Unconditional

When Elizabeth shot Edward, Henry died too. Neither man suffered. Edward's eyes widened in surprise when he saw her pull the revolver from her hand-stitched bag. When he realized her intent, he laughed at her. He was dead before he could insult her again.

Then she went to her knees and cradled his shattered head to her breast, his warm blood soaking the thin fabric of her silk blouse. She would probably have to burn it and her overcoat as well. She looked into Edward's empty eyes and wept for Henry.

Both men had loved Elizabeth in their own way. Henry was gentle. His strong arms would encircle her petite waist. She would rest her cheek against his shoulder and he would kiss the top of her head, smelling the lavender soap in her clean hair. She would wrap her arms around him and feel warm, her cheeks flushing, her heart beating faster. He would whisper her name into her auburn hair, feeling her tremble slightly.

Edward would beat her, tearing the bodice of her dress as she tumbled to the floor before he fell upon her and raped her.

But Elizabeth understood both men. She loved Henry, the man of science, the scholar. Dear, gentle Henry. They had met on a fall afternoon. She worked in the college library. He was a professor, newly transferred from Oxford. He had made an inquiry at her station and ended up taking her to dinner. Eventually she had quit her job and became his assistant, taking a room near his house and laboratories.

Ten months later she met Edward. He was exciting where Henry was unsure of himself. Edward took her to music halls and stage plays. Henry had her transcribe notes and measure compounds for his experiments. Edward dared to make love to her while Henry blushed when he accidentally brushed her bare wrist with his hand. At first, she loved both men.

Until Edward began taking what he wanted, when he wanted it. He no longer felt a need to woo her. To seek her favor. His only desire was to satisfy his ever growing lusts. He was always drunk. He insulted barkeeps and hansom drivers. And she submitted. Fearful of his beatings.

Henry asked her about her bruises and she lied to him, knowing he could not protect her from Edward, fearful of how he would react to her submission to the stronger man. She yearned for Henry to take her as Edward had so often done. She looked into his green eyes wanting to tell him. Afraid to reveal her shame. Then later that night, she would flinch from the intensity of Edward's brown eyes.

Her revulsion of Edward grew in proportion to her love for Henry until, one day, Henry declared his love for her, as well. Elizabeth could no longer keep her shame a secret. But she could not hurt Henry either. She would do whatever she needed to do to protect him, knowing his gentle spirit could not stand the truth.

In the end it broke her heart that the last eyes she had to look into belonged to Edward Hyde and that she would never again see the gentle, loving gaze of the kindest man she had ever known, Dr. Henry Jekyll

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