After a moment of silent understanding Jill resumed unwinding my bandage, and although I knew that I should order her to leave, I let her stay. I didn't think the Jill Jekel who went wordlessly to the cabinet in my bathroom--returning with alcohol, a washcloth, and a pair of scissors--that girl wouldn't have listened to me, anyway. Somewhere along the way, as she dabbed the damp cloth against the gash on my cheek, shushing me softly when I muttered a curse but holding my chin firmly in place, I ceded my dominant role in our relationship, and Jill assumed her proper place as full partner. Never again would I call all the shots--and that was all right by me. I had grown tired of self-sufficiency, anyway.
"That looks better," she said, stepping back and observing her work. She glanced around the room. "Do you have something I could cut up to make a new bandage?"
I nodded toward a pile of clothes, heaped in a plastic basket.
"Those are clean."
187
"Okay." She dug in the laundry and chose a white T-shirt. Sitting down next to me, she took the scissors and bent her head, cutting a neat, long strip of fabric. "Give me your arm again," she said, moving my hand to her lap.
"Oh, shit," I complained through gritted teeth as she wound the new bandage around my broken bone.
"Tristen!" she chided me, but softly. And when she turned her face to mine, I saw a trace of amusement in her eyes, in spite of the awful circumstances. "That's enough."
"I'll try harder," I promised, digging the fingers of my good hand into the mattress as Jill returned to caring for me, tenderly but firmly moving my hand until it aligned better with my arm. The pain was almost unbearable, and to keep myself from passing out, I tried to focus on her profile. The faint flush of nervous exertion on her cheek, the way she bit her pale, pink lower lip as she concentrated, the serious furrow of her brow as if she suffered, too, to cause me pain: I focused on all those things, reminding myself that I needed to be alert to protect her if the beast returned and found us there.
"I think we're done, Tristen," Jill finally said, tying off the bandage and standing. "You should rest now."
I didn't argue and lay back on the bed, closing my eyes, thinking that in a few minutes I would feel stronger, and then I really
would
send Jill on her way.
I listened as she cleaned up the bloody cloth and the unused fabric. Then, while my eyes were still closed--before I could tell her to go--the mattress creaked and sagged next to me, and I felt a small warm, strong body lie down next to mine, and a tentative arm drape across my chest so lightly that I barely felt the pressure.
I didn't think it was possible, but I soon found myself drifting 188
toward sleep again, dozing lightly, awakening now and then to feel Jill's arm still resting on me. At least, I thought I merely dozed, and that only minutes passed. Yet when I awoke fully, feeling more rested than I had in a long time, I realized that the room had started to grow dim--and Jill's arm was tighter around me, her body pressed even closer to mine.
How far Jill had come since that night at her house when I'd first tried to kiss her and felt her shyness, her inexperience. And then there had been that strange night in the lab ...
I shifted and turned to Jill, suddenly uneasy, as if I might find myself face-to-face on the pillow with that frantic creature, whom I nearly hadn't recognized.
But no, I saw nothing more than sweetness in her eyes, which blinked at me, inches away. Sweetness and tenderness and a hint of the uncertainty that I'd expected she would have when the time came for us to be together like this.
Neither of us speaking--both understanding what was
happening--I stroked her cheek with my bandaged hand, not really caring that it ached to touch her. At my very subtle pressure against her shoulder, Jill shifted more to her back, and I managed to rise up, relying on my good arm to brace myself but resting a little heavily on her as we began to kiss, lips barely brushing, not rushing, just savoring being together.
This ... this was how I wanted to be with her. Not the way she'd been on that first night in the lab, when we'd both gone a little insane.
"Tristen," she murmured as I settled more completely against her, sliding my hand under the hem of her blouse, caressing the soft skin just above her hip. "Oh, Tristen." She rested her hand against my bicep, testing my muscle--and tensed beneath me. 189
"It's okay," I whispered, reassuring her, wondering if she'd flashed back to the terrible, wonderful night when we'd first kissed. "It's okay," I promised again, and felt her relax, soften. She was so, so soft. Her breath against mine, the trace of skin above her hip, her own touch on my skin.
We lay that way for a long time, kissing more deeply, more intensely, Jill slowly gaining confidence, moving her hand into my hair, stroking it as our tongues met again and again, but still I didn't try to go further. Not yet. She would let me know when she was ready. She would give me some small sign, and until that time I would content myself with giving her what she wanted and nothing more. I would never be that monster again, would not even come close to pressuring her.
"Tristen." She murmured my name when our lips parted.
"Tristen?"
I drew back, moving my injured hand to stroke her cheek again, and she opened her eyes. "What, Jill?" I whispered, mesmerized by the changeable color of those remarkable eyes. "What is it?" I waited expectantly.
I wanted to hear her
say
what I saw in those eyes. That she loved me.
I'd thought of saying those words to Jill a dozen times as we'd kissed but ultimately held back. I could tell that Jill, too, was on the verge and--selfish me--I wanted to be told first, not hear my words echoed back to me.
"Tristen," she whispered, caressing my face, too, her eyes filling with tears. Good tears. The kind of tears that Jill Jekel deserved. Not a torrent of stinging salt water into an open grave but the slightest trickle onto
my
pillow. "I..." 190
But before she could give me what I really wanted--as much, if not more, than kissing her, touching her--the telephone shrieked in the hallway, and we both froze, the moment shattered.
Under any other circumstance I would have let that phone scream until dawn. But my father was a hostage, in a sense, and I was awaiting orders from his captor. "I'm sorry, Jill," I whispered, meaning that more than I'd ever meant it in my entire life.
"Get it, Tristen," she urged, seeming to understand what was going on, although I'd never told her exactly what had happened between the beast and me. "Hurry."
I kissed her once more, quickly, not knowing at the time that I should have savored it more, and went to answer the phone, leaving Jill alone in my room.
Chapter 56
Jill
I WAITED IN TRISTEN'S BED,
listening to the sound of his voice as he answered the phone. Me ... I was
in Tristen's bed.
What would have happened if the phone hadn't started ringing?
I'd gotten caught up in the moment, so much that I'd almost admitted that I
loved
him. But what we were doing, it scared me as much as it excited me. I'd felt the muscle in Tristen's arm, and when he'd rested more squarely on top of me, I'd felt...
him.
Every hard inch of his body pressing against me. The realization, the
reality,
had been wonderful and thrilling and completely terrifying. I'd been
in bed
with a guy. A guy who was clearly ready to do 191
more than just kiss, which was itself still new to me.
Down the hall Tristen kept talking. I could hear his deep,
masculine
voice.
What would we do when he came back? Kiss some more? Talk about... condoms? Did he
have
condoms? Would he ask if I took the pill? Or would he assume that I didn't? Would my obvious inexperience be enough of a clue?
Sitting up, skin hot and prickly, I crawled off the bed. I hadn't meant for us even to kiss when I'd climbed in next to Tristen. I'd figured he was too hurt and too exhausted to even think about... what we'd been doing. But suddenly it had started happening, anyway, when he'd sort of pressed my shoulder back to the mattress--which I'd wanted but...
I started moving nervously around his bedroom, not sure what I should do and getting kind of frustrated with myself.
That girl who'd kissed Tristen in the chemistry lab, the one who'd come out when I tasted the formula in his mouth, she wouldn't be tugging down the hem of her blouse like she was trying to stop his fingers from moving up any farther. No, that girl would have taken
off
some clothes. But I wasn't her ...
I kept pacing, moving to Tristen's desk. That's when I saw, buried under some other books, his first edition copy of
Jekyll and Hyde.
The novel that he obviously wanted to keep out of my reach. Down the hall, Tristen was still talking. I couldn't make out what he said, but I knew the caller wasn't his father like he'd hoped. Or feared. He was too calm, and he sounded kind of formal, like he was on the line with somebody he didn't know very well.
In front of me the forbidden book sat, tempting me. Why wasn't I supposed to see it? I'd let Tristen
keep
my family's most important things. What was he keeping from me? Didn't I have a right 192
to know everything about him? We were sharing a
bed...
On impulse I darted out my hand and slid the novel from under the other books, flipping it open to the inscription that I'd caught a glimpse of back in the classroom.
To Tristen, with gratitude for being strong when I was weak.
Never, ever doubt that your actions were just, despite how the
world... judge Keep ... remem ... me
I couldn't make out some of the words, and the writing, which was faint to begin with, got more scrawling and erratic as it ran across the page. And there were the smudges that I'd noticed before, just under the signature. A wide smear and a smaller fingerprint. I knew that I was looking at blood because I'd seen plenty of it. I peered more closely. Blood, just like my dad's on the list of salts
...
"Jill? What are you doing?"
My head snapped up, the book snapped shut in my hands, and I spun around to see Tristen standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, watching me.
"Tristen," I stammered, torn between guilt and a vague, but very real, unease, "what, exactly, did you
do?"
Chapter 57
Jill
"JILL, I'VE TOLD YOU
not to touch that," Tristen said, moving into the room and closing the door behind him. His eyes were a little cold, like he was mad at me. "It's private." 193
My cheeks flushed with embarrassment over getting caught, but I held my ground and didn't put down the book. "But, Tristen, I've shared
everything
with you." Well,
almost
everything ... He came even closer to me and gently but firmly pried the novel out of my fingers. "Jill," he said, and I noticed that his face was pale. "I don't think you want to know everything about me." I looked up at him, shaking my head. "That's not fair, Tristen. You can't decide that for me."
He was keeping a secret. A bad secret.
Awful secrets were like bloodstains in my life. I knew enough about them to recognize them before they'd even been revealed. The evasive, haunted look in Tristen's eyes told me everything I needed to know--except for the truth itself. "What happened, Tristen?" I demanded. "I deserve to know." We'd just been in bed together. I'd shared with him the key to banishing his own demons and stayed by him when he'd nearly died. He owed me the truth. Tristen had an obligation to explain the strange dedication ... and that
bloodstain.
"Oh, Jill," he said, cracking easily, like maybe he'd secretly longed for a confidant. He set down the novel and dragged his good hand through his hair, eyes no longer cold. On the contrary, he looked guilt ridden and grief stricken. "I don't know how to tell you this," he said. "I wasn't sure if it was even true until recently. I
hoped
it wasn't true, and tried to convince myself..."
"It's okay, Tristen," I said. But I felt scared. "Just say it." His cheeks got even paler, and his lips were a thin, white line, but he met my eyes as he stated, very directly, "I murdered my grandfather, Jill."
194
***
Chapter 58
Jill
"WHAT?" I WANTED HIM
to repeat that, because I hoped I hadn't heard right. "Tell me again, Tristen."
"I killed my grandfather," he said. "Or the beast did, through me." We stood facing each other, his body blocking the door that I wanted to run through. "How?" I asked. My voice sounded strangled. "What did you... ?"
"A knife." He winced like a blade was slashing
him
again. "That seems to be the way it prefers to kill."
I knew that Tristen wasn't really responsible for whatever had happened to his grandfather. Logically I knew that he wasn't to blame. I'd seen him change, and I knew that the beast was something separate from the boy I loved. But I still found myself staring at his hands--which had plunged a blade into his own flesh and blood. A man he'd loved ... who had given him the gift of music, of composing. Tristen's hands had wielded the knife ... In my confused mind the images got tangled with imagined scenes of my dad being slaughtered, a knife dragged across his windpipe. "No, Tristen!" I cried, shaking my head. "I don't believe you did it!"
"
I
didn't do it, Jill," he said. But he didn't sound sure himself. "I mean, my body performed the act. But it wasn't me. You were there that night when I changed ..."
I heard him, and I knew he was right, but my shock and horror overcame reason. I'd been lying next to a killer. Not a
potential
killer like Tristen had feared becoming but a
real
killer. Somebody who'd
195
already shed blood. I kept shaking my head, backing away from him. Those fingers had just been touching me ... "No, Tristen." He stepped toward me, hand out, talking more quickly, the confession spilling out. "Please. Try to understand. My grandfather
begged
me to help him die. He knew the terrible things
he'd
done, and he couldn't live with himself anymore. He was bedridden, nearly paralyzed, and all day and all night, long-repressed memories flooded back, torturing him. He