Fall 1902

One day before the start of the term, and the halls are already alive with activity… porters coming and going, confused-looking underclassmen wandering about, old friends greeting each other and telling stories of summer. I glance around the room, searching for familiar faces when a voice from behind calls my name. I turn to see a brown-haired green-eyed man coming toward me. "Benntin Kaiche!" I smile as my childhood friend gives my arm a firm pump. "So, how was your vacation?"

"Oh, same as usual," Ben replies, nonchalantly shaking a lock of hair out of his eyes. "I…"

A loud rumbling sound approaches; we barely have enough time to dive out of the way before a large trunk speeds past. "Go on, get out of the way, you morons!" a young blond-haired boy shouts as he hurries after his cart… obviously an underclassman.

"I suppose some people forget to pack their manners," I shout after him. Ben and I exchange a look as he disappears down the hall. I know we must be thinking the same thing: that kid's going to be put in his place fast.

A large throng is already gathered around a bulletin board farther down the hall as we approach to check our room assignments, just as we've done at the start of every term for the past two years. I peer over the tops of people's heads, but it's no use; I'm still too far away to see. Not that it would matter much… It's nearly impossible to read the dean's writing at the best of times.

I'm able to inch closer as the crowd begins to thin out, my eyes scanning for my name; I finally find it: Caledon Hockley and… The name listed next to mine isn't Ben's. There must be some mistake… Ben and I have been roommates since freshman year. I check again just to make sure I'm reading the assignments correctly, and my heart sinks. "We're not together this year…"

Ben nods solemnly. "I know." He forces a smile. "At least we'll still be on the same floor. Our rooms are right across the hall from each other."

A tall dark-haired man is leaning in the doorway of one of the rooms. He smiles as we approach and says with a flawless French accent, "Bon soir." Ben and I exchange a look. I hope this guy's not an exchange student! He laughs, his blue eyes darting across our blank faces, and trades his French accent for a heavy Southern one as he speaks again, "I'm Raoul Shelmerdine."

"Cal Hockley," I introduce myself as he vigorously pumps my arm up and down. I jerk my head toward Ben. "And he's Ben Kaiche."

Raoul turns to Ben. "So you're Benntin Kaiche? Well, I guess this makes us neighbors."

Ben gapes back at him. "So you're not-" he begins, but I shoot him a warning look before he can finish that sentence.

"A foreigner?" Raoul finishes for him; Ben nods. "Shoot, no! I'm from New Orleans."

"Excuse me." I jump slightly as a small voice pipes up. I look down to see another young man, light-brown haired and several inches shorter than me, staring over an armful of books with baleful gray eyes. "I-I'm David Walker," he stammers timidly. "T-this is my room…" I quickly stand aside as I realize I'm blocking the doorway. He's right… his name was the one next to mine on the assignment sheet.

Ben and Raoul snicker as I introduce them – and myself- to Walker. "Where did you come from?" Ben demands.

"Chicago," Walker replies meekly.

I can't help but notice the roguish glint in Ben's eye. I sense danger; he must think Walker is an underclassman. I shouldn't be surprised… I did, too, until he told me his name. I know I should nip this in the bud; maybe if they see me be friendly to Walker, they'll get the idea and leave him alone. "Do you know the Ryersons?" I ask him.

He nods, staring wide-eyed at me. "My grandma invites them over for tea every Sunday."

"I'm bored!" Raoul complains suddenly. He turns to Ben. "Where do you go to have fun around here?"

Ben smiles mischievously. "Just you wait." He turns to me with a wink, and I immediately know his plan.

"Do you want to come, too?" I ask Walker.

"No, thank you," he says as he brushes past me with his books. "I have to study."

Ben and Raoul exchange a look as the door closes behind Walker. "How can he need to study?" Ben voices exactly what I'm thinking. "Classes don't even start until tomorrow!"

Raoul chuckles. "That guy sounds like a real stick-in-the-mud!"

We take Raoul to a small run-down pub a few blocks away. The cramped room is already overrun with people who had the same idea as us; apparently we're not the only ones celebrating the start of the term. The barman recognizes us immediately. "Long time, no see, boys!" he greets us. "So what'll it be, the usual?"

I nod – so does Ben – as we take the table in the back corner, the only vacant one left. Raoul immediately becomes interested in a brunette at the other side of the room and ditches us before our drinks even arrive. Ben laughs. "Real ladies' man, that one!"

It's well after midnight by the time we get back to our dormitories. Ben mumbles a "good night" as he leads a staggering Raoul into the room across the hall. I peer inside my own room to complete darkness, and I know Walker must already be sleeping. I'm careful not to disturb him as I get ready for bed myself. My head is pounding as I lay back against the pillow; I glance at Walker in the bed at the far side of the room. Maybe he had the right idea all along…

The sunlight is pouring in through the window by the time I force my eyes open. I glance blearily around the room, and my eyes fix on Walker, already dressed and sitting at the desk engrossed in a book, almost as if he never left since last night. "Dave? What time is it?" I ask groggily.

He pulls out his watch and turns to me. "Five 'til ten." My heart drops as panic sets in; my first class of the day begins in only five minutes… English with Professor Larson. I hastily throw on some clothes and grab my schoolbag, running a hand through my hair to smooth it down as I rush out the door. Damn… of all the classes I could be late to, it had to be the one with the strictest teacher. I can just hear the old man now, scolding, yelling at me…

I can hear him talking all the way down the hall, but that voice doesn't sound like Larson's… how odd. Ben and Raoul are already seated in one of the front rows as I barge into the room. Ben pat the vacant seat beside him, but Larson clears his throat loudly before I have the chance to sit down.

I turn, bracing for the barrage of reprimands to come, but the face staring back at me isn't the wrinkled weather-beaten one of Professor Larson. This man is taller, younger, and – to my great surprise – smiling. "Long night, Mr.….?"

"H-Hockley," I finish for him, stammering incredulously. "Cal Hockley."

"Mr. Hockley," he repeats. "Well, I trust you'll be on time to my classes from now on." I nod dumbly. His classes? What happened to…? I start to ask about Professor Larson but think better of it as the new teacher turns to face the group. "As I was saying, I'm Professor Reynaldi. Professor Larson has retired, so I'll be taking over his classes…"

He picks up an armful of books from a nearby cart, dropping them onto the nearest desk with a loud THUNK! "This term, we'll be reading one of my favorite works of literature," he continues, handing out books as he moves between the rows. He drops one on the desk in front of me, and the gilded letters of the title catch my eye: The Strange case of Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde. I inwardly groan; I've never been an avid reader. My eyes shift back to Reynaldi as his voice drones on, "…which begs the question: what is the very nature of duality? Is man inherently evil or good?" How the hell should I know?! "I'd like each of you to write an essay detailing these points, due this Friday."

Friday morning arrives, yet I still have no idea what Reynaldi wants us to write about. I glance at the clock on the wall; his class begins in only two hours… I'd better think of something and fast! His words replay in the back of my mind, "Is man inherently evil or good?" I haven't the faintest; I would think that would depend upon the circumstances. I rifle through my bag for a pen and paper as inspiration hits me. A little more than an hour later, I have my essay, disjointed, incoherent, and well over half a page shorter than Reynaldi wanted, but still something to hand in.

I almost bump into Reynaldi that afternoon on my way to rowing practice, the first one of the season, and my first as captain of the team. "Good afternoon, Mr. Hockley," he greets me. I nod an acknowledgement as I walk on, but Reynaldi's next words stop me in my tracks. "I'd like to talk to you about the essay you turned in this morning."

He's going to tell me I failed… I knew it. I reluctantly turn, bracing for the reprimand to come, but to my surprise, Reynaldi smiles. "I haven't finished grading yet," he says, "but yours was the best essay I've read so far." I stare at him. "Congratulations," he adds before turning away.

The rest of the team is already gathered by the time I arrive. My eyes fall to a blond boy standing with his back to me, looking confused and out of place. "You, there! Are you lost?"

He wheels around with an insolent glare, his dull gray eyes burning out of an ugly pointed face like a rat's. I recognize him immediately; he's the same kid who tried to run me over with his cart! "I'm on the team, same as you," he says, sticking his chin out defiantly. "Just ask the coach if you don't believe me."

No sooner does he speak that Coach McGee, a tall hulking mustached man, appears behind him. "Gentlemen!" he shouts, holding a megaphone to his lips. The idle chatter dies as all eyes turn to him. "I'd like to introduce your new teammate, Anthony Chandler." Chandler… that name rings a bell, but I can't place where I've heard it before. Then it dawns on me: Aaron Chandler! He was my father's business partner when I was little. Apparently they had some sort of falling out, an intellectual property dispute or something. I wonder… no, I remind myself. That's not an uncommon name; he's probably not from the same family.

McGee cuffs Chandler's shoulder affectionately as he continues, "This is Mr. Chandler's first year at Harvard University; I expect you to-"

"But freshmen never make the varsity team!" I cut him off before I can stop myself. McGee silences me with a look, and I see the message in his eyes: You did.

"Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!" McGee's voice booms, but I'm hardly paying attention. I cast a sideways glance at Chandler; so that arrogant little bastard thinks he can come in and steal my thunder?! I was the first freshman to make varsity; I was McGee's star athlete, but nobody remembers that anymore, not with him around. At least he's not Team Captain, I bitterly remind myself. I'm still the youngest rowing captain Harvard University has ever had; that's one record Chandler hasn't taken from me… yet.

"Hockley!" McGee's voice suddenly jerks me out of my thoughts. "You're pulling unevenly. Just watch how Chandler does it; his timing's flawless!" I don't want to watch Chandler do a damn thing!

"Wait a second!" Chandler's mean eyes meet mine as his head whips around. "Your name's Hockley? As in Nathan Hockley?"

I nod. "My father. Why?"

Chandler glances at McGee, and his voice drops to barely more than a whisper. "You ought to know! Your father nearly bankrupted my family!" So he is related to Aaron Chandler… I should've guessed. I sigh; between chandler showing me up at every opportunity and Coach McGee constantly fawning over him, this is turning into the longest practice of my life. I'm beginning to understand why my father hates this family…