Read Online A Study in Red - The Secret Journal of Jack the Ripper by kindels - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: kindels
Tags: Suspense & Thrillers
Ads: Link
in my mind, why so tired, why? I turned my head from the bitter glass, and poured the laudanum into my throat.
So the laudanum was taking hold of him! I couldn't know how much he'd taken since his first purchase of the drug, but it was clear to me that he'd been far exceeding the safe dose of the stuff. It was clouding his thoughts, numbing his senses, and, though undoubtedly helping to alleviate the pain of his headaches, it was also helping to fuel his depression and his sense of isolation by its mind altering and hallucinogenic effects. I couldn't help but note his reference to the 'clean and innocent' flower seller in the street. What a complete contrast to his previous references towards the other women in his life, 'the whores'. This was a minor eye-opener to me; here was the man who may have been one of the most notorious killers in the history of British crime revealing not a wicked bloodlust, but a desire for peace, almost inviting death. This wasn't the picture of Jack the Ripper as envisaged by history, or by the so-called informed public, or the venerated historians who had given so many varied opinions on the murders over the years.
How soon could one become addicted to laudanum? I wasn't sure, as a drug it had barely been used for years, but I was well aware that the more one took, the faster would be the addictive process, and I'd no doubt in my mind that he had become addicted. It must also be borne in mind that at the time of the Ripper murders, there was no National Health Service in the UK, no Community Psychiatric Programme as exists today. Many people in Victorian London would have lived their entire lives without having access to qualified medical care. People moved around from address to address with far greater frequency than would be expected today. I had found the answer to one of my questions. If the writer had so chosen, he could indeed have lived his life in splendid isolation, with little or no contact with his fellow citizens. If he worked alone, or with little regular contact with colleagues and family, it would have been quite possible for his symptoms to remain unnoticed by those around him, particularly if he was able, (as I expected he could), to display a veneer of respectability and normality during his working days. The man would have developed the ability to become a consummate actor when faced with everyday life, displaying a public face far removed from the persona that took over when darkness fell, and when his 'voices' would awaken in his mind, leading him down the blood-soaked paths of murder and mutilation.
Then again, another question surfaced in my mind. It may very well be the writer of the journal was an impostor, a poor disturbed soul anxious to achieve some sort of infamy and notoriety by constructing an elaborate and convincing account of events that had already occurred. It still remained within the bounds of possibility that the journal was written after the fact, but then, I realized that my great-grandfather still had a part to play in this story, that I would read his own version of events in good time, when I reached the end of the journey. I felt that the answers, however painful, would be forthcoming if I remained patient, and saw the journal through to its conclusion. Perhaps at some point a clue would be exhibited which would place the journal firmly into the realm of actuality, the writer would reveal some information, no matter how small, which would prove his involvement both before, during, and after the fact. There'd been so many hoaxes in the past.
I turned to the next page, and the rage was back! The handwriting was once more that of the original character in this terrifying melodrama. Once again I was pitched into the darkest side of the character of the man I was beginning to believe truly was Jack the Ripper, though not quite the Ripper of legend, this was a human, seriously flawed, perhaps, but still a human character, filled with angst and anger,
So the laudanum was taking hold of him! I couldn't know how much he'd taken since his first purchase of the drug, but it was clear to me that he'd been far exceeding the safe dose of the stuff. It was clouding his thoughts, numbing his senses, and, though undoubtedly helping to alleviate the pain of his headaches, it was also helping to fuel his depression and his sense of isolation by its mind altering and hallucinogenic effects. I couldn't help but note his reference to the 'clean and innocent' flower seller in the street. What a complete contrast to his previous references towards the other women in his life, 'the whores'. This was a minor eye-opener to me; here was the man who may have been one of the most notorious killers in the history of British crime revealing not a wicked bloodlust, but a desire for peace, almost inviting death. This wasn't the picture of Jack the Ripper as envisaged by history, or by the so-called informed public, or the venerated historians who had given so many varied opinions on the murders over the years.
How soon could one become addicted to laudanum? I wasn't sure, as a drug it had barely been used for years, but I was well aware that the more one took, the faster would be the addictive process, and I'd no doubt in my mind that he had become addicted. It must also be borne in mind that at the time of the Ripper murders, there was no National Health Service in the UK, no Community Psychiatric Programme as exists today. Many people in Victorian London would have lived their entire lives without having access to qualified medical care. People moved around from address to address with far greater frequency than would be expected today. I had found the answer to one of my questions. If the writer had so chosen, he could indeed have lived his life in splendid isolation, with little or no contact with his fellow citizens. If he worked alone, or with little regular contact with colleagues and family, it would have been quite possible for his symptoms to remain unnoticed by those around him, particularly if he was able, (as I expected he could), to display a veneer of respectability and normality during his working days. The man would have developed the ability to become a consummate actor when faced with everyday life, displaying a public face far removed from the persona that took over when darkness fell, and when his 'voices' would awaken in his mind, leading him down the blood-soaked paths of murder and mutilation.
Then again, another question surfaced in my mind. It may very well be the writer of the journal was an impostor, a poor disturbed soul anxious to achieve some sort of infamy and notoriety by constructing an elaborate and convincing account of events that had already occurred. It still remained within the bounds of possibility that the journal was written after the fact, but then, I realized that my great-grandfather still had a part to play in this story, that I would read his own version of events in good time, when I reached the end of the journey. I felt that the answers, however painful, would be forthcoming if I remained patient, and saw the journal through to its conclusion. Perhaps at some point a clue would be exhibited which would place the journal firmly into the realm of actuality, the writer would reveal some information, no matter how small, which would prove his involvement both before, during, and after the fact. There'd been so many hoaxes in the past.
I turned to the next page, and the rage was back! The handwriting was once more that of the original character in this terrifying melodrama. Once again I was pitched into the darkest side of the character of the man I was beginning to believe truly was Jack the Ripper, though not quite the Ripper of legend, this was a human, seriously flawed, perhaps, but still a human character, filled with angst and anger,
Similar Books
