Whitechapel: The Final Stand of Sherlock Holmes by Bernard J. Schaffer Read Free Book Online

before we perform the abdominal incision.”
    Monty caught a whiff of scent from the opening at the woman’s throat. For a moment, he was back in the garden at his parent’s house, staring at Georgiana. This was not the same, but it was close enough.
    Monty turned away from his father, adjusting himself.
    “I need to rest for a moment.” William collapsed into a chair near the operating table. “I will be ready momentarily, my boy.”
    “May I continue? I have studied this aspect of the operation extensively, father.”
    William coughed fitfully and nodded. “Thank you,” Monty said through gritted teeth, now pressing against the table so hard that he was crushing himself against its metal edges. His grip on the knife’s handle was slick, and he had to readjust several times to make sure he held it tightly enough. He touched the blade to the woman’s flesh and felt his pulse in his fingers.
    “Do it slowly, do not make a mess of it.”
    “Yes, sir,” Monty said. Sweat was dripping from his brow. Monty pushed again, this time with the knife, and it slid inside the woman’s gut, little by little, inch by inch.
    “Good,” William said. “Now draw it downwards and open her up.”
    He sank into her flesh, grinding the blade against her rib cartilage and sliding it in and out to saw away the ligaments below. He cut down toward the dark curly thatch of hair between her legs and the red and pink organs within her that burst through the opening, onto Monty who squeezed his thighs together and grunted, feeling a warm wetness trickling down his thigh.
     

FOUR
     
     
    Monty soon became so proficient at performing autopsies that William spent his days sitting in the specimen laboratory labeling jars while Monty provided him with trays of organs. Often, they would take the last train home, arriving late in the evening.
    One night, as their cab rolled toward the front of their home they heard a door bang shut and saw the shadow of a man leap from the rear steps behind the house, and race into the darkness. Monty gasped in shock as the man turned for a moment into the light of the carriage’s lanterns. “Stop the cab!” William shouted. He jumped to the road, ordering Monty to go check on Ann while he gave chase.
    “You want me to come with you, young sir?” the cab driver asked.
    “No, that is not necessary. My father is ill. Please pull the car to the back in the turnaround.” Monty watched the man race into the woods. He walked slowly toward the front door and opened it just as a glass bottle shattered over his head. She stood naked in the living room, fists balled.
    “Mother?” Monty said. “What happened to you?“
    “Why are you here!” she screamed. “Why do you always have to ruin my life?” She collapsed to the ground, shrieking.
    “My God, did that man do this to you?” Monty said, grabbing a blanket from the sofa and throwing it around her.
    “Bring him back!” she screamed. “He wants to be with me! Why are you here?”
    Understanding dawned on him, and Monty’s face twisted in rage. “How could you?”
    Ann raced forward, beating Monty with her fists across his chest, “I know about you and that farm boy! Everyone knows! Filth! Sinners!”
    Monty seized Ann by the throat, “Be silent, whore.” He heard William’s voice behind the house, approaching the back stars.
    “I wish you were all dead!” Ann hissed back. “Your father knows what I do and does not even have the courage to protest.”
    Monty slammed his forehead into her face, cracking the bone over her eye. Blood spurted from the wound, and Ann cried out. Monty punched her, opening up her lip. Ann fell backwards, reeling and whimpering. Monty listened for a moment to the voices behind the house, assessing how far away they were and how much time he had. He slapped and pinched her neck and shoulders, hard enough to leave welts and bruises.
    He kicked her several times, until Ann whimpered and lifted her legs to her chest to