Hyde's Story V

Jekyll started stay to the house after that night, having learned that he could no longer control our body he started to fear that I would come out again, maybe even on a busy street. It wasn’t really his body that Jekyll couldn’t control, and I doubt he ever realized this, it was his thoughts. He found himself thinking my thoughts more and more and when he did he would become me. It was really his own fault but he couldn’t be bothered to take responsibility. Instead he started to drink more and more of that horrible potion to transform back into himself when he became me. We were prisoners in his house and neither of us dared to venture out into the public world.

We received visitors occasionally, especially Mr. Utterson who was Jekyll’s one remaining friend. Jekyll or I, depending on who was in charge of the body at the time would always turn him away without opening the door. Jekyll would have the servants leave our food, as well as ingredients for his experiments outside of the door. We were heading towards a problem together, the medicine that had once created me was running out and without it I would become the full time possessor of Jekyll’s body. At one time I would have enjoyed such a chance but now there was no life for me in a hostile world and Jekyll was my refuge.

It was because I grew in such control of our bodies that Jekyll finally thought of the way to control me; he simply had to threaten to kill himself. While I entertained thoughts of killing myself the thought of Jekyll doing us both away seemed too much like a continuation of the same old pattern to which I had much aversion.

Jekyll stopped using the potion except when he had to be himself when new chemistry ingredients showed up. He knew that he had to ration what he had, especially since from what I had seen through him the new batches of potion weren’t working. Some ingredient or other was subtly different and I watched as slowly he gave up hope. His stock of old ingredients continued to dwindle quickly and even though it spelled my own doom as well I found myself able to watch with detachment. So long as he didn’t head towards self destruction I would at least die in sole possessor of our body and that was some comfort.

While I was in the body I decided to take out my frustration with my entire existence on Jekyll’s belongings in our voluntary prison cell. I smashed his furniture, took the poker to the portrait of his father, and smashed bottles of wine on the wallpaper. In particular I targeted his books of pious nature. Jekyll was a man who couldn’t even be honest with himself when he was alone and had the habit of posing himself with religious texts when he was feeling particularly self righteous. It became my habit after I had worn myself out with destruction to sit by the fire and scrawl blasphemies in the margins of these tomes, not out of sacrilege, though as I have said I don’t believe in God, but because I looked at these books as symbols of the hypocrisy of my creator.

The day finally came; it was almost a relief for both of us I believe, when there was only enough potion for one more transformation. I mixed it for Jekyll and for the last time he took possession of what had once been his body. I watched as he sat down to write what I knew would be the testimony of his existence, and mine. I can hardly say that I felt that he had done me justice as I read what he was writing. He seemed to have completely forgotten that I could look out of his eyes as much as he could when I was in my body.

To be continued...