GentsAndGentlewomen

!Warning: M (16+)-rated themes: Violence. - XVII - Into A Rage “Henry, no, this is wrong!” Throwing himself in his friend's way and clutching his raised hand, Victor Frankenstein desperately tried to prevent Dr Jekyll from committing an act of violence against a defenceless boy. “Don't you dare tell me what's wrong or right!” the enraged chemist spat, effortlessly wrestling himself free from the shorter man's grip. “I will no longer bear that noxious ignorance! I will have answers now!” With one vigorous step he was at the operating table again, seizing Fenton's throat, denying him of breath. “Where are you bloodsuckers hiding?! Where are those loathsome creatures who erased my memory?! Speak!” Jekyll demanded, voice boiling with white-hot wrath. “Speak or I will choke the life Frankenstein has given you right out of your bony body again!” “I don't know!” the boy rasped, blue eyes wide and tear-filled in fright. “Please! Please, Sir...!” A scream of impotent rage

- XV - Without A Tear Dr Jekyll was staring at the phial on the coffee table of his sitting room, which, illuminated by the fireplace's flickering flames, emitted an eerie green glow. Oh, how highly tempted he was to just inject the auspicious liquid right into his veins! How he craved to uncover that damned memory, to find out what had happened to him that dreadful day, to finally see clearly again! Of course it was unwise to consume the counteragent to his original serum without testing it on healthy subjects first, of course there was the possibility of unwanted side effects. It would have been only reasonable to find the required sane men – or to follow his friend's way. Well, all due respect for Victor's efforts to help him by studying vampires, but the endless days, weeks, even months it would take until they would eventually be able to question a revived Fenton...! How could he endure them? Would he be able to withstand the temptation of the green elixir, the

– XIII – Under The Surface Who telleth a tale of unspeaking death? Who lifteth the veil of what is to come? Who painteth the shadows that are beneath The wide-winding caves of the peopled tomb? Or uniteth the hopes of what shall be With the fears and the love for that which we see? – P. B. Shelley Despite the cold, drops of sweat soon appeared on Dr Jekyll's forehead and his shirt stuck to the skin of his back, while he himself was stuck in the mud up to his knees. He definitely did not envy the professional gravediggers for their work in the heavy clay. “Have you done this often?” he asked his coworker, panting. “No,” Dr Frankenstein replied, also quite exhausted. “Actually, this is the first time. Until today I used to obtain my study objects from the morgue.” “Shouldn't we have struck the coffin by now?” Henry growled annoyedly. “How deep did they bury this fellow?” “Six feet, of course,” Victor answered with a smirk. “London gravediggers cannot take the liberty

– XII – Out Of Trouble “You are sincerely asking me to help you exhume and revive a dead vampire?!” Dr Henry Jekyll spat, both utterly baffled and enraged. “Are you out of your morphine addicted mind now, Victor? Should I better be preparing a cell for you here in Bethlem?” “Spare me your cynicism!” Frankenstein hissed back. “This is our only option to regain your memories!” “Maybe it is your only option,” the chemist answered between gritted teeth. “This is mine!” With that, he produced a phial filled with a green liquid, holding it up right in front of his friend's face. “The counteragent to my serum,” he explained in a haughty tone, before Victor had the chance to ask. “Created while you spent your days hunting supernatural spectres!” The physician knitted his brow. “Truly remarkable,” he acknowledged. “If it has an adverse effect, it could indeed cure amnesia, but is it safe to use? Have you tested it?” Jekyll's hubris faded, as he admitted: “Only on the mentally ill,

- XI - Off With Probation “He is still out there, isn't he?” John Clare observed, brushing away the curtain of a rearward window in the Godalming library. “He has not left the estate ever since,” Lady Lucy confirmed in a bitter tone. “And does this prove him to be loyal?” John asked further while in his thoughts he added “or simply foolish?” “I do not know yet,” the lady replied with a sigh. “I can sense that he is suffering severely, but I had to teach him a lesson, for he needs to learn the rules. I need to get him under control.” “You are considering taking him in again?” The poet seemed rather surprised that the disgraceful expulsion of Richard Renfield was apparently not irrevocable. “Yes, Mr Clare, you may believe this or not,” she looked up at his pitted face with a sad half-smile. “But I care for him.” John remained silent thereupon, letting his hand and the curtain sink and staring to the floor for a moment. When he raised his head again, his features mirrored