A Commitment to Love, Book 3 (39 page)

Earlier, after he and his men buried my brother behind the mansion, Benny had announced that we all needed a break. He decided that we should go out and see London.

“No, Vivian’s not coming,” I said. “I finally got her to go to sleep. I think she deserves that. Don’t you?”

“Yes.” He turned away from her sleeping form. Maybe the guilt hung too heavy in his mind. Perhaps, his psychotic brain had a tug from something greater than himself. “Where do you want to go tonight? I feel like we should get out of the house. We’ve been cooped up in here all day and I can still smell … I … we should get out of here for a while. Get some fresh air. Where do you want to go?”

With no hesitation, I said, “The Jack the Ripper tour.”

He widened his eyes. “The Jack the Ripper tour? Are you sure?’

I nodded.

“But—”

“You asked me. I told you.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

I said nothing else and thought of the knife in my pocket. How fast could I take it out and pierce his neck?

“And maybe afterwards we can check out my favorite restaurant in the area,” Benny said. “Lou told me you haven’t eaten all day. I understand, but we need to make sure you get some food. I can’t lose you. I can’t … I can’t lose you, Jasmine.”

He didn’t deserve a response, so I didn’t give him one.

“I’m so sorry, Jasmine. If I could bring him back, I would. Right now. It’s killing me. I lost my temper. I went crazy for a few seconds. It’s killing me. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t …”

I guessed that he stopped talking, once he realized that I’d gotten up from the bed, walked right past him, and left the room.

He’s sorry? If he could bring Troy back, he would? Fuck you, Benny. You’re going to die slow, and I don’t mind dying right along with you. We can die together, if we have to. Chase would probably be better off without us all. I wish I hadn’t even told him about the tour.

Benny brought several guards, but left most of them at the house. Earlier during the moment when he’d wielded his gun in front of Troy and babbled his evil-man monologue, I’d thought that he knew about our phone calls to Chase. But he hadn’t known anything. He was just mad about Chase and Mom getting together, and figured I knew about the union the whole time.

He doesn’t know about the call. There’s no way. He’d have more guards with us.

Earlier, I’d counted four men in the car following us, and two in the vehicle ahead of us. Chase would have more because he was ridiculous, and always overcompensated when it came to me. Maybe I should’ve stressed that Vivian come along. Perhaps we would’ve been able to escape.

“This is the best tour company for Ripper,” Benny continued. “Dr. Breaton wrote a lot of books on the murders. He’s exhausted more years than anybody on researching him. He even earned his doctorate due to his thesis on Ripper. I read his thesis.”

Benny leaned closer to me, probably so the other people waiting for the tour wouldn’t’ hear him. “I’m a fan.”

Keep him talking and unalert.

“Of Ripper or Dr. Breaton?” I searched the area with my gaze, wondering if Chase or his man watched us.

Benny stepped back like I snatched the knife out of my pocket, opened it, and pointed toward his jugular. “Now you’re talking to me?”

Saying words to him as I looked my brother’s killer in his face was the hardest thing I’d ever done. I’d figured leaving Chase was difficult. I’d knew earlier today that losing my brother was unbearably and emotionally challenging. But to stare this devil, this ungodly creature who had just taken Troy’s life in seconds,
that
had been so problematic for my mind and my stomach. I came close to vomiting as I held my gut and tried to focus on the plan.

Keep Benny busy, until I figure out a way to get in touch with Chase.

“Jasmine, are you talking to me now?”

“Am I?”

“I would say so. Your lips are moving.”

“Then I guess I am talking to you.” I glanced over my shoulder. “Are you a fan of Dr. Breaton or Ripper?”

“Both.” A breeze rippled through his gray strands. “They’re both geniuses.”

I remembered long ago how sad I was when I spotted the beginning of his graying hair. I hated that old age had crept up on my idol and wished that he was immortal. Now all I could do was imagine hundreds more strands to come.

Die, motherfucker. Die.

“We’re at Aldgate East Underground.” Excitement dotted Benny’s words. “This is the Heart of Ripper’s London. Other tours start at Tower Hill Underground Station. Then they end up walking a good thirty minutes to where all the action began.”

“So White Chapel is a street or something?”

“White Chapel District was right on the doorstep in the East End. It was considered one of the most crime-ridden quarters. Over eighty thousand poor people lived here. Think South End times ten. Every seedy thing was here—sweatshops, overcrowded slums, shady pubs, and doss houses.”

“Doss houses?”

“The people who lived here had no homes. Doss houses were a fucked up hotel. They were a sort of small dormitory of coffin-like beds stuck together. People paid four pennies to lay in one of those coffins for a night. For two pennies you could lean against a rope tied up to a wall.”

Are you here, Chase?

“That’s messed up,” I muttered.

“In South End the age expectancy is eighteen for black men. Back in the day for Whitechapel, it was a fifty-fifty chance people would live past five years old.”
 

Someone whistled twice and waved us to come over.

We headed that way.

“If you are on the Jack the Ripper tour, come this way.” A guy with a black bowler hat on the top of his head, gestured for everyone to form around him. “I’ll be your guide.”

Benny frowned. “This isn’t Breaton.”

I fingered the pocketknife in my jacket. “You expected him to be doing the tour?”

“No, but I would’ve liked it.”

“I’m sure he’s passed down all of his knowledge to his employees.”

“Let’s hope. I’m going to correct this guy if he’s wrong.”

“Hmm.” I eyed the tall man that got on my side. He looked familiar.

Was he one of the main guards that stayed inside of Chase and my condo? Well … Chase’s condo. Maybe, I’m just too hopeful for something good to happen.

But then would Chase being here be good? I couldn’t take any more death, besides Benny’s murder. Everyone else had to be safe for several more years. I couldn’t mourn anyone. Troy’s image hit me, and I blinked through the vision.

I must’ve done the eye-shutting pretty hard because Benny touched my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t touch me.” I gripped the knife.

“But—”

“I’m fine. Just don’t touch me. Never.”

His Adam’s apple moved a little as he must’ve gulped down some emotion. But what did he swallow down—fear, sadness, guilt, or grief? What did a monster feel bad about?

“Let’s get the boring stuff out of the way, first,” the guy in the black bowler hat said in a thick British accent. He wore a white shirt and black vest with jeans. Black gloves covered his hands and were cut off at the fingertips. “Since we’ll be on public streets, we’ll always need to make sure that there’s ample stroll room for the regular walker-byers going on about their evening. Nothing worse for the mood than a drunken group of teens staggering into you.”

A few people laughed as more men crowded around us.

“Next, pictures and videos are fine,” Bowler hat continued. “I’m a pretty hot bloke, so feel free to snap a few of me in the process.”

More giggles sounded.

I kept my hand on my knife.

“However,” the tour guide said, “please keep all ringers off. Last, we’ll be crossing major roads. Feel free to hold hands and all that sort, but most important look both ways and follow me. At times it is a downer, when someone dies on the Jack the Ripper tour, but for the few wives in the group that have a big insurance policy on that rather annoying husband, feel free to push him directly into traffic, and share the money with me.”

Maybe I should push Benny’s ass into traffic.

I checked the area, and there was absolutely no other woman in the group but me. That seemed odd. Didn’t couples take this tour? Wouldn’t there be a few female horror enthusiasts excited to tramp around a historic serial killer’s murdering grounds?

Is this a set-up? Are these all Chase’s people? Maybe I shouldn’t even be thinking about Chase. I got to get him out of my mind. Stick with the plan. Somehow … someway … kill Benny.

Troy and my biggest problem in taking care of Benny was that we had an inkling of love present in our hearts. We couldn’t just work out a way to hurt him because in the end, he’d been there for us for so many years, even more than our mother. Now, nothing moved within me, but pain. And he’d triggered it.

I can do this.

“This tour is interactive, meaning that I will be asking you questions and expecting you to mumble back smart retorts.” He threaded his fingers and pointed to me. “Hello, woman looking very scary over there.”

I looked behind me and realized that no other female had just walked up. “Uh … yes?”

“Why did you come here today?” he asked.

“To do the Jack the Ripper tour.”

“Good answer. For this is the tour, but
why
did you come to learn about him.”

I gestured to Benny. “He has a special love of psychos.”

Everyone chuckled.

“Good job! That’s exactly the type of smart little retorts I’m hoping for.” Bowler guy clapped. “And where are you from?”

I sighed. “The United States.”

“Oh goodness, America?” He cupped his hand around his mouth and mumbled to everyone else. “Everybody watch your wallets and purses, we have an American with us.”

More crowd enjoyment rang out.

Could we just get on with the damn tour, buddy?

“Just playing, Miss USA.” Bowler hat grinned. “Let’s give her a round of applause.”

People cheered and I forced a fake smile.

Bowler hat decided to move on from me. “Jack the Ripper is a huge thing. He’s big news even after all of these years. There’s hundreds of books on him. Tons of movies with different endings of who could have been the true person who did it all. There’s even video games. My favorite? Sherlock Holmes vs. Jack the Ripper.”

A few
oohed
and
aahed
.

“There are even Jack the Ripper toys,” he proclaimed. “Can you believe that? There’s a Jack in the box where once you wind it over and over, an angry man comes out with a bloody knife.”

A guy booed in front of us.

Bowler hat raised his hands. “I know. I know. But with all of this, what people forget is that Jack the Ripper was a very scary thing. Something to be taken very seriously.”

The crowd went silent.

“He did horrific things to women,” Bowler hat continued. “And sadly, this tour can’t tell you anything about who he was. This has been unsolved for all of this time, but what I
can
do is tell you more about what he did, and show you the places where he did it.”

Some sicko cheered.

“We will go into White Chapel. We will learn about his victims and details about this tragic time in history that changed London forever.” The guide clapped his hands. “So are you ready to go back to 1888 where gas street lamps cornered most streets and only provided a small circumference of light?”

“Fuck yes!” some guy yelled.

“Wow. That guy is enthusiastic.” The guide did a big motion of his hands, drawing a circle in the air all around him. “White Chapel was a maze of alleyways and courtyards with darkness, so thick the average person had to struggle to see their own hand in front of their face. The night was perfect for our murderer’s deeds. Follow me.”

We did.

I’d hoped to stay at the back of the group, but Benny guided us forward so that he could hear every word. His man, Scar, remained far behind us.

The whole group crossed a few blocks. Cars zipped by us. The air chilled more than the States would in spring, or maybe it was the moment.

Death swirled all around me. Ripper’s murders, Benny’s torturing of corpses, and my brother’s departure from earth. Goose bumps spread across my skin. My bottom lip quivered, yet my heart stayed solid. My insides thickened to rock hard.

Bowler hat stopped us at a regular building, nothing too special. It was dark tan with no light in the many windows. It must’ve been at least three floors. A black iron gate surrounded it.

“We’re entering White Chapel, which is a very swanky area now. Lots of celebrities hang around here along with trendy people.” Bowler hat made a point of spreading his arms around to showcase the building. “But let’s go back to 1888, when times proved to be harder in this area. One example is that sanitation in the area was non-existent. Residents simply threw their trash into the street. The whole district held an unbearable stench. People had no money. They starved. Think of Oliver Twist and his pick-pocketing ways. Men and women did things for money that they normally wouldn’t. Many mugged. Others ventured into prostitution. Can anybody guess how much it cost to have a bit of fun with a working girl in the alley?”