Chapter Text
September, 1873.
What can drive a man to do such treacherous acts against a fellow man? Trust when I say, this was an attack against society. Naturally, an attack on society will cause it to rear its head and try to buck off whatever just struck it; it will attack back.
Our little community of ToëNayle, on the west side of Sannligrevegr, on a small island just 70 miles of the coast, has just experienced its first possible serial killing in nearly 5 years, and everyone is quite excited.
After Jack the Ripper had fled London, and made landfall in our humble town, he had gone on a second (albeit, less bloody) spree. He had only gotten to 2 women before being detained, all thanks to our wonderful law enforcement, and he was hung a month after. I never showed up to the actual execution, but I read the papers the morning after it all happened.
As I was saying, that was nearly 5 years ago; there’s been a more recent murder. One of my dearest friends, Hastie Lanyon, was telling me yesterday how the police found a body in the river. He hadn’t seen it for himself, but rumour has it that it was missing all of its organs, including the brain. Funny thing, he says, is that the top of the skull had been sawn clean off, and it, along with the scalp, was found floating in the river a few miles behind the body.
Some suspect that some doctor or other had gone on for a body-snatching. The College just 2 rows down from my plot, The Doctoral College of Northern ToëNayle, will likely be getting new organs to use for transplants. I expect that they won't be turning over any donated body parts to the proper authorities, due to the lack of decent organs nowadays. No one has wanted to donate either, which is frustrating on my wanting to be a Medicinal and Surgical Doctor.
Quite a shame as well, Lanyon adds, that the body had been found to be rotting and almost 3 weeks past the initial date of kicking the bucket. No foul play could be determined from the autopsy; what was determined, however, was that the man had died of a heart attack. He was probably on an evening stroll when his heart suddenly stopped; he fell into the river, probably off a bridge by the channel, and floated for a bit, likely drowning as well. He was probably scooped out of the river a few hours later and harvested for organs, then thrown back like a fish.
He also could have been murdered, as I prefer to think of it as; it’s much more interesting. Due to the brand of shoes he was wearing, which is quite expensive and only available in North ToëNayle, as my friend Gabriel Utterson explained, he must have been from an aristocratic family. An enemy, perhaps a poorer citizen with a bad case of green eyes, perhaps poked a jest at the man. They likely got into an argument when the man’s blood pressure almost burst a vein, which caused the heart attack. As the man died, his attacker must have panicked. He either sold the organs immediately and dumped the body, or he pushed the body into the river, hoping it never came back into questioning. We all suspect that it was no accident. (By we, I mean Lanyon, Utterson, and I.)
Gabriel has been wanting to go into forensics lately, after reading one of those fascinating english-crime novels, and he hasn’t been able to put down the articles on ‘How to properly search a room for evidence’ or ‘Different types of gunshot wounds.’ I envy you, my friend. He has such an astonishing ability to become interested in topics, learn a skill within a month, and then master that skill, only to become obsessed with a new topic, starting the cycle anew. It’s not a bad thing. Not at all. In fact, I find it quite endearing. Lanyon and I both joke that when you wish to learn something new, you take the current fixation out of your head and store it in that hat of yours, to make room for the newest skillset. It makes sense to me, to say the least.
-signed,
Doctor Henry Jekyll, Ph.d.
“Henry,” Our narrator sighed. “Your diary is worded like you’re writing to a stranger. You know all of our names, you know the news, and you know about my chronic hyperfixation.”
This is Gabriel Utterson, Dr. Jekyll’s closest friend (as previously mentioned), was reposing on a bench in the doctors lab. He was complacently swinging his legs over the edge of the bench, resting his head on a thick, hardcover copy of one of Jekyll’s textbooks, and trying to find a blank page to doodle on in one of his companions notebooks.
Jekyll, who was mixing chemicals of various sorts, set down the test tubes in a rack and snatched the book away from Utterson. “Hand that back, don’t you ever respect a man’s privacy?”
Jekyll was no older than 25, had mousy brown hair, stunning blue eyes, and stood about 5 feet and 8 inches tall. Newly graduated from college, and ready to pursue a career in Science. He was in the middle of mixing seemingly random chemicals into a vial.
He dusted his diary off and put it back on his shelf, staring at it a moment longer than he should have.
“Besides,” He reasoned, affectionately tapping his glove on Utterson’s shoulder. “Memory loss runs in my family; I want to remember everything I possibly can, especially you chaps.”
“Reasonable,” Someone from the upper corner of the theatre said. “I would want to remember my prime till the end of time, even if it meant forgetting everything else.”
This was Robert Hastie Lanyon; who functioned off of 2 hours of sleep and 4 cups of coffee, was one of Jekyll’s friends from his sophomore year in college. Though an introvert and hardly ever available to hang out with, he was a joy to converse with. He was reading a book and reclining at the uppermost corner in the Surgical Theatre/ Laboratory, farthest from the other two, but close to the nearest exit.
“Hastie, my dear boy, if you were to only remember your prime, you would perhaps forget your childhood, or your golden years as well,” Utterson projected back at Lanyon. “You would forget your father. Or you could forget your fiance.”
Jekyll wrinkled his nose. “I find it abhorrent that we should find a fiance to be with forever. Quite depressing, in my opinion.”
Lanyon uncrossed his legs and leaned forward a bit.
“‘ A fiance’ ? Why did you say it like that? And with such distaste as well? One might begin to think you had just suffered an estrangement.”
“Oh, Don’t bother the poor lad about it any more than you need to,” Utterson groaned. “She was quite certain that she hated Henry, and him the same.”
“He did suffer an estrangement!” Lanyon gasped. “How long has it been? How come you never told me?”
“I did tell you,” Jekyll said, now dusting the inside of a beaker with some sort of salt. “You just never listened.”
“I do listen!” Lanyon whined back at the other, who was far too engrossed in his work to pay attention to conversation. “Harry, do tell me: how did it all go down?”
“Did Gabriel not just say? We didn’t love each other. Neither of us could stand the presence of one another. Can we change the subject?”
“I’m so sorry I made you propose to her,” Lanyon lamented. “If I had known-”
He was cut off by Utterson, “She’s gone now, I’m afraid. Now, didn't Henry just tell you to change the subject?”
“Sorry, Sorry,” Lanyon apologized. “What is it that you’re working on?”
“It’s a medication,” Jekyll replied. “A regular customer of mine has a prescription for a migraine, stomachache, hangover, and boredom cure-all.”
“Does it work?” Asked Utterson.
Henry whipped around with the tube still in the grip of a pair of tongs. “Of course it works!” He prattled. “I’m the one who invented it.”
“What’s in it anyways?” puzzled Lanyon. “Do you think it can cure cancer?”
“Oh, just a few things I threw together,” Jekyll sang. “Thank God I wrote it down, or I wouldn’t be getting any income.”
He bobbed his head in the direction of his second desk, where a slip of paper had a list scrawled messily into the parchment.
“Tonic, Benzoylmethylecgonine, Papaver somniferum, Chloroform, Cannabis Indica, 10% alcohol, Hydrogen Sulfide, E-coli, and Lavender extract,” Lanyon read.
“Henry, you’re a genius! A mad one, I’ll say that, but you actually came up with a cure-all!” Utterson exclaimed, leaning over Lanyon’s shoulder to read.
“How did you know that it’s a ‘cure-all’?” Lanyon queried. “Surely the Collage didn’t have any more prisoners left to use as volunteers?”
The doctor laughed, now pouring the concoction into a small bottle. “I drank it myself. Quite effective, in fact; using yourself as a test subject. What’s the face for?”
Utterson hesitated, brow furrowing. “Isn’t that a bit dangerous?”
“Oh assuredly it is,” Jekyll concluded. “But there are no more bodies left to be donated from the Collage, and I could never do it to a rat or a guinea pig; they wouldn't be able to properly convey results to me. I also find it morally apprehensive to use a ‘test subject’; If you wouldn’t do it to yourself, don’t do it to others.”
“Then why do it at all?” Lanyon asked.
“Scientific progress, Gentlemen,” Jekyll grinned. “I’ve been hoping to start a new trend among the gentlemen at the Scientific Society. I’m sure my friends at the Philosophical Society would enjoy hearing about it as well.”
Lanyon and Utterson glanced at each other, unsure on how to continue conversation.
“Henry,” Utterson began. Jekyll turned around from his work to face his friends.
“We appreciate your enthusiasm to further scientific research, as well as your enthusiasm to remain moral; I’d like to ask you to be exempt from your reckless behavior.”
Dr. Jekyll set down the bottle of chemicals and suppressed a confused chuckle. “I beg your pardon?”
“All I’m trying to say is that you’re risking your life for something as trivial as medicine, and I would rather you live as a sinner than die as a martyr. One wrong ingredient in your Apothecary could cause a bad reaction, and you and everyone you know would have to pay the price.”
Jekyll sighed and took off his gloves and pulled his goggles over his head.
“I apologize for my recklessness, I hadn’t seen it like that. In the future, I won’t be testing anything upon myself.”
“Truly?” Lanyon asked, putting his hand delicately on his companions shoulder.
“Truly,” Jekyll lied, now wrapping the bottle in brown paper, and tying it with a string. “I have enough money, I could hire a few people to test for me. Besides, I had no plans to develop any new medicines any time soon.”
He did have plans to do more. But with low funds coming in from The Society of Scientifically Inclined Gentlemen, specifically from where he was, in the Scientists Coalition, he would have to experiment on himself. But he would do what he could to ease his friends conscience,
“That’s wonderful news!” Utterson exclaimed. “What do you plan on doing in the meantime?”
And Jekyll thought, placing his hand on his chin to properly arrange his musings.
“I suppose I should focus on my charity hospital. What with the flu-season coming soon and almost half the population not being able to afford any vaccines, I feel as if I should open up shop for the season.”
“We’ll be standing behind you when you do,” Utterson confided.
Although Jekyll greatly prided his work, he would always choose his friends first and foremost. Though Utterson was overbearing and picky, and Lanyon was whiny and self absorbed, the doctor always found a way to make time and effort go into his companions. He would let them sit in his laboratory and talk to him, he would offer to buy them lunches, and he would listen to them gossip about the latest goings on in town.
“Henry,” Lanyon piped. “We ought to get going; were going to be late.”
Jekyll glanced at his pocket watch and read the time: 2:25 pm. They had precisely 5 minutes to get out the door and to the Gentlemen's Society. Surely not enough time.
“I’m not coming,” Jekyll muttered. He averted his eyes and wiped his workspace down with a rag.
“Why not?” Lanyon asked, almost accusingly. “I’m sure everyone up there would be pleased to know that you're still alive.”
“I saw how both of you reacted to my methods, and I’m positive that everyone would ostracize me for my particular experiments in medicine.”
“Oh, Harry,” Utterson hummed. “Everyone has been asking about you though.”
“And what did you answer?”
“Simply that you mean to return as soon as your next major project is completed.”
“But I don’t. You, I, and The Society know that's a lie.”
“Then make it true,” Lanyon chimed in. “You certainly could show off your new ‘cure-all’; I’m sure everyone would be quite impressed at your craftsmanship and medical knowledge.”
Jekyll sighed. “I suppose I could pop in to see what everyone else has done, and sneak out a bit later.”
“That’s the spirit!” Utterson bubbled jovially. “Come, grab your coat and we’ll be off.”
Henry groaned in false annoyance, wiggling his arms into his coat and snatching up his umbrella from the front door. He shoved the mixture of substances into his pocket, safely patting it to be sure it was secure.
The Society of Scientifically Inclined Gentlemen was located at the centre of the Northern side of town. This is the building which upper class, educated people came to gather and hold clubs and meetings and balls. It was a large tower constructed of large limestone bricks, lower hallways held up by marble pillars, and internally decorated with tapestries, oil paintings, and modern inventions. The stairs leading up to the main room spiraled up like a hurricane lain in red velvet and granted golden handrails. Several famous men and women from all over Sannligrevegr had come to see its beauty and splendor, and to engage in intimate conversations on Philosophical, Artistic, Scientific, and Mathematical discoveries they had made, furthering The Society in their quest for knowledge.
The main room was large and circular, containing enough room for almost 30 men to roam about freely. It contained a fireplace and hearth, upon which sat photos of members of The Scientists Coalition. There was a lounge where members could sit and smoke, or listen to the phonograph as they pleased. There were tables in the centre of the comfortable seats where you could order any refreshments, play cards, or simply talk to fellow scientists. About 5 different tables and groups of chairs sat around the room, and almost every seat was occupied.
Everyone had brought their latest discoveries: New species of birds, jetpacks, golden flakes formed from nothing but air, treasure discovered from ancient relics, clockwork servants, pictures of newly discovered planets and stars, theories on morality and where we come from, novels of great adventures, blueprints for buildings of colossal proportions, portraits of charming men, divine women, and pulchritudinous enbies, and everything beyond your wildest imagination.
The trio of Jekyll, Lanyon, and Utterson entered through the door, handing their coats and hats over to a butler.
“Gabe! Over here!” A fellow called, over the quiet din of exchanged pleasantries.
“Ah,” Utterson exclaimed. “Dr. Attington! So good to see you again, How goes?”
“Splendidly,” Attington replied, shaking Utterson’s hand firmly. “I’ve only recently gotten asked to commission a blueprint for a flying-ship. I could really use your expertise, would you like to review it?”
“Of course,” Utterson said. “Let’s take a look shall we?”
“Could I get Dr. Lanyon to come along as well? He’s recently sent me a letter explaining his latest project, and I think it might come in handy.”
Jekyll felt a prickling at the back of his neck. “Can I help, by chance?”
Attington turned around to glance at Jekyll, who was nervously wringing his hands.
“I-,” Attington hesitated for a moment. “I didn’t know you knew how engineering works?”
“Er, I don’t, precisely.”
“I’d think you’d be more comfortable discussing with Agatha. She’s been quite wanting to meet you after you discovered that bioluminescent star algae. She’s created a safe alternative lighting system, that burns for hours; all thanks to your discovery. I’d want to let her explain it, quite fascinating stuff, really.”
“I- suppose I could?”
“Good man!” Attington exulted. “She’s over by the rest of the Chemists and Alchemists, by the corner, you see?”
He pointed to the left, uppermost corner, where a congregation of men and women in lab coats and goggles and gloves all confided listlessly on projects they’ve recently gotten engaged in, and on theories they most agreed upon.
Jekyll gulped, and strode over, thinking of anything but his ‘cure-all.’
This was going to be a disaster.