My Dear Henry: Jekyll & Hyde Remix


 Contents
 
 Title Page
 Copyright Notice
 Dedication
 Before
 
 Chapter 1: 1883
 Chapter 2: Henry
 Chapter 3: Dr. Jekyll Sr.
 Chapter 4: 1884
 Chapter 5: Mother and Father
 Chapter 6: Professor Kingston Knows
 Chapter 7: First Encounter
 
 
 Present
 
 Chapter 8: 1885
 Chapter 9: Remember Me
 Chapter 10: A Friend in Lanyon
 Chapter 11: A Confrontation with the Man They Call Hyde
 Chapter 12: The Crooked House in Harrington
 Chapter 13: Sir Danvers Carew, Monster
 Chapter 14: A Room in Christ Church
 Chapter 15: The Terrible Business of Sir Carew
 Chapter 16: The Laboratory
 Chapter 17: The Matter of the Letters
 Chapter 18: The Hunt for Hyde
 Chapter 19: Lanyon’s Secret
 Chapter 20: A Funeral
 Chapter 21: Incident at the Window
 Chapter 22: Mr. Poole Has Something to Say
 Chapter 23: A Secret Revealed
 Chapter 24: Miss M
 Chapter 25: Death in the Laboratory
 Chapter 26: Lanyon’s Letter
 Chapter 27: What Is Done Cannot Be Undone
 Chapter 28: Whole Again
 
 
 Author’s Note
 The Remixed Classics Series
 About the Author
 Newsletter Sign-up
 Copyright
 
 
 
 Guide
 
 Cover
 Start of Content
 Title Page
 Dedication
 Before
 Chapter 1
 Author’s Note
 Contents
 Copyright
 
 
 
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 Begin Reading
 Table of Contents
 About the Author
 Copyright Page
 
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 This story is for everyone who has ever wondered if you are enough, just as you are.
 The answer is yes.
 
 
 
 BEFORE
 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER 1
 
 1883
 When my father found my grandmother dead, he let out such a cry that later our neighbor claimed to have heard it, even though his home was a full length of field from ours. I might have been convinced he was lying if I hadn’t heard my father’s wailing with my own ears. The sound of a man’s heart shattering into a million pieces was like the cry of a wounded animal—fear and suffering all mingled together. A chorus of pain rising to the heavens.
 I went to see what had happened and it was then that I saw her—my grandmother, my father’s mother, her brown skin ashen and clinging to her bones like wet paper, her knotted hands balled into fists at her sides. The skin of her lips had curled back, exposing her teeth. Horrifying as those things were, they weren’t even the worst part. The worst of it was the look in her eyes. They were wide open, staring up into nothingness. I don’t claim to know much about the properties of one’s soul, but whatever life had lived in her had fled, and all that was left was an empty shell.
 I was told the corpses I would eventually see as part of my medical studies would not be wide-eyed with gaping mouths. They would be people who had donated their bodies to the London School for Medical Studies, and their mouths and eyes would be sewn shut. My stomach lurched at the thought.
 My father was the only reason I was pursuing medicine at all. He would see me become a doctor, though I might have been content to study law. My father didn’t care about being content, but not because he didn’t love me or because he didn’t want me to be happy. He simply chose to take the path of least resistance.
 He focused on respectability and impressed upon me the importance of how I must be perceived by the people around me. Those were things I could control if I made the “right” choices, though it never made much sense. I couldn’t control how others viewed me, especially when they seemed hell-bent on ascribing to me any number