Jekel Loves Hyde (8 page)

I turned and followed his gaze right to the box, on a high shelf in the corner of the room.

Chapter
16
Jill

"YES, THAT'S IT,"
I told Tristen.

But he was already tossing down his messenger bag, which he'd brought upstairs with us, and walking across the room. He reached high and took down the forbidden battered metal

container. When he had it in his hands, he stood in the middle of the room, looking down at it almost like I'd just looked at my dad's picture, which I set back on the desk, turning on the lamp. Tristen still didn't move. His eyes were fixed on the box. He stroked the sides with his thumbs, seeming lost in thought.

"Tristen?"

He looked up, and for the first time since I'd met him,
he
looked a little uncertain. But he quickly shook it off. "Do you have a paper clip, Jill?"

"What?"

"To pick the padlock," Tristen said, bringing the box to the desk. He pulled out the chair and sat down, and I had a momentary urge to protest. That was Dad's seat...

Pushing away the impulse, I joined him, standing at his side.

"Do you know
how
to pick locks?"

63

"Of course," Tristen said, like it was a skill everybody should have. "It's not difficult, especially with padlocks. The Internet is filled with demonstrations."

"Are we going to open it
now?"
I asked as Tristen pulled open the top desk drawer, fingers searching the interior. "Right now?"

"Yes." Tristen dug deeper. "Why not?"

"Tristen, stop," I said. He was going too fast, touching too much of Dad's stuff...

But he'd already found what he wanted. Fingers moving surely, as confidently as they'd moved across the piano keys, he uncurled a clip, bent one end to form an angle, and inserted this into the lock, moving the makeshift tool in what looked like a systematic way.

"Tristen ..." Should we be doing this? I needed time to think. Maybe rethink.

It was too late, though. Even Tristen seemed surprised--jumping a little--as the lock popped. And it was Tristen who seemed taken aback, muttering, "Oh, shit, Jill," as he slipped off the padlock and opened the lid to reveal the contents of that small space--which was even more off-limits than Dad's office.

"Hell," Tristen muttered as we both peered inside.
"Bloody, bloody
hell."

Chapter 17 Tristen

ALTHOUGH I'D HAD
no reason to doubt that Jill had told me the truth when she'd described her family's artifact, I was

nevertheless taken aback--shaken?--when I opened the dented metal

64

container to discover curled, yellowed papers covered with cramped, faded writing.

Experiment dated 7 October in the year 1856... Addition of
phosphorous, 3 grams...

"Oh, god," I muttered, scanning the notes. "Son of a--"

"It really looks like what Dad said," Jill noted, sounding uneasy, too. "Experiments."

"Yes," I agreed, unable to tear my eyes away.

Consumed half litre...

"Could it be?" I mumbled, shaking my head. "Could it really be?" Although I didn't want to get excited, I knew that I seemed overly eager as I advised Jill, not even looking at her, "We'll need to begin work immediately. But we will have to do so in secret, after school hours. And there's no need to tell that idiot Messerschmidt anything. He'll only interfere and possibly try to stop us."

"What?" Jill asked, sounding puzzled. "Tristen ..." But I was barely aware of her at my side.

"We can meet tomorrow night, at the school," I said. I reached in the box to remove a fat stack of papers, with fingers that threatened to tremble. There was so much to do ... "We'll want to transcribe each experiment, and there are so many ..." I began reading more closely, my excitement spiking as I noted the writing on the top left corner of the first page.
Experimental
Log--H. Jekyll.

The name that my grandfather had so often cursed, right there, in smudged but legible script.

Forcing my impatient fingers to be more gentle with the fragile paper, I opened to a sheet about halfway through the stack.
Addition of .2 grams sodium produces no discernible change in
demeanor...

65

I read the words again, not trusting my eyes.
Discernible change.
Was it possible that Jill's father really had told the truth? Was there a chance that I held the actual roots of my twisted family tree in my hands?

"Tristen?"

I didn't answer, absorbed in my thoughts, my plans.

"Tristen?"

My name was spoken again, accompanied by a tentative tap on my shoulder, and I looked up to recall that I wasn't alone. Jill Jekel was watching me, with a very curious--and
extremely
uncertain--look in her unusual hazel eyes, which I'd finally really seen as I'd revealed, to the first person in America, the story of my mother's disappearance. Pretty, intelligent eyes.

"Um, Tristen?" she ventured, sounding almost frightened. "Why
really
do you want to enter the contest? Why are you here?" I'd expected that Jill would ask that question at some point if her father's old box actually held what he'd claimed, and if she and I began to use it as I intended. Jill was a smart girl and certainly wouldn't do the things I planned to do without questioning my motives. Unlike Todd Flick with Darcy Gray, Jill--though shy--would expect to be a partner, not an assistant. Moreover, my obvious excitement right then and there must have seemed very strange to her.

Making my decision, I reached for the messenger bag at my feet and searched inside, retrieving my first edition of
The Strange
Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
I held it up for Jill to see, thinking how uncanny it was, me meeting the one person on this earth who might possess the key to saving my sanity, and asking, not quite rhetorically, "Do you believe in coincidence, Jill? Or
fate?"
66

***

Chapter 18
Jill

"COINCIDENCE OR FATE?
I don't really know, Tristen," I said, confused--and a little scared. He was talking about working in secret at school, maybe after hours, without telling our teacher anything. I couldn't do that. I glanced at the clock on Dad's desk. And Mom would be home soon. "What are you talking about?

Why did you bring that book?"

I reached out to take the novel from his hands, but Tristen moved it smoothly out of reach. Another forbidden object, apparently. At least for me.

"This, Jill," Tristen said, "is a gift from my grandfather Hyde. The man who instilled in me the love of music and who first taught me to play piano. The man who set the course for my future--and who insisted that this novel is my past."

"What?" I was even more baffled and sank down in the guest chair next to Dad's desk. "I don't understand."

"Just as your father believed that you are distantly related to Dr. Henry Jekyll, my grandfather insisted that I am a
direct
descendant of the 'evil Mr. Hyde,' to use your own words." Tristen was one of the most articulate people I'd ever met, and he enunciated clearly, in his very precise British accent... but I still didn't quite follow. "So you're saying we're, like, related? Because Dad said Henry Jekyll didn't have any children. That's one of the reasons we ended up with the old papers ..."

Tristen smiled, but it was a joyless, bitter grin. "No, Jill, we're not related. Don't ever wish that upon yourself!"

67

I must have still looked very confused, because Tristen lost the smile and tried to explain more seriously "If you've read the book, you know that Dr. Jekyll believed he altered his very
soul
when he drank the formula. That he created in Hyde a
new being
--a 'new life,' Stevenson called it."

"Yes. I read the book," I said. "But--"

"This new life," Tristen continued, "was completely different, even in size and stature, from its creator. And it was this being, this
beast,
that procreated, beginning
my
family." I studied Tristen's handsome face, thinking he was about as far, physically at least, from a "beast" as I could imagine. What he was saying, it was laughable. A weird joke. "You can't be telling me that you're descended from a ... monster?" I asked.

"Yes, that is exactly what I'm saying." Tristen tapped a finger against the novel. "Grandfather gave me this on his deathbed. He called it both 'our hellish genealogy' and 'the horrible map of our future.'"

I drew back slightly, not liking what he said or the ominous tone of his voice. He clearly wasn't joking. "Why a map, Tristen? What does
that
mean?"

"According to my grandfather, all of the Hyde men--down through the generations--are corrupted by the formula that
your
ancestor first drank, creating
my
lineage. Grandfather swore that we all--just like the first Mr. Hyde--eventually succumb to our darker natures and commit terrible acts." His brown eyes clouded over.

"At first we aren't even aware of what we do. But eventually, try as we might to control the beast inside ..."

As Tristen trailed off, I felt my eyes widening and fought the urge to stand up and run away. It was crazy. Tristen ... He couldn't be
evil.
He'd held me, comforted me. We'd just shared that 68

moment... And his eyes. They were so warm and beautiful. I didn't want him to be evil. Or crazy. But I found my gaze drifting to the dark mark under his left eye. "You don't really think
you ... ?"

"Yes," Tristen confirmed. "What happened with Todd--that wasn't me. And I've started to dream, as Grandfather promised.

Nightmares, which are growing more vivid."

"Nightmares." I kept staring at the bruise under his eye and my voice sounded squeaky as I asked, "What kind of nightmares?" All at once Tristen was no longer explaining; he was confessing. Spilling secrets that I think he just couldn't bear anymore. His eyes were miserable. "I ... this thing inside of me," he said. "In my dreams it attempts to kill a girl... and
likes
it.
Relishes
the slaughter."

I jumped out of the chair, terrified. "Tristen!" I had to get away. He
was crazy.
But he caught my wrist, and I stared down at his hand.

"Let go ... please!"

"Jill," he said quietly, soothing me. "I won't hurt you. I promise. It's not you that the beast I harbor wants. The dream is very specific." My eyes were still locked on Tristen's hand, but I sat back down, not sure what else I could do. He was too strong to break away from. "What do you want from me?" I asked, voice still shaky. Although I already guessed the answer, I asked again, "Why are you here?"

"I want to perform the experiments documented in this box." He nodded to the desk, still clasping my wrist. His grip was strong, but not harsh. "And I want you to help me. You are the only person I would trust to be in the lab when I start drinking the solutions. You would know how to counteract toxins if necessary." I shook my head, too horrified and petrified to be flattered. "You can't drink the formulas ..."

Tristen raised the novel, which he still held in one hand. "The book is very clear. The formula both creates--and banishes--the 69

beast. That is how Jekyll changed back and forth--by drinking it." The "monster." The "beast." It was insane. What Tristen was saying was completely insane. "I won't help you," I said. "I can't." My gaze darted to the box. "I won't let you have the papers. You need counseling..."

"I am the son of the world's
best
psychotherapist," Tristen advised me, boring into my eyes. "I don't need to lie on a couch. I need to work in a lab.
We
need to work. Together."

"Tristen, no." How could his gaze seem so clear when he was obviously delusional?

"Jill." He
locked
' his eyes to mine. His compelling, warm, intelligent,
seemingly
sane eyes. "The nightmares are coming more frequently and vividly. I fear the monster inside of me is gaining power. I've already lost control to it too many times." My eyes snapped wider. "What? Not just with Todd?" Tristen closed off to me then. The confession was over. But I'd seen the flash of surprise and self-reproach in his eyes and knew that he'd revealed more than he'd intended. "I am still in control," he said, ignoring my question. "But I don't know for how long. The dream about the girl--I awake sometimes not sure if it was
real.
What if the beast inside of me finally wrests control not only of my brain but of my body, and makes the nightmare reality?"

"Tristen ..." I twisted against his grip. "Please. This is crazy." He squeezed my wrist more tightly, but it was a strangely calming touch, as if he was trying to focus me and force me to listen carefully when he announced, very clearly and gravely, "If you don't help me, Jill, and if I can't cure myself, I will
kill
myself before the beast acts upon its nastiest impulses."

Tristen released my wrist then, like he knew that I wouldn't run away... which I didn't do. I just sat there, staring at him. And shaking.

70

I didn't know if I believed any of what he had just said about a beast lurking inside of him thanks to a formula created over one hundred years ago. But looking into his eyes, meeting his unwavering gaze, I did believe in that moment that he would commit suicide before he really hurt someone else. Me, or somebody like Todd Flick, or the girl in his dream, whoever she was.

Still, I found myself saying, "Tristen ... I don't think so." He thumped his novel down next to my family's box of

documents, putting them close together and turning from me to observe them both. "Your father and my grandfather believed the same thing," he said quietly. Ominously. "The past and the future for me--they seem to be commingling here, Jill."

When he looked to me again, his gaze was commanding but his voice was imploring. "I am asking you to help me. And in return I will help you develop a contest entry. Do my best to see that you walk away with a thirty thousand dollar scholarship. All of it yours. I don't care about the cash."