The Whitechapel Project

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Previously on Whitechapel

Six wakes up with amnesia, and escapes from his cell after killing a guard with his mind. He breaks into the office of Dr. Harold Tucci and learns that he’s part of something called the Whitechapel Project. Using a different aspect of his powers, he disguises himself as Dr. Tucci and manages to convince another guard to help him escape. As Six is enjoying the winter air, a mysterious black car pulls up and opens one of its doors invitingly.

Episode Four – Eden

I study the car for a moment. The dark glass and the rapidly fading dusk makes it impossible to see who is inside, or how many people are waiting for me. The car is clearly too expensive to be a police vehicle, and it doesn’t have government plates. Its arrival is too much of a coincidence to be unrelated to my escape, so the people inside either have something to do with the Project or something to do with me. And if they were out to get me, they wouldn’t invite me inside a car when we’re so close to the place I just escaped from – they could just as easily jump out and take me down right now. So, odds are pretty good that they’re here to help me, or at least here to help Dr. Tucci.

But what if I’m wrong? I can’t risk it.

I start walking past, acting as if I don’t recognize the car. I’m near the bumper when the lights flash and I hear a window roll down. “Get in before they see us,” the driver says. His voice is deep, male, and used to giving orders.

I don’t have any more options. I can’t outrun a car or a bullet, and those guards will eventually figure out that I’m not inside. I get into the car and close the door.

The warmth inside is a blessing at first, but the heated leather seats are hard under me, and soon all of my aches and pains come flooding back. The black frosted glass divider keeps me from seeing my driver, and there’s no sound coming from the small speaker set beneath it. I try to relax as the vehicle pulls away and I watch the small building that imprisoned me smoothly fade into the winter night.

The car pulls left onto the main road, as the speaker clicks to life. “You missed our arranged meeting, Dr. Tucci. I was getting worried. Is everything all right?”

My hands fly instinctively to my face, as if to straighten my mask. He sees me as Tucci. I’m still wearing my borrowed skin. But I don’t have any cues to work from with this man, no way of sensing how he knows Tucci. I close my eyes and try to feel the skin again.

“I ran into a few unexpected complications, that’s all.”

This seems to satisfy my mysterious driver for the moment. The frozen river slowly unrolls on my left, while snow-covered trees and the occasional railroad crossing crawl past on the right. After a while, houses and gas stations start to break up the landscape, and cars start to show up on the road. Gas prices are in dollars to the gallon, and I find more Ohio and Kentucky plates. It looks like I’m on the border between Ohio and Kentucky, so the river to my left is likely the Ohio River. That puts me in Cincinnati or Florence.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the strange collection of bills. If I’m American, why am I so surprised to be in America? Then again, if I’m in America, why did Dr. Tucci have a handful of European currency? For that matter, why is the project named after a district in London? I put the money in my pocket and lean back into the seat. The adrenaline starts to fade, and I feel drowsy from the heat and the exertion.

My silent contemplation is broken by the speaker clicking to life again. “I’m surprised you chose Eden Park to meet at. It’s a pretty big place.”

Eden Park? I try to search my scattered memories, but nothing about an Eden Park comes up. Is it a park? It could be the name of an office building or a gated community, or even a small rural town for all I know. I force myself to sit back up and focus on the conversation. “Well, I wanted to make sure we wouldn’t be disturbed.”

The driver grunts noncommittally, and our drive continues. I feel my stomach growl. I haven’t eaten since I woke up, and my last meal is probably still on the floor of my cell. Now that I think about it, I’m utterly starving, and my hands tremble with the thought of food.

“Hey, could we stop and get something to eat? I…” I stop, realizing that I was about to admit that I haven’t eaten in a long time. I remind myself that I shouldn’t add any details that I don’t need to. “I’m hungry,” I finish awkwardly.

There’s a long pause. I start to wonder if I’ve overplayed my hand when the speaker clicks back on. “Yeah. There’s a drive-through up ahead. I’ll get you the usual, and then we can eat at the park.”

I reach into my pocket again and pull out a few of the dollar bills. “I have money. Can you put down the divider so I can give it to you?”

A chuckle comes from the speaker. “Don’t worry. I think I can spare a few bucks. Just relax – we’re almost there.”

I sit back again. So Eden Park is a park. Why would Dr. Tucci be meeting this mysterious man in a park on a cold winter evening? It seems likely that the driver isn’t directly related to the Whitechapel Project. Otherwise, they could have met in Dr. Tucci’s office, or at least someplace more comfortable.

I sit in silence as the car pulls up to the window of some local chain that I don’t recognize – all I can make out are splashes of red interspersed with black-and-white checkered bars. I see an arm lean out of the driver’s side window as the order is placed. The hand is pale, and the jacket arm is orange with black stripes, like a tiger’s. Certainly not government issue. A brief glimpse of his wrist reveals that he’s not wearing a watch. I can’t make out anything that’s said, but he pays in cash before receiving a couple of drinks and a bag of food. My mouth starts to water, but after a moment I realize that I can’t actually smell the food at all.

A soundproof and air-tight divider. The owner of this car is definitely expecting trouble.

I go over possible escape plans in my head, but nothing comes to mind. I could try and see if I have another ability to deal with this, but I don’t know if that means I’ll stop being Dr. Tucci. I suppose I could try and kill my driver like I did with the guard in the cell, but that might cause us to crash, which could also kill me. Although with a car this well-built, I’d probably survive the crash. On the other hand, this driver has been the only ally I’ve come across so far, even if he’s only allied with me because he thinks I’m someone else.

I look out the window again, and I can see trees and a small lake. We’re driving through a park. Panic starts to set in, but I try to look as calm as possible. I go over the complete lack of plans I have a second time, as we start to slow down near a car smashed into a sturdy tree just off the road. Smoke is still rising from the demolished hood of the wreck. My driver stops our car next to the crash, and the speaker comes to life. “Someone might be hurt. You should check it out.” I hear the door next to me click open.

For an insane moment I consider just slamming open the door and running for it, but I force myself to calmly step out. The cold smacks me in the face again, and I savor the feeling for a second before I head over to the site of the crash. I can just make out the wreck’s driver slumped over the wheel. I kneel down and try to get a better look, ignoring the sound of another car door closing behind me.

The smell is almost palpable. The black wool coat that the driver wore is brittle and cracked, like it had been burned, but the rest of the interior of the car doesn’t show any signs of a fire. The driver’s gloved hands are still clutched around the wheel, but the arms of the coat bulge strangely, like the driver’s arms are broken in a hundred different places. I reach in to touch his wrist and feel for a pulse, but I quickly jerk my hand back. Blood and slime cover my fingertips, remnants of my would-be patient. He’s certainly dead.

I grab the corpse’s shoulder and try to push it back from the wheel. Blood and viscera stick to the steering column as I shove the sack of meat into the seat. Unlidded eyes stare at me behind shattered eyeglasses.

For some insane reason, this corpse is completely without skin.

A heavy metal object is shoved into the back of my skull, pushing me closer to the corpse. I frantically push on the side of the car to get away from the body, from the smell, but another hand holds me firmly against the door of the wreck.

“You’d better tell me right fucking now why there’s a skinned corpse in Dr. Tucci’s car, or so help me God I’ll blow your brains all over this wreck.”

How can I get out of this?

Do I tell him the truth, and drop my disguise as Tucci?

Can I continue my role and talk my way out of this?

Or should I try to incapacitate or kill my assailant?

The choice is yours.

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Author’s Post-Mortem

Episode Five – Mister Rich