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I haven't been myself since poor Harry died.
Those accursed letters. I wish by God that I had never taken them in my hands, that I had never noticed the envelope. But how could I have avoided it? It was right there on the desk with my name printed very clearly on it. And what was in the envelope filled me with dread.
I haven't been able to sleep for several nights. I have never been a man who liked to sleep in, laziness is not in my nature, but I usually get a few hours' sleep every night. Those letters seem to have some disruptive influence over me. During my sleepless nights, I have several times felt forced to read them through. Those terrible letters! Sweat breaks out on my forehead while I am reading them and I shiver as if I was feverish, a chill freezes my insides and leaves me cold with fear. Why do I have to read them again and again? What makes me do it? Every time I put the last of the papers aside, I swear to myself that I'll never look at them again. I tell myself that this time was the last time, but only a few hours later I once more find myself sitting with the sheaf of papers in my trembling hands.
This is a very inappropriate way for me to behave, and I am ashamed of my weakness - very uncharacteristic of me. I have to do something about this. Tonight, after supper, I will burn the papers in the fireplace.
It is done. But it was, in fact, harder than I thought it would be. I just couldn't help myself from once again reading through those accursed papers before I fed them to the flames. Poor old Harry, what have you done? We have been friends all these years, and I never, never knew... You were wild when you were young, that is true, but to go this far... This is beyond belief. The first time I read the letters, I did not want to believe what was in them. It was pure blasphemy to say that the repulsive creature lying dead on the laboratory floor was the same person as my Harry - no, impossible! Unthinkable!
But I suppose that I somehow knew all the time. Already while reading the letters for the first time, I think I realized they told the truth. For when I came back to his laboratory, I could not bear to look at the body again. I just couldn't do it. Poole and the servants had to cover it before they carried it away.
I fear that my burning of the letters did not help me. The words from Harry's confession echo in my head as I lie awake, turning and twisting in bed. "Tenfold more wicked... sold a slave to my original evil... younger, lighter, happier in body... indescribably new, incredibly sweet... braced and delighted me like wine... a heady recklessness... solution of the bonds of obligation... freedom of the soul... spring headlong into the sea of liberty..."
How could this have happened, Harry? Oh, my old friend, your youthful adventures were no worse than anybody else's was. How could you destroy yourself and everything good and honest that was you? When I sit home, thinking about this late at night, sometimes I wonder if I - myself unknowing - am partly to blame for what happened. For I can honestly say that I never did any of the common pranks or mistakes, which are so typical of boys and young men. I have always been a man of moderation, my habits have been simple and uncomplicated. I was quiet and withdrawn even as a youth, and I was unlike my peers. Harry, did you perhaps compare yourself with me, and found yourself lacking?
If I had seen the body after having read the letters, would I have seen the countenance of my old friend in that brutal, evil face? Or would I only have seen the face of a murderer, a vile beast? I cannot help wondering. Maybe I did wrong in refusing to behold the body of the dead man. How would I have seen him - how would he have looked to my eyes, now opened to the truth?
These days I often find my mind turning towards thoughts of sin and virtue, good and evil. Nobody is without fault, and at times I worry. I cannot stop thinking about my own character; again and again I try to find faults within myself.
The only sinful inclination in my person must be my taste for the pleasures of the theatre. I remember Harry and me going to the theatre to watch a show now and then in our youth. But I soon realized I was too fond of it. I could easily have become dependant on this, and I realized that this could never be. The theatre threatened to pull the focus of my attention away from my work and my studies, and gave rise to unhealthy fantasies and dreams. My duty has always been of the utmost importance to me. You must not forget the world around you. Over twenty years have passed since I last visited a theatre, but I imagine that my old friend continued to enjoy the shows.
"Braced and delighted me like wine..." Harry's words return to me day and night. Yes, it is true, I am fond of old wine. But I cannot believe that drinking a glass of wine in the company of a dear friend could be a sin. When alone, I usually drink bitter gin instead. Too much of a good thing can become very destructive; this I have learned from my clients.
Certain people might think that I look down on my less fortunate brethren. But I cannot honestly say that I do. I have always had the utmost sympathy for these unfortunate souls, of which many have become clients of mine during the many years I have spent in my work. As a lawyer, I believe sympathy to be my duty. I can truly say that I have always been of this idea.
I still sleep much less than usual. I have been able to sleep at times, but I awake in a cold sweat from dreams that I cannot remember, more tired and worried when I went to bed. Why do these thoughts have to torture me so? It is over now, he is gone, and I should be able to put this behind me. I have witnessed so many sad stories in my work, I really should be more composed.
"Tenfold more wicked... a heady recklessness..." I cannot let go of the words. Nor do I seem to be able to stop thinking about the dead man. The small, twisted, still trembling body. His face haunts me constantly, awake and sleeping, day and night. I can never stop thinking about my horrible memories from that night. Oh, if I had only seen his face!
I must have peace of mind! At certain times, I am convinced that I am losing my mind. The knowledge of what really happened to Harry might be too much for any man to know. Our mutual friend, Hastie Lanyon, was the only man who knew what I know, and that knowledge put him in an early grave. Only two weeks after he knew, he was dead. Am I next?
"Spring headlong into the sea of liberty... sold a slave to my original evil..." I wish that Harry's damned words would stop sounding in my head! It is intolerable. What I have decided to do tonight is totally inexcusable and a terrible blasphemy in itself. But even I have my limits; I cannot take it any longer. I need to know. My mind, my reason and perhaps my life are in danger.
The funeral took place only a couple of days ago. I did not go, of course. It came as no surprise to know that he had no friends. The funeral was a silent, secret thing. What I am going to do tonight will also be done in silence and secrecy. There are no guards at the cemetery and the grave is freshly dug. He died less than a week ago and the body couldn't have deteriorated very much during this time.
My heartfelt relief when I saw him almost made my shameful deed excusable. He was not so ugly and repulsive as my memories made me believe. It was Harry, no doubt about it. There was absolutely no doubt about it. "Younger, lighter, happier in body..." Were you truly happier in this form? Did your shameful adventures really give you true joy, true happiness? Did you enjoy your freedom as much as I imagine? Was it worth it, Harry? Was it?
Yesterday I went to the theatre after all these years. I must admit that the show had a very relaxing influence on me. After the terrors of the last week, I certainly am in need of some relaxation. I feel much calmer of mind now. Thank God, the worst seems to be over. I hope I can put this behind me and go on with my life as if nothing happened.
Tonight another nightmare woke me up, but this time I remembered my dream. Long ago, when these terrible things began to happen, I had a dream when I saw the horrible, sinful man - I don't even want to think about his name - run through the streets of London, trampling a screaming girl in every corner of the street. The nightmare of tonight was very much like that other dream. But there was an important difference. In the earlier dream, that man had no face. Tonight, his face was mine.
The troubling thoughts have returned and they seem to torture me twice as much as they did. It is awful. I thought that my mind would be at peace since I saw his face. "Incredibly sweet, indescribably new..." If only I could sleep without dreams, without always hearing the words from the letters. Why, then, did I have to do that terrible deed if my torture goes on and on? I have no appetite, and though I never have had a powerful build, I think I look uncommonly pale, thin and worn when I look in the mirror. There are dark rings under my eyes and I feel ten years older. Good God, spare me this suffering. I fear I will accompany poor Hastie in his grave if this goes on for much longer.
"Solution of the bonds of obligation..." Could it have been worth it? Is there any possibility that what Harry did could have been worth the terrible price he had to pay?
I have always been a very moderate and dutiful person. I have never been tempted by sin; wickedness held no attraction for me. Perhaps this is partly due to my nature, partly to my occupation. For if I ever felt the slightest attraction to some activity - only a little doubtful in its nature - I only had to think about my poor clients to stay away from it. It has always been easy for me. I have seen so many poor devils suffer from their crimes and sins; I know how it could be. Countless were the times when I have thanked God that I was not in their place. What would they have done without me? Without my help, many of them would have been lost. I wonder how many people I have saved during my long years as a lawyer?
"A sold slave to my original evil..." I wonder how it feels like? To be tempted by sin, to follow every low impulse in man's nature. I cannot even begin to imagine what this would be like. "A heady recklessness, incredibly sweet..." Though I am of a respectable middle age, I must honestly say that I do not know what it feels like to be tempted by evil. Sometimes I wonder if I really lived, if I ever experienced anything worth remembering when I am old and lonely? Have I really lived? How can I know that I do good deeds, if I truthfully never have done anything to compare them with? I never strayed from the path of my life, even as a young man. I never did what most young men do. I never did anything I later had to regret. You were different, my old friend. You must have experienced life, Harry! You, my friend, were tempted, and fell to the temptation. I, on the other hand -
It was easy to enter the house. Poole has known me for so many years, and he cannot deny me anything. Poole has stayed in the house to keep it in order while they are trying to sell it. Everything looks just as it did while Harry was still around. Only two weeks have passed, but the place feels very different now. The laboratory stands open and nothing has been touched since he died. Everything is quiet and still, at peace.
It was also easy to find the correct box. I remember the words in the letter by heart: The glazed press on the left hand, marked with the letter E, the fourth drawer from the top. The glass vial and the packets of powders are still there, and so is the notebook. Poole raised his eyebrow when I left the house with the box in my arms, but he is a good butler and would never question my actions.
My chamber feels different tonight when I sit by my desk with the glass vials. I had to wait for this moment longer than I had hoped. I had missed an important detail in Harry's confession. He could no longer get hold of the old powders for his drug - the new ones did not have the same effect, and therefore the drug lost its power to restore him to his original self. Which in turn led to his demise. But I can be very persistent when I have to. In my occupation, one gets to know certain people who know about many things, and who can get hold of almost anything if the price is right. I have finally managed to secure a quantity of that particular powder, which my old friend so desperately needed.
I am no scientist and I hope by God that I made no mistake while mixing the ingredients. The color changes have been exactly those described in the letters. "Spring headlong into the sea of liberty..." Now, there is no longer any turning back. At last I will know. I will soon know if it was worth it, Harry.