5.
Doctor Moriarty had a distracted day with his mind shifting to
the murders from his lecture. He found the former more intriguing than his
usual rambling of models and equations which he knew well. He left the lecture
hall and then retired to his personal chamber with the instruction that he was
not to be disturbed. Once behind the locked door, he drew apart the shelves to
reveal the hidden compartment where a board was mounted with a number of news
clippings with the strings strung across it to denote the possible
relationships. He had set up the data there as if he was looking at from
mathematical approach. He drew on probability or correlation of the data to
arrive at the results. He drew a blank on one field; authorities. At the
current onset then, the only ones involved were the local enforcements. He held
some other data cards namely the national and international parties.
“Maybe it had not escalated to that level.” The Doctor muttered
to himself. He knew from his previous readings; the Ripper sensation have hit
the headlines even up to the other continent and many replicate cases of
similar killings have been linked to it. It was then he stumbled on a name he
wrote on the board.
‘Holmes’
The Doctor have never encountered the person named there. He had
planned his own existence outside of the academic field as inconspicuous to the
outsiders.
Holmes was however coming into prominence with his exploits
reported by the papers and the tongue wagging of the elites. Holmes have been
busy then as reported to him by his agents. That may had eliminated the
detective role here. So, he thought of a new field.
The letters written by the Ripper then.
An interesting field. It spoke of a mind with some education. A
person without such skills will not penned down the words. It may be crude but
that could be a distortion to the identity.
‘Letters with words’
The victims were dissected with skill. Not a butcher rough
chopping but trained cuts. From the ‘letters with word’ he drew a new line to
the word ‘Skills’.
Doctor Moriarty was at then focussed on the deeper end of the
equation and not of the many variables. He then gave his mind a sweep of the
original Ripper notes. One came to his mind.
‘Suspects’.
The cases unresolved and the suspects were released. Not all
were apprehended. There were some who were not all that easy to do that. They
had protection. He changed the ‘Suspects to something new.
‘Elites’.
Doctor Moriarty frowned then on his addition. He shook his head
and then relooked at the board. He studied the details and then nodded on his
new addition. It was never dismissed the data then presented. The crime scenes
were around Whitechapel but there were some indications that the killing took
place on weekends and holidays. They critics and so named experts narrowed down
the killers or killers to someone with working hours on regular days. The
beating by Bernard Cairnhill of the two young lads may hold justifications.
‘Bernard Cairnhill.’
It may be the missing equation to solve the problem. Doctor
Moriarty recalled the Doctor’s word on one named Igor. It was the name Bernard
mentioned; Igor was the name but who was Igor
‘Igor’
Doctor Moriarty wrote on the board. Was he Slav? Russian? Or
Prussian?
He knew he had to find Igor.
At that moment, in a huge factory space in London gutter area,
there was some activity there. It used to be a candle factory but the years of
neglect on its management silenced the area until recently. The windows were
painted over with dark shade, and flooring cleared of the debris, and then
furnished with the house import of laboratory tools and equipment. There were
the shelves of bottles in there with the working tables in the centre. There
were two persons pacing the area around the tables then in which was covered on
the top concealing what was beneath. The space there was converted into a lab.
“Herr Doctor, what are we looking for?” The one who spoke was a
figure with a stooped back but given his tall height and dimension, he appeared
like a over grown ape. He had stooped to arrange the tools for the use of the
named Herr Doctor.
“Evolution, Igor.” The one referred to as Herr Doctor replied.
“The future of mankind will benefit from our study.”
“Can it bring her back?” Igor asked back. He was dressed in the
dark apron that covered the front of his body. He had on the dark visor over
his face which he had then raised it up. It revealed a face of a handsome
Slavic man with the perfect facial muscles.
“I am working, Igor. I cannot tell you otherwise now.” The
Doctor snapped out. “I am a follower of science and not God. Only he can
perform miracles. I am to do only his works given the expanse of my mind.”
“No, Doctor. Please do get upset. I have faith in you.” The
giant ape-man stared at the Doctor with the expression of pain. He reached out
to the doctor but the other pulled away.
“Igor, I am not your …. lover’ saviour. I am your mother. I
cannot be ….”
“Mother, you have done more than anyone I know. Shelly is alive
because of you. She will live once more because of you.” Igor looked to the
other table where his lover lies in the state of suspended animation. It was
not his words but of his mother. She had kept Shelly alive with the power of
electricity that was powering her organs including the heart with low
electrocution.
“Shelly…. Yes, she will live. I will find her cure.” The doctor
stooped over the other table to examine the extracted samples. There was the
liver and the spleen immersed in alcohol to preserve it with the electrical
cords providing the stimulant to keep it alive. The doctor was an aged lady
dressed in the white frock over her yellow dress. She had on the thick reading
glasses to allow her the closer vision on the kidney that she was probing then
with the electrical prods. She had saved Shelly upon near death and preserved
her lifeform with the singular ambition to revive her once more.
“Mother, do we need more samples?” Igor asked. “I can arrange
it.”
“No, Igor. Not now. The last retrieval had almost exposed you. I
cannot risk that now.” The Doctor protested. “Let me do my task for now. You go
and play with your toys. Get freshen up. The carriage will be here soon.”
Igor stepped away and upon passing the other table, he reached
out with his right hand to touch the cover that had his love beneath. He wanted
to open the cover but Mother was specific with her instruction. He left the
huge chamber and moved outside. He felt alone out there.
“Is she satisfied?” The voice came from the shadow. Igor did not
turn to look and then nodded before he replied.
“She is pleased. We will call you on the need for anymore.” Igor
then looked at the dark skies. “Your money will be in by morning.”
The figure in the shadow then moved away leaving Igor who had
then removed the apron and smoothen his suit below it. He has to look smart for
the party. He likes the party but disliked some of the others. They grossed on
his appearance but he knew they will soon patronised him. He held their pockets
filled with coins. After all being rich could buy you almost anything except
maybe the love he required still on the table. The carriage soon arrived and Igor
was on his way to the party. The journey was short but he was intoxicated by
then with drinks served in the carriage.
“Master Charles Millard.” That was his real name with the family
name changed to follow his mother side. Only his mother called him Igor. He
held the name of his mother’s family name and half the estate of the Millard
then. His uncle Lord Millard does not appreciate that but the old fart could do
nothing about it. He was after all family.
“Oliver, you for a huge brute.” The lady snaked her arm on the
hunchback elbow. “Why are you late? The party have started earlier.”
“The brute is here.” The calls went out and then more drinks
guzzled down the throat, and before long Oliver Millard aka Igor was stomping
his feet on the dead rabbit on the flooring. It was his opening act of
brutality before he was to bed the helpless wench they have prepared for him.
He was the brute in all his doing but the coins silenced the victims.
Or death will stifle their cries.
And sometimes the dead cries louder before it.
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