Chapter 1: Hell's Belles
This chapter begins during Heroes and Villains. Ingrid is dead and Rumple still has Hook's heart. The town is piecing itself back together when Belle is found wandering through the streets. As her memories return, she begins to remember what she witnessed at the town line.
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In the fading grays and reds of the evening light, the moon quietly rose over Storybrooke, creeping along the coast as if harboring a secret. The distant clouds drifted in with the tide, forming lacey patterns the color of quicksand against the horizon.
Between the vanishing sunlight and the gathering moonlight, a girl hobbled into town. Her pale arms were held out in front of her in a helpless gesture, displaying the blood stains covering her dress and hands. Her red hair fell around her shoulders—a violent, vibrant color that matched the eerily brilliant sunset.
Nothing about the air felt natural or fresh. A sharp wind shook the trees as shadows pooled in the ditches alongside the road. Mist hovered overhead. The sharp taste of frost stung the air. Black clouds gathered in the distance, bringing low rumbling sounds and the promise of gales. Miles away, Storybrooke's town line registered the shift in the atmosphere. Always a strange boundary, it was given to fluctuations in the time-space continuum. Those who stood near it could feel the ground shifting under their feet, as if the road itself were a black river snaking through the hillsides in a twisted current.
Usually the road to the town line was as empty as the clock tower, but here was a girl slowly heading into the heart of downtown. Her bare feet dragged along the pavement, stained with blood and sweat. She stared ahead, accompanied only by the sounds of labored breathing and padded footsteps caked with country muck.
Over a slight hill, the town square came into view. Debris from the Snow Queen's curse was being cleared, and the streets bustled with cheerful activity.
"Belle?" A waitress with long dark hair and a red apron spotted her at a distance and ran to her side. "Belle, what happened?"
Belle stared through her and silently limped on. The sight of friendly pastel buildings and cheery shop windows should have been a comfort to her. Today she noticed none of it. Her eyes were wide and unseeing, a silent scream hung from her lips as she surveyed the street. Some passers-by stopped and stared, horrified and helpless.
"Belle…Belle…Jesus, somebody help! Get help!" She heard shouts behind her, felt the ebb and flow of people swarming. Their voices mingled and died away as she continued on her way.
"Belle, stop, wait…you're hurt." A single voice emerged from the mass. Someone tugged at her elbow, and she paused to examine the hand holding her back. A woman's hand. Blonde hair curling around the elbows. A red leather jacket. A jacket the color of dried blood. Belle looked down at her own dress, a beloved blue and white frock she'd lovingly mended and ironed countless times. Now it was the same color as the jacket. Dull. Dark. Stained with something deep and red.
"Belle, what happened to you? You can talk to me." The voice seemed to come from miles away.
"The blood won't come off," Belle whispered, holding her hands out to Emma. "It'll never come off." She fell to her knees, the black road rushing up to greet her. The spinning darkness swallowed her as her body crumpled in the street.
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Belle's eyes fluttered open, taking in the dimly-lit shop. Vanilla smoke filled the room, brushing against the red wallpaper and oriental rugs. Standing in front of a display table littered with bronze ornaments, Rumple was smoking a cigar…which he only did in secret, usually celebrating a profitable sale or a successful potion.
From her place on the antique chaise, she could make out the teetering endtable beside her. On it was a crystal decanter filled with amber-colored wine. She wanted to take a sip, sit up, speak to her husband, ask about the havoc the Snow Queen's curse was wreaking on the town. But she couldn't. As much as she wanted to move her limbs, they stayed stubbornly in place, victims of a sleepiness she couldn't shake.
Taking in the cozy expanse of the cluttered shop, Belle realized they were not alone. Alongside Rumple stood Hook, his face shadowed by the dim lights and the collar of his leather jacket. The two men were taking great puffs on their cigars and sipping brandy from antique tumblers. Rumple had a triumphant smile on his face, Hook a scowl.
Of the two men, only Rumple seemed to be enjoying himself, taking long breathes on the cigar, releasing the smoke with a great sigh. After savoring a sip of brandy and smirking, the process started over again. Inhale. Release. Drink. Repeat. The scene was one of silence, peace, and repetition. Hook followed suit, but something in the grimace on his face and the stiffness in his stance told Belle he wasn't a willing participant. It was if he were miming Rumple, following his movements only to placate his host.
"We're almost done Dearie," her husband said quietly, his words cutting through the smoke hanging in the air. "Hard part's over. And what an ending." He grinned. "Who knew the Snow Queen was suicidal? If I'd hatched a plan for thirty years, I'd sure as shit want to see it through. Makes me feel positively disgusted about the state of villainy in this town. Seems every villain who blows through makes a perfect ass of themselves before failing miserably."
"Perhaps she'd realized she'd wasted her life as a villain. Maybe she wanted to die a hero," Hook answered, his voice strained and stilted.
"Did she die a hero? I'm not so sure…Killing yourself just to clean up your own mess doesn't amount to heroics in my book. Then again, killing yourself period doesn't amount to anything in my book. Because you're dead. Who cares how it happened. You lose. Game over. Make way for the next set of players."
"It wasn't a game Crocodile. People could have died."
"Oh…it was game all right. And lovely Ingrid with her sad eyes and beauty-pageant cleavage certainly lost. Set. Match point. Now clear the table and reset the board. Round two is ready to begin."
"What's to come next?" Hook asked quietly.
Rumple grinned. "My game." He clinked his glass against Hook's. Belle saw that Hook's knuckles were white and shaking. It was a wonder the glass didn't shatter in his hand. "I was given a gift by the lovely Ingrid before she self-imploded—a way out. A chance to leave this God-forsaken town and start afresh with my bride." He held up an antique scroll, tied with a red ribbon and glittering with flecks of gold embedded in the paper. "This little beauty holds the key to my freedom. And to think it's been in the hands of an Arendellian snow witch the whole time…" he chuckled. "It's always the last place you look."
"And she just handed it over, wrapped in a little red bow. My, my, my…That was neighborly of her."
Rumple eyed the scroll in his hand. "Yes it was. Seeing as how she was suicidal and bat-shit crazy, it all makes sense in retrospect. And you forget my substantial charm. Obviously the girl couldn't resist me. I'm sure my sex appeal played a major part in her melodramatic combustion."
"Aye…you always had a way with the ladies. Usually the homicidal ones."
"Now there's the pot calling the kettle black," Rumple cackled happily "…and really all this couldn't have come at a better time. Tomorrow my plans will see their fruition. I'll control the Sorcerer's hat, the scroll's spell will be cast, and I'll have everything I want in life. Finally, a villain gets his happy ending."
Their voices began to fade away as sleepiness stalked over Belle through a cloud of vanilla scented smoke—its soft padded feet a welcoming sensation. Her heavy eyelids slowly closed and she fell into a dream full of warmth and contentment with a million-and-a-half sensations that made her forget the strange scene she'd just witnessed.
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Belle opened her eyes, blinking at the bright glare surrounding her. She tried to lift her arms to block out the harsh florescent lights, only to find her hands had been fastened to her side. Two IVs dripped fluid into the bandages taped to her wrists. She sensed something dull and painful pressing underneath her skin and some silent voice told her they were the hidden ends of needles.
She felt calm and clean. Her russet hair tumbled down her shoulders, freshly washed and combed. A dull pain throbbed in the back of her head but a high dose of painkillers kept the ache at bay. She looked down at her clothes. Her blue and white dress was gone. She was wrapped tightly in a hospital gown and white blankets, smelling of soap and antiseptic and something else—something mechanical and musty. Something she couldn't place.
The fluttering of her eyes brought no relief from the harsh lights, but it brought Emma into the hospital room just as surely as if she'd called to her.
"Belle? Belle can you hear me?" Emma spoke swiftly, as she often did. Emma was like that. Always in a hurry. Always running. Belle doubted that she'd ever seen Emma Swan sit still for more than a minute. Life in a hostile world was apt to create creatures like Emma—sad eyed wanderers who were in continuous state of unrest and harried momentum. David followed her, his expression a combination of grim determination and worry.
"Belle, can you hear me?" Emma repeated.
"Yes. Of course I can hear you," Belle spoke slowly, her voice soft and weak.
"Thank God. Before…when we found you on the street..." Emma trailed off, sharing a look with David. "We didn't know what to think."
Belle stared at them. She didn't understand. Everything seemed so unreal and hazy. The room had an unearthly glow, and the clicks and beeps of the machine nearby filled the room with a soothing rhythm that made her head swim with sleepiness. "Why am I in the hospital?"
"You don't remember? You fainted on the street," Emma replied.
Belle stared at her, disbelief on her face.
David shook his head. "Do you remember anything at all?"
"My dress. It had stains on it…" She felt Emma take her hand, rubbing it affectionately. "I don't think the stains will come out."
"Anything else?" Emma asked.
Belle searched her memory. The painkillers made her feel like she was reaching for something underwater, something misty and shapeless, lost in the gloom. "The shop. I was in the shop. And then…and then I saw Rumple." She paused. "That's all. I was so tired…"
"That's the last thing you remember? Being in the shop with Gold?" David spoke slowly, more deliberately than his daughter.
She nodded weakly, the wound on her head suddenly burning the back of her skull. "Where is…where is Rumple?"
"We don't know. No one's seen him since yesterday." David's eyes met Emma's. They exchanged a glance before he went on. "Do you know where he might be?"
"At the shop," Belle answered quietly, the words came slowly and thickly. "He was smoking a cigar. He's probably there now. I was so thirsty but I couldn't reach the glass. And then I fell asleep. He had a scroll…he said…" She began pulling against her restraints, the IVs in her wrists twisting painfully under her skin. "He said Ingrid gave him a gift… a spell…and something about a game. Now…please let me go. I want to see him."
She twisted against her restraints so violently that Emma and David took her arms, trying to hold her down, trying to keep her still. She saw a flash of white as a nurse rushed to her side with a syringe.
A familiar feeling of warmth washed over her. The sides of her vision grew blurry and dark until she fell away from the world into a dreamless sleep, calling for her husband until the darkness overtook her.
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Peacefully curled up in the backseat of Rumple's car, Belle stared outside at the passing woodland through heavy-lidded eyes. The view included the shaggy corners of the forest and a sprawling expanse of hillsides and meadows. Birds perching on brambles gave some color to the scenery with glimmers of blue-black feathers. The fading streaks of overcast sky drifted along the top of the window's vista, sometimes turning gray against the scattered sunlight, sometimes turning a silvery white or buttery cream. She was too tired to appreciate the contrast. Her bones ached to sleep, she had to fight to keep her eyes open.
The sun set slowly even as the rain fell faster. Something, a sense buried deep inside her, told her she was headed towards the town line. She felt an internal warning as they passed the shallow hills that marked the edge of the realm. She tried to tell Rumple to stop, but the words wouldn't come. The shadows in the front seat paid no mind to her. They stared ahead, silent and stern.
Storybrooke's town line hovered nearby as the car slowed to a stop. At this very moment it forged a barrier between magical and non-magical realms—anyone who crossed it would disappear from view and never find their way home. This, of course, was one in a series of powers the town line possessed. Until lately, it had been marked by an impenetrable wall of ice and could rob those who crossed it of their memory. At one point, it saw the town's inhabitants syphoned into a fairytale world and just as mysteriously whisked back again. An emotionally-stunted witch from Oz once used it as a hunting ground for her flying monkeys, and it cost Pan's henchmen a rear bumper as they careened past a protection spell. No mortal could predict the next guideline governing the invisible barrier, and no warlock cared to. Those who stood near it could feel the ground shifting under their feet, as if the road itself were as unstable and breakable as any curse.
A quiet sense of urgency whispered to her, even as she headed through the calm countryside. "Journey's end in lovers meeting," she thought with a sigh. Her eyelids became heavy and she dozed fitfully for a minute, for an hour, for two hours, she couldn't tell.
When she opened her eyes, the car was gone. She was alone, standing at the side of the road. Her hands were shaking, her hair was soaked and hanging limply around her shoulders. Misty rain fell around her. She couldn't make out the moon above or the ground below. Everything was wrapped in a thick gray fog. She opened her palms, curious what she was gripping so painfully tight. Out of her right hand, a scroll tumbled to the ground. It unspooled when it landed at her feet, the golden paper rubbed red with bloody fingerprints.
She unfolded her other hand and a sliver of metal fell to the ground with a hollow clang. She stared at the silver crescent; the elegant curve reflected the clouded moonlight and glowed against the road's black granite. She recognized the object with a gasp—a bloody hook.
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Avoiding the glare of the streetlights, Belle hurried along a twisted maze of dark alleys. She'd covered her hospital gown with a man's trenchcoat she found hanging outside the nurses' station. The damp night air stuck to her as her tangled hair billowed around her shoulders like a drowning rose. By now her slippers were soaked with mud and stuck to her heels as she ran past the outskirts of town.
The town line. She had to get to the town line. She could feel the pull of it as she passed the edge of the town and headed into the deserted hillsides. The painkillers were wearing off, and a fiery sensation lapped at the wound on her head. Her feet began to slow, the slippers now raising blisters at the top of her feet. A cramp stung her side and she gripped her rib cage, willing herself to keep moving.
The road led her on into the darkness. The hillsides rose and fell in dark waves as the enchanted border drew near. She felt a sense of dread—unable to avoid her destination but terrified of what she might find there.
She raced on, rubbing her hands together until they were painfully red. Please…oh god…it's my fault…it's my fault, she huffed as her voice caught in her throat. I'm sorry…I'm so sorry. I'm not a hero. I knew I never could be. I'm a coward…It's my fault…" A flash of amber headlights behind her signaled the approach of a speeding car. She heard a car door open and the clatter of footsteps. She shook off a pair of hands as she staggered forward, fighting to keep her balance.
"Belle…It's us. It's us Belle. You're safe." Emma and David reassured her even as she pushed them away.
"Let me go…let me go…"
"Belle…wait…"
"No!" Belle spun around, her eyes wild and wide. "Let me go. You don't understand. It's my fault. His blood is on my hands. Don't you see it?" She held open her palms, shoving David away as she did.
"What blood Belle? There's no blood," David assured her. Emma forced Belle to face her, holding her still as she struggled.
"His blood. It's his blood. Don't you see? It's my fault. I didn't stop it. I didn't stop it. And now it'll never come off."
"Whose blood Belle?" Emma asked her, shaking her gently. Belle stopped struggling and stared at her hands.
"Oh Emma," she said softly. "I'm sorry. You'll never know how sorry I am." She lowered her head, hot tears streaming down her face, falling into her open palms.
Emma shook her again, less gently now, forcing her to meet her gaze. "Who are you talking about?"
"I'm so sorry... I should have stopped it. I wanted to stop it, but it happened quickly and…It didn't seem real. None of it seemed real. I watched them… I thought it was a dream. And now the blood will never wash off my hands." She spread the falling tears over her palms, scrubbing them into her skin. "I know it'll never wash off."
She leaned forward, her eyes brimming with tears. "I want you to know that I was with him. I held his hand," she opened her palm, empty and pale. "He even smiled at me… he wasn't alone at the end. I wouldn't leave him. He knew I was there and that…that I wouldn't leave him. Not like that."
"Who are you talking about?" Emma whispered.
Belle shook her head sadly. "Hook."