"Pick up the damn saw Josephine. The body has to be ready by six!"

Josephine took her hands out of the pockets of her apron and walked closer to the table in the center of the room. Cascading over its edge, the long dark hair of the dead woman dangled just above the draining bucket. Her face uncovered revealed plain features and slack muscles. Josephine looked closer noticing that even in death she looked haggard and old. This was the face of a Whitechapel occupant, here even the young wore the look of struggle.

Josephine picked up the hacksaw- noting the leftover bits between the blades not cleaned from the last corpse he'd worked on, Mr. Klein. The Jewish man who used to be a baker before the tank on the economy sent him and his family here to the slum. She shivered at the feel of the cold metal in her hand and put it in her father's wrinkled shaky palm.

"Who was she?" Her voice came out raspy, wavering, mousy. She cast her eyes down to the pan. Thick viscous blood had congealed together and a thin shiny skim covered the top.

"Nobody. A street whore." His words were gruff and hurried and even from across the body they assaulted her nose with the smell of rum leftover on his breath from last night.

Josephine balled her fists and held her temper. There was no reasoning with him in a mood like this. If it were a woman from the street he probably knew her. Which would explained his leftover stupor and cranky attitude. Ever since mum died giving birth to little Jack he'd been spending every bit and pence he made on the Whitechapel strip. Between the bars and the girls they barely had enough to put food on the table.

She left the topic alone and walked toward the head of the long metal table gazing down at the woman. The eyes, empty and glazed, were rimmed with red and splattered in veins. Purple splotches gathered across her cheeks a deep wide gash ran across the width of her throat.

"Goodness me, is her throat cut?"

Instead of an answer he hissed at her and began sawing across the sternum. The weighted screech of metal against bone traveling down Josephine's spine and causing her mouth to lose every bit of moisture and fill with the taste of bitter acid.

"Just like you Jo, always seeing the obvious. That's why you'll never be anything more than what you are now, a leech bleeding me dry...the key to this business isn't in what you see, it's all about what ya don't see."

"So she didn't get her throat cut?" She knew better than to start idle nervous chattering when he was working but she couldn't help herself. She wanted the story from his mind, to know what he thought and felt and believed.

"Of course she has you idiot. But... that doesn't mean it's what killed her." He flipped back the sheet and tossed it on the floor. The tip of it landing in the drain pan of blood as it slowly began soaking up the dark red syrupy liquid.

Josephine peeled her eyes from the floor and tried to see what her father did. . A wide choppy incision so unlike her father's precise cuts gaped and winked as he yanked at the bone with one hand and pushed the saw with the other.

She couldn't help sucking in her breath with exhilaration. "You didn't make that long torso cut did you? She was sliced up!"

Her father snorted which, as often happened caused a cascade of deep wet coughing. The rattle from his chest sounded worse than ever and she noticed how gaunt he looked. Before they'd come to the slum he'd been healthy, olive skin and a hearty laugh. The before. Before mum, before dad had decided the drink was more important than doing jobs on time and well. Before she became a figment of smoke and mirrors only needed when bodies showed up at the door.

Still, they were lucky. This part of the city was poor and none of the work needing to be done here was particularly important. Foreigners, poor, those without titles or status those were the people of Whitechapel. They could have just put him on the street instead of the relocation- and if that were the case it could have been Josephine herself on the table. Catering to men was one of the only sure ways to get a few bits down here and even then--it was barely enough for a bed for the night.

Josephine felt the familiar buzzing beneath her skull that came when her father belittled her. His smug expression told her she was wasting her time speaking. Unless she was a half dressed woman on the street or an interesting dead body, she was never getting through to her father.

She stood silently watching him work. Measuring, weighing, and jotting notes as if any of it mattered. At least today it looked like he was trying. Usually he just made a long incision, wrote random numbers in the ledger and sewed them back up. She was aware how close they were to the streets- always just one mistake away. He worked as little as possible and did just enough to stay on the payroll and support his nightly excursions.

A loud repetitive rapping came from the door. It's sound startled Josephine causing her to jump and bump into the drain pan, sloshing it across her left shoe.

"Stupid girl! Must you always make things worse? . Answer the door and clean up that mess. And take care of that shoe, we don't have the pounds to buy you another!"

His voice caused the throbbing in her head to quicken its tempo and it stabbed deepenbehind her eyes with each step toward the door. She grabbed the handle careful to not bend over for fear her head would split from the pain.

"Mornin' ma'am. I'm here to see the doc."

It was a young detective, small and fidgety who tapped his toe with a nervous energy while using his hand to twirl the end of his mustache. His eyes darted back and forth around the room as if the corpses were out on display.

"Come on in. He doesn't stop once he's started, ruins the process, he says. You'll have to go on back."

The standard large police boots he wore thumped as he walked into the room. Each step thundering and each one taking with it a little more color from the man's face. Josephine would have giggled, seeing people squeamish around the dead always gave her a bit of happiness, but she knew better. Being on good terms with Scotland Yard was important for business. And business was all that mattered. Each body delivered was a day off the streets.

They entered the room just as her father lifted the woman's heart and placed it in the basin. Her father took one look at the man in uniform and started ranting.

"What do you want now? Another body? Bad enough this one couldn't wait and you dragged me out of the bed before I even got to warm it up!"

The face of the copper turned bright red, a much healthier look than the panicked white and Josephine smiled at him in sympathy. Not many people understood her father. Yelling was just a way of life, grumbling was how he communicated.

"You're lucky you were close. This is a big case. It should have been taken out of the neighborhood. Even the Queen's inquired!" He widened his step proud to have a bit of juicy news and the upper hand in the exchange.

Her father wiped his bloody gloves across his apron and shuffled toward the man.

"It's a street whore, and a two bit one at that. That is, two bits on a good night. Didn't even have a full set of teeth! Why would the queen care about about her? Or anyone down here in the slums for that matter?"

"Dunno. Parker says the upcoming elections got everyone buggy. Apparently Whitechapel's gonna play a role. No one wants to see the slum get bigger, or something like that. All's I know is I'm supposed to get an early official report to take to the yard."

Her father straightened up his shoulders and puffed out his chest. Josephine watched curiously. There was a look about him she hadn't seen in years, pride. She watched as he pointed toward the woman's open chest and spoke like someone proper. It was like going back in time and Josephine wanted to remember the words, the look, the feel, all of it. This was the father she'd had before mum died.

"The woman was murdered by someone with skill. They sliced the throat clean down to the bone which means they had strength.. The slice on the abdominal cavity was precise and the kidney was removed. She wasn't gonna be here long either way, her liver was twice the normal size and her lungs black as dirt."

The man twirled his mustache again and looked at Josephine instead of the body her father was so proudly displaying.

"They took out a kidney? What would be the purpose of that?" As he asked his voice cracked and the pink quickly disappeared from his skin again.

"You did one of the women last time, do ya think they're by the same person?"

Josephine leaned forward on the stool. Last time? She'd helped on all the bodies her father had done since they came here. None of them stood out like this woman. She held her breath waiting for her father to speak.

"Dunno why he took a kidney. Who can say? Maybe he wanted a trophy, maybe he was curious. As far as the other body, I s'pose it could be related. Dangerous times for everyone down here. We don't go a single day without a death done at someone else's hands. But if it was, the lads gained some skill. No trace of clues, and done right on the street. This one seems to be a real professional."

The policeman took another step toward the body and glanced down for less than a second before turning back toward the door.

"We'll be in touch. Shall I send a man to help with the transfer?"

Her father laughed and wiped a sleeve across his forehead.

"What for? You've met my daughter. Strong as an ox, dumb as a pig, and twice the strength of a man. Why do you think I keep her around?"

Josephine felt the heat of embarrassment flush her skin and looked toward the floor. She'd always been teased about her height and strength but it only hurt when it was her father doing the shunning.

"Alright then. Report's due by morning. I'll fetch it myself."

With that he turned and walked out into the street closing the door. Josephine jumped up and followed. She may be taller and stronger than most women, but she was polite enough to know company should be escorted out.

When she came back her father was threading the needle. He was done then. Time for her part of the job to begin, sewing, cleaning up, the unimportant bits that 'even an idiot in his sleep could do'.

"Do you really think the same man did this?"

He handed her the large skin needle and took off his gloves.

"I think anytime the Queen is interested in Whitechapel it's a good thing. The people here are poor and hungry. Surviving on stale bread and dead dreams. The incision is sloppy, the kidney was probably a trinket to remember a whore who didn't make him happy. There's no story here- but there could be. With a little nudge."

He took off his bloody gloves and instead of tossing them into the basin dropped them with a splat onto the floor. Another mess for her to clean up.

"I'm off to get some sleep. Make sure you clean her up. Don't be lazy." He turned toward the door and Josephine swallowed her hurt pride and called out.

"I'll wake you for dinner then?"

He twirled back with a questioning glance on his face.

"Dinner? We don't do dinner!"

Josephine smiled. "You deserve a good dinner. Your names going on a report that's being submitted that could land in the hands of the Queen!. It could be our ticket out of here!"

His shoulders straightened and he stood a little taller as he folded up his apron and lay it in the can.

"I s'pose you're right. And we both gotta eat. No mash though, I've got a big night planned."

Another stab to her heart. Another night on the streets taking comfort from strangers instead of spending any time with her. Would it always be this way?

Josephine stitched the woman's saggy neck skin closed. Pulling it tight and looping the thread tightly. She placed her hand inside the jagged incision running down her middle and examined it. It wasn't sloppy, the incision was a good one. It was a bit rough at the edges, but done in the dark and on the street. Not bad at all for someone under those conditions.

She ran her hand along the inside of the abdomen touching organs left behind. It was cold and rubbery now. Without the blood and the body temperature keeping it warm there wasn't any excitement in it.

"Sorry Polly. I did you a favor though. Dad says you weren't long for this world anyway. But you'd be here long enough to keep him away nights wouldn't you? Nothing personal. I just need some

time with my father. Time you took from me. Stole from me, like all the others."

She finished stitching and placed the needle in the wash bin. Made a pan of water and grabbed a towel to do the clean up. First things first. The body. Sending it dirty and bloody was bad for business. Always make them look better going out than they did coming in. Reputation was everything.

As she poured the water over the body and wiped it dry she felt a wave of sentiment run over her. "You were a giver, Polly. Thank you. I'll cherish my new hat, and dad and I had a splendid moment together this morning. And dinner tonight! A fantastic kidney pie! How long has it been since we've eaten together! It's worked out for the best you see?"

She thought of her mother. Her life stolen by a baby who ripped his way out of her. Stupid Jack. Stupid Ripper. No one even bothered to blink when it happened. Her father left for the bar and she was left with a killer baby. But not for long. One soft pillow and two minutes took care of that problem. No one cared. No one even remembered he existed. Except her. But they will soon. Everyone will be looking soon. Looking for Jack the Ripper.

Her own giggle disrupted her thought process and she glanced around the room. The body was clean, no sloppy work despite her daydreaming. Now for delivery and then to start dinner. Today was turning out to be a very good day.

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