went. She went back to her rented apartment, and transferred the data from the Library into her cranial implant for processing.

The computer in her skull was cutting edge Twenty Sixth Century technology; it made short work of correlating the data and presenting it to her in a digestible form. Angel had chosen to have the information fed directly into her optical cortex, and only had to close her eyes to see the relevant facts parade themselves across her field of vision.

The sheer number of unidentified dead people during the period concerned was depressing. She could narrow it down by eliminating all the females, and then only considering those males that fell into Agent Reds apparent age group.

This still left more than a hundred possibilities to investigate, but she had expected this and was determined to work her way through them until she found Red. Although Red wasn't as enhanced as she was she knew it would take something out of the ordinary to hurt him, let alone kill him.

She still had hopes of finding him unharmed, but with a non-functional QT Device. However she had to follow procedure and eliminate all the recorded John Does first.

If he was dead it must have happened so fast he didn't have a chance to jump out, so it seemed that he would be filed under accidental death rather than drug related. This further narrowed the list of victims, and she allowed herself a little hope that it wouldn't take long to find him.

Once she had a manageable shortlist she would then jump to the scene of each death, to see if she could identify the body. Theoretically she could prevent his death if indeed he was dead, but that may cause a paradox. As a Time Agent she was indoctrinated to be incapable of deliberately risking a paradox.

No if Red was dead he would have to stay that way, all she could do was retrieve his QT Device and record the manner of his passing for B.T.O. records. She shrugged, and jumped to the first possibility on her list.

Four weeks later she stood at the accident scene of her last possibility and felt totally depressed, this man wasn't Red either; she had worked her way down the entire list and had nothing to show for it.

She had covered the time period from the first recorded dumping, to December 31st 2000 and no trace of Red yet. She knew that he was a by the book type of chap, and wouldn't have strayed over the set period unless ordered.

She went over his orders again, he was to cover all toxic and nuclear dumps, between the first recorded dump to the end of the Twentieth Century. In desperation she did something she always avoided if at all possible, she contacted the World Brain.

In her century the effective ruler of the world was a conglomeration of all the mainframe computers in the world, connected to each other via the World Web. It had a scientific name but it was known to all and sundry as the World Brain.

Its advice was always the best; governments, international companies and world leaders had learned to act on its suggestions. It had no personal agenda, and although many learned papers had been written about the possibility that it had evolved into an Artificial Intelligence, there was no scientific evidence to support the theory.

Angel was proud of her intelligence and hated having to admit defeat to anyone even a machine, but she knew it was her best chance to salvage her mission. Anyone could contact it and millions of people did just that, consequently there was always a queue in cyberspace. Being a B.T.O Agent did have its perks and she was inserted into the head of the line..

She 'heard' a bell toll in her implant, this was its way of letting the supplicant know they had its attention. She wasted no time in downloading all available information to the World Brain, with her request for help in finding Red.