Jekel Loves Hyde

by Beth Fantaskey

  “You two are nuts,” he said, dragging himself upright and starting for the door, keeping a good distance between me and the incarnation of Jill, whom I caught in my arms as she lunged toward the knife.

  “Tristen, hurt him,” she demanded, writhing against me. “Do it!”

  Flick was almost at the door. “Something’s wrong with both of you!”

  “Remember that and consider yourself warned,” I told him, fighting against Jill, who threatened to break free. The formula had made her strong. “Now go!”

  Flick hauled open the door and darted into the night, and although Jill was powerful, I was still stronger, and I spun her to face me. Suddenly she went soft in my arms, accepting my hold. I looked into her eyes, desperate to see the girl I loved. But she was gone. In her place was a creature who looked like Jill Jekel if she were to wear tighter clothes, mess up her usually sleek hair, and—What had happened to her ears? The lobes were red and bloody. “Jill, you hurt yourself,” I said with dismay, forgetting for a moment that Jill was absent. “You’re bleeding.”

  “Oh, god, Tristen.” She scowled at me with eyes that were dead as a shark’s. “You’re such a coward. It’s just a little blood. And there should be a lot more on the floor right now! If you loved me, you would have killed him!” She hit my chest, hard. “But you don’t love me, do you?”

  “I love Jill,” I said. “I want her back.”

  “Jill is a coward, too,” the creature snapped. “She lets people bully her! I had to take revenge!”

  “Jill saved my life,” I said. “She’s strong, and sweet, and beautiful.”

  “She’s pathetic.”

  “Where is the formula?” I demanded. “Where did you get it?”

  “Jill stole it, that first night in the lab,” she said, smiling at the shock on my face. “Jill—not me. Because she wanted to be me. She tasted it on your lips, Tristen. And after that she craved that side of herself.”

  Suddenly it all made sense. Jill’s crazy behavior in the classroom: I had been responsible for that. I hadn’t even thought about the formula that lingered on my tongue. “No,” I said, choking on my guilt. “I didn’t mean to . . .”

  “Don’t sound so guilty,” she groaned. “It’s good, what happened. The formula is good for all of us.”

  “That’s not true.”

  In my shock and remorse I had loosened my grip, and she abruptly tore free of me and stalked to the piano, hips swinging. Standing next to the upright, she hit a note. “Why don’t you play, Tristen? Compose something?”

  I froze in place. “How did you know . . . ?”

  “Because I understand that side of you,” she said. “Jill didn’t understand it, but I recognize the music you made. I know where that came from. And now it’s gone, isn’t it, Tristen?”

  Seeing Jill’s body on top of Flick had been like a punch to the gut. But to hear the pity in her voice as she spoke of the way I’d been diminished—that ripped out my soul. I couldn’t even reply, and she walked away from the piano, drawing close to me, raising her hand to stroke my cheek. I closed my eyes, not wanting to look into hers.

  “Tristen,” she tempted me, “you could play again, tonight. Just kiss me. Taste the formula on my tongue, and you could play. Then we could play.”

  I shook my head, fighting rising desire. Dual desires, actually. “No, never.”

  She slipped her hands around my neck, and I felt her rise up, her chest brushing mine. “It would be so good, Tristen,” she promised, digging her fingers into my hair. “We could be amazing together. You could have your nice girl sometimes. And you could have me, too. We have the formula, Tristen. We could have it all.”

  Oh, god, I wanted it all, right then. The creature in my arms was promising me everything that a man could possibly wish for. We could be saints all day and sinners all night. I could have my talent back, and play the world’s greatest concert halls, have power and prestige. I would be able to control it. I wouldn’t lose control . . .

  “Do it, Tristen,” she urged. Her breath was warm against my lips, and I could smell the potent mix of chemicals. “Just kiss me.”

  My talent . . . power . . . sex . . .

  “Oh, Jill,” I groaned, losing my fight with temptation, “don’t do this to me.”

  I muttered that protest—yet I bent my head to meet her mouth.

  Chapter 81

  Tristen

  AND THEN, JUST BEFORE I fell prey to all my darkest desires, I opened my eyes.

  “No,” I said, pulling back. There was nothing for me in her eyes. Nothing.

  Of course I still grieved my old talent and yearned to hear, even one more time, the applause of a crowd. And there was a part of me, I was ashamed to admit, that missed some of the beast’s most twisted, unfettered thoughts, the longings expressed and experienced freely without the slightest twinge of guilt. The way the beast was free to live without moral constraint—there was a seductive element to that, too.

  But more than talent or accolades or freedom from the world’s moral strictures and the pressures of my own conscience, I wanted Jill.

  I didn’t want the girl who was offering herself to me shamelessly right then. I wanted the girl I’d planned to refuse to make love to that same night, because I thought in the end Jill would regret sleeping with a doomed man mainly because she felt time was running out. Under different circumstances she would have waited.

  I knew that most people would consider us too young to talk about lifelong commitments or marriage, but I couldn’t imagine taking her to bed without that promise. Even if it meant never being with her, I didn’t want to have one desperate, hurried, hidden night. I wanted to put a ring on her finger. I wanted a future—or nothing. I knew, in her heart, that she would want that, too.

  “Where’s the rest of the formula?” I demanded. “I want Jill back.”

  “Never,” she insisted, shaking her head. “You’re so weak, Tristen.”

  But the creature I held, she was the one growing weak. I could already see her eyes softening and growing weary. Her hands were loosening around my neck.

  “Come on.” I slipped my arms beneath her legs, lifting her and cradling her against my chest. “I’m taking you to bed.”

  “Finally,” she said with a hint of a snarl. But her head rested heavily against my chest. “It’s about time.”

  “We’re just going to sleep,” I told her. I wouldn’t leave her alone that night, in case there was still some formula in the house. I doubted that she would get up and drink again, but I couldn’t risk it. “We have a contest to win tomorrow, remember?”

  “Oh, fuck that,” she grumbled, yawning as I climbed the stairs. “We could have that money and so much more . . .”

  “All I want is Jill back,” I repeated. I was confused, though. The girl who uttered that curse had sounded like Jill. But she would never say that word . . .

  I wanted to get her to talk again, but she was already sound asleep as I placed her on the bed. I removed her shoes, then gingerly pulled the earrings from her bloody ears. The wounds were small but obviously crude.

  Oh, Jill . . . How could she have done that to her own body?

  How could I have carelessly kissed her with the formula on my tongue?

  After locating some rubbing alcohol and cotton in the Jekels’ bathroom, I sat on the bed and, cradling Jill’s jaw in my palm, wiped away the dried blood, making sure the disinfectant went deep into the holes. Jill grimaced in her sleep, and I flinched, too, knowing how the alcohol would sting. “Hush, love,” I soothed when she whimpered. “This needs to be done.”

  When the wounds were clean, I took off my shoes, too, and lay by her side, wondering what she would say when she woke up to find me next to her. Would she be appalled to learn of her alter ego’s behavior? Or had the incidents of the day—the lie of a friend and her own reckless, dangerous response—would those things change Jill so much that she would never be quite the same?

  As she slept in my arm
s, I lay awake wondering, with more than a little apprehension, if I would ever recognize the girl I loved again.

  Chapter 82

  Jill

  I WOKE UP in the middle of the night, felt an arm around my waist, and panicked. The last thing I remembered was Becca telling me she’d slept with Tristen, so it couldn’t be him . . .

  Bracing myself, I rolled over, and I didn’t know if I was relieved or horrified to see that it really was Tristen in my bed. Had we . . . done anything after I’d changed? If so, I’d stolen from myself. Even though I didn’t love him anymore. I didn’t . . .

  “Tristen.” I shook his shoulder. “Wake up.”

  He opened his eyes, tensing. “Jill?”

  I could tell that he wasn’t sure if he was with me or a monster. “It’s me,” I said. “Just me.”

  His muscles relaxed, and he held me tighter, not saying anything. I didn’t try to pull away, and after a while he asked in a whisper, “Where’s the formula, Jill? Do you have more?”

  “No,” I promised. “It’s gone.”

  “If you do, tell me,” he urged. “It’s unpredictable. The novel says so. It’s wearing off for you now—but what if it doesn’t next time? And what if you don’t have enough to drink and change back?”

  “I don’t have any,” I insisted.

  Then I started to cry and buried my face against his chest, and even though I was turning to him for comfort, and his concern for me was so clear, I spoke the thought that had driven me to drink the formula in the first place. “I hate you so much, Tristen.”

  He kept holding me, but I felt him suck in a sharp breath, and I knew that I could never take the words back. I kept crying against him, and he kept stroking my back, but his touch was different.

  Downstairs the back porch creaked as somebody stepped on the boards, and although Tristen and I should have been terrified—whether it was his dad coming to kill him or my mom about to catch us together in bed—neither one of us seemed to have the energy even for fear. We just kept lying there together as the door opened and my mom’s familiar, light steps stole into the kitchen and up the stairs, headed straight for her room.

  “I never slept with Becca,” Tristen whispered when my mother shut her door. “She lied to you.”

  I wished then that his dad had come to my house. I would have stepped between them and taken the violence that Tristen expected. It felt like I’d already been stabbed and was dying.

  I shouldn’t have trusted Becca, even though we’d been friends since kindergarten. I should have asked Tristen. I could have trusted him to tell the truth.

  Me—ultimately it had been me who had ruined everything. And it was too late to fix what I’d said to him.

  I hate you so much, Tristen.

  He pulled away from me and swung his legs off the bed. “I’m going now.”

  I wanted to beg him to stay, but I knew he wouldn’t. “Okay.”

  He sat on the edge of my bed, lacing on his shoes. “We have the presentation tonight,” he reminded me. He didn’t sound hurt. Just detached and practical. “We leave right after school.”

  “Tristen, you don’t have to help me.”

  He stood. “We have a deal, and I’m an honorable person.”

  I didn’t know if he meant to hurt me by rubbing my nose in my own shame or if he was just stating a fact about himself, but the words stung, and when he was gone, I curled up on my side and cried until dawn.

  I never did learn what my alter ego had done that night, but later when I looked in my mirror, I saw two holes in my ears that hadn’t been there before, and I hoped that they were the only way I’d let myself be violated.

  Chapter 83

  Tristen

  AFTER I LEFT JILL’S HOUSE, I broke into the school one final time. I moved through the hallways without fear, because I had nothing left to lose. Jill had said she hated me, and her words had left me cold inside. To make matters worse, I knew that she was right to despise me. I had carelessly kissed her and cleaved and corrupted her soul.

  Locating my locker, I spun the combination—one lock that I didn’t have to pick—and tugged on the handle. Reaching behind my jacket, I dug into the plastic bag and retrieved the Gatorade bottle full of formula. Uncapping it, I went to the closest water fountain and dumped the contents down the drain, rinsing away every last drop.

  I’d given up hope of curing my father, and I wouldn’t leave any extra lying around for Jill or anyone else to find, in the event of my death.

  Tossing the empty bottle in a trash can, I left the school and went home and waited for dawn, just wishing the contest was over. Because after we won the money, I would destroy the notes and the list of salts. And when they were gone, all that would be left of the formula on this earth would be the portion that Jill had just lied about not having.

  Chapter 84

  Jill

  I RAPPED ON MOM’S OPEN bedroom door, and she smiled at me, shaking out a red dress. “Good morning!”

  I leaned against the door frame, holding a bowl of cold cereal that I was trying to force down, although I wasn’t hungry. “That’s a pretty fancy outfit for visiting Aunt Christine,” I noted, watching her fold the dress and tuck it in the open suitcase on her bed. “I guess you guys are going out, huh?”

  She stayed bent over the suitcase, not looking at me. “It never hurts to be ready.” She straightened and frowned at me. “I’m really sorry about missing your presentation. You’re sure you don’t mind if I’m away this weekend?”

  I swallowed a soggy lump of Cheerios. “Just have a good trip, okay?”

  She came over to me, arms outstretched. “Thanks, Jilly.” Then she hugged me, nearly spilling my cereal. Her body finally felt substantial against mine. “And good luck. I’ll call tonight for all the details.”

  “Sure.” I pulled away. “I need to get ready for school. I have a chem test today, too.”

  Mom smiled again as she continued packing. “You’ll do fine with both things, I’m sure.”

  “Thanks.” As I turned to go to my room, I saw my mother folding her black dress, too, and I thought she was probably expecting too much excitement from a weekend in Cape May with her sister. But I was too preoccupied with a sadness that bordered on numbness, and a vengeful scheme I had planned, to dwell on Mom’s life.

  Chapter 85

  Jill

  “JILL, WHAT HAPPENED after the party?” Becca whispered.

  “Nothing,” I said, but the blood drained from my face. I’d gone to the party . . .

  She gave me a knowing smile. “I told you the party would help. You definitely got over Tristen!”

  “I guess so,” I agreed. What had I—had that thing I’d unleashed—done to “get over Tristen”? Something with a boy? But it didn’t matter, I reminded myself. The night was over, and Tristen and I were over. Nothing really mattered.

  “You have forty minutes to complete the test,” Mr. Messerschmidt said, beginning to hand out the exams, offering Darcy a stack.

  She turned to pass copies to me, and Todd twisted around, too, giving me a weird, almost scared look. I didn’t want to know why.

  “Good luck tonight,” Darcy said as I accepted the tests.

  “Thanks.” I kept one copy, handed the rest to Becca, and set right to work. When I got to the third question, I reached up to tuck my hair behind my ear—but not in a nervous way. I kept my hand there a long time, until Becca realized that my paper was exposed. I glanced to her, saw her questioning look, and gave a subtle nod.

  She began to copy, eyes darting and hand flying, and we fell into a pattern: me racing ahead and Becca playing catch-up whenever I would adjust my hair.

  Too bad all of the answers I gave her were wrong.

  Too bad we’d have identical failing exams, which would probably land us both on academic probation in our crucial senior years. Maybe we’d both fail the whole class.

  A part of me wanted to look back to see if Tristen saw me cheating. I wondered what he w
ould think if he noticed. But I didn’t check, because I had a feeling that he wasn’t bothering to look at me at all, and that would have been even worse than his disapproval.

  “Time’s up,” Mr. Messerschmidt eventually called.

  We handed in our papers, and I smiled at Becca as we left the room, telling her, “I hope that repays the favor you did me. I hope we’re even now.”

  Chapter 86

  Jill

  “READY?” MR. MESSERSCHMIDT asked, one hand on the top of his car’s open trunk.

  I double checked the contents, making sure everything we needed was inside. The display I’d designed, the box with all the papers, the chemicals we’d need for our demonstration, and some of the rats that had shown reactions to variations of the formula. “Do you think they’ll be okay?” I asked Tristen.

  “It’s less than an hour’s ride,” he said, shrugging. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

  “Maybe we should keep them up front.”

  “They’re rats,” he pointed out. “Who cares if they’re comfortable?”

  But I’d seen him stroke the animals and worry over them . . . Was he growing cold to everything?

  “Just get in the car, Jill,” Tristen said, preempting Mr. Messerschmidt by slamming the trunk shut. “Please.”

  I wondered then if he hated me. Or if he was beyond caring after what I’d said. Maybe I was like a rat in his eyes. A creature beneath concern or consideration.

  I crawled into the back seat, Tristen and Mr. Messerschmidt got in the front, and we headed to the University of the Sciences in Philadelphia.

  I stared out the window at the passing traffic, one hand in the pocket of my best wool coat, the one I’d worn to my dad’s funeral, my fingers caressing the vial that contained what was left of the formula.

  Chapter 87

  Jill

  THE ASTRAZENECA AUDITORIUM at the University of the Sciences was already crowded when we got there, and I got nervous just looking around at the students and teachers and parents who were lugging in plastic bins filled with their presentation materials.