013

The Ripper's Advance Letter

The night was as dark as ink.

In the bustling areas of London, the traffic seemed to never stop, but in East London, every night was a disaster.

That night, there was no moon and no stars. Those who were powerless had already gone home and locked their doors, afraid that they would be involved in something that they should not be involved in. However, there were always some people who continued to walk in the night, trembling with fear. As a result, they would hear some voices that they should not hear.

After all, the night without an inch of light was especially suitable for murder.

"Ugh —"

There was a woman with transparent tape on her mouth. Her eyes were full of tears, but she did not have the strength to struggle. She could only let her hair be pulled and dragged on the ground.

She hadn't eaten or slept for a long, long, long, long time.

In the night without light, she did not know what was happening to her. She only knew that her leg was broken by the man and she had lost all feeling. She was being dragged, and the pain on her scalp was nothing. Now, she was like a dead dog waiting to be slaughtered.

Tears kept flowing out of her eyes, and because of exhaustion and congestion, she was full of despair, but it was as if she was begging God to give her a miracle.

If she could go back to that day, she would not have left her child in the Whitechapel Orphanage.

Yes, that must be it.

She should not have bullied the honest Davis. She should not have left her child there.

She was wrong, she was wrong.

"Do you know what kind of life your child is living now?"

The man's low and hoarse voice suddenly rang in her ear. It was so close that she was unprepared. She did not know where the strength came from, but she struggled frantically as if she had been stabbed. However, after a few struggles, she lost all her strength again.

However, the voice was still going on.

"The person you should repent to is not Davis," the voice sneered. "It is your child.

It is yours, child. You will never be able to repay your child. "

"Ugh — ugh —"

Regardless of what he was saying, she only felt more tears in her eyes, but she did not even know where the tears came from.

This demon only gave her water every day. Only when he was in a good mood would he give her half a potato.

"Do you need me to make your actions public?"

The low and hoarse voice laughed, full of murderous intent. "Didn't you want to sell the child's right eye to raise the money for your gambling?

Isn't it enough for you to abuse your own body? You even have the heart to do this to a child? "

"No one is in charge of East London," the voice continued. "Then I will …"

"Oh … Oh!

Wu — "

She was still struggling crazily, but she no longer had any strength. She could only feel a clear pain slowly coming from her abdomen. It started out light and then slowly became clear, rushing straight to her brain. Suddenly, a chill reached a place that she had never been to before, accompanied by an intense pain. She felt that her abdomen had been opened up …

This was a strange experience. Perhaps no one would ever have such an experience …

She didn't know what was left in her stomach, but there was definitely no food.

She was hungry. She was really hungry.

However, at this moment, her thoughts were even crazier. Not to mention selling the child's eyes, even if she had to eat the child, she would do it now.

This was what it meant to be unrepentant in the face of death.

However, the person who did it smiled slyly. This was just a small warm-up. He couldn't be too flamboyant. After all, there was still a good show to be staged on the 20th …

Whitechapel Orphanage.

Libella sat up abruptly. What, what was that!

Following her memory, she turned on her desk lamp with trembling hands. Next to the desk lamp were the faces of the other children who were sleeping soundly. When the light suddenly shone on their faces, the child frowned and turned over, continuing to sleep.

She was still in the large bungalow in Whitechapel. The scene of a murderer being disemboweled was obviously just a dream.

How could she dream of such a scene? Libella's heart was still in fear. She was more confused than scared. She rubbed the bridge of her nose and decided to get up and drink some water.

Libella's movements were very light. The other children in the bungalow were still sleeping peacefully. It was incredible. Who would have thought that there was a place for people to sleep peacefully in a place like East London?

She turned off the desk lamp and slowly found the doorknob in the darkness. She opened the door.

Yesterday was Sunday. Davis stayed in his room and didn't go out to cook. He only got up in the morning to prepare some food and put it in the refrigerator. Although the children in the orphanage looked naughty, they were really good to Davis.

No one went to Davis's room to cry. It was hard to imagine what kind of love and patience Davis had used to reform these naughty children.

Libella shrugged. When she opened the door of the bungalow, she happened to hear the door open. She subconsciously looked at the door and saw a familiar figure come in. It was Davis.

Libella didn't know what time it was, but looking at the bright weather outside, it was probably not five o 'clock.

It was so early. Why did Davis come back from outside?

Did he get up early and go out, or did he not come back all night yesterday?

She shivered and inexplicably thought of the dream just now.

Davis seemed to feel her gaze and looked in her direction.

The two quietly looked at each other in the darkness for a while. Davis made the first move. He turned on the flashlight he carried with him and slowly walked toward her.

When Davis came over, Libella clenched her hand. She was too thin. In fact, clenching her hand like this made her very uncomfortable, but she subconsciously did it because she was nervous.

When Davis came closer and found it was her, he seemed to be relieved. He touched her head as usual. "Why are you up so early?"

The sleeves on the top of her head had the smell of the morning and the chill of autumn. Libella took a step back and said, "I had a nightmare. I got up and drank a glass of water."

Davis took back his hand and led her to the kitchen. "Okay, come."

Libella found that he was carrying some fresh vegetables in his hand … There was still dew on them.

So Davis went to buy vegetables?

"Why did you go out to buy vegetables so early in the morning?" Libella asked. "It's not even dawn yet."

"The ecology of East London has always been like this."

Davis didn't notice. He poured a glass of water for Libella, turned on the kitchen light, and put the vegetables on the kitchen table to wash. He didn't forget to talk to Libella. "At this time, those who burn, kill, and loot are tired and looking for a place to sleep. The good people are sleeping soundly. If you get up to buy vegetables now, you can get the freshest ingredients."

Davis smiled and said in a gentle voice, "Although I can't afford too much nutritious food for the children, I can fight for fresh ingredients."

Libella held the glass of water and drank it in one gulp. Her head was much clearer. At this time, everyone was still asleep. It seemed to be a good time to ask about some topics, such as the missing children.

But Libella didn't ask about this. She asked about something else.

"Davis, what was written in the letter to Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

Libella lay on the dining table and buried her face in the small space created by her arms. She said in a muffled voice, "I just dreamed that someone took a knife and stabbed a woman. Not only that, but the woman's stomach was also cut open."

Libella said, "The scene was so real, as if it happened in front of my eyes …"

Davis stopped what he was doing and looked back at Libella. "What does this have to do with Mr. Sherlock Holmes' letter?"

"There's a murder here," Libella said, looking up.

Davis paused for a moment before answering in a sad tone, "… East London … There are murders every day."

"But for Mr. Sherlock Holmes to pay attention to this place at this time, it must be related to the recent murders," Libella said. "I suspect it's this case."

"But that's just your dream, Libella." Davis wiped his hands and looked at Libella. "What does the case in your dream have to do with Mr. Sherlock Holmes in reality?"

"That's my —"

Libella opened her mouth to speak, but she didn't say anything. After all, she had already told Davis that she wasn't Libella. Now, if she said that she could see all kinds of ghosts, wouldn't she be revealing her secret?

From Davis' point of view, her statement didn't make any sense. But Libella knew that this was Whitechapel, and she had heard the narrator mention the Ripper. Not to mention that she had gone to Sherlock's house and came back with a dream related to the Ripper.

If she said that the dream was fake, she wouldn't believe it.

Libella shook her head and didn't say anything. Just as she was sighing to herself, she heard Davis speak again.

"But …"

Libella looked up.

Davis took out a letter from his chest pocket. The letter was handed to Benben yesterday. Later, because Benben was afraid of Lestrade, he escaped from 221b, so the letter wasn't delivered successfully. Benben probably returned and handed the letter to Davis.

"I believe you, Libella," Davis said. "You wouldn't say something like this for no reason. I think you must have your considerations. I can't tell you what's written in the letter, but you can send this letter to Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

The implication of this sentence was obvious.

He and Sherlock Holmes had agreed not to let anyone know the contents of their letter. But if he handed the letter to Libella, whether Libella read it or not was out of his control.

Libella couldn't help but smile. "Thank you, Davis."

"If there's really a murder, I hope you can stop it."

Davis gave her one last piece of advice. "But you must protect yourself. Don't explore areas that don't belong to you. Otherwise, you'll only harm others and yourself."

It turned out that Davis was also worried about whether she would be in danger.

"Don't worry, I'll protect myself," Libella said with a smile. "And, even if I can't do anything, Mr. Sherlock Holmes will. I … won't interfere too much."

What was her purpose?

Solving the murder wasn't her purpose. She just wanted to see Sherlock and see how he solved the case. As for the result of the murder, she wasn't that curious. After all, this was according to the plot of the novel. The murderer had already been written by the author.