Written by Douglas Kolacki / Artwork by Lee Ann Barlow
Beth and the Arm

Beth almost missed Mr. Hyde at first. Like her brother Stefan, she had cat's eyes, but the cemeteries of London
possessed a darkness all their own: heavy, utter blackness like the bottom of the ocean.

By the time she found him, he was trudging out of the graveyard with a sack slung over his shoulder. He kept his
head down and covered with a top hat. She followed at a distance, darting from house to house, across a Thames
bridge, out toward Peckham to an area where residences and shops gave way to hills, and all signs of civilization
ceased. The hulking man ahead of her never slowed, never seemed to tire; it seemed as though he could walk to
the cliffs of Dover and slosh across the channel and tramp up onto a white Normandy beach and still go on,
muttering and lugging his sack, drying as he went.

His muttering trickled back to her. "
He would…" "oh, yes, he'd like that, wouldn't he…" "…if I could find some way to

He climbed a long slope up a rocky hill, to a tower looming black in the sky—black as the cemeteries, Beth thought,
squinting from behind a tree. Like a windmill bereft of its blades.

The grave robber put down his sack with a grunt. Then came the sound of a sharp rapping. When the door
opened, emitting a slit of widening yellow light, Beth walked up.

~ * ~



The man with burning eyes and unkempt hair, and the gentleman in the greatcoat who had answered the door,
flashed identical startled looks to see her standing there. Beth knew how she appeared to them—black lace
mourning dress, black hair, black paint around the eyes, black lips. Ice-white skin. Other than her green eyes, she
might have stepped out of a daguerreotype.

She favored the grave robber with a nod. "Mr. Hyde." She turned to the man with jet-black hair combed precisely
back over his head. "Dr. Frankenstein."

Hyde muttered; he stamped and clenched and unclenched his fists; he glanced from intruder to employer and
brought to mind a rabid dog straining at a leash. Beth held her face and voice level in spite of her pounding heart.

"How may I help you, Miss?" asked the doctor.

"My name," she said, "is Elizabeth Gervais. You have the arm of my deceased brother, Stefan Gervais. I'm here to
reclaim it. It does not belong to you, and Mr. Hyde should not have stolen it from Stefan's grave."

Both men stared at her for a long moment.

She rolled up her sleeve. "The arm has a tattoo, like this." On her forearm, a red rose entwined around a green
briar. "In memory of our parents. The briar is our mother, the rose our father. She died giving me birth. Our father
died in a coal mine when I was three years old. Stefan raised and cared for me."

The doctor no doubt tried, but could not hide the incredulity seeping through his eyes and tight mouth. He turned
on his employee. "You allowed someone to follow you here?"

The grave robber was rubbing his hands and eyeing the visitor. His sack lay at his feet; there were wet patches on
its bottom. "Well now, doctor, that may not all be bad…"

"Don't even think it, man. Inside with you." He thrust his head at Beth. "Now Miss, I'm sure you're mistaken. If
you'll excuse me, I have urgent matters to attend—"

She willed the fists at her sides to unclench. Very slowly, they obeyed. "Two friends of mine saw your employee last
night. They were out walking in the moonlight, passed the cemetery and thought to pay their respects. They found
Mr. Hyde heaping dirt back on the grave and muttering how you—Dr. Frankenstein—needed an arm. Three times
they heard him say this. So, I must ask, doctor: Do you have it?"

Hyde had gone in. Frankenstein took hold of the doorknob. "Miss, you are mistaken. And I regret you came out to
this remote area for nothing. I have a servant who can walk you back to London, if you will wait just a moment." He
began pulling the door shut.

Beth fingered a pocket inside her dress, where she had hidden two glass test tubes. Yes, they were still secure.

She pointed to her left. "You mean that man? He's going away."

"What?" Frankenstein leaped outside. By the time he realized no one was there, she had slipped past him into the


~ * ~

She found a set of stone stairs winding up through a mortared shaft; everything here seemed cut from stone, like
the ancient city of Petra. A torch in the wall cast her long shadow on the steps. The shaft smelled of damp and
mildew, and wet moss clung to some of it. She hurried up, holding the edges of her skirt, and ignored the cries,
pleas, and finally, curses from the doctor below.

The stairs ended at a door that banished thoughts of old windmills. Stone this was not, but cast iron streaked with
rust, like the door of a bank vault, with a brick-sized peephole covered by a grille.

She approached it—perhaps it was not locked—and heard footsteps thudding up behind her.

Beth turned, expecting to see a flustered doctor. Instead another man confronted her, taller and more massive
than the scrawny Hyde—broad shoulders, a slight stoop, and a brown shock of hair. Bulbous nose, wide mouth.

The door ahead swung inward with a shriek of rust. Hyde stood framed in the arched doorway. It was hard to see
beyond him except that it appeared to be a spacious area, with ropes and chains like a ship.

"Well, heh heh!" His eyes gleamed. "Back away, Q, if you know what's good for you. I claim this one."

The doctor clambered up, out of breath. "You'll do no such thing. Stay back."

Hyde's eyes glared yellow. If Beth gazed at them, they seemed to grow bigger and bigger, the toothy mouth
gnashing beneath them. Hyde stamped, flexed his fingers; he seemed unable to keep still. Beth had learned from
the chemist she had done business with, that this was one symptom of "Formula H" as it was known around

"What's it to you, Dr. Frankenstein?" Hyde spat. "You're just like
him—y ou doctors—all alike. If you want my help
bringing your creation to life, then leave me be for a few minutes." He chuckled.

The doctor spoke patiently. "I'll add another ten pounds sterling to your fee."

Hyde seemed to consider this. "What say five pounds sterling…and the satisfaction of seeing the look on your face
when I tell the lady she's correct? That's right, missy," he chuckled." I remember your brother's name on the
tombstone, and I took note of that interesting picture on his arm, and I sawed it off very carefully with no ragged
edges, else the doctor here would have refused it. Ha!"

Frankenstein's face twisted. His eyes closed, then opened again. "Very well. Hyde," he faced the leering man in the
doorway, "I see this is the price I have to pay for using the formula. When I gave it to you, I did not know you were
the actual Dr. Jek—"

"Don't say
his name!" Hyde howled.

This was Beth's last chance—her sense of self-preservation reminded her every second—to avoid walking into the
lair of a man who collected corpses and sewed their parts together. Other than Stefan, she had never seen a dead
person. The thought sickened her, but that was nothing compared to seeing parts of them lying about. Arms,
legs…dear God! Would there be
heads?  Her stomach tied in a knot, and Hyde's leering face did not help matters.
But then she called Stefan to mind, his face and his shock of black hair, his jokes and the way he commanded
Hamlet better than anyone else she had ever seen. Her stomach settled somewhat, enough to do what she had to

"I need your help tonight." Frankenstein inched between Hyde and the intruder. His voice had gone hoarse in a
short time; perhaps he shouted at these two a lot. "And we must begin preparations now."

Hyde scowled. "Throw her out, then?"

The doctor studied the intruder. "Miss, I am not completely unsympathetic. Perhaps if you saw—"

Saw? This man spoke as if referring to a normal operation, the removal of a growth or some such thing. But when
she thought about what he meant, she went nauseous again, and had to pull a deep breath.

The rest of what he said escaped her. But the other man, the bigger man, lumbered up to her as the other two
disappeared behind the vault door and clanked it shut behind them. The sound of a key turning and latches
slamming into place, followed.

The doctor's eyes and nose showed through the peephole grille. "Q? Keep her company on the balcony." He

Q held out a hand. "This way." he smacked his lips. "Mademoiselle."

~ * ~

The big man led her up an adjacent stairway. They passed through a wooden doorway less intimidating than the
other one, onto a wide space barren of any furnishings. The temperature dropped to that of January; Beth
shivered and hugged herself.

Q pointed over a balustrade. "His workroom."

It surprised her with its sheer vastness. It would have done for a cathedral church service. The balcony lay in the
back, where the organ would be. A bewildering number of instruments, none of which she recognized, glass
beakers and tin globes occupied where the congregation would sit, positioned around a floor of wooden planks—no
body parts, thank God; she breathed with relief. A desk and chair had been pushed up against a central stone
pillar, piled with books and papers, the room's only normal objects. There was a machine with rows of switches and
gauges, and a contraption like a stack of chrome platters, topped with two antennae like an insect.

Two windows occupied opposite walls, each a story high, now mortared over. Darkness gathered at the ceiling high
overhead; the buzzing electric torches did not cast their illumination that far. Another continual buzz sounded,
mingling with that of the torches. The chill seeped into Beth's skin and raised goosebumps on her arms. There was
a smell like pond ice, when she and Stefan went skating in the winters. No odor of the rotting flesh she had feared.
The air was too cold for that.

And in the front, where the pulpit would be…

Her heart rose to her throat.

It lay on a table like a hospital gurney, wrapped in gauze from head to foot like mummies in the British Museum.
Aluminum discs had been positioned on either side of the head. Braces like clamps held its head, chest, waist, and
legs in place. Its right side faced her, and she could see its arm. Bandaged, but visible.

She wanted to cross herself. Was that Stefan's arm? Or the other one?

Q spoke up. "I am from Paris, you know." He spoke with a breathy, innocent voice like a child's. Perhaps he thought
to keep her distracted. He looked at her like the boys in Bristol and Manchester had done, when she had portrayed
Ophelia. He kept edging up close, too—she stepped away—and his eyes glimmered like Hyde's.

"Paris?" she said.

"The doctor, he gave me a second life. Not like that," he pointed a hairy finger at the mummy, "but I hear good
now. I was deaf, you know." He moved closer again. "You?"

"I'm here for Stefan, my brother. He raised me after our parents died." She meant to throw out only a few words,
but found herself welcoming the chance to talk. "He played the violin, and started our acting troupe. We performed
everywhere in England. He played Hamlet and Ferdinand and Brutus, and also Romeo. I played Ophelia and Miranda.
We performed once in Paris."

"Ah, ahhhh!" Q fairly danced. "Then you heard my bells!"

Bells? "So you met the doctor there?—in Paris?" She backed away from another advance.

"He had to leave Geneva. The police." Q's voice fell to a kind of low rumble, and his eyes gleamed brighter. "He told
me he would cure my hearing, if I went with him to London. So, I help him. He worked a long time, first on dead
animals, then a human heart he kept beating for three weeks. Now…"

Below, the doctor bent over the mummy. He now wore a white hospital smock tied in the back, that reached below
his knees. No protection from the cold, but he seemed not to notice. He called Hyde up to the platform with him,
and the two exchanged verbal jabs and chatter of some sort, which Beth could not make out above the constant

Beth studied her companion, noting his speech, his mannerisms.

There were five or six versions of Formula H circulating around London, all purporting to be the breakthrough
concoction discovered by Dr. Henry Jekyll. Why anyone would want it, was something Beth had no wish to
investigate. She had purchased her two test tubes from a chemist whose eyes went everywhere at once, whose lips
always seemed trying to twist themselves into a sneer, who had a habit of rubbing his hands, and who surprised
Beth—maybe he shouldn't have—with an overall air of seediness his choice of profession did not match. Beth was
certain she had been dealing with the chemist's own "Hyde." The man himself may not even have known what
business his alter-ego was conducting on the side.

And Q showed those same traits: the gleam in the eyes, the slight warp of the face muscles, and the peculiar,
inexplicable way the light went out of the countenance. There was no mistaking it.

Thunder rumbled overhead. Beth tensed, guessing what it meant. Stop! Pass us by. But another crash sounded,
then another, as if Zeus himself was curious how this experiment would turn out, and chose this site to throw all
his lightning bolts.

"Hyde!" Now Frankenstein's voice rang out unmistakably. "The cosmic diffuser!"

Hyde, cackling, spun a wheel here, threw a switch there. And the congregation of machines came to life.

The consoles, the coiled contraptions standing upright on the floor—Beth saw no boilers, nothing indicating steam
operation—crackled and clapped with electricity. Bits of lightning twisted between aluminum bulbs, throwing off
sparks. The instruments vibrated and hummed, as if barely containing the energy of the heavens surging through
them, the power straining to burst its man-made fetters.

The doctor went to an iron ship's wheel and spun it. Chains shook, and the darkness overhead stirred. Beth saw
what it was: two doors in the ceiling were sliding apart. The next thunderclap boomed, and the flash lit the whole
ceiling for an instant, every detail of wood and mortared stone, as the lesser electricity arced and writhed through
its gadgetry below.

And the table with the wrapped body began to rise.

Four anchor chains hanging from the now-open ceiling, tightened and pulled it up. Some donkey engine chugged
somewhere among the clutter of furniture and instruments, as the table ascended above it all. Beth's eyes followed
it, thinking, if the doctor is correct—still it was so hard to believe—the arm will be part of a whole different living
man, and lost forever. It would be like losing Stefan a second time.

She returned her attention to Q, who was inching toward her again.

"I need the water closet," she said.

"Eh?" He screwed up his massive brow; he seemed not to understand. Then his face lit up. "Ah!" He looked from
her to the ascending body to the doctor and Hyde fussing and darting about below. He shook his head. "Later."

"It will not wait."

"Ah. Well then, quickly?" He opened the door. "It is not far." He started down the stairs, and in so doing, showed
her his broad back.

Beth drew out one of the test tubes. She grabbed Q by the hair, pulled his head back, and jammed the open tube
in his mouth.

Q snorted, spat. He whirled on her. The empty tube spun out of sight. A tinkling sound came as it shattered
somewhere down the stairs.

Beth had never seen an actual transformation. She had no idea what she would do it he attacked. But Q convulsed,
his limbs twitched and spasmed and it was clear he had no control over them. His eyes, impossibly big, bulged
larger still, and he broke out in a sweat. His back swelled out, nearly doubling in size, forcing his head down.

"Q?"—the doctor's voice, echoing from the main room. "Q! Where are you? Miss Gervais?"

The overgrown, misshapen child Q had degenerated into, shivered three steps below Beth. He seemed not to hear
the doctor. The gleam was gone from his eyes. He puffed out breaths, they smelled of—what?—cooked cabbage?
What did Frankenstein feed him? His face settled into a kind of softness.

"Sir? Who are you?"

He scrunched his brow beneath his sweaty tangle of hair. "Say again." He watched her mouth.

"Who are you?"

He nodded. "Yes. I'm deaf, you know—"


"The doctor's drink. It gave me my hearing, but…made me bad…Thank you." His eyes sprang wide, as if at a sudden
thought. "Did I hurt you?"

She remembered; Jekylls and Hydes had little memory of each other's activities. "No. You were a perfect gentleman."

He broke out in a smile, like a boy given a sweet. He laughed, clapped his hands. "Ah, ha ha! But I should tell you
who I am. You are—?"

"Elizabeth Gervais. Beth to friends and family."

"Ah. My name is Quasimodo. Bell ringer, Notre Dame." He pronounced it "Notra Dom." It was impossible to mistake
this face for the one before, though the flesh and bones were exactly the same.

"Q!" Frankenstein's voice thundered. "Answer me! If you—" A new crash of thunder drowned out the rest. And
then a second noise arose, a loud, sustained crackling, from the main room.

Quasimodo gaped in that direction. He seemed easily distracted. The crackle gave way to a series of surges, like

Beth stiffened.
It's happening.

She flew past the hunchback, patting his shoulder on the way, and raced down the stairs.

~ * ~

When she reached the vaulted workroom, the table was coming back down. Wisps of smoke curled up from the
body. Frankenstein worked with his back to her, yanking a chain end over end, hastening the table's descent with a
squeak of pulleys. Hyde watched with arms folded.

"Hyde, you imbecile! How many volts did you set it for? It's smoking!" He yanked on a chain. "Smoking!"

In seconds, the table reached the floor. One by one, Frankenstein threw off the braces. An awkwardness took hold
of Beth. Now that she was here, what to do?

"Relax, doctor." Hyde spoke slowly, deliberately, in a way Beth had not heard before. "I do retain some of
knowledge. And I've studied your ways carefully, though you don't know it. It's alive, be assured of that." He
shifted his weight from foot to foot. "And useful as well."


Quasimodo, beside Beth, said this. She had not noticed him coming up. The hunchback lifted a finger. "It's moving."

It moved, not slowly or sluggishly as Beth would have expected, but like a man roused from a nap. The creature
groped, tried to prop itself up, failed, clawed its face instead, tearing off bandages. Beth did not want to see the
face, but she could not look away. It was square-jawed, head shaven bald and, thankfully, completely unfamiliar.
Somehow she had expected to see stitches across it, but Frankenstein had not gone so far as to jigsaw together
parts of separate faces. It appeared so

Then it unraveled the wrappings from its right arm. Now Beth saw stitches, joining the arm neatly to the shoulder,
but mainly…

Her blood froze. There, in plain view, was the rose and briar tattoo.

"We've given birth, doctor!" Hyde crowed. "There's a new living human now, where there wasn't before!"

And he careened about, sweeping beakers off tables, knocking over test tubes, anything glass. Selective, not
random; some of the bubbling chemicals he ignored, others he flung to smash. His shoes crunched over broken
glass. Frankenstein cried out. Hyde looked about him, cursed—then—

"Ahhhh!" He nodded and rubbed his hands. Flames were licking up, brown smoke rising, then billowing. Fire raced
over spilled chemicals. "Good." He dusted himself off.

Frankenstein shouted again, some kind of oath, and ran to the spreading flames. Beth could smell the smoke now.

"You two! Please." Frankenstein motioned to Beth and the hunchback. "I'll keep the creature's attention. Through
there," he pointed to another door, "is where I sleep. Get the blanket off the bed and try to smother the flames."

Beth's head spun. The flames were spreading too fast, the creature's table and its scattered wrappings burning
now, the air hazy with smoke—it stung her eyes—and the creature itself, a head taller than any of the others,
tottering about, growling and snarling as if trying to form words. But—the doorless archway the doctor had
indicated—had she seen Hyde go in there? Her eyes watered. She wasn't sure.

Then Hyde confirmed it, running out with bulging jacket pockets that jingled as he stepped.

"Did you forget?" He spoke now in cackles, snarls, and howls. Chaos seemed to animate him as electricity animated
the creature. "I have
his education. That fire will burn through anything you try. Water won't work. Two people are
getting out of here," he stuffed a final handful of coins in his pockets—Beth didn't know how he could prance and
dart back and forth with all that added weight, but he did, his bulging jacket pockets swinging— "myself, and my
new kindred. It was getting lonely, being the only scoundrel of my league about. Just so you understand—I planned
this," he started for the entrance, "since you first hired me, and told me what you were on about. The perfect man!
Ha," he cackled again—he could not seem to get enough of cackling—"
I had a much better idea. A brain scarred by
an over-surge of electricity, driven mad! Something that'll rampage through London! Queen Victoria herself will get
all in a fright, wringing her hands. Can't you just see it! Ha, ha!

"In short, lady, gentleman—and
freak—" he sneered this last at Quasimodo, whose expression did not change. "The
good Dr. Jekyll has now created two monsters: yours truly, and—" he stabbed a finger at the growling, towering
man. "It!"

Hyde had the key out now. Quasimodo rushed the door, surprisingly fast for a man of his size, and in an instant
crouched between Hyde and the exit.

Hyde held the key high. "Want this, do you? Go get it!"

He threw it across the room. It landed somewhere with a clink Beth could somehow hear above the creation's
growls and Frankenstein's attempts to soothe it.

"Be calm." Frankenstein's voice held steady amid the rising flames, the acrid smoke. "It is all right. We'll get out."

Hyde let loose a laugh so wild, so loud, that even the creature winced. "Let's all burn up together! I'll have no more
need for such things as this!" He pulled coins from his pockets and flung them about. One stuck the creature's
face, another landed by Beth's feet and rolled on its edge into the flames. Quasimodo dashed after the key,
stamping through flames. Smoke stung Beth's eyes.

Then Hyde produced, from somewhere in his coat, a second key. He jammed it in the keyhole, turned it, opened the

"Here's what will happen," he called out. "My new kindred there will break down the door when the flames get too
hot. By that time either he or the flames will have finished you. You should not have given him the strength of ten
men, doctor," he leered, "but all the better for me. I shall go celebrate a job well done."

Beth ran at him. He held still for another instant, then leaped through the door and slammed it behind himself. Beth
arrived just in time to hear it lock from the other side.

Smoke stung her eyes. She bent down low. With the height of the ceiling, it would take a long time for the place to
fill up with enough smoke to kill everyone. Of course, they would have burned up long before then…

Frankenstein still called out to his creation, trying to calm it.

Beth went to Quasimodo, took him by the shoulders. "You are strong, yes? Can you break it down?"

He looked at her with watery eyes. Tears streaked his face. "I will try."

He went to the door. Frankenstein hesitated—he could never quite take his eyes off his creation, marred as it was—
but went to join the hunchback.

A great roar sounded. The creature, face flushed red, stampeded out of the flames. It made for the two men now
at the door. Perhaps the fire had finished what Hyde started in sending it mad. Maybe it understood what Dr.
Frankenstein had done and would have gone into a rage, even without Hyde's sabotage.

Beth jumped to intercept it. She grabbed the creature's arm. Stefan's arm. Yes. She grasped it tight, twining her
arms around it. She kissed it. The creature tried to shake her off, but she held on, even as it staggered through
the smoke, dragging her along. The creature made a low growl, a puzzled sound, and shook harder. Beth let go of
the arm and seized its head, clamping it between her hands. It was wet with sweat and she could feel the stubble
where the scalp had been shaved. The brown eyes gazed at her with genuine surprise.

"Stefan?" Though the face was another man's, she felt the arm made the whole body her brother's. She still could
not fathom the thought of joining the parts of entirely different people together into one person, someone who
actually lived. Her hand dropped to Stefan's, taking it, clasping it. Sick from the thickening smoke, she thought of
all the books this hand had held as he read them to her, or played the violin, or lifted as he recited Hamlet's
soliloquy for audiences all over England and in France.

"Are you in there, Stefan? Is any of you there, your memories, any traces left in your nerves, the nerves in your
hand, your arm? Can you hear me, Stefan?"

"Miss!" Frankenstein's voice bellowed through the smoke. "We have the door open."

She ignored the doctor, rested her hand against the creature's massive chest.

And then, she heard another voice.


She jerked up her head. It had issued from the creature's mouth. It looked down with human eyes—not mad, not
rage-driven or afraid of flames. Like Stefan's.

The creature took her other arm, its hand still locked with her own, and dragged her across the floor. Heat stung
her skin now. Through the smoke the door appeared, yawning open.

Frankenstein's creation set Beth on the threshold, pushed her onto the landing. Then it let go and shoved the door
closed with a resounding clang. Beth scrambled back to avoid it.

Smoke swirled out the peephole grille. The grille popped out and made a smaller clang on the floor, punched by the
creature's fist. It might have broken its knuckles. The fist wriggled through and kept going, followed by the arm, all
the way to the shoulder. It shuddered once, twice, and the creature roared on the other side. On fire. On fire,
except for…

Beth watched, hands to her mouth, until the smoking arm fell to the floor.

~ * ~

The thunderstorm had dwindled to a cool sprinkle. Beth, Quasimodo and the doctor stood in the rain and watched
as flames consumed the windmill.

The hunchback's first act, upon seeing Beth emerge, was to remove his shirt and present her with it. She thanked
him and wrapped her brother's arm in it. Now she cradled the arm like a baby, leaning forward, trying to keep off
the rain. The doctor said nothing, but only watched the fire.

"Perhaps," said the hunchback in halting English, "it was never meant to be. I believe in…fate."

"Perhaps." Frankenstein said nothing more.

~ * ~

Beth found Hyde the next evening. This time he haunted a tavern, not a graveyard—she had gone from one to
another until she found him—slumped over a collection of half-full glasses, tumblers and bottles.

He raised his head when Beth sat down beside him. "Eh?" His eyes were lidded.

"Mr. Hyde?"

"What do you want?" His breath stank of alcohol. He squeezed his eyes shut, opened them again. "Oh. You." With
great effort he raised a glass. "So you got out. And not even a scorch mark, it seems."

She plucked the glass out of his hand—he seemed not to notice, but only muttered under his breath—and placed it
on the bar. "Yes, we all got out. Quasimodo, the doctor and me, no thanks to you."

"But not the…" Another belch.

"No. That's what I've come to see you about." She surveyed the array of glassware. "I see you're putting the
stolen money to good use?"

"I have to, missy.
He's overdue to come back, and once he does, he'll give it all away to Herr Müller and his
orphans, like he always does with my honest earnings."

His eyes fell to a shirt-wrapped bundle in her lap. Then, bloodshot, they raised again.

"You didn't."

"I did. Or the creature itself did. I need you for one final job."

"Final? I got other clients, you know."

"I have formula with me," she said. "Perhaps
he doesn't need to come back so soon."

His ears pricked up. "Do you now? Well then—got my tool in trade right here, I do," he patted the shovel leaning
against the bar by his feet, "an' I can go now."

"I need you to dig down to Stefan's coffin, and replace his arm in it. We'll say a prayer over it once you've covered
the grave back up."


"The formula," she reminded him.

Hyde looked at her for a moment. Then he took a glass and drained it, Adam's Apple bobbing as he swallowed,
banged down the glass, took his shovel and got up, donning his top hat. "Shall we go, then?"

She followed with a smile, and allowed him to lead her out the door.

I have, she thought, one more debt to pay. Reaching into her pocket, she took out a glass tube of bubbly liquid.

Yes, it was the formula. But a new kind. She'd paid the chemist another visit, and found him restored to his own
self. He had made a new discovery, and was more than glad to share it with her, free of charge.

This chemical would bring back the affable Dr. Jekyll…permanently.
Douglas Kolacki began writing while stationed with the Navy in Naples,
Italy. Since then he has placed stories in
Weird Tales, Dreams &
, Aurora Wolf and Liquid Imagination Online. He now haunts
Providence, Rhode Island.