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FIC: Through the Years I: Origins From Hell

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  • Autumn Biggins
    Title: Origins from Hell Series: Through the Years Author: Autumn E-mail: eddievedderismy life Rating: R Thanks to: Karen and Jonas Author s Notes: This
    Message 1 of 1 , Oct 26, 2001
      Title: Origins from Hell

      Series: Through the Years

      Author: Autumn

      E-mail: eddievedderismy life

      Rating: R

      Thanks to: Karen and Jonas

      Author's Notes:

      This story is set in Whitechapel District in London. The
      Whitehapel killer a.k.a. Jack the Ripper made his final killing in Miller's
      Court on November 9th 1888. To this date the murders are still unsolved.
      Several Ripperologists believe Jack the Ripper was also responsible for
      several deaths in the area between 1885-1888. I have chosen to go with that
      timeline in this story.
      The title of this story comes from what is widely believed to be an
      authentic note from the Ripper to a London citizen. The return address read
      'From Hell'. This story has nothing to do with the Wolverine comic

      The historical content of this chapter is very real. The people
      mentioned in this story with * by them are loosely based on real people.

      A 'Dorr house' is a place where the unfortunates of the city could find a
      bed for four pence a night. Miller's Court was one such place.


      Victor's Lab,
      Present day

      "How long will he be out?" Marie inquired

      "Don't know. Erik said I was usually out for about an hour after I was hit
      with whatever came up in my mind." Victor answered.

      "Why are you doing this? I mean, no offense, but you did try to kill me
      once." She stated matter-of-factly.

      "It's a long story. But since Logan ain't gonna be talkin' for awhile I
      might as well tell you." It started back a long time ago. Before Erik or
      Charles was born...

      WhiteChapple District, London
      October 30th, 1888

      Nicolas Logan Adams trotted down the deserted street. Due to his lack of a
      raincoat the eight year old was soaked from head to toe. That fact didn't
      bother him in the least, for his mind was elsewhere. His pockets were
      filled with the loot of the day. Pick pocketing had been lucrative and the
      young criminal was nearly beaming with pride.
      With his mother long since dead, and a father who was frequently gone Nicky
      had learned to fend for himself, He'd been a professional pickpocket since
      the tender age of four. Over the past few years his father had been gone
      for nights at a time, and the young boy's need to eat had turned him to a
      life of petty crime.
      The boy turned onto Broad Street and made his way to the `tiny cold water
      flat he shared with his father. Minutes later Nicky pushed the wooden door
      open and entered the building. There were no ashes in the fireplace, which
      meant his father hadn't been home and most likely wouldn't be for at least
      the rest of the night.
      Nicky sighed in disappointment and was suddenly too tired to do anything
      else but sleep. He stripped off his sopping clothing and crawled into bed.
      Nicky fell into a deep sleep as the devil of London struck again.

      Nicolas woke in the early morning light. He dressed quickly in the frigid
      air and set out for the bakery. The streets were alive with men and women
      chatting excitedly. His curiosity piqued, young Nicolas crept forward
      toward a group of men.
      "Ay Thomas from Dellsville said he got the poor lass at McCormick Street
      last night. Scotland Yard's got five inspectors on it! With five
      inspectors they ought to solve it soon eh?" the Irishman concluded.
      A booming voice joined the conversation. "Scotland Yard knows fuck-all!
      This bastard's been at it forever and they still don't have a bloody clue!"
      the owner of the voice bit out.
      " Jesus Jacob, can't ya watch your filthy mouth? There are ladies present!"
      his companion exclaimed.
      "They're not ladies. They're whores. Could be number four if they don't
      repent of their dirty ways." Jacob concluded.
      "What?" Jacob asked incredulously.
      " I said five, He's killed four so far, one more would be five." The
      well-build man finished,
      "So I was off by one. A dead whore don't count for nothin'" Jacob humphed
      and stalked off.
      The other men quickly dispersed and William Adams caught sight of his young
      son. "How long have you been standing there?"

      "Long enough father." The little rascal said before launching himself into
      his father's arms. William scooped up his son and began walking home.

      "You know it's not nice to eavesdrop on adults, Nicolas."

      "I know, but they was talkin' about the Ripper killings. Ain't nothin' more
      interesting around." The eight year old replied.

      " Oh, so you think the brutal murders are interesting? We shall have to
      remedy that immediately. No son of mine will be gaggling like a goose about
      a lunatic." William stated in a tone that left no room for argument.

      He put the child down as they neared their home.

      Nicky was excited his father was home. He'd missed him the last few days.

      "Father, what do you do when you go away?" the child asked.

      "Business Nicky. I take care of business." William answered.

      "At night though? What sort of business takes place when the rest of the
      world's sound asleep?" Nicky persisted.

      "Unpleasant business. But someone has to see to it. Now enough of this
      talk, tell me what you have been up to lately. And what's this I hear about
      a certain Adams pick pocketing?" William asked as he closed the door.

      November 9th, 1888

      Nicolas had been walking the streets all day. The youngster hadn't seen
      hide nor hair of his father since the breakfast they had shared over a week
      ago. Nicky had been kicked out of the flat, as his father had neglected to
      pay the landlord and the child was prowling the streets in search of a Dorr
      He came upon Miller's Court and inquired about a bed. The generally rude
      doorman, took pity upon the kid, and decided to help him. There was a bed
      available, as Mary Creed* hadn't bothered to pay the required four pence
      that night.

      The pair walked down the narrow alleyway to a room in the back. There was
      an old rag stuffed in the window and the door was closed. The man went over
      and banged on the door.

      "Mary Creed! Open up. Ya haven't paid your due, there's another customer
      waiting for this bed!" the doorman shouted.

      There was no answer to his demands, and the doorman cursed. "Hold on kid,
      I'll be back."

      Nicky simply nodded and stood still. A moment later, the door, which wasn't
      on the most reliable hinges crashed to the floor. Nicky stepped inside and
      was overpowered by the sight before him.

      A man was on his knees, carving on what looked like a big piece of meat.
      Closer inspection revealed it was in fact a body, and the carver was William
      Adams. Nicholas made a small noise in his throat that caught the attention
      of William.
      The man turned to his son and locked his eyes onto his face. His eyes were
      dilated and coal black, eyes that looked as though they were from Satan

      Nicky turned and fled down the dark streets of London's East End. He was
      too shocked to do anything but keep running. Perhaps if he ran long enough
      and far enough he could forget what he saw. Forever.

      Victor's Lab
      Present Day.

      " The Metropolitan Police found the body the next morning. The doorman's
      was about ten feet away in the alley, with his throat slit. They also found
      a three-year-old boy in the room. I'm that little boy." Victor finished
      with a pained expression.

      "Oh my God, Logan's father killed your mother?!" Marie empathized with the

      "No, OUR father killed my mother. Logan's my brother."

      To Be Continued....


      "The Sweeter the sin, the bitter the taste, in my mouth."-U2

      " I see a girl of the night with a baby in her hand
      Under an old streetlight next to a garbage can
      Now she put her kid away and she's gonna get ahead
      She hates her life and what she's done with it
      That's one more kid that'll never go to school
      Never get to fall in love, never get to be cool"
      -Rockin' in the Free World, Neil Young

      "In this life, there are nothing but posibilities."-Empire Records

      Lucas: Waren, look what you took. Rap, metal, rap, metal, Whitney Houston?
      Waren: Its for my girlfriend.
      Lucas: Sure it is. A guy like you needs to diminsh his criminal impulses,
      not magnify them!
      - Empire Records

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