Lanyon and Henry Ch. 02

That ride began a friendship that was to endure for many years, and which eventually led me to the greatest adventures--and tragedies--of my life.

*

Having spent my youth in West Hayward, I was, to some extent, the untutored country cousin set loose in one of the world's great cities, and it took me some time to adapt to the hustle and bustle of London. The Marylebone district, where we lived, became my new village. While hardly the most trafficked area of the city, it still drew a great deal of visitors, and in the blocks between the college, our house in Cavendish Square, and the nearby Regent's Park, one could encounter all manner of hawkers and beggars, dollymops and cutpurses. To my untutored eyes, it was a source of both constant fascination and unending anxiety. Thankfully, Poole and Dr. Jekyll took it upon themselves to accompany me on my daily peregrinations. Were it not for those two gentlemen, I fear, I would all too easily have lost myself in the maelstrom of wonders and horrors, the milling, moving mass of humanity.

While my acclimation to London was somewhat fraught, I took to Bedford like a house afire. I reveled in the excitement of the laboratories and classrooms and luxuriated in the extensive resources of the college library. Although my scientific knowledge was haphazard, my practical skills--gained at the feet of Dr. Whitestone and Mrs. Drappit--far exceeded those of my classmates. Under Jekyll's tutelage, I soon became proficient in the laboratory, and my own studies in biology and botany--areas of far less interest to him--ensured that I had a great deal to offer as his chemicals lab assistant and medical teaching aide. By the end of my first year, he would on occasion cede control of the classroom to me, where I instructed his students in the proper suturing and cauterizing of a wound, the best way to prepare and apply a poultice, or the various methods for treating an abscess. Sometimes, I would catch him staring. I was both disquieted and delighted to see that his hungry eye had finally set itself upon me.

There were times when his gaze grew so voracious, so acute, that I wondered at the forces within him. The breadth of his hunger and the strength of will required to hold it at bay. And I felt the answering force in myself, the desperate need to match spirits and intellects with this extraordinary man.

*

In my second year at Bedford, I began to observe significant changes in Dr. Jekyll. The majority of the time, he retained that razor-sharp focus that set him far beyond other men, an acuity that was reflected in his exacting grooming and the precision of his appearance. Even in civilian clothes, he carried the bearing of a soldier, with collars sharply pressed, hair precisely combed, and beard cleanly shaven.

However, as the biting cold of late Autumn began to grip the streets of Marylebone, the doctor's fastidious nature often gave way to a shabby neglect, both in his presentation and in his demeanor. His once-sharp collars displayed a decided roll at the neck, and his immaculate cravats began to show spots and blemishes. There were days when the lines of his face grew heavier, and he appeared depleted, as if something was draining the very vitality from his body.

More troubling was the look in his eye. The frosty glare that had previously searched the world for an intelligence to meet his own now gave way to the emptiness that I had once marked in his fellows. At times, his exacting brilliance appeared fogged and dulled by exhaustion and distraction.

This creeping lassitude also manifested in the laboratory, as an indolent carelessness began to displace his former meticulousness. This culminated one day when he began to apply fulminate of mercury to a heated beaker, a mishap that may have had explosive consequences for the laboratory and its occupants. Shrieking, I ran across the laboratory and stayed his hand before he undertook the dangerous procedure. A look of rage crossed his face, before he noticed what he had been about to do. He apologized immediately, citing a lack of sleep as the cause of his distraction.

It was at approximately this time that I first encountered Edward Hyde.

*

After our abortive first meeting, it was a long time before I saw Hyde again, but I would sometimes imagine that I felt his gaze upon me--a ravenous, measuring look that seemed to cling to my clothing and weighed upon my limbs like the sticky, polluted fog that rose from the Thames after a heavy rain. A viscid putrescence that I couldn't wash off and was unable to escape.

Meanwhile, rumors began circulating about a fiend haunting Marylebone. According to various reports, one night, in the small hours, a man had trampled a small child not far from our house. A crowd rapidly assembled, and the gentleman--whose name was given as Edward Hyde--was allegedly forced to bribe the child to forgo proffering charges.

In light of the growing disquiet in the community, Poole redoubled his determination that it was unsafe for Mrs. Willoughby and me to walk the streets unattended, and he ran himself ragged in his attempts to protect the pair of us. These efforts were further complicated by Dr. Jekyll's apparent determination to absent himself from our home. He often stayed late at Bedford, or shut up in his laboratory, which was located in the basement, and had a separate egress onto the street. He forbade us from joining him in his subterranean chambers, and also began to take his meals outside the home. Before long, I noticed, days would pass in which I would only see him in the classroom, halls, or grounds of the college. And while he remained pleasant in his interactions, a growing distance stretched between us.

We might have continued in this vein indefinitely were it not for my end of term examinations, which required that I spend long hours cloistered with my textbooks, notes, and papers. For the most part, I studied in my chamber, but I also made use of the parlor, as it had a larger working space and better light.

Late one evening, as I was in my fifth hour of studying the circulatory system and third hour of fighting off an encroaching ennui, I decided that my own circulatory system was in need of more stimulation, so I adjourned to the parlor. Barely had I begun arranging my notes, however, before I heard the sound of glass breaking.

"Mrs. Willoughby?" I called, assuming that the cook had dropped something.

Hearing no response, I went to the kitchen, which I found empty. Investigating further, I heard another crash, followed by a scuffling, scraping sound.

It was coming from the basement.

Remembering Dr. Jekyll's admonitions regarding trespassing in his laboratory, I paused at the head of the stairs, torn between alarm and obedience. Then I heard the scream.

I raced to the cellar, attended by the sounds of further crashing and cries. The laboratory's red baize door was closed, but I was able to force my way inside.

The chamber was barely recognizable. On my last visit, it had reflected Jekyll's meticulous order, with instruments and supplies set in gleaming rows. Now the laboratory appeared to have been ravaged. Broken flasks were strewn across the floor, accompanied by the splintered, scattered remains of packing crates. The work table was littered with dustings of chemicals, shattered apparatus, scraps of notepaper, pools of spilled liquid, and an assortment of other detritus.

Most disturbing of all was the Doctor. As I entered the room, he appeared to be caught in the grip of some form of seizure. In the flickering light of the Bunsen burner, I watched as he struggled to remain upright. His muscles clenched, and a grimace gripped his visage.

His eyes widened as he saw me. "Lanyon! N-no!" he croaked, his pallid, cadaverous face caught in a spasm. "L-leave!"

I was momentarily struck dumb as I watched him staggering and struggling to stay upright. "Dr. Jekyll! What is happening? I'll fetch Poole!"

"NO!" he choked out. "N-NO! No Poole! Leave me! Return to your chamber!"

"I will do no such thing!" I exclaimed, but my exhortation fell on deaf ears. The Doctor collapsed, fingers scrabbling at the table as he tumbled behind it. Dodging the broken glass and debris littering the floor, I picked my way to the other side of the table, determined to administer what aid I might. When I reached Jekyll, I found him curled into a tight ball, his muscles seizing as if he was caught in the grip of an uncontrollable spasm.

And then his eyes opened. They were tan.

And then he smiled. The butcher's grin.

I froze as he began to stagger to his feet. His eyes met my own and I was snared by the cruel intelligence in their depths. I struggled to back away.

"Ah, a sweet sparrow lights in my chamber! Where are you going, young maiden?" he rasped. "Are we to end our reunion so soon?"

I was silent, struck dumb with terror. This creature was so different from Jekyll, so utterly alien that I wondered for a moment what had happened to my companion and benefactor. Had this fiend somehow disposed of the doctor? Yet, even in my confusion, I realized that the truth was even more alarming. This man before me had somehow taken the place of Dr. Jekyll.

"I-I must be going," I gasped. Gathering my wits, I backed toward the door. "Poole!" I screamed. "Come quickly!"

Grinning, Hyde advanced toward me.

My sandal caught on a piece of splintered crate and I lost my footing. The man was immediately upon me, his arms arresting my fall. "There's no need for that, sweet sparrow," he husked. "We hardly need another witness to our conversation, do we?"

That voice! A voice that hinted at dissolution and decrepitude, of sly knowledge gained at steep cost. I was transfixed. Torn between terror and... a darker emotion, I felt his hands snatching at my shirtwaist. Tearing at it. My eyes locked on his. Tan eyes. I barely felt his hands on my flesh. His mouth on my neck. The sharp clasp of his teeth scraping at my flesh as his hands grasped at my breasts.

Darkness claimed me, and that is all I remember.