May 23, 1903

Professor Reynaldi's class… my last class on the last day of the term. I take a seat between Ben and Raoul. "Hey, Cal!" Raoul greets me. "You nervous about the big test today?"

"Not at all," I reply nonchalantly, digging into my bag for a pencil. Why should I be nervous? After all, Reynaldi gives me higher marks than all the other teachers at this school combined.

I glace up from my desk, but to my surprise, Reynaldi isn't at his usual spot in front of the room. A strange blond man, hardly older than me, stands in his place. He clears his throat loudly. "Gentlemen, my name is Professor Parker." He jerks his head toward the blackboard where his name is written. "I'll be conducting your exam today."

"Where's Professor Reynaldi?" I blurt out before I can stop myself.

Parker glares icily at me as he hands me a test. "Professor Reynaldi is indisposed," he replies coldly, "though I hardly see how that's any business of yours, Mr.…"

"Hockley," I finish for him. "Cal Hockley."

Parker's expression changes. "Ah, yes. Mr. Hockley." He turns to face the rest of the class. "You may begin your exam…" He glances at his watch. "Now."

I hear the faint sound of pencils scratching against paper all around me. I try to concentrate on the exam in front of me, but my thoughts are with Professor Reynaldi. Why isn't he here? That's not like him. Maybe he's sick, or maybe…

"Pencils down!" Parker suddenly yells, jerking me from my thoughts as he moves between the rows of desks, collecting the tests. He looks up, slowly rifling through the papers in his hand. My God, I wish he'd hurry up! "Gentlemen, you are dismissed."

He's barely finished his sentence before I grab my bag, hurrying out the door. "Where are you off to, Cal?" I glance behind me to see Ben's laughing face.

"I…" my voice trails off as I think of an answer. "I'll be right back."

I hear loud bumping and clattering as I approach Professor Reynaldi's office. The door is wide open, and I peer inside to find him throwing books into a large black suitcase. "Professor?"

He stiffens but still stands with his back to me. "Good evening, Mr. Hockley."

"Why weren't you in class today?" My eyes dart around the now empty room, and my heart sinks. "Are you going somewhere?"

Reynaldi sighs as he turns to me. "It seems someone-" He catches my eye. "Has complained about my teaching practices…"

My mind flashes back to that disaster of a conference between Reynaldi and my father last month. I can still see that look of barely veiled rage in my father's eyes as he left. Understanding suddenly dawns on me. "My father…"

Reynaldi nods. "He must've gone straight to the dean's office after our little exchange, insisted I was out of line..." He scoffs. "Naturally, they backed him, and why wouldn't they? It isn't every day that someone like Nathan Hockley barges into their office."

"B-but…" I stammer weakly. "You're the best teacher at this school!"

Reynaldi gives me a small sad smile. "Thank you, Cal."

"They can't just fire you like that!" My hands clench, and I feel a hot angry flush rising to my cheeks as I recall all the things I cared about that my father took from me… my cat, my mother, my spot on the rowing team… now he's after Professor Reynaldi!

"Obviously they can." Reynaldi sighs. "And they have."

"I'm so sorry, Professor…" I feel my throat tightening as my voice trails off. A pang of remorse stabs my heart as I realize he's losing his job because of me. My eyes suddenly begin to sting, and I have to bow my head.

"Don't be!" The harshness of Reynaldi's tone startles me. "My termination was not your fault; you didn't ask for this, any of it." I feel his hand squeezing my shoulder. "Look at me, Caledon Hockley." I can barely bring myself to meet his eyes. "If I had the chance to start over, I'd do the same thing again; I regret nothing."

He crosses the room and pulls something out of his suitcase. "This is for you." He hands me his battered copy of The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. My eyes dart from him to the book and back again. "As I'm no longer a teacher, I hardly have use for it." He forces a smile, but I can only stare blankly at him as he gives my arm a firm pump. "Until we meet again, Mr. Hockley."

Reynaldi snaps his suitcase shut, turning toward the door; it slams with an ominous finality as I follow him into the hall. "Goodbye, Professor," I barely manage to choke out before he disappears down the hallway, leaving me staring hopelessly after him.

I lie back on my bed, glancing aimlessly around the deserted room. Dave's exams finished yesterday, and he caught a train back to Chicago this morning. Good… that leaves me alone with my misery. If only I hadn't gotten into that damn fight with Chandler; if only my father hadn't found out; if only I hadn't told Reynaldi what he had done, none of this would've happened!

I'm suddenly jerked out of my thoughts as I hear Raoul's loud Southern accent rising from the hall. There is a sharp knock on the paneling, and Ben pokes his head in. "Raoul and I are off to celebrate the end of the term," he says. "Do you want to come?"

"No, thank you." I unthinkingly pick up Reynaldi's book.

"What's that?" Ben jerks his head toward the book in my hands.

I force a nonchalant expression as I reply, "It's nothing." I'm only vaguely aware of Ben closing the door behind him as he rejoins Raoul in the hall. Their voices grow fainter and finally stop.

I absentmindedly thumb through the pages until… I notice black ink on one of the pages. I open the book to the last page and immediately recognize the flowing handwriting as Professor Reynaldi's. I read:

Cal,

Duality is not a sin, but a means of survival.

Warren Reynaldi

What exactly does he mean by that? I almost smile as I set the book back on the nightstand and force myself to think nothing more about it as I turn off the light. Typical Reynaldi, always speaking in riddles.

I return home the next afternoon; my father and Crawford are standing in the foyer awaiting my arrival. Crawford smiles warmly as I burst through the door. "Welcome home, sir," he greets me; my father remains stone-faced and silent.

My eyes search the throng of other servants gathered around, expecting to see Maggie among them, but to my surprise, no kindly blue eyes meet mine. I turn to my father. "Where's Maggie?"

"She died," he replies without a hint of emotion, "About a month or two ago now." No… Maggie can't be dead! She's been working for us since before I was born, probably even before my father was born. I can't begin to imagine how this house will function without her.

"A month or two?" My heart drops. I should've been here, should've been able to at least say goodbye to her. I look my father square in the eye. "Why did no one tell me?" I demand before I can stop myself.

"I, uh…" His voice trails off as he searches for just the right excuse. "I thought it might distract you from your studies."

"W-where is she buried?" To my horror, I hear my voice breaking. I pretend not to notice; maybe if I don't, my father won't either. I glance up at him, and I know it's useless; he already has.

My eyes dart from my father to Crawford. "You have to take me to her…" Crawford exchanges a look with my father. He sighs, reluctantly following me outside.

The car slows to a halt amid an unusually large throng of people in the streets. I stare aimlessly out the window to a woman across the street surrounded by flowers. I catch sight of the sign at her feet: Bouquets 10 cents. Idiot… how could I pay my respects to Maggie without flowers? My mind silently berates me. The horn blasts loudly, jerking me out of my thoughts as Crawford shouts, "Go on, get out of the way!"

"Crawford!" He doesn't hear me; he's still too busy yelling to the crowd. "Crawford!" I say a little louder; he turns. "Wait here; I'll be right back."

The flower woman gives me a simpering smile as I approach. "What can I do for you today, sir?"

My eyes scan the bouquets, searching for the perfect one to match Maggie's personality. Most of them are scrawny and dull-colored with petals missing. I almost turn back when I finally find it… the one bouquet fuller and brighter than the others, with happy blue and yellow flowers. I drop a dollar bill into the woman's outstretched hand, and her expression changes. "Keep the change," I mumble, turning away.

The cemetery is deserted as I follow Crawford along the winding stone path; he stops suddenly and I almost crash into him. My eyes fall to a simple solitary stone, well removed from all the others. Funny… I expected my father would've left her in an unmarked grave. Crawford turns to me. "Shall I wait by the car, sir?"

"No." I have no idea how long this is going to take… probably longer than he'd be willing to wait. He'd come back after only a few moments, try to rush me and… I inwardly shudder at the thought of him seeing me vulnerable. "Go back to the house; I'll be along soon."

He nods, and I hear his footsteps retreating as I gaze longingly toward the sky, wishing it would cloud and turn gray, that rain would pour forth to hide the tears threatening to fall, that thunder would roar loud enough to drown out the sobs I'm choking back. I sigh; no such luck. The sky remains a cheery shade of light blue like the flowers in my hand, like Maggie's eyes. I feel the sun blazing down on me, mocking my pain, as I kneel beside her grave and I allow my fingers to trace the name on the stone:

Margaret Blake

1824-1903

Her name suddenly blurs. I press a hand to my eyes, and I comes away wet. Strange… I never felt the tears falling. The cold marble sooths my burning cheek as I rest my head against the stone. Memories come rushing back… the way she'd give me a piece of candy whenever I wandered into the kitchen, the way she'd tell me stories about her life in the country, the way she'd comfort me whenever my father wasn't around, the way she'd call me "Little Master"… I have to squeeze my eyes shut, but I can still see her… her wrinkled face, her laughing blue eyes, her kind smile…

I finally manage to force my eyes open to the fading blue and purple light of the darkening sky. Several hours must've passed; my father would've expected me home by now. I can already see his cold gray eyes staring me down, hear his voice droning on about "a gentleman's responsibilities". I sigh, turning back to Maggie's grave. I don't want to face him, not yet…

I jump slightly as I feel a hand squeezing my shoulder. I quickly wipe my eyes, but I'm sure whoever it is, they've probably already seen. I reluctantly glance up, half-expecting it to be Crawford or worse, my father come to drag me home. Instead I'm face to face with a man I've never seen before… short and plump with thinning brown hair and round glasses; he looks to be about my father's age, maybe a few years younger. I instinctively pull away; the strange man gives me a sad smile. "What's your name, son?"

"Cal Hockley." I rise to my full height, turning away, but I still feel his eyes on me.

"Not Nathan Hockley's son, are you?" I can only stare blankly at him. He chuckles slightly. "Of course you are! You look just like him." He extends a hand to me, but I don't take it. "I'm Reverend Mallard."

"That's not possible…" My eyes narrow. "Reverend Mallard is old." The stranger shoots me a warning look. "Well, older," I quickly add. What kind of fool does this idiot take me for? He's probably just trying to kick me while I'm down…

The strange man laughs, and I gape at him. That was the last thing I expected him to do! "I see you know my father; he's retiring at the end of this month." What? Reverend Mallard's retiring? And he has a son? I scoff under my breath; so that's another thing my father neglected to mention. The new Reverend Mallard smiles as I finally allow him to shake my hand. "I'm Daniel Mallard."

His smile fades slightly as he stares past me to Maggie's grave. "Was she your mother?"

"S-she might as well have been." I hate that he hears my voice breaking. My eyes begin to sting again, and I have to drop my gaze. "She died while I was at school. I didn't get to tell her…" I swallow hard as my voice trails off. Idiot… why am I telling him all this?

I wait for him to laugh or scoff, but his eyes remain dead serious as I force myself to meet his gaze. "She's in Heaven now, watching over us all," Reverend Mallard says solemnly. His hand once again rests on my shoulder, and his voice drops as he adds, "I'm sure she already knows." He glances up momentarily, and his tone changes. "It's getting late." He flashes a force smile. "Go home, Mr. Hockley; I'm sure your father is worried about you." I chuckle sarcastically as I watch him go. More accurately, he's worried I've done something to embarrass him…

The house is dark and deserted as I return… or so I thought. A lamp suddenly flickers on. I peer inside the parlor to find my father sitting in an armchair, his eyes burning with malice in the dim light. "Well, look what the cat dragged in!" He rises, surveying me up and down… my trousers splattered with mud, my hair falling into my eyes, my face streaked with dirt and tears. "My God, you look horrible!" He takes out his watch, holding it up to my eyes. "Do you have any idea what time it is? Dinner was over two hours ago! He rounds on me, his face only inches from mine. "You will never take off like that again, Caledon. Is that understood?" He grabs me by my lapels, shaking me hard; I nod. "A gentleman does not shirk his responsibilities…"

I roll my eyes as he launches into his familiar tirade. His eyes flash cold fire, and I know he's heard me chuckle under my breath. WHACK! He punches me hard, but I don't flinch. I've taken enough of his blows by now to know that only makes it worse… "You think this is funny, do you?"

I force myself to hold his gaze as I wipe the blood from my lip… another injury to explain to the neighbors, no doubt. "Father," I have to work to keep the hate out of my voice. "Why didn't you tell me about Maggie's death?"

"My God, I didn't think even you were that stupid!" He puts on a fake condescending smile. "Did you already forget? I told you, I didn't want you to be distracted from your studies."

"You're a terrible liar, Father." He stares blankly at me; I ask him again. "Why?"

"Why?' he repeats incredulously; his eyes flash. "All right, I'll tell you why. I knew you'd fail to keep your emotions in check, and – what a shock!" His eyes narrow. "I was right; this is exactly how I knew you'd react." He applauds sarcastically. "Thank you for proving my point, Caledon." My hands clench; I have to take several deep breaths before I can glare back at him. "Did you honestly think I'd allow the whole of Harvard University to see you crying like a goddamn Nancy-boy?!" He pretend to dab at his eyes as he sobs mockingly.

"You…" I'm at a loss for words as blind rage takes hold. Before I can stop myself, I lunge at him, knocking him into a cabinet. I'm only vaguely aware of the shards of glass raining down around us. "You son of a bitch! Professor Reynaldi was right about you all along!"

"Reynaldi?" My father laughs mirthlessly. "So that meddling fool's finally succeeded in turning you against me?" I hear the dull thud of blows landing as I try to punch every inch of my father I can get my hands on. How dare he talk about Professor Reynaldi that way? How dare he mention that name at all after he hit him, got him fired?

He finally wriggles out of my grasp, brushing the dust and glass off his coat as he straightens. To my horror, I see a bruise darkening around his eyes. Did I do that to him? His lips curl into a sneer as he glares at me, but there's something besides anger in his eyes this time. Pride? Triumph? He rounds on me, and I brace for the inevitable pain to come, but instead of attacking me, he stalks right past me. I stare after him as he disappears down a hallway, but I can't get that look in his eyes out of my mind. Did my father actually just spare me the brunt of his rage? What just happened?