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In all the years Henry Jekyll had
resided in that massive house--from his days as a child frolicking and
hiding mischievously from Poole, until
now, a full grown gentleman who walked with the grace of a prince-the
large wood staircase had never been so long and winding. Even with Helena's
arms coiled strongly around him, he was unable to take more then a
few steps without pausing to rest his legs and catch his breath. Even before
they
had reached the stairs he was exhausted, the formula taking its toll
after but one injection. He had paused by a window, leaning his weight
against the
sill precariously, his breath wheezing softly in his injured lung.
Helena had never been so tempted to order him to bed. He himself had been
ready to
give up by the third and forth stair, especially after Helena's hand
accidentally brushed against his sutures and brought forth a searing pain.
He held his
breath, however, and waited desperately for the sensation to subside,
hoping she wouldn't notice. There he sat; a little more then halfway down
the
large flight, fighting to catch his breath and control his swimming
vision, when he heard a sound that stirred his heart.
"She has always had the most beautiful
voice, Henry. Indeed you married a song bird." Helena said, smiling. She
spoke gently, knowing
what agony his trek from the bedroom was causing, and he raised his
head slowly from her shoulder, where it had unconsciously fallen the moment
he
sat.
"My darling, Emma . . . little
do you know the mere sight of your face heals all wounds . . . " He whispered,
closing his eyes to savour each
beautiful note that flowed forth from the drawing room. "How many more?"
He spoke, a bit louder, coming out his haze.
"Not many Henry, you're nearly
there . . . twelve, perhaps?" Helena answered, instantly taking his weight
as he began to stand, too quickly
for her liking.
"Gently, Henry . . . "
"My love is close at hand."
My love is holding your hand.
"Henry?"
Jekyll's heart stopped. His eyes
grew wider as the voice boomed inside him, startling him more then paining
him. He reached quickly for the
railing, bracing himself as he spoke urgently through clenched teeth.
"Not now! We'll fall, and you know it!"
"Oh God! Henry, fight him . . .
We must get you upstairs . . . " Helena whispered, hearing the words he
spoke so venomously, knowing
Hyde must be trying to assume control. She watched as he stood waiting,
for the pain or the fear to stir once again within him, but no agony lanced
him. He turned to Helena, about to speak, when his breath caught in
his lungs once more.
I'm merely saying hello! That is what neighbors do, on occasion, is it not? I'd hate to disregard protocol, Henry . . .
"Leave me!" Henry shouted, causing
the ceasing of Emma's music from the drawing room. Helena watched anxiously,
tugging on the arm of
his smoking jacket persistently.
Oh very well, you whiney man, enough blubbering! It's been simply delightful chatting with you . . .
"Henry, what is happening? Come with me, please, you must-" he raised his hand, silencing her quickly.
"I'm fine . . . he's gone. He simply enjoys tormen-"
"Helena? What on earth was that sound?" Emma called from the hall, still out of view.
"Nothing, Emma! I merely stumbled on the stairs . . . I'll be right down!"
"Alright, then. Poole has fixed dinner, shall we take it in the drawing room?" She inquired.
"No, the study, Helena . . ." Jekyll whispered. "I'm doubtful my legs will carry me as far as the drawing room."
"Why not the study, love? I just
stirred the fire." Helena called down the stairs, heeding Henry's request
though she was inwardly weary that
he should be lying down.
"Very well then."
Silently he relinquished his grip on the railing, leaning more weight against his assistant as he dropped one foot to the next stair, then the other.
"You're mad, Dr. Jekyll. A bed
is the only place where you belong." She scolded him, all the while tenderly
easing his weight down the
stairwell.
"I'm fine, Helena, truly. That was just his way of reminding me he exists. As though I would ever let that knowledge slip my mind."
"Still Henry, you really should
be resting. Your reaction to the drug was not what we anticipated; you'll
need your rest. Slow down!" She
insisted as he took each stair with greater speed, determined to reach
the study before Emma.
By now the door was in view, and
within he could see a fire burning brightly, above it the portrait of his
father he held so dear. A smile graced
his lips then, seeing a familiar landscape other then that of his chamber.
"My study awaits, Helena. Look
at it, so commonplace, yet such a welcomed sight." He said excitedly, and
she couldn't help but smile as
well, seeing his colour brighten with thoughts of being well once again.
"Certainly it looks familiar from
here, Henry, but once inside you'll realize your wife has done a bit of
redecorating. You're estate has, after
all, always lacked a sewing room."
"Oh dear . . . " he mumbled, humoring
Helena's witty remark. "Well, at least she doesn't desire a stable. That
would be just terrible . . . " His
joke caught her off guard, coming forth from such weak lips, and she
burst out. "By the grace of God, is that the bottom I see before me?" He
quipped
as his shaky legs stepped off the final stair.
"You've made it, Henry. Congratulations are in order."
"Thank you. Now if I can just make it a few more feet . . . "
"Don't worry, you've got me to help you. You'll be sitting by the fire in your favourite chair in no time."
"In that case, onward trust steed!
You're stable awaits!" He shouted with as much energy as he could muster,
a meek sound at best, and a
laugh spilled from Helena lips yet again. A few moments later they
crossed the threshold of the study, his legs buckling after nearly every
step.
"Just a few more steps . . . I
won't let you fall." Helena whispered reassuringly as his body's trembling
became more and more pronounced.
His face bore a look of fear, him almost certain he would not make
it to the chair, that he would crumble to the floor with the very next
step. He did
however, reach this welcomed oasis, and Helena settled him in gently,
straightening his robe and smoothing his hair into a tie, Henry sitting
limply and
struggling to catch his breath as she situated him like a mother would
her child.
"Thank you, again . . ." He whispered,
the words traveling on exhaled breath. He looked as though he would surrender
to sleep at any
moment, but Helena knew he was merely preparing himself for Emma's
arrival. She stood without a word and retrieved a blanket from the couch
on
the other side of the room, gazing over at the exhausted doctor as
she unfolded it. He looked as though he was sleeping, his face completely
relaxed,
the light from the fire dancing over his strong cheekbones. She knew
better, however, having seen the facade of strength he so readily put forth
whenever Emma entered the room, as she would soon. She went to him
then, covering his legs carefully, tucking the warm wool around his waist
and
stocking feet. "What's this about you not being a nurse, Ms. St. Just?
Surely you were born for the profession." He spoke softly, looking down
on
her with tired eyes as she knelt by the chair.
"How amazingly comedic you are, Henry! Not another word or I shall go take dinner in the drawing room with Emma."
"Ah, at last, some peace." He said,
smiling that radiant smile she loved so much. She stood and walked around
to his front, looking down on
him thoughtfully.
"You look perfect, Henry. A picture of health." She said, and he responded with a small sigh, barely audible, to prove he knew better.
The door opened. Henry's smile began to glow.
"Helena who on earth are you talking to?"
"It's simply a lovely evening,
isn't it, Mrs. Jekyll?"
Emma's heart skipped a beat, then took off like a rabbit with a fox on its tail.
"Yes...yes it is...quite lovely,
Dr. Jekyll..." She whispered, her words caught somewhere between the gasp
in her lungs and the sob in her
throat. He was dying, he had confessed this fact to her with calmness
and clarity, yet here he sat, smiling with all his heart and soul. Even
now, with
his strength waning frightfully, after a morning of treatments, he
was somehow here with her-not lying futilely in his bed.
"And I trust you're doing well?" He said, softer now, as though he was afraid to break the lovely tension coursing between them.
"Fine, fine...and yourself?"
"I'm perfectly fine now that you're here." He grinned again, unable to hide his sheer elation in her presence, and her tears finally began to fall.
"Oh _Henry_!" She burst out, flying
to his side, her dress ruffling across the wooden floor. He shut his eyes
then, for a mere moment,
praying to God that he could somehow find the strength to maintain
his composure. A brief flint of the horrifying images he had witnessed
earlier that
day whipped through him, a composite of everything he intended to protect
his wife from. Lying to her was enough...he would never give into his
heart, never confess that which he wanted most to tell. More then anything
he wished he could share with her the agony he was facing, beseech her
to
squeeze his hand through the terror that would consume him all the
mornings to come. He could not, however, allow her to feel that terror...never
would he ask from her anything so great as to watch him deteriorate
before her eyes. Instead he would spend what time he could with her in
his own
study, and as soon as it was impossible for him to leave his room he
she would spend the evenings with him in his bedroom. No more of this
separation! If he was weak, well then...she would just have to see
through to his inner strength. He would have to allow himself to relax
around her.
As long as she was shielded from the pain...and the horrible side effects
of the formula he and Helena had begun to refer to as "Tell-Tale Heart",
his
weakness could be tolerated. He needed to be with her as much as he
needed the very air he brea-
"Henry?" He felt a soft sensation
on his cheek, realizing that for a moment he had almost drifted off. _Dear
Lord, not now...give me the
strength to be strong for her. Let me give her the very strength I
derive from her beautiful face._ "Oh darling...my precious angel." She
spoke through
her tears, clutching his face in both hands as he opened his eyes quickly,
meeting hers quickly. She watched him for a moment, scrutinizing his
features...the tired, creased brow, the pale, tender lips. He looked
so utterly, horribly _sick_, but he was here with her now, staring up at
her, and that
was all that mattered. Helena St. Just excused herself from the room
unnoticed, slipping quietly into the hallway and going to find Poole. She
would
have to inform him they had one more guest for lunch.
"Shhh...my love, don't cry..."
He whispered, finding his strength in her eyes, much to his relief. The
brief feeling of severe tiredness that had
over taken him leaving now, his trek down the stairwell long forgotten.
Her divine presence made all the difference in the world. "You look so
beautiful, darling..." He whispered, seeing the freshly shed tears
of happiness on he cheek, and the urge to cry himself became suddenly
overpowering. "Why on earth are you crying, sweet one? I'm here now,
there's no need to flush those precious cheeks." He spoke in the most carefree
manner he could manage; yet all she did in reply was grin and sob harder.
He desperately needed to relieve the burning in his own eyes, but refused
to
give in, worried he would loose all control over his emotions. "Come
here, darling... Let me hold you, I've missed you so terribly." He spoke
again,
louder and with more conviction, and she fell to her knees in a heap
of satin, her head coming to rest gently in his lap. He stroked her hair
lovingly as
she clutched the blanket that surrounded his strong legs, still smiling
and sobbing at the same time.
"Henry, h-how on earth did you
m-make it d-down those frightful stairs?" She gasped, trying to move beyond
her tears, but finding them
difficult to tame.
"Shhh...No more tears..." He whispered, closing his eyes, wiping away on of his own that sprung free.
"I know...I'm...I'm sorry, forgive
me, you gave me such a start! Sitting here in your chair...it's been so
long since I've come in to find you
there. I never thought I would see that sight again." She breathed,
slowly regaining her composure. She opened her eyes, seeing nothing but
his
nightshirt and the rich embroidery of his robe, too weary to look up
at his straining brow yet again. His hand moved gently from her golden
locks,
resting gently on her cheek before moving further downward, rubbing
and caressing her back and shoulders in a soothing gesture. She reached
for his
other hand, lying limply in his lap, and kissed the palm delicately,
holding it close to her face.
"I'm here now, angel..." He responded,
caressing the nape of her neck absently, watching the fire burn with a
newfound passion for the
simplest of things in life.
"Yes, darling, but how?" She asked, sniffling.
"Well, it's quite simple actually...when
I became too tired to face the next step, I sat and scooted the remainder
on my hindquarters..." He
quipped almost seriously, beaming when she raised her smiling face
at him, laughing the musical laugh he loved so well.
"You silly, silly man...you still
haven't lost the ability to make me laugh!" She said softly, standing slowly.
He caught her by the arm as she
moved to retrieve another armchair similar to the one he occupied,
and instead eased her gently into his lap. "Oh! Henry...you shouldn't,
you'll hurt
yourself..." She gasped, but he shook his head, grimacing only for
a brief moment as he adjusted her weight carefully. Finally he sighed,
leaning
forward to rest his head against her breast.
"Ahh...much better. Its reassuring
to know my favourite pillow hasn't lost an ounce of comfort." He whispered
gently, and she sighed--near
tears again--resting her head gently atop his. They sat this way for
several minutes, neither saying a word. Eventually her hand raised to gently
stroke
his hair as he continued his rubbing on her back, occasionally raising
his head just enough to drop a soft kiss on her throat.
"How are you, Henry...truly. Helena
seemed quite flustered this morning ... she joined me for tea--near tears--but
she wouldn't disclose a thing
about your treatment, only that you were asleep and resting comfortably."
He sighed, clearing his throat, his trembling hand never leaving her back.
"Understand, Emma...my condition
hasn't changed...I...We're trying as best we can, but I'm not exactly as
filled with willpower as I once
was..." She gently placed a finger on his lips, silencing him quickly.
"Yes, my love. I understand, Henry.
We mustn't dwell now, being here with you is all I need..." She spoke sweetly,
her words touching him
beyond reason. "Oh, I'm so glad you're here with me...more then ever
before! I had to leave that room while I still had the power to do so,
even if it is
for just a few moments." He paused, cautiously choosing his next words.
"When Helena gave me my...my latest
medication, the effects were not entirely what we anticipated. Oh Emma,
the things I saw! The
horrifying images caused by the chemicals coursing throughout my brain,
permeating my very senses! Understand that my weakness meant nothing in
light of a chance to leave behind the beasts that lurk in the shadows
of my chamber."
"Yes of course, Darling." Emma responded, her heart aching at his pain. "My love, I want so much to help you somehow..."
"You do help me. More then you
can ever comprehend-your eyes, Emma...no sane man could ever look into
them and not feel complete.
You...heal me." He spoke softly, voice fading with each passing syllable.
He stared into her lovely face for a moment longer, loosing himself to
images of things that would never be. "What beautiful children we could
have created, you and I..."
"Hush, darling...that wasn't meant to be." She whispered with more strength then she thought herself capable of.
"You're so incredible, Emma. So perfect...so utterly perfect."
His tears escaped then, glistening
reminders of all his shattered dreams. He wept for Helena, for her constant
labour and dedication, for
leaving her when she had given up all traces of her own life to help
his cause. He wept for Emma, praying she would find the strength to go
on with
her life, to find and marry someone who would never put his work before
her, such as he had. But most of all, he wept for his loss, realizing for
the
first time that he would most likely not survive his experiment, that
he would lose all he held dear to his heart.