Chapter Text
Edward Hyde stumbled out of the public house.
Or rather, he was pushed quite definitely through the doors and to his knees on the cold, hard brick pavement. Staggering to his feet, he smiled to himself and turned to the woman standing in the doorway.
“I’ll try again tomorrow night then, shall I?” he said.
The woman snorted her contempt, turned, and let the door slam behind her. Hyde spun himself in a few circles, trying to figure out where exactly he had found himself tonight.
White Chapel? No, the street was too empty.
Hyde stood there for a moment trying to examine his surroundings through his glazed eyes when he noticed footsteps quickly approaching from behind him. Hyde almost tripped himself up trying to confront the man who was barely a foot away from him.
Swaying on his feet, Hyde tried to swing a punch at the stranger.
The tall man easily ducked under the fist and was now pressed right up against Hyde’s back. He tried to stop himself from shivering in response to the hot breath that was now at his neck. His swaying senses were straining to gather themselves against the frankly intoxicating smell of this stranger’s breath. A hand had crept its way around his neck, pawing at the soft flesh under Hyde’s collar.
“You don’t know who you’re threatening,” he said. He quickly turns to try and land a blow at the stranger’s stomach. Again the man simply walked out of the way of Hyde’s slow, gin-soaked advances.
“Nor do you,” the strange man spoke.
He strode to Hyde’s side once more but stopped short when Hyde let out a cry for seemingly no reason. Hyde keeled over, clutching at his stomach. He sunk to his knees, and wheezed heavily careening backwards in uncontrolled pain.
His pursuer stepped back, intrigued and examining the strange sight before him. He sniffed at the air and hummed to himself in interest.
Hyde was now grabbing at his throat, his voice turned higher pitched than before and he was now shrieking. His eyes were strained open so wide that they looked like the lids might tear at the edges and the previously ragged and dirty blonde hair that he possessed had dulled to a mousy brown.
He fell silent, straining to cry out and letting out two final sharp spasms, one through his back and the other through his neck, as though he was being struck across the face. Then he seized up on the pavement beneath him, breathing heavily before finally falling unconscious.
The stalker, previously entranced by these events, now approached the limp body before him and was with a realisation.
This is not the same man I approached before.
He was smaller, not thinner but indeed less toned than the imposing figure he once cut. His face was softer and less grubby, and in the dull light of the lamp-lit street, he almost seemed to be radiant. The tall stranger gathered up this new man’s unconscious form, remarkably gently, and carried him back to his carriage.