Elixir

Content Note: The story features dark themes, including unethical experimentation, murder, and psychological manipulation, but is not inappropriate or explicit.

It was the February of 1946, and Artemis Fenn, lanky, diligent, and earnest, sporting a dark green tweed suit and clutching the strap of a satchel stuffed with textbooks, was scrambling across the frigid University of Oxford campus in an attempt to get to class on time. He hurried past the jutting turrets and towering spires that loomed over his path, his frantic huffs creating a trail of condensation like the stream of smoke left behind a steam engine, which dissolved into a crisp air that still buzzed with the ending of the war. The slight hunch in his stance was due to a persistent nervous condition and not to any lack of self-esteem, as he was quite confident in his cognitive abilities and future prospects.

Artemis was a student of chemistry, a subject that had allowed him to receive a deferment from conscription because it’d been deemed essential to the war effort. The study of chemistry had become more notorious since the outcomes of the war, events that further expanded Artemis’ curiosity regarding the possibilities to manipulate nature and bend it to the will. The unforgiving, caustic nature of chemical warfare both terrified and enthralled him, a disconcerting combination that was somehow motivating. He viewed the newly-developed nuclear bombs, though destructive seemingly beyond measure, as the radiating epitome of biological innovation. Artemis was a quietly ambitious young man, and planned to find the next discovery that would shape the world.

He couldn’t be late for Professor Hadden’s class again, but he was indeed a few minutes behind. As he creaked open the door the professor paused his speech, allowing a silence that amplified Artemis’ steps across the hall.

“Late again, Mr. Fenn,” declared the professor.

“Yes sir, I’m sorry sir,” Artemis stammered. “You see-”

“Please stay after class so I can speak with you.”

“Yes sir,” he surrendered, crumbling into his seat.

Artemis sat through a lecture on halogens that was hard to concentrate on given the scolding he anticipated. Several students had not made it to class, an absence that noticeably increased by one as each week went by; Artemis assumed they’d dropped the course on account of its complexity. When the class was over he waited for the other students to file out of the room before he approached Professor Hadden.

“Ah, Mr. Fenn,” Hadden began.

“Again sir, I’m terribly sorry for my tardiness,” atoned Artemis.

“Never mind that,” pronounced the professor, of which Artemis was surprised and relieved to hear. “I’d like to speak with you on a different matter. A proposition, to participate in some research outside of the classroom. My personal investigation into an experimental conundrum for which I’d like some assistance. I’ve paid close attention to your work and have deemed you to be the best suitable candidate. Are you interested?”

“Why, yes sir,” responded the student. He didn’t feel he had any choice to refuse given he’d been spared rebuke for his multiple late arrivals.

Professor Hadden asked Artemis to accompany him to his office, where he would continue with the details of the experiment. They delved into the basement and followed a gloomy, labyrinthine passage to its end, where a wide door led into the professor’s station. Upon entering there was another flight of steps to descend, into a high-ceilinged, larger-than-expected yet cramped room which brimmed with stacks of books and manuscripts. Within sat a great oaken desk strewn with papers, and the two sat at the chairs that managed to fit behind and in front of it.

On the far side of the room stood a large table, replete with test tubes and beakers filled with multi-colored solutions, perched atop unlit Bunsen burners. There was a large cabinet behind the table that was filled with a myriad of vials containing various reactants; its doors hung open, its contents overflowing onto the table. There was a curtain beyond covering some unseen material, likely more experimental substances. A foul odor pervaded the room, but that was likely from some ambiguous chemical reaction. The chaos of the office was overwhelming, while serving as testament to Professor Hadden’s extensive work.

“Now Mr. Fenn, I must implore your discretion about the information I am about to divulge. Can you assure me of your confidence?”

“Yes sir, of course sir,” returned Artemis. He was now quite intrigued; Professor Hadden was highly reputed and respected for his scientific achievement.

“Are you familiar with the story of the Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?”

“Er- Yes, yes I am, sir. I read it as a youth.”

“I was sure of it. Now, you know the purpose of the solution Dr. Jekyll concocts?”

“To, assume an alternate identity, one which allows him to indulge in his darkest desires without repercussion. Mr. Hyde.”

“Yes, but there is repercussion for Jekyll’s consumption of the solution, isn’t there?”

“Well, yes, he becomes unable to control the transformations. He becomes stuck as Mr. Hyde.”

“Indeed. He develops a conspicuous dependence on his concoction, first to become Hyde, then to stave him off once the personality begins to involuntarily take control. He dies as a result of being usurped by Hyde. It is quite a tragic demise for the industrious chemist.”

The professor stared blankly at Artemis, expecting an answer. He finally replied, “Yes, addiction to the potion proves to be his undoing.”

“Precisely. But what if the potion had none of the unpleasant side-effects? We will never know what Dr. Jekyll could have achieved through his creation if he’d had control over its effects.” The professor spoke as if Dr. Jekyll was a real person and not a character of fiction, and it was ominous the way he referred to the positive possibilities of the Jekyll solution. “Which is why I’ve brought you here. To find a perfect rendering of that very potion.”

Artemis was confused more than he was bewildered. He understood the appeal of the potion, as he’d sometimes wished he could be someone else. But he didn’t understand why someone would seek to get away with murder as did Hyde. And he couldn’t comprehend how Professor Hadden could recreate a fantastical potion, one that’s composition wasn’t even specified.

When Artemis failed to say anything, the professor got up from his desk and sauntered over to the chemistry supply table. He continued, “I’ve already identified the basic ingredients, including the phosphorous and ether mentioned in the tale, and the origins of the blood-red liquor. But I still can’t find the proper salt, the most crucial component of the solution. Jekyll’s downfall was that he couldn’t obtain more of the specific salt he’d used in his original batch, that which possessed some chance, unknown impurity. I’ve been seeking to find that variant, and from there I can work to eliminate the more deleterious effects of the potion, allowing the imbiber more control over its effects, and granting access to its superhuman potential. Think of the possibilities, the strength, the cunning!”

Artemis made sure to choose his words carefully; he didn’t want to upset his professor by questioning his motives. The fervent way he spoke of the pursuit indicated how important the matter was to him, that this was his big discovery that would change the world as Artemis sought to. “Sir,” he started, “How is it that you’d like me to assist you?”

“Well Mr. Fenn, I need you as a test subject, of course. I need you to ingest the solutions I come up with until I find the correct one. I have had other assistants to do just this, but let’s just say, they didn’t turn out to be the right fit. And if we were to successfully discover the ideal compound mixture, I would award you a large sum, and the finest career you could imagine.”

“And are, are there dangers involved?” stammered Artemis.

“Why, yes, you could die.” The professor pulled back the curtain to reveal a door, that which he opened to spill forth the most putrid stench imaginable. Artemis let out an involuntary shriek; he could discern the outlines of bodies, a mass of contorted faces and twisted limbs, the casualties of some abominable, fatal transformation. He identified some of the corpses as those of his missing classmates, though their hideously blurred features made them hardly distinguishable.

Artemis was horrified, and found himself shaking. He knew scientific innovation required sacrifice, but he didn’t want to resort to this. He sputtered, “Sir, I don’t, I can’t-”

“I thought that you would understand, Mr. Fenn, all that is involved in developing new methods, new courses for biology to take. I can assure you that our students knew the risk.”

Before Artemis knew it he was fleeing the chamber, desperately bolting through the basement hallways to find his way out. He had heard that the Nazis and Japanese made many discoveries about the human condition through unfettered and cruel experimentation on human subjects, but that wasn’t the type of discovery he wanted to make. He didn’t know what he would do with the revelation that his organic chemistry professor was a murderous psychopath.