Jekel Loves Hyde (21 page)

177

I couldn't help looking at Tristen's table again. Where was he?

Obviously something had gone wrong ...

"Jill, will you turn around and help me?" Becca asked, sounding irritated. "Tristen's not here, okay? Just let it go. I'm doing everything, and it's not fair!"

"Sorry," I said, but absently and without moving to help her. I kept staring at the empty spot where Tristen should have been standing, imagining all sorts of awful possibilities. Like Tristen waking up from a nightmare to realize that the beast hadn't really been defeated and stumbling to his bathroom, getting a razor, and holding it to his wrist... Oh, the blood-soaked scenes that I couldn't stop imagining ...

Yet I was still unprepared when the whole class gasped, and Becca blurted out, loudly, "Oh, my god! What in the world happened to him?"

Chapter 51
Jill

TRISTEN STRODE THROUGH
the classroom in the heart of a silence that rang louder than applause. It was an ovation of shock as he walked toward his lab station with complete

self-possession, like he was oblivious to the stares.

I stared, too, in horror at the wide gash across his cheek and at his arm, which was wrapped in what looked like a torn T-shirt. Although his wrist was bound tightly, his hand hung crooked, like a mad doctor had sliced it off and botched its reattachment. 178

"It's about time somebody finally beat the hell out of him," Flick muttered under his breath, breaking the silence. "I wish it ended
his
damn season."

"Shut up," I snapped, wheeling on Todd.

Flick reared back, seeming more surprised maybe by my outburst than Tristen's injuries. I saw him start to reply, and I kept glaring at him, not caring for once that he was the most popular guy in school. Eventually, Todd shut his mouth, and it crossed my mind that I'd wasted so much time taking crap from him when all along I could have silenced him just with a look. I thought I was smart, but even after months of watching Darcy Gray control Todd like the pretty, plastic Ken doll that he was, I hadn't learned until that moment that I had the same power.

Unfortunately, though, Darcy had to have her say, too. "I told you he was violent," she said to me, sounding like she didn't care about Tristen at all. He might as well have been a broken burner at a lab station. "I warned you, Jill."

I glared at Darcy, too, thinking that she had no idea what had happened to Tristen. He could have been in a car accident for all she knew. But Darcy Gray was so sure that she knew
everything
that she took her assumptions as truth. I hated that, hated that she was right and hated myself because, even though I'd just snapped at Todd, I still couldn't bring myself to contradict Darcy. I turned around to watch Tristen as he took his seat, wincing when he rested his wrist on the table.

His dad had hurt him; I was sure of it. The whole story seemed so obvious as I looked at the dark slash across his face. Of course Tristen had tried to cure his dad when he'd gone home last night. And somehow it had gone wrong. How could I have not foreseen that? I'd been too busy worrying about my own strange behavior

...

179

"That's enough," Mr. Messerschmidt announced, starting to walk toward Tristen. "Stop staring and get back to work." Following our teacher's instruction, I turned back to my experiment. But I couldn't stop glancing over my shoulder to watch Mr. Messerschmidt conferring with Tristen.

What were they discussing? What in the world would Mr.

Messerschmidt say that would actually cause Tristen Hyde to look
interested?

"Hey, Jill." Becca tapped my shoulder. "This experiment is graded, remember?"

For once I didn't care. Not about my grade or Becca's. I kept watching the conference at the back of the room.

Watching and wondering ... why wouldn't Tristen look at
me?

Chapter 52 Tristen

THE LAST THING
I wanted to endure, beyond the stares of my classmates, was a lecture from my chemistry instructor. Wasn't I in pain enough?

Yet there he was waddling toward me, a concerned look on his fleshy face. "Tristen," he said, surprising me by using my first name. Since I'd met Messerschmidt the previous year, I'd always been "Mr. Hyde," which he seemed to intend to wield with sarcasm but which always came out gratifyingly deferential.

"What happened?" he asked. "Did you fight again?"

"No."

My teacher shook his head. "Tristen ..."

180

I struggled to unzip my bag and retrieve my textbook, using only my left hand, but the process was awkward. "It's nothing," I snapped, irritated by Messerschmidt's nosiness and my own clumsy movements. "Nothing."

He wasn't buying it, and leaned closer to me, lowering his voice.

"Tristen, I've been teaching for nearly twenty years, and I've seen lots of cases like yours."

In spite of my pain and frustration I nearly smiled. He had? He knew of other chemically-induced half-monsters whose lives were chronicled in classic fiction?

Messerschmidt wasn't talking about my particular predicament, though. He was talking about something more common--and he was almost presciently on target. "I've seen domestic violence," he said very quietly. "Sometimes fathers and sons fight, especially if there's no mother to intervene."

I dropped the textbook to the table with a thud and wheeled on Messerschmidt. "Don't bring up my mother," I warned in a whisper, suddenly defensive. My mother was a victim, and certainly not to
blame
for the male Hydes' struggles. I turned away and began slapping at the pages, looking for the day's experiment, ignoring my teacher. Then I shot him a sharp, accusing--and suspicious--look. "And what do you know about my mother? My home life?"

Messerschmidt fumbled with his tie and cleared his throat. "Urn ... I just... I've just heard that you and your father live alone."

"That's not your business," I advised him, staring hard into his dull eyes until he looked away.

I resumed turning pages, not even sure at that point what I was looking for, and Messerschmidt stayed by my side, watching me struggle with the book.

181

Eventually, exasperated, I looked to him again. "Is there something more? Because I'm falling behind with the day's work." Mr. Messerschmidt didn't seem insulted by my tone or angry. He didn't make one of his weak attempts at disciplining me. Instead he leaned closer again and said, "I just want you to know, Tristen, that if there is a problem, I could help you. I have room in my house, even, if you need a safe place to stay for a while." I stared at him, shocked by the suggestion. I couldn't imagine living with Mr. Messerschmidt even for one night, but the offer made me feel a bit guilty for venting my anger on him. "Thanks," I said with grudging gratitude, "but everything is fine at home." Messerschmidt pulled a pen and small pad from his breast pocket and scrawled a note. "Here's my number and address," he said, holding it out.

I didn't extend my hand. I honestly didn't think I needed a place to stay. I'd awakened to find the beast gone--along with most of my father's clothes, and I took that to mean I was living alone until he decided to confront me again. "No thanks," I declined.

"Take it." Messerschmidt shook the paper at me. "You might need it."

"Fine." I accepted the information, jamming it into my pocket. Then I shoved my book back into my bag and slung that over my shoulder, because I was obviously getting nowhere with my experiment, and--truth be told--I was having a difficult time dealing with Jill's presence in the room. Even more than I'd expected. I wanted to look to her, but what if I saw pity in her eyes, too? Pity or, worse yet,
love?

Wouldn't it be cruel to become more deeply involved with a girl 182

who'd just suffered one loss to violence when I knew the odds against my own survival were even at best? I tried to move my wrist and flinched. Perhaps far less than even.

"I'm going to take off," I told Messerschmidt. He didn't remind me that the bell wasn't close to ringing. "Take care, Tristen," he said. "And use that number if you want. Any time, day or night."

"Perhaps," I said.

"And Tristen," Messerschmidt added with a hand on my good arm.

"What?"

"Don't try to get revenge," he cautioned. "Adding violence to violence ... it's never a good idea."

I couldn't help but smile at that. Violence to violence to violence, down through the generations. That was the Hyde way. Even finding the cure to the madness couldn't seem to stop the cycle entirely.

"See you around," I told him, walking toward the door. Some of my classmates actually edged aside as I passed, as if I might beat the hell out of them if they got too close. I didn't check the expression on Jill's face.

Stepping out of the room, I closed the door behind me, shutting them all out, and pulled Messerschmidt's contact information from my pocket, opening it and reading. It had been nice of him to want to help. For just a moment it had felt kind of good, too, to think that I had an ally. Even a weak one.

Then I crumpled the paper, before I could memorize the

information, and tossed it to the floor.

What I needed to do, I had to do alone.

183

***

Chapter 53
Jill

TRISTEN LEFT CLASS
without ever even looking at me, and I somehow managed to help Becca finish our experiment, and eventually the bell rang, ending the longest, most miserable class I could ever remember living through.

"Jill." Becca stopped me as we headed out the door. "Can we talk?"

My eyes darted, checking up and down the corridor, like Tristen might miraculously appear. "I can't right now, Becca."

"It's important," she said, snagging my arm. "It's about you and me and--"

I pulled away, already knowing what she was about to say. She was going to ask about cheating again. Our first big exam was looming fast, and I'd been waiting for her to bring up the subject again. But how could she even think about the test? Hadn't she seen Tristen? Didn't she know somebody had to help him?

"I've gotta go," I said, walking away from her. "We'll talk later, maybe."

I left her standing in the hall, and without even really thinking about what I was doing, I headed for the main door at the front of the building--and I walked right
out,
in the middle of the day, without a pass.

Running home, I dug in the junk drawer in the kitchen until I found an old set of keys. Then I ran out to the garage and yanked the dirty tarp off Dad's Volvo and hopped in and turned over the 184

engine, which took about three tries. The tires, which were low on air, seemed to stick to the garage floor when I first hit what was left of the gas. I pressed harder, they pulled loose, and I backed out into the sunlight.

Tristen had been right. Driving the car ... it was okay. I hardly thought about what had happened maybe on the very seat where I sat. As much as the crime still haunted me, and would always define my life to some degree, I guess I was too busy worrying about the bloodshed that might be ahead to agonize over blood shed in the past.

Chapter 54 Tristen

I
STRETCHED
OUT
on my bed, eyes closed, trying to concentrate. Was there
anything
that I could do to prepare? To better my odds when the inevitable showdown occurred?

I could think of nothing, so I lay there, resting and aching--and waiting.

I finally managed to sleep, only to be awakened by a light touch on my shoulder. "What?" I started, rolling to my side and pushing myself upright, forgetting my broken bones--until a sharp pain tore through my body.

"Oh, hell," I groaned, resting back, hurt but relieved. And yet dismayed, too, for my visitor wasn't a beast intent on claiming my soul. It was Jill Jekel, the other person I'd wanted to avoid, even though I'd known that meeting was inevitable, too.

In fact, a part of me was almost more scared to face Jill than to 185

grapple with the monster, because the more I thought about it, the more certain I was that Jill and I shouldn't become more deeply involved. It would be wrong, selfish, to draw Jill closer, only to get myself killed, and I knew that I should fight my desire to be with her, lean on her. Yet looking into Jill's worried, warm hazel eyes, I knew the odds of me winning that battle were even worse than my odds of winning against the beast.

Chapter 55 Tristen

"JILL, YOU SHOULDN
'
T BE HERE,"
I said, sitting up again, more carefully, and holding my throbbing wrist. "My father might come here, and I'm not sure I can protect you."

"I'm not scared," Jill said softly, kneeling beside me, studying my face, "just worried about you."

Once again I was struck by how brave she was when it really counted. Just a few weeks before she'd been nervous about being alone with me in her own house, almost refused to allow me inside. But now, when I was in trouble and the stakes were truly high--when we might be interrupted by a monster bent on killing at least one of us--Jill had her back to the door, not concerned for her own safety. Worried only about
my
welfare.

"Let me see your wrist, Tristen," she said, gently taking my wrecked arm in her hands. "It doesn't look like it's set right." I let her cradle and turn the shattered bones. "It was tricky to do on my own with one hand."

186

She began to unwind my makeshift bandage, working carefully, her touch feather light. "You should have called me or gone to a hospital. Or both."

"I couldn't do either of those things," I said. "I don't want you to be involved. And I don't want any authorities involved, either." My voice grew thick with emotions I'd suppressed. Feelings that I hadn't even known I harbored. "He's
my father,
Jill." She turned her face up to mine, and I knew that she was thinking about her own dad, who'd betrayed her, leading a double life and stealing her college savings. Yet Jill wouldn't have turned in her father, either. Not until there was literally no other way--if then, even. What a strange but powerful bond of misery and betrayal and loyalty we shared.