Posted in excerpt, fiction, Historical, mystery, Spotlight on September 26, 2015



Two men, two different generations, both initiated into a powerful organization that throughout history has sought control and use their power for destruction.

Two men leaving behind a wake of murder, revenge and vengeance. Two men that will stop at nothing, playing a game that only they know the rules.

One man roams the dark London streets for his victims, preying on women of the night. While the other stalks his victims in Seville, Spain; knowing that only he could uncover the true motives of one of the world’s most infamous serial killers – Jack the Ripper.


amazon buy



January, 1888

The solemn lodge hid from unworthy eyes, an unnoticeable forgotten place made of granite. Two Sphinx-like granite lions with women’s heads peered down from the entrance of the lodge.

An “ankh” adorned the lion’s neck, entwined with a cobra. An image of a woman embellished the neck and breast of the other lion, speaking of fertility and procreation.

Fervent men slowly make their way up the three levels of narrowing steps, passing under the two Egyptian swords with curved serpentine blades, passing through the two tall bronze doors.

One man glanced up as he ascended the steps, silently mouthing, “the temple of the Supreme Council Freemasons,” made of brass letters and set in stone. His gaze fell to the plaque cut in stone, “Freemasonry Builds Its Temples in the Hearts of Men and Among Nations.”

Stone columns extend high above the entrance and partially conceal an image of an Egyptian god, backed with radiating sun and flanked by six large golden snakes. He stepped past the threshold of the lodge entirely made of marble, exotic wood, and statues carved from gold.

The ofting room decorated with many symbols, especially the serpent, and portraits of famous and influential men, lined the walls. Illuminations flickered above the men, resembling stars in the dark blue sky; the golden serpents silently watching in the blue heavens.

Slowly removing his clothes, wrapping the long black robe around him, placing a hood over his head to partially conceal his face. In the recesses of the ancient temple, an ornately decorated room filled with candles, lighted the way for the men filing in.

Dressed in long black robes, hands pressed solemnly together, slowly the row of men trudge into the Temple room. Each with their face down, they instinctively form a large circle in the room. The room fell with a deathly silence; abruptly three knocks reverberated throughout the room.

The Worshipful Master spoke, “You will admit him in the name of the Grand Architect of the Universe, and let him be placed in the West.”

Gradually the door creaks open, a young man enters with a black robe and the left knee and breast exposed.

The young man’s face is covered by a dark cloth and led around the circle by a rope around his neck. The candidate is led to the oath of secrecy where the Worshipful Master stands. A sword is pricked to the candidate’s left breast.

“As this is a prick to the flesh at this time, so may the remembrance of it be to your conscience hereafter, should you ever attempt improperly to reveal any of the secrets with which you are about to be entrusted.”

The group silently watch as the candidate is instructed to kneel with his left knee bare and bent, his right foot forming a square and the body being erect in that square. The left hand supports the Volume of the Sacred Law, compass and square and right hand placed thereon.

“‘Vouch safe Thine Aid, Almighty Father, Grand Architect of the Universe, to this our present conviction. Grant that this Candidate for Masonry, now kneeling before thee, may dedicate and devote his life to thy Service, and become a true and faithful Brother amongst us. To this end

Initiated to Kill endue him with such a competency of thy Divine Wisdom, that assisted by the secrets of our Royal Masonic Art, he may be better enabled to display the beauties of true godliness to the Honour and glory of Thy Most Holy Name.’ ”

“‘I do most solemnly and sincerely promise and swear to have my throat cut across, my tongue torn out by the roots, and my body buried in the rough sands of the sea at low water mark, where the tide ebbs and flows in twenty-four hours…should I ever knowingly or willingly violate this my solemn oath or obligation as an Entered Apprentice Mason. So help me God.’ ”

The young man is then presented with white gloves and escorted to the pedestal in the East to become an Entered Apprentice. Throughout the ceremony another waited expectedly. Another man would join them, and this man would be the one. He had done a lot to encourage them to allow this man to be initiated. But he could never have foretold the events to come.

* * * *

A candlelit chamber houses a secret meeting where four men sit around a table, each wearing the long black robes and only talking above a whisper.

“The time has come to make our stand and proclaim to our Brothers that it’s time. It’s our time to cause such a panic, that people will not know whom to turn to. That the reliance on religion and government will pass. It’s our time to take control, and whoever does not stand behind us will fall.”

“Yes, we must give a sign to our Brothers that can only be recognized by them, something that will forever change the world.”

Chapter 8
7 August, 1888 George Yard, Whitechapel
The dark suffocating smog enveloped the man as he strolled down the grimy streets. The smell from the raw sewage drifted in the night air, flowing through the gutters and into the Thames River. Dressed in a navy uniform, with a white band around his cap, a fake mustache pasted on his face, his thoughts traveling to the scene before him. He was disgusted with this place. The onslaught of Irish and Jewish immigrants had caused this place to fall to the hands of street vendors, pick-pockets, drunks, beggars and prostitutes. Wrinkling his nose as a soft moan came from the deep recesses of a darkened street. A prostitute at her trade. He desperately wanted to be back in his studio, paint all he had seen; away from the disparity and disgust. But he was on a mission. He was not going to falter, regardless of the smell that greeted him at every corner. A loud shuffling brought his attention to a woman staggering out of the shadows. Resting against the hard, cold  building, he observed her as she tripped and righted herself before continuing on her way. She was an ugly woman. Quite overweight, short, and her bloated face spoke of her abuse with alcohol. She continued to fiddle with her dark green skirt and black jacket, completely ignoring him as she walked past. Clenching his jaw, that sickly smell of an unwashed body filled his nostrils, coupled with the vigorous act of sexual intercourse sickened him. He silently stalked her steps as she turned from Whitechapel High Street, entering into the narrow, dimly lit courtyard of George Yard. Suddenly, she spun around and glared at him.
“You’ve been a followin’ me,” she slurred.
He stopped in his tracks, surprised that she would have noticed. For a minute he didn’t say anything, just stared at this grotesque creature.
“I know what ya want. Well, ya can’t have it. I’ve had enough soldiers for one night,” she cackled, “besides, ya look like ya could use something more down there before tryin’ anythang with me.” Letting free a belch, continuing to approach the stairs. Narrowing his eyes, an intense rage filled him. How dare that whore speak to me like that. Instead of backing down, his anger pushed him on. Slowly he followed her as she began to climb the stairs. Cursing under her breath, tripping on the hem of her skirt, knees thudding to the hard cement steps. He didn’t hesitate. Adrenaline poured through his veins. He relished the feel of the strong, sharp dagger, swiftly straddling her from behind. He didn’t give her a chance to protest, yanking her head up by the hair, slicing the dagger straight across her throat. Blood oozed over his fingers, fighting the urge to vomit. The thought of what that whore might have repulsed him, but he couldn’t stop now. His anger propelled him, his need for vengeance like an addict in need of a drink. Pushing her over onto her back, the deep gash oozing crimson liquid, pale eyes staring at him, as if accusing him, mocking him. In the darkened shadows of the landing, he continued to drive the dagger into her throat, lungs, heart, liver, spleen, stomach and genitals. Ignoring the stickiness that dripped off his clothes. The gaping wounds revealing his unique masterpiece. He continued thirty-nine times to make sure he sent a message to those that would view the events, viciously tearing her clothes as he did this. Standing, he stared at her one last time. His anger had subsided, he regretted losing control, he must do better next time. Dropping a small piece of leather apron, he slid into the shadows, anticipating the one that was next to come.
* * * *
 At 4:45, John S. Reeves headed out of the building. He frowned. A woman lay on the landing, a dark liquid surrounding her body, clothes disarrayed. The smell that emitted from the unmoving body caused him to run as fast as he could to locate P.C. Barrett. Later, she was identified by Pearly Polly as Martha Tabram.

About the Author

I live in Auckland, New Zealand with my two dogs. Although I have had training in Beauty and Spa therapy, editing, journalism, animal behavior and photograpy, criminology and counseling, my main interest lies in writing novels which allows me to explore and learn about other eras and countries, creating characters that have deep rooted flaws, but uses those to achieve the end goal. My inspiration for novels came by accident, when finishing writing my first novel and starting to edit it, I stumbled across a conspiracy theory, in which some believed the Freemasons were involved in the Jack the Ripper murders. From there, the historical aspect took shape, continuing throughout all the novels I write. I hope that each novel I write doesn’t necessarily cause a person to believe in the conspiracy or myth, but challenges what they really believe could be possible. To everyone reads my books, I hope they can transport themselves back in time, learn more about the world around them, and maybe even question certain things they believe in.

Blog * Amazon Author page * Twitter * Facebook * Pinterest * Goodreads * LinkedIn * Google Plus