Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Comprised of entries from the journal of Dr. Henry Jekyll

With excerpts from the records of Rachel Pidgley, Robert Lanyon, Edward Hyde, and others

Foreword:

We have held a great deal of investigations on the strange case involving Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, but we were forced to close the case after we ran into a dead end. We have called this compilation of the case ‘Records of the London Happenings’ because we have no other way to describe a case of this magnitude. So many dead or missing — with no leads at all. Like they all vanished. Putting aside this strangeness, we archived this record as an homage to the lives that were never to be seen again.

— Scotland Yard

From the journal of Dr. Henry Jekyll

9 yrs 21 days since Incident 1, 2 yrs 21 days since Incident 2

I am beginning a mental journal. I do not know why it took me so long to formulate the idea, perhaps the existence of a more prominent and vile force in my mind, but I have decided that I need to keep a record. I have been keeping careful count of the days. Eight years and twenty-one days since the first incident with Hyde, when I first created him. A long time, indeed. Two years since the second incident, where Hyde managed to take dominance. The gentleman Henry Jekyll is no longer a permanent fixture in the lives of many, instead just an apparition in the manner of Hyde’s previous restricted existence.

I now understand his desperation to escape. The mind is a dark, oppressive place, and although it is such a dismal, dreary location, I have found myself perusing my memories in the mental vault for countless days. Often I have wanted more than anything to be released to give those I love a final farewell, but instead, Hyde keeps me locked away in my room, only to do the things necessary for survival, the dull tasks he does not want to perform. During these times, he tortures me with nightmares anyway, making me all the more ready to succumb to his power faster.

There is no way to escape for me, not now. I hope to get this all down on actual paper sometime in the future… Hyde finds my journaling extremely boring, however, so I may never get a chance.

9 yrs 30 days since Incident 1, 2 yrs 30 days since Incident 2

I am growing weary of the mind. Hyde’s thoughts are little concerned with others, although he seems to have a fondness for Miss Rachel, and he often is focused on getting blindly drunk or playing with women (and men, he has no preference). To preserve my privacy and to protect my sanity from his vain, whimsical soliloquies, I spend most of my time in the vault, where I can work undisturbed. In a twisted irony, many of my mental capacities, such as my French, have improved greatly while I reside down here.

I find myself longing more and more for human contact, although just yesterday Hyde permitted me to visit Lanyon for a moment. It was a hurried, panicked visit, but a visit nonetheless. I should've told the poor man ages ago, about Hyde. He has no idea the peril I am in. All I could tell him was that I was in danger and may never see him again. I know that Lanyon, however, can manage to run the Society on his own — he is reputable enough, I hope.

I’m loathe to admit it, but I am afraid for the future. Will I go insane, the shadow of the man I was? Will I ever see anyone but my blonde counterpart again? Everything down here has become muted and dull, and I find myself slipping from solid sensations into ethereal daydreams that are more bizarre and vivid than my wildest dreams. And I should know about dreams: one of my few tasks Hyde lets me out to do is sleep for him, as he finds the process of falling asleep tedious and time-wasting. I find it easy, especially since Edward works our body to exhaustion practically each night. He has food delivered to the door to be smuggled in when no one is looking. Edward spends all of his time seeking pleasure, reaping money, somehow getting richer, despite his affability for drinking and gambling.

I can’t say that the life of Edward Hyde is ideal, however. He is highly unstable. Often we find ourself caught in a precarious limbo where it seems that neither force will win and we will both be stuck in an eternal pain that will not cease until we die. Unfortunately, that is when Hyde stumbles his way to the cabinet in our room, or gropes blindly in his pocket, and he finds a vial of radically altered HJ7. Despite his flighty mind and lack of focus, he had the patience to change the formula, to the point that it tips far in favor of the darker nature of Henry Jekyll. I lose the battle every time. I have nearly lost hope that I will win the battle.

It is so easy to find tear stains now, especially on these pages. I have tried to be professional, tried to keep myself restricted to that which is valuable to science and nothing else. But trapped down here, it is extremely difficult.

Chapter Text

From the records of Edward Hyde — Aug. 17, 19XX

It’s been two years and some days since Henry majorly screwed up and let me in control. Now, he has become the good side of the man Mr. Edward Hyde, instead of Hyde being the evil of the Dr. Henry Jekyll. It feels so wonderful to be free. Even pain is a thrilling sensation; I will take advantage of anything my chance to experience the world brings, no matter the pain. I can handle pain. I can handle evil, cruelty, and vileness. I am the epitome of darkness and the devil.

But I cannot understand love. It is elusive and silly, to me. No point in chasing something I can’t have. But sometimes, I find myself acting quite strange. This booklet is where I can confide these things: I am afraid otherwise that Henry will see these anomalies as a weakness or a way out. I don’t see Henry much, anyway.

Just the other day, I was walking the street, and saw a well-dressed woman. A lovely woman, most would say. The strangest feeling filled me, that made my cheeks heat up and my stomach lurch. I could not get the woman out of my thoughts for days. The closest sensation to this unfamiliar one that I can describe is a sort of sweet rage. Either way, she is pacing my brain, and I have decided, I must be rid of her.

I am going to kill her. I will raid every house in London, if need be, to find her. And Henry can do nothing but watch, that is, if he even bothers to show his face. Poor fool. He never should have made that formula in the first place.

Signed, Edward Hyde

From the records of Miss Rachel Pidgley — A Letter to a certain Miss Lucy
Lucy—

I am worried for Mr. Hyde and Dr. Jekyll. I’ve seen Master Hyde around a lot more and Master Jekyll a lot less, and I’m super worried. Lanyon is super stressed, especially since a few days ago, because he’s basically running the Society on his own (you might recognize him as Langdon, haha) but for my sake, his sake, heck, everybody’s sake (and sanity) I was wondering if you could help me track down Doctor Henry Jekyll.

Your gal, Rachel ;)

This letter never received a response, as far as our investigators have conceded.

From a paper discovered in the shelves of Robert Lanyon — the record of an incident involving Dr. Henry Jekyll and Mr. Edward Hyde

I don’t understand. I was in my room, preparing some financial papers, when I heard Hyde’s voice behind me. He said something along the lines of, “Don’t move. Don’t look behind you.” I felt a blade at my back. Terrified, I stayed put (I had heard of what wicked Mr. Hyde had done — the man was a renowned murderer). The blade fell for a moment, and I heard a strange thud, strangled screams were emitted from behind me, and then Henry’s voice allowed me to turn around.

Henry was in a terrible way. He looked exhausted, his hair was matted and dirty, and his clothes were rumpled and stained. The knife that had been held at my back was across the room, laying by the open window. When I asked him how he was, what had happened, if he was staying, it was all he could do to say, in a voice of supreme exhaustion and effort (to the best of my recollection), “Robert, I cannot stay long. Mr. Hyde escaped out the window, as will I. Let nobody know I was ever here. I came to say goodbye and warn you. I may never see you again, Robert. And I beg you, stay out of Hyde’s way. Do not trifle with him. I am in great peril and I must go now. Take care, Robert.”

And before I could utter a word, he clambered out of the window with surprising agility. I have not seen him since, nor Mr. Hyde. I wish not to think of the latter ever again. He has become the last and largest stumbling block between me and Henry.

>The next sentences were added much later, on an undetermined date.< Now I fear for my own life. Hyde has begun to threaten me, and many of the lodgers. I am afraid. Henry, if you are there… Please come back. I miss you, and I am scared. I may never get a chance to thank you for all you did for me. If anyone finds this, know that I may never return to London. I am leaving.

Chapter Text

An entry from Dr. Henry Jekyll’s journal

9 yrs 40 days since Incident 1, 2 yrs 40 days since Incident 2

Hyde has begun to threaten Lanyon and the Lodgers. He tells me that it’s all in fun, but I’m not sure I believe him. The stakes are getting higher. My prison was at least a haven from the nightmares Hyde set on me, but I keep thinking I see them in the corner of my vision.

I’m afraid: for the Lodgers, for me, for Hyde. Everything has gotten darker since I’ve stayed down here. It is getting harder and harder to take control from Hyde. Today’s entry will be short; but I’d like to explain something. At the beginning of this log, I said it was a mental journal. That is because this record did start as a mental journal, but when I transcribed the first passage, I did not have time to edit the words my mind had decided upon. Hyde was frantically trying to regain control it’s a good thing I managed to get it all ou—

9 yrs 78 days since Incident 1, 2 yrs 78 days since Incident 2

It has been a while since I was able to get back to this journal. Hyde sets his nightmares on me constantly when allowing me to perform mundane tasks such as sleep and things responsible men know how to do (Hyde is terribly incapable) and previously, it has been a relief to return to the infinite vault of our mind. However, I am certain now that the nightmares are hunting me.

Every time I reenter the vault, they return, lurking above my head, waiting for the perfect time to strike. At least up there they are illusions; down in the vault they are just as real as I am. Many times I have been rescued by a strange apparition bearing Lanyon’s face, who quickly flees before I have a chance to thank him.

Hyde has complete apathy towards me, he seems to think it is payback for the years he spent locked in the vault himself. I know for a surety that I am going absolutely mad.

There are more nightmares.

Every day I see more, I hear more of them.

They are more diverse, more gruesome as they multiply.

Someone help me…

Please?

9 yrs 83 days since Incident 1, 2 yrs 83 days since Incident 2

Oh my g—

Someo—

I deserve to d—

Lanyon and Miss Rachel are dead.

Hyde killed them.

Chapter Text

A passage from Hyde’s journal

What in all heaven prompted me to do that? The nightmares have found their way to me.
I am so afraid that I might lose control again and hurt more people, but I am even more afraid of being trapped back in that vault.

Lanyon is understandable. I never really liked him, and he definitely didn’t like me. But Miss Rachel?

There won’t be any more cookies, or late-night banter about dark oceans of depravity. I wish I could take it all back — I wish it had never happened — I would stay away from her forever if I knew she would be safe.

Please.

An account of the final incident of the case of Dr. Henry Jekyll, as recalled by Junior Officer Davies, a witness to the scene

We walked in on some dark, dreary afternoon, to the home of Doctor Jekyll. His doors were all ajar, broken glass and clothing littered the floor, dust coated nearly every surface but a footprint-worn path in the carpet. The front rooms seemed almost haunted in the silence. My senior officer, Mr. Jett, called out “Jekyll! Where are you?” and we waited for a long minute.

Then, a scream. The noise was horrifying, loud, terrible in all aspects. It shook like the quavering voice of a dying man, was strong like the scream of a tortured soul, was hasty with adrenaline, and drawn-out as if it were being dragged from the raw, reluctant throat of something completely inhuman. It made most of us officers shake, but we did not want to show it, for Mr. Jett would surely get onto us. As soon as the awful, heart-rending shriek ended, we looked to Mr. Jett for orders, as usual.

“Come, men,” he said stoically, and we followed him hesitantly up the winding staircase. It was a shame the house was in such disrepair, for it was extremely fine and elegant. I have a feeling that nobody will purchase that house now.

We arrived at the doctor’s room, which had fallen eerily silent since the scream. We pressed our ears to the door, and we could hear a strange sound. Sobbing, almost. It was a pitiful noise, almost worse than the scream. A broken voice mumbled and begged frenetically for release, for relief. Whatever it was, it was filled with panic and a fear that seemed beyond the capacity of humanity.

We entered the room, not deeming this to be a threat. A tall, red-eyed man (which Mr. Jet recognized as Doctor Jekyll) lay on the floor before us, blood, tears, and a strange green fluid all staining the floor, his face, his clothes. He looked up at us with pleading eyes, his whole form shaking. He was racked with a spasm, of pain, presumably, and he closed his eyes tightly. When his eyes opened again, they were a most thrilling and unusual shade of green.

We did not know what to make of him. The green fluid was spilling from his eyes and mouth, and he took up that awful shriek again. It was ten times worse up close. His body seized up, he shook, he trembled, and his expression was one of haunted pain, an agony nobody could tell of. The scream was so loud that one of my fellow officers began bleeding from the eardrum. It tore at our hearts, striking fear into our hearts and very cores.

When the scream stopped this time, he coughed violently, his shoulders shaking with pain and racked with sobs. Suddenly, a demon appeared to possess him, for the green eyes returned and his body was tense. His expression was crazed and frenzied, and filled with the vilest evil I had ever seen. His hair, at some point, had faded somehow to a golden blonde, and had grown to pass his shoulders in a wild mane. He snarled, and he lunged. Before I knew it, the man previously known as the doctor had lunged upon my fellow officers, and, with agile fingers, proceeded to tear my best friend’s throat from his neck.

Horrible screams, although not as bad as the demon’s, filled the room in a strange harmony. As the blonde man, who seemed somehow much smaller than his previous form, violently proceeded to stab another of my friends in the heart, I was caught in a sort of terror-induced stupor. I could not move, I was barely breathing. Everyone else, in an attempt to defend themselves, had perished by the hand of this blonde savage when I came to once more, and a horrible fear and grief overtook me. I fell to my knees, but when I looked up, the man was once again the tall, red-eyed man with the kind, tired face.

He smiled at me, a kind of smile that knew what horrible things he had done, but that he could spare one. And the tall man, Doctor Henry Jekyll, walked up the stairs, his shoulders sloped with an invisible burden.

I ran away presently, my legs practically liquid from fear and disgust. Horror filled every bone in my body, and I fell ill for weeks. By that time, I had been interrogated by many a higher officer, having been the sole witness to the strange murders of six officers that cloudy afternoon.

To the best of my ability, that is all I recall. Now, let me rest from the ordeal. I never wish to recall Dr. Henry Jekyll again.