[ WP ] Jack the Ripper in custody speaking with a constable about the motivation for his crimes .

The constables face is grim. The muscles in his jaw tense. He can feel the wrinkles on his forehead, much like the rings in the trunk of an old tree. He fixes his posture. Broad shoulders, big chest, firm stance. The constable does not believe in the devil. He wo n't start because the papers are telling him to. 
 
 The cellar door swings open with wails from its hinges. The ripper is reminded of shrieking, gargling sounds and red fountains. He ca n't help himself and grins. His attention starts shifting to the owner of the feet beforehim as he strokes his strained and oily hair out of his face. The ripper stretches his tongue out, a feverish muscle of unnatural demeanor and fixates the mans gaze on his throat. 
 
 The constable is looking in an abyss.'This man is not mad' was his conclusion the second he saw the tension that another being of equal intellect caused. For a fleeting moment he is glad that his stance hides his hands behind his back. 
 
 The Ripper starts forcefully exhaling air through his nose, splattering snot on his face and never-resting tongue. He makes himself retch. 
 
 The constable is seemingly unnerved, but he simmers. The act in itself is too dramatic, the aversion of his opposite too calculated. He does n't censor himself. 
 
 `` Allow me to be the one who knows why Jack.'' 
 
 Taken aback the murderer erupts in a, one would be inclined to say normal, laughter. 
 
 `` Dear constable, that is a most reasonable request.'' 
 
 He collects himself in the deep chest-filling breath he takes. 
 
 `` I have fetishized mother natures intended purpose for men. The mother bears the fruit. The whore devours the fruit. I prey on the predator.'' 
 
 Jack smiles. 
 
 The constable notices in a small part of his consciousness that for the first time in his life he dropped his rigid posture in front of a captive.
