INCIDENT OF DR. LANYON

by Robert Louis Stevenson

Time passed, and the news of Sir Danvers’ death stirred the public, leading to a reward of thousands of pounds for information about the crime. It felt like a personal injury to everyone, yet Mr. Hyde had vanished as if he had never existed. Investigators dug into his past, uncovering a trail of cruelty and violence, a sordid life filled with unsavory connections, and a pervasive hatred that seemed to shadow his every move. But despite all this digging, no one could find a clue about where he had gone. Since he left his Soho home on the morning of the murder, he had simply disappeared.

As the days turned into weeks, Mr. Utterson began to calm down. The death of Sir Danvers felt, in his mind, more than compensated for by Hyde's sudden absence. With that dark influence gone, Dr. Jekyll started to emerge from his self-imposed isolation. He reconnected with friends, becoming a familiar face at gatherings once more. Known for his charitable acts, he now also radiated a newfound sense of spirituality. He was active, spending time outdoors, doing good deeds, and his face seemed to glow with a sense of purpose. For over two months, the doctor enjoyed a peaceful existence.

On January 8th, Utterson had dinner at Jekyll’s with a small group, including Lanyon. The atmosphere felt reminiscent of their old days together, when the three were inseparable. But on the 12th and again on the 14th, Utterson found the door closed to him. “The doctor is home but not seeing anyone,” Poole informed him. On the 15th, Utterson tried again, only to be turned away once more. After two months of nearly daily visits, the sudden solitude weighed heavily on him.

On the fifth night, he invited Guest over for dinner, and on the sixth, he decided to visit Dr. Lanyon instead. At least there, he was welcomed. However, upon entering, he was taken aback by the drastic change in Lanyon’s appearance. The once rosy-faced doctor now looked pale, his flesh gaunt, his hair thinner and grayer. But it wasn’t just the physical decline that caught Utterson’s attention; it was the deep-seated fear reflected in Lanyon’s eyes and demeanor. It seemed unlikely that a doctor would fear death, yet Utterson couldn’t shake the feeling that this was precisely what Lanyon was experiencing.

“Yes,” he thought, “he’s a doctor; he must know his own condition and that his days are numbered, and that knowledge is too much for him to handle.” When Utterson commented on Lanyon’s poor health, Lanyon responded with a firm resolve, declaring himself a doomed man.

“I’ve had a shock,” he said. “I won’t recover. It’s just a matter of weeks. Life has been good; I enjoyed it. Sometimes I think if we knew everything, we’d be more eager to leave it behind.”

“Jekyll is unwell too,” Utterson remarked. “Have you seen him?”

At this, Lanyon’s expression shifted, and he raised a trembling hand. “I don’t want to see or hear anything more about Dr. Jekyll,” he said, his voice shaky but loud. “I’m done with him; I ask you to spare me any mention of someone I consider dead.”

“Come now,” Utterson said, after a long pause. “Is there nothing I can do? We’re three old friends, Lanyon; we won’t have the chance to make new ones.”

“Nothing can be done,” Lanyon replied. “Ask him yourself.”

“He won’t see me,” Utterson said.

“I’m not surprised,” Lanyon answered. “Someday, Utterson, after I’m gone, you might learn the truth about this. I can’t explain it to you now. In the meantime, if you can talk about anything else, please stay. But if you can’t avoid this cursed topic, then for God’s sake, leave, because I can’t bear it.”

As soon as he got home, Utterson sat down and wrote to Jekyll, expressing his frustration over being shut out and asking about the rift with Lanyon. The next day, he received a long response, filled with heartfelt emotion and a hint of dark mystery.

“The quarrel with Lanyon is beyond repair,” Jekyll wrote. “I don’t blame our old friend, but I agree that we must never meet again. From now on, I intend to live a life of extreme solitude. Please don’t take it personally, nor doubt my friendship, if my door is often closed to you. You must allow me to follow my own dark path. I’ve brought upon myself a punishment and a danger that I can’t even name. If I am the chief of sinners, I am also the chief of sufferers. I never thought this world could hold such overwhelming pain and fear. The only thing you can do to ease my burden, Utterson, is to respect my silence.”

Utterson was taken aback. The dark influence of Hyde seemed to have faded; the doctor had returned to his usual work and friendships. Just a week ago, the future had looked bright, full of promise for a happy and respected life. Now, in an instant, friendship, peace of mind, and the very fabric of his existence felt shattered. Such a sudden and drastic change hinted at madness, but given Lanyon’s demeanor and words, there had to be a deeper reason behind it.

A week later, Dr. Lanyon fell ill, and in less than two weeks, he was dead. The night after the funeral, which had deeply affected Utterson, he locked the door to his study. Sitting there in the dim light of a flickering candle, he pulled out an envelope addressed in Lanyon’s handwriting, sealed with his friend’s seal. It read, “PRIVATE: for the hands of G. J. Utterson ONLY, and in case of his predecease, to be destroyed unread.” Utterson hesitated, dreading what he might find inside. “I’ve buried one friend today,” he thought. “What if this costs me another?” He chastised himself for the fear and broke the seal.

Inside was another sealed envelope, marked “not to be opened until the death or disappearance of Dr. Henry Jekyll.” Utterson could hardly believe his eyes. Disappearance? Once again, as in the will he had returned to its author long ago, the idea of disappearance was linked with Henry Jekyll’s name. But in the will, that notion had stemmed from the sinister influence of Hyde; it was there for a purpose that was all too clear and horrifying. What could it mean, written by Lanyon’s hand? A wave of curiosity surged within Utterson, tempting him to disregard the warning and dive into these mysteries. But professional integrity and loyalty to his deceased friend held him back, and the packet remained tucked away in the deepest corner of his private safe.

It’s one thing to suppress curiosity, but quite another to conquer it. From that day forward, it’s questionable whether Utterson sought the company of his remaining friend with the same eagerness. He thought of Jekyll fondly, but his thoughts were troubled and anxious. He did try to visit, but perhaps he felt a sense of relief when he was denied entry. Deep down, he might have preferred to chat with Poole at the doorstep, surrounded by the sounds and sights of the bustling city, rather than step into that house of self-imposed isolation and engage with its enigmatic occupant.

Poole, however, didn’t have good news to share. It seemed that the doctor had retreated even further into the cabinet above the laboratory, where he sometimes even slept. He was downcast, increasingly silent, and had stopped reading; it was clear he was preoccupied with something. Utterson became so accustomed to these unchanging reports that he gradually began to visit less frequently.