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"Edward Hyde, come forward." There
was a murmur from the spectators. Among them, Henry Jekyll sat, his stomach
twisting in
sudden fear. He was acquainted
with all the judges. Would they recognize Hyde as Jekyll? The din grew
louder as Hyde made his
appearance. The smiling, charming
man before them was accused of brutal murder.
Jekyll's eyes flicked nervously
across the faces before him. Disgust and disdain showed on their features
but, thank God, no recognition.
He was safe. But then it was dark,
and hard to see clearly. Hyde's darkness. He couldn't be entirely certain.
In hopes of getting a better
view, he leaned forward ...
But Hyde had begun. "Gentlemen!
You have heard of my alleged acts, of my alleged brutality, how I am evil,
inhuman, a monster.
Victimizing my poor patron, Dr.
Jekyll. A good man, you say. A saint perhaps, a martyr to his work and
to his misguided friendship
with me. But, my lords, it's not
nearly so simple." The devil turned, addressing the audience, smirking
triumphantly. Jekyll leaned over
the rail desperately, as if that
would stop him continuing, his hands clutching the bar convulsively.
Hyde caught sight of him, smiled,
and ordered Jekyll brought forward. While he sat there, for the view of
judges and audience, Hyde
entranced them with the tale of
ambition and obsession that Jekyll had kept suppressed for so long. Now
his
friends looked at him with
the same horror and revulsion
they reserved for Hyde. "But," he pleaded, "it wasn't meant to be like
that at all. I had no intention ..."
"Whose trial is this, Jekyll, yours or mine?"
"Don't you see? Don't any of you
see, this isn't a trial anymore, he's taken it over. It's a ... a damned
circus and that fiend is leading you
all!"
"That fiend, as I think we've seen, is you, Henry."
"No!"
"No, of course not ... a good man, a saint perhaps. Martyred to his work. But Jekyll, what was that work you martyred yourself to?"
"To help ..."
"To help? To help yourself. To save yourself from your own sins, shunt them off and away, to mock God Himself and die blessed!"
"Who are you to speak of the Lord!?"
"I am you, there is no difference.
Your reputation, your sainthood, and our life at stake! I murdered,
Jekyll, but yours was the first
sin! This man did not separate
good from evil, gentlemen, he gave the evil life!"
"Whose trial is this, Hyde, yours or mine?"
"You can't condemn Evil, Henry!
Surely you know that! Evil is. And it is in you. And you
are going to be tried and damned for your
evil, which is to say me."
"But that's absurd! You're standing right there in front of me! Stand and be judged yourself, fiend!"
"I, in front of you?" Hyde laughed terribly. "No, that's not it at all! It's just that you haven't opened your eyes yet, Henry!"
Jekyll, to his surprise, found
that Hyde was correct. He opened his eyes, to see himself sitting in the
dock. He - Hyde - was laughing.
He wanted to shout a denial to
the crowd, to his friends: he wasn't this monster! But he couldn't. Hyde
was in control.
He tried screaming instead.
And sat up.
And opened his eyes.
It was not the crimson darkness
of Hyde's show trial. In fact it was his surprisingly mundane bedroom.
He was sitting up in his own
bed. His hands, when he held them
up to catch the faint moonlight from the window, were not caked with blood.
Nowhere was his
affliction in evidence. Somehow
this did not comfort him as it should.