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"A question we're hoping you can answer," Jeremy added.
Hull looked over at the new voice. "Oh, you're not--I thought it was--" A nod to Clay and me. "--your friend from earlier."
"He has other business to attend to," I said.
Hull cast another look around the park, as if he knew darned well what the "other business" might be.
"You said you had information for us," Jeremy said. "A firsthand account, I believe, was the phrase you used."
"Yes, of course." He hesitated. "I'm not sure where to start..."
"Try the beginning," Clay said.
Hull nodded. "Before all this, back when I was..." The sentence trailed off.
"Alive?" I said.
Dismay flashed across his face. "Oh, no. I'm still alive. That is, I think I am. I didn't die. I'm certain of that."
"Let's move to that bench." Jeremy nodded at me. "She should get off her feet."
"Yes, of course," Hull said. "I should have insisted. My apologies."
As we moved to the bench, Hull relaxed.
"Now," Jeremy said. "As you were saying..."
Hull nodded. "Yes, right. Well, I was employed as a bookkeeper, as I had been for many years. At the time, though, I only had one client." He gave a small laugh. "That doesn't sound very good, does it? As if I couldn't find enough work, but this particular gentleman gave me more than enough, and the remuneration was excellent, so I'd temporarily given over my other clients' accounts to my business partner. This man--my client, not my partner--had recently arrived from Ireland, with sizable holdings to transfer and invest, and therefore required my undivided attention. His name was Edwin Shanahan."
He looked at our faces, waiting for a reaction. When no one obliged, he continued. "Yes, well, I suppose you guessed that this device originated with the Shanahan family, where it has apparently remained. As I was saying, Mr. Shanahan was my only client and, being a widower, without a wife to complain about such things, he conducted most of his business from his home. I was there much of the time, my presence forgotten, as employees often are. I quickly learned that some of Mr. Shanahan's business was..."
He flushed. "It wasn't my place to judge. My father always said a bookkeeper's responsibility was to protect his client's assets, not to question the source of those assets. Yet with Mr. Shanahan, it wasn't just the source of his money. Some of his associates were less than savory characters. One in particular. He called himself a surgeon, but he and Mr. Shanahan would laugh when he said it. When this business in Whitechapel started--"
Hull swallowed. "I...heard things, between Mr. Shanahan and his friend. I tried to tell myself I was wrong. Then one night this friend brought over a woman. A...paid companion, but not the sort you'd expect a man like Mr. Shanahan or his friend to consort with. I was supposed to be working late in the offices in the south wing, but I was curious, so I crept over to the main quarters. Nothing seemed particularly amiss. They were laughing and talking in the dining room.
"I was about to leave when I heard a scream. A dreadful scream. I stood there, frozen in my nook. Before long, Mr. Shanahan and his friend came out. They were talking about needing to 'procure' one more. As Mr. Shanahan escorted his friend to the door, I snuck down and peered into the dining room, expecting to see the poor woman dead on the floor. She wasn't there.
"The table had been moved aside, and there were strange patterns on the floor, drawn in some fine powder, like salt or sand. And there were other things...Objects of...devil worship. That reminded me of something I'd overheard before this Whitechapel business began. They'd been talking about his friend's father, of asking him for a boon and, when they spoke of him, they called him a demon. At the time, I thought they were simply being disrespectful to the old man. But after seeing that room, I had cause to wonder.
"A couple of weeks later, Mr. Shanahan seemed very agitated. He gave the staff the night off, and encouraged everyone to leave early. I pretended to leave, then returned. After dark, Mr. Shanahan's friend arrived. Again they retreated to the dining room. I could hear bits of conversation, primarily Mr. Shanahan reassuring his friend that 'it' was ready, and he'd be safe there. At the right time, he would release the servants who would prepare things for his friend's return, then they would carry out the final phases of their plan.
"Next, I heard Mr. Shanahan speaking in a strange tongue. I summoned my courage and cracked open the door. I peeked in just as Mr. Shanahan's friend disappeared. One moment he was there. He took a step...and vanished. I was so startled I stumbled back. Mr. Shanahan heard me. I tried to flee, but he worked some sorcery on me. He dragged me into the dining room and flung me on that same spot where his friend had vanished. The last thing I remember was him saying, 'We can use a third servant.' Then all went black. When I awoke, I was stepping onto a street in another time...your time."
We looked at one another.
"So," Clay said, "what do you want from us?"
Hull stared at him. He'd just relayed the fantastical tale of his brush with demons, sorcerers, black magic, notorious serial killers and over a hundred years of suspended animation. Why weren't we speechless with horror and amazement?
"You told us earlier you wanted something from us," Clay said. "What is it?"
Jeremy shook his head at Clay, telling him to be patient.
"So you believe you were pushed through that portal while you were still alive, which explains why you aren't a zombie," Jeremy said.
"A zom--? Oh, yes, I see. I suppose that's what they are." Hull shuddered. "No, I'm quite certain I'm not one of those. Neither is he, though, and he is our main concern."
"He being Jack the Ripper," I said.
