NOTE: For this story, "Henry Jekyll" has been renamed "Jekyll Lionel". Also, when Jekyll becomes Hyde, there is no physical transformation and it is merely psychological phenomenon.
Doctor Jekyll was alone in his study. He was staring at a book that was laid on his desk. The book had been written by none other than Mr. Utterson. It was his way of communicating his deep felt friendship for the doctor. Jekyll had almost perished in his cabinet, and the whole area had been blocked off, locked away. Jekyll was no longer allowed in that part of his home. And to worsen matters for himself, as he looked at it, he was banished from ever again experimenting. Especially with drugs.
But he had to continue his work. His livelihood depended on it. Jekyll worked as a doctor in the local asylum for the mentally ill. In those days, they were not considered proper mental hospitals, and Jekyll had always confined himself to only male patients. Particularly those who were particularly disturbed. All of this had been agreed on. Except there was one special condition. He was no longer allowed to work with men who possessed alternate selves. Multiple personalities. Split personas. All of this was banned. And the cabinet. It was all banned.
However, it was for his own good. So Mr. Utterson, Richard Enfield, and Jekyll's butler, Poole, had told him. All of this was for his own good. Edward Hyde had been revealed, and this was the only way to keep Jekyll out of prison. None of the good men believed... or rather none of them wanted to believe... that Jekyll himself was capable of such darkness in his own untainted heart. All three of them, after being exposed to Doctor Lanyon's letter and Doctor Jekyll's confession, felt in the fullness of their own good souls that Jekyll's tragic crimes were merely the results of a drug. An evil drug. A terrible mistake. An experiment simply gone wrong.
Terribly wrong.
There was a knock at the door. Jekyll started, throwing a look behind him. His hair was short spare that his messy, white bangs had some length to them; his sorrowful, lonely eyes were blue and narrow; he had a large, studious nose; a long, clever face; and a constant look of some drama or another on his features. He was normally a cheerful, humorous man, but you would have to be a fool not to admit that everything he said and did was deep and meaningful, like he was always acting in some great play surrounded by important onlookers. Jekyll's life seemed to be a constant source of attention for him. There was always someone who was obsessed with his everyday activities, and Poole was mad for his every move.
It was one of the main reasons that Lanyon had retired from their friendship. The other doctor could not stand Jekyll's arrogance and selfishness. It was a quality of the younger doctor that Lanyon had learned to simply tolerate over the years. But one argument had lead to another, and Jekyll's self-importance had finally worn down poor old Lanyon.
And now he was dead. And Jekyll was devastated. And Utterson and Richard and Poole were all devastated. It was a tragedy.
Utterson entered the room without permission. He no longer sought permission from his old friend. He no longer sought anything from him. He desired only to force his morals and principals upon him. Utterson was determined to save the doctor's soul and his life. The lawyer was no match for the weariness of his own spirits, and he could no longer fight his own conscience. Utterson couldn't help it. He loved his dear old friend too much to simply give him away to the police. And he could not blame him. He could not bring himself to blame him. It wasn't his fault! It couldn't be! It was the drugs! Jekyll was a self-destroyer. He was not a murderer. Hyde was! Jekyll had poisoned himself. He had accidentally created a dark, wicked fiend. He had accidentally concocted a potion that brought out the worst in man. Jekyll was a brilliant, however mislead scientist. The doctor was not deserving of a certain death sentence.
"Jekyll..." Utterson's weak voice echoed into the study.
The doctor simply stared at him, uncomprehendingly. His face was blank.
"How are you?" Asked the lawyer. "Are you feeling any better? It has been a few days. You were unconscious for hours."
There was some silence and then, "I am fine." Reassured Jekyll, softly. "I can assure you that I am quite well and that..."
But Utterson interrupted. "I have had enough of your lies!" He snapped, angrily. "I am tired of you always telling me that you are fine. I am tired of you always informing me that I am simply mistaken." He mocked the doctor. "My heart is grieved, Jekyll. You have done me wrong. A great wrong. I know that it is not your fault, but you have brought me down this day. You have brought me down from my heavenly perch of purity that I so surely rested upon in my old age. No man is without sin, but you have smeared both my soul and my conscience with blood. You have made me feel as if my very life has been stolen. What have you done to me?! What have you done to Richard?!" Utterson shook with rage.
Jekyll flinched from the rebuke, looking away. He felt cowardly, hiding his emotions in his long, white coat.
"What have you done to Poole?!" The lawyer shouted. "You have destroyed all of your friends! You have killed Lanyon!"
Jekyll's eyes closed, sorrowfully. He could feel his cheeks become hot with grief, and he squeezed his eyes, willing himself to show, if only to himself, some kind of remorse for what he had done to his old friend. Tears came into the corners of his eyes, but they did not roll down his face. He had already cried himself to sleep so many countless nights. It seemed impossible to shed tears in any profuse way.
"I did not mean to distress Lanyon so." Whimpered Jekyll, pathetically.
"But you did!" Cried Utterson, ragefully. "You pushed him to the point of illness and he died! He died, Jekyll! And it is your fault and your fault alone!" Utterson turned his back on the doctor, his body in front of the door frame, his face on the floor. There was quiet and then, "I blame Hyde, of course. You are innocent ultimately. Yet..."
Jekyll dared to look up at his friend.
"I still can not completely forgive you for it. In time, yes, but that time has not come upon us." Utterson was as still as a stone. "Jekyll... Promise me. Promise me again... that you will never ever attempt any experiment again so great and terrible as what you have done to us all over these past terrible years!"
Jekyll hung his head, shamefully. "I promise."
Utterson said nothing. He shrugged. "I thank you. I am not sure what to make of your strange apology. But I thank you."
The doctor felt drained with his own damnation. He believed only in heaven and his morals were questionable to most, however, he felt, in truth, guiltless. What had been done had been done by Edward Hyde. What had been done had been done for the sake of science and love. What had been done had been done. No true evil existed in the world, thought he. The world had been his to explore and explore was what he had done.
Poole was collecting the doctor's things off of the floor. He looked up at his master sat at the desk. Utterson was sitting at his side, up against the wall in a comfortable old armchair. Everything in the great house was old and furnished long before Jekyll's time. The doctor had never bothered to refurnish his house, except for what was absolutely necessary to his work. Redecorate, yes, but not refurnish. However, he had not changed the appearance of his home since he had obtained it. And it was very filthy. Jekyll was horrible at cleaning up after himself, and his servants could only do so much with such a rowdy, energetic man always making a mess of everything in every room that he frequented. Utterson had given up complaining about it many years ago. Lanyon had never stopped complaining about it, and he had done so ferociously too. Poole never said a word, not until now.
"Master..." Said he, tentatively. "Might you... Might you... Could you pick this up?"
Jekyll turned to the man and frowned. "What ever do you mean?" He was puzzled.
The servant lifted up a stack of papers off of the floor that had been sitting there for months. "You need to pick these up." He said again.
Jekyll smiled at him. "Why?" He asked, simply.
Poole frowned, calmly. "Because it is rude, Sir." He said, without embarrassment. It felt like the very first time that Poole had ever admonished the youthful doctor, but in truth it had not been so.
"Well, no, of course." Replied Jekyll, without emotion.
Utterson slammed his fist on the arm of the chair. "Just do it!" He snapped, impatiently.
Jekyll flinched from his friend's violence, and... slowly, cautiously... obeyed. The stack of papers made their way onto his lap. And then onto his desk. And then shoved back onto his desk. Utterson glared at him. Jekyll shrank in his seat. Poole sighed and got up onto his feet.
"I have had enough." Announced the poor old servant. "I am to bed now. I am tired of cleaning up this tiresome room, and I am tired of all of this tiresome drama. I feel as if I am in an old play and I am dying and I am being killed and I am..."
"Do not talk of death!" Ordered Utterson, urgently, trying to keep himself from losing too much control.
Poole looked away, holding his arm. "Of course not." He replied, eyes on the wall. And then the servant merely walked off, leaving through the open door.
Utterson glanced at Jekyll. "I am sorry to have frightened off your servant. I can not stand the topic right now."
"I do not think that he left because of you." Admitted Jekyll, despite knowing that it was probably not what Utterson wanted to hear.
Utterson nodded. "No, you are probably right in that. He is tired of you after all." Utterson stared at some objects neatly stacked by the wall, put there by Poole no doubt when Utterson had been away in the kitchen, not wishing even to bother the maids, and then his eyes went back to the doctor. "You know... I must say... I am deeply sorry to you as well. I am being too hard on you. It is not your fault. I refuse to believe so. And to treat you as if it is... Well, it is a crime in itself."
Jekyll blushed, embarrassed. He was not sure why he felt the way that he did, but it did not stop the warmth from coming to his face. "I thank you, Utterson." Was all he said.
Jekyll was in his bedroom, very much confined. He could not leave the house except to work. He could not go anywhere outside of his own perimeters. He could not even visit his laboratory. It was torture. He hated it. The doctor felt like a prisoner within his own walls. His hands lay on the window, his eyes on the street. The empty street. No one was out at this early hour. Then, finally, at last, Utterson could be seen leaving Jekyll's great house and walking out into the middle of the square. Jekyll followed him with his gaze. He almost hated him. An entire life's work stolen, roaring emotions in his head, and a paranoid butler was what he had left him with. A life of solitude was all the doctor would ever have left. And not a chosen one. A chosen one was what the doctor could manipulate and turn off at will. That was how you dealt with solitude. You turned it off at will. But this... what was this?! This was against his will! This was utter madness!
Jekyll growled, fiercely, and violently turned away from the window. The tall, lean form of his friend disappeared into the darkness of the morning. He was vanishing quickly and Jekyll didn't care any more.
"What life am I to live like this?!" He spat into the silence.
All of his servants were busy cleaning up the mess in his laboratory. Poole was tidying up the last untidy remnants of his study. And Richard wanted nothing to do with him at the moment. Lanyon was dead. Unlike Utterson, Richard didn't seem to blame him for it, but that didn't stop the man from being affected by Jekyll's madness. Hyde was not entirely gone. Hyde was still Jekyll after all. Richard hadn't forgotten that. Utterson had shoved it to the back of his mind. But Richard still knew. He knew who had done all of those horrible things. However, like most men who have long lived in the shadows, he also knew that Jekyll was his friend. Utterson blamed Jekyll for nothing, not even really, truly Lanyon's death. Poole was a fool, some would say, and thought nothing but the most pristine about his master. Richard, on the other hand, definitely felt that Jekyll owed some responsibility to his actions. He just didn't know what exactly that meant to him yet.
Jekyll looked angrily about his room. Hyde had worn all black. Jekyll wore all white. The two were polar opposites, yet who was to say that Hyde would not return? Drug or no drug, Hyde was simply an alternate self, a split personality. Surely, he could return if he really wanted to. Surely, Hyde could come back.
The doctor almost felt dead. Dead without Hyde. He did not dare tell Utterson this, and Richard wasn't around to confide in anyway. However, there was always Poole. But for the first time in his life, Jekyll didn't trust Poole. Or perhaps... he hadn't trusted Poole in years. Not with this secret. Not with this darkness. Not with these shadows.
Jekyll stomped around the room, the door shut and himself very much hidden from view. His voice could not be heard, or at least he didn't think so. Jekyll had never cared much for eavesdropping and wasn't keen on using his ears. His father and mother had always said that he was the most horrible listener. Even his similarly unskilled family members, his own silly brothers were far better at the ears than he. Perhaps that was why he began shouting curses and gibberish into the emptiness of his bedroom. Perhaps that was why a passing maid heard him on her way to check to make certain that the doctor was okay. Perhaps that was why Poole suddenly entered the room in a panicked frenzy.
"Jekyll!" He cried out, frightened. "Are you all right?" He demanded.
The doctor flung himself around, facing the butler. "Of course!" He retorted, harshly. "I am fine! I am always fine!" He turned away and hid by the window, pulling the drapes lest he be seen by some passerby on the street in his condition.
Poole simply stared at him, shock all over his face. The man didn't believe it for a moment, and, like Utterson, he was very much tired of being lied to.
"You are in denial, Master." He said, calmly, though, his face betrayed much distress.
Jekyll grunted, glaring at the man over his shoulder.
Poole was almost tall enough to be considered tall, but not quite. He had long, black hair pulled back in a tail that went down his back, with a long face and big, inquisitive eyes. Gray irises rested on the doctor's face, Poole's own ever curious features lost in the man's angry gaze.
"Sir..." Started Poole. "I think that you should rest now."
Jekyll's eyes widened with embarrassment and his mouth tightened, defiantly. "I am old enough to know when to put myself to bed." He replied, softly, though, he had intended to snap. Words failed him at this fragile moment.
"I do not think that Sir really ever knows when to quit, if you do not mind me saying." But Poole would not be deterred, even by his own master.
Jekyll felt quite ridiculous. Being lectured by Poole was enough to get to him, but being told to retire to bed by Poole, or anyone really, was laughable. That was... Jekyll was laughable. To himself. The doctor fixed his gaze on some unimportant object in the square, and ground his fingers into the windowsill.
"I think that Poole has overstepped his boundaries." Ventured Jekyll, bravely, well knowing Poole's temper.
And Poole was indeed somewhat angered. "To bed, Sir." I will not have you collapsing on the spot in a fit of rage. I have been attending to you for days now. Every moment that has ticked by on the clock has tortured me. I am so fatigued in my quest to protect you that I can not take another moment of it. Now do me a great favour, my dear friend, and please do as I say. Else..." Poole wished to threaten him with something far more effective than police.
The doctor looked at him, inquisitively. "Else you will do what?" He demanded.
"Else I will gather the servants together and force you into bed, Sir!" Trembled Poole, defiantly.
Jekyll's eyes widened. "While I never...!" He cried, ashamed of his own out of control behaviour. "You do not really mean it?" His voice sounded almost like he was begging.
"I do mean it." Assured Poole, gripping his fist with the other hand open like was his manner when agitated. "You are not well."
Jekyll felt completely abashed at the idea of being hauled into his own bed by his own servants. "Fine!" He snapped, helplessly. "Have it your way!" And the doctor stormed over to his bed but did not lay down upon it. He simply stared at Poole. "I will lay down when... when you leave." He growled, trying to contain his rage and shame.
Poole was not to be toyed with. "You will lay down... now." Ordered Poole, with authority. "I must see you lay down. I must see it with my own eyes. I do not trust you any more, Jekyll. I can not trust you."
"I have lost your trust...?" Hissed Jekyll, his voice trailing off into the silence.
"You have not lost my trust." Corrected Poole, carefully. "You have killed my trust."
"I am not certain that I follow you." Jekyll looked at him from the corner of his eye.
"You do not need to understand at the moment." Assured Poole, creeping closer. "Now please, Sir. To bed with you. You are much exhausted. You require your rest if you are ever to get better. And better you shall be. I will make sure of it."
Jekyll slowly laid down on the bed, his eyes ever watchful of Poole. Once he was in bed, Poole began to back up towards the door.
"Your most loyal servant..." He whispered, as he retreated.