Up until now, the Ripper hadn’t really freaked me out much. But with every passing hour, it started to have more of an effect on me. Two people were going to get murdered tonight, right around where I was sitting. And the whole world was going to sit and watch, just like we were.

The first news broke at 12:57. We all knew it was coming, but it was still a shock when the news anchor touched his ear and listened for a moment.

“Just coming in . . . The body of a woman has been found on Davenant Street, just off Whitechapel Road. Details are still coming in, but the first report indicates it was found in a car park or possibly outside of a petrol station. We can’t confirm either story. The police are now spreading out and covering everything within a mile radius. Two thousand police officers and special constables have been deployed into the streets of East London. Let’s go to the interactive map . . .”

They had instantly created a live map with the murder scene and a circle radiating out from it in red. Our school was smack in the middle of this red section. The entire common room fell silent. Everyone looked up from what they were doing.

“I can now confirm that the body of a man has been found on Davenant Street, in a small private car park. Witnesses who found the body say that the victim had a wound to the neck. Though we have no further details at this time, that is consistent with the Ripper murders. I have with me Dr. Harold Parker, professor of psychology at University College, London, and technical adviser to the Metropolitan Police.”

The camera panned over to a bearded man.

“Dr. Parker,” the anchor asked. “What’s your first reaction to this information?”

“Well,” the doctor began, “the first thing of note here is that the victim is a man. All the Ripper victims of 1888 were female prostitutes. However, it should also be noted that the third Ripper victim, Elizabeth Stride, was the only one who had no mutilations. Only her neck was cut. If this turns out to be the work of the new Ripper, it suggests a different pathology. This Ripper doesn’t care about the sex or the profession of the victim—”

“I can’t watch this anymore,” Jazza said. “I’m going upstairs.”

Jaz got out of her chair and stepped over the various people sitting on the floor around us. I didn’t want to stop watching, but she was clearly upset, and I didn’t want to leave her alone.

“I hate what they’re doing,” she said as I followed her. “I hate the show they’re making of all of this. It’s horrible, and it’s frightening, and people treat it like it’s reality television.”

“I think they’re just reporting it because people want to know,” I said, following her a few steps behind.