The Butcher’s Alley

“Could you explain how you know someone here when it’s our first time in Whitechapel?” she asked, slowing her pace to walk beside me.

“Ah, yes, yes… gladly. You see, back in my days as a medical student…” I cleared my throat. “As the medical student, I should note, I always surpassed that rabble. I doubt their combined brains—”

“The short version, please,” she interrupted, cutting me off mid-sentence.

“Always so impatient… You’re hearing the chronicles of your humble creator. Have some tact.”

“It’s irrelevant, and you’ll probably ramble for fifteen minutes about something needlessly redundant. Summarize.”

“Such audacity! Your brain shrinks by the second… I can’t believe—”

“Summarize,” she repeated.

“I’d love to have the means to treat that allergy to fun you have…” I said, pulling a small paper bag from my vest pocket. “He’s an old brain in a body. We used to have occasional chats during my university days, though none were significant. You can’t expect much from faulty neurons…”

“Uh-huh. How’d he end up in this dump?”

“Ah… the mysteries of life, aren’t they?”

The market was a wretched heap of human pestilence in every sense of the word. Ragged men shouting to sell newspapers, carriages splashing mud left and right. Children playing at throwing rocks as if they were paper balls.
I didn’t need to imagine a hell when I already had a picture of what it would look like… if it existed, of course.
Ignorant, repulsive, and utterly oblivious to the dangers of wandering the streets at such a young age, the children played in the middle of the road, like cavemen dancing around a fire.
Ladies and gentlemen, this was the future… one that made us wholly deserving of total extinction.

“Children, careful, please!” I raised my voice to get their attention. “It’s neither safe nor wise to play in this place…” I continued, gently nudging one of the kids toward the curb. “No matter the position of the sun, no matter the presence or absence of light, this isn’t a place to roam… Now, I encourage you to head back home. Oh! I almost forgot…” I opened the paper bag and leaned toward them. “Sweets?”

They grabbed them without a second thought, like rats finding an unguarded wheel of cheese. They plunged their hands into the bag, taking as many as they could before running off… without so much as a thank you.
I stood up and rejoined Anne while checking how many sweets were left in the bag. They’d nearly cleaned me out.

“Sweets?” she asked.

“Indeed.”

“Can I have one?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Why is it that despite following you everywhere, I don’t even get a sweet, yet those brats practically robbed you?” she asked, with a slight tinge of… annoyance? Absurd jealousy? Probably both.

“You receive my constant presence, which in itself is the greatest gift of all.”

“Give me the bag.”

“You’ll have to forgive me—if there’s anything to forgive—but I cannot.”

“Why not? And please, spare me the torrent of unnecessary drivel… Hunger snaps my patience, and you’re not helping.”

“Because they’re laced with opium, my dear Anne.”

“You gave opium-laced sweets to children? Do you have the slightest idea what you just did?” she asked, stopping me by grabbing my arm.

“Of course. I gave them two valuable lessons. The first: always stay alert when crossing the streets, even in the comfort of an innocent, albeit crude, game. The second, the most important… never trust strangers,” I concluded, tucking the bag back into my vest.

“Bu—” She stopped herself and resumed walking. “Forget it. I have no intention of explaining what you just did.”

“I gave them a spark of intelligence, a kick of insight, if I may.”

Around the corner, perhaps ten or twenty meters away, stood a dilapidated butcher shop—our midday destination.

“This place looks like it’s about to collapse,” she said, inspecting the faded facade, the cracked windowpanes, and the mold creeping over the wooden frames.

“Indeed… much like its owner,” I added, adjusting her cloak to cover her face.

The small bell jingled as I opened the door. The bald man hacking at a pig turned, as he likely always did, to greet potential customers. But the way his face contorted when he saw me was so extravagant, I swear I’ll never forget it.

“What the hell are you doing here?! Get out before you end up hanging from a hook, you damned sicko!” he shouted, hurling his knife, which—due to his abysmal aim—embedded itself in the door, inches from my face.

“Hermann… dear… Is this how you greet an old colleague?” I said, pulling the knife from the door and spreading my arms.

Anne silently entered behind me and leaned against the wall. I could tell she was sizing up the situation, deciding whether it was worth intervening.

“Colleague?! You ruined my life, Victor…” he said, slamming his fist on the counter.

“Please! Such melodrama, such exaggeration… I thought you’d eventually leave the theatrics to the stage…”

“Melodrama? You desecrated my sister’s grave three days after she died!” he said, reaching for another knife.

“Ah… that… A misunderstanding. The grave is intact. I only took a part of her—her body, that is,” I said, gesturing. “I think you’ll be pleased to know that, despite what the doctors said, no, she didn’t die of tuberculosis… Remember I told you that?”

He didn’t bother to elaborate. He just grabbed the knife and lunged at me.

“Wait, wait… let’s not be hasty… I brought a surprise,” I said, sidestepping his charge. “Anne, would you be so kind as to uncover your face?”

It took only a moment. When he saw her, the color drained from his face, his legs gave out, and his eyes rolled back as he collapsed like dead weight onto the floor.
Anne was visibly confused, her fingers instinctively tracing the scars on her face.

“Oh… dear… it’s not that,” I said, gently lifting her chin. “Don’t worry, don’t burden your mind with unnecessary thoughts. You’re breathtakingly beautiful… because, after all, you bear his sister’s face.”

“Why…?”

“Why has many answers, depending on the purpose of the question,” I said, stepping around the counter, avoiding Hermann’s limp body.

“Why this face?”

“What’s the point of creating something that isn’t beautiful, my dear Anne?” I asked, inspecting what was for sale. “Now then! A promise is a debt, and a debt must be paid. Choose what you want… we have some time before he wakes up—assuming he hasn’t had a heart attack, of course.”

She simply pointed to the pig being butchered on the counter.

“Ah, excellent choice. Its meat cooks quickly. We can roast it in the fireplace without the room reeking… perfect.”

“I chose it because it reminds me of you,” she said, covering her face again. “I’ll wait outside.”

I grabbed the spare apron hanging on a nail and finished butchering the pig, trimming the excess fat and carefully packing each piece.
I washed my hands when I was done, adjusted my clothes, and stepped over Hermann’s nearly conscious body.
The walk back was oppressively silent. The crowd was background noise, of course, but Anne hadn’t said a word the entire way to the hotel.

“Now’s when your curiosity should kick in and ask what the day has in store for us.”

“Honestly, what’s the point? Hearing a philosophical monologue instead of a straight answer? You just love the sound of your own voice, so go ahead and talk.”

“Are you ever going to stop wounding me, dear?” I asked, dramatically slumping forward and clutching my chest. “The pain…”

She merely glanced at me sidelong and kept walking.

“Ah… the oppressive wall of silence… No matter. Let’s have lunch, perhaps a well-deserved nap—not one born of boredom or laziness, but a necessary one to keep us alert all night. We need to stay vigilant.”

“Staring out a window is your idea of advancing an investigation?”

“It’s my way of observing the situation from a perspective that doesn’t interfere with the natural course of events…”

“Well, it’s not mine, I’m afraid,” she said, turning to retrace her steps before I grabbed her arm.

“Not today,” I said, holding her.

“Oh, is that concern I hear slipping from your tongue? Your ‘pet’ knows how to get back… I won’t get lost,” she mocked.

“Your ability or inability to navigate the streets is irrelevant to me right now and has nothing to do with concern. But tonight will be interesting.”

“Then I want a front-row seat to see just how interesting it can be.”

“Allow me to rephrase… tonight will be the first night for one person… and the last for another.”

“Are you talking about a murder?”

“I see your brain’s finally working again.”

“And are you worried I might be the victim?” she asked, laughing between words.

“Please! Such insolence. That thought is as far from my mind as the Earth is from the Sun.”

“If that’s the case, why haven’t you let go of me yet?”