Jekyll, Hyde, and Pride

Part I: The Story of the House

It was many years ago when this tale was first told. Or maybe it wasn't, you don't know. You don't even know for sure where this story takes place. Well, I'll concede that. The bulk of it happens in the town of Beckenschester, New York. A very old town, almost as old as America itself. The town is mostly done up in Victorian architecture, and half the townsfolk like to act as if they are Victorian as well. It's only about ten miles south of New York City, so it wasn't uncommon for the people of Beckenschester, particularly those on the northern side of town. For example, the lawyer Mr. Utterson was sometimes hired by the people of New York City. And, funnily enough, Mr. Utterson is the subject of the beginning of this story.

Mr. Utterson and Mr. Enfield were enjoying their usual Sunday walk. They never talked on said walk, and usually enjoyed the appearance of a chatty acquaintance, but neither would miss that Sunday walk for the world. Their friendship was somewhat of an odd one, and Mr. Utterson was a lawyer and Mr. Enfield an actor. One would not think they had much in common, but clearly, they saw something in each other. Their route varied each time, but they usually ended at Mr. Enfield's house, for dinner of course. That said, on one such walk, they walked past a particular house, causing Mr. Enfield to pause.

Mr. Utterson turned back to his friend. "What is it?"

"Well, this house, particularly the back door, is connected with a very odd story in my head," replied Mr. Enfield.

"Oh? How so?"

Mr. Enfield sighed. "A few nights ago, I was walking home from a play through the darkest streets, musing on my latest project. I was the only one for the majority of that walk, save for the lamps. Streetlight after streetlight, not a soul in sight. It shouldn't have bothered me so, it was very lat- well, rather, early.

"After quite a while, I happened across two others. One a little man, the other a young girl, no older than ten. They were walking separately, of course, on separate streets, until they happened to meet at the intersection. The girl was rushing, not looking where she was going, but the man could definitely see her coming. At that intersection, instead of letting the child pass, that man..."

Mr. Enfield took a moment to compose himself. "He trampled the poor thing. Didn't even pause as he walked right over her, not even as she screamed."

Mr. Utterson put a hand to his mouth.

Mr. Enfield seemed not to notice. "Of course, I shouted at the man and ran after him. I grabbed his collar and dragged him back to where the child laid on the ground, and already a crowd had begun forming around her. As I later learned, it was her family. A doctor soon joined us. After he examined her, and found that she was more frightened than hurt, you would have thought that would be the end of it. But I noticed something odd. The doctor was a calm man, I could tell, rational and reasonable, but whenever he looked at the man responsible he turned white with rage and murderous desire. I should know, I felt the same about that twisted thing. Of course, killing being out of the question, we did the next logical thing. We threatened him with a scandal so big his name should be ruined throughout the state, social and financial ruin.

"At the same time, as the doctor and I were threatening the man, we were keeping the girl's mother off of him. At the very least, she would have scratched up his face. The other women in the group were just as hateful, I had never seen a circle of more hateful faces. There in the middle, that man, sneering and acting as if nothing was the matter, although I could see through his facade that he was truly terrified. He said, 'Well, a man in my position is helpless should you choose to publicize this incident. Name your price.' And we screwed the man out of two-hundred dollars for the family, although he made it clear he would have liked to haggle. The next thing was to get the money, and he led us to the very house before us. He whipped out a key, entered the back door, and came out with a check payable to the bearer with someone else's name on it. I can't mention the name, for they are a very respectable figure. I pointed out the oddity of the situation to the man, as one does not walk out of a house in the middle of the night with a check for two-hundred dollars under another man's name. But he was still as collected as before, and said, 'Fair enough, you have every right to be suspicious. I will stay with you until the bank opens, and cash the check myself.' So the four of us set off, the doctor, the man, myself, and the child's father. We spent the night at the doctor's house, had breakfast, and then went to the bank. Sure enough, the check was real. I even told the teller I was sure it was a fake, but they assured us the signature was genuine."