Chapter III-B: Echo

3

“Yo Jonah, pull up quick G. We got bare wasteman on our turf innit.” Julio called out to him, a west Indian teenager only a few years older than him.

Jonah was only eleven at the time, still a child but he had seen things most adults never see. “Can't though, moms gonna get suspicious!” He shouted back.

“Screw that G. You with us or your against us, lil’ yute.”

“Tch. Fine then, how long we gon’ be then?”

“Not long, now hurry up G. Tarnell is pulling up to pick us up!”

“Oh shoot.”

The young Jonah left school in a haste, following Julio across the road as they entered a dirty saloon. Tarnell, a young man in his late teens slamming the horn at full force.

“What took you so long!?” Tarnell shouted.

“Jonah was taking his sweet time.”

“Oh come on, you're such a rat.”

“Watch who you speak to, I'm still your older!”

“Both of you shut up!” Tarnell's voice immediately quieted the both of them. “And Julio, you're still nothin’ round here. Jonah was the son of the best to roam these streets, bruv, so watch your mouth!”

Julio quieted immediately in frustration. There were levels to this and even he knew it, mess with the wrong guy and you could get killed. Those were the rules of North London.

“Pick up the shanks, we're going down to wood green, some idiots from Brixton have decided to come all the way up here to cause trouble. Idiots.”

“Why do they need us though, can't the olders deal with that?” Jonah asked meekly.

“Nah we're on a manhunt, they killed some of our dealers innit so we can't let'em walk alive no more. You get?”

“Yeah, I get. Shank some fools.” Jonah added, psyching himself up.

“Yeah, let's kill'em” Julio added, he was a psychopath through and through.

They drove down in a rush, weaving through cars with reckless abandon. Jonah gripped his knife carefully, a sharp kitchen knife he had snuck in his bag from home. To the side of him was Julio who held a machete hidden in his baggy trousers. 

They parked at the side of a street, Tarnell pulled out a rare weapon from his glove compartment. 

“Is that a gun?” Jonah had noticed, he had never seen one in real life before. It was illegal to sell them in the UK.

“Yeah, so what of it?”

“Nothing.”

“Good, let's ride.”

Tarnell held his pistol close to his side, ready to unleash it on any fool that crossed his path as he led the way. The other two following close behind him.

They slithered through the side streets, readying themselves at the side of an empty road. Council houses surrounding the area. “Just a bit up ahead.” Tarnell motioned them forward as they turned into another alleyway. Ready to see their friends fighting, scaring off the fools that dared cross into what was their domain.

But instead…

Is that….

Jonah puked on sight, his musty vomit coating the floor a yellow-green. 

“What happened…?” Julio's eyes stared in shock, his nose filled with the violent smell of iron.

It was an unholy massacre of terrible proportions. 

Dead bodies lined the floor, blood gushing in every direction, the walls and floor painted by crimson red. The bodies of young men, teenagers, cut into pieces and small parts like a butcher with his meat. 

Fingers, shoulders, feet, kneecaps, scrotums, even faces. Ripped apart and violently spread like an artist's magnus opus. As if the lives of these young men held no meaning but to paint a canvas of slaughter.

This was the first time Jonah had ever seen a dead body, let alone dead bodies. Mutilated and violated like cattle. An unholy image that would burden his mind, forcing his consciousness to kill and bury it to save his psyche.

Even Tarnell was frozen, his brothers viciously murdered in front of him. He could only let out low mumbles of anger and fear towards the men, no, man, that had done such a thing.

At the end of the alleyway stood a young man, seemingly in his early twenties. His hair was a dark red, his skin pale, his form tall and lithe. He wore a simple white shirt, dark baggy jeans and a leather motorcycle jacket. A cigarette, unlit, held high in his mouth. He didn't even bother to turn around and look at the trio.

At his side was another young man, clothed in the typical wear of a London road man. The red headed man turned towards him. 

"Eh, kid—giz a light for us. Will ya?” His accent was scouse, rough and demanding yet also apathetic.

“Y–Yes boss!” His south london sidekick answered quick, pulling out a lighter and setting his cigarette alight.

“WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!!!?” Tarnell roared, his voice booming with rage. The scouser refused to answer him, not even turning around.

Who is he… how… how did he kill them all…!? 

Jonah still couldn't believe it as he gazed upon the gruesome sight.

A head rolled across the ground.

Tim.

An arm cleanly cut from its body.

Usky.

A body cut in half from the waist down.

Alex.

A body split down the middle vertically.

Levi.

All his friends, brothers, dead on the floor like puppets cut from their strings.

He looked up at the crimson haired man who killed them, his calm composure and blood soaked feet proving who committed the crime. He's a monster. 

There was no question about it. That's what he was, a killer completely undisturbed by the lives that he took.

“Yo, watch who you chattin’ to, you're dealing with the king of the north. Jack the Ripper. Watch your mou—BANG!” 

His sidekick's brains were blown out across the floor, the body squirming before laying still.

“Your next. I don't care who you are, Jack! Next I'm shooting your—SLICE!” 

Like a watermelon sliced open, Tarnell's forehead was split from his body in an instant. Dead in an instant. His body collapsed to the floor, brains spilling onto the dirty floor.

Jonah turned to see Jack right next to him, his face a blur, he had seen him but his subconscious refused to reveal his face. Resisting the full extent of the memory of this day. His expression a haze.

Jack turned away from the frozen Jonah, turning to see Julio who gripped his machete in his pocket shakily. Julio was struck frozen in fear, his hands shaking, his bottoms turning wet with urine.

“What then—ya a coward or what? Just bluffin'? Get it out, big man.” Jack's voice was calm yet cruel, taunting the poor boy with pure animosity. 

Julio gripped his machete with as much fierceness as he could provide. Gritting his teeth with all his courage. “AGHHHH—SLICE!”

A soft squelch could be heard.

Julio's lower body went backwards. His upper body went forward. A young man split apart like a toy.

“Just run off, kid. You're only a little yute. I'm not warnin’ ya again. Go—now.”

His warning was strict, honest. If Jonah left now, he would be spared.

But his feet froze, he couldn’t move. Fear held him still. The seconds lingered and Jack's patience ran out. Jonah could only beg, try to explain why he couldn’t move.

“Plea—SLASH!”

A mercy killing. 

Jonah’s head rolled across the floor, his consciousness slipping away. His last sight:

The ruby-red eyes of his first crimson haired killer. Looking down upon him with disgust as he left the bloody alleyway.

His life was gone in a moment. His first ever death was granted by the one they call:

Jack the Ripper of the North.