The Ripper

Despair

Jean was The Ripper.

Erik struggled to open his eyes in the daze he was in, but he knew for a fact.

Jean was The Ripper.

A groan escaped from Erik before he could register where the pain was coming from. Was it coming from his head? His arms? All Erik knew was his body was on fire. The last and only thing he could clearly remember was one thing. Jean placing the knife by his head and electrocuting him.

Jean was The Ripper.

Erik's breathing sped up faster and faster, growing more shallow with each passing moment. Everytime his heart beat, Erik thought it would break out of his body. For all he knew, it had already been ripped out.

As Erik gathered his bearings, he managed to open his eyes. Now, they were outside, still night time. A whiff of the strange, spicy-sweet smell invaded Erik's senses. When Erik tilted his head, he saw that they were in an alley near the brothel and hidden out of sight.

Jean hovered over him with a worried look on his face. Erik noticed Jean wasn't wearing a cloak anymore.

Jean was The Ripper. Erik's best friend was The Ripper.

"Someone was about to catch us," Jean said. "I pushed you out the window to escape, but your head hit the sill when you fell, and you knocked out."

A lie.

"I'm sorry," Jean said.

Was that another lie? Erik wasn't sure. His memories were still a bit cloudy, but he remembered Jean fighting. Most importantly, Jean didn't know Erik still remembered, and he had to keep it that way. At least Erik didn't need to fake the confusion he was sure was evident on his face.

"I'm good," Erik said. "Head hurts like nothing else though."

"It was a pretty bad fall," Jean said. "But we managed to escape without anyone catching us. Did lose my cloak though, so I'll have to buy another one."

Jean actually cracked a smile.

Erik sat up and felt the woozy again. His vision blacked out for a moment before returning to normal. Erik glanced back at Jean again, whose face was covered in striking shadows from the dim lamplight outside the alleyway.

"My head's spinning," Erik said.

Jean nodded. "I think it's time to go home."

Like every other time when Erik injured himself, Jean half-carried Erik the entire way home. A strange sense of familiarity settled over Erik. This was, by far, not the first time Jean helped Erik home after he was injured. In fact, he'd been helping Erik ever since they were kids, when Erik started learning how to fight with his sword.

No, what bothered Erik was the fact this was at least the third time Erik had blacked out this month and Jean had carried him home. There was the fight outside the tavern . . . waking up outside Lady Dulane's home . . . then tonight outside the brothel. Erik winced from his throbbing head. Jean was The Ripper. Meaning, Erik could have discovered his identity before, maybe even more times than Erik could guess since Jean could have erased his memory.

A rising sense of nausea curled in Erik's gut. Was this routine for Jean? Knocking him out then carrying home again?

Before Erik could settle the questions and horror swirling around in his mind, the two boys reached their homes. Jean, like the good friend he was, walked Erik up to his house before helping him stand up on his own.

"Will you be able to get in on your own?" Jean asked.

Still a little out of it, Erik nodded. "I left my window open," he muttered. "I'll be okay."

Jean gave Erik another half-smile. "Okay. I'll see you in the morning then. We can talk more about hunting The Ripper some other time."

With that, Jean snuck into his house and left Erik standing by himself in the misty street. Erik took the time to compose himself before he even tried scaling the wall to his room. His hands wouldn't stop shaking, and with his luck he would fall. One deep breath. Two deep breaths.

Erik cleared his mind and climbed up the wall and hopped into his room. Without thinking, Erik shut the window and undressed as if he were getting ready for a normal night's sleep. He went through the motions of it all, as if he hadn't been out with his best friend hunting a murderer late into the night, as if he hadn't discovered that Jean was the deadliest man in Meryl's history. A lamp, nearly out of oil, burned dimly in the corner of his room.

It had to be a nightmare. Erik would blink away the fog clouding his mind, and he'd wake up from this horrible reality.

Erik's hand stroked the small scar on the side of his head. Even though he couldn't feel the ridges of the lightning marks, he still felt the small, painful line where Jean's knife had grazed his skin. Jean must've used the Imperis to heal him enough for the scar not to show.

This was no nightmare.

Erik sank to his knees in the middle of his darkening room. The lamp went out completely and left the boy swallowed by the shadows. Jean was The Ripper. Jean was The Ripper. Somehow, some way, Erik managed to crawl into bed and under the covers. His fatigue or the strain from resisting Jean's Imperis must have drawn Erik into a fitful sleep because Erik opened his eyes to the sun streaming in through his window. It was the next day already, and Erik felt as sick as the night before.

Erik's mother knocked on the door. "Erik, honey, your father is about to leave. If you don't get up now, you won't be able to eat."

Erik couldn't stay in bed all day. His mother and father had no idea what happened last night, and frankly Erik didn't know what to do. Swallowing down the sick feeling rising again in his stomach, Erik stood up to open his door and call out to his mom, only to rush over to the chamber pot and wretch out his dinner from the night before.

Erik's mother flew into the room to help her son. Once the heaving stopped, Erik's mother wiped away the sweat that had built up on his forehead.

"You poor thing," she said. "You must've caught Chris's illness. Stay home for the day."

"I'm not a child," Erik murmured.

"You're as white as a corpse," Erik's mother said. "Lie down. I'll fetch you some water and let your father know you're unwell."

Erik didn't resist his mother's attempts to put him to bed. He didn't feel like doing anything that day. His limbs and head felt heavy as if a dense cloud had decided to settle all over his body. Every time he closed his eyes, Jean and his knife came into mind again.

Jean. Jean, his best friend, Erik's brother in all senses except blood. Jean, who fought for Erik's family as much as he did for his own.

Jean was The Ripper.

Erik drew the covers closer to his body. It didn't make sense, but Erik knew it was true. The same Jean who played with Erik when they were little, who gave their family fresh bread from the bakery, who made sure Chris always had an extra cookie was the murderer of Meryl.

The more Erik thought about it, the more he dreaded the truth. It all made sense and made no sense at the same time.

The murders started shortly after Jean's mother's lover was knighted and became a guard. Erik remembered because his father had been the one to console Jean's family. His uncle had protested, but the other commanders knighted him anyway despite the affair.

That awful man was praised all over town. Jean cried that day.

Erik choked out a sob.

When was the last time Jean laughed? Erik suddenly couldn't remember. All he could think of were the half-smiles Jean was prone to give recently.

Jean had always wanted the guards to be better at catching criminals. He'd go on and on about corruption in their ranks and the wickedness growing in Meryl. But, he'd calm down again when Erik reminded him about the good things in town.

"If I can't get rid of the darkness, then I'll just be the brightest, stinking light I can be," Jean would say with a half-smile. That was a long, long time ago.

Erik closed his eyes and cried silent tears.

What happened to his best friend?