I Am Mr. Hyde

VIII ♛ 𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖋𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖘 𝖆𝖜𝖆𝖞

There was a pistol lying on his nighstand, covered in red liquid that oddly resembled blood. And beside that pistol lay someone's chopped-off head wrapped in a plastic bag. The flesh of the man's face was shrunken with high age, skin withered, wrinkles carved. Blind bloodshot eyes stared at Dimash blankly but somehow accusingly and relentlessly.

His world - a bottomless pit - derailed and suddenly fell apart shattering into thousands of minuscule pieces when an earth-shaking turmoil kicked in. Dimash felt that the last night's dinner was climbing up his gullet and he rushed into the toilet, faltering and shaking. He bent over gagging and threw up, his insides burning hot, then turning cold. Tears prickled his eyes from his throat hurting so much from the acrid taste. It had been a while since he vomited last time. How many years had it been? Three?

But that old man had had exactly the same eyes as Layla, dark and inquisitive... could it be...? No. Don't panic. Don't panic, Dimash repeated to himself continuously, squeezing the toilet seat cover with both arms on his side. It's exactly what Mr. Hyde aspired with this wicked gift of his. In spite of their similar looks, it doesn't mean that this man is related to Layla. He was just imagining things and expecting the worst as usual...

It took a couple of minutes to strike a mental balance in his mind and to cool off. His heartbeats slowed down after he managed to embrace himself with faux tranquility. There had been a stench lingering in his room but he had surmised it was coming from the sewerage or something. Boy did the place reek now after the source was clarified.

His legs threatened to cave underneath him. Dimash slumped heavily onto the cold tiled floor with a sigh, holding his throbbing forehead with his hands. He couldn't bear the weight of his sins. Yesterday had left blooming bruises all over his body. He had deserved each one of them. He had deserved even more. He had been so willing to cling to his own life that he had even pleaded Mr. Hyde and outlooked the consequences of his actions.

This was the result. How many had died because of him? He was no more than a husk of his usual self. The stronger Mr. Hyde grew, the more Dimash wasted away. Maybe he was bound to die, after all.

It would be easy to cut his skin in the way paper was cut with scissors. One slash to open the arteries in his wrists and bleeding to death didn't sound too bad an option. Maybe someone would notice his absence and call him, only to find out that there was no longer an individual named Dimash Kudaibergen in this world.

With fingers trembling recklessly, Dimash typed Layla's phone number. Mind dizzy, he couldn't think straight. Suicidal thoughts were tormenting him at the back of his mind, buzzing like a hornet's nest. He only had to ensure that the girl was safe and sound, nothing else mattered.

Beep. Beep. Beep. "Layla?" Dimash whispered but the phone kept beeping stubbornly. Why didn't she respond? She wasn't dead, was she?

Dead. That's how Dimash felt inside. Like he was dying.

* * *

Leaving you deprived of a proper burial is the worst way to degrade someone. I'm so sorry. Dimash tossed the plastic bag stuffed with Mr. Hyde's gift into a winding, contaminated river that stretched far beyond the other side of the city. This was the place where the citizens' shit ended up. There was a splash of water when the package was swallowed underwater.

Standing on the embankment with a gaze fixed on the hazy horizon, Dimash's mind was unoccupied by emotions. That old man, whoever he had been, had had a life before he was killed by Hyde. A soft zephyr was blowing the hem of his black leather coat, gently touching his cheeks. There were creepers growing up the walls of rambling buildings a mere stone's throw from him, entangled together like two passionate lovers.