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  The flask in my hand. The fluttering came again, along with the awareness that it was important to me. It had contained a potion that I drank. I must drink it again. Somehow, I knew it would be the solution to everything. Perhaps it had given me a loss of memory, and repeating it would restore some understanding.

  I hurried out of the room and fairly leapt down the stairs. I stopped short. A young woman knelt before the fireplace, pouring fresh coal onto the grating. She faced away from me and apparently had not heard my approach. I ducked behind an armchair and waited until the housemaid stood and hurried to another part of the house. Then I slipped quietly down the stairs, through the kitchen (which I thankfully still found empty), out the back door, and through the garden to the theatre, where I made my way back to the laboratory where I was born. My hands seemed to move of their own accord, gathering fluids and powders from the selection on the table and mixing them speedily together.

  As I added a reddish fluid from a beaker, the mixture brightened from a blood red to a lighter pink. But once I added a measure of the white salt, the compound began to bubble and give off clouds of smoke. Just as I began to fear it might explode in my hands, the crystals dissolved and the fluid began to settle into a dark purple. When it had finally grown still, the tincture had faded into a cool green.

  I downed the solution quickly, ignoring the bitter flavour. Almost immediately, I felt an agony that gripped my very bones, squeezing them until I felt they would break. The flask dropped from my fingers to shatter on the floor. My stomach churned and threatened to give up its contents. My entire body twisted involuntarily and a scream made its way up my throat, but could not find its way out. My flesh crawled as if a thousand ants marched their way over me. Just as I felt the poison I had consumed must surely be about to complete its deadly work, the pain subsided and I returned to normal.

  But something altogether strange had occurred. As I looked down at myself, I thought the clothes I wore had shrunk down to my size, but my body had actually grown to accommodate them. My grotesque hands had transformed into ones of such smooth and supple flesh that they could not have been my own. Indeed, I found myself in a form of paralysis, where I could not control my body, yet it moved for me. The hands patted at my chest and arms, and a laugh escaped my lips.

  My mouth formed words on their own. "It worked. I think. I must be sure."

  My legs began to move, carrying me swiftly back on the journey I had just completed. As I walked, I passed an elderly woman. I felt the return of a fear of discovery, but it passed when the woman smiled and nodded at me with a "Good morning, sir." I seemed to be well known to her. I tried to respond, but my voice would not reply.

  When I finally reached the bedroom and gazed into the mirror again, my form had changed entirely. The mirror now showed a kindly man of middle age and average height with a pleasant face. It was the man I had seen in the painting.

  "I've done it," the man whispered. "It works. The potion works."

  And so began the unpleasant life of Edward Hyde.

  Chapter Two - Doctor Jekyll Awakes

  I STILL had no control over my body. Clearly, the drug I had imbibed had triggered the transformation into this man. Given that my first memory was of holding a flask of the drug, it further seemed likely that the drug was responsible for my birth. Yet now I seemed to be out of control of my body, as if someone else had lain claim to it. I lay trapped inside this body as it moved out through the bedroom.

  A knock came to the door. My hand opened it to find a young man waiting outside the bedroom in a suit. The man carried a silver tray with a freshly ironed newspaper, a hot cup of coffee, and a sweet biscuit on it. Behind him, a housemaid waited with a can of hot water and a jug of cold water. The housemaid hurried inside as the young man entered. She began filling a basin on the bedroom washstand. Though I could not turn my head, I lingered on her out of the corner of my eye. Her face and clothing were plain and unkempt, but she was not an unattractive woman.

  The young man bowed and offered me the tray. "Good morning, sir. I trust you slept well."

  I tried to respond, but another voice took control and left mine silent. It said, "Good morning, Poole. I slept very well, thank you. Do I have any appointments today?" My hand reached out and took the biscuit.

  Poole set down the tray and began sorting through the wardrobe. "Only three, sir. Mrs. Zannini shall be calling again, she is complaining of hysteria. Also a Mrs. Barbara Foster says her husband is thought to be stricken with apoplexy. And Mister Griffins is having another case of gout."

  So I was a doctor. That explained the access to medical equipment. It also confirmed that this house belonged to me. A doctor's wealth was clear in my surroundings. Yet I still remained helpless, unable to speak or move my own limbs. Indeed, my hand reached on its own to take the newspaper and unfold it, as well as drink the coffee and biscuit. It was a strange experience to feel and taste food with no control over its distribution.

  My body went through a morning ritual of washing up with the basin and jug of water, then dressing into a new suit laid out by Poole. My legs carried me forward and down the steps to the first floor once again.

  At this point, I admit to experiencing some panic. I tried desperately to intervene in my own affairs, to flail my arms, to shout, but with no response. It was as if my body had a mind of its own. I could not imagine what strange affliction had befallen me. I understood paralysis to some degree, but this seemed the opposite of paralysis. My body was capable of moving and did so, but without commands from my mind. It was as if someone else had control.

  Someone else. Could the physical change that had befallen me have affected my mind as well? Might I indeed have been changed in both mind and body? I came to the conclusion that I had been possessed by a spirit of some sort. I watched my body carry itself down the staircase to the lower floor. Yet would a demonic possession rob me of my memories as well as my body? I knew not, as I knew little of what occurred around me.

  My hands flipped through the newspaper, a copy of the London Times with the date of November 3, 1883. That confirmed my present location and time. I still had precious few clues as to my circumstances. As Jekyll read the newspaper, he focused on an article about a noted Minister of Parliament named Sir Danvers Carew. The article described him as an upstanding member of the House of Lords. Carew was considered an upstanding family man who often preached against the moral decay of England caused by drink, opium, and prostitution. Some were suggesting that he was in line to become the next Prime Minister.

  The servant Poole spoke behind me on the stairs. "Sir, will you be having breakfast in the dining room?"

  "No," my body said. "I shall be dining in my laboratory. Please have the footman leave it on the stairs leading from the dissecting room, but do not have him wait. I shall be out to dine, but I know not when. Once I have eaten, I shall require a carriage. I wish to visit with the vicar this morning."

  "Very good, sir."

  My body moved back the way it had come, through the garden, and back into the empty auditorium. Once more, I found myself in the mysterious laboratory that had served as my delivery room.

  My hands set the newspaper down and opened one of the many drawers to find a small leather-bound notebook. My body set itself down and opened the notebook. On the first page was written in gold-embossed lettering, "For the private use of Doctor Henry Jekyll." My hands turned the pages and I saw them carefully marked with handwritten notes. I read the notes as the pages turned. I felt the fluttering sensation in my mind once more, accompanied by the knowledge that I myself had written these pages.

  My body sat down at his desk, took pen in hand, and began to add to the notes. He wrote: "Success! This morning, I overcame my reluctance and put glass to lips. Indeed, I have tasted the formula and found it achieved beyond my wildest dreams. The drug does indeed result in the shaking of the curtain of my soul, unleashing the darker regions of my identity. Once transformed, I looked upon a looking gl
ass to find a new body and mind gazing back upon me, one that carried with it a certain freedom of morality that I find quite liberating. All that remains is the question of what to do next with this discovery. I hesitate to publish my findings just yet. More thought is required. I shall try the elixir again tonight."

  The truth was revealed. The possessor of my body was Henry Jekyll. It was this same drug Jekyll spoke of that I had imbibed earlier. That was what I had experienced. I was the end result of that experiment - the other half of Jekyll's very soul. Yet by drinking the potion again, Jekyll restored himself to normal. My excitement at this tale could not be overstated. Truly, I had created something that would astound the scientific community. Yet I, Jekyll's prodigy, still lived within his heart and mind. The potion had changed Jekyll into a new mind and body, and back again. I could no more control his limbs than I could control the limbs of a stranger on the streets. I was trapped inside him as a fly in amber until that evening when Jekyll would try the chemical again.

  Indeed, who was I? Another part of Jekyll? Jekyll himself with a slightly different outlook? An entirely new mind hatched from within Jekyll's like an egg in a robin's nest? Regardless of the truth, from this point forward, I thought of myself as a distinct entity entirely divorced from Doctor Henry Jekyll. I was unique, but how unique I had yet to learn.

  Chapter Three – A Conversation with the Vicar

  I WRESTLED with this knowledge as I watched Jekyll return his pen and notebook to their rightful place. He stepped outside the laboratory to find a roll, a plate of eggs, and some cold roast beef on a tray by the stairs. Jekyll ate his fill, then moved on to the lobby, where he completed his outfit with a hat and a cane topped with a silver head in the shape of a snake coiled around a winged staff; the Caduceus. He moved on to leave his home.

  The morning sun still glowed among the haze in the sky as Jekyll descended the staircase to the street. A restless horse snorted in the reins of a hansom cab that awaited Jekyll in the courtyard by his home. Jekyll climbed into the carriage, nodded to the driver, and settled back in the plush seat with a sigh. The footman climbed onto the back, then thumped on the side to signal the driver, who snapped the reins and spurring the horse into a trot.

  The carriage rolled through the morning streets of London, a city come to life. Street vendors walked through the crowds, calling out their wares. Jekyll mostly ignored them, focused instead on the journey that carried him to a nearby church.

  The church rose high above us, a tower of brick and stone that shone in the morning light. A deep bell chimed in the steeple to ring out the hour as the carriage slowed to a halt in front of it. Jekyll stepped out of the carriage, took off his hat, and entered the church.

  Jekyll walked into the church to find it almost empty, save for an old woman kneeling in one of the front pews, murmuring in prayer. The sun reflected off stained-glass windows depicting a scene of Jesus standing in a meadow with his hand on sheep nestled at his feet. Sunlight caused the halo to glow around his head. Candles burned before a wooden statue of Jesus mounted at the front of the church.

  Jekyll made his way through the church to an office at the back. He knocked and a voice bade him to enter.

  An old vicar sat behind a desk, working on papers. At Jekyll's entrance, the vicar looked up and smiled. "Ah, good morning, my son. I see you have come for our usual discussion."

  Jekyll sat down in a chair opposite the vicar. He set his hat and cane to one side as he spoke with urgency. "Yes, and today's is the most important of all. I have done it, father. I have tasted the elixir. And it worked."

  The vicar had set his pen down and reached for a Bible, but froze at Jekyll's words. Father Stevenson raised his eyes and whispered, "My God, Jekyll, what have you done?"

  "I have broken the barrier, Father. I have succeeded."

  The vicar rose from his chair and sighed heavily. He clasped his hands over his chest and gazed out a window at the garden outside. "My son, over these past few months, I have warned you of the dangers of your experiments. Indeed, I feel that the very idea of trying to isolate the chemical composition of good and evil is treading in realms that Man was not meant to pursue."

  Jekyll took his cane and turned it over his hands, studying the serpent on its head. "And I have disagreed many times. Surely it would be to Mankind's benefit to be able to remove evil from the soul. My goal was to isolate and extract evil, much as one might isolate and amputate an infected limb. By experimenting with various hallucinogens and observing the effects, I have been led to a path of--"

  Father Stevenson turned and held up a hand to stop him. "I know, my son. I do not doubt the validity of your experiments, only the morality."

  "But morality is the entire purpose to my research." Jekyll lowered his eyes to the polished toes of his shoes. "We all have desires, Father, temptations. Perhaps you are above them, but I am not. Yet you know I am a good person. Through my practice, I have aided the health of hundreds, perhaps thousands. I am loved and respected by men. My darker side cannot be known or I risk all, especially my nascent political career. I have indulged in my passions for many years without detection but several months ago, I was at--"

  He paused with a glance at Stevenson. "--Er, a local house of ill repute, and I happened upon a colleague of mine. Fortunately, I managed to make my exit without being seen, but it made me aware that I cannot continue as things were."

  The vicar bowed his head and nodded. "Truly, my son, a man's hypocrisy cannot be concealed for long."

  Jekyll rounded on the vicar, clutching his cane and raised his voice with indignation. "But I am not a hypocrite. When I am good, I am good, pure and through. No evil thoughts can penetrate. And when I am evil, nary a kind and loving thought exists. Don't you see, father? I am two men in one soul. I believe all men to be so, father, perhaps more."

  Stevenson held up his hands with the fingers formed into a steeple. "My son, the Bible speaks of this division and urges us to resist temptation--"

  Jekyll cut him off with a wave of his cane. "No, I have found another way. My potion serves as a way of shaking the curtains of the pavilion of our souls, releasing the second and darker man within me. And it works. I was transformed, changed not only mentally but also physically. I felt more liberated, immoral, subject to base desires. Yet more than that, I appeared quite different from myself, even somewhat deformed."

  Stevenson's brow furrowed. "Deformed?"

  Jekyll flicked a hand in the air. "Yes. It was not so much my physical appearance as a certain impression. But I was also paler, younger, shorter. I think perhaps because my darker side was less in use than my normal self."

  "A unique experiment, to be sure," murmured Father Stevenson. "Yet I still fail to see the benefits."

  Jekyll held out his hands to the vicar. "Can you not see the implications, Father? I am finally freed. I am unique in all Mankind with the ability to purge myself of evil. My darker inclinations are now liberated from my moral nature, separate once and for all. And if I ever feel them again, I have but to drink the potion, and I shall be evil once more, but also unrecognizable. I can carry out my desires without fear of discovery, then return to the good and upright Jekyll at will. It is the perfect disguise."

  Stevenson's gaze turned cold as he slowly advanced and looked down at Jekyll. "Henry, if what you say is true, then surely even you must see the danger of what you propose. To unleash the darkness within your soul is to unleash Hell itself. The sins of the flesh are destructive. You risk harming not only yourself, but everyone around you. Besides this, you remain a hypocrite, only one of greater magnitude. Your evil remains within you, and the temptation to act on it without consequence will only make it worse. I must urge you, as your spiritual guide, to abandon these experiments and return to our flock."

  Jekyll rose to his feet and gathered up his hat and cane. "I appreciate your concerns, Father."

  "But you do not intend to stop the experiments."

  Jekyll paused but a moment be
fore saying, "I feel that science cannot be hindered by morality. But I will take your words into consideration. Have a good morning."

  Father Stevenson made the sign of the cross. "Bless you, my son. And be wary of the Devil's work."

  Jekyll left the church then, and I felt his disappointment within me as well. Yet I felt elation. I understood now who and what I was. I was the freed man within him. Yet Jekyll was apparently unaware that I had not vanished once he drank the potion, merely huddled within him, waiting to be freed again. And I had no doubt that Jekyll would indeed free me. Father Stevenson's words fell on deaf ears. I could feel the fluttering again, which I now knew to be Jekyll's own thoughts in contact with mine. I could feel his excitement at the prospect of unleashing me once again, an excitement that paled in comparison to my own.

  Chapter Four - Hyde is Unleashed

  FOR MOST of the day, Doctor Jekyll saw patients in his office off of the first floor. I watched as he stepped into his office and treated a seemingly endless stream of local gentlemen and ladies. All regarded Jekyll with humility and even awe. He would receive their medical history and resolve their complaints, usually of troubling mental ailments such as anxiety, composed case histories and wrote prescriptions for physics to be filled at a local apothecary. The patients would take these prescriptions with gratitude. Jekyll's pay would be unobtrusively left wrapped in a package on a desk near the door, as befitting a gentleman. I watched the proceedings as if observing a play, resigned to my fate as an observer.

  As I watched Jekyll at work, I found myself despising the foul creatures that came scurrying into the office. One extremely large man arrived named Vega, a tax collector. He waddled into Jekyll's office with the aid of a cane and collapsed into a chair that groaned at the strain of supporting his weight.

  "And what seems to be the problem?" Jekyll asked.