I had seen Tristen Hyde’s imperious side many times, but I’d never seen him be that commanding, and I thought he probably could have inspired both adoration and outright terror if his evil side really had been unleashed. Maybe he could do it, just on his own. But even the powerful guy who stood, feet planted wide on our old wooden floors, wasn’t strong enough to slay the monster that seemed to be growing more hunched, and more vile, with every passing second. Not without unleashing his own terrible side . . .
“You have made a grave mistake, Tristen,” the beast growled, stalking even closer. Tristen stepped in front of me, guarding me. “And now all of you will pay! You have cost your lover and her mother their lives, too.”
I had no doubt then that we were all going to die as the beast reached out for Tristen, to take him first.
But suddenly, into the surreal silence that had descended upon all of us, Mr. Messerschmidt cried out, “Wait!”
Chapter 93
Jill
“I HAVE THE FORMULA,” Mr. Messerschmidt announced, stepping out from where he lurked near the door.
We all spun to face him, and I saw the vial from my pocket. “How did you get that?” I demanded.
“From your coat,” my teacher said. “I knew you’d made some. I listen to you kids, Jill, when you think I don’t. I heard rumors about you changing. I thought, maybe, given how shy you are, you might take some to the contest. I would have done it if I had been you.” His face reddened. “The formula is so . . . liberating.”
“You—you’ve taken it?” Tristen asked, sounding confused.
“Oh yes,” the beast chimed in with a deep, gloating laugh. “Tell them, Messerschmidt. Tell them how you were a paid guinea pig for Jill’s father, testing the formula to ‘cure’ Dr. Hyde.”
My mind struggled to keep up. “I don’t understand . . .”
“I wasn’t a guinea pig,” Mr. Messerschmidt protested, sounding hurt. He looked to me. “Your father and I were partners. We were all going to share the accolades when we found the proper formula. I was going to be a respected scientist, in league with your dad!”
“You were never going to earn respect.” The beast laughed. “You were a very well-compensated lab rat.”
The final piece of the puzzle fell into place. My dad had paid Messerschmidt to help him in the lab. That was where my college savings had gone.
“You’re wrong,” Mr. Messerschmidt objected. “Dr. Jekel treated me fairly. We were collaborators!”
“Then why did you bite your master?” The beast laughed again, turning to me. “Your father was so determined to ‘save’ Frederick. What a miserable martyr Jekel was—killed by his own assistant!”
I spun to face my teacher.
“I didn’t mean to, Jill,” he said. “But when I took the last formula, I changed. I followed him to the parking lot, needing to know how to make more, but he wouldn’t tell me the secret . . .”
The room started to whirl around me. Mr. Messerschmidt—my teacher—had killed my father?
Across the room my mother was sobbing loudly. I looked over and saw that the fire had spilled out onto the floor, and the rug was smoldering at her feet.
“Jill.” Tristen grabbed my arms. Maybe I was swaying. “It’s okay,” he soothed. “It’s okay . . .”
“You came to his funeral,” I accused Mr. Messerschmidt, hearing the disbelief in my voice. “And you faced me, every day in class. How could you? How could you not turn yourself in?”
He didn’t answer, and I saw not just guilt but shame on his face. A shame I recognized.
“You still wanted more!” I screamed. “That’s why you forced me and Tristen together to do the contest. You wanted us to make more so you could change again. Even after what you did to my father!”
“Yes,” Mr. Messerschmidt confessed, breaking down before our eyes. “Your father . . . he never did tell me the final ingredient . . .” He buried his face in his hands, starting to cry. “I knew you and Tristen were smart enough to figure it out. I pushed you two together . . .” He raised his face to me. “God help me, I craved it . . .”
“I don’t understand,” Tristen said, turning to face the beast. “When did Messerschmidt start working for you?”
The monster in my living room was grinning again. “When you destroyed yourself, Tristen, I went to Messerschmidt, thinking he’d somehow figured out the formula and ‘cured’ you. But that idiot didn’t even know you were already working, let alone had solved the mystery. I figured that out. After that I made sure he pressured you to make more. Your teacher became my pawn.” The beast snorted a laugh. “While I was enjoying myself, relaxing in a quiet hotel room and courting Mrs. Jekel—”
My stomach lurched again. I’d kind of known Mom was up to something, with the fancy dresses and new social life, but I had conveniently ignored the signs, having grown tired of taking care of her. I looked to my mother quaking on the couch and saw that the rug was starting to burn more brightly, the flames spreading. Oh, Mom . . . We were all going to die . . .
“While I was amusing myself,” the beast continued, “that mess of a man was keeping tabs on you, reporting to me, so I could confront Tristen at the proper time.”
I wheeled to face Mr. Messerschmidt again. “You told him that night Tristen and I worked alone in the lab. You set us up! You delivered us to Dr. Hyde twice!”
He didn’t say anything, and Tristen squeezed my arm again, either holding me up—or holding me back.
“Here,” Messerschmidt said, avoiding my eyes and stepping past me and Tristen—giving us a wide berth in a room that was getting warmer, filling with acrid smoke—to hand the vial to the beast. I saw my teacher’s hand shake as he offered up the solution.
