Chapter Text
They had located the laboratory of the still missing and presumed dead Doctor Henry Jekyll only to find it completely stripped down to the four walls and floorboards.
“Someone’s cleaned house,” Watson remarked, stooping to examine a spot on the floor, “Recently too, look here. There’s a bare spot in the dust from where furniture was moved. Whoever packed this place up knew we’d be coming.”
“Who do you think it was?” Larry asked, trying to keep the dismay from his voice.
“My money’s on that Hyde fellow,” Quincey replied sullenly, “He’s a nasty piece of work. Did you see his face when we mentioned Jekyll? He knows a lot more than he’s telling us. I can’t believe we gave him a room…”
“But what would he gain from stringing us along?” Watson was too tired to keep irritation from creeping into his voice as he righted himself, wincing at the cracking of his knees and spine.
Larry and Quincey both shrugged in unison. Edward Hyde was an unpleasant mystery to all of them but they had little choice except to trust him as he was the beneficiary of Jekyll's will and the only person who seemed to know anything about him. For lack of other alternatives the group busied themselves giving the room a thorough search. The three probed about for roughly an hour before they returned to Talbot Manor, empty handed and dispirited.
Upon their return they had found their newest lodger, Edward Hyde, waiting for them in the kitchens, perched on the counter and scarfing down a large, cold, pork pie which he washed down noisily with a bottle of fine wine from the Talbot’s cellars.
Like a Gods damned animal… Watson thought to himself as he passed through on his way to the dining room. When Hyde drained the first bottle, he bit the cork from a second and spat it to the floor. Watson had not the strength of body or will to admonish him and he merely shook his head in disgust and blustered out of the kitchens in search of hot tea and peace and quiet.
Hyde made a rude noise and turned back to Quincey and Lawrence, “Find anything?” he asked with a grin as he wiped his mouth on the back of his arm.
“No, the lab was empty,” Larry replied.
“Figures. Looks like whoever is hiding Jekyll’s secrets is two steps ahead of you,” Hyde replied holding out his hand where the mangled contents of the pie sat in a sad and crumbled heap, “Want some?” he offered.
Larry and Quincey both grimaced and shook their heads. Hyde shrugged and shoved the last fistful of pie into his mouth and emptied his second bottle of wine. He brushed the crumbs from his mutton chops and the front of his shirt and hopped down from the counter.
“How do we know it wasn’t you? How do we know you haven’t just been running us on a wild goose chase this whole time? Do you know where the rest of Jekyll’s notes on the serum are or not?!” Quincey demanded sharply, he was not usually inclined to be so forward or so aggressive but he was finding himself increasingly sick of Hyde’s presence at Talbot manor and he was beginning to suspect the wretch was toying with them just as a means of prolonging his stay and keeping himself out of the hands of the police.
“Watch your tone!” Hyde hissed aggressively although there was an unmistakable cast of fear in it. He clutched for his cane, previously resting against the kitchen table, grasped it in his fist and shook it at Quincey, “I’ll not stand for accusations! No one knows Jekyll like I do so I’m the only chance you’ve got!”
It dawned on Quincey then that his previous suspicions of Hyde being closer to the missing Doctor than he’d let on had been correct. He scanned back his memories of what Jekyll had written in the partial journal he’d presented to Watson when they’d hired him to take on the case. Jekyll’s quest had been, supposedly, to separate from himself his evil nature.
For some reason this quest had ended with the doctor killing himself and hiding away the notes to his formula in some unknown location. It occurred now to Quincey that there was one detail that the three had overlooked in their assessment of the case. One thing that neither Watson, nor Larry, nor himself had considered when they’d discovered Mr. Hyde lurking around Jekyll’s old apartment.
That Henry Jekyll’s formula had worked.
Hyde noticed that Quincey had fallen silent and was staring at him with an odd, searching, look. As though he were noticing something for the first time. The hair on the back of his neck stood up under the presence of the sudden scrutiny. It was rare, for Edward, that anyone looked at him for very long. So unpleasant was his countenance that most people were driven to anger or fear from looking at him for any length of time but Quincey Harker was staring, very nakedly, at him in a way that was markedly not fear or anger. It was comprehension.
Hyde’s face contorted in a series of grimaces and he fidgeted as the tension rose higher and higher until he could bear it no longer. It finally burst and he lashed out. Plunging a thick fist as hard as he could into Quincey’s stomach.
Quincey doubled over, wheezing as the wind was knocked from his lungs. Larry caught him before he could hit the ground.
“What’s the big idea?” Larry cried indignantly.
But Hyde was already bounding away, hurdling over the kitchen sink and sending a stack of plates toppling across the counter as he shot out of the open window and into the garden outside. Larry watched him rocket across the grounds and scramble over the hedge with frightful speed and agility.
Quincey struggled to steady himself and took a large gulp of air, coughing and rubbing his abdomen, “H-he’s J-! He’s Juh-huh! He’s Jekyll!” he sputtered.
“What? What do you mean?” Larry squinted at him, keeping a hand on his elbow in case he needed the support.
“At least he’s part of Jekyll,” Quincey explained as he caught his breath, “He’s the evil part that Jekyll removed from himself. It must have split off into another person and now that Jekyll’s dead it’s running amok and leading us around by the nose!” he righted his glasses, which had been knocked askew, and sucked in another breath.
“So, the serum does work?” Larry asked, his eyes hopeful for the first time in weeks.
“It must have worked! We need to find the rest of those notes and fast. It’s almost six o’clock. Go fill Doctor Watson in and start strapping yourself down for the night! I’m going to raid Edward’s room before he comes back. I’ll bet you one hundred pounds that he has the notes and he’s been hanging on to them to make sure we don’t find them before he wants us too!”
“Are you sure you want to do that? What if he’s on his way out to destroy the notes? What if he comes back and finds out you raided his room? For god’s sake Quin, what if you’re just plain wrong about all of it?”
“We’ll have to risk it,” Quincey muttered, “Right now his things are unguarded and I’m not wasting my chance or any more time!”
“Quin, Stop! Don’t be rash! He’s going to come back and if he catches you-“
But Quincey was beyond listening. With grim determination he rushed into the hall and bolted up the stairs as fast as his legs could carry him. He arrived at the third floor, sprinted down the corridor and forced open the door to Hyde’s bedroom. To his surprise the room was only moderately cluttered.
Quincey had rather expected to find the room in shambles and reeking of filth from wall to wall. That was the kind of domicile one would expect of Edward Hyde, after all. To a point there were clothes carelessly tossed into a corner, the bed was unmade and some books were scattered around the desk, yes, but on the whole this unremarkable bedroom could have belonged to any average gentleman. The shelves were in tidy order and in between the expected lurid erotic tomes were very practical and well-maintained encyclopedias and medical texts. Even a Bible, of all things, though this was battered and much abused, rested among the contents of the bookshelf.
Quincey searched the shelves first, pulling each book down and flipping its pages and shaking it to see if anything fell loose. Once he’d grown frustrated searching individual books he made for the desk, rifling though the papers. He found nothing of note save for some letters of blackmail Hyde was composing, addressed to some prominent members of the church. These Quincey tore in a fit of petty spite, save for one who’s listed crimes were so appalling that Quincey felt being blackmailed by Edward Hyde was the least the recipient deserved.
Red-faced from his efforts and still empty-handed Quincey abandoned the desk in favor of a handsome and expensive looking bureau. He yanked open the bottom drawer, beheld its contents, turned white as a sheet, and then closed it with a grimace. The second drawer had nothing but socks, the third held a veritable treasure trove of money clips, pocket watches, jewelry and other sundry baubles that Hyde had no doubt stolen or kept as trophies. The fourth and final drawer held papers.
“Yes! It must be here!” Quincey cheered to himself as he began to rummage through the contents. He searched every sheet, every stack and even the smallest of torn scraps for some sign of Dr. Jekyll’s notes until he realized, to his dismay, that they were not there. Closing the drawer and trying his best to leave the room as he had found it Quincey, dejectedly, returned his own quarters.
…
Once in his room he bent over his journal, diligently logging the day’s events. Though his father had often advised him of the usefulness of a journal this was the first time Quincey truly understood the necessity of organizing one’s thoughts and having a solid, written account of events to reference in a world that seemed to grow increasingly unstable.
He had nearly filled an entire page when he heard the first crash.
The second crash was closer, coming down the hallway.
The third sent the door of Quincey’s bedroom bursting into splinters.
There he was, the fiend had returned from his flight and his face wore such a deeply joyful and malevolent anger that Quincey could not suppress a shudder.
“What a lot of pretty things you have in your room, Mr. Harker,” he snarled, his voice chilling Quincey to his core. It was as high and grating as ever, roughened with cruelty and glee. An unholy mixture of giddy schoolboy and rabid hound.
The fourth crash sent Quincey’s lamp scattering shards in all directions.
"It would be a shame-" the cane arced up above Hyde’s head and swung towards the young man’s face
"-If I took to smashing every-" the swing lost momentum and the tap landed benignly against Quincey’s cheek, "-pretty-" his other cheek, "-thing-" a hard press against his lips, "-in this room."
The gleeful malice that had painted his face moments before vanished and he turned suddenly serious, eyes narrowing into furious slits "I know you managed to work something out in that thick skull of yours boy and I’ll give you that you have some balls ransacking my room for Jekyll’s notes, but what made you think that I’d simply let you get away with that?" he demanded putting enough pressure on the cane that the cold, diamond topper was forced between Quincey’s lips and scrapped uncomfortably against his front teeth.
“Now, tell me what idea came to you in that kitchen,” Hyde demanded, his tone indicating that it would be very unwise to lie to him.
Quincey moved his head back to give himself room to speak, “The formula worked!” he said accusingly, “You’re the part of Dr. Jekyll he was trying to get rid of. The formula works and you must have it! Why won’t you give it to us?!”
Hyde paused for a moment tapping the top of the cane against his own chin, “You could say that, but you’ve got, by far, the wrong idea of it. Why are you so desperate for the formula. You’re as good as they come, any evil that sprouted off you would be no bigger than tom thumb and Larry’s not much worse. Has old Watson got some demons he’s looking to purge? To many years playing the role of good doctor and doddering sidekick turned him barmy?”
An ear rending howl echoed through the manor. Hyde hissed and tensed, clutching the cane in both hands with his teeth bared.
“You know I can’t figure it,” he said slowly as he began to pace the room, occasionally stopping to smash some of Quincey’s more breakable possessions. “How every night I hear a wolf, so loud it sounds like it’s coming from inside the manor, but there’s no reports of dead sheep in the area, no sign of paw prints on the grounds and even dogs won’t answer that howl. There’s something awfully strange going on around here and if you tell me the truth maybe I’ll come clean with you too.”
Quincey’s shoulders dropped and he sank down onto his bed.
“You may as well sit then… it’s a long story.”