Jekyll sat gingerly in the corner. He finally felt his age catching up to him.
The many years of crazy schizophrenia had driven him insane. His brilliant mind was gone. More and more often, he realized his dual identity- the murderer and the innocent. The devil and the angel. There was no going back now. He couldn't live with the knowledge of murdering people and hiding it. He couldn't bear it.
His palms sweated fiercely as his tightened his grip on the small revolver he cradled against his chest. Jekyll could no longer stand the thought of falling before God, or Allah, Buddha, Billy the Kid, or whoever was up there, and admitting he'd shed innocent blood.
But he pulled the trigger. It was painless. A lot less painful than living with guilt. Death was a relief. Death was painless.
It was done.