TimeRipper by D E McCluskey

Author:D E McCluskey [McCluskey, D E]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dammaged Productions
Published: 2021-02-24T22:00:00+00:00

42.

London. 1888

AARON KOSMINSKI AWOKE on a chair in a small downstairs room behind his barber shop. He was tired, and in a foul mood. The sounds of his wife cleaning up in the rooms above aggravated the pulsing in his head, which in turn pushed his anger further and further to the fore. Since this whole situation had begun, he had not been able to look at her. Every time he did, he saw the face of one of the dead women, or of that witch Annie. It brought his rage back.

He stormed up the stairs, his vision swimming in a pink mist. He paused as he saw her in the bedroom changing the covers on their marital bed, the one that she had been sleeping in alone for the last few months. Breathing rapidly through his nose, he strode purposefully into the room and grabbed her from behind, pulling her hair, which had been tied back while she did her chores. She screamed in surprise, and in pain, at the mauling.

He then proceeded to beat her.

He couldn’t help himself.

Mrs Kosminski was no stranger to a beating, not long-ago he’d had to take her to the hospital due to the severity of one of his beatings, but the one he was giving her now, this was the mother of all the beatings he had ever administered.

His bloody knuckles were cracking and snapping from how tight he was flexing them as he threw the punches into the poor woman’s face. The cartilage in her nose shattered with the ferocity of the blows. Every time he hit her, her face changed, morphing into one of the witches’ faces. All of them laughing at him, defying him. It took almost five minutes for her to fall unconscious, and limp, onto the floor, but not before he had damaged her permanently. Her nose was shattered, and at the very least, two teeth were now missing from the front of her swollen, bloodied mouth. The mutilation around the socket of her left eye was so bad that he thought she might never see from it again.

He didn’t care about any of this.

As she lay unconscious on the wooden floor, moaning and twitching in a pool of blood, he stormed around the room grabbing her, and their children’s things, and stuffing them into a large suitcase they kept underneath the bed. When it was full, he carried it downstairs. He then went back and dragged her body downstairs, dumping her by the door.

He then took their two, small, screaming, children and thrust them out of the door as well. He was done with all of them.

That was when, out of the blue, an idea hit him.

He was going to write a letter.

He considered himself to have a bond with this killer—or killers, he thought, thinking back to the night in the yard when he had witnessed one of the women kill the stranger, only for him to return moments later. They were both going in the same direction.

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