The Whitechapel Project

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Previously on Whitechapel

Six escaped from his cell at the Whitechapel Project, only to be picked up by a black car driven by a man known only as Mister Rich. The mysterious driver seemed to play into Six’s disguise as Dr. Tucci, one of the employees of the Whitechapel Project, but when they arrived at their pre-arranged meeting place of Eden Park, both Six and Mister Rich found a wreck with the skinned body of Dr. Tucci inside. Six confessed to everything that happened, and Mister Rich admitted to knowing Six previously. They drove to a run-down motel, where Mister Rich offered to answer a couple of questions in order to satisfy Six’s curiosity.

Episode Six – Questions

One question jumps to the front. “Why did you call me ‘Six’ back at the park?”

Mister Rich smiles. “It’s a nickname I gave you. When I picked you up at the Royal London Hospital…”

“The what?” My mind reels from this news. The Royal London Hospital is in Whitechapel, London, England.

Mister Rich puts a finger up. “Look, I’m only going to answer a couple of questions, and I’m only going to answer them once, so I suggest you shut up and listen.”

I nod. “I’m sorry. Continue.”

“When I picked you up at the hospital, you were listed as an anonymous patient, with only the letters VI on your file. Due to the nature of your acquisition, I was encouraged to keep your real name a secret, but calling someone VI all the time gets cumbersome, so I started calling you Six.”

“They called me Six at the Project,” I say.

“Yeah. I never told them your real name. Then again, they didn’t ask for your real name.”

I try to keep the emotion out of my voice. “You know who I am.”

He nods. “And that’s not a question I’m going to answer right now. At this point, I think it’s best to keep you a secret from yourself as well.”

I look down at the gun. “If you know so much about me, why don’t you trust me?”

He gets up and starts to pace back and forth in the small hotel room. I notice that he’s pacing on the other side of the bed, away from me, and that he still has his gun in his hand.

“It’s not that easy, Six. If what you say is true, then the amnesia treatments worked.”

“I certainly can’t remember why I was eating old jellybeans, if that’s what you mean,” I say.

He suddenly turns to face me. “That’s exactly your problem,” he says, bringing up the gun and pointing at me with it for emphasis. “It’s bad enough that you’ve killed – twice now – but you’ve always been a little too smart for your own good.” He lowers the gun and continues pacing. “I’m trained by the government to do a lot of things, and one of those things is sniffing out when someone is lying. Not that bullshit training that cops and lie detector people get that’s no better than guessing – I’m talking about the real deal.

“When I picked you up in London, you were always a quick wit. You were able to dance circles around MI-5, but I could tell you were lying. But not because your eyes shifted or your brow clenched or your arms folded, but just because I could put the facts together in a way that Five couldn’t. At one point I knew for a fact that you were completely bullshitting me, but there wasn’t a single twitch in your manner that told me that.”

He turns to face me. “I want to believe you, Six. I do. But you’re too smart, too good. If you’re lying to me, I don’t want to tip my hand and let you know how much I know, let you feed me more subtle lies to draw me in further. And if you’re telling the truth…”

He stops for a moment, and then puts the gun to my head again. “If you’re telling the truth, I won’t let that thing inside of you take over. I’ll kill you first.”

I try to stop myself, but the questions blurt out. “What thing? How am I too smart? Why did I lie to you before I…?”

Mister Rich shoves my head a bit with the gun and walks away. “No. Enough. I’ve told you plenty, probably more than I should have.” He takes a large sniff. “Go take a shower. You smell like dead guy.”

I lift an arm to my face and take a whiff. He’s right – the smell of Dr. Tucci is still haunting me. “Fine. Good idea. Do you have any more clothes for me?”

“What do I look like, Armani? I’ll run out and get you a few essentials from the nearby Wal-Mart.” He motions at me with the gun. “Get in the bathroom, and I’ll lock you in until I get back.”

I head into a small nook with a sink, a cracked mirror, and a door. For a moment, I glance at the mirror. I see a man, Caucasian, with short brown hair and brown eyes. Stubble covers the bottom half of his face. His eyes are hazel, flecked with green, and he has a scar under his right eye. He looks ordinary, plain.

Conceptually, I understand that this is my face, but I don’t recognize it at all.

Mister Rich makes a noise behind me, and I open the door. The bathroom is a tiny closet with a shattered tile floor, a toilet with one hinge broken on its lid, and a shower stall. The plastic curtain has green spots all over it, and the shower head hangs from a ragged hole in the wall. Gaps in the yellowed wallpaper show that most of the walls are brick. No convenient windows to crawl out of. As soon as I step inside, Mister Rich closes the door behind me, and I can hear scraping as something is shoved under the doorknob. I can barely make out what he says before I faintly hear the door to the parking lot slam shut.

I gingerly strip off Tucci’s borrowed clothing. I examine my toe, which still appears to be broken, but it’s not in as much pain. Maybe I can splint it at some point or find a way to keep it from getting worse. I search my head for some kind of magical medical knowledge, but nothing comes up. Great – I can tell you where a hospital is in a foreign country, but I have no idea how to deal with a broken toe. Guess I’m not nearly as smart as Mister Rich thinks I am.

I turn the water up as hot as I can, and step into the shower. The feel of the shower isn’t quite as heavenly as the food was, but it’s certainly up there. I look for the tiny bar of soap and the worn washcloth, and I scrub away the layers of grime and vomit and blood. I try to lose myself in the simple pleasure of the shower, but my mind keeps going back over what I’ve learned.

The fact that I was found in England explains the European currency I found, as well as the name of the Project – there’s probably ongoing communication or research or something happening between England and the United States. Mister Rich admits to be government trained, but didn’t specify which government trained him. But I’m actually further back than I thought with the letters VI – they don’t really stand for the number six, though “Six” is as good a name as any for now. I was or am a fantastic liar, which might explain some of how I got out of the Project. For everything I’ve learned, though, there’s another question. Why was I in England? Why is it so dangerous to reveal who I really am? What happened to me in Whitechapel?

I turn around, and let the scalding water run over my shoulders. I’m avoiding the real problem, the real concern. There’s something inside of me, something that Mister Rich is afraid of. It’s not just that I’m a killer – the way Mister Rich handled dealing with Tucci’s corpse made it clear that he’s seen death – but there’s something that my murders are helping to unravel or reveal or feed or… something.

I punch the wall in frustration. Who the fuck am I? What the hell is going on with me? Why is every answer a doorway to another fucking question? Who the hell is this man in the football jacket? Why am I surrounded by violence and death? Suddenly I realize I’m screaming and pounding the brick over and over again. The pressure of everything going on tightens my chest and claws up my throat, like the monster inside of me wants to get out and murder again.

I sit down in the shower, and I scream and cry until the water runs cold.

* * *

After what seems like hours, I’m out of the shower and toweling myself off when I hear scraping outside. The doorknob shifts and turns, and Mister Rich throws a plastic bag at me full of clothes. “I think I was followed here. You have two minutes to get dressed, and then we’re gone.” He slams the door, but not before I see him pulling his gun out from under his jacket.

I quickly scramble through the bag, yanking off tags and ripping open plastic. The clothing inside is basic – a few pairs of jeans, some T-shirts, packages of boxers and socks, a brown ball cap with a picture of an old video game controller on it. My toe screams again as I shove Tucci’s workout shoes back onto my feet. I’m stuffing my old clothing into the bag when Mister Rich opens the door again.

“Time’s up. Let’s go. Close the room behind you when you leave.”

I step into the room, but it’s already dark. Mister Rich left the door open, and is calmly making his way across the parking lot. Snow starts to swirl into the room. I carry the bag with me as I leave. I turn to close the motel room door behind me, when I see something out of the corner of my eye.

A police cruiser is sitting at the end of the parking lot. Two uniformed cops are outside of a room at the other end of the parking lot, talking to a woman covered in a blanket. Oh shit. Are they looking for me?

I glance back at my roommate, and I see he’s not going right back to the car. He’s walking into the trees by the car, like he’s going to take a piss. As soon as he’s in the woods, he crouches down in the snow and pulls his gun.

I don’t know a thing about Mister Rich, not even his real name. He might have his own reasons to kidnap me. Maybe the police are looking for him, and not for me. It could be that I might have a better chance going with the police, or even trying to make it on my own.

I look back at the cops. One of them is walking back to his cruiser, and the other looks like he’s about done interrogating the woman. I only have a moment to choose.

What should I do?

Should I walk over to Mister Rich and see what he has planned?

Would I be better off attracting the attention of the police and trying to go with them?

Or is it best for me to run away from all of them and try to make it on my own?

The choice is yours.

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Author’s Post-Mortem

Episode Seven – Cop Killer