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I worry quite a bit for him, sometimes.
Dr. Jekyll has always been more than just my employer— he is one of my dear friends, almost like a son to me. He truly is brilliant, but… well, he never was the most tidy. He often forgets to care for himself or clean up his space, and that's always where I used to come in.
Lately, however, he's been refusing help with either. I hardly even see him— and I can't even clean up when he's gone because he often locks his door.
Once, however, he forgot.
It was around midnight when I knocked on his laboratory door to no answer and found that it was unlocked. I knew I shouldn't tamper with the room's contents, but upon seeing what a mess it was, I couldn't help myself. I prepared myself a cup of tea, set it down on one of the lab tables next to some beakers, and went about my work.
It didn't take terribly long— once I got into it, all the world was cleaning, and it felt like time ceased to pass. I almost completely forgot I was working at all. It was so nice to finally clean again…
Lost in my work, I reached sightlessly behind me to grab my tea— which I assumed had gone cold because of how frigid the glass was. I closed my eyes to relax for a moment and drank the small amount of it left in my cup, only to freeze the moment it hit my tongue.
It was salty. Bitter. Awful. It stung my mouth and burned as it went down. It was then that I realized I wasn't holding my teacup— I had mistakenly grabbed one of the breakers from the lab table.
The agony set in what felt like mere seconds later, although I do admit I stood there in shock for a while before. Soon, however, I was on the floor, in pain far beyond natural human suffering. I felt myself change… but into what? Why? I had not the slightest idea.
Dr. Jekyll's assistant, Mr. Hyde, returned to the room before I could will myself to get up, and I knew then that I would become the subject of his ridicule for touching Dr. Jekyll's things. He gasped in horror, although I couldn't move my head to look at him.
He hesitated for a moment as if struggling to recognize me, although he seemed sure of who I was when he called to me. I was still wearing my work uniform, so it didn't come to me as much of a surprise.
“Poole! Great Heavens— did you drink something from the lab table?!”
I could no longer even bring myself to speak or nod, but I believe my agony spoke for itself. I saw his eyes dart to the table where the vial was missing, searching for something that wasn't there. He turned his gaze back on me.
“Dear God…” Mr. Hyde kneeled down beside me, hovering his hands over me as if he wasn't sure what to do. “Why would you do that?!”
He continued to speak, but his words began to blur together until I couldn't understand a single one. Eventually, soon after, the agony subsided— but I felt different.
Free. Light.
And with a certain unrestrained train of thought that drove me to my impulses.
I sat up and realized then that I looked quite different from myself, and my clothes were practically hanging off of me. Mr. Hyde, still standing idly in horror, spoke again only when he noticed I was awake.
“Why were you here, Poole? Why would you do that?”
I had a prepared answer— polite, sophisticated, professional, concerned… but for whatever reason, that is not what came out of my mouth.
I tore my gaze from my hands, turning on Mr. Hyde like a wild animal. I felt angry… so, so very angry. Some new wickedness had risen up inside of me, chained me and led me to darkness, and I was inclined to follow it.
“What did you do to me?” I asked. Low, cold, and eerily calm, I hardly recognized the voice I spoke with as my own. It was as if I were merely puppeting someone else, and I was gone.
Gone.
Mr. Hyde stammered, guilt flashing across his face for a moment. “I didn't think you would—”
“WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?” I snapped. I stood up. I was ever so slightly taller than him— not as I was before, but just enough. I watched as he shrunk back into himself below me, baring his fanglike canines to me with an expression of panic. “WHAT DID I DRINK?!”
“POOLE, CALM DOWN!” Mr. Hyde shrieked, scrambling backwards. He grabbed his cane from just behind him, holding me at its point as if he planned to murder me with it.
“What was it?” My new voice spat.
“I can explain,” Mr. Hyde began, the cane quivering as his hand shook. He eventually lowered it, sighing in defeat. “I'll show you, alright?”
Cold and calculating, I felt my eyes track him as he moved over to the lab table like a hungry predator watching prey.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my tone tainted with a bitterness I normally would never dare to use with my employers.
“I'm showing you!” Mr. Hyde protested. “Come here.”
Struggling with my new stature, I clumsily dragged myself over to the lab table. Once I was there, Mr. Hyde held up a vial of shimmering red liquid for me to see.
“What is it?” I asked him.
“You'll see,” he replied, carefully measuring what appeared to be salt and putting it in the vial. The beautiful red faded into a sickly, pale, watery green. Mr. Hyde held up the vial and nodded to me. “Poole?”
“Yes?”
“What you are about to see is never to leave this room. Do you understand me?”
Well against my better judgement, I agreed.
“Yes.”
“Very well then…” Mr. Hyde shook his head, taking a deep breath. “Behold.”
He lifted the vial to his lips, clearly bracing himself for a familiar pain— the same I experienced earlier. In one sip, he swiftly swallowed all the liquid and began coughing, as if his very being rejected it.
I watched him stagger and fall to the floor, clutching the lab table, his body painfully contorting and changing just as mine had… yet, this time, into something familiar. A tall, well-built frame, the same I had seen many times before.
“Oh, my God…” I felt my voice tremble.
Mr. Hyde stood slowly, no longer himself— now Dr. Jekyll!
I rushed over to him, unconvinced that it was real, but it was! Alas, there stood my employer!
“Dr. Jekyll!”
He shook his head as if clearing a fog, then turned to me with a face doused in guilt.
“Poole, I am so sorry… I should have locked the laboratory door, I—”
“You were Mr. Hyde? The entire time?”
Dr. Jekyll sighed. “Yes… I believe I have some explaining to do.”
I crossed my arms. “Not to be rude, but you most certainly do.”
Gesturing to a nearby chair, the doctor sat in one of his own and buried his face in his hands. “Just… sit. I will explain.”
I took my seat wordlessly.
There he explained everything— the potion, the murder, his many exciting London nights as the young Mr. Hyde. He showed me Hyde's wardrobe, demonstrated Hyde's handwriting, laid himself bare with nothing left unsaid. I listened attentively the entire time, the biting fear of my wickedness consuming me as his did seeded in the back of my mind.
Eventually, when all was said and done, I asked him: “Doctor Jekyll… if I may… how do I change back?”
He laughed. “Oh, Poole, forgive me— it was quite foolish of me to forget your… situation. I will make another dose of the potion to turn you back. Only promise me you will never drink it again.”
“You have my word,” I promised.