Jekel Loves Hyde (26 page)

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The funeral march I'd once composed still played faintly, now mockingly, in my head as I hid the bottle away and carried the corpse to the Dumpster outside the school. One of my most beautiful compositions wasted on a dead rat.

How could I have been tempted, even for a second, to become like that animal: convulsing, mad, and murderous? Who, what type of person, would want
that?

I also wondered, as I often did, where the beast that took away my parents was hiding, what it was planning, and if I would have the courage to use the knife when it
really
counted. Raising the Dumpster lid, I hurled the rat into its rancid coffin, gagging unexpectedly at the strong stench of rot.

Chapter 69
Jill

"YOU'VE ACCOMPLISHED
a lot in a short time," Mr. Messerschmidt noted, nodding with approval. "Do you think you'll be ready to present in a few days?"

"Yes," I said. "But we're cutting it close."

"Jill's got it under control," Tristen said, dipping his hand into a cage and stroking one of the rats that we were systematically sickening, documenting their reactions to early versions of the formula that we knew weren't really effective. "She's going to win."

"We're
going to win," I corrected him, thinking that Tristen seemed to be distancing himself more and more, not just from me but from any concept of the future. "Us."

Tristen didn't look at me. He was frowning, eyes trained on the 223

rat, which shuddered under the influence of a weak acidic solution.

"It'll be okay," I promised him. I sort of meant the rat. I sort of meant... everything. I wasn't sure about either.

"You two don't have a chance, with your half-dead rats and stinking old papers," Darcy piped up from the front of the room.

"It's not research. It's a publicity stunt!"

"It's a great experiment," I advised her. "So just worry about your own work, okay?"

"I guess
Jekel
told
you,
Darce." Todd snorted as he wiped down their station for the evening.

I stared at him, not sure if Darcy had been insulted or me.

"Do you two have a ride to Philly?" Mr. Messerschmidt asked me and Tristen, diverting us away from an argument.

"I just sold my car," Tristen noted, "so I'm no help." I frowned at that news and not just because we needed a ride. Was Tristen low on money? Or did he expect not to need a car soon?

"I don't know if my car will make it," I added. "I never got it tuned up. And my mom can't take us. She'll be out of town."

"I'll drive you," Mr. Messerschmidt volunteered. "I'm going anyway."

I expected Tristen to flatly refuse, forcing us to hitchhike before he'd accept charity from Mr. Messerschmidt. Instead he simply said, "Thanks. That's great."

I was further surprised to see what looked like grudging but genuine gratitude Tristen's face, and I wished again that I knew what they'd talked about on that day he had shown up battered in class. Something had changed between them. Somehow Mr.

Messerschmidt had gained a little of Tristen's trust.

Our teacher checked the clock. "Time to wrap up." 224

"We're done," Darcy said as Todd, finally free of his cast, tossed his backpack over his shoulder and hoisted her designer tote, too. I looked with dismay at the chaos at our station. "Could we stay late? We have so much to do."

"You're not
supposed
to work alone," Mr. Messerschmidt noted, although he didn't seem very firm about it. "That
is
school policy." Darcy, near the door, gave a wry laugh. "Oh, don't worry. They've already worked solo."

I glared at her until she rolled her eyes and marched out the door, followed by Todd, who gave me one last unreadable glance before departing. Then I turned back to Mr. Messerschmidt, pleading, "Please? We'll be careful."

"Jill, are you sure?" Tristen interrupted. "You want to stay with me?"

I knew what he was implying, and it tore at my heart suddenly, because I still trusted him. It wasn't what I feared he'd do that appalled me; it was what he'd
done
that I despised. "Yes, Tristen," I said. "I want to stay."

"Well..." Mr. Messerschmidt wavered--but only for a second. "If you promise to be careful."

"Really?" I blurted, surprised that we'd actually gotten permission. I'd thought Mr. Messerschmidt was a rule follower like me. "I mean, that's great," I amended before he could change his mind.

"Thanks."

"I'll take responsibility," Tristen told Mr. Messerschmidt--but he was looking at me. "I'll keep Jill safe."

"Lock up when you leave," Mr. Messerschmidt said. "And don't tell
anyone
I let you do this." Then he got some stuff from his desk and headed for the door, too. But before he left, Mr.

Messerschmidt

225

paused, and for a second I thought he was going to change his mind. He looked nervous and sounded edgy as he offered us a weird farewell. "Good luck, kids."

Then he left me and Tristen alone--really alone--for the first time since we'd been in Tristen's bedroom kissing and confessing. And the first thing Tristen did was lock the door from the inside, sealing us in the room.

Chapter 70
Jill

"TRISTEN?"

"Just being cautious, Jill," he said, rejoining me at our station. My heart crept into my throat. "You think your dad ... ?"

"I doubt he'd come here," Tristen reassured me. "He could easily kill me as I sleep in the house if he wanted. But I have a responsibility to look out for you."

I didn't know what to say to any of that, so I picked up Dr. Jekyll's notes to start working again. "We're on the experiment dated February eleventh. He starts with the base formula then adds two grams of magnesium." I lowered the papers and ventured cautiously, "But maybe, since we're alone, we should, um ... jump ahead?"

Tristen measured out some magnesium and added it to the acidic mixture, then looked to me, eyebrows arched. "You mean ... ?"

"Test the real formula, the final formula, on a rat. To see if it works."

I got nervous as I suggested that, because a terrible little part of 226

me was thinking,
You could show me where you've been
hiding
your portion of the formula ... Maybe I could steal just a little more
if you turned your back...

But Tristen silenced that traitorous small voice by advising me,

"I've already done that, Jill. And documented the results." I dropped the notes, and they fluttered to the desk. "What?

When?"
Without me?

"I came to school late last night and fed about an ounce to a rat," he said. "You'll be happy to know that the experiment was a complete success."

I realized then that he had stopped mixing the latest solution and was holding out his hand. Looking down, I noticed that his fingers were covered with small, but angry-looking, red marks. Some had scabbed over. I met his eyes again, seeking explanation.

"Tristen?"

"The animal went from docile to berserk," he explained. "I have it all on video, so we can show it at the presentation." I shook my head, not believing him. "You're kidding ..." But Tristen wasn't smiling. "No. I'm very serious."

"We should repeat the experiment," I said, getting excited. We were on the brink of winning thirty thousand dollars. And we'd be working with the real formula ... "If we keep getting the same result, we could do it on stage at the presentation!"

"No." Tristen was firm, his jaw set. "I won't do it again. And you don't want to see what happens."

"But--"

"No!" he insisted. He rubbed the back of his neck with his scratched-up hand and averted his eyes. "I had to put the rat down, Jill. It was attacking the others. I hated doing it, but I had to."

Tristen was so obviously pained over killing the animal--or maybe admitting it to me--that I forgot my excitement.

227

"I--I understand," I said, forcing myself not to imagine how he'd ended the rat's life. I didn't want to picture Tristen killing again, maybe snapping an animal's neck with his bare hands, even to spare the other rats. Still, I glanced at his hands, his now
literally
bloodstained hands, and realized that the crude bandage on his wrist was getting really ragged. Without thinking, forgetting that we no longer touched each other, I reached for his arm. "I can fix that for you."

He pulled away. "No. It's fine."

I grabbed for him again. "Tristen, just let me ..." When my fingers wrapped around his wrist, I felt something narrow and hard under the torn shirt, and I looked up at him, confused. "Tristen?"

"Let go, Jill," he said, pulling back.

But I didn't. I held on to him. "What is that?" He yanked free of me. "That, Jill, is my best hope against the
thing
that is coming for me."

I suspected then that Tristen was carrying a knife, and the thought made me sick. Only suddenly I wasn't disgusted just because he might use it to kill again. As I looked at his brave, determined face, I was mostly terrified because the weapon seemed way too small to do any good against an enemy--especially one that had already shown such ruthless power.

"Tristen," I said, all of the weak defenses I'd raised against him melting away, "did your father really say that he'll hurt you again?

You never told me what happened that night."

He gave a short, rueful laugh. "No, you ran out, horrified by me, before I could tell you."

"I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize," Tristen said with a shrug. He resumed mixing the solution, avoiding looking at me. "But to answer your 228

question: yes, the beast that controls my father, completely now, vowed to return, and if I haven't drunk the formula and restored border to the Hyde family, he will kill me."

I had sort of pieced all that together, but to hear him say it out loud ... I got hot and nauseous. I was petrified for him. And how could I have played around with the formula? "Do you know where your father is?"

"No." Tristen finally met my eyes. "That phone call, when we were in bed..."

He said that casually, like that didn't matter, either. And maybe it didn't to him anymore. That made me sick, too.

"That was Dad's department head, asking why he'd stopped coming to the university." He tapped the stirring rod against the glass beaker, frowning even more deeply. "He doesn't still see your mother, does he?"

"No," I said. Not
professionally.
"The treatment's over."

"Good," he said.

"Tristen?"

"Yes?"

I found myself staring at the spot where Tristen's bandage bulged just slightly. "Will you be able to fight your dad to ... ?" The end. That's what I meant.

As always, Tristen was able to finish my thoughts. "I'll do what I need to do, Jill," he said. He stared into my eyes, and I saw the same resolution I'd seen just before he'd drunk the formula, convinced that he was committing suicide. "When the time comes, I
will do
what I need to do."

"Tristen ..." But what could I say?

"Let's keep working," he said, picking up an eyedropper. 229

"Although
we
know how this story ends, we'll want to show the judges that we followed Dr. Jekyll's notes from start to finish."

"Sure."

But I didn't move to help him. I just watched, sad and confused, as Tristen ... doomed Tristen ... bent and chose a rat from one of the cages, cradling it in the crook of his arm. "This won't taste good," he warned, raising the dropper to its mouth. The rat squirmed, and Tristen spoke softly, "Come now. I don't like doing this, either, but it's in the interest of science and a scholarship--for the greater good."

He managed to squeeze a few drops into the rat's mouth before it writhed out of his hand, tumbling back into the cage. "Poor thing," Tristen said, watching it run in circles. "I hope it's not in pain."
Poor, poor thing...

I didn't know what came over me, but I started to cry then, and I moved close to Tristen and wrapped my arms around him,

comforting myself and hoping that I comforted him a little, too. At first he stood rigidly, not accepting my embrace, but as I held him, I felt his muscles start to relax, and soon he wrapped his arms around me, cradling me against his chest, rubbing his cheek against the top of my head, soothing me, too. "It's okay, Jill," he promised. "Don't cry for me."

But I wasn't crying just for him. I was crying for me, too. I was crying for
us.

"Oh, Jill," Tristen said, raising my face to his. "What am I going to do with you?"

I studied his warm, wonderful brown eyes, knowing what I
wanted
him to do. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted him to tell 230

me that he still loved me. Because I knew that he had. We'd both been close to saying it, that day in Tristen's bed ...

He bent closer to me, resting his forehead against mine and closing his eyes, and I raised up on my tiptoes, thinking that I couldn't wait one more second for him to kiss me.
I
would kiss
him.

But before my lips could meet his, we both heard a sound and jerked apart, staring at the door as the knob twisted from outside.
Chapter 71
Jill

TRISTEN AND
I stood locked together, eyes fixed on the twisting, rattling knob. "Tristen," I whispered, fighting down fear, "who do you think--"

"Shhh, Jill," he hushed me. "Quiet." My heart raced, but his remained steady. "It could be a custodian," he suggested. "Or Darcy, returning."

"A custodian would have keys, and Darcy would knock." My eyes were locked on the knob, which rattled harder.

"True." Tristen gently pried away from me--and removed the knife from its makeshift sheath. The blade, when he flicked it open, was thin, but looked reassuringly vicious.

The door began to shake---and then we heard a deep, growling, voice. "Tristen! Let me in!"

My entire body seemed to freeze at that terrible sound. It was Dr. Hyde's voice--and yet not his voice at all. I edged closer to Tristen, terrified. "Tristen ..."

231

He clasped my wrist with his free hand and began tugging. Come on.