The strange swap of Dr Hyde and Mr Jekyll

First transformaion

Jekyll locked the door of his room, and after waiting for a few moments, he turned around to eye the room in which he spent so many days and nights: his beloved laboratory, with dark walls imbued with the acrid sent chemicals and the dim light of the candle on his desk  reflecting on all the metallic utensils and ampoules around the room. It took him some time to take the first step towards his desk, but eventually he did.
He couldn't wait any longer. Today was the day... yet he was very hesitant.

That was exactly what the whole experiment was about: hesitance, especially hesitance caused by guilt, regret and even pity. That sense of overwhelming wrongness and inner sorrow that stood in the way of the greater good.
That was Henry's biggest pain, that heartache that took hold of him whenever he had to do what had to be done, and that everyday seemed to grow stronger in him.
He had to put a stop to it.

For years he studied this phenomenon, this pity inside his heart, until he came to realize that that sense of guilt, along with an animalistic and primordial sadism, were the two elements that together made the human soul.
Good and evil, compassion and hate. Two faces of the same coin, fused together and forced to struggle against each other until the very end.

But Henry decided that he wouldn't bear with that curse sent from God. He decided to set himself free of the shackles of regret, to put a stop to all his pain.

He sat at his desk, and started staring through the ampoule in front of him, at the red liquid inside. Red and thick like blood, but of a slightly brighter shade.
Suddenly, Henry took something from the drawer next to his desk: a small beige container, containing what seemed to be some sort of salt. He placed it next to the ampoule, feeling a rush of adrenaline flow into his veins as he stared firmly at the two chemicals. Was it excitement or fear? It was hard to tell.

In theory, the experiment itself wasn't nothing to be afraid of. Jekyll only had to mix together ll the ingredients, then let them react, and finally drink the potion.
The problem was, that if he made even the smallest mistake in his calculations, such as adding too much of the salt, or not leaving the compound enough time to react, he would have died of intoxication, one of the most painful deaths considering that the formula wasn't as strong or as other poisons, such as arsenic for example, meaning that it would take an agonizingly long time for him to die. Not the best of perspectives.

But, he couldn't wait no longer. He had procrastinated for weeks, every day glancing at his desk and moving his eyes away, feeling a sensation of sickness taking hold. He had tried to find the courage to make that final step, but every time he just ignored that shining red ampoule. The point of no return.

That day, however, there was something quite odd in Henry's behavior. He looked more tired than ever, and his movements were all smoothed by something, sorrow perhaps, or just numbness: that was something that happened to him very often during that day, the 12th of October. His father's birthday.

The brown haired man took his eye away from the ampoule for a second, and gave a look at the small wooden frame which was placed on a dark shelf on the opposite wall.

It was a colorless picture of an old gentleman: handsome face, wavy hair, a pair of oval glasses on his prominent nose, and two bright eyes which stood out from the rest of that grey image. In the corner of that picture there was written, with a quite elegant handwriting: "E. Jekyll".

Henry took his eye off that picture. No. He wasn't going to let anything stop him now. He had waited for too long.
He took a piece of paper and a pen and played with it for a few moments. Henry couldn't help but glance again at the picture for a split second; what would he think of him he could see Henry now?
Jekyll shook his head and began scribbling quickly, almost feverishly, on the paper , then placed the note next to the frame.
The paper said:

《In case of my decease, all my possessions, from the family estate to my own fortune, have to go to the servant Jasper Pidgley.
In addition to that, all my notes, documents, and my private letters are to be burned.
H. Jekyll 》

Henry then took a few steps away form the note, but he stopped almost immediately. He thought for a few seconds, then he went back to the shelf and took the frame, holding it with both his hands as if it was en extremely rare and frail gem.

Jekyll put it back on the shelf after a moment of thinking, with the front of the picture down. He didn't want any eyes on him at the moment, especially his father's.

He sat at his desk again, took a few deep breaths, and tried to concentrate on the ticking of the crock on the wall.
So monotonous, boring, yet certain, eternal.
Even if he died, that clock would keep ticking. Time would pass. The world would go on.
It was both reassuring and frightening.

"It's now, or never." He told himself, as he grabbed the ampoule.

He added half of the salt. The solution smoked, and the color began changing from red to purple, then from purple to green. Henry watched in amazement his hard work giving results. It was stunning, all these different colors, all these minuscule particles following exactly whatever he wanted them to do, like believers following humbly their God's instructions.
He brought the ampoule closer to his eyes, to watch closely his own creation.

The hand holding the glass started trembling lightly. The moment had finally come, the moment where his life would change forever. For the better, or for the worst. Henry took several shaky breaths, and tried to slow down his heart.

After some minutes, he brought the ampoule to his lips, and in a strong glow of courage, he drank the potion.

Henry put the empty glass down, and as soon as he did so, he noticed an odd feeling in his throat, like the potion was burning him from the inside. The fire grew bigger and bigger each moment, expanding through his bones and veins.
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot right through his chest. Jekyll opened his mouth wide to scream, but a chocking sound came out instead. It felt as though his bones were all cracking and screeching loudly, filling Henry's ears with that shrill noise.

He fell on the ground, screaming and grunting, grabbing his head with his hands desperately, as if doing so could stop his flesh from burning and his skull from being crushed. He tried a few times to get on his feet, but his legs failed him every time, and the agony only seemed to grow more with each attempt.

Suddenly, Henry started feeling nauseous and his vision became more and more blurry. Even the pains seemed to be smoothed by something. "No..." he muttered. He started feeling sleepy. He wanted to stop fighting. He wanted to close his eyes.

All his senses seemed to get weaker, and his movements enfeebled by a strange force inside him."...no..." he raised a hand in a desperate attempt to reach the desk that towered above him, as if reaching that desk would put an end to all his agonies.

"f.. father..." and as this word left Henry's lips, his eyes closed, and his arm fell limp on the ground.