Ever since I was a young man I had been interested in the human mind. I wanted to learn all that I could - with my limited capabilities. The why's and how's of man's nature. Unfortunately, during my schooling my path was severely curtailed - all because of a pretty face. No, not mine. The face belonged to a young lady, with eyes as changeable as her moods. Yes, even I can be swayed by such things, regardless of what my 'friends' may say about me. I am a serious man, I admit, with a countenance that is rarely... Blemished... by a smile. But a man nevertheless. Quite young one then, easily manipulated by bright eyes and a pretty smile. Do I regret becoming a lawyer? Not at all. Though some may think it dry, it has allowed me to delve into the psychology of people.
If only I could do so with Henry.
Henry was a complex man even in his youth, forever trying to 'fix' things that were not in his power to fix; such as the mental affliction of his father. I had the opportunity to accompany him to the hospital to visit the old man. Truth be told, I should not qualify it as an 'opportunity,' but more of a 'disturbance'. Henry was a strong individual; he rarely allowed his private hurts to be seen, but when he was next to the silver-haired Jekyll Sr. he was a broken man. He attempted to keep his composure, but I could tell by the heavy latch of his fingers against his bowler's rim – in sharp contrast to the he gentleness with which he held his father's hand – that he was overcome.
"Let it go, Henry," I told him, and he sank with a low moan next to his father's bed. Even I, the supposedly 'stoic' Utterson, found my throat constricting with a painful burn. I remained silent while he sobbed into the pristine cloth of his father's bedding. For nearly half an hour Henry released all that plagued him. He seemed almost a different man when he finally rose. His strength had returned. There was a new harshness within his eyes, one that frankly startled me. He brushed his hand over his eyes and, looking down upon his silent father, stroked his palm over the poor man's pale hair.
"Good night, father," he whispered so softly I almost did not hear him, and returned his bowler to his head. I did the same with my own, cocking it forward slightly as was my wont. Handing him his jacket, I followed him out of the hospital, silent as I had been for most of the visit. I wondered how much longer his father would have before he lost all touch with reality. He barely moved now, stuck in a near-comatose state, drifting between two worlds. His deterioration had begun with the death of his wife, Henry's mother. Neither Henry nor his father had ever fully accepted the reality of her death, that she had truly left them. Jekyll Sr. was particularly affected, and the first drips of madness trickled into his mind. With his decline came his son's. It pained me to watch the toll all of this was taking upon Henry.
As we approached the brougham he turned to me, setting a hand upon my shoulder, squeezing as he smiled wearily. "Thank you for coming with me, John." I nodded, clasping his shoulder in return with the vague hope of comforting, then collected my gloves to protect my hands from the chill in the air. Henry stood gazing upon the hospital, his jaw grimly set. "I know what I have to do. I have known all this time, but now – now I truly have a reason. They will not help him, John." I frowned, glancing over to him curiously. There was more behind his words than he spoke. I waited to see if he would go on, but he only shook his head and climbed into the carriage.
Behind me the clock struck nine, and I turned to regard the church across the street while running Henry's words through my mind. Something about them deeply troubled me, and I did not wish to disturb the strange newfound calm that had settled over the man. "Coming, my friend?" He broke my reverie. Climbing into the carriage, I closed the door behind me, seating myself across from him as he called out the destination to the driver, "46 Harley Street." With a click of the driver's tongue, the horses were briskly off in the direction of the Doctor's home.
"I will find an answer." He stared still at the retreating view of the hospital from the window of the brougham. I glanced to him and nodded. He will find an answer.
Of this I had no doubts.