Prologue

It had been well over a year since I had been transformed into Edward Hyde, the essence of all evil within me, when an even stronger demon had paralyzed me: guilt. I found that my every waking hour saw me submerged in a raw, mind-numbing pain that was absolutely merciless. Somehow, it seemed that God had decided to punish me for trying to control forces that were beyond human comprehension. My original intention was not to defy God at all, but my simple calculations quickly degenerated into a power not within my - or anyone's - grasp.

Even though I had miraculously cheated death by the hand of my best and most trusted friend, John Utterson, I felt strongly in the days slowly leading up to that warm May evening when I learned about Ashbourne that I should have died. I had to live forever with the knowledge that I, Henry Jekyll, was responsible for the deaths of eight people. Eight! The number rang through my head, constantly tormenting me. Under the guise of Hyde, I had murdered each member of the Board of Governors of St. Jude's Hospital, unleashing the basest form of the rage and contempt toward their hypocrisy that I had long suppressed.


And then there was Lucy. For those cruel eighteen months, I tried to reason with myself that I did not kill her. Yet whenever the thought entered my mind, my hands trembled as I remembered violently snapping into consciousness and finding her blood on my hands...and seeing her lying there. I was too terrified to confirm that she was dead. If I had tried to save her, I would most certainly be implicated in her death. My reputation as a human being, professional reputation aside, would be ruined. I could not do that to Emma...dear Emma...

Emma and I were indeed married a month after I recovered from the wound I received during our disastrous first ceremony. I still have a rather large scar on my right side from the incident. Life gradually eased back into a normal rhythm, and we were happy. A couple of weeks after the wedding, Emma kept dropping hints about wanting children. The concept was a disconcerting one. Emma's mother had died while giving birth to her. As much as I wanted to become a father, I felt it was not worth risking Emma's life. Emma kept begging, and I couldn't resist. Within a month, she was pregnant.

I began reading all I could about childbirth, and I consulted with the doctors in the maternity ward at St. Jude's. They simply laughed at my suggestion of possible alternate procedures. I was determined that everything would go as smoothly as possible, but the only thing I could do was leave everything in the hands of the doctors. I had never helped to deliver a child before, so I could not be there in any capacity other than as support for Emma.

I was a bundle of nerves from the moment I knew Emma was with child, but she was not scared at all. She kept saying these bizarre cryptic things to me as we discussed the medical procedure. "This is all for the best, Henry," she would whisper. "This is the way things are supposed to be." When I asked her about her strange statements, she simply flashed her bright, innocent smile and said, "I'm not sure, Henry. It just felt like what I should say."

The day came much earlier than anyone predicted. It was a hot afternoon in July. I rushed Emma to St. Jude's, and she was admitted immediately. I had feared that there would be a lot of people in the hospital, as there normally were during the warmer days of the summer. After being in labor for four hours, Emma's temperature rose to over 100 degrees. As I began to leave the room to consult with Emma's physician, Dr. Thompson, she began to cry. "Don't leave me, Henry," she said between sobs.

"I must speak with the doctor, darling," I assured. "I'll be back in a matter of seconds."

"No!" she cried. "Stay with me, Henry." The urgent look in her eyes kept me by her side despite my protests.

I took her delicate hand in mine. She smiled up at me weakly. "Things will be all right, Henry," she said in a soft whisper.

"Yes, my angel," I replied. "They will."

"I love you, Henry," she murmured. "Please be happy."

Emma's eyes suddenly had this tired, weary look. She began to moan.

A swarm of nurses rushed into the room, assessing the situation. One placed a cool cloth upon Emma's forehead. Another took her temperature. Emma continued to cry out in pain.

"Daddy!" she began to scream. "Daddy!" Sir Danvers Carew, her father and my former superior, rushed into the room.

"I'm here, darling," he said with assurance. He took hold of Emma's other hand and stroked it gently. "I love you."

"I love you, Daddy," she whispered almost inaudibly. She slowly closed her eyes. Her hand went cold. Sir Danvers began to weep. I placed an understanding hand upon his shoulder.

In a way, I was almost glad Emma did not live to see what happened. The miscarriage would have killed her spirit.

After Emma died, the most unbearable pain came not from the guilt of Hyde's terrible deeds but from something even more powerful. For seven months I had tried to progress with my normal life. I continued my regular practice. I made the occasional house call. I lived the normal life of a doctor, or so everyone presumed. If only the world did know everything! I hope someday that they do, so that my life's efforts shall not have been in vain. I hope that someday, doctors with more influence and knowledge than I will, for example, discover alternate methods of childbirth. Had my medical opinion been trusted by my colleagues, my wife and child would be alive today. It is my sincerest wish that the politics of common thought and society will someday be separated from the field of medicine. If this ever happens, it will allow advancement of the greatest order to be achieved.

As I look back upon this dark time of my life, I begin to notice the most curious irony of life, one that took me an unbearably long time to learn: If you leave things in God's hands, instead of taking them into your own, everything sorts itself out in the end.

To be continued...
(Please R/R! Thanks!)