Jekyll awoke to darkness. All around him the room was still. For the past several days, he had taken off work. Tomorrow he was to return. It was strange. Three good friends of his, all of them aware of his secret. God only knew what his servants knew other than Poole. And now he was going to go back to work, back to the real insane people. That was how Jekyll saw it. No matter how much he tried to play the part of the consciously delusional doctor and scientist for Utterson, Richard, and Poole, he couldn't help but retreat into the deep-seated feelings of sharp, clever sanity that made him feel more like a discoverer than a violent man with a split personality. He couldn't help it. He had spent the last years of his life obsessed with Edward Hyde. He didn't understand what was wrong with it. He had coped with it by himself for so long.
The doctor got up in bed and looked around. Good, he thought, frowning. Poole wasn't standing guard by the door or snoozing in a chair by his bed. Jekyll grinned, feeling ashamed at the thought. These people loved him, dearly he knew, but they were starting to really get on his nerves. He slipped out of bed, still in his clothes, and crept silently towards the door. It creaked as he opened it. He flinched. There was no one in the hall. He smiled. Walking carefully, he made his way to the kitchen.
There was no one there. He was, thankfully, alone. Jekyll was hungry and thirsty. He didn't know how long he had slept. Judging by the strengthening light from the window in his bedroom, it was probably around six or seven. There was a tall, shabby, old, wooden clock in the corner that the cook used to help her keep time on the stove. Jekyll had purchased it for her many years back when she had complained that he was always grumpy about having burnt jelly rolls, and she was sick of hearing his whining. So he had given into her temper and had relented with a secondhand clock that he had, had his male servants transport from a clock shop down the street. It had satisfied her, but she had sworn for the past couple of years that it was losing time, and she utterly required a new one. He hadn't bought her one yet. The doctor glanced at the clock. It said that it was a little before seven. He wondered how slow it was and how much time that it was off.
In his hand were the said jelly rolls that he always had the cook make. He chomped into one, and stared at the clock face, determining if he should really buy her a new clock by now. It had been a very long time since she had very first started demanding one, swearing up and down that it was losing minutes by the month. He hardly thought that it was that off, but that was what the old woman had declared. His wide eyes studied it in wonder, and he was about to turn around and root through the cabinets when he was suddenly confronted by a shadowy figure in the doorway. He gasped.
It was a man holding up a cane. The doctor sighed when he realized that it was Poole.
"Poole..." He said, suddenly, relieved. "You frightened me."
"You..." Poole's voice was low and mysterious. "frightened me."
Jekyll studied the man. "I deeply apologize, but I was merely hungry and came here in search of food and drink. Surely that is all right? I am in the house. I did not leave the premises." He scowled as he felt like a caught child.
"I do not like you creeping about the house at night. Not after all of this." Admitted Poole, lowering the cane. "How is... Edward Hyde? He has not bothered you has he? He has not... come back?"
Jekyll didn't know what to say and what was left of the roll fell from his hand, hitting the floor. Poole glanced at its crumbled form on the wooden planks. His gray eyes then rested on the doctor.
"Jekyll..." Started Poole, again. "Hyde is gone for good, isn't he?"
Still, Jekyll said nothing. "I do not know if he 'gone for good', but I do know that he is not here, and I have not seen him." Replied the doctor out of habit.
Poole frowned. "You can not see yourself." He claimed, truthfully.
Jekyll scowled, disturbed by the truth in what he said. "Edward... Edward is..." But he could not bring himself to finish his sentence. What Edward meant to the doctor was beyond words.
"Edward Hyde is dead." Announced Poole, determinedly. "I will make certain that he remains that way."
Jekyll gulped, flinching. Talking about Edward as if he meant nothing, as if he were no good to anyone, as if all he was for was the grave... deeply upset him. I love Edward, he thought. I love him dearly.
Who was Edward Hyde? Was he another person all his own? Was his an alternate self of Jekyll? Was he a combination of both? Or was he something so divided from Jekyll, he could not be called a true split personality, but something more like a shadow, a shadow ripped right from Jekyll's figure, a person so totally and utterly different from the doctor that they could never be considered to truly share the same form? Jekyll wondered this to himself as he walked down the hall with Poole, eating the last of his roll, and then turning down the long hallways back to his bedroom. He felt completely humiliated, but alas there was nothing that he could do. He had to satisfy the controlling feelings of his friends if he were ever to survive this ordeal. And then what of Hyde? Would he survive? They all seemed to really want him gone forever. Despite their good nature and their genuine desire to see Doctor Jekyll well, the doctor desperately wished for Hyde to live.
Poole lead him back to his room and closed him inside. Before he shut the door, he said, "Now stay here and do not come out again until the afternoon comes. You have a clock in here. I do not want to hear that it lost its time or some other nonsense. And, no, there is no reason to distress Mrs. Radford any further with silly discussions about replacing kitchen clocks! She is in no mood to be disturbed with a new clock. Let it be." And then Poole was gone.
Jekyll was already back under his covers, the morning light leaking in from the window. It pooled on the floor in smooth, soft hues. He stared at his window, sadly. All he wanted to do was leave. But he was not due to work until that afternoon, as Poole had requested that the doctor be delayed so that he could get some extra rest. It had all been handled by his servants, and Utterson was even willing to say that Jekyll was ill with some physical ailment himself. The doctor crept deeper under the covers, peeking out from the blanket that covered him. He smiled, his smile hidden. There was not even anyone there to see it anyway. He quietly thought of Hyde and his eventual return. Of course, he must return! He was Hyde after all! He was like his own son! Like a brother even! Edward Hyde must return. Jekyll's happiness depended on it.
"No, I can not... I can not work with him." Stuttered Jekyll.
"Why ever not?" Demanded his superior, Doctor Crandall.
"He is... he is too insane." Claimed Jekyll, weakly. He could think of nothing else to say. He had not prepared a speech for the senior doctor.
"Is that not why you work here, Jekyll?" Doctor Crandall looked at him, incredulously. "Because you are some kind of... golden boy? Your father's favourite student?"
Jekyll looked at the floor and scratched the back of his head. "I... I... Doctor... I have made an agreement with Utterson..."
"What do you mean 'an agreement'?" Crandall didn't understand, scowling unhappily at this strange announcement. "You have worked in this ward for years. Do you really expect to be spared the difficult ones like some kind of green leaf?"
Jekyll blushed, ashamed of all of his secrets and wishing that Crandall just simply understood that it was just simply impossible to betray his friends' most dearest wishes at this time.
"I can not. I just simply can not." Stammered Jekyll, unsure of how to go about this whole messy business of defying his boss.
The elder doctor bent a brow. "You are confusing me. What is the matter?"
"I... I am ill." Said the doctor, feigning something physical and avoiding any mention of his severe mental deterioration. "I have had... a terrible fever and I can not move around much right now. What if the man became violent? I am not up to restraining him. I am not up to... to any of it at all! I am not up to arguing with a lunatic right now!"
"A lunatic?!" Cried Crandall. "I seldom ever hear you say such a word in my presence. Surely, you whisper it at home, but usually you are so well behaved here. Are you sure that your mind is not affected? I am not used to using such expletives."
Jekyll was nervous and anxious and getting nowhere. "I just need some time to recover." He claimed, helplessly.
Crandall finally nodded his head in agreement, surprisingly submissive to the idea. "I understand. You need your rest. Old age finally creeping in, Jekyll?" He made a small smile.
Jekyll was slightly old, but it had never set in his bones. "Perhaps." He lied, too easily. It made him feel horribly guilty to be a keeper of so many... so many dark, dark secrets.
Crandall closed his eyes and sighed. "I see." Something told Jekyll that he didn't quite believe him. "Well... Get to work then. Just focus on the easy ones. Stay away from that Irishman. He is not right in the head. You might want to focus on that man from Hertford." Crandall described the man and told him his name, then began to walk off. "You take it easy, Jekyll." He gave him a long, strange look. "You worry me just looking like that. There is something off about you. Something obvious. You are not even walking the way you normally do and there is something about the way you are moving your arms. Your whole aura is off." And he was gone before Jekyll could answer.
Jekyll stared after his superior. He felt cold. In his heart. Like something in him had died. He made his way for the ward's common room.
Jekyll lay that night in his bed, staring up at the canopy. His hands rested over top of one another. He thought quietly to himself, sorrowfully to himself. He felt alone and depressed and over controlled and miserable, like his life was quite over. Utterson had been by that evening to check on him. Richard had not come to see him yet. Poole had been following him around and waiting upon him like a father worried sick about his dying child. Jekyll's thoughts drifted to his family. His father lived with his brother, Jaule, and Jaule lived with the younger Mozart. The littlest, Gene, had taken up a residence by himself in recent years, in defiance to his brother's fall into what they all had clearly recognized as madness. It didn't matter how fiercely Jekyll denied it or how much Utterson refused to admit it or how much Richard wouldn't talk about it or how much Poole would hide from it. Everyone close to Jekyll knew what was wrong with him. Not the full extent, of course. Not the darkest part of it at all. But they had all known that something was dreadfully wrong.
Gene was the youngest of the four brothers, and, in many ways, the most vulnerable. Everyone knew that it was Jekyll who was the weakest, despite being the eldest, but Gene... he was fragile in a different way. He was fragile all over. Jekyll was pathetic in his strength, and weak in his love. Gene was like a twig in a fierce, stormy wind. Always just about to snap. Gene couldn't handle the slightest thing out of order, however, it was not in the way of a doctor or a scientist that he was troubled. He was troubled like a man always bent on madness but never quite reaching it. He was emotional. He was foolish. He was silly. He was overly aggressive and hyperactive. The man quite literally bounced off the walls. Gene was everything that Jekyll could not be. Gene was soft and sweet and gentle, and Jekyll was stiff and orderly and rough. Gene was terrible and unrestrained and violent. Jekyll was always holding back and clinging to his morals and resisting physical backlash. Gene got out his emotions and thus was fine. Jekyll bottled everything up inside and thus had turned himself into Hyde.
Jekyll was a wreck. Gene, he thought, was the perfect son. Despite being the most spoiled of the brothers, Jekyll always felt like a failure. Even before Hyde. Jekyll never felt good enough. His father doted on him relentlessly. Jekyll couldn't feel it like he should.
Mozart was like music. Jaule was like spices. Gene was like the breeze. Jekyll was like the fire in the hearth. His father had always recognized that. Jekyll had always wondered why.
Poole was the much younger brother of Jeeves. Jeeves had served his father well for many years, and Poole had come into Jekyll's service later, as a young adult. The two had been together for decades. Poole was his Gene when Gene was not there. Except like a big Gene. A huge Gene. A towering, over protective Gene. Gene had always been Jekyll's focus growing up. When Jekyll was home alone with himself and his own thoughts, Poole was his Gene. Poole was his focus.
But now Poole was tired. Utterson was exhausted. Richard was hiding from him. And Gene was unaware, likely sitting in his house at the fireside, reading a book or some other meagre task, doing nothing of any importance, unknowing of his eldest brother's plight. And that was all he needed. The weight of his family's ignorance on his shoulders, without the knowledge of their reactions to his hideous deeds. Would they feel the same way as Utterson, Richard, and Poole? Or would they behave in a far more ghastly way? Would they recoil from him? Would they find him unbearable? Would they have him committed? What was to become of Jekyll Lionel?
He was certain that whatever the truth was, it would be difficult to accept. Morals was something confined in a man's soul. It came out when it was least expected, and it acted on its on. The way a man's morals unfolded was unpredictable, and, in many ways, was as hard and unchangeable as DNA. There was nothing that could escape its terrifying leap into the spiralling irrationality of the reactionary. Things as wicked as Hyde had done would not escape the notice of his father and brothers. His mother, he knew, was already well aware in heaven of what he had done. But on earth, Jekyll still had his surviving family to confront with his sins.
Jekyll smiled. It was a strange expression for a grieved, frightened man who had committed so many misdeeds. But it was there nonetheless. The problem with Jekyll was that Jekyll knew that he was well loved. And so well loved that he felt like he could be forgiven anything. Would his father and brothers forgive him the way that Utterson, Richard, and Poole had? Would Jeeves even forgive him? The future laid in wait.
There was a knock at Utterson's study. He was at home, working in his office, late into the hours of the night. As much as he wished to check on Jekyll again, he was simply too busy, detained with work that had backed up after he had spent several days at Jekyll's great house trying to get the doctor into some degree of normality.
"Who is at the door?" Grunted the lawyer, irritated at the interruption. He had so much to do!
"It is I." Said a familiar voice, and in came the head of Richard Enfield. "How are you tonight, Utterson?"
"Just miserable!" Complained the old man, throwing aside some papers.
"I have great news for us both. For all of us." Then Richard's eyes narrowed. "Even Jekyll."
"I do not have time for it." Grumbled the lawyer, straightening up his papers, and not even bothering to look at Richard. His attention was fully on his work.
"It is about the great doctor Lanyon." Announced Richard, eyes widening with excitement.
"Lanyon?" Utterson's brows bent, curiously. "What about the poor old man? He is dead. What is there that I could possibly need to know of him now?"
"That is just it!" Exclaimed Richard, excitedly. "Lanyon... It is rumoured that he is indeed... alive!"
"What?!" Utterson could not believe what he had just heard. "I can not fathom what rubbish that you are going on about. Lanyon is dead! Dead, I say! What ever are you rambling about?"
"Lanyon could be alive! What else matters?!" Cried Richard, slamming his cane on the large, wooden desk. "Listen to me, Utterson! I have an amazing story for you! Put all else to the side!"