by Bo Luellen
Ten minutes later, he was lifting his tire into the bike rack at school, then jogged his way up the front steps. Jekyll flung open the glass double doors and bolted down the hall that ended with Lanyon’s class. His new shoes squeaked against the waxed floors as students he had seen every day yet had never spoken to, stopped to take notice of him. He opened the door to Professor Lanyon sitting behind her desk, busy writing in a grade book. He was still a little early, and only a few students were in their seats.
She looked up at him briefly, then looked back down, exclaiming, “Mr. Jekyll! You look smart today. What is the occasion?”
He wasn’t used to getting positive responses to his wardrobe and replied, “Ahem. Well, I suppose it’s for class.”
His professor raised an eyebrow and remarked, “Then let’s do hope you look equally as sharp on your Historical Roots of Judaism test today.”
Jekyll nodded and sat down at his desk in the back. He, in fact, hadn’t studied for the test at all and had intended to cram last night. Taking a deep breath, he decided to focus and hope for the best.
He looked down at the black backpack, Well let’s see what you’re all about.
He opened the side pouches and found brand new pens and pencils. Henry unzipped the front pocket and discovered a calculator, a backup phone charger, and a small sealed envelope with his name on it. He pulled the thick letter out and shook it hard enough to detect something rattling around inside. He took a pen and ripped the envelope open on end. Shaking one side, a thick stack of new twenty-dollar bills fell out into his hand. Jekyll looked around and then quickly counted the new currency.
Smiling he thought, Five hundred dollars. Well, I’m not sure what is going on, but I have money to eat lunch now.
He shoved the cash into his pocket, put one of the pens behind his ear, and then inspected the bump on the back of his head. The raised area was barely noticeable, and there wasn’t a hint of tenderness anymore. Drawing back his hand, he rubbed his fingers together, inspecting for any blood.
He leaned back in his seat, How is any of this possible?
Henry straightened up as Professor Lanyon called for class to begin, and made a fast rollcall. She made everyone put away their phones and reminded them of the rules about test-taking in her classroom, “No talking, no phones, and if you need to leave the room your test stays here.”
The Professor stood at the front of the class and announced, “Your time begins now. Please bring your tests up when you are done.”
He looked down at the first test question, “What is the most important source of early Hebrew society?”
Jekyll smiled and wrote, “the Torah.”
He moved down to the next question and read, “What are the three main beliefs at the center of Judaism?”
He put down his pen, and thought, This could be so many things.
As he searched his mind for the answer, Jekyll felt a doorway open and a brilliant strobing light flashing in his thoughts. His eyes closed as the image of a massive study full of old books of different colors materialized in his consciousness. It was a surreal moment of imagination, as he could smell he musty books and the old wood. Henry could hear his feet shuffling on the creaky timbers beneath him and listened to the pops of the burning fireplace in the corner. A purple covered book caught his attention from an end table, and he walked over towards it. A half-empty glass of bourbon sat next to the embossed tome, as he read the title Jewish History: A First-Hand Account. He reached down and pick the heavy book up off the oak table. Another series of strobes assaulted his eyes, as he was instantly transported into the body of a Jewish Rabbi named Jani Rubin. In a heartbeat, he soared through decades of the man’s life, ingesting the meat of his knowledge of the Chosen People.
Henry let out an audible gasp as his eyes shot open and found he was once again in the classroom. Professor Lanyon glared at him from her desk as the rest of the students gave him curious looks. He cleared his throat in a weak attempt to mask the awkwardness of the moment, and then looked back down at the same question. Without an effort, the answer sprang up from within him, and he wrote, “Monotheism, identity, and covenant.”
He looked at his response and thought, I know this is right. I remember sitting in an ulpan in Israel and learning all of this as a child. I made friends there. Arie, Yadid, Carmelo, and Jonny’s faces all flashed into his head, and a cascade of weddings, funerals, and births sprang up from his generations-long friendship with them. The threads of his life became entwined inside the new fabric of his own mind.
He looked down at the third question that read, “Many Hebrews resented Solomon for what reason?”
Henry blurted out, ““Solomon was a failure.””
Everyone stopped writing, turned around, and gave him a bewildered stare. A girl sitting behind him giggled as he shot a look over at Dr. Lanyon, who was peering at him over her glasses.
The professor put down her pen and asked, “Indeed, Mr. Jekyll? Such a bold statement demands some vetting. On the off chance that head injury injected the wisdom to study into your brain, let’s hear you back that up? Why do you think he was a failure?”
Feeling the words more than just saying them, he answered directly, “Solomon failed to unite Israel.”
The giggling stopped from behind him as Lanyon announced, “Correct, Mr. Jekyll. Class, since I didn’t cover it in the instructions on test-taking, let’s add not reading answers out loud. Return to your work.”
He saw a few people skip down to that question and write his response. The curious glares soon returned back to their tests, and again he was alone with Rabbi Rubin’s thoughts dancing in his mind. Henry steeled himself and grabbed his desk with both hands as he focused his energy on reconciling the new thoughts. It was like trying to keep a kayak from tipping over, and he soon found that by giving up on fighting for control, that things eased up. Within a few seconds, Jekyll felt the memories sift down into his essence and become one with him. He sat there, a changed man, as a tiny part of him had blended perfectly with Jani Rubin.
Relaxed in his seat, he looked at the page and read to himself, ““Mosaic law differed from earlier ancient law codes because?””
He fluidly wrote on the page, “את הערך שהוא הציב על חיי האדם
האינדיבידואליים”
Quickly he scribbled out the answer and thought to himself, I know Hebrew? Wait, I do know Hebrew. I can’t remember if I’ve always known.
Henry wrote in the space left the English translation of his answer, “the value it placed on the individual human life.”
Fifteen minutes later, he clicked his pen closed and picked his finished test up off his desk. Henry walked confidently over to his teacher and waited for her to recognize him. After a few moments, she looked up, and Henry placed the paper down on her desk.
She regarded him with a hushed voice, “Is there a problem, Mr. Jekyll?”
He put his hands in his pockets and replied, “No, Ma’am. I’m done. May I go early?”
The other students all turned their heads towards the pair, as she yanked the paper from its rest. Giving his exam her full attention, her eyes scanned each line one at a time. A frown came over her face as she flipped through to the rest of the pages.
She took off her glasses and reminded him, “Mr. Jekyll, do you know how strict I am about cheating in my classroom?”
He shook his head and replied, “Professor, I didn’t cheat. I know these answers.”
His Professor took out a fresh copy of the test and handed it to him as she ordered, “You did the test in under fifteen minutes. Since you are barely a D student, I’ll need you to repeat that trick for me. Have a seat next to me and go to work.”
He pressed his lips together and took the test from her. Sitting down, he clicked his pen open again and placed his name at the top of the page. He flew through the questions, writing the answers even faster than he had before. At one point, he glanced over at his teacher and
noticed she was watching his every move.
Exactly eleven minutes later, he clicked his pen closed and handed her his completed work saying, “Here you go.”
This time every single person in the class had stopped dead still and was watching the exchange. The Professor took the paper in hand and looked it over as he sat cross-legged in his new jeans. She drew a red pen from her desk and flipped through the test sheets.
Mrs. Lanyon considered it for a moment, then capitulated, “Okay, Mr. Jekyll, you can leave if you like. Anyone can when they finish their test.”
He was so relieved and wanted to get far away from the eyes that were lasered in on him. Picking up his backpack, he left the classroom without a word and headed for his bike. His next class wasn’t for another thirty minutes and he calculated he had time to run for some food with his newfound money.
On the way there, he thought, This wasn’t all an accident or some kind of head trauma hallucination. My apartment, these clothes, the bike and now this weird ability to recall facts I never studied is all starting to settle in. Maybe I was the subject of some kind of government experiment. Lewis’s buddy Jeff told me about an MKUltra program, where black ops sections of the CIA abducted people and turned them into weapons. Those poor souls never even remembered the training until they were activated. What if it’s something like that? It makes as much sense as anything else. What if someone I go to school with targeted me as a candidate?
He climbed on his bike and pedaled his way to a Ron’s Hamburgers across the street he contemplated his conspiracy theory. Nothing else made as much sense as a Manchurian Candidate does. I’m all alone out in the world, with no family to really miss me if I disappeared for a week or more. As long as I showed up for class and shifts, who would be the wiser?
A few minutes later he pulled up to the greasy spoon and shook his head thinking, No! Come on, man. You’re talking nonsense. You had a head injury. Who knows what went down last night? Everything could have been blacked out because of the concussion. People get head injuries and then remember things they couldn’t before. Maybe this is just some kind of miracle from God. I’m going to a Christian college for Christ sakes! Face it man, it’s all in your head.
He put his kickstand down and pulled off his backpack. Something solid inside bumped against his hip and Henry opened the middle zipper to find out what it was. Inside was the brand new HP Laptop, a mouse, and a power cord. His face went flush as he extracted the computer and flipped it open. The startup screen offered two logins that were labeled, “Henry Jekyll,” and “H.”
Henry scowled at the “H,” Who the hell is that?
He clicked on the icon next to the mysterious, single letter login, only to have a password prompt appear. With a sigh, he backed out and tapped on the login that shared his own name. Instantly the computer sprang to life, and he looked over the desktop to discover he had a full Microsoft Office Suite and a host of high-end audio and video programs. In the lower right corner, his PC indicated it had made contact with a portable Wi-Fi hotspot that was called “Jekyll.” He looked back in the main section of the backpack and discovered a small black mobile Wi-Fi device
A couple came out of the burger place and startled him. Almost reflexively, he hid the laptop back in his bag, afraid someone might see it. His fingers touched something plastic at the bottom of the pack, and he wedged the bag open wider. Inside was a small Ziploc bag that had something wet inside. With a wild curiosity in his eyes, Henry took it out and saw a sandwich bag that contained a piece of pink flesh. On one side was a modified octopus-looking tattoo, written in crimson ink, and on the other was cleanly sliced muscle tissue.
A rush of fear came over him. I’m in deep shit!
Chapter 6: John II
Tulsa, OK - Wednesday, October 17th, 2018 – 9:15 a.m. CST
John Utterson looked at his right foot, as the doctor told him, “You’re fortunate, Mr. Utterson. You got away with a lateral malleolus fracture, which means it was a clean break along the fibula. Not only do you get this spiffy blue cast for the next six weeks, but we threw in a sharp-looking black boot. Now, I’ve recommended to your lieutenant that you be put on restricted duty for the next month, or until your regular MD can clear you. Now, the real problem will be the two broken ribs on your left side. That is going to hurt every time you cough, sneeze, or even take a deep breath. There is nothing I can do about that other than give you a supply of pain killers.”
A nurse walked out from behind the doctor and handed him his discharge papers. Leaning back on a hospital bed, he signed the documents. He turned the previous evening's short chase of his suspect over in his head. He gripped the pen tightly as the embarrassing recollection of falling down the hill sprang up for the hundredth time in his mind.
John handed the papers back towards the nurse and remarked, “Does restricted duty mean I can’t go back into the field?”
Before the doctor could answer, the door to his room swung open, and Terry Johnston replied, “Restricted duty means your ass will be tied to a desk.”
A frown came over John’s face as he watched the six-foot three-inch towering black man stroll the rest of the way in. Johnston had his brother's same sarcastic smile that he loved to flash when Utterson was catching a bad break. The doctor and nurse excused themselves, as the officer plopped down in the chair across from him.
Once the door closed, Johnston howled, “Well, look at big John Utterson! You really did a number on yourself this time! What’s next, are you gonna break your hip trying to beat the other elderly mall walkers?”
Utterson stiffened his jaw and replied, “Yeah, I fucked up, really bad. I have a broken ankle and two broken ribs.”
Terry whistled then gave a mocking realization, “John, if I’m not mistaken, this means you can’t go to work? If that is true, then you will have to develop some kind of hobby or, heaven forbid, even a life.”
Utterson tightened the black boot on his cast and replied, “The lieutenant says I can work a desk until I’m better.”
The detective whipped off his blanket and freed his legs from the bed. As he positioned himself on the edge, a sharp pain flared from his side and gave him a stiff reminder that his broken ribs couldn’t be ignored. Johnston quickly got up and slid an arm under his bicep to help him.
With a slow, measured breath, Utterson stated, “Hand me my clothes.”
John untied the hospital gown in the back, and gave a quick tug, releasing it off his body. Shifting his weight to one side, he pulled it free, leaving him wearing only an unstylish pair of hospital socks. His sagging pectoral muscles and paunch gut was decorated with grey hair, which contrasted his artificially colored beard and shaggy mane.
Johnston leaned his head away and exclaimed, “Hey, man! No one needs to see those wrinkly balls. Have some respect for those that just ate breakfast. My God, just looking at your pasty body makes me itch. Looking at you reminds me I need to go get my annual CAT scan.”
Slowly, Utterson stood up and put on his soiled slacks and his ripped white shirt from the day before, refusing any help. It took ten minutes for him to get fully dressed while he fumbled around on his crutches. He learned that he had to lean heavily on his right side to avoid putting pressure on his broken ribs. Unfortunately, that was the same side as his injured ankle, which made walking a slow and torturous process.
Standing almost upright, he looked at his friend and asked, “Well, What do you think?”
Johnston shook his head and replied, “I think people are going to wonder if you’re an escaped corpse from a funeral home. Just don’t moan or shamble, someone might try to put you down.”
The door to the room opened, and a short blonde nurse pushed a wheelchair in front of him, saying, “Okay, let’s have a seat, Mr. Utterson, and we can get you to sign some papers.”
This was music to his ears, and within a few seconds, he was being rolled out of the room. As they moved down the hall, she made small talk with the flirtatious Johnston. U
tterson kept his head down and endured the ride of shame to his vehicle, hoping not to see any other officers.
She stopped the chair in front of Johnston’s squad car and told him, “The wheelchair is yours, courtesy of your insurance. This chair will be your main way of getting around for the next few months, so take care of it. You have crutches, but the doctor doesn’t recommend you use them regularly for at least a week.”
On the ride home, Johnston kept asking him questions about the accident and making fun of how he fell. Each bump he hit on the way shot pain in his ribs and caused his body to seize up. Johnston pulled his cruiser into his trailer park in Broken Arrow and began berating him for living in a mobile home and losing his house to the bank.
Utterson interrupted his rant, “What did they do with my car?”
Johnston looked almost joyful to in his response, “Captain Andino ordered it to be impounded, but I knew where you keep your spare keys in your desk. So, I had another officer following me, and I drove it to your place.”
There was a long pause, and then Utterson blurted out, “Thank you, Terry.”
“Oh, you’re welcome, John.”
Utterson looked out the window and asked, “Do they have any leads on the suspect I chased?”
Johnston turned onto a street and answered, “Oh, you mean the homeless guy that you don’t need to worry about because you’re no longer on active duty? Is that the same guy your old crippled ass couldn’t keep up with and made you use your Life Alert to call for help? Yeah, I don’t think you need to worry about that guy at all. We are looking for him, and we don’t need Joe Swanson from Family Guy out playing handicop.”