Kevin Stone walked around the desk and moved to the window. He looked
out over the busy studio lot. Then he turned and looked at the Studio Boss.
His voice was like a knife slicing, driven, obsessive, and brutal.
“My pitch, in 1888 a psycho with an
Jeff Speitzenberg slowly smiled at this most surprising and original pitch. He
absolutely loved what he was hearing.
“The check has already been signed,” Jeff Speitzenberg told him with a wide
smile. Kevin Stone caught Mike’s eyes and they smiled. They both knew.
“They had just signed the deal that would change cinema history, and spawn
a whole new era of filmmaking.” CHAPTER 3
LONDON
Kevin Stone and Mike Parson stood in the center of the temporal platform
surrounded by their film crew and large cases of equipment at their feet. They
were dressed in Nineteenth Century attire. The semi-trailer truck was sitting in
the center of the platform. General Johnson was standing on the viewing
platform. The General gestured strongly for his Lead Scientist at the panel to
begin the charge up procedure for the temporal platform. The red lights began
to flash around the perimeter of the hangar like chamber. The scientists
intensely worked their stations. Kevin Stone looked so calm that he appeared
as if he was about to take a simple trip down to the local shops. Mike Parson
in comparison took in a long deep breath and steeled himself as if his guts
were about to be sucked inside out. The halo like structure that hung above
their heads began to make cracking and bending noises, as if it was about to
snap. The film crew looked up nervously at the halo structure above their
heads. The General looked on with a stoic expression from his elevated
position on the viewing platform as he conducted proceedings. Then the halo
structure let forth a large BOOM that caused the crew to shudder in fear. Mike
Parson jumped slightly at the BOOM. Kevin Stone did not flinch. The
hurricane of energy whipped up from the base of the silver platform and
whirled around the crew. It pushed the cases of film equipment wildly across
the platform, and blasted the faces of the crew as if they were standing in the eye of a hurricane. Kevin Stone began to loose sight of the General as the
hurricane of energy rose in ferocity. The film crew looked up and could no
longer see the halo structure above. The hurricane of energy exploded in
violent cracking sound as if the halo was breaking in halves.
The crew looked around frightened and fearful to what was happening. The
hurricane winds of energy continued to wind around them at gale force power
blocking their vision.
Then there was a large CRACKING sound as if the halo structure had
SNAPPED. The hurricane of energy slowly began to die down. The film crews
eyes were fixed on the energy winds all around them. The energy winds were
beginning to die and they were desperate to see what lay beyond. Slowly, the
faint vision of the rusted iron walls, and shabby roof came into view. Mike
Parson saw the energy disappear into the base of the platform. Mike’s eyes
took in the rusted and shabby warehouse. The strongly built men dressed in
Nineteenth Century clothing stood within the apparently derelict warehouse.
They had watched as the energy had swirled down to reveal the film crew.
They now began to move towards the silver platform. The film crew looked
worried as they saw the Nineteenth Century and heavily muscle men
approach. Kevin Stone wrapped his arms around his body simply as if he was
cold, and said bluntly.
“It’s chilly.”
He stepped off the platform casually, as a tall, wide faced man in Nineteenth
Century dress approached him. Mike Parson watched the director stop in front of the tall man. The film crew
warily watched the strongly built men that stood around the platform.
Kevin Stone eyes met Commander Benson, about 35, tall, disciplined,
dressed in Nineteenth Century tweed jacket, and leader of the ‘film crew
security team.’
“The perimeter is secure Sir. The warehouse is ready for your crew to begin
setting up,” the Commander reported curtly.
Kevin Stone shook his hand.
“Good work Commander,” Kevin Stone told him.
Then Kevin Stone frowned wryly and commented.
“Even in the nineteenth century London has bloody awful weather.”
Commander Benson laughed lightly. He commented as he pulled the twenty
first century high powered rifle from his nineteenth century jacket. It was a
subtle but strange sight.
“And it doesn’t get any better.”
Commander Benson moved away and began to instruct his soldiers. Mike
Parson stepped off the platform and walked across to Kevin Stone. The
Director was silent for a moment. The film crew began to move the film
equipment off the back of the semi-trailer truck and lugged it from the silver
platform.
“The crew is setting up the gear,” Mike told him.
Kevin Stone nodded. Then he gestured towards the large sliding front doors
of the warehouse. They were closed shut. “Let’s go,” Kevin said simply.
“Where?” asked Mike curiously.
The two armored guards stood alertly on either side of the doors. Kevin Stone
walked strongly towards the front doors. Mike Parson kept pace with the
Director.
“To survey the terrain,” Kevin Stone said sharply.
The armored guard at the warehouse door watched the film director and
producer approach. He lifted the com-link attached to the top of his armored
jacket.
“Alley status!?” armored guard questioned into the com-link.
The hoarse-voice came back over the com-link.
“Not a sole.”
The armored guard nodded firmly to his fellow guard. Kevin Stone and Mike
Parson had almost reached the large sliding doors. The armored guards
grabbed the sliding doors on either side and pulled them open strongly. The
rusty and creaking sound emanated from the rusted doors. The black night
filled their vision as the sliding doors were pulled part.
Kevin Stone and Mike Parson walked from the warehouse filled with twenty
first century film gear and into the cold alleyway of Nineteenth Century
London.
The warehouse doors slid closed behind Kevin Stone and Mike Parson. They stood in the cold, dank, and narrow alleyway. They were soaking up the
magnitude of the history making steps they had just undertaken. Then they
heard a light cough. They turned to see the grubby man lying on the ground
with his back against the warehouse wall. He was clearly drunk. His
nineteenth century style pants and jacket looked as if they had not been
washed for months. There was a half-empty bottle of alcohol in his hand. It
was difficult in his current state to tell whether he was conscious or not. The
eye of the man drunkenly opened. He stared apparently dazed at Kevin and
Mike. He slowly pulled aside his jacket to reveal a twenty-first century high
powered rifle. He gave a quick wink. Kevin Stone gave a quick smile. The
alleyway guard pulled his jacket over the rifle again and closed his eyes to
descend into a fake apparent state of drunken semi-consciousness again.
Kevin Stone and Mike Parson walked along the narrow alleyway towards the
street that was filled with Londoners of every description who were carrying
on their business on a normal night in London’s East End.
Kevin Stone stood on the vantage point overlooking Nineteenth Century
London's East End. Mike Parson stood by his side. Stretched out below them
were the houses of the East End crammed together, with the smoke,
darkness, and scattered light, sailing ships in the distance, and the light
sounds of thousands of people filtering up from below. It was an amazing
visual scene. Kevin Stone and Mike Parson paused as if soaking up history. It
was a reverent moment between director and producer. Kevin Stone observed the historic landscape that lay out before them.
“The autumn of 1888, London’s East End, described by American novelist
Jack London as a social abyss where men live worse than the beasts, and
have less to eat and wear and protect them from the elements than savages.”
The director looked slowly over the East End.
“Some 150,000 men, women, and children homeless, another 130,000 are in
work houses, and the foggy streets, alleyways, courts and yards are prowled
by more than 80,000 prostitutes,” detailed Kevin Stone.
He breathed deeply to soak it all up before commenting.
“Amazing, fucking brutal, but amazing.”
He frowned, and added dryly.
“It’s not difficult to understand why Jack the Ripper chose this place to commit
his vicious attacks.”
He smiled as he gazed over the East End again.
He turned to Mike.
“The greatest set you could ever imagine. Let’s go make a movie.”
They turned and walked down the stairs towards the busy and narrow street
below. CHAPTER 4
MARTHA TURNER
Mike Parson moved to the door of the warehouse’s converted briefing room. It
had been clearly attired by the military with the tactical like display screen on
the wall, with simple, no fuss chairs, and podium. The crew was talking
energetically obviously still excited at the prospect of being back in time.
Kevin Stone stood behind the podium and nodded at Mike Parson who
dimmed the rooms lighting. The tactical display came to life with the sketch of
a middle age woman. The crew went quiet. The glow of the tactical display
screen hit the back of Kevin Stone and spread out giving him a dark, and
dominating appearance. The room was deathly quiet. Kevin Stone glanced
backward at the sketch of the woman on the tactical display.
“Martha Turner, prostitute, 35,” detailed Kevin Stone simply.
The tone of Kevin Stone’s words and his dark appearance from the effect of
the light hitting him from behind served to pervade the room with a menacing
atmosphere. The tactical display changed to a sketch of London’s East End.
Kevin Stone began to detail sharply.
“It is August the sixth, 1888, Monday, the Bank Holiday.”
The tactical display changed to a century old sketch of a pub in a bustling
street.
“Monday evening. Martha had been drinking in one of many of the drinking
holes in the East End...her company…soldiers along the Riverside in Limehouse.”
Mike Parson stood quietly as the crew listened to the director’s words intently
and watched the screen. The display changed to that of a sketch of an
accommodation house. There was a lack of emotion in Kevin Stone’s voice. It
was cold, and analytical.
“As with most prostitutes, they lived day to day…and this night Martha
needed a customer for money for a bed.”
The display changed to a centuries old picture of the mutilated corpse of a
woman. It was gruesome sight. It seemed so cold, unmerciful and lonely an
end.
Kevin Stone’s voice continued to reveal no hint of emotion. He was focused to
an almost obsessive level.
“Her body was found with thirty nine knife wounds in it.”
The light, repulsed, and horrified sounds of the crew lofted through the dark
room’s air.
“Jack the Ripper had made his debut,” Kevin Stone said sounding almost
excited.
The tactical display changed to a sketch of a medical examiners room. The
sketch of the doctor stood over the mutilated body of Martha Turner that lay
upon the medical table. The sketch of a Police Officer stood in the
foreground.
“After he examined her, the doctor said, ‘he knew how and where to cut,”
Kevin Stone detailed. The tactical display switched back to the sketch of Martha Turner. Kevin
Stone’s voice tightened like a knife-edge to emphasize the importance of his
next words to his crew. It was clear he was determined to make them
understand the importance of his next statement to the shooting of the film.
“This is the moment where this killing went from a simple death, one of
thousands familiar to the East End in its history…and into the territory of the
Grand-daddy of all serial killer reigns,” detailed Kevin Stone as if slicing into
his film crew psyches with a hunting knife. They were unnerved, while he was
adrenaline fueled.
There were low murmurs from the crew as if they had grasped the importance
of Martha Turner’s death. Mike Parson moved to the wall and increased the
lightning in the room again. Kevin Stone looked at a particular section of his
film crew that was sitting at the back of the room.
“‘He knew how and where to cut,’ for our audio people, the line is worth more
than your organs…and check your contracts because if you miss that line,
they become my property and I love my on shoot barbecues,” he warned
them.
The face of Kevin Stone was tense, and his eyes piercing. “His obsessive
focus overpowers the personalities of all around him. He will not tolerate any
deviation from his vision. The crew visibly respects but fears him.”
The audio people looked subtly down at the floor.
Kevin Stone glanced back at Mike. He moved backward from the podium. He glanced back at Mike.
Mike took over the briefing and began to detail in a calm tone.
“For the time being, at all times when in the streets of London you are never
to utter the words Jack the Ripper. You will refer to him only as, ‘Leather
Apron.”
The crew seems puzzled by the producer’s statement. Then Kevin Stone
spoke up firmly to strengthen this particular point.
“The name Jack the Ripper did not exist until he was branded such in the,
‘Star,’ newspaper the day after he took his fourth and fifth victims in one
night…the natives cannot hear those words uttered from your mouths outside
of this warehouse until that time…I don’t care how drunk you are…we’re here
to make a film…not fuck with history…”
Mike informed the film crew.
“Each department will be supplied briefing instructions for the set up, and
filming of the first murder.”
Kevin Stone gestured to his personal assistant, about 30, obedient, and with
long blond hair, who was sitting in the front row. She had a pile of booklets in
her hands.
“The first crew will set up at the first location for the scene in an hour’s time at
Commercial Street,” Mike instructed.
The personal assistant handed out the briefing booklets to the film crew.
“While second crew will carry out the prep work for filming tomorrow morning
in the Police Headquarters morgue…specifically installation of the hidden camera,” Mike continued to instruct.
The personal assistant finished handing out the briefing booklets and then sat
back down again.
Kevin Stone moved forward, and looked over the film crew.
He told them piercingly.
“My overriding vision is to film the murders of Jack the Ripper for the worlds
first of a new genre of films, ‘Historical/Reality,’ movies.”
A small smile came across Kevin Stone’s face as he savored on the
exhilarating prospect.
“In the first of a new lucrative genre of film making, ‘historical/reality,’ movies
where any major event or mystery throughout history can be filmed in real
time, and cut into the structure of a feature film, with characters, and events
unfolding with raw historical reality.”
The crew seemed to relax a little at his changing demeanor. Then Kevin
Stone’s voice tightened up again. It was cutting as if a final warning.
“And needless to say we cannot just cut during a scene and start again. Jack
will be the one doing the cutting.”
He looked over the crew as if he knew what they were thinking.
He added.
“We have all the booze here we need and we can send slabs back through
time if we want so there’s no need to go into the pub, BUT, if you do, for god
sake, don’t fuck the same prostitutes Jacks going to kill…or else you’ll never work in Hollywood again.”
Mike Parson gave a small smile.
“If any of you are entertaining thoughts of getting up close and personal with
Jack for some holiday snaps…I’l
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