A/N: Many thanks to the wonderful distant-rose for living with all my whining about this one, and for all the cool banners and stuff (viewable on Tumblr). Also some sincere gratitude to kmomof4, who put the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer together, and gave me a reason to write this.
"Boss, we have a body over here."
That was how Emma knew it was over. Body. A single word, nearly lost between the static of her piece of shit walkie.
She stopped dead where she stood, ankle deep in snow, her breath still ragged from cresting that last hill. Her hand hesitated by the walkie clipped to her belt.
Body.
It was such a clean word. Emotionless. Sexless. Nameless. A good filler word for when the word you're looking for is too horrifying to communicate via radio.
Something leaden was building up inside Emma's throat, threatening to escape. She screwed her eyes tight shut, and concentrated on her breathing. She tried to remember what the counselor had said. Breathing in for four seconds. Holding for seven. Breathing out for eight. Or was it seven? Shit. She couldn't remember.
Her radio crackled again, dragging her back out into the cold. Back to reality.
"You read me, Emma? Over."
She opened her eyes again, squinting against the glare of that pale winter sun as it peeked through the trees. In the fall these woods were like something out of a fairytale, the foliage turning beautiful rich reds and yellows. It had the out of state tourists out in droves, clogging up the roads and campgrounds, practically tripping over themselves to capture the perfect snapshot.
These woods didn't so much resemble those idyllic Instagram posts anymore. Those famous leaves were long gone now, decayed and buried under half a foot of snow, and now the trees that had held them stood bare and still. Not so much as a whisper of wind through the branches, or a bird call to startle the silence. No, this wasn't a place fit for a fairytale. Not anymore.
Body meant Emma was too late.
When Emma had first been contemplating a career in law enforcement, they'd touted the generous benefits, the camaraderie, and the opportunities for advancement. Small-town policing, they said, had the best of both worlds. All of the job satisfaction, but none of the crushing quotas and internal politics that beleaguered big city police forces.
And maybe there was some truth to that. Storybrooke, Maine was best known these days for lobster fishing and its quaint Main Street, lined with antique stores. It wasn't exactly a hive of scum and villainy. Most people didn't even remember to lock their doors. Or at least, they hadn't.
Not until Kathryn.
Five days ago, Kathryn Nolan had left the house she shared with her husband, David, climbed into her Volvo and headed east on Walnut Lane. She had an appointment with a new client at her law practice at 3pm, but she never showed. Likewise, she never made her evening yoga class at the rec center. The next morning, her husband David called in at the Sheriff's Station to report her missing.
By his own admission, there had been some turbulence on the home front. An extra-marital affair. Not hers. Separation was simply a matter of when, not if. So when she hadn't returned home, he'd dismissed his initial concerns, and assumed she was staying with friends. Maybe with her sister down in Portland, to give them both some breathing space.
That is, until he noticed her toothbrush still by the sink. Her phone still plugged into the charger by the night stand. Her suitcase still packed away in the closet, under a pile of sweaters. If she'd left town, she'd done it in a hell of a hurry.
The cellphone was the most concerning omission. Like most plugged in, twenty first century women, Kathryn had come to consider her iPhone almost as an extension of herself, and a glance at her social media accounts supported this assertion. She was a prolific Instagrammer, a champion of the gym selfie with an appreciation for a good hashtag. That she would leave her phone behind for an extended period of time seemed wildly out of character.
Even so, Emma had her hopes set on a simple explanation. A second cellphone her husband didn't know about. An impromptu drive down the coast to cool off from the latest fight, interrupted by some bad weather. Maybe some car trouble. An unplanned night in a motel somewhere off the interstate. Due to return at any time.
Her hopes had been dashed two days ago, when a particularly intrepid hiker discovered a grey Volvo abandoned up on one of the trailheads by the reservoir.
The riverbank was steep as it curved down to the freezing water, and Emma's boots slid across the ground cover slippery with freshly trampled snow.
An arm reached out to slow her descent, and she slid to a halt, her hands still grasping onto the sleeve of Graham's jacket for dear life.
He was solid under her hands, a steadying presence. But that was Graham all over, really. Her Deputy was one of the good ones.
"Thanks," she said with an awkward cough, stepping back to compose herself. It didn't take long to forget her embarrassment. Not when she looked past him and saw the body lying on the riverbank.
She felt Graham's attention wander deliberately towards the trees, giving her a minute to come to grips with what she was seeing and get it together.
All in all, it was not a picture Emma ever wanted to remember, though she knew she would.
It's amazing how many backflips the human mind will do in order to turn whatever it is seeing into something palatable. It's not real, her brain whispered. It's just special effects, it reasoned. Movie magic.
And maybe she could've let herself believe that, if it weren't for the snarl of blonde hair lapping against the rocks, the same shade as her own.
Her stomach roiled, and she clenched her fists to her sides until the initial nausea passed. No one would've blamed her. By the looks of things, the body had been in the water for a couple of days already.
Swallowing back the bile, Emma took a precarious step closer to the body lying prone on the sandbank. "You found her like this?" Emma called over her shoulder, scanning what mottled flesh she could see for any immediately obvious wounds.
"Ruby found her first," Graham admitted, sidling up next to her. "That nose of hers."
Ruby Lucas was the department's newest recruit. Young, enthusiastic, and with a genetic predisposition towards lycanthropy, she made for a hell of a tracker. It made sense she'd be the one to sniff her out.
It also explained why Emma could hear someone retching into a nearby clump of bushes, contaminating her crime scene with the contents of their stomach.
Emma might've thought someone who dined out on live game every full moon would have a stronger stomach, but what did she know?
This wasn't Emma's first dead body. That privilege belonged to another girl, in another town. But you never forget your first.
"She was half in the water when we found her," Graham continued. "Had to drag her out to stop the current taking her. Haven't touched her otherwise. I know we're supposed to check vitals, but under the circumstances…"
Under the circumstances, Emma understood. Dead was dead, there was no mistaking it. She knelt down by the body all the same, pulling a pair of latex gloves from her pocket.
"You're sure it's her?" Emma asked, sliding the gloves on with a little less finesse than she would've liked.
"Don't know many other missing blonde women in designer threads, do you?"
She didn't. But there was only one way to be sure.
"On the count of three, we're going to roll her over, okay?"
Graham looked dubious. "Should we be moving her?"
Somehow Emma got the impression he was more concerned with having to touch the body again than with proper forensic protocol.
Emma shrugged, having already weighed her options. The nights had been cold lately, but the river hadn't frozen over yet, the current too strong. There was no telling how far upstream she'd gone into the water, but this hadn't been the place. This was just where she happened to wash up. Between her time in the river, and Ruby and Graham's hauling her out of the water, Emma doubted there'd be much trace evidence left anyway.
She thought of the fifty or so townspeople they still had trawling the woods in freezing conditions, all out looking for Kathryn Nolan.
"I need to make sure it's her before I call off the search," she reasoned. And then a little softer, "Are you okay to do this?"
Graham's answering smile was tight, but he didn't respond one way or another, just crouched down next to her, and waited on Emma's signal.
Alright then.
"One," Emma began, taking a deep breath. On "Two" they moved, Graham's hands coming up to cup the shoulder, and Emma's to grasp her arm. The body was still clad in a thin sweater, stuck fast to the skin, but it was hard to say what color the fabric had been originally, under the layers of black river mud.
"Three."
They both heaved, the dead weight lifting, and then finally succumbing to gravity, flipping her onto her back.
Both of them were on their feet in seconds, backing away in a hurry.
"Did they…?" Graham began, his words halting as his hand came up to cover his mouth, like he might throw up.
Emma thought she might join him in that.
"Looks like it."
It was Kathryn Nolan. Of that, Emma was certain. She'd get David Nolan to do a formal identification in time, but she was sure. Even with the bloating and the discoloration, the face was still one she recognized from polite run ins at the grocery store, or waiting in line for the treadmill at the gym.
Kathryn was still clothed, for the most part. One foot was bare, the other still booted. Jeans still intact, though she couldn't tell if the tears at the knees were recent or part of the design. Her sweater had become twisted and heavy with mud, but it was only where it had been ripped open at the chest that she was truly exposed.
At first glance she'd mistaken it for mud. River debris. Staining through her shirt and clinging fast to her skin. But it wasn't, and it only took Emma's brain half a second to catch up with what her eyes were seeing.
It was a wound. An angry gash, deep inside Kathryn's chest. Right where her heart should've been.
Emma turned her attention back to her partner, who stood hunched over, his hands on his knees, a fresh line of sweat bursting from his forehead in spite of the cold.
"You want to sit?" Emma asked gently, reaching out for one of his hands to lead him away. But he snatched his arm back, shaking his head.
"I just need…" he paused, as if he wasn't even sure what it was he needed. "Someone has to call off the search," he said finally, having found a suitable excuse.
"Sure." She tried to keep her tone steady, no judgement. "The radio in the cruiser works best."
His relief was palpable, her words a lifeline he grasped with both hands.
He took a few steps back up the bank, and then paused, turning around with visible effort.
"You think a person could've done that?" he asked, gesturing back to the figure on the bank.
"A person, as opposed to what?" Emma asked, confused.
"A leech?" he suggested. "Or a rogue were?"
Emma almost winced at the slur, but she recovered herself. This wasn't the time to reiterate workplace sensitivity training.
"The full moon was two weeks ago," Emma pointed out, putting the kibosh on his werewolf theory. Everybody knew they couldn't turn during the month. And as for the leech suggestion…
"I don't know. Doesn't really seem like a vampire's style, does it?"
They'd handled a vampire attack together once before. A young woman nearly drained to death by her suitor, a baby vampire who still hadn't learned the depths of his appetites, until he'd been confronted with more temptation than he could handle.
Older vampires knew better. They were careful, and they were controlled. But the young ones were, by and large, impulsive. A slave to their bloodlust. Frenzied.
Not a good fit for what happened to Kathryn.
Graham shrugged, still looking morbidly unhappy.
"All I know is, a person didn't do that. A monster did."