I stiffened, not sure if I should put her down again. “Jill?”
“It’s nothing,” she reassured me. “She did that about a half hour ago. Just lift her, okay?”
“Okay.” I raised Mrs. Jekel enough for Jill to pull back the sheets, averting my face again and holding my breath.
“You can put her down now,” Jill directed.
I rested Mrs. Jekel’s head on her pillow this time, and Jill arranged the covers over her mother’s skeletal body. Mrs. Jekel continued speaking, more quietly, so I couldn’t make out the words, and Jill crawled onto the bed and lay next to her mother, stroking her hair again. “What, Mom?” she whispered. “What are you trying to say?”
In that moment I thought Jill Jekel one of the bravest people I’d ever known. All I could think about was getting the hell away from Mrs. Jekel—and Jill had found it in herself to draw even closer to those empty eyes.
I waited at the foot of the bed, not sure if I should stay, and soon Mrs. Jekel fell silent again. As silent as a corpse. Or a corpse to be, for surely Jill’s mother was close to oblivion. My father had described patients like Mrs. Jekel. Too often they met their ends in institutions—or early graves if they found the strength, the means, to end their own misery.
Sitting upright, Jill readjusted the covers around her mother’s shoulders and crawled off the bed, joining me at the foot.
“Jill,” I ventured quietly as we both watched Mrs. Jekel’s inert form. “I’ve provided the muscle; now you need to avail yourself of a professionally trained brain.”
“I know, Tristen,” Jill agreed, touching my sleeve, indicating that I should follow her out of the room. We moved into the hallway—where I immediately breathed easier—and she pulled the door shut. “You said your father is the best, right?”
I shook my head, thinking Jill had lost her mind, too. “You’re not saying you want my father to treat your mother?”
“Yes,” she said, again with surprising firmness. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
I rested my hand on her shoulder, prepared to shake some sense into her. “I’ve told you what I believe about myself. And if it’s true, my father almost certainly shares the legacy.”
“We don’t know if you or your father are corrupted,” Jill countered. “But we do know that my mom is suffering from mental illness. You just saw her. Heard her.”
Saw, heard, and smelled her. That smell of insanity. Death coming soon.
Still, adding potential madness to madness didn’t seem like a good idea to me. “You could get someone else to treat her,” I suggested. “There are plenty of therapists around.”
“But your dad is the best. You said so, Tristen.”
I sighed, regretting my words. “That might be so,” I agreed. “But I honestly believe that one Jekel-Hyde pairing is enough for such a small town. And you yourself seemed to feel tonight that I present a risk,” I reminded her. “Enough of a threat that you wouldn’t go into the school with me.”
“I’ll do it,” Jill declared. “If you’ll get your father to help my mother, I promise I won’t run away again. I’ll even give you the box tonight. You can take it with you.”
I lowered my head, not wanting Jill to see the guilt in my eyes. I had come to the house with designs on getting the old papers. But I’d forgotten all about that as I’d tried to help Jill and her mother. And I certainly hadn’t intended to blackmail Jill into doing my bidding in a chemistry lab. “I wasn’t trying to strike another bargain,” I said. “I didn’t intend to use my father to pressure you.”
“It doesn’t matter, Tristen,” she said. “Just please . . . ask your dad to see my mom. For me.”
For me.
I’m pretty sure that’s what got me in the end. That desperate appeal and Jill’s eyes. Even in the gloomy corridor I could see those big hazel eyes watching me with hope. And, God help me—or forgive me—I found myself reluctantly agreeing. “All right, Jill. I’ll ask Dad. But I can’t promise that he’ll see her.”
Even that weak assurance was enough for her, though. She uttered a soft cry of relief and gratitude and to my complete surprise, hopped on her toes and flung her arms around my neck. “Thank you, Tristen,” she whispered. “I won’t forget this. I promise. I’ll repay the favor.”
I wrapped my arms around her tiny waist, almost as tentatively as I’d first touched her mother. But the sensation that coursed through me as Jill’s heart beat against my chest and her smooth hair grazed the bottom of my jaw and my hand stroked the small of her back—it was completely different from what I’d felt holding her mother. The polar opposite of revulsion—and somehow more than mere sexual attraction.
What I felt holding Jill was almost like surrender. The cutting away of a barrier that I’d put up years ago. A wall that I needed to maintain. A bit unsettled, I stepped back, releasing her and getting hold of myself. “I’ll ask Dad tomorrow,” I promised.
“Let me get the box for you,” she offered.
I snared her arm, stopping her. “No,” I said, wanting her to know that I really hadn’t intended to barter my father’s services in exchange for the documents. Wanting to convince myself, too, that the assistance I’d provided had been pure, without strings attached. “Just bring it to the school tomorrow night. If you can leave your mother, of course.”
“Okay,” she agreed, turning to lead us downstairs. “I’ll do my best to be there.”
Jill saw me out onto the porch, following me into the chilly night, shivering in a thin T-shirt. “Thank you, again, Tristen,” she said, rubbing her arms to stay warm.
“Don’t thank me yet,” I mumbled,
