Another Jekyll, Another Hyde

by Daniel Nayeri

  Thomas expected her to look up and smile, the way she always did when she saw him walking in. But when they made eye contact, Annie didn’t seem to recognize him.

  He looked like Edward now. Thomas wasn’t in control.

  Thomas was forced to watch as Edward sauntered forward. Annie looked back down at her phone. As Edward passed her, he bumped her shoulder a little.

  Don’t, thought Thomas — now he was the other voice, the silenced half, and he could feel the frustration of it. Edward was just doing this to mess with him.

  Annie glanced up. “Sorry,” she said. Seeing her as a stranger, Thomas was suddenly struck by details he had long taken for granted. Her bangs, sweeping across her forehead and behind her ear. The tiny birthmark behind her earlobe. The near-invisible hairs on her neck that were standing up as Edward continued to stare at her.

  Annie looked up again. She gave a nervous smile. “Do I know you?”

  Edward just grinned at her and let the silence go stale before he finally said, “No, you don’t.”

  He walked off, gliding through the crowd toward his mother’s table. The Marlowe girls standing with Connor stopped in midconversation to gawk at Edward’s chiseled bare arms. The undershirt hugged his pecs and six-pack like Cling Wrap — not exactly the Marlowe uniform. Edward nodded to a few of the girls and some of the moms but didn’t stop to talk.

  This never happened before, thought Thomas.

  That’s because I’m better-looking than you.

  But that wasn’t what Thomas was referring to. Every other time, the W had given him some aspect of what he now knew were Edward’s emotions — his excitement, his sadness, his charm; each pill was a different piece of a new other self — then knocked him out. It was like watching a dream — or reliving a memory — of his time as Edward, all to the beat of the flashing lights of Club Elixir. But this time, W wasn’t the cause. He hadn’t taken any. Could it still be in his system? Thomas was awake, inside his own brain, fully aware of what he was doing but unable to change any of it.

  Is this how Edward feels when I’m in control? Is he watching me from the inside?

  Suddenly, Thomas feared that the W had had some lasting effect on his mind. Or worse, that this Edward was far more than a persona but someone else entirely, possessing him. John said the bonedust was a source of immortality. Maybe instead of giving him long life, the W had given him a second life.

  Welcome to the movie, Tommy. It’s almost time for the credits.

  They had reached the table. Madame Vileroy stood up and crooned, as any mother would.

  “Edward,” she said. “I haven’t seen you in far too long, my darling.”

  She seemed to float around the table — never a clumsy step or an awkward pause to push her chair back — perfect frictionless motion. As she kissed Edward on each cheek, she whispered in his ear, “Hello in there, Thomas.”

  Thomas would have screamed if he’d had any vocal cords to scream with.

  Of course she knows, he thought. Of course Edward is her son. After what John had told him about W, and after what he’d seen happen to Belle last year, he shouldn’t have been surprised by any of this.

  Mr. Goodman-Brown took his cue from Nicola and stood.

  “This is my Charles,” said Vileroy. Even in his position, Thomas caught the fleeting wrinkle on his dad’s forehead when he was referred to as hers.

  Creepy, thought Thomas.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” said Mr. Goodman-Brown, extending his hand. Edward took it and squeezed hard. Thomas caught on to the idea. He thought, I wouldn’t do that. With uncanny timing, Mr. Goodman-Brown reacted to the tightening grip and clamped down on Edward’s hand. Explosions of pain and expletives flashed through Edward’s thoughts. For a second, Thomas was proud. Dad used to row crew. And he’s in finance. He puts up with these alpha male monkey power games all the time.

  Mr. Goodman-Brown peered deep into Edward’s eyes but didn’t betray his feelings in any way. For the first time, Thomas knew why everyone said his dad was so good at negotiating. Thomas could feel the bones crushing in his palm.

  Wait! thought Thomas. I could feel that.

  Edward was losing his concentration. His hold on their body was weakening. Suddenly, every sense returned to Thomas. The smell of apple-smoked bacon and Kona coffee. Marlowe parents discussing their winter getaway plans to Shanghai. Lucy Spencer speaking into the mic: “Did anyone complete seven rows of the sudoku?”

  Thomas was back. And his dad was crushing his hand.

  You angsty little piece of upper-crust sperm. I will kill you from the inside. I will take you over and ruin you.

  Thomas ignored Edward’s rage wail. He knew his own face and body would return soon — right in front of everyone.

  “Why don’t you take a seat,” said Mr. Goodman-Brown. “My son, Thomas, should be back any minute.”

  “Yes,” said Nicola. “In fact, I’ve texted him just now, to let him know we’re all here.” She smiled and held up her phone as a visual aid. It was immediately accompanied by the ringtone, blaring from Thomas’s pocket. Thomas clasped his hand over his jeans and pressed frantically at the SILENCE button through the fabric. His dad noticed and raised an eyebrow.

  “I should go, actually,” said Thomas. His hair was starting to recede.

  “Not you, too,” said Mr. Goodman-Brown, settling back in his seat. “Why is it so hard to feed you boys caviar in a room full of pretty girls?”

  “I dunno,” said Thomas. His voice cracked. “It’s probably the airport calling. They, uh, lost my luggage.” He put his hand over his face and raced to get back out of the tent hall. Why would Vileroy even do that? thought Thomas. It doesn’t help her in any way to expose this.

  Just for the hell of it, Tommy. The amusing little piece of everyday hell.

  Thomas almost knocked over a tray table as he scrambled out. He ran through the tent curtain, face-first into the chest of Detective Mancuso. Thomas stumbled backward. Mancuso expelled a gust of air.

  “Sorry,” said Thomas. He tried to sidestep and continue on, but the officer caught him by the arm. “Hold on a minute, son.”

  Wanna show him a magic trick, Thomas?

  Thomas didn’t need to be reminded that any second now his face and body would begin contorting back into their original shape.

  “You seen a kid around here a little shorter than you, acting kind of weird?” asked Detective Mancuso. Thomas didn’t have time for this.

  “This is Marlowe,” he said.

  He tried to pull his arm away, but Mancuso tightened his grasp. “What does that mean?” said the detective.

  “It means that half these kids eat medication like it’s Skittles, and the other half just act weird.”

  Thomas wrenched his arm away and walked into the kitchen tent. Detective Mancuso shook his head. “I hate this case,” he grumbled as he walked back to the bar. Thomas made it to his corner by the refrigerator just in time to change back. The pain was so sharp that it left lingering aftershocks, similar to waking up after a night at Elixir.

  He was halfway through this little charade. Now all he had to do was go back and pretend that something came up or that he wasn’t feeling well. He reached behind the fridge and pulled out his shirt. He used the reflection to fix his hair, then ducked out of the kitchen.

  It took so much concentration to hold off Edward. Thomas was shaking with the exertion. Oddly, all he wanted to do was take a W and sleep through everything rather than keep fighting every step of the way.

  Why don’t you? thought Edward in the gentlest tone he’d used yet. Thomas’s hand brushed against his pocket. The bottle rattled as he walked across the room.

  “Hi, Thomas!”

  Thomas looked up. It was Annie again. Thomas breathed a curse. “Hey, Annie. I just forgot to get something from my dad.” He didn’t stop walking.

  “Oh,” said Annie. “I checked with my mom and she’d love to have you over for dinner.”

  “Grea
t!” said Thomas. “It’s a date, then.”

  “OK!” said Annie. She had to shout. Thomas was long gone.

  “Congratulations!” said Lucy Spencer. “Mr. Wirth at table twelve wins for finishing five rows of the puzzle!”

  Thomas didn’t have much time. He balled his hand into a fist and kept moving.

  “Thomas,” said Mr. Goodman-Brown, “you just missed Edward.”

  Thomas slunk into his seat and let his dad clap him on the shoulder. “Oh, yeah?” said Thomas. “Is he still around?”

  Nicola Vileroy gave a knowing smile. She seemed impressed with his acting.

  “He’s taking a call,” she said.

  “I saw your friend Annie,” said Mr. Goodman-Brown.

  Thomas was distracted, drumming his fingers on the table. “Huh?”

  “I saw your friend,” said his dad. “You should ask her to join us.”

  “No,” said Thomas.

  “How is she holding up?” said Madame Vileroy.

  Thomas stopped drumming on the table. “What do you mean?” Thomas knew he was falling into another of her traps. But he couldn’t do anything about it.

  “Her friend is still in the hospital.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” said Mr. Goodman-Brown. “And that other girl. Have they been updating you guys on that case?”

  “No, Dad,” said Thomas. “It’s police business.”

  “But you’re safe? At school, they have security?”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  The mention of security made Thomas look around for Detective Mancuso at the bar. As soon as he turned around, it seemed, the officer glanced over. They made eye contact. Thomas whipped back around.

  He’s coming this way, Thomas.

  “Thomas, are you OK?” said Nicola.

  He was losing his grip again. Edward was pulling him back. His shirt felt tighter. Thomas reached for his glass of orange juice but knocked it over instead.

  “Darn it!” said Thomas.

  “It’s all right,” said his dad. “We’ll get you another one.”

  “Feeling dizzy,” said Nicola. Thomas couldn’t tell if it was a question or a command. The transformation was coming on even faster than last time. Thomas caught the slightest glint in the branded eye of Vileroy.

  “I’m feeling dizzy,” said Thomas.

  No kidding.

  Mr. Goodman-Brown turned in his seat. “Excuse me,” he said to a nearby waiter, but Thomas interrupted.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll refill it myself.”

  Thomas grabbed the glass and lurched toward the nearby buffet table. Even though there were pitchers of juice at both ends of the table, Thomas headed into the crowd, where parents were still debating the sociopolitical merits of the Native American ice sculpture. He squeezed through, hoping his dad and Detective Mancuso had lost the line of sight as he went around the back and crawled under the table.

  As he ripped his shirt off and suppressed a grunt of pain, he heard his dad’s voice. “Thomas? Where’d you go?”

  Thomas had seconds before he was again at the mercy of his other self, Vileroy’s own son. Now he was certain that she was responsible for Edward’s presence, just as she had been responsible for Belle’s face changing. If his suspicions were correct, that it was the W that had opened his mind to Edward, then she must have had something to do with the pills, too, with Nikki from Elixir, and even John Darling’s bonedust, since it had the same healing effect as W. The thought occurred to him that maybe Vileroy had something to do with Roger’s attack and Marla’s disappearance — or even the missing school nurse.

  He pulled out his phone and texted as fast as he could. Sorry G2G. Sick.

  At the last second, Thomas pressed SEND.

  I win, thought Thomas as he floated back into the abyss of unconsciousness.

  “Edward!” said Mr. Goodman-Brown as he approached the buffet table a minute or two later. “Stay right there. Thomas should be around here somewhere.”

  “I doubt it,” said Edward.

  “Hold on a sec,” said Mr. Goodman-Brown. “This might be him.” He pulled out his phone and read the text. “Huh,” said Mr. Goodman-Brown. “I guess he went home. Now, what were you saying, Edward?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Edward had better things to do than glad-hand Nicola’s latest chew toy. As he walked out of the tent, anonymously past Detective Mancuso, he thought, No, Tommy. There are a lot of ways this can end, but you don’t win in any of them.

  Edward pulled out Thomas’s phone and began typing another text, this time to Annie: Can’t do dinner. Lata — tgb.

  London, England, in the Year of Our Lord 1536

  Dear Richard,

  I write to make an urgent request of you. I know that I have been wicked and that in our tutorial days I made you do terrible, depraved things. But you must forget all that, because my life is in the gravest danger. I sense an evil rising up within me. It has been bubbling there for all my sixteen years and threatens to spill over. Sometimes I want to embrace it. . . . I know that it will end me. And if it doesn’t, this will: Mother has been whispering strange things. She says that I am not destined to live out my youth in this world, that I must rather embrace a greater destiny. She has been watching me as I sleep. Last night, I heard her gathering up the last of her beauty dust — you know what I refer to — and I think she means to kill me to make more of it. You may think me crazy, but a few nights ago she tried to say good-bye, in her twisted way. She said that I, Edward Hyde, will live out the ages among kings and Caesars and that I will come back again, in the far-off future, as heir to great empires, cleansed of any human pity or conscience.

  Then yesterday, I thought I dreamed that she cut off one of my toes and ground it into fine powder. I wouldn’t have thought much of it, except that I woke up with my foot bandaged and sore and my bed bloodied. What else can all this signify but that she has gone mad and means to butcher me in ritual? I pray you to find my father, as I must have one. I fear my time has come, for I hear her footsteps now. . . .

  Your wretched friend,

  Edward Hyde

  London, England, 1886

  My dear Dr. Jekyll,

  I must be brief, as I am at this very moment pursued by police and others who will do me harm. I wish you to know that I am well hidden and that you need labour under no alarm for my safety, as I have means of escape on which I place a sure dependence. You have been a faithful benefactor, whom I have so long unworthily repaid for a thousand generosities. Of all my friends past and present, you have been the most magnanimous. I wish the authorities to make no connection between us, for I am moving onward.

  I leave this letter in the capable hands of your maidservant.

  Your grateful friend,

  Edward Hyde

  New York, NY, present day

  Dear Thomas,

  I got rid of Annie for you. I write this in our journal so you don’t mess it up with your stupid-ass attempts at making things right. Of all the benefactors I’ve had over the centuries, you’re the biggest bumbling idiot. But I’ll tell you one thing: I like New York. I like Mother’s new house. I’m not going anywhere. It’s you and me forever, bitch. . . .

  Your pissed-off friend,

  Edward Hyde

  The next evening, Thomas spent an hour searching for his journal. He figured he’d crank out his obligatory four hundred words for Dr. Alma before going to dinner at Annie’s, but lately, he kept misplacing everything — his journal, his phone, his keys. He really needed the journal now, though. He wanted to see the place where the page from Marla’s locker had been ripped out. Could the page really have come from his journal? He knew it had, but he wanted to check anyway. Besides, he wanted to write down his thoughts about John’s bonedust and his bottle of W, which was probably the thing that changed his face and his thoughts, opening his innermost parts to Edward. What was the connection between the two? W came from Nikki, maybe somehow from Nicola, considering th
at she claimed Edward as her own son. And according to John Darling, bonedust came from the old RA and the missing school nurse. He should search for them online.

  Later . . .

  By the time he gave up the journal search, it was already seven p.m. and time to head out. Thomas knew that tonight was important to Annie. It would be the first time they’d met up since getting back together at the pancake social yesterday. He wondered if he should put on cologne. Or maybe wear a suit. No, he thought. Better play it casual. He grabbed a light jacket off his bed and started to head out. Then, halfway out the door, he turned back toward the closet, stuffed a blue tie into his pocket (just in case), and hurried down the stairs and out to the foyer elevator.

  Annie lived on the Upper West Side, just across the park from Thomas, so Thomas decided to walk. Central Park in late autumn is a place straight out of the movies. Thomas used to go jogging there with his mom when he was a kid. She’d jog in place while he caught up, or run really slowly and pretend to be amazed by her “super athlete” son. Meanwhile, he would be hauling it just to prove that he could beat her. Was he ten years old then? Eleven? If she were alive now, Thomas would probably have to slow down so she could keep up. As he strolled through the lush orange-and-brown trees lining the footpath through the center of the park, Thomas thought of Thanksgiving and Christmas and how if his mom were around instead of Madame Vileroy, she would already be reserving turkeys and counting place settings.

  As he was passing a row of artists displaying their wares, Thomas felt something skip. It was bizarre. He was looking at a guy spray painting a red planet on a piece of cardboard, and then suddenly he wasn’t. He was three artists down from that guy, who was suddenly finished with his picture and selling it to a guy with a paunch who wasn’t there before. Edward whispered in his head.

  Don’t do it, Thomas. Don’t drag her back into it.

  He rubbed his head and kept walking. He had to do something about this. Edward appeared in his mind so often now that he thought maybe the W had done permanent damage. “Shut up!” he said out loud. A woman pushing a stroller turned, then sped up.