Dr. Jekyll & Nowhere to Hyde by Buzzbaby & HeadBoy
Henry Jekyll sat in his laboratory, furiously mixing chemicals that he hoped would lead to his salvation. He sought the ability to separate his pure thought from his other, more lascivious nature, in order to win the approval of the woman he sought to make his bride.
Millicent was born of money and power, with haunting eyes that could bore into Jekyll’s soul without effort. On their first meeting, she recognized him for his potential as a suitor. He was, after all, a prominent doctor with a generous spirit – donating time to the charity wards as well as conducting ground-breaking research.
To Jekyll, Millicent was a wondrous creature. Beautiful and smart. Graceful and elegant. The perfect physician’s wife. And she possessed a characteristic most coveted by Jekyll. Wonderful auburn hair. Thick and wavy with a natural shine that caught the sunlight.
He had only seen it once without the benefit of hairpins to hold it up off her nape. And what a glorious sight! Heavy sheaves of auburn, waving gently down her back and ending in soft curls that brushed the waistband of her bustled skirt.
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In the purest recesses of his heart, Jekyll adored Millicent and he admired the beauty of her hair. But within him there was a side that she perceived as dark and daunting. Almost evil. The side that, without a moment’s hesitation, would sever her locks one by one leaving nothing but haphazardly cut stubble. A woman in ruin.
She had caught him in the act just once. Holding his pocket knife to a wayward curl, prepared to take it at her scalp. She saw the darkness in his eyes and made him vow that, prior to their marriage, he would find a way to quell his evil desire to see her shorn.
So for days and eventually weeks, Jekyll toiled in the laboratory. He left very seldom, his needs for food and fresh clothing attended to by his maid, Mary Reilly. He tested version after version until he found the perfect formula that rid his heart of his love for shearing the hair from women.
His heart was rid of the desire, but his mind was not free of the reminiscent pleasure. He could still remember as a young lad, sawing through the braids of his cousin. The sound of the blade rasping its way through tightly plaited blonde locks. Watching the severed ends fray as they were released from their twisted torture. Swinging his prize far above the head of the sobbing girl. Staring with untold pleasure at the ragged remains that stuck out pitifully from behind her ears.
He found that a woman of ill repute would allow him a lock or two for a shilling, but their hair was undoubtedly coarse and unkempt. Nonetheless, this sated his desire as a student. Then he discovered that working at the mortuary, he could shear the wealthy dead prior to burial without fear of being found out.
It was these moments of remembrance that led Jekyll to the development of two potions and the emergence of his alter, Edward Hyde. The one potion summoned Jekyll – pure of heart and mind. And the second brought forth Hyde – the man in pure fetish form. A rogue. A barber. A brute with a knife who would pay for the pleasure of separating a woman from her locks. Or one who would simply take them by force if denied.
It was Mary Reilly who first encountered Hyde. She delivered a tray nightly at seven. A light meal for her master, Dr. Jekyll. A man she honored with her devotion and whom, had he given her a second thought, could have taken all she had to offer, including her hair.
This new personality… Hyde… in the body of her unrequited love, recognized her devotion as something more. He would use it to his own ends…. and to her devastation.
Fog hung outside the lab. Hyde felt drawn to it, called by the cold, subdued feeling of the evening air and the solace in being hidden by the thick, smokiness of the night. Mary Reilly watched as he brushed past, blinded by his unbridled desires, his fetish in full bloom. Barley grabbing his hat as he left, Hyde walked up the street to find something, anything to slake his thirst for falling hair. He found it.
An urchin sat by the road, she was no more than fifteen. She sat watching the last of the Hansom cabs disappear into the night, dreaming of a day she could afford to ride in one, a day when she would own a new dress and have a clean, freshly-scrubbed face. Hyde knew what to do, his mind was an analytical machine, processing information, finding solution and presenting the solution to the person in front of him.
“Don’t be afraid,” Hyde said, emerging from the fog and walking up to the filthy pauper girl. “You like the coaches, do you?”
She looked terrified, eyes as big as saucers. She nodded.
“Would you like to ride in one?”
“Some day, but who’s got the spare £5 to hire one?”
Hyde fished in the pocket of his trenchcoat, and held out a £5 note for the girl to see.
“I’ll hire one, take you anywhere you wish to go. It’s yours for the whole night…” he said, seeing the fear completely leave her eyes and bring the wild anticipation of a life’s dream about to be realized in its fleeing wake.
Hyde didn’t bother to tread lightly, he just spoke his mind, “Your hair. You have to let me cut your hair.”
She looked at Hyde as if he were a madman, which, of course, he was at this moment.
He backtracked to attempt to calm her. “I’m a doctor, my dear,” he said. “I’m conducting experiments and I need hair to study the effects of… various new lotions and soaps on human hair.” He was reaching, but his uneducated prey heard justification, any justification, for her midnight ride.
“So, I’d be helping people?” she asked, a smile coming to her face.
“Yes, we’ll learn ways of preventing skin diseases and baldness in men.”
“My da’s bald,” she said, standing up and looking at the dapper, if somewhat manic, Hyde. “It is late, sir, could I take the ride tomorrow?”
“I’ll give you the money, you can take it whenever you like.”
She stuck out her hand. “Done.”
Hyde shook it, looking at her red, oily hair and knowing he could truly enjoy this… “Done.” He walked up the street back to his building. “Let’s get you cleaned up first.”
Mary Reilly scrubbed the girl up in the tub while Hyde prepared his study for the deed. He grabbed the scalpel, giggling maniacally. Scissors, a hand mirror, and a sterile tray to place the hair on to keep his lie consistent. He didn’t care what happened afterward, he just wanted to do the deed. And he was about to get his chance.
“She’s all clean and ready to go, sir,” Reilly said, barely concealing her contempt.
The girl stood there, wearing a freshly-laundered dress and her hair, shampooed to a brilliant shine, hung to the middle of her back.
“Please do sit down, my dear,” Hyde said, beside himself with glee.
She did. He got right to work.
Her gently grabbed the hair behind her left ear, gathered a bit in his fingers, the filth and coarseness had been washed away and it now smelled of fresh jasmine. He ran the scalpel along her hair toward the base of her ear and sliced. Her hair fell into his hands, limp and brushed to a point where it glistened. But it fell nonetheless. His second slice was quicker, and came with more of a pull. Hyde stopped to sniff the vanquished lock in his hands and grinned to himself. The girl sat there, holding the hand mirror, but unable to see what he was doing at the back of her head.
Good thing too, since Hyde was chopping his way across the back of her neck, leaving stubbled hair in his wake. Each handful was placed on the tray, beside the previous one and left for posterity’s sake. The girl tilted her head away in an attempt to preserve some length to her rapidly falling locks. It made no difference, Hyde wanted it all. Or most of it, jagged shards and stubble were all that remained as Hyde worked the back down to less than 1/2 inch at its longest point. Her paused at the other ear to survey the landscape of the poor girl’s near naked head. Slice marks and chop lines were all that remained. The scalpel did a surgical job of cutting away a lifetime of growth and reducing it to pathetic stuff, pointing out in odd angles and random directions.
She felt odd, a breeze hit her from behind and she wondered why she’d said yes to this idea. She saw the £5 note sitting in front of her and enjoyed how good it felt to be clean and wearing new clothing, rather than hand-me-downs. She felt better, even as Hyde used the scissors to snip away at the top and sides of her head. Snipping away with a manic energy, and near psychotic flame in his eyes and a song humming form his lips that was deep in bass tones and fast in pace. Hair began to fall, uncared for, into the girl’s lap and onto the floor. His scissors flew through patch after patch, cutting terribly close to the scalp and denuding the poor girl as she sat too terrified to move and too thrilled with the idea of having more money than she knew what to do with in her hands.
The scissors clicked and clicked away, she felt Hyde pulling at her hair as he slid the scissors down toward the hairline and clip. Scalp began to appear at her temples. The scissors flew over the top of her hair, stopping only for a moment at the thickest bit to subdue it en route to the final cut. Hyde was in a jubilant mood, finally getting to live out his fantasy and make it real while Jekyll, wherever he’d hidden away in whatever deep dark reaches of Hyde’s mind would just have to deal with the consequences later.
What consequences would this bring? Would the girl be heartbroken and call the local authorities? Would Millicent discover what had gone on? Would he be able to pull this off again?
“Finished!” Hyde said, looking down on her naked pate triumphantly.
“Ga…” was all that came out of the girl’s mouth. The tears welled-up in her eyes said exactly what he thought they’d say. She was stunned.
Mary Reilly handed her a bonnet and helped her up out of the chair. “Wear this sweetheart, it’ll help you cope.”
The girl put it on and dried her eyes. She looked in the mirror, the jagged, chopped mess that was her hair had been obscured. She would wear it for a long time. She reached down and grabbed the money off the desk and headed for the door.
“A moment more of your time, dear girl” Hyde said.
She stopped, turned to face him.
“Do you have any friends who’d be willing to contribute to science?”
She thought about the question. Hyde began again. “There’s £5 for each of them that allow me to do this, and £5 for yourself for bringing them to me.”
She nodded, the idea of copious amounts of pound notes pleased her. The ability to put food on her family’s table made the ache in her heart go away.
“I’ll see who I can bring your way.”
Hyde’s brow furrowed at his good fortune. He reached into his pocket and produced another £5 and hailed a cab from his doorway.
“Take this young lady anywhere she’d like to go, hang the expense. You’ll find me here when it comes time to collect your fee,” Hyde said, shoving £1 into the coachman’s hand.
“Very good sir,” he said, taking the girl’s hand to help her into the carriage. “Where to madam? Madam?”
It took her a moment to realize he was talking to her. She’d never been called anything even close to ‘madam’ before. “Just ride around a bit, if you please.”
She felt under her bonnet and realized the trade for her good fortune. She thought of who she could convince to undergo the clipping. The seats were cozy and her self-image increased every time she heard the horses’ hoofs hit the cobblestones.
Hyde rubbed his hands together back in his study. Mary Reilly walked in, seeing him relish his good fortune.
“Yes, Miss Reilly. Is there something I can do for you?” His face was a question mark as she stood before him.
“In fact there is, sir…” she almost panted. “Would you do that to me as well?”
“You wish to be shorn?” Hyde was puzzled. A woman willing to surrender her locks? He gazed at her, seeing her embarrassment in her desire. Her pale skin was nearly translucent in the low light, as fine grained as alabaster. Shallow eyes of an equally pale green diverted their gaze from his face to the floor as he walked toward her.
Moving behind her, Hyde’s hands went to her hair. He could feel the potion waning and knew that he would need to act quickly, if at all. His fingers found her hairpins and pulled them out one at a time. Strawberry blonde curls filled his hands and tumbled over to her shoulders. Her hair was equally soft and full as Millicent’s, lacking only in the scent that came from years of access to the finest soaps. He buried his face in her nape and quietly moaned.
“Sir? Are you well, sir?” Mary Reilly trembled at her discomfort of having the man she so desired at such close hand. She felt the entire length of his body against hers and an unfamiliar firmness pressing at her waist that made her tremble even more. This strange incarnation of her employer both intrigued and frightened her. “Sir? Dr. Jekyll?”
As if mention of his name was all it took, it was Jekyll that pulled his face from her nape. His mind wandered, looking for a memory that would explain his intimate entanglement with his maid. “I beg your pardon,” he stammered.
“Sir? My pardon, sir?” Mary Reilly was confused by his change in demeanor. “‘Tis what I want, sir. To be done like the street child.”
Jekyll looked quickly around the room for some clue as to what she referred. Then he saw the tray and the pile of red hair that lay there, only slightly obscuring the scissors and scalpel that had been the instruments of removal. “What street child?”
“Why sir, the one you sheared, sir. You paid her five quid for her hair. And offered another five for each one she brought to be shorn as well. She’s just now gone… in the carriage, and all.”
Her words were lost in the strange humming that filled Jekyll’s ears. His hands buried in the pile of ravaged hair, he could think of little else but of hiding the deed from Millicent. He could feel himself slipping towards desire and knew he needed to take some of the second potion. For only with it could he quell his desire for the scissors.
“Dispose of this, will you?” he asked, indicating the pile of red locks. “And if you value your position, we’ll not speak of this night again.” Then he slipped away into the dark hall, heading toward the lab and his salvation in the second of two beakers, leaving a confused maid to erase the events of the night.
It was nearly gone five days when Edward Hyde reappeared in the house of Dr. Henry Jekyll. He sought out the young maid, remembering clearly the events of his first visit. “Mary. The street child. Has she been here? Has she brought around any willing to be shorn?”
Mary Reilly looked at her master, but there was something quite different about him this night. His hair was mussed and his eyes seemed a shade too dark. “Sir, you said we would not again speak of that night. And when the child came, I sent her away.”
Hyde was immediately agitated; reaching to grab Mary, then thinking better of it. He then remembered her request. That she herself be shorn. And he remembered the feel of her hair in his hands. He would not have the hair of another urchin. He would have hers. All of it. Now.
“Bring me the scissors. And my scalpel.” His tone was firm and she dared not refuse. When he ordered that she sit before him. Even in the dim light, he could see the flush in her face. When he placed his hands on her shoulders to force her to sit, he could feel the pounding of her heart through every layer of her clothing.
His fingers fairly flew through her hair, ripping out hairpins wherever he found one. He stood at her shoulder, pressing himself to her with that firmness she had felt only once before. And when the last hairpin was removed, he raked his hands through her curls from her crown to the ends that just brushed her shoulder blades.
“Sir. I’ve changed my mind, sir. I don’t want to be shorn. I’m liking to keep my hair. Please, sir.” But her words fell on deaf ears as the first of her locks met with the working end of the scalpel. The hank immediately above her ear was sliced away right at the skin. Through her tears she saw Hyde caress the stolen lock, rubbing it on his cheek before he dropped it to the floor and grabbed her head for another.
The blade was cold against her scalp. She knew that this cropping was far worse than that of the child. The chill on the side of her head bore through her to the bone and it made the tears come. It was through her tears that she saw every lock fall. And through swollen eyes that her naked head was revealed to her when he finished.
Jekyll had not come to save her from herself. Edward Hyde was growing stronger, and so did the fear in Mary Reilly. Her hands covered her head… trying in vain to find even a tuft that she could grasp with her fingertips. He had left nothing. The hair she would have willingly given to Jekyll had been stolen by Hyde. He had raped her, as surely as if he had impaled her with his member whilst she begged him stop. And as she lamented her loss, she heard the closing of the door as Edward Hyde disappeared into the dark gloom of the London night.
The streets were an eerie silent, a pall hung over the city as it slept. Innocents tucked into their snug beds had no idea of the horrors afoot outside their doors. Children slept peacefully as Hyde skulked his way up the road, looking, searching, hunting for his prey. He found it in the form of a prostitute wandering her way back to her corner.
“A moment of your time, Miss?” he said, running his fingers through his hair and straightening his jacket in an attempt to look respectable again.
“I don’t know about a moment, but for a pound, you can take the whole hour.”
“I have,” he said, beginning to pant, “something else in mind.”
The gleam in his eyes told her to be afraid, but she was street-hardened and feared little, if anything. Had she known better, she would have been terrified.
The glint of steel caught the reflection of the moon as his scissors flew into action. She fell to the ground, at Hyde’s mercy and her muffled screams went unheard. Her prayers for help were not answered and her hair fell to the ground in a symphony of snips, hacks and chops that sent shivers down her spine. Hyde grabbed fists full of locks and cut. Grabbed more and denuded the pitiful woman in haste and hurry. She lay on the ground, unable to struggle at the shock and disbelief. He snipped away with one hand while holding her mouth with the other. His body lay across hers as he cut away what was a fairly elaborate updo. He didn’t even hesitate to remove the pins. His adrenaline allowed him to cut through them. Her face grew white from fear and lack of oxygen.
She fainted away as he finished up his evil, possessed, clipping.
Hyde gathered up the hair into a bag, smiled at his passed-out, nearly bald, quarry. “A pound, was it?” he asked, rhetorically, reaching into his trenchcoat and putting a coin into her lifeless hand.
He leaned over to kiss her clipped scalp. “Good night, dear Millicent,” he said wandering off into the mist of the London morning in search of his next head.
His cackle filled the night with jolt to its quietness. His feet on the cobblestones sounded like the hoofbeats of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Scotland Yard would need to summon all their genius to catch him. Of course, they never would, because he was gone by daylight. And he knew where the shadows would let him lurk.