I had learned, by going through the other memories, to prepare myself so I could skim the memories instead of getting the full impact of them.

I was totally unprepared for this.

I saw, in stunning, horrifying detail, each and every one of Jack’s murders. The five that are known to be his. The six others that were thought, but not proved, to be the Ripper’s. (The London police had it right. They were.) And almost a hundred more that were never connected with him, never investigated, or just plain were never known of!

In my teenage days, I had managed to see the infamous Faces of Death movies. Most of the stuff was reenactments (noticeably so).Even for the scenes that weren’t, I’d never seen anything like this. So much blood!

The terror these poor women felt as he worked. And he could feel it, literally! He fed on their fear, their terror. It was like a drug to him.

“I’ve not long yet to live, my dear,” he had told her. “One last one. For old time’s sake.

“And this one, I’ll do special, just for you.”