Erm, I'm sorry? It's been two years, since I last updated this. I've graduated from Uni and started work as part of a web admin team so hopefully my proofreading skills have improved. I'm changing the rating of this chapter and thus the story as there's a bit of descriptive torture that made me wince when writing it. As usual I don't own Jekyll or Hyde.

Chapter Three

He was free. I had drunk the potion and he was free. God, potion makes it sound like some sort of horrific fairytale. Some form of magic that causes me to turn into Hyde. It isn't, it's just science. So maybe, I should say chemical, except that that makes it sound too remote from what it does. Maybe it should be a transformative draught. Yes, that sounds perfect – Jekyll's transformative draught, maybe I should patent it. Call it TD for short. I drank the TD and Hyde was set free.

And he went after Dafydd, of course. Or we went after him. I was in the back seat but I was still there. Along for the ride, but invisible to the human eye. He wore a t-shirt of some heavy metal band. The second time I took the TD he went on Youtube and saw a video of them playing and was hooked. Why do I tell you what he wore? Only for the purpose of showing you how different we are. And we are different; I would never perform an act of murder, after all. It wasn't particularly nice, the way that he went. In fact I don't think that I shall ever... But I'm getting ahead of myself. I expect that you want to know what happened all in its proper order.

I had asked Dr Carreg if he wanted to help me with an experiment. The fool was only too happy to help me hasten him to his death when he thought that it would deviate me from my true path, my true genius. What he called my obsession.

I had taken care to have everything set up just as he would expect it. When he arrived we happily spent an hour playing with the chemistry set, recording a mundane and uninspiring set of results. My discovery could change the world; it had certainly changed me. But I digress; you must forgive me, my focus seems to be split these days. When we had finished playing I suggested that we both have a drink. Only his made him unconscious and mine turned me into Hyde.

When he came to it was to find that his hands had been bound together with duct tape, whilst a smaller piece covered his mouth. This proved to have been a wise decision by Hyde as that fool immediately started yelling. As is the case with any bouts of hysteria, the best way to shut him up was for Hyde to punch him in the face and then in the stomach for good measure. After he had calmed down he seemed to take notice of Hyde for the first time. From the faces that he was pulling, he seemed to be asking who Hyde was. It took ripping the tape off his face to make sure.

'Who are you? How did you get in here? What did you do to Jekyll?'

'Who am I? why I'm 24601, of course. No, nothing? So gripped by science that you no longer have an imagination? Never heard of culture? I'm Edward Hyde, my good doctor. Call me Eddie, everyone does. Or do they? My psychiatrist tells me that I have this problem distinguishing fiction from reality. Too many violent video games as a kid.'

Fool could only stare at Hyde as he stood there, a figure in black and AC/DC. Lecturing to a class of one.

'How did I get in here? Why, I was always here. Where's Jekyll? The Starlight Express is no more or less than you, Henry, I am you. I'm you and only you. Hyde is Jekyll and Jekyll is Hyde. And you're the fool that thought Jekyll's genius pure obsession. But don't tell him I said that. After all it wasn't all down to him. But would you care to revise your opinion?'

'But, i-it's impossible!' Fool was swiftly kicked in the ribs. I heard one snap.

'Was that impossible enough for you, doctor?'

Fool said nothing, he merely gasped in pain.

'Would you like something to distract you from the pain in your chest that I know you must be feeling?' A frantic shaking of the head was all that he received by way of a reply. 'You would! Thank you, thank you for allowing me to perform this small service to you.' He took the small beaker, half full of a water like substance and walked over to Fool. He pinched his nose and forced his head back. Almost immediately the mouth opened as its owner gave a gasp of pain. Hyde tipped the contents in, taking care not to let any of the nitric acid splash onto himself. 'I'm sorry; you seem to be in some considerable discomfort. I hope I didn't make it worse for you. By the way, is that blood coming out of your mouth?'

It was. Bubbling up. If I had been there in person...

Fool was wriggling all over the place, in agony from the mixing of his stomach acid with the nitric. Writhing until he stopped, dead. I couldn't have done anything to stop it, stop him. Hyde was in control.

He stood their admiring his handiwork – well it was rather artistic in a macabre sort of way – now that he had stopped screaming. Blood stained shirt, crimson stained lips. Yes, not too shabby. For a moment I was afraid that Hyde was going to leave him there. Instead he picked him up as if he was a ragdoll and carried him out through the fire doors to the waiting car. It was the Fool's of course; he always did park it in the same place. A dark blue BMW; showing his money off to the world as if there aren't enough flash idiots around already.

Soon he was resting in the boot. Forced in, bones broken. With the blood cleaned up we joined him in the car, though we were in the driving seat.

We, he, drove, leather gloves on his hands, to the river. Brakes off, a shove and the car, with its very dead occupant, was in and rapidly sinking. The gloves followed.

We turned away and started walking, down river until he reached the city. He took a bus back to my house. No one around to see Hyde slip in. Once inside, he slid down to the floor.


When I next opened my eyes, I was myself again. Calm, dependable, laughable. Well who else would it be? A murderer?

It's all everyone ever sees. Ever since school, no one appreciates the child with a chemistry kit who doesn't try to blow things up. It's easy to have things go wrong. Not easy to have them go right.

I really must stop myself from rambling on like this. What happened next? I went to bed. I'm sorry, was that too anti climatic for you? I turned back to myself, after the effects of the TD had worn off and I went to bed? Well why not? I was tired.

He slept. I had felt him there, in my mind pretending to be so shocked, the hypocrite. As if I couldn't hear him, silently cheering me on. He has no stomach for it himself, the coward. I don't mind. I make the decisions as to how they go. It's my fun. Though I'm getting a little tired of the cage. Time to rattle some bars.