Slayer Tales: A Not-So-Funny Thing Happened On The Way (To) From The Theater
Slayer Tales: A Not-So-Funny Thing Happened On The Way To From The Theater
by Leather Jacket
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Some characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Others belong to history. But it's still a work of fiction. I'll make no money from this so please don't sue.
Angelus buttoned the ivory buttons of his silk brocade blue waistcoat over the starched white shirt and gray cravat that just matched his trousers. He smoothed out the finely striped trousers that didn't need smoothing out, pulled his double-breasted wool tailcoat over his shoulders and then grabbed the cloak off the mirror -- it wasn't like he needed the mirror, after all -- or at least he couldn't use it.
The year 1891 had been very good to Angelus. His apartment was almost cluttered with exotic vases, rare objet d'art, and fine furniture, paid for with a combination of gambling winnings and ... re-appropriated gambling losses. After all, who wants to live forever if they have to work? Yes, 1891 was turning out to be a very good year -- and it was only February.
And now, Angelus had theater tickets. All he needed was someone to take with him. Darla was positively impossible at the theater. She had no patience and was always hungry before the end of the first act and Angelus had a devil of a time trying to explain that if they ate all of the actors, there'd be no one to entertain them, and if they ate all the high-society theater patrons, well that would put an end to Angelus' rather lavish lifestyle. And Angelus liked his rather lavish lifestyle. Dru could also never keep her mouth shut, but for an entirely different reason, and psychotics weren't especially accepted at the theater --- except maybe back stage. Plus, all her thoughts were taken up with that bloody awful poet of hers. No, Angelus would find himself a not-too-unpleasing strumpet to spend the night with. Hopefully, he could give the gentry something to wag their tongues over other than a woman prattling on about how the stage lights sang songs to her. Yes, a strumpet would do nicely, and if she was a tasty morsel, so much the better. The theater would be his Valentine present to himself and perhaps the girl would have something for his girls. And with that grin on his face, he opened the door and stepped out into the cold London air.
************
Chapel Street was thriving and bustling with activity that night as Ellen Callagher plied her trade. Ellen Callagher had a secret --- not that she was a prostitute, everyone in Whitechapel knew that. No, Ellen had another secret. But a girl has got to eat, and the Watcher was useless when it came to getting money. Besides, occasionally, a vampire would hire a prostitute for what would wind up being her last job, but if that vampire made the mistake of hiring Ellen, it would be his last employment. She'd see to that.
************
Frances Coles -- some knew her as Coleman, others Hawkins -- left the millinery and immediately dove into the box, pulling out the black crepe hat and fixing it on top of her head. Her old, ratty hat had been tucked into her underskirts. She wobbled slightly, but managed to get the thing secured on her head. At 26, she was rather pretty despite her fondness for the bottle and her slip into the seedier side of London's underbelly. She turned the corner and immediately collided into the man. He was young and handsome, with a brooding forehead and deep brown eyes, and impeccably dressed. Definitely not Whitechapel material, which meant there was only one reason he'd be on this street at this hour.
"'Ello, luv," she smiled broadly and placed her hands on his chest. "Dreadfully sorry 'bout that. But I'm sure there's some way I can make it up to you." She reached for the top button of his blue waistcoat.
Angelus wrinkled his nose. "Not even if you were sober." He grabbed the woman's hands and forcibly removed them from his person. Then, still holding her hands, he walked around her. He released her and made his way down the street.
Frances shrugged. There would be other men. And for now, she needed a drink. She also needed to figure out a way to get that idiot Sadler off her back. A couple shillings for an hour of her company hardly meant they were going to be moving in together. He'd have to do a lot better than that or else move on.
************
Ellen sighed. It had not turned out to be a good night. No clients to make any money. No vampires to slay. The Watcher wouldn't be pleased on either count. It was now well past midnight, and Ellen's feet hurt. She turned onto Commercial Street and ... quickly ducked into a doorway.
The beast in the cheese cutter hat was all too human, unfortunately, and the Watcher had given her strict instructions never to fight a human. Ellen had wanted to ask the Watcher how much of a beating she was expected to take from a human, but she was a woman and this was Victorian England. Short of murder, a woman took what the man dished out.
This man started coming in her direction and Ellen turned away from him, walking briskly down Commercial. As she crossed a lane, she came upon Frances. Frances, was of course drunk as usual and Ellen stifled a sigh. It's not like this life was easy for any of them. Instead, she bumped Frances gently to be sure she had her attention. At that point, the man in the cheese cutter walked right past. Bumping Frances had turned out to have the exact opposite to the desired effect. Instead of looking at Ellen through those alcohol-dimmed eyes, she focused on the man.
"Oh, sir..." she quietly raised a finger.
Ellen grabbed Frances' raised hand. "Listen to me, Frances," she hissed, "and look at me closely. You know who I am?"
"Let go o' me," Frances whined.
"Do you know who I am?" Ellen repeated.
"Yes, Ellen," Frances said as she pulled her arm out of Ellen's grasp. "I know exactly who you are." Then her sneer turned as she raised her nose in the air. "I am drunk, not stupid."
"Fine," Ellen continued. "Just stay away from that man."
"I will not!" Frances insisted. "Maybe you can afford to turn down a paying customer, but I've got doss to pay or I'll wind up throwed out on my --" she cleared her throat, then turned to find the man.
He had slowed his pace, and Frances smiled as she wobbled toward him. "Oh, sir..."
Ellen grabbed for Frances again, pulling on her shoulder. "You listen to me! You go with that one you'll be wishin' you didn't. He blackened my eye once."
"Oh, I don't doubt that for a minute," Frances started. "Listen, I like you." Frances was taken aback at Ellen's dubious look. "I do! But if you don't let me go, I'll blacken the other eye. Now which eye did he blacken again?"
Ellen sighed and let Frances go. She watched helplessly as Frances caught up with the man, wrapped her arm around him and leaned into his shoulder. The two wandered off.
************
Angelus scowled as he walked down Little Alie Street. The play had been rubbish and the harlots he'd come across all night were soaked in rum or whiskey. A good meal would cheer him up so he was prowling the byways before heading home. But from Alie Place through St Mark's to Great Prescott, all of Whitechapel seemed deserted. This wouldn't have surprised him at 1:45 in the morning in Christ Church, but Whitechapel seemed to be shirking its reputation tonight. He made his way through another alley and got out onto Chamber Street. Finally, he saw a young man, a constable, strong and tall and quite good looking in the uniform of the London constabulary, walking up Chamber Street. His name was Ernest Thompson, but Angelus wouldn't find that out until later. He looked at the man and smiled. The constable waved at him and as he passed, Angelus watched him. Brisk and straight with a fine, smooth neck... the man looked over his shoulder and Angelus smiled again.
"Move along now," the constable said as he turned back and continued on. The man turned up the next street.
Angelus was about to follow him when he heard the faint scream.
************
Ellen had wanted to follow Frances, but knew better. She had to get back to the Watcher's flat and explain that her night had been less than successful, then on to her own to sleep through the morning. She made her way down Back Church Lane then over toward Royal Mint Street, really just hoping there might be some last vestige of activity around the railway tracks. She also heard the scream and raced toward Swallow Gardens. She ducked under the overpass and there, she found them.
The city gentleman in his fine wool tailcoat and silk vest had his teeth in the neck of the ruffian. The cheese cutter hat lay on the ground next to Frances, who was bleeding from the neck. Ellen reached behind her and into her bustle and pulled out a wooden stake.
"Let the man go, vampire," Ellen growled.
Angelus took his fangs out of the man's neck. "Would it help if I told you this isn't what it looks like?"
"Not in the least," she answered.
"You gotta help me," the ruffian begged. "He slit her throat, then came at me. It all happened so fast."
"LIAR!" Angelus yelled.
"Now, that's what it looks like," Ellen declared.
"Aye, well, things are not always the way they seem, are they, whore ... or should I say, 'Slayer'?"
"Both are accurate," Ellen shrugged. "Now let the man go."
"But, see, if I do that, he goes on killing," Angelus told her. "Now, you wouldn't want that, would you?"
"As opposed to you going on killing?" Ellen asked. "I'll take my chances."
"Well, then, I see you've made up your mind." Angelus thrust the man at Ellen, who caught him easily and set him down on the ground as the vampire dashed out of the underpass.
"Wait here," Ellen told the man and she followed Angelus into the night.
The man picked himself up off the ground and returned to Frances, who lay there, bleeding from the neck. Her fingers twitched. The man bent down and picked up the blunt knife that was almost hidden by her hair and his wool cap that lay nearby. He made two more quick strokes in either direction across her throat. At the sound of footsteps on Chamber Street, he ran out, down Chamber toward Mansell Street. He turned up Great Alie Street, then out Little Alie before zigzagging through the buildings around George Yard. By the time he got to the Union Infirmary, he was panting badly.
Angelus dropped from the rooftop. "Hello, Jack."
"You get away from me, monster!"
"Monster, am I?" Angelus smiled a mouth of fangs. "What exactly does that make you, then? ... Jack?"
"I -- I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, sure you do, Jack," Angelus insisted. "Go on and tell the girl."
"Girl ... what ... girl?"
Angelus jumped back and kicked around the corner with his right boot. There was a crunch, a clatter and a woman gasping in pain. "You can come out now," Angelus said.
With that, the man ran in the opposite direction. Angelus grumbled, then jumped and pounced directly in front of the man.
Ellen came around the corner, shaking the pain out of her hand. She reached behind her again.
"Don't go gettin' another stake," Angelus called, pointing at her, "Not until you hear what he has to say."
"He-- He's crazy!" the man cried. "He thinks I'm Jack the Ripper!"
"Now, I just said, 'Jack'," Angelus reminded him as he picked the man up and walked back toward Ellen. "How did you know I was talkin' 'bout the Ripper?"
"How many other mass-murdering Jacks do you know?" the man asked.
"Oh, you'd be surprised," Angelus laughed. "And I thought I told you not to go reachin' for another stake."
Ellen dropped her hands to her sides ... for the moment.
"If I'm Jack the Ripper, then where have I been for the last year, huh?"
"In jail for assault," Ellen suggested, "probably."
The man looked at Ellen carefully in the dark. "I don't know you..."
"You don't remember," Ellen countered, "I suppose one shiner among all the others doesn't stand out, does it. That's what you do, after all: bar fights, beating women. I told my friend you'd given me a black eye..."
"I never hit you..."
"No. You never gave me a black eye, but you did hit me. I told her that to try to get her to stay away from you. Unfortunately for her, it didn't work."
"It'd take more than the likes o' you to give her a black eye, I'd wager," Angelus laughed again. Then he quickly snatched up the man by the throat and pulled him in. "Now tell the woman the truth before she gets impatient and puts a stake through both our hearts."
"Hmmm... that's an idea."
"Hush!" Angelus called. Then he growled at the man. "You're all too eager to take credit for your murders when you're writin' the Central News Agency, tellin' 'em all about your killin's, but when I catch you at the scene of the crime, you go all hush-mouthed? Now how's that fair?"
"He's lying, I tell you," the man sobbed.
"Maybe I'll just eat you now and take my chances with the Slayer," Angelus offered. He spun the man between himself and Ellen.
"No! I'll talk!" the man cried. "I'll talk. You just gotta promise me you won't let him kill me. You'll take me to the constables."
Ellen mulled for a moment. "Can you prove you're the Ripper?"
"The girl in the alley isn't proof enough?" Angelus asked. "Those aren't teeth marks in her neck."
"Alright, I killed the girl, but I'm not the--urk!"
Angelus tightened his grip on the man. "I thought I told you I wanted the truth."
"Maybe you can't handle the truth," Ellen suggested. She slowly inched her right arm behind her back.
"He doesn't know anything," the man stammered, "he can't know anything."
"Oh, but I'm a monster," Angelus reminded him, "and it takes a monster to know a monster."
Angelus, a tight grip on the man's throat, kicked at Ellen, knocking her down. "I said no stakes."
Ellen sat, arms folded over her knees.
"Now, I'm gonna offer you a deal," Angelus told Ellen, "and you're goin' t' take it. This here's Jack the Ripper. I know it. You know it." As the man struggled to pull Angelus' hand away from his throat, Angelus shook him. "He knows it. So you're gonna let me eat him, and then you're gonna let me go."
"And what do I get out of this?" Ellen asked, incredulous.
"You get one less mass-murderer in your town."
"And you get less competition."
"Ah, you've found me out," Angelus said, his free hand to his heart.
"I'd be willing to wager he'll kill less people than you would," Ellen told Angelus.
"Hmm... I fear she has a point there," Angelus told the man. "I do believe she'd choose you over me."
The man nodded fiercely to Ellen.
"So," Angelus continued, "if I so much as see a stake in her hand, I'm gonna have to twist your head off."
"Are you Jack the Ripper?" Ellen asked.
The man nodded again, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Then here's our deal," she said to Angelus as she stood up. Once standing, she carefully showed him that her hands were still empty. "You eat him ---"
"NO!" Jack cried.
"Would you rather be hanged?" she laughed. "--- and then you get out of town."
"Interesting," Angelus said, "and that way you get two mass-murderers out of your finely coiffed hair. Ah, but where shall I go?"
"I don't care," Ellen said, "You can go to China for all I care. I just don't want you in Whitechapel -- I don't want you in London. In fact, if I see you in London, if I even find out that you are anywhere in England, I will hunt you down and make sure you regret it."
"Agreed," Angelus said.
"NO!" Jack cried again. "You can't do this!"
"I just did," Ellen said. Then to Angelus, she added, "Further, you shall make sure that no one finds the body. -- I mean his body, of course. I suspect they've already found Frances -- and you won't turn him into one of yours."
"I don't want him as one of ours," Angelus sneered.
"So, if his body turns up, or if you turn up, I will knock every last fang out of your mouth and then pin every last Ripper murder on you," Ellen told Angelus. "Can you imagine what it would be like for a vampire with no fangs in prison?"
"It's prison. I'd only last until sunrise, with or without fangs."
"Oh, but what a hell of a night it would be."
"You know, I think you'd do it," Angelus smiled admiringly. "We have a deal." He went to shake, again with his free hand, then pulled it back. "Ah, but once you die, as Slayers do, I can come back -- if I want to."
Jack continued to cry. "Please, miss, don---" the rest was silenced as Angelus plunged his fangs into the man's neck.
Ellen turned and walked away, down the road to make her report to her Watcher.
************
Buffy leaned in to Angel. "So, you killed Jack the Ripper?"
"Yes."
"And you stopped the Whitechapel murders?"
"Yes."
"And you did it without a soul?"
"Yes."
"That is so amazing!" Willow gushed.
"And, you fought a slayer," Xander added. "Don't forget that."
"Yes --- NO! --- Well... Yes."
"Xander!" Willow chided.
"I didn't fight her very hard, and I didn't kill her, but we did fight."
"And, why exactly are you telling us this now?" Xander continued.
"Because," Angel said simply, "Buffy told me that Spike had told her how he killed two Slayers and she asked if I'd ever encountered any."
"So you just happened to pick one where you come out smelling like a hero."
"That's the new soap. We get it from a discount supplier."
They sat around a coffee table in the lobby of the hotel, Buffy, Willow, Dawn, Xander in his eyepatch, and Angel. With Sunnydale a giant crater, they'd decided to head to LA for a short stop and catch up.
"Love how you tell the story in the third person, Angel," Xander said. "Makes it almost seem like you weren't the one doing it."
Giles brought a tray over with several cups and a large tea pot. "You know, most experts believe that Frances Coles was not one of the Ripper's victims. Oh, dear. I'm short one cup."
"I don't drink ... tea," Angel reminded him.
"Right, how silly of me to forget," Giles groused. "Where was I?"
"Frances Coles, not a Ripper victim." Wes joined the group with his own cup.
"That's because he didn't eviscerate her like he had the others," Dawn said. "What? I read."
"Since ... when?" Buffy asked, eyebrow raised.
"Well, she is correct," Giles pointed out.
"Weren't you called 'Ripper' once?" Buffy asked.
"Different. Ripper." Giles voice almost squeaked.
"Clearly." Wes muttered under his breath.
"Just for the record," Buffy said to her sister, "the Jack the Ripper murders are still unsolved. In case there's a test later."
"But if you and this Ellen ran off," Xander asked, "why didn't he evi--evi--"
"Eviscerate? I didn't exactly give him time to finish," Angel reminded them. "And when Ellen ran me off, the police weren't far away."
"And what's a cheese cutter hat?" Dawn asked.
"I thought you read," Buffy chided. Dawn stuck her tongue out.
"Yes, yes, very nice indeed," Giles sighed.
"Today we'd call it a driver's hat," Angel explained. "Wool cap, comes forward in the front over the bill." He shaped an imaginary hat over his head. "Not a lot of people drove back then."
"But a lot of people cut cheese?" Xander asked. "... Sorry."
"We have no records of Ellen Callagher's term as Slayer," Wesley said.
"That's because her Watcher was pond scum," Angel explained.
"Pond scum seems a bit ... extreme," Giles chastised.
"You never met the man," Angel said. "He did turn his slayer out to walk the streets."
"Wait, when did you meet this guy?" Xander asked.
"Next night. I went to Ellen's place to say goodbye. He was more upset that she was letting me get away than that we'd stopped the Ripper."
"It is a bit unprecedented, yes."
"But she was happy to see you?" Willow asked.
"She would have killed me if I hadn't had Darla, Dru and Spike with me. She thought for a minute I'd broken our deal, but I told her I was leaving and just wanted her to know that I'd done the deed. It wasn't enough for this guy that she'd gotten rid of five killers. 'We don't get involved with police matters and we don't let vampires get away.' Then he hit her, right in front of us."
"But if her Watcher was so bad," Willow asked, "why did they let him have charge of a Slayer?"
"Have you met Quentin Travers?" Wes and Giles said in unison.
"He wasn't ...that... bad."
"Perhaps not, but this was 1891. It was a different world then." Wesley took a sip of his tea.
"And I believe he may have been cousin to the head of the council." Giles fished into the satchel sitting on the leather sofa. He pulled out a notepad and a pen. "It would be good to have at least some record of Ellen Callagher's activities. Angel, could you tell me the story again?"
"Especially the part about how much you liked Constable Thompson. I'm sure his descendents would be so comforted."
"Xander!"
~~
by Leather Jacket
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Some characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Others belong to history. But it's still a work of fiction. I'll make no money from this so please don't sue.
Angelus buttoned the ivory buttons of his silk brocade blue waistcoat over the starched white shirt and gray cravat that just matched his trousers. He smoothed out the finely striped trousers that didn't need smoothing out, pulled his double-breasted wool tailcoat over his shoulders and then grabbed the cloak off the mirror -- it wasn't like he needed the mirror, after all -- or at least he couldn't use it.
The year 1891 had been very good to Angelus. His apartment was almost cluttered with exotic vases, rare objet d'art, and fine furniture, paid for with a combination of gambling winnings and ... re-appropriated gambling losses. After all, who wants to live forever if they have to work? Yes, 1891 was turning out to be a very good year -- and it was only February.
And now, Angelus had theater tickets. All he needed was someone to take with him. Darla was positively impossible at the theater. She had no patience and was always hungry before the end of the first act and Angelus had a devil of a time trying to explain that if they ate all of the actors, there'd be no one to entertain them, and if they ate all the high-society theater patrons, well that would put an end to Angelus' rather lavish lifestyle. And Angelus liked his rather lavish lifestyle. Dru could also never keep her mouth shut, but for an entirely different reason, and psychotics weren't especially accepted at the theater --- except maybe back stage. Plus, all her thoughts were taken up with that bloody awful poet of hers. No, Angelus would find himself a not-too-unpleasing strumpet to spend the night with. Hopefully, he could give the gentry something to wag their tongues over other than a woman prattling on about how the stage lights sang songs to her. Yes, a strumpet would do nicely, and if she was a tasty morsel, so much the better. The theater would be his Valentine present to himself and perhaps the girl would have something for his girls. And with that grin on his face, he opened the door and stepped out into the cold London air.
************
Chapel Street was thriving and bustling with activity that night as Ellen Callagher plied her trade. Ellen Callagher had a secret --- not that she was a prostitute, everyone in Whitechapel knew that. No, Ellen had another secret. But a girl has got to eat, and the Watcher was useless when it came to getting money. Besides, occasionally, a vampire would hire a prostitute for what would wind up being her last job, but if that vampire made the mistake of hiring Ellen, it would be his last employment. She'd see to that.
************
Frances Coles -- some knew her as Coleman, others Hawkins -- left the millinery and immediately dove into the box, pulling out the black crepe hat and fixing it on top of her head. Her old, ratty hat had been tucked into her underskirts. She wobbled slightly, but managed to get the thing secured on her head. At 26, she was rather pretty despite her fondness for the bottle and her slip into the seedier side of London's underbelly. She turned the corner and immediately collided into the man. He was young and handsome, with a brooding forehead and deep brown eyes, and impeccably dressed. Definitely not Whitechapel material, which meant there was only one reason he'd be on this street at this hour.
"'Ello, luv," she smiled broadly and placed her hands on his chest. "Dreadfully sorry 'bout that. But I'm sure there's some way I can make it up to you." She reached for the top button of his blue waistcoat.
Angelus wrinkled his nose. "Not even if you were sober." He grabbed the woman's hands and forcibly removed them from his person. Then, still holding her hands, he walked around her. He released her and made his way down the street.
Frances shrugged. There would be other men. And for now, she needed a drink. She also needed to figure out a way to get that idiot Sadler off her back. A couple shillings for an hour of her company hardly meant they were going to be moving in together. He'd have to do a lot better than that or else move on.
************
Ellen sighed. It had not turned out to be a good night. No clients to make any money. No vampires to slay. The Watcher wouldn't be pleased on either count. It was now well past midnight, and Ellen's feet hurt. She turned onto Commercial Street and ... quickly ducked into a doorway.
The beast in the cheese cutter hat was all too human, unfortunately, and the Watcher had given her strict instructions never to fight a human. Ellen had wanted to ask the Watcher how much of a beating she was expected to take from a human, but she was a woman and this was Victorian England. Short of murder, a woman took what the man dished out.
This man started coming in her direction and Ellen turned away from him, walking briskly down Commercial. As she crossed a lane, she came upon Frances. Frances, was of course drunk as usual and Ellen stifled a sigh. It's not like this life was easy for any of them. Instead, she bumped Frances gently to be sure she had her attention. At that point, the man in the cheese cutter walked right past. Bumping Frances had turned out to have the exact opposite to the desired effect. Instead of looking at Ellen through those alcohol-dimmed eyes, she focused on the man.
"Oh, sir..." she quietly raised a finger.
Ellen grabbed Frances' raised hand. "Listen to me, Frances," she hissed, "and look at me closely. You know who I am?"
"Let go o' me," Frances whined.
"Do you know who I am?" Ellen repeated.
"Yes, Ellen," Frances said as she pulled her arm out of Ellen's grasp. "I know exactly who you are." Then her sneer turned as she raised her nose in the air. "I am drunk, not stupid."
"Fine," Ellen continued. "Just stay away from that man."
"I will not!" Frances insisted. "Maybe you can afford to turn down a paying customer, but I've got doss to pay or I'll wind up throwed out on my --" she cleared her throat, then turned to find the man.
He had slowed his pace, and Frances smiled as she wobbled toward him. "Oh, sir..."
Ellen grabbed for Frances again, pulling on her shoulder. "You listen to me! You go with that one you'll be wishin' you didn't. He blackened my eye once."
"Oh, I don't doubt that for a minute," Frances started. "Listen, I like you." Frances was taken aback at Ellen's dubious look. "I do! But if you don't let me go, I'll blacken the other eye. Now which eye did he blacken again?"
Ellen sighed and let Frances go. She watched helplessly as Frances caught up with the man, wrapped her arm around him and leaned into his shoulder. The two wandered off.
************
Angelus scowled as he walked down Little Alie Street. The play had been rubbish and the harlots he'd come across all night were soaked in rum or whiskey. A good meal would cheer him up so he was prowling the byways before heading home. But from Alie Place through St Mark's to Great Prescott, all of Whitechapel seemed deserted. This wouldn't have surprised him at 1:45 in the morning in Christ Church, but Whitechapel seemed to be shirking its reputation tonight. He made his way through another alley and got out onto Chamber Street. Finally, he saw a young man, a constable, strong and tall and quite good looking in the uniform of the London constabulary, walking up Chamber Street. His name was Ernest Thompson, but Angelus wouldn't find that out until later. He looked at the man and smiled. The constable waved at him and as he passed, Angelus watched him. Brisk and straight with a fine, smooth neck... the man looked over his shoulder and Angelus smiled again.
"Move along now," the constable said as he turned back and continued on. The man turned up the next street.
Angelus was about to follow him when he heard the faint scream.
************
Ellen had wanted to follow Frances, but knew better. She had to get back to the Watcher's flat and explain that her night had been less than successful, then on to her own to sleep through the morning. She made her way down Back Church Lane then over toward Royal Mint Street, really just hoping there might be some last vestige of activity around the railway tracks. She also heard the scream and raced toward Swallow Gardens. She ducked under the overpass and there, she found them.
The city gentleman in his fine wool tailcoat and silk vest had his teeth in the neck of the ruffian. The cheese cutter hat lay on the ground next to Frances, who was bleeding from the neck. Ellen reached behind her and into her bustle and pulled out a wooden stake.
"Let the man go, vampire," Ellen growled.
Angelus took his fangs out of the man's neck. "Would it help if I told you this isn't what it looks like?"
"Not in the least," she answered.
"You gotta help me," the ruffian begged. "He slit her throat, then came at me. It all happened so fast."
"LIAR!" Angelus yelled.
"Now, that's what it looks like," Ellen declared.
"Aye, well, things are not always the way they seem, are they, whore ... or should I say, 'Slayer'?"
"Both are accurate," Ellen shrugged. "Now let the man go."
"But, see, if I do that, he goes on killing," Angelus told her. "Now, you wouldn't want that, would you?"
"As opposed to you going on killing?" Ellen asked. "I'll take my chances."
"Well, then, I see you've made up your mind." Angelus thrust the man at Ellen, who caught him easily and set him down on the ground as the vampire dashed out of the underpass.
"Wait here," Ellen told the man and she followed Angelus into the night.
The man picked himself up off the ground and returned to Frances, who lay there, bleeding from the neck. Her fingers twitched. The man bent down and picked up the blunt knife that was almost hidden by her hair and his wool cap that lay nearby. He made two more quick strokes in either direction across her throat. At the sound of footsteps on Chamber Street, he ran out, down Chamber toward Mansell Street. He turned up Great Alie Street, then out Little Alie before zigzagging through the buildings around George Yard. By the time he got to the Union Infirmary, he was panting badly.
Angelus dropped from the rooftop. "Hello, Jack."
"You get away from me, monster!"
"Monster, am I?" Angelus smiled a mouth of fangs. "What exactly does that make you, then? ... Jack?"
"I -- I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, sure you do, Jack," Angelus insisted. "Go on and tell the girl."
"Girl ... what ... girl?"
Angelus jumped back and kicked around the corner with his right boot. There was a crunch, a clatter and a woman gasping in pain. "You can come out now," Angelus said.
With that, the man ran in the opposite direction. Angelus grumbled, then jumped and pounced directly in front of the man.
Ellen came around the corner, shaking the pain out of her hand. She reached behind her again.
"Don't go gettin' another stake," Angelus called, pointing at her, "Not until you hear what he has to say."
"He-- He's crazy!" the man cried. "He thinks I'm Jack the Ripper!"
"Now, I just said, 'Jack'," Angelus reminded him as he picked the man up and walked back toward Ellen. "How did you know I was talkin' 'bout the Ripper?"
"How many other mass-murdering Jacks do you know?" the man asked.
"Oh, you'd be surprised," Angelus laughed. "And I thought I told you not to go reachin' for another stake."
Ellen dropped her hands to her sides ... for the moment.
"If I'm Jack the Ripper, then where have I been for the last year, huh?"
"In jail for assault," Ellen suggested, "probably."
The man looked at Ellen carefully in the dark. "I don't know you..."
"You don't remember," Ellen countered, "I suppose one shiner among all the others doesn't stand out, does it. That's what you do, after all: bar fights, beating women. I told my friend you'd given me a black eye..."
"I never hit you..."
"No. You never gave me a black eye, but you did hit me. I told her that to try to get her to stay away from you. Unfortunately for her, it didn't work."
"It'd take more than the likes o' you to give her a black eye, I'd wager," Angelus laughed again. Then he quickly snatched up the man by the throat and pulled him in. "Now tell the woman the truth before she gets impatient and puts a stake through both our hearts."
"Hmmm... that's an idea."
"Hush!" Angelus called. Then he growled at the man. "You're all too eager to take credit for your murders when you're writin' the Central News Agency, tellin' 'em all about your killin's, but when I catch you at the scene of the crime, you go all hush-mouthed? Now how's that fair?"
"He's lying, I tell you," the man sobbed.
"Maybe I'll just eat you now and take my chances with the Slayer," Angelus offered. He spun the man between himself and Ellen.
"No! I'll talk!" the man cried. "I'll talk. You just gotta promise me you won't let him kill me. You'll take me to the constables."
Ellen mulled for a moment. "Can you prove you're the Ripper?"
"The girl in the alley isn't proof enough?" Angelus asked. "Those aren't teeth marks in her neck."
"Alright, I killed the girl, but I'm not the--urk!"
Angelus tightened his grip on the man. "I thought I told you I wanted the truth."
"Maybe you can't handle the truth," Ellen suggested. She slowly inched her right arm behind her back.
"He doesn't know anything," the man stammered, "he can't know anything."
"Oh, but I'm a monster," Angelus reminded him, "and it takes a monster to know a monster."
Angelus, a tight grip on the man's throat, kicked at Ellen, knocking her down. "I said no stakes."
Ellen sat, arms folded over her knees.
"Now, I'm gonna offer you a deal," Angelus told Ellen, "and you're goin' t' take it. This here's Jack the Ripper. I know it. You know it." As the man struggled to pull Angelus' hand away from his throat, Angelus shook him. "He knows it. So you're gonna let me eat him, and then you're gonna let me go."
"And what do I get out of this?" Ellen asked, incredulous.
"You get one less mass-murderer in your town."
"And you get less competition."
"Ah, you've found me out," Angelus said, his free hand to his heart.
"I'd be willing to wager he'll kill less people than you would," Ellen told Angelus.
"Hmm... I fear she has a point there," Angelus told the man. "I do believe she'd choose you over me."
The man nodded fiercely to Ellen.
"So," Angelus continued, "if I so much as see a stake in her hand, I'm gonna have to twist your head off."
"Are you Jack the Ripper?" Ellen asked.
The man nodded again, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Then here's our deal," she said to Angelus as she stood up. Once standing, she carefully showed him that her hands were still empty. "You eat him ---"
"NO!" Jack cried.
"Would you rather be hanged?" she laughed. "--- and then you get out of town."
"Interesting," Angelus said, "and that way you get two mass-murderers out of your finely coiffed hair. Ah, but where shall I go?"
"I don't care," Ellen said, "You can go to China for all I care. I just don't want you in Whitechapel -- I don't want you in London. In fact, if I see you in London, if I even find out that you are anywhere in England, I will hunt you down and make sure you regret it."
"Agreed," Angelus said.
"NO!" Jack cried again. "You can't do this!"
"I just did," Ellen said. Then to Angelus, she added, "Further, you shall make sure that no one finds the body. -- I mean his body, of course. I suspect they've already found Frances -- and you won't turn him into one of yours."
"I don't want him as one of ours," Angelus sneered.
"So, if his body turns up, or if you turn up, I will knock every last fang out of your mouth and then pin every last Ripper murder on you," Ellen told Angelus. "Can you imagine what it would be like for a vampire with no fangs in prison?"
"It's prison. I'd only last until sunrise, with or without fangs."
"Oh, but what a hell of a night it would be."
"You know, I think you'd do it," Angelus smiled admiringly. "We have a deal." He went to shake, again with his free hand, then pulled it back. "Ah, but once you die, as Slayers do, I can come back -- if I want to."
Jack continued to cry. "Please, miss, don---" the rest was silenced as Angelus plunged his fangs into the man's neck.
Ellen turned and walked away, down the road to make her report to her Watcher.
************
Buffy leaned in to Angel. "So, you killed Jack the Ripper?"
"Yes."
"And you stopped the Whitechapel murders?"
"Yes."
"And you did it without a soul?"
"Yes."
"That is so amazing!" Willow gushed.
"And, you fought a slayer," Xander added. "Don't forget that."
"Yes --- NO! --- Well... Yes."
"Xander!" Willow chided.
"I didn't fight her very hard, and I didn't kill her, but we did fight."
"And, why exactly are you telling us this now?" Xander continued.
"Because," Angel said simply, "Buffy told me that Spike had told her how he killed two Slayers and she asked if I'd ever encountered any."
"So you just happened to pick one where you come out smelling like a hero."
"That's the new soap. We get it from a discount supplier."
They sat around a coffee table in the lobby of the hotel, Buffy, Willow, Dawn, Xander in his eyepatch, and Angel. With Sunnydale a giant crater, they'd decided to head to LA for a short stop and catch up.
"Love how you tell the story in the third person, Angel," Xander said. "Makes it almost seem like you weren't the one doing it."
Giles brought a tray over with several cups and a large tea pot. "You know, most experts believe that Frances Coles was not one of the Ripper's victims. Oh, dear. I'm short one cup."
"I don't drink ... tea," Angel reminded him.
"Right, how silly of me to forget," Giles groused. "Where was I?"
"Frances Coles, not a Ripper victim." Wes joined the group with his own cup.
"That's because he didn't eviscerate her like he had the others," Dawn said. "What? I read."
"Since ... when?" Buffy asked, eyebrow raised.
"Well, she is correct," Giles pointed out.
"Weren't you called 'Ripper' once?" Buffy asked.
"Different. Ripper." Giles voice almost squeaked.
"Clearly." Wes muttered under his breath.
"Just for the record," Buffy said to her sister, "the Jack the Ripper murders are still unsolved. In case there's a test later."
"But if you and this Ellen ran off," Xander asked, "why didn't he evi--evi--"
"Eviscerate? I didn't exactly give him time to finish," Angel reminded them. "And when Ellen ran me off, the police weren't far away."
"And what's a cheese cutter hat?" Dawn asked.
"I thought you read," Buffy chided. Dawn stuck her tongue out.
"Yes, yes, very nice indeed," Giles sighed.
"Today we'd call it a driver's hat," Angel explained. "Wool cap, comes forward in the front over the bill." He shaped an imaginary hat over his head. "Not a lot of people drove back then."
"But a lot of people cut cheese?" Xander asked. "... Sorry."
"We have no records of Ellen Callagher's term as Slayer," Wesley said.
"That's because her Watcher was pond scum," Angel explained.
"Pond scum seems a bit ... extreme," Giles chastised.
"You never met the man," Angel said. "He did turn his slayer out to walk the streets."
"Wait, when did you meet this guy?" Xander asked.
"Next night. I went to Ellen's place to say goodbye. He was more upset that she was letting me get away than that we'd stopped the Ripper."
"It is a bit unprecedented, yes."
"But she was happy to see you?" Willow asked.
"She would have killed me if I hadn't had Darla, Dru and Spike with me. She thought for a minute I'd broken our deal, but I told her I was leaving and just wanted her to know that I'd done the deed. It wasn't enough for this guy that she'd gotten rid of five killers. 'We don't get involved with police matters and we don't let vampires get away.' Then he hit her, right in front of us."
"But if her Watcher was so bad," Willow asked, "why did they let him have charge of a Slayer?"
"Have you met Quentin Travers?" Wes and Giles said in unison.
"He wasn't ...that... bad."
"Perhaps not, but this was 1891. It was a different world then." Wesley took a sip of his tea.
"And I believe he may have been cousin to the head of the council." Giles fished into the satchel sitting on the leather sofa. He pulled out a notepad and a pen. "It would be good to have at least some record of Ellen Callagher's activities. Angel, could you tell me the story again?"
"Especially the part about how much you liked Constable Thompson. I'm sure his descendents would be so comforted."
"Xander!"
~~