The Getaway - Chapter 17: The Storm
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
He wasn’t entirely lying. Now that he was fully awake, Jekyll recalled that he had been dreaming about his experiment again. It often haunted his dreams: the failures, the fears that his countless attempts may end up in poisoning or something more fatal. These often manifested into nightmares, but worse were the dreams where he succeeded.
He would taste the sweet nectar of success upon his tongue, feel his mind clear of all distractions and pain and at last, he would be free.
Only to awake and feel the crushing weight of reality slamming down upon his shoulders like an anvil. He would be left feeling exhausted and drained of all joy, tears of failure pricking and stinging at the corners of his eyes. It’s not fair, he would think, bitterly, miserably. It’s not fair.
“What are you thinking about?”
Utterson’s soft baritone lifted Jekyll out of his self-deprecating thoughts, back into the present, surrounded by the sounds of rain and the soft ticking of the lawyer’s pocket watch lying on his nightstand.
“Poole, mostly,” Jekyll lied, the words coming to him too easily. He hesitated, guilt quickly coiling into his gut afterwards, as he so hated lying to Utterson. “And my work back in London,” he added, careful to keep his voice neutral.
Utterson shuffled up into a seated position, clasping his hands in his lap, his slender fingers falling into the folds of the bedcovers. Jekyll swallowed and opened up his book, finding where he had left off in the Fritters section.
“I hadn't seen much of you as of late before we left,” Utterson mused. “I assumed you were engrossed in some new project.”
Jekyll knew he had been withdrawing from his daily life in the past few months, but only now did he realise that in his fervour, utterly consumed by his mission to find a cure to the horrors within his own head, he had completely forgotten about the people in his life that cared for him.
“Yes…I was,” he replied slowly, stomach twisting with remorse. “I am.”
Utterson fixed him with his honest brown eyes, curiosity brewing in his stare.
“Is it of great importance?”
Jekyll wanted to laugh, scream, cry. My God, he truly had no idea, did he?
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