Ripper, it seemed to me, was in not hanging those first four whores in 1888. The Hanged Man depicts the three symbols hanging from a T, so my contemporary self corrected the 1888 mistake by hanging four women in Vancouver to signify what I thought must be the proper tetrad four in the card.”
“It wasn’t?”
“No. The Hanged Man’s Mirror of Venus hangs upside down . I hanged the Vancouver women right side up . That just compounded my original error and opened this end of the same wormhole that projected me here from 1888. And I didn’t get to finish signing the triad in blood on Deadman’s Island thanks to the meddlesome cop who’s responsible for locking me up in here.”
“Which brought us together.”
“What brought us together was the will of the Tarot. I was sent here to meet up with you and pass on the Magick key.”
“Why don’t you escape from FPH like you did from the East End? By astral projection?”
“I can’t, because the cop stopped me before I could kill the female I slashed with the triad symbol on Deadman’s Island. Botching the cross denied me control over my occult power, and failing to sacrifice the triangle here means I can corporeally manifest myself back in 1888 London, but I can’t vanish from the reality of here and now.”
The Ripper flipped the hourglass over on the table.
“Back and forth …”
The hourglass flipped again.
“From here to there to here … That’s all I can do. The Tarot has made me a prisoner of my past mistakes.”
“So that’s why you gave me a different key to the occult realm?”
“Yes,” said the Ripper. “The proper key has to be the tarot card itself.”
The madman tapped the Goth’s significator displayed on the table between them. “You don’t have to sacrifice four victims to sign the cross. Nor do you have to sacrifice a fifth to sign the triangle. That Mirror of Venus I thought I saw was just an illusion. The jacket worn by the Hanged Man is irrelevant to the key. Therefore, so is the female occult symbol. What matters is that you signify the tetrad and the triad in blood by sacrificing a man and hanging him upside down to literally manifest the symbol of the Hanged Man on this card.”
“Like you told me to do?”
“Yes,” said the Ripper. “The important detail is the nimbus around the head. Without it, the inverted triangle won’t have its tip, and the sacrifice will fail to signify the proper Magick.”
“Have you seen the news?”
“No, I just returned from 1888.”
The Goth dropped a file on top of the tarot card and flipped it open. The file was full of clippings from several local papers about the murder at the Lions Gate and the subsequent high-speed chase.
“I did it,” said the Goth. “I signed the key in blood.”
The Ripper read the clippings. “And?” he asked when he had finished.
“I am the chosen one.”
“You found the wormhole?”
“And time-warped where I wished. Astral projection took me back to the island of Tangaroa in the nineteenth century.”
“Why there?”
“Like you, I have a hunger to sate.”
“Have you warped elsewhere?”
“I go where I please. All the inspiration in the occult realm is mine to use.”
The Ripper fingered one of the clippings in the file. “What about the two killed in the car chase?”
“Scapegoats,” said the Goth. “They sold cocaine to the sacrifice I hanged before he met up with me.”
“Why choose him?”
“That was my earlier ruse. He was producing a film called Bed of Nails. My plan was to sign the nimbus with a halo of nails pounded into the skull, so I figured that by picking someone at work on that movie, I’d fool the Mounties into suspecting the killer might be linked to that production. The film’s being shot in North Vancouver. That’s why I picked the hotel bar as my hunting ground. It’s where all the movers and shakers in the industry hang out.”
“A double ruse.”
“Yeah, I lucked out. Bed of Nails and a pair
“It wasn’t?”
“No. The Hanged Man’s Mirror of Venus hangs upside down . I hanged the Vancouver women right side up . That just compounded my original error and opened this end of the same wormhole that projected me here from 1888. And I didn’t get to finish signing the triad in blood on Deadman’s Island thanks to the meddlesome cop who’s responsible for locking me up in here.”
“Which brought us together.”
“What brought us together was the will of the Tarot. I was sent here to meet up with you and pass on the Magick key.”
“Why don’t you escape from FPH like you did from the East End? By astral projection?”
“I can’t, because the cop stopped me before I could kill the female I slashed with the triad symbol on Deadman’s Island. Botching the cross denied me control over my occult power, and failing to sacrifice the triangle here means I can corporeally manifest myself back in 1888 London, but I can’t vanish from the reality of here and now.”
The Ripper flipped the hourglass over on the table.
“Back and forth …”
The hourglass flipped again.
“From here to there to here … That’s all I can do. The Tarot has made me a prisoner of my past mistakes.”
“So that’s why you gave me a different key to the occult realm?”
“Yes,” said the Ripper. “The proper key has to be the tarot card itself.”
The madman tapped the Goth’s significator displayed on the table between them. “You don’t have to sacrifice four victims to sign the cross. Nor do you have to sacrifice a fifth to sign the triangle. That Mirror of Venus I thought I saw was just an illusion. The jacket worn by the Hanged Man is irrelevant to the key. Therefore, so is the female occult symbol. What matters is that you signify the tetrad and the triad in blood by sacrificing a man and hanging him upside down to literally manifest the symbol of the Hanged Man on this card.”
“Like you told me to do?”
“Yes,” said the Ripper. “The important detail is the nimbus around the head. Without it, the inverted triangle won’t have its tip, and the sacrifice will fail to signify the proper Magick.”
“Have you seen the news?”
“No, I just returned from 1888.”
The Goth dropped a file on top of the tarot card and flipped it open. The file was full of clippings from several local papers about the murder at the Lions Gate and the subsequent high-speed chase.
“I did it,” said the Goth. “I signed the key in blood.”
The Ripper read the clippings. “And?” he asked when he had finished.
“I am the chosen one.”
“You found the wormhole?”
“And time-warped where I wished. Astral projection took me back to the island of Tangaroa in the nineteenth century.”
“Why there?”
“Like you, I have a hunger to sate.”
“Have you warped elsewhere?”
“I go where I please. All the inspiration in the occult realm is mine to use.”
The Ripper fingered one of the clippings in the file. “What about the two killed in the car chase?”
“Scapegoats,” said the Goth. “They sold cocaine to the sacrifice I hanged before he met up with me.”
“Why choose him?”
“That was my earlier ruse. He was producing a film called Bed of Nails. My plan was to sign the nimbus with a halo of nails pounded into the skull, so I figured that by picking someone at work on that movie, I’d fool the Mounties into suspecting the killer might be linked to that production. The film’s being shot in North Vancouver. That’s why I picked the hotel bar as my hunting ground. It’s where all the movers and shakers in the industry hang out.”
“A double ruse.”
“Yeah, I lucked out. Bed of Nails and a pair
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