NOTE: For this story, "Henry Jekyll" has been renamed "Jekyll Lionel". Also, when Jekyll becomes Hyde, there is no physical transformation and it is merely psychological phenomenon.

What was it to die? Death was obviously to disappear. For the eternal soul always lived on, but if the personality of a man ceased, then that was certainly the only true way to die. And for Doctor Jekyll Lionel, death was something that he dreaded immensely. That is, the death of his mind. If he were Jekyll, then Edward was dead. If he were Edward, then Jekyll was dead. How could he ever choose one or the other? Jekyll was torn between himself. He was torn between being the sweet, kind-hearted doctor and the wild, violence loving hellion. Jekyll had lived his entire life bound to goodness. Hyde gave him a way out. He provided him with relief and comfort and a greater sense of self and thus completeness. Without him, who was he? Would he not simply perish without Hyde?

Utterson did not understand, Lanyon did not understand, Richard did not understand. Nor did Poole or his father or his brothers. No one understood him. He felt very much alone and that loneliness was like a cold blanket over his body. Writhing silently in bed, racked by the seizures of dissatisfaction, angst, and contempt for those who would have him halved, Jekyll suffered in the quietness of his bedroom, night after night. He suffered in the quietness of his cabinet, shut up behind the red baize door with only his work and his secrets to provide him with solace and some feeble form of restraint. He suffered without his family and his friends and his servants. He suffered with Hyde, who seemed to gain joy where Jekyll only wrought sorrow. Yes, Edward was most certainly a sad person himself, but he could smile, he could take pleasure in life. He could seek out the things that Jekyll dared not venture to on his own. But behind the guise of Hyde, he could but live, he could but continue his adventure. Without Edward Hyde, Jekyll was no longer content to exist in a world as simply Doctor Lionel.

Jekyll could not bear the idea of Edward becoming a simple shadow, a withering darkness in an emptied mind. He could not live with the thought of losing his one and only son, his precious boy, Hyde, and the creation that he had devised out of a phial that everyone had laughed at. Oh, how could such a simple sip of such a simple thing ever recreate such a complex and singular man? Jekyll was the most autistic person on the face of the earth. How could a man such as he ever be anything but one? And thus Edward Hyde had been kept a secret, a thought, a mystery, a poem, a song... forever alone in his own head. If his father knew, well, he would have him committed for sure! That or experiment on him himself, do his own psychological research into healing his madness. And his brothers would help him, and so would Utterson and Richard and Poole. They would all come together and dispose of the boy that Jekyll had worked so hard to parent. Edward would be beaten out of the world, he would be certainly crushed to death. His father and all three of his younger brothers, as well as Utterson, Richard, and Poole... all of them would surely kill the poor, pitiable Edward Hyde.

And what of Jekyll then? He would cease to live, he would wither away, both in body and in mind. His heart would crack and shatter, his soul would pool on the floor, his thoughts would turn to dust. Edward, his dear Edward... dead! Without life, without continuance. Still for ever, melted like a dream. Just gone. And there would be not even a tombstone to mark his existence. There would be nothing, just a memory. The memory of his sweet, mischief loving face; the memory of his savage hyperactivity; the memory of his simple inquisitiveness. A child much dead and a father much grieved. Jekyll could not help but dote on his second self, on his precious, little boy. Edward Hyde. His pride and joy.

To fade into gray, to lose the colours of emotion and purpose, to vanish all together. To die. Jekyll must do everything in his power to protect Edward from the hands of his family and his friends. He must do all that he could to conceal the truth, to hide the duality of his own nature. He must live a life of seclusion and become inscrutable. He must blend the form of his mind into some thing normal enough to make others ignorant of its true division. He must dwell within the darkness of deceit.

Doctor Jekyll had no choice but to withdraw from life itself, from all of his companions therein, and to choose the existence of his coexistence over the presence of others separate from himself. Hyde could not be taken from him, like a suspicious parent concerned that a worried uncle may wrench away the custody of his son. Jekyll was living like a madman, his thoughts centred solely on a piece of his own heart. The strain of it all tasted of sweet self-destruction. The drug, the change, the love, the care, the worry, the loneliness, the rush. The violence of splitting his nature in half, of cutting off the softness in his character, of replacing himself with a person that others could see only as vile. And yet these two halves dwelled together in the same body as if in the same house, sharing a consciousness and memory, and thus living together as father and son. Jekyll raised Edward, and Edward was raised by Jekyll. Their twisted love for one another was unsurpassed in its sickness and obsession.

Poole raised the axe above his head and brought it down upon the red baize door. The sound was deafening and certainly terrifying. Jekyll, who was currently in the split personality of Edward, could not help but cry out in fear. He stood back, uncertain of what to do. The axe came down upon the door again. It was of no use. He could hear Utterson's voice on the other side of the collapsing door, and Jekyll could not bear to give up Hyde. Taking a phial full of deadly poison from the business table, Jekyll looked at himself one last time in the cheval-glass as Hyde, the odd sight of his physical form being no different from Jekyll except for the trace of a sad, defeated smile, and then he went to down the contents.

But to Jekyll's good fortune if not the kind of luck that the doctor wished for himself, the door came down too soon for his madness to take his own life. And Poole and Utterson rushed in, and they forcibly took the phial from his hand, and Poole smashed it on the ground. The glass shattered, splattering vile liquid all over the floor. Restrained by the two men, Jekyll could do nothing but cry out in anguish as he realized that he had failed to save Hyde.

His fate now rest in the hands of his family and his friends, and they would surely destroy the only child that Jekyll had ever loved.