An excerpt from The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Reimagined for Modern Times

Utterson was home one night, studying for an upcoming midterm, when Poole showed up at his door, agitated.

"Poole, come in," he said, offering him a seat. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"It's Henry, man," he said, shaky and sweaty. "I don't think there's something right going on."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, man. I don't know. I just haven't seen him, man, for like a week straight now. Not a single sign of him; no glimpses in the kitchen, the bathroom, nothing. And something weird's been happening when I talk to him through the door."

"What kind of weird?"

"I don't know, man. Will you just come over and check it out for yourself? You're a lawyer. You'll know better than me what to do."

"Lawyer in training."

"Whatever, dude! That's more qualified than me."

So Utterson made his way to Jekyll's residence, that unusually cold spring evening. He wasn't sure he had ever seen the streets so deserted, except for his weekly Sunday morning jogs; while that seclusion was always welcomed, though, this weekday evening seclusion was not. Something seemed wrong in the very air he was breathing that night; a certain sense of doom and fate hung over everything.

Poole made a "quiet" gesture with his finger and lips when they got close to the back staircase. "Before he knows you're here, Utterson," Poole said quietly, "I want you to listen to his voice. Okay? And for God's sake, if he invites you in, don't go, no matter what he might say to you." A chill ran down Utterson's spine at that last sentence, but he followed Poole's instructions. The two tiptoed to the back door of Jekyll's rooms and knocked quietly.

"Henry?" Poole asked.

"Poole?" a rough voice replied.

"Yeah, Henry. Look, I have Utterson here. He was hoping to talk to you."

"Too busy." A pause. "Try your call again later."

"Yeah, Henry. All right." Poole motioned Utterson back down the stairway again, and said, "See what I mean?"

"It didn't exactly sound like Henry, if that's what you meant."

"Didn't sound exactly like him, bullshit. I've lived with Henry for six years now. I know his voice better than my girlfriend or my parents. That ain't him. It ain't."

"What are you saying, Poole?"

"I'm saying..." He looked up the stairway in fear. "I'm saying I think that's Ed Hyde in there, pretending to be Henry, and God only knows where Henry is."

"You serious?"

"Yeah, I am." He looked up the stairway again. "I'm scared shitless, man."

"Yeah, yeah," Utterson said off-handedly, looking up the stairs himself. "But it just doesn't make sense. Why would Hyde come back into town, wanted for questioning like he is, get rid of Jekyll and then proceed to hang around in Henry's bedroom for a week? It just doesn't make sense."

"Yeah?" Poole replied. "Well, get this, man. Like, for a week or so now, I've been doing a little courier business for Henry. He's got this..." He looked around the backyard suspiciously, then lowered his voice. "This friend, man, over at the university pharmacy, who slips shit out sometimes for Henry to use in his experiments. Real hush-hush, you know, with some money exchanging hands each time. But Henry's been all booked up in his lab, so's been asking me to do the runs for him this week, which I'm happy to do 'cause he's my friend. But he keeps sending the shit back, see? The same ingredient, over and over, and every time this hookup at the pharmacy gets him a new batch, Henry sends it right back. Last time he included this letter." Poole pulled out a folded piece of stationary and showed it to Utterson, handwritten in Jekyll's signature:

March the 18th, our year 200-

Dr. H.J. is very pleased with the continued work of Mssr. H.W. at the physics laboratory. However, sad to report that latest sample is worthless in its integrity and quite unsatisfactory for the Doctor's purposes. The Doctor refers to the week of August 18th of last year for reference, and the successful sample that was obtained at that date. If Mssr. H.W. can by any means track down any available supply of that specific sample, the Doctor would be much pleased. Expense is no object. Sincerely. Doctor H.J.

P.S. For God's sake, find me the good shit. --H.

"Weird shit, huh?" Poole said.

"Yeah," Utterson agreed, giving the note back to him. "How did H.W. take the news?"

"Not well. Threw the note back in my face and said Henry could go fuck himself for all he cared."

"Still, though. It's Henry's handwriting. I can see that for myself."

"Yeah, but dude, you're missing my point. I saw the guy!"

"Hyde? Why didn't you say this at the beginning?"

"Well," Poole said, meekness creeping into his voice. "Maybe not Hyde per se, but I saw something weird. I've been making some meals for Henry, just because I thought he needed them, and leaving them at the door of his bedroom. Usually he never retrieves them until hours after I've left them there, but one night I happened to be going by the door and saw it open. And whoever was at that door was all hunched over, and he was..." He whispered the end of the sentence. "...He was wearing a mask. Why the hell would Henry be wearing a mask, man? And all hunched over like that? And why did he squeal like a frightened rat and run back into the room so quickly when he spotted me?" He looked up at the rooms. "I don't like it one bit, man."

"Yeah, Poole. Neither do I." He looked at the ground a moment. "Here's what I think is afraid has happened, Poole. I'm afraid Henry's been cooking up a bunch of stuff he shouldn't have. Designer drugs, a new form of speed, something. I think he's been testing it out on himself on a regular basis, and that it's fried his brain. It would certainly explain the mask and the strange voice."

"I don't know, man," Poole replied. "There's definitely been some bad mojo going on back there, though."

"Well, only one course of action, I guess." Utterson looked at him. "We've got to knock that door in and confront him."

"Really?" Poole asked worryingly.

"You really want to call the cops on him? Hand a secret drug lab over to them?" He paused. "One that's technically in your apartment?"

Poole looked at the door, then at Utterson. "Yeah," he said with dejection. "I guess you're right."

"All right. You're in on this, then?"

"Yeah, I'm in."

"Good. Follow my lead." Utterson led the man back up the staircase, and the two stood close to the door. Utterson banged loudly on the antique wooden frame, calling out, "Henry! Henry, it's Utterson. I'm serious this time. You have to let me in."

"Leave me alone, please!" cried a deep voice from behind the door. "Show some mercy."

"That's it," Utterson said in a panic. "That's not Henry's voice, not by a long shot. One, two, three! Hit!" The men leaned their shoulders into the already-creaky door at the same time, loosening the hasp of the locked knob.

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