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Harry, Harry, you're just too simple.
The man rotated slowly, smiling at his handiwork.
You're going to think - don't
contradict me, I know you as well as I know myself - you're going to think
of this as some morality tale. You're
good, I'm evil. Because you
try to help people and I... well. Can you hear me when I talk to myself,
Harry? I know you don't remember the
things I do, your recriminations
are proof enough of that. Probably for the best, hm? You'd die from the
shock, and where would that leave
me?
Still smiling, the man eases carefully
into his overcoat, mindful not to stain it, and shuts the door of the blood-soaked
room behind him.
He'll have to go straight home
now; his clothes are ruined and Hyde was not about to get himself caught
yet. At a suitable interval, he
tilted his head back and grinned
at the moon. One could easily believe he was howling at it.
Dead, most likely, when your
petty little world turned askew and nothing at all was quite all right.
You should learn to be more like me, Harry.
You'd last longer, even with
the blood on your hands.
For once it really wasn't his fault,
running into the girl, though he'd done such things on purpose, for the
pleasure of trampling them. This
particular specimen was in no
way remarkable; either a worker or of the same class as the creature he'd
left behind in the cheap lodging-room.
Unnerved by his appearance - something in his face, or the the taint of blood - she was already apologizing.
"Oh, don't trouble yourself with
it. Completely my fault. Here's for your trouble." He offered the coin,
smiling. She took it, puzzled, and
went on, not quite running.
Just as well; if she had, I'd
have changed my mind. It's too black and white with you, Harry, and I'm
tired of it. You've assigned your labels,
but you found the wrong ones.
Chaos,
Jekyll! Cruel sometimes, but I'm an arbitrary judge at best. You're no
saint, man! Admit that!
Confess your unspeakable sin,
confess your pride and vanity and hubris!
...And if you do, Doctor Jekyll,
can I really be the devil anymore?
* * *
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer --
Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom
-T. S. Eliot, The Hollow Men
* * * * *