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I suppose there’ll always be some that wonder what happened to him.

Not that I care. Best punishment for a man like that is to be forgotten, I say. Let nobody know what he has done; let his name never be connected to his crimes, let him never be known for them.

Marie was my friend. As was Polly, and Annie, and Liz and Kate. I mourn for them all.

But I have plenty of friends still breathing today, who’ll still be breathing tomorrow, and that I thank God for. God and my own sharp knife.

I was waiting, around the corner. Marie and I, we had an arrangement. As long as she sang, I knew she was safe. When she stopped singing, I knew it was him.

Saucy Jack, he called himself. We all knew about it. We’d all heard. Marie thought she would be safe, entertaining a gentleman in her rooms, as all the others had been done in the street. I told her she was a fool. I wish I hadn’t been right.

Saucy Jack, he called himself. Now nobody will know him as anything else.

I wonder if his body has floated to shore yet?

© Kari Fay

(Author’s Note: Inspired by my afternoon with friends playing a quite fascinating game called “Letters from Whitechapel”. Our success in catching Jack was ascribed to my counting skills, so today I can say that I’m the woman who caught Jack the Ripper!)

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