Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 127(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 127(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
The rattle of an empty can gave me a start and brought me back to the present.
Again, I turned around and surveyed the mostly deserted street.
This was silly. I lived in London. There were people everywhere. There was no reason to suspect I was being followed.
Still… I couldn’t shake the eerie feeling I was being watched somehow.
I stopped and waited, searching the street behind me for anything suspicious.
Just as I was about to continue on my path home, a scream rent the air.
I staggered backward, plastering my body against the brick wall as I searched for the source of the scream.
Before I could reach for my phone to call the police, I heard riotous laughter. Several seconds later a large group of tourists passed by me.
Their tour guide gestured to various buildings with his closed black umbrella. “Next I will show you where the infamous Jack scrawled his eerie message on the walls of Goulston Street.”
The Jack the Ripper walking tour.
I must be close to the Ten Bells Pub, where two of his victims, Annie Chapman and Mary Jane Kelly, liked to drink. Often people who lived in the flats surrounding the Whitechapel tour area liked to pantomime the gruesome murders in their kitchen windows, to the delight of the tourists.
Feeling silly, I continued down the street and turned onto the small residential side street where my flat was located. I had to pass under an ancient stone arch and into a small courtyard. Usually, I found the historic architecture delightful but tonight my nerves were rattled. I needed a hot bath and a large glass of wine, not necessarily in that order.
The buildings surrounding the courtyard cut off any noise from the city. Everything was quiet and still.
And that was when I heard it… the unmistakable scuff of a boot heel.
Too scared to turn around, I walked faster as I reached into my purse for my keys.
“Catherine.”
It was no more than a rough whisper, barely decipherable.
I broke into a run.
The footsteps behind me picked up their pace.
I was being chased.
I tried to call out, but icy fear choked me.
“Catherine. Come to me," the harsh voice beckoned.
An unseen hand snatched at the hem of my dress.
I ran faster. Slipping on the slick cobblestones as my ballet flats dug into their sharp edges, I didn’t dare waste a second turning around to look.
When I reached my door, my hand shook so badly I dropped my keys. With a cry, I fell to my knees, running my hands over the grimy street, searching for them.
“Catherine?”
I screamed and crouched lower, raising my arms in defense. It took several heartbeats before I realized it was Mr. Langon, my sweet elderly landlord who lived two buildings over.
“Catherine, are you all right?”
I looked around his stooped form but could see nothing. The courtyard was empty.
“Sorry, Mr. Langon. I dropped my keys.”
He reached down to grasp my elbow as he helped me up. “I hope I didn’t scare you?”
I looked over his shoulder to survey the courtyard again, straining to see the slightest movement in the shadows. “No. No, of course not. I’m fine.”
“Very well.” He hobbled off, leaving me alone once more.
As I hurriedly placed my key in the lock, I swung the door open and raced inside. Right before slamming the door shut, I could have sworn I smelled Dr. Jekyll’s cologne.
CHAPTER 5
JEKYLL
Iwoke up to the smell of coffee.
I lifted my head with a start before squeezing my eyes tightly shut and groaning.
“Rough night?”
I peeked one eye open to see Catherine Poole standing in front of me holding two cups of coffee. She looked even more beautiful than yesterday.
Even more beautiful than last night.
Last night.
Last night!
Fuck.
I rose so quickly I knocked the stool I was sitting on over. I ran a hand through my hair as I stared at her in horror.
Last night.
I had followed her home.
Well, me, but not me.
After taking the formula, my one all-consuming thought had been to find Catherine. It was as if my body was no longer under my control. There was this second voice inside of my head calling out for Catherine. Like a wolf, searching for its mate.
I remembered following her home from the university administration building.
Fuck. I remembered chasing her, but little else.
I looked over her shoulder, expecting to see several policemen ready to haul me in for assault or harassment or for just being a creepy asshole.
I stumbled over the fallen stool as I backed away. Bending over to pick it up, I avoided eye contact with her as I said, “About yesterday. I can explain—”
As I talked, I looked down to see I was wearing unfamiliar clothes. Instead of my usual shirt and denim pants, I was in what felt like an expensive suit. The problem was I had no memory of purchasing one. Tucking the shirttail in, I tried to come up with a plausible excuse to explain my indefensible actions last night.