Jekyll-Hyde Effect

Chapter 5 - CAPTIVE

Be careful what you wish for. I had asked for the basement, and now I lay in it. Literally. Metaphorically. Emotionally. The weight of my own desire pressed down harder than the concrete walls around me.

It had been over three months since that night—the night everything changed. Time no longer had meaning. Days and nights blurred together in a haze of monotony, punctuated only by the sharp sting of the tranquilizer, the cold gleam of steel, and the endless, hollow echo of the cell door slamming behind me.

The basement. Once, I thought it was merely a storage area. Now, it was my prison, my lab, my cage. And, strangely, my arena. I had learned its secrets quickly: the small cell tucked in the corner, the strange scent of antiseptic and chemical fumes, the organized chaos of flasks, beakers, and mysterious powders. It was a laboratory—and a cage. I had become both scientist and subject, the prisoner of my own mother's obsession.

Each day, she brought in a new man, a chemist, a scientist—or perhaps just some hired hand—to attempt her formula. The one I had come to crave, the one that controlled my life, that shaped my very being. My mother, desperate, believed that these strangers could replace me in some twisted experiment, that they could replicate what Mrs. Walker had made for me.

I knew better.

I had observed. I had memorized. I had learned without her knowing. The last ingredient, the final step, had been Mrs. Walker's secret, one she had never revealed. And I—locked away like a lab rat—had seen enough to piece it together.

The basement door creaked open, and the sound pulled me from my thoughts. My mother's voice, soft and forced, echoed down the steps.

"Mom?" I called quietly, the words brittle in the cool, stale air. "Mom, is that you?"

"Yes, dear. It's me," she replied. Her voice carried a false cheer, fragile and brittle. "How are you feeling today?"

How ironic, I thought. How am I feeling, trapped in a cage, denied my freedom, my autonomy, my very life?

"I'm great," I said, my smile razor-sharp, insincere. "Pure bliss, these past few months. Thank you for asking."

She frowned, but she didn't respond, turning to her task of preparing the usual injection. My eyes scanned the basement, sharp, calculating, until they settled on the tranquilizer. My pulse quickened. There was a way forward, a way to claim my freedom—but my conscience faltered. Could I really do it?

The voice whispered in my mind, as it always did. Short. Clear. Commanding.

Do it.

I swallowed, my stomach twisting. The red haze of anger, of desire for control, clouded everything. I wanted it. I needed it. The cage had to end.

"Mom," I said softly, careful to sound sweet, compliant. "I think... I can help with the formula."

Her hands froze mid-motion. "What are you talking about?" she asked, suspicion threading her voice.

"I saw Mrs. Walker make it," I said, tilting my head, letting the truth and the lie intermingle. "...I may have learned a few things along the way."

Her eyes widened. Guilt and relief warred across her face, and for a moment, she seemed human, vulnerable.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, voice trembling. "Do you know how worried I've been? How much I've run around, searching for someone capable of helping you?"

A tiny pang of pity flickered in me. Almost... fleeting. But I swallowed it down. This was my moment. My chance.

"First, you never tell me anything," I said, voice steady and controlled. "Second, you locked me in a cage. Third, consider this payback. And finally... I'm done waiting."

Her shoulders slumped, a mix of resignation and fear, but she was still cautious. "You were about to walk into the night," she murmured. "Where were you going to go?"

"I don't know," I said, suppressing the rush of adrenaline. Lies. Every word was a lie now, but it was the only way. "Now... will you let me start?"

Hesitation. Fear. The keys jingled in her hand, and she moved toward the gate. "Only if you promise to stay down here until you've made enough," she said, eyes searching mine.

"I will," I lied again.

The gate creaked open. I stepped out. My limbs ached from months of confinement, my hair stuck to my face, my skin grimy. But freedom had never felt so sweet, so sharp, so intoxicating.

The chemicals beckoned. The formulas, the flasks, the empty beakers—they were mine now. My mother lingered, hope flickering in her eyes.

"What do you need?" she asked softly, cautious.

A glance at the tranquilizer, conveniently left unattended, made my pulse race. Revenge. Control. Power. And the voice in my head was back, whispering like a serpent in my ear.

Do it.

I moved slowly, deliberately, the weight of my decision pressing against my chest. My fingers curled around the tranquilizer. The last obstacle. The final barrier between me and absolute control.

I pressed it into her neck and whispered, just loud enough for her to hear:

"Oh, someone's staying down here—but it won't be me. Mother."

Her body collapsed with a dull thud, and a cold thrill surged through me. Satisfaction, yes—but also fear, power, liberation, and a tiny whisper of something I couldn't name.

For the first time in months, the basement was mine. And the game... had only just begun.