Hyde Page 7

  "As you wish, sir."

  I found Grey's manner quite at odds with anyone I had met before, but could not place it. I left, feeling her gaze on my back as I climbed into the cab.

  I returned to the tailor and gave the address for my new clothes to be delivered to. Having established myself, I returned to Jekyll's home and drank the potion to transform back into him. I was more comfortable this time with his regaining control. Surely, Jekyll would not have gone to such lengths to never allow me release again.

  Jekyll went through his day, treating patients. At lunch, Jekyll received the day's letters from Poole.

  One letter came hand-delivered from Utterson responding to Jekyll's will. It read in part, "I know not who this Edward Hyde is nor can I fathom why you would give him such power over your affairs. I cannot say I agree with it as a lawyer, however I shall comply with your request and keep your will for safekeeping. As your friend, I caution you to reconsider and withdraw this foolish document."

  "He shall mind his own affairs," murmured Jekyll.

  "Also," said Poole, "your father has sent word that he is dying and wishes to see you once more before he passes."

  "I see," said Jekyll. "Send a telegram that I shall visit him tomorrow morning."

  "Yes, sir."

  Once Poole left, Jekyll sat in silence for a few minutes before continuing his meal. I had no memories of his father, so I knew not the reason why he hesitated, but sensed bad blood between them.

  I feared that Poole would also bring the card of another inspector come to investigate my brawl the night before, but none came.

  To my disappointment, Jekyll did not take the draught again that day. He finished out the afternoon treating more patients, ate a light supper, then retired to his study for a few hours reading from a religious text. Perhaps he sought to atone for my actions or reinforce his own purity. No matter. I tried to read as well, but found it all quite dreary.

  When at last Jekyll retired, I spent time in the darkness reflecting on the draught which Jekyll compounded. Of its chemical composition, I cannot say for several reasons. One is that Jekyll has concealed some of his notes in a code known only to himself, not even to me. Another is that I share Jekyll's concern that his experiments might one day be duplicated to the sad consequences that befell us. For this reason, the formula's exact nature must remain a mystery.

  What is the drug's effect? I have considered Jekyll's notes and he seems convinced that the potion simply releases the man he is within. I strongly disagree with that conclusion. I have pondered this and composed a theory.

  I believe the formula is a fusion of two different chemicals. The first chemical triggers a physical transformation that is both swift and powerful. Jekyll believes that the form unleashed is but the manifestation of his darker side. I believe the chemical, in fact, causes a change of form that is entirely of its own. Perhaps it simply triggers a severe deformity, similar to the deformity that affects some unfortunate infants at birth. In any event, the body that results is both smaller and stronger than Jekyll's own. That, I believe, is part of the key to its effect. My body is the result when Jekyll consumes the drug. If I consume the drug again, it transforms me back into Jekyll's old body. In this regard, I believe my smaller body to be constricted as a spring tightly bound, and the drug releases that tension, causing me to return to Jekyll's form.

  The second effect of the drug is the mental transformation. The draught caused a malformation of the brain that forms my identity. Perhaps the drug formed me from whole cloth or I am a mutation of Jekyll's personality. The true answer I do not and shall never know. I suspect that the chemicals cause an absence of conscience or a psychosis that leads to my immoral behaviour. Certain references in Jekyll's notes imply that this was an intentional effect.

  I was created by Jekyll to carry out his secret sins. In that respect, Jekyll was extremely successful, but left me alone in the world.

  After these ruminations, I eventually slept but lightly. I dreamed of roaming the city, enjoying the fruits of sin, but all my dreams ended with my being chased by an angry mob for my crimes, my eventual capture, and being placed into the gallows, returning to consciousness at the snap of a noose.

  I awoke, but Jekyll remained asleep, so I could not even open my eyes. I lay there in darkness, thinking of the dream. Was it merely the product of a revived conscience? Or was it a vision of my future?

  Chapter Eight - At The Father's Bedside

  THE NEXT morning, Jekyll was true to his word. He embarked on the long journey to his father's home.

  His father, Doctor Graham Jekyll, lived in a lavish country estate. Henry Jekyll arrived to find the mourning room filled with older women of the community sitting in virtual mourning. They offered their condolences to Jekyll, then his father's butler escorted him to the master bedroom.

  A huge fire burned in the fireplace, filling the bedroom with a stifling heat. A large bed dominated the room, and there lay a frail old man. His eyes did not open, not even when Jekyll approached the bed and spoke to him.

  "Father," Jekyll said, "I'm here."

  The old man's voice was surprisingly strong as he spoke. "I know. I sent for you. You still obey me, even after all these years."

  Jekyll sat down in a chair offered by his father's manservant. "Yes, father. Always."

  "How is your practice?"

  "Well, Father. In fact, I am forced to turn patients away because I am so busy."

  The old man grunted. "So word of your poor skills has not spread far."

  "I am quite skilled, Father. In fact, I am known as the finest doctor in East London."

  His father grunted again. "That speaks more to a shortage of quality doctors than of your skills."

  Jekyll lowered his head.

  His father sighed. "I tried hard to raise you properly, Henry. Lord knows, I struck you hard enough to have pounded some sense into you, yet you remain a disappointment to me."

  "Father," said Jekyll in a low voice, "I have done the best I can."

  "No, you haven't. Until you solve the Stratford case, you haven't."

  "That was years ago, Father," snapped Jekyll.

  "And have you solved it yet?"

  Jekyll opened his mouth to speak before collapsing in a sigh. "No."

  "Exactly my point. When a man dies under your care, it is not to be taken lightly, especially a man of such importance. A man of Parliament, of breeding, in line to be Prime Minister, and you let him die."

  "I did the best I could."

  "Proving my point." The old man's eyes opened, exposing blood-red orbs that swam in milky fluid. "Had I handled his case, he would be alive today and ruling the Kingdom."

  "So you have said since the day he died, but I have yet to hear a diagnosis from you. You tell me, father. What did I do wrong? Why did he die?"

  The father's eyes rolled in Jekyll's direction, but could not focus. "Is that why you came? To hear the answer to the riddle?"

  Jekyll said nothing.

  The old man's eyelids swam shut again. "Do you remember those days, Henry, when you were but a boy? When I would come to your room and quiz you on anatomy and medicinal compounds?"

  "Yes. I could not soon forget. You asked questions that would baffle even a student at university."

  "Nonsense," the old man shrieked. "I asked questions to test that pudding you call a mind. To prepare you for the day when you would take over the practice and carry the legacy of Jekyll. And you failed me, time and time again, no matter how I screamed and beat you with the switch and cane."

  "But I did become a doctor, Father. I fulfilled your wishes."

  "No. You are but a doctor of peasants and ragamuffins. I raised you to be the physician of nobles, lord, kings. You could have been. You should have been. If it were not for Stratford. Good fortune it is that your mother died in childbirth bringing you into this world. Surely she would have died of shame otherwise."

  Jekyll's teeth clenched hard enough to hurt as he murm
ured, "I am grateful that you did care for me, Father."

  "Your gratitude means nothing to me. I did not raise you for gratitude. How is your standing in the Church, Henry?"

  "Well, father. My vicar and I speak quite often."

  "Do you tell him all your sins? Even the ones you think I knew nothing of?"

  "Yes, father. But--"

  "Do not lie to me, Henry. I know all about you. You can hide your sins from men, but not from me. I should have thought you would know that by now. I may not be there in form, but I am there in spirit. London is a large city, but not large enough for you to hide."

  "I know not what you speak of, Father."

  "Then I shall remind you. There are many who credit me with saving their life. They owe me a debt that they can never repay. All I ask of them is their eyes and ears. They come to me and reluctantly tell me of witnessing you entering and leaving houses of sin in the dead of night. Bad enough for you to be a poor doctor, but a sinner as well? I could have lived with one, but not with both."

  Jekyll felt a pang in his heart that caused him to tremble. "They shall see me there no more, Father."

  "Too late. The damage to our reputation is done. It seems my attempts to steer you away from wickedness only made you want them more."

  The old man's chest rose and fell in a heavy sigh. "I raised you to be my heir, to become an even greater doctor than myself. I called you here, Henry, because I am dying. I wanted to tell you before my final moment how I felt about you."

  Jekyll raised his head and leaned closer. "Yes, Father."

  The old man's eyes opened and he looked vaguely at Jekyll. "I wanted to tell you that as I die now, I die knowing that I failed in my life's work. Had you met my expectations, my reputation, my wealth, all of that would have been passed on to you. I now leave this Earth knowing that you, Henry Jekyll, are not worthy of any of it."

  Jekyll trembled. His vision melted away in tears. "Father, please--"

  "You are my only son, Henry, my only child. And you were my only hope at creating a legacy that would last for generations. Yet you are unmarried and have no sons."

  "I am engaged--"

  "To a widow past her breeding age. She will bear you no children. And so, when you die, you will carry my great name to the grave. You are my only son, Henry, and my greatest disappointment."

  "Father--"

  "I hereby disown you, Henry. When I die, this home and its land will pass to the Church of England, where it will be put to better use than you could ever give it."

  "No," Jekyll pleaded, seizing his father's hand. "Father, please, I--"

  The old man seemingly used the last of his strength to rip his hand from Jekyll's. "I have said all I intended to say. Leave me. Now. And never return."

  Jekyll staggered back from the bed, his heart pounding until I thought it might burst, but it didn't. A hand touched his shoulder. It was his father's butler, who solemnly escorted Jekyll out of the bedroom and out of the manor.

  Jekyll rode home in silence, staring out the window, but staring at nothing. I felt the fluttering in my mind, triggering a flood of memories of a childhood that were not my own. Hour upon hour, day upon day, of Henry Jekyll alone in his bedroom, studying books on anatomy, chemistry, and medicine. And every day ended with the pitiful screams of Jekyll as his father beat him mercilessly for the inevitable errors that came from a juvenile mind attempting to absorb too much.

  When Jekyll's carriage arrived at his home, he headed straight for the study and said to Poole, "I do not wish to be disturbed." Jekyll did not wait for a response, but charged inside and slammed the door to the study.

  He paced the room for hours, non-stop. His gait grew heavier, stronger. His breathing quickened.

  When at last he stopped, Jekyll stared at a portrait on the wall of his study. It was of his father, Graham Jekyll.

  Jekyll threw himself at the door, flung it open, and ran through the mansion to his laboratory. His hands trembled so hard as he mixed the formula that some of it spilled on the floor. He didn't wait for it to change color, but gulped it down as it still smoked in the flask.

  The change began and he screamed, but it was not from the pain of the transformation. I screamed as well, so our screams blended into one as we traded bodies. When at last I was free, I stood in the laboratory, calling out our rage to the rafters.

  I knew what I had to do. I knew what Jekyll wanted me to do.

  Chapter Nine - The Incident with the Girl

  I SLIPPED out the back entrance and hailed a cab. The cab rushed me to Graham Jekyll's country estate.

  The butler opened the door and regarded me with undisguised loathing. "May I help you?"

  "I'm here to see Graham Jekyll," I said.

  "I'm afraid Doctor Jekyll is not taking visitors at the moment."

  "I have a message from his son, Henry Jekyll."

  "And what might that message be?"

  "My instructions are quite specific. I am to deliver the message directly to Graham Jekyll, no one else."

  "Very well. One moment. I shall inquire on the master's wishes." The butler allowed me inside to wait in the drawing room while he went to see his master.

  He returned a few minutes later and said, "Follow me."

  The butler led me through the estate to the bedroom, where he allowed me in, then closed the door behind me.

  The old man still lay on his bed, gasping for his last. He called out to me, "Who are you?"

  "My name is Edward Hyde."

  He regarded me with naked contempt. "So you are the sort of man my son trusts to convey his messages. His association leaves much to be desired."

  I approached the bed slowly. "Be that as it may, I come at the behest of your son to deliver a message."

  "I have nothing left to say to him. I cannot imagine that he has anything left to say to me."

  My hand gripped my cane in both hands. "Oh, but he does. Very much so. Doctor Jekyll wishes me to inform you of his hatred for you."

  The old man stared before saying, "I beg your pardon?"

  "You are a fool and a bully, a small man who never achieved his dreams and pushed them onto his son. You wished to be the doctor of lords and kings, but lacked the skill yourself, so you tried to mold your son into your own image, then blamed him for your own failures, and punished him when you should have been punishing yourself."

  "How dare you come to my home and address me in this manner. My son never sent you. He would never speak to me this way."

  I stood at his bedside and leaned over him. "No, he wouldn't. He lacks the courage. But I have what he lacks. I can do what he never could."

  "This is outrageous. Leave me. Immediately."

  "What is Stratford's diagnosis?"

  The old man's chest heaved quicker. "What?"

  "You claim to know the diagnosis for Lord Stratford. What is it?"

  "I don't have to--"

  "You don't have a diagnosis. You never did. You're no better a doctor than Henry Jekyll. Worse, you're a liar and a fraud. But Jekyll is a better doctor than you will ever be. He will die with the reputation as one of the greatest doctors who ever lived. He has made a monumental discovery that will seal his name in the history books for the ages. Would you like to know what it is?"

  The old man seemed beyond speech. He only gaped at me.

  I leaned in closer. "I am your son. He changed himself into me. He has perfected a formula to transform himself into this being you see before you, one free of all the moral inhibitions you chained him to. I am your son, Graham Jekyll."

  The old man screamed.

  "You enjoyed striking me as a boy," I roared. "See how you enjoy being repaid for those blows."

  I raised my cane to strike the frail body before me.

  The old man's cries brought his butler running into the room. The old man flailed his hand at me in a wild gesture that his butler took to mean rushing me from the bedroom.

  "Be gone," yelled the butler. "Before I call the b
obbies on you for threatening to strike a dying man."

  I left without resistance. I had said what I had come to say.

  From Graham Jekyll's home, I headed for the nearest pub, where I drank my fill, then instigated another fight. Once my bloodlust had been sated, I retired to a dress house where I caroused with prostitutes until the early morning.

  I rode the cab back to London, but had it drop me off several blocks away from Jekyll's home. I wished to walk the streets. I felt buoyed by my confrontation with Jekyll's father, free and joyous. Even the black fog still clinging to the rooftops and the cold rain pouring down from the skies did nothing to dampen my spirits.

  From the shadows of a nearby alley came a little girl, running at full speed. I was about to move to avoid it, when I recognized it as the little girl Lucille who had labeled me "Monkey Man." I saw no one around, least of all her parents. Instead of avoiding the girl, I aimed for her, collided with her, knocked her to the ground, and walked over her as I would walk over a rug. Her screams as my boots trampled her limbs and chest brought me immense satisfaction.

  I thought I would make my escape, but a hand grasped and pulled me short. It was an older man, burning with anger.

  "See here," he cried. "Look what you've done."

  I regarded the crying girl still lying on the street as I would an insect I had beneath my boot. My response did not elicit a favourable response. The old man dragged me back to the little girl, who had finally been joined by her parents. They fussed over the girl terribly, calling me many names in between consolations.

  Someone had called for an apothecary living in the area to give his medical advice. He examined the girl and declared her none the worse for wear, save a few bruises and scrapes. The apothecary regarded me then, and I saw a burning hatred in his eyes that the others all shared. His skin had turned almost white in his anger. The girl's mother shrieked insults at me at the top of her lungs and had to be restrained by her husband from attacking me, but the father seemed close to striking me himself. Up until that moment, I had perceived the interruption as a nuisance or a price to be paid for an enjoyable act, but now began to fear for my life. These people desired my injury.