The Ferryman

Disclaimer: Inspired by the movie From Hell that I do not own, although not directly on any of the characters or on Jack the Ripper.

I watched her fuss over her appearance: fixing her hair, applying her lipstick. I sat on the bed, mesmerized by her careful movements. She tied back her hair with a ribbon and, as carefully crafted a bow with her slender fingers. I wondered if she was thinking of me. She also sat on the bed as I used the mirror to apply my own assortment of cosmetics. She was watching cartoons.

I drove her to the movie theatre and stood behind her, playing with her hair and tickling her ear with coy seductions, while she paid for two adult tickets. I dragged her through the darkened rows, whispering my excitement as she sipped from her large Coke

I made her hold my hand as Jack the Ripper slashed the throats of London’s unfortunates. I curled under her arm as she fed me factoids between popcorn kernels. I told her “I love you” and she told me the ins and outs of the latest Ripper theories and of Walter Sickert and Patricia Cornwell.

I held my breath. Johnny Depp recites the Ferryman myth and the coins (and death) weigh heavy in my pocket. When the movie is over, it is me who reaches for her hand, my vision blurred by the cascade of tears.

I fell asleep with her back next to me, her light snoring sounding gently in my ears. When I awoke the next morning, it was to an empty bed. She was gone, whether to school or work, I didn’t know.

The old stereo blares as I clean the smothering atmosphere from the house. I paused only once, a handful of found coins in hand and the Ferryman on my mind. My breath hitched as my mind wondered…Were modern coins heavy enough? I weighed them in my hand; I lay down and placed them carefully over each eyelid.

In the end, I put them lovingly in my pocket, nothing left in their place. No note. Like her, I was gone.

If I was going to die, there was no point in rotting alone.