Grimm Little Obsession

Bridgeport, Chicago, Illinois

Nine Years Earlier

Big, eerie eyes stared back at Jacqueline Hayes as she sat cross-legged on the bathroom counter, studying her reflection while her mother mixed hair bleach in a small black bowl beside the sink. The harsh vanity lights illuminated every inch of her pale face, making her unusual blue irises look almost colorless against the dark lashes framing them. She leaned closer to the glass, made a face at herself, then ran her fingers through the long, wavy black hair spilling over her shoulders.

“People already think I’m weird. Do you really think dyeing my hair is going to change their minds?” Jacqueline asked, lifting a thick lock of hair and letting it slip between her fingers.

Her mother, Claire Hayes, was the very picture of grace, a woman who carried herself with quiet confidence despite the challenges of raising a daughter alone in Chicago. She was tall and elegant, with thick black hair twisted into a loose bun atop her head and soft tendrils curling against the slender column of her neck. Her eyes were a lovely shade of blue, warm and expressive, but nothing like Jacqueline’s own hauntingly pale ones. More than once, Jacqueline had wondered whether she’d inherited her strange coloring from the father her mother so rarely spoke about.

“I think children can be cruel, and more often than not, that’s a bad habit they’ve picked up from equally cruel parents,” Claire replied, snapping on a pair of plastic gloves before glancing at her daughter in the mirror. “You are a special girl, Jax, and I’m not just saying that because I’ve had the extraordinary fortune of raising you for the last sixteen years.”

The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled, and Jacqueline responded with an exaggerated roll of her own.

“That’s such a mom thing to say.”

“Well, I suppose it can’t be helped. My point of view is a little biased.” Claire chuckled softly as she reached for the fine-toothed comb lying beside the bowl. “But someday, baby, you’re going to understand exactly how special you are. Do you know what took me an embarrassingly long time to learn?”

“What’s that?” Jacqueline asked, raising an eyebrow at her mother’s suddenly thoughtful expression.

“That you must love yourself first. You have to value who you are, trust yourself, and believe in the path you choose, even when other people don’t understand it.” Claire gently tilted Jacqueline’s chin toward the mirror, then used the pointed end of the comb to separate a narrow section of hair from the front left side of her face. “People will come and go throughout your life, sweetheart. Some will stay longer than others, and some will leave when you least expect it, but you’re the one person you’ll always have. Don’t ever forget that.”

Jacqueline watched her mother’s reflection as Claire carefully brushed the bleach mixture onto the dark strands, working from one section to the next with the same patience she brought to everything. The sharp chemical smell drifted between them, mingling with the familiar scent of her mother’s perfume, and for a moment, Jacqueline thought about how strange it would be to look in the mirror tomorrow and see a piece of herself that hadn’t been there before.

“You make that sound so lonely,” she murmured, lowering her gaze to the small, pale hands resting in her lap. “I don’t want to be alone forever. I know you’ve chosen to raise me by yourself, and you won’t even tell me who my father was, but you’ve been alone for so long.” She hesitated, worrying at a loose thread along the hem of her shirt. “Besides Uncle Antone coming around a couple of times a year, it’s always just been you and me. I don’t want that kind of life.”

Claire’s hands slowed almost imperceptibly, though she kept smoothing the bleach through the section of hair before carefully folding it into a strip of aluminum foil. She pressed the edges together with her fingertips, taking a moment longer than necessary before lifting her eyes to meet Jacqueline’s in the mirror.

“I know not knowing your father has been hard on you, Jax, and I promise that when you turn eighteen, I’ll tell you everything about him.” Her expression softened as she rested a gloved hand against Jacqueline’s shoulder. “But I haven’t been alone, sweetheart. I’ve had you.”

Jacqueline glanced up, caught the tender smile on her mother’s face, and felt the familiar mix of affection and frustration that always came with conversations about her father. Claire had never been cruel about the subject, never snapped at her for asking or made her feel guilty for wanting answers, but she had an infuriating talent for offering just enough reassurance to end the conversation without actually telling her anything.

“Your story is going to be different from mine, Jax. I can feel it,” Claire continued, her voice growing quieter as she studied her daughter’s reflection. “One day, you’re going to meet someone who truly understands you, not just the parts you let everyone see, but who you are at your very core. Someone who sees your soul and loves every strange, wonderful piece of it.” She paused, her smile turning wistful. “And when you find that person, don’t let them go. Fight for that love, no matter what.”

For a moment, Claire seemed lost in a memory Jacqueline couldn’t begin to imagine, her blue eyes fixed on something beyond their reflections.

“I wish I had.”

“Wait.” Jacqueline twisted around so abruptly that her mother made an irritated little noise as the folded foil slipped between her gloved fingers. “What do you mean, you wish you had? Are we talking about an actual man? Because you’ve been holding out on me, Claire.”

“Don’t call me Claire.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

Her mother gave her a pointed look through the mirror, but the smile that followed didn’t quite reach her eyes. Rather than answering immediately, she carefully removed the foil from the small test section they had bleached earlier and motioned for Jacqueline to lean over the sink so she could rinse it out.

Jacqueline obeyed, albeit reluctantly, bending forward until her long, dark hair spilled over one shoulder and the cool porcelain pressed against her forearms. She watched the diluted bleach swirl into the drain as her mother worked her fingers gently through the damp strands, growing increasingly impatient with the silence stretching between them. She had spent most of her life trying to coax even the smallest details about her father out of Claire, and the possibility that her mother might finally be willing to talk about him was enough to make her forget all about the hair color she’d been so excited to try.

Just as Jacqueline opened her mouth to ask another question, Claire spoke, her voice quieter than before.

“Your father was a handsome man. He had this air of sophistication about him, a kind of natural authority that made people straighten their backs the moment he walked into a room.” Her fingers slowed in Jacqueline’s hair, and her expression grew distant as she stared down at the water running into the sink. “He never had to raise his voice to command attention. People simply gave it to him. He was the kind of man who could make you feel like you were the only person in the world when he looked at you, and I suppose that was part of the problem. He—”

The violent crash of shattering glass erupted from somewhere downstairs, cutting her off mid-sentence.

Jacqueline jerked upright, her heart leaping as water splashed across the counter and dripped from the damp ends of her hair. She turned toward the bathroom door, her mouth already opening to ask what on earth had made such a racket, but the question died on her tongue when she caught sight of her mother’s face in the mirror.

The warmth had vanished from Claire’s expression, leaving behind an unmistakable terror that made Jacqueline feel the first cold stirrings of fear settle deep in her stomach.

“Get under the sink. No matter what you hear, do not come out!” her mother whispered fiercely, grabbing Jacqueline by the arm and pulling her off the counter with enough urgency that her bare feet stumbled against the cold tile. Before Jacqueline could regain her balance or demand an explanation, Claire had already thrown open the cabinet doors beneath the sink and was pushing her toward the cramped space inside.

The vanity was hardly large enough to accommodate a person, but Jacqueline had always been small for her age, and at five-foot-two with a slender frame, she managed to fold herself into the narrow compartment, crushing unopened bars of soap and several packages of sanitary pads beneath her knees. The sharp edge of a shelf pressed against her shoulder as she twisted sideways to avoid the pipes, and the lingering smell of cleaning products filled her nose while she stared up at her mother in bewilderment.

“What about you? Where are you going to hide? You can’t go out there alone.” The words spilled from her mouth in a frightened rush as Claire crouched in front of the cabinet, her trembling hands gripping the edges of the doors. Jacqueline reached toward her, suddenly desperate to pull her into the hiding place as well, even though there was barely enough room for one of them.

Claire caught her daughter’s outstretched hand and squeezed it tightly, her blue eyes shining with an emotion Jacqueline had never seen in them before. Somewhere beyond the bathroom, a heavy thud sounded from the lower floor, followed by the unmistakable creak of footsteps moving through the house, and Claire’s gaze darted toward the doorway before returning to her daughter.

“I mean it. No matter what you hear, don’t leave this spot, Jacqueline.”

There was something terrifying about hearing her full name spoken in that voice, stripped of its usual warmth and affection. Claire had always called her Jax or sweetheart, occasionally Jacqueline when she’d done something particularly outrageous, but never like this. Never as though the sound of her name was the last thing holding her mother’s composure together.

Jacqueline opened her mouth to argue, but Claire lifted one trembling finger to her lips, silently begging her to remain quiet as the footsteps downstairs grew louder.

Claire’s expression crumpled for the briefest moment before she reached into the cramped cabinet and cupped Jacqueline’s cheek, her gloved thumb brushing tenderly across her daughter’s pale skin. There was something almost desperate in the way she looked at her, as though she were trying to memorize every freckle, every delicate feature, every strange shade of blue in the eyes she’d spent sixteen years loving.

“I love you, baby,” she whispered, her voice trembling despite her obvious effort to keep it steady. “More than anything in this world. You know that, don’t you?”

Jacqueline nodded, but the reassurance her mother seemed to be searching for was lost beneath the frantic pounding of her heart and the growing certainty that something was terribly wrong. She could hear movement downstairs now, the heavy tread of unfamiliar footsteps accompanied by the muffled sound of men’s voices, and she couldn’t understand why her mother wasn’t climbing into the cabinet beside her or running for the bedroom window.

“Mom, please,” she whispered urgently, clutching at Claire’s wrist before she could pull away. “There’s room if you just—”

“Not another word, Jacqueline.”

Claire gently loosened her daughter’s grip on her wrist, pressed one final kiss to her forehead, then stepped back from the cabinet. The familiar scent of her perfume lingered in the small space as she began to close the doors, and Jacqueline leaned forward instinctively, desperate to stop her.

“Mom, wait—”

But the doors met with a soft click, plunging Jacqueline into darkness before she could finish her protest.