THE DARKNESS WITHIN - PART TWO

In a renowned work of 1886 Robert Louis Stevenson presented the literary world with the notion that “man is not truly one, but truly two”, having a good side and an evil side. Furthermore, through the use of a certain drug each aspect “could be housed in separate identities”. As part of a TV discussion one hundred and four years later horror writer Clive Barker, in a television discussion entitled “Horror Café”, put forward a similar premise as the basis for the ultimate horror film of the last millennium. I read Stevenson’s “Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde” many, many years ago but it was only recently, 20 years on from its being made, I got to watch “Horror Café”, though in some ways I wish I had not. Even as the assembled half dozen horror writers and film makers theorised on a person discovering the Mr Hyde hidden within them I discovered my very own Hyde lurking within myself.

In an attempt to disabuse myself of this absurd notion I sought the help of Dr Sally Medway, a hypnotherapist as well as a very dear friend. By the time I awoke from my hypnotic sleep I knew my fears to be real, in part through the recall of events sterilised from my mind by the American military but ultimately through the terrible site that met my waking eyes; Sally’s naked and mutilated body lying bloody and broken amongst the shattered debris of her office, murdered unknowingly and unwittingly by my own hand.

This much I have told you already, let me now continue with my confession, my final confession. Once it is done I, like the fictional Dr Henry Jekyll before me, will exorcise my inner demon by the taking of one final life… my own.

* * * * * * *

I cannot say with any certainty how long I knelt on the floor of Sally’s office for I was lost in a fog of revulsion and remorse. In the midst of my self loathing a voice I could swear was Sally’s spoke to me deep inside my mind:

‘You are not the one responsible for this; others made you what you have become.’

In many regards that voice was right, but even as Henry Jekyll took it upon himself to explore further his terrible theory so I must have volunteered to be a part of the US military’s program to develop a team of savage, untraceable murderers. They’d told us we were a weapon to be used against our enemies; how then had I become a killer in my own back yard? From the memories revealed through Sally’s hypnosis one name stood out: Professor James Caleb, my commanding officer. It was time to get some answers; it was time for retribution.

Unwilling to draw Caroline into this hideous mess I returned not to her empty apartment but to my own, the first time I had been there in several months. I don’t know if anybody saw me leave Sally’s office and get into my car but the fact the cops weren’t waiting for me when I got home came as a huge relief. As I received no visit from them later that night or the next day a faint hope grew in me that I was not a suspect in the savage slaying of Dr Sally Medway.

Safe in the solitude of my own four walls I removed every single item of my clothing and wrapped them in a plastic sack for disposal later. I stood under a painfully hot shower for half an hour, trying to wash away not only the blood but also the feeling of defilement, the feeling of somehow having been mentally raped. Fearing a sleepless night I nonetheless crawled into my long abandoned bed where, despite my concern, the combination of mental exhaustion and four double brandies obviously did the trick for I slept soundly until well past dawn.

It never ceases to amaze me how easy it is to track people down via the internet. Despite the “top secret” nature of his work it took me little under an hour to come up with the home address of Professor Caleb. I decided to risk a twenty-four hour delay and start the twelve hundred mile drive to Little Rock, Arkansas the following morning. My priority now was to get some more rest and to dispose of my bloodstained clothing; the furnace deep within the bowels of my apartment building would be perfect. Incriminating plastic bag in hand I stepped out into the hallway:

‘Hi there, its Jon isn’t it?’
‘What the fu...’ I began before recognising, vaguely, the guy from the next door apartment.
‘Sorry Jon, didn’t mean to startle you. I’ve not seen you in ages.’
‘No…Trevor isn’t it? I’ve been staying at my girlfriend’s place.’
‘Oh right, I see. You gonna move out for good? I’m going to, can’t stay here after the murder.’
‘Murder? What Murder?’ I asked, a sick feeling filling my stomach.
‘The doorman, Stan what’s-his-name, he went berserk and carved up his wife, right here in the building. You mean you didn’t hear?’
‘No, as I said I’ve been staying at Caroline’s. Sorry to rush off Trevor but I’ve got some errands to run. Nice bumping into you.’
‘Yeh, ok. Maybe we’ll see each other again before one or other of us moves out. Ciao then.’
‘Bye Trev,’ I replied half heartedly, already moving towards the elevator. ‘Not if I see you first,’ I said to myself.

The drive to Little Rock took over twenty hours, spread across two days. I arrived at Caleb’s house just before midnight and let myself in; thank God for an army education. He may have been a top notch scientist but he was a lousy soldier, he did not so much as stir while I tied up and gagged his wife.

‘Hi Professor,’ I said, shining my torch in his face. ‘Remember me?’

He opened his eyes then immediately shut them, dazzled by the brightness. Moments later he opened them again, slowly this time, and sat bolt upright.
‘What’s the meaning of this?’ he demanded, looking around him. ‘What have you done with Patricia?’
‘Your wife is fine,’ I assured him. ‘If you want it to stay that way I suggest you answer my questions. I say again, do you remember me?’
‘Of course I remember you dammit! You’re Corporal Palmer. What is this about? You’ll pay for this absurdity, I’ll see you shot!’
‘What and waste all that research?’ He instantly flinched, a concerned look enveloping his face.
‘You mean you remember?’
‘I remember all right. Hence this little chat.’
‘Give me a minute,’ he said, the authority returning to his demeanour. ‘Let me turn a light on.’
He stretched his hand to the switch by the bed; despite pressing two switches only one light came on. ‘Bloody bulb must have gone,’ he muttered.
‘Shame,’ I said, lowering my torch but keeping my gun pointed at his head. ‘I’m sure your army salary will stretch to a new one. Enough of this crap. You told us we would be used to fight the enemy, that we’d be undercover in enemy territory, in Iran or Russia or someplace. Why am I killing people in New York?’
‘Oh you stupid, naïve fool,’ he scoffed. ‘ “Undercover in enemy territory”! How’s your Russian? Tried passing yourself off as an Arab lately? We have enemies at home as well you know. Dissidents, whiners, trouble makers, ignorant do-gooders. It’s them you were designed to kill. We can’t just get rid of these people, but we can hide their deaths in the middle of a rash of serial killings.’
‘So who did I kill then?’ I demanded.
‘You don’t remember everything then?’ he smirked.
‘I remember enough; who did I kill and why?’
‘The Jeffersons and the Blewitts were lovely people who never harmed anyone as far as I know. They were merely collateral damage, sacrificed for the greater good of their country. Wendy Travis however was a nosey, noisy journalist who put her nose in the wrong place once too often.’
‘How did I know whom to kill?’ I stammered, my resolve and my bravado crumbling in unison.
‘We sent you a package full of a white powder. The moment you opened it the powder was released and the evil side of your being was called into action. The package also contained details of your assignment.’
‘Why did you choose the other two families?’ I asked.
‘We didn’t, you did. We supplied you with one specific target, we also supplied the drug required for your…transformation; the rest you did yourself.’
‘What happens now? Will the drug wear off?’
‘That’s the idea. As for how long that will take, you’re the prototype so it’s difficult to say.’
‘So I could kill again?’ I queried, knowing I had already done so.
‘Possibly,’ he replied.
‘What if I go to the cops?’ I challenged. ‘Tell them what really happened?’
‘For starters they won’t believe you and aside from that you’ll probably get the needle. Mind you, you’re going to die anyway, after what you’ve told me I have no alternative.’
‘Perhaps I should just kill you instead, then no-one would be any the wiser.’
‘You could but it won’t change anything. That other button I pressed initiated a live feed of this conversation to my headquarters; they’ll know what to do. One of your colleagues on the program will be activated and you and your beloved Caroline will be the next serial killings to hit the news.’
‘Another package I suppose?’
‘Oh no,’ he replied. ‘Something more direct. We had an incident last time, some of the powder leaked out in transit. Someone inhaled a smidgen of it, only a smidgen mind, but enough to make him kill his wife.’
‘The doorman at my building,’ I stated flatly.
‘You know what? I do believe it was.’

Even though the evil within me could be made manifest, “housed”, as Stevenson put it “in a separate identity”, it was the normal, everyday, instantly recognisable ex-Corporal Palmer who pulled the trigger… and shot the conceited, heartless bastard that was Professor James Caleb squarely between the eyes.

Terrified by the threat to Caroline’s life I raced north to Quincy, Illinois. I covered the five hundred miles in little over eight hours yet still I arrived too late. A cordon of police cars stopped me one hundred yards short of her parent’s home; too far away to reach her but close enough to see the black body bags being carried from the house.

‘Jonathan Palmer?’ said a voice.
‘Yes, that’s me,’ I replied haltingly.
‘I’m FBI agent Walter Brown. You’re under arrest for the murder of William and Joanna Price and of their adult children Collin and Caroline. Step out of the car please.’

TO BE CONTINUED…..