Prompt: Jack The Ripper
Hints: Alright, this character is said to be ruthless and scary in nature. He killed people mercilessly and his true whereabouts had never been known.
Challenge: You're challenge is to put this character into a whole new light. Put him as someone who is in love without removing his scary aura.
Dedication: Jam Rosales, once again, for giving this prompt.

Title: No. 124
Summary: Because love always makes us do crazy things.
Characters: Jack the Ripper/Jacques Friedd, Eleanor Carson, Dr. Robert James Lees, Cordelia Schrust

To the people in Vanguard, I was simply known as Number 124. To others, I will always be their greatest nightmare.

The night may be young, but time can never dictate when I'll be lurking.

Whether in the dark, or in the far corner of the alley, when one sees me, it will be too late. It will always be too late.

Screaming won't do you any good.

Pinching yourself won't wake you up.

Nightmares don't always happen in your slumber. They might as well appear in reality.

In what form? Only you can tell.

It was a cold winter when I first met her.

Her hair was a warm shade of chestnut, and her eyes a toxic shade of blue. Her name was Eleanor, Eleanor Carson.

I've only admired her from afar, because I was an outcast, a prey to all who were popular. But still, I watched as she made her way to her seat everyday, and eyed her as she walked home, preventing her to fall for evil clutches.

Everyday was intriguing.

I didn't know if was just me, but I noticed that she wore longer and darker clothes everyday.

She was my seatmate in Biology. My quill ran out of ink, so I had to dip it in another inkwell. I knew no one would spare me a second glance, so I thought of asking a favor from her.

"Hello."

"Oh. Fair morning to you. You're Jacques, right?"

"Yes. How'd you know?"

"My father sends me on errands, and one of them is to do the grocery shopping. I stop by your father's meat shop."

"I see."

"The rumors are right. You are a man of a few words."

"What else do you know about me?"

"I can't say I know a lot, but I know you need a dip. So, here."

And she handed me a new quill, and dipped it in her inkwell. I never returned it, and I never used it again after that day. It would serve as a reminder of how she talked to me when no else wanted to.

Once I had the nerves to walk up to her and introduce myself properly. Sadly, the popular kids who bullied me were hovering over her, thus preventing me to get near.

I gave up trying to get near her.

But fate was selfless.

One day, when I was walking by her house, I heard a frightful shriek, which was followed by hysterical sobs. A door opened, and out came running was her. Her tear-stained cheeks were distracting, and every tear told a story. She ran into me and I helped her escape the clutches of her abusive and violent father.

I took her home, since my parents were on a trip to visit my sick aunt Victoria. I tended to her wounds and applied ice to her bruises. She was a pitiful sight, but I loved her, and that made me overcome my shallow reasons.

She vented all her feelings towards me, and I openly received them. I hugged her when she needed comfort, and whispered soothing words into her ear when she just sat there crying.

Night fell and she had to go home. I offered to take her home, and she hesitated for a moment before she let me.

We were walking down the streets of London when several of her neighbors and bystanders started whispering things loud enough for us to hear.

"Isn't that Little Eleanor from down the block?"

"I guess she's not little anymore. She grew to serve men."

"I wonder what her father says to this."

"I'm sure he allowed her for money. Wouldn't hurt to have some money in his pocket, eh?"

People were saying awful things about Eleanor, things I was certain she was innocent of.

"All of you! Mind your own business! Stop accusing her of things she doesn't do!" I shouted. Everyone kept silent, but their cold and unnerving stares followed us home.

When we reached her house, the lights were off and she begged me to leave right away. I didn't see through her reason well enough, but her eyes conveyed to me a message that said that I should follow her.

The next day, word reached us that Eleanor had passed away. According to the detective police, her death was of a suicide attempt. I believed them, simply because her father was not home when I brought her to their cottage.

She was only human. It was impossible for her to be able to take everything. She had feelings, too. She couldn't find a way to relieve herself of all the pain, and so she escaped the mortal world.

She never got the chance to redeem herself. And so, I shall get revenge.

It has been fifteen years since that fateful day.

A lot has happened. I just finished medical school, and I am ready to practice what I have learned.

I listed down every single one of her tormentors, including her father. With that, I had five people in my list. I remembered every face, every house. They weren't going to be let off easily. Not in this lifetime.

The first person in my list was Frances Coles.

She was one of our classmates, and she was one of those who accused her of being a prostitute the night I brought her home.

According to my research, at this ungodly hour, Frances would be just around Swallow Gardens, awaiting her lover's arrival. To my convenience, Swallow Gardens was a home to high bushes, and wide trees.

At half past the twenty-third hour of the day, out came Frances running to Swallow Gardens. Her lover was not yet present, and so she sat on one of the benches and waited. This was the time I was waiting for to come.

"Look who we have here." I said while hiding behind a tree. She jumped from her seat and stood up, obviously shaking in fear.

"W-who's there?" she called out.

"It doesn't matter who I am. All that matters here, is that you are breathing. Something I am not particularly fond of."

Before she could say anything in return, I enclosed her within my grasp and pointed the knife directly at her neck, threatening to bury it there.

"You will die a slow and painful death." I whispered as I stabbed her shoulder, causing her to fall to her knees.

"Please! Have mercy on me! I don't know who you are! I didn't do anything wrong! Please!" she cried as she tried to regain her balance. Instead of letting her stand up, I slapped her across her cheek. It was strong enough to knock her down. I ripped her clothes off and threw them at a fair distance.

"Did you have mercy on her when she needed your mercy most?"

"Her? Who are you talking about? I don't know who you are speaking of!" she cried.

"Oh pitiful soul. How could you not remember your best friend?"

"E-Eleanor?" she whispered.

With my knife, I cut off her right arm. Blood spurted out of the fresh wound and it made contact with my hands. It was warm, and I wanted more. She screamed, but her voice cracked as she tried to stifle a sob. I chopped of her feet, and pounded on her knees, cracking them in the process. With every cut, every slice, and every hit, she screamed. It only made my pleasure worthwhile.

Her screams and her cries got softer with every slash and every cut. And it narrowed down to soft whimpers as I skinned her face.

When I was sure that she could no longer live for a few more minutes, I ruthlessly carved letters on her torso. It formed a word that suited her best.

Traitor.

She was my first victim.

The crimson liquid she left on my silver blades brought me to continue what I have started.

My next victim, was Eleanor's ex-boyfriend. His name? Jonathan Eirman.

Why I was going to kill him, it won't remain a mystery. During the time Eleanor was going through a crisis with her abusive father, what did this man do? His tongue was in some other girl's mouth. A different one every night, may I add.

Was he there to help Eleanor in her time of need? No. Not even once.

This time, I knew well where he was. I didn't have to do any research. Eirman was a well-off banker in the city, a womanizer at that. Every night, he would be at a club, where he would pick up a girl for the night.

At the twenty-third hour of the day, I hid at a dark alley, waiting for my prey to come. Again, my timing did not fail me. There he was, clad in his businessman suit, walking towards the alley beside the club. I grabbed hold of his collar and pulled him in with me. He fell with a loud thud, making a harsh impact with the cold stone pavement.

"Bloody hell! What was that for?!" he shouted at me in his manly arrogant voice. I reminded myself to strike his voice box first.

"It is of great honor to finally meet you, Monsieur Eirman."

"Who are you?! And what do you want?!" he said as he tried to get up.

"It doesn't matter who I am, but it does matter what I want from you. You are still breathing, something I am not particularly fond of."

I advanced on him and attempted to strangle him, but really, I just needed a closer distance to start the deed. I buried the edge of the knife in his neck and dragged it to make a deep cut around his neck. I took off the knife and blood spurted out of the slice. He was gagging on his own blood.

I brought out a longer knife from my coat and started slashing at his torso. His blood oozed out from every cut, be it deep or shallow. He was still breathing, and it made me irritable.

"I almost forgot, Jonathan. While you were committed to Eleanor, you remained disloyal. Every night, your tongue was in some other girl's mouth, and a different one every night at that."

He produced a gagging sound. Incoherent, and useless.

I took advantage of his mouth agape, and grabbed his tongue. He tried to fight me off, but blood loss drained so much of his energy. I didn't think twice when I swung down the blade. In my hand was a piece of pink flesh, wriggling as if it's a worm.

His tongue.

His breathing became erratic, and soon enough, he laid there, unmoving.

Once again, I left a word written on the torso. A word that best describes my victim.

Man-whore.

The married couple Jeane and Anton Coupier were a part of my class back in high school. Besides Frances, the two were who Eleanor had treated as her friends. They were tight back when Eleanor hasn't been accused of being a prostitute.

Friends? More like two-faced shallow devils.

On that fateful day, the couple were taking a night stroll around the cold streets of London. There they were, walking hand in hand. You could just smell the love they felt for each other even from a feet away. How unfair. They're standing at a fair distance from me, experiencing love in each other's presence, while the love of my life was dead.

Because of my medical practice, I was able to afford a pistol. I aimed it at their knees, and shot each of them. They fell down with a loud thud. I dragged them all the way to the docks. Ironic, isn't it? Their name rhymes with pier, the place where they would die.

Luckily, no one would dare walking in the streets at this hour of the day, as the so-called "Jack the Ripper" would be lurking around. Fortunately for me, I am Jack the Ripper.

I tied them to one of the wooden docks' pillars. They wriggled in my grasp, but I was stronger.

"What do you want from us?!" Anton asked while attempting to shield his wife from me.

"It doesn't matter what I want from you, Anton. You and your wife are still breathing, something I am not particularly fond of." I said as I slapped his face hard enough to make him bow down his head to me.

I brought out a dagger and planted cuts on their pale skin. They winced at every slash, but held their breath to block the feeling of pain. On their arms I carved three words.

Two-faced shallow devils.

Satisfied, I retrieved a gallon's worth of gasoline from one of the far ends of the pier and poured it all over the two. They screamed as the gasoling seeped into their wounds.Ah, the sweet smell of gasoline.

"Please! Please don't light the gasoline! I beg of you, kind sir!" Jeane pleaded.

I turned my back on them and walked away.

"Thank you, kind sir!" she shouted as her gaze bore into my retreating figure.

I lit a match and threw it backwards, not affording to throw it in the wrong direction. Soon, screams were heard throughout the docks. The atmosphere changed. From a cold night's breeze, it felt like an inferno.

"Another good riddance." I sighed as I walked away from the burning couple.

There was only one person left on my list. The worst of them all. The root of all evil. The one who inflicted the most of the pain on her.

Her father, Gregor Carson.

He wasn't convicted to prison, because no one knew about the beatings and abuse she received from him.

But I knew. I knew everything. And I wouldn't let him get away with it again.

Rumor has it that Gregor decided to live in the outskirts of town after his daughter died. But the truth remains hidden. He does have a house in the outskirts, but he goes downtown every night, wearing a disguise, taking a woman home, and beating her to death.

And all the townspeople wonder why there are a lot of land mounds in the secluded part of the village.

At the twenty-third hour of the day, he would be in Mystique. And that's where I went.

He was there, and tonight, his disguise was a detective police. I thought it was very boring, but he seemed to lure in a lot of girls. I couldn't get near him, and I was getting impatient. So, to get to him, I paid one of the girls. The girl reminded me so much of Eleanor. The same chestnut hair, and the same blue eyes. But she was dead, and the girl I see now is only a look-a-like. Her name was Cordelia Schurst.

She strutted her way to him, and pushed away all the others. He was shocked at first, but he immediately warmed up to her. It looks like my plan paid off.

He took her home and I soon followed.

As soon as he got out of his car, I sneaked up on him and hit his head with a pipe. For a moment there, I forgot that there was someone else with us. The girl from Mystique was still there, watching intently as I hit Gregor to sleep.

"Aren't you scared of me?"

"No." she replied bluntly.

"What if I hit you next?"

"You won't hurt me."

"What makes you so sure?"

"I know who you are. And I know what you're bent on doing."

"What makes you so sure?"

"I've been in love with you since high school. But you never noticed me."

"Would you turn me in?"

"No. Never. But I have a condition we have to both agree on."

"What is it?"

"Make me your wife, and I will help you hide."

"But I don't love you."

"In time you will learn to. That'd be my problem, not yours."

I agreed. She was so willing to keep me safe, and I couldn't bear to refuse. My cover will be blown. And besides, she's a dead-ringer for Eleanor. It would be like seeing Eleanor everyday.

Jacques left to serve his duty at the hospital, while I was left alone in our house, tending to the flowers in the front yard.

We got married, a few months later. It was a small and quiet ceremony. Our parents were there, as were some of my friends.

What ever happened to Mr. Carson? Jacques never found it in him to kill him right away, claiming that there were more inhumane things to do with him. I acted as if I were okay with it, but whenever Jacques would be away, I would nurse Mr. Carson back to good health, little by little.

One day, detective police came knocking on our door, asking for Jacques. I tried to stop them, but they were too strong for me to fight against. In the end, he was arrested and I couldn't do anything about it.

At first, I thought he would be placed behind bars. Instead, they sent him to a madhouse called Vanguard. He never liked it there, always thrashing and ending up killing madmen and medical staffs around him.

Soon enough, he was sentenced to sit on the electrical chair.

I did nothing but weep for the man I love, and my unborn child who will grow up without a father.

"Famous Jack the Ripper to be Electrocuted." the clairvoyant, Dr. Lees, read the headlines aloud.

"Let's give them a good show, Dr. Lees. Would you want me to thrash around? Something good for the press to see?" I asked arrogantly.

"I think it would be better if I carve the word 'killer' on your chest."

"Foul comeback, don't you think." I laughed.

"You're too happy for someone who failed on his mission," I just tilted my head to the right in confusion. "You didn't even come too close to killing Gregor."

"I regret nothing. My every move was predicted, don't you think?"

"I work that way. Well, any last words?"

"None, I guess."

"Three, two..." he trailed off, as if waiting for me to say something. I remained quiet.

Surely, my medical practice didn't fail me.

"One." he said as he pulled the lever down.

I die with no regrets but failing to kill Gregor.

A/N: So, that's it. Another story dedicated to Jam Rosales. I hope you liked it! Do tell me if you found errors I must have overlooked :D