The crickets chirped as the tires rolled smoothly down the pebble road, in a calming white noise to Belle's thoughts. The yellow glow of her headlights illuminated the path and the tall trees that lined the deserted road. Turn after turn, she drove to Storybrooke.
The podcast she had been listening two had ended miles ago, and she was content to just enjoy the relaxing silence of the nocturnal life around her. The sound of owls and crickets filling her surroundings transported her to another land. She felt like her hometown was left in another dimension, as she drove away from the always-glaring city lights, the metallic noises, and the smell of fuel. As she got closer to Storybrooke, she felt cleansed from the hardening times of living in a big city.
She was glad she had that opportunity. Not every journalist that submitted their request for a research project was accepted into Mister Gold's prestigious Park, and she knew she was privileged. And it was all due to Mary Margaret.
She glanced at her phone, laying on the passenger seat, AUX cord disconnected and battery gradually dying. That was a long trip. The instructions she was given were clear enough, but, still, for a moment she worried she would get lost in all the sharp turns and bifurcations. Storybrooke was considered a hidden gem for a reason.
She sighed, as she forced herself to look back to the road. A few miles left, and she would be in her hotel room, all settled with her books and her notes. She would take a nice shower to wash off hours of continuous driving and she would have the sleep of her life. She couldn't wait.
Just as she finished yet another turn and avoided the overgrown bushes at the edges of the road, she heard her phone ring. Dance of The Sugar-Plum Fairy slowly filled the silence in the car, and she swayed her head to the sweet notes for a few seconds before cutting off the song to answer the call. She put it on speaker, and the voice that greeted her made her wish she had checked the caller ID first.
Her sigh was heavier this time.
"Oh, perfect! I'm glad I caught you before you went to bed," The accented voice sounded through the static, and Belle rolled her eyes at nothing.
"What is it, Mr. Jones?" She barely disguised her annoyance. "Is there something wrong?" She asked, knowing the answer couldn't possibly surprise her.
He had the habit of calling her under all and any pretenses, only to learn what she was doing, where she was, who she was with. Over the years, it had become embarrassingly obvious how desperate he could be.
"No, nothing is wrong. The decision remains" He explained, sounding a little out of breath. "I just wanted to clarify some things that were said at the meeting last week" He pointed, "About your assignment"
Belle rolled her eyes again, and cursed soundlessly at her dashboard. Of course he was going to revisit that discussion. Why couldn't he just let it go?
"Sure" She exhaled.
"Miss Blanchard implied the necessity of close personal contact for exploring the more human side of…" An awkward pause "…them, but I, once again, advise you against that"
Of course he did. Belle shook her head, incredulously. She wished there was someone in the car with her to share all of her irritated reactions.
"Many of them are tricksters," he continued, unaffected by Belle's lack of response. "They are not to be trusted —"
"I understand your concern, Mr. Jones" She adopted her best, most formal tone. She knew it drove him crazy when she talked to him like that; like they were strictly professional with each other. "But that wouldn't be a very well done job, now would it? It would be considered poor work to actively ignore quite possibly the most important aspect about them: their human component" She looked at the phone almost as if she could see his aggravated face through it.
She couldn't believe she was repeating that. She had said it multiple times last week, and he was the only one too stubborn to understand. She almost considered he was jealous she was the one who got to do the job.
"I understand that your journalistic code, or something, expects you to try and learn everything about them" he sounded more avid now "but I urge you to have caution when treating them like humans. They're not. They're only nearly, and that's what makes them so captivating" he built a dramatic pause and Belle had to hold in her groan "And dangerous. That's also what put them there in the first place, so —"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Jones" Belle was getting seriously irritated now "but I have specific directions from Miss Blanchard to engage them like human patients, before interpreting them as exotic creatures. That's what makes them unique, and that's the point of the research" She felt her hands grip the steering wheel with a little more force and necessary, and she told herself to relax. "I couldn't sacrifice all of our hard work in fear that they'll play with my head"
She made sure to exaggerate her joking tone, so that he would finally understand how she viewed the whole discussion. But again, that seemed to be futile.
"Not just that, Belle—"
"Killian, please" She knew resorting to his name would at least snap him out of his deep focus. "Let us not mix things up. This is work"
She pointed her index finger at the empty space in front of her, as if giving a lecture to a grumpy invisible child. It was honestly a shame he couldn't see how patronizing she was truly being. Oh, the glory of cellphones.
"This is the work of long years of study and research — your investment, Mary Margaret's career project — and this is my part to play" She made another turn, feeling her feet push a little heavier on the gas pedal. Arguing and driving wasn't the best mix. "The responsibility is all mine now, so I'll make my own decisions to do my job the best that I can, how I believe it should be done. So, please" She finished in a sigh.
The silence that followed was made louder by the static.
"I'm still a share holder, you know that, right?" His voice was rougher this time. Belle could picture the clenching of his jaw and the dark furrowed brow on the other end. "I have as much power in this decision as Mary Margaret"
Belle pursed her lips. "Don't play this game, now. This is Mary Margaret's project. It has always been. And if this is how she believes I must approach the field study, that's how I will do it. You're not in charge on this. End of story"
"Belle—"
She breathed out, exasperated. He had the rare special skill of getting under her skin.
"I'm driving, Mr. Jones. It's night already, and I can't wait to get to my hotel. I have to hang up" She reached for the phone, keeping her eyes steady on the road ahead. "Have a good night. Tell Miss Blanchard I'll call her in the morning."
As she picked up the phone, she heard more clearly his frustrated mumbling on the line. "Okay" He conceded. "Have a good night. Be careful."
She brought the phone into her line of vision and hovered her thumb over the red button. "I will. We both know I can handle myself" And she ended the call.
As soon as his name disappeared from the screen and the phone turned back to black, she threw it back onto the passenger seat, releasing a long held groan of annoyance.
Gods! He was difficult.
Luckily, she wouldn't have to talk to him once she finally started working. It would be liberating and wonderful — to finally work on her passion without having to worry about when he would decide to come by her office and force a boring conversation over something as meaningless as the weather or their relationship.
She would have the town for herself, and that was all the freedom she needed.
The green sign on the side of the road finally told her she was entering Storybrooke, and her smile was bright and thankful. She couldn't stand to drive a minute longer.
She followed the directions she had saved from the internet. Steering slowly now, careful to look out the window and pay attention to all the signs and guiding points.
Surprisingly enough, Storybrooke was an easy town to navigate. There were more homes than corporate buildings, more pharmacies than shopping malls, and more humble restaurants than food chains. She was pleasantly surprised.
Belle didn't know whether she should blame the hour of the night or the difficult access for Storybrooke's quiet streets. Not more than two cars were parked per block, all the stores were closed, and only a few bars every four corners were open. That was a remarkably quiet friday night.
Her smile felt deeper now. The town was made just for her.
As she found herself around the streets, she located her hotel. Granny's Bed and Breakfast. The glowing red sign was flickering, and a few warm lights were on in the first floor. She was expected.
Easing her car into a stop in one of the many empty parking spaces of the parking lot, she turned off the heated engine and stepped down on the concrete. Her legs felt like stones, senseless and hard, and her back was tight, protesting every more as she stretched her limbs. The journey had been merciless on her muscles.
She circled the car, opened the trunk and took out all of her bags. She adjusted the heavy backpack on one shoulder, balanced the thick folders under her arms, and pulled the bag up on its wheels. She might have packed too much.
When she finally made her way to the hotel, she was immediately greeted by the charming smell of wood, leather and books. She looked around, and gaped at the beauty of the place.
It wasn't extravagant, but it certainly wasn't dull, either. The hotel had a domestic, if not nostalgic feeling in its walls; the huge wooden furniture on the hall, complete with a reading space with a wooden coffee table in the middle — the puffy carpet in front of the fireplace, and the shelves, thick and old, filled with books. She sighed an enamored sigh. She was in love with the place already.
If she had known her grandmothers, she would have swore this is what their houses looked like. Old and welcoming, like the perfect grandmother.
She carried her bags to the counter, and waited after ringing the old bell. She was still very much devoted to admiring all the details around, when an old woman greeted her.
Gray hair tied in a low bun and thin round glasses over her nose, the woman looked friendly.
"Good evening," she smiled what seemed to be an automatic response to guests, as she eyed Belle from head to toe. "You must be Belle"
"That I am," Belle nodded, adjusting her backpack to her shoulder to better extend her hand in greeting. "And you are Eugenia Lucas, is that right?"
The woman shook Belle's hand, and Belle was surprised to feel the firm grip on her fingers. Not very grandmotherly. "Yes. But here I'm just Granny. It's my brand." She shrugged, quickly letting go of Belle's hand and reaching under the counter. Within a second, she was back up with a huge book in hands. She dropped it in front of Belle and turned it to her. "Now, you're finally here. I was wondering if you had gotten lost"
She handed Belle a pen, and again Belle struggled with her bags to write down her information on the given book. "Almost!" she commented as she filled in the lines, "The road is tricky and I had never been here before. I'm lucky I found my way on the first try!"
She returned the pen, and the woman examined her information before continuing with the small talk. She seemed a bit impatient, but Belle could understand that. She would too, if she was forced to stay up until midnight to wait for a late guest.
"That you are" Granny curved another mechanic smile, reaching under the counter one more time. She rose with a round, vintage key in hand, "You're in Room 204. It's just around the corner, up the stairs," She pointed to the staircase as soon as Belle took the key. "A big green door. You can't miss it." And with her third forced smile, Belle knew she extend not prolong the chatter.
She nodded. "Perfect. Thank you, Granny. Have a good night" With tired arms, she bent down and over to grab all of her bags again, if only to make a single trip up to her room. She definitely packed too much.
She was struggling to pull the huge bag one step at a time, when she finally heard the slow reply.
"Have a good night, too, lady"
And with that, the old woman vanished into her room, in the back of the hotel.
"Thank you for the help" Belle whispered under her breath. She smiled at the small victory when she finally managed to pull the tiny wheels of the big bag to the second floor, onto the thick carpet.
One, two, three doors passed and she reached her room. 204. The Green Door. She was finally going to have her night of sleep. Oh, and a shower. Oh, and take off her shoes!
She shut the door behind her when she conquered the challenge to get all of her bags through the door and on the big chair by the window. Feeling so much lighter, she jumped on the bed, letting the soft mattress roll and bob under her weight. Gods, that felt good.
She sighed again, feeling all the tension from her trip finally show itself on her tense muscles. She was collecting her energy to head for a shower, when her phone rang. She enjoyed the soft notes again, and answered without hesitation when the caller ID showed her friend's name.
"Hello, Miss Blanchard" She smiled at the ceiling. Talking to Mary Margaret would surely erase the bitter taste of her last caller.
"Good evening, Miss French" The young woman mirrored her mocking formal tone. "Have you made yourself comfortable in your hotel room already?"
"Yeah" Belle looked around, glad to discover that the wonder of a grandmother's home was not just limited to the entrance hall. Even the rooms had a nostalgic, universally familiar air about them. "Just got here. It's just a lovely place. The hotel and the whole town! It's a shame that is seems to empty" She admitted.
"Well, Storybrooke has a reputation" Mary Margaret casually explained, "You can't expect everyone to enjoy it"
Belle hummed in agreement. "I suppose" She turned on her side, trying to take some of the strain off her back. "Why did you call?"
"Just checking up on you" Mary answered quickly.
Belle frowned, elongating her reply. "Really?"
"Kind of" Mary admitted, a nervous laughter coming through the line. "David told me he saw Killian's call to you, and I thought it would be best that I—"
"Don't worry!" Belle interrupted before Mary's concerns extrapolated all possibilities. "I know what to do. Killian's insecurity about this won't change my mind," She explained, feeling more certain than she ever had until now.
"I know!" The woman breathed. "I know! Just, I didn't what to risk it. This story won't be the same if we don't treat them as at least part human, you know?"
Belle smiled at Mary Margaret's nerves. She always worried too much.
"Better than anyone" Belle assured her, "Don't worry. I know the story I want to write and I know the story you want to tell. All that is left now is for us to find it here"
"We're so close, Belle!" Mary Margaret was probably holding her hands tights to her chest by now, "Like we never been before! Like we never dreamed we would be!" Belle admired her passion. Mary Margaret's commitment was easily one of Belle's inspirations in life. "Please, don't be freaked out and run from there. We need your keen eyes and your wise words on this"
Belle laughed. She loved how Mary Margaret resorted to flattery to win an inexistent argument. She didn't mind the compliments, either.
"Of course" Belle replied "It's what I plan to do. And being freaked out is not even an option, please!" At the thought, her eyes were drawn to her folders, where she kept her previous research on related works. Not all of them were brilliant — in fact, most of them triggered a different kind of inspiration. A bitter kind. "I've read so many fabricated horror stories and paranoid theories about them that I think I'm ready for the real thing. I mean, after this dramatic interpretation from Anastasia's, I can handle anything" She joked.
Mary Margaret sounded more relaxed, chuckling "I'm glad! Ugh, I knew you were the woman for the job! I have so much faith in you, girl!"
Belle couldn't help but laugh again. She really didn't mind the flattering.
"Thank you" She nodded "Now go to sleep and let me have my rest!" She demanded, almost hearing the silent, desperate call of the shower for her. "I have an exciting day tomorrow, after all."
Mary Margaret giggled like a school girl. "You most certainly have. Okay, okay. I'll let you go now. Have a good night and a good job tomorrow!"
"Thanks. Good night" She pulled the phone from her ear and clicked it off.
Struggling to get up, she made her way to her bags. Throwing aside all the many books, she collected her clothes and disappeared into the shower.
And like a wish granted, she slept the most perfect sleep that night.
Her alarm went off early in the morning, to no avail — she had already been up for an hour.
She had settled in. Enthusiastically, of course.
All of her clothes were flawlessly folded into the old drawers, her shoes organized by color in the closet, and all her books nested like treasures on the shelf.
She felt at home.
Listening to another voiceless melody from her phone, she brushed her teeth. She turned off the water, wiped her mouth clean and stared at the oval mirror for a few minutes.
She looked professional. Professional blouse and professional skirt, of professional length. Of course, as Mary Margaret always insisted, "professional didn't exclude attractive", and she was just that.
She smiled at the silliness of her thoughts. The excitement of her new adventure was sending chills up her spine, filling her belly with professional butterflies and making her giggle happily as if that was her first day on the job.
In many ways, it was.
Her first time entering the Park. The famous Storybrooke Habitats. She had only ever read about it in science papers, news articles and — yes, unfortunately — gossip magazines. All she knew of the place was from other people's perspectives and now, finally, after years of hard work crafting the impeccable project, she was ready to experience it with her own eyes, and write about it with her own words. No wonder she was so excited.
But, again, she was professional, and her excitement couldn´t outshine her qualifications. Like Mary Margaret had said, she was the woman for the job.
Still, it didn't keep her nerves from acting out.
For the fourth time, she tried the line in the mirror. "Why are you here?" And she winced. Too condescending. Again, she composed herself, and tried another time, "Why are you here?" A groan. Too judgmental! One last time. She could do this. "Why are you here?" And she cursed at herself. Too sweet!
She was about to allow herself another last try, when a knock sounded on the door and she jumped on her shoulders. "Yes?" She replied.
"Miss French? Breakfast is ready" Granny notified her, and Belle watched as her cheeks blushed in embarrassment in the mirror. Gods, hopefully Granny didn't hear her practicing.
"Coming!" She tried to mask her nerves, and quickly adjusted herself back into full professional mode. With one last look, she told her reflection, "You can do this" and met with Granny downstairs.
The breakfast tasted like the place looked. Amazing.
She truly believed Granny was the embodiment of all the sweet and perfect grandmothers in the world. Even if, admittedly, she had yet to find something sweet about Granny. But she had shelter and food, so she wouldn't dare to complain. She had never tasted more delicious pancakes in her life; any eventual grumpiness could be excused.
She got back into her car, carrying with her only the essentials this time. Her notebook and a pencil case filled with emergency pens, pencils and markers. Belle was professionally prepared.
She opened her glove-box and retrieved the Working Pass she was given — delivered by mail as soon as their request was approved, that was the greatest gift Belle had ever received. She proudly pinned it to her blouse, and adjusted it in the mirror.
The photo they used wasn't her favorite part of it, but she was just glad to see her name there.
Belle French, Journalist for The Author, Working Guest.
It looked official, complete with the Park color scheme and their — maybe a little bit pretentious — logo. Belle rolled her shoulders, imagining the ID magically made her a very important person. She made a note to ask them to let her keep it after she was done.
After another venture through the town, she followed the glowing dot on her phone that indicated the location of the Park. Far from Main Street and the major population, The Storybrooke Habitats were removed to the far edge of town, near the forest. She questioned the large distance for a moment, but as soon as the red dot of her car met the glowing dot of the Park, she understood the reason behind it all.
The Park was huge. Possibly larger than Storybrooke itself. It was almost like a Disney Land of fantastic, real-life creatures, divided into climate zones and areas of special vegetation. From the entrance gate, she could see the roofs of the tallest buildings, the artificial mini-mountains, even the huge aquarium in the far corner of the territory.
The whole place was immense, and she waited for a moment longer before pulling into the gate, just to take it all in and engrave it on her mind. Oh, if only Mary Margaret could see it! She would tear up.
She stopped the car at the request of the guards that awaited at the tall, fancy gates. They wore clean black uniforms, with their names golden on an ID card similar to Belle's.
She rolled down the window as one man approached, a friendly smile on his face.
"Good morning. My name is Belle French," she introduced herself, making sure to hold up her pass for the guard to see. "My boss called yours to set everything up. I work for The Author"
The guard raised his thick eyebrows, showing recognition on his face. "Oh, the Journalist! Mr. Gold is expecting you. Come in, come in" As he moved away from the car, he waved to the other guard in the station.
Belle waited as a loud, metallic noise followed the opening of the gates. With a deep, composing breath, she drove in.
The scenery gradually changed.
From the entrance that resembled a normal town in many ways, the world slowly transformed, and Belle found herself immersed in what seemed like a fantasy scenery. Now, she couldn't blame Mary Margaret if she teared up.
Right off the gates, Belle was met by an entirely new architecture. The theme was medieval, and all the shopping spots — convenience stores, food places, pharmacies and cafes — looked like they were pulled from a fairytale book.
The street was no longer concrete, but a road of many large rocks of many different colors, like the public squares from centuries ago. The lights by the sidewalk were stylized to resemble torches, and the benches were picture-perfect replicas of a correspondent time.
Even the trees added to the scenery, colored in unusual shades — blue, purple, gold. The Park was projected to feel, look, smell and breathe like another world, another time. And, how amazingly it worked. Belle almost forgot she came from an ordinary town of modern times.
Again, she followed the signs. Stylized, tasteful signs that guided her to Mr. Gold's office — the head of the place. She couldn't wait to meet with the man that envisioned such a transporting experience.
After she found the perfect parking stop under a marvelous purple tree, she walked the empty sidewalks to the golden door she was promised was the right one.
She knocked before coming in, and a gentle bell rang in her presence.
She looked around again, amazed at how many times she would be rendered useless by the beauty in her surroundings. She was a writer, after all — that tended to be her weakness.
The office, however, looked different.
It didn't obey the same medieval theme the Park was committed to. In fact, it seemed the opposite, it had more earthy colors and a dusty scent. And it was bursting with different kinds of relics, treasures, paintings, weapons, tools, old books and weird skulls on the walls.
Glass cases formed little hallways, much like a museum. She understood that was the purpose of it. As she looked around, she realized each relic was in reference to a creature.
On the walls, hung paintings of mermaids, a set of dragon fangs, the skin from a large, white wolf, the wands of witches and even the tiny outfits for a cricket. All of them, homages to the residents in the Park.
It was somehow unnerving — she felt it in the raising of her hairs —, how much of what adorned that room were actually remains of living beings. Fangs, fur, fins, feet — all taken from deceased specimens. Maybe they were displayed out of respect, maybe not. But Belle couldn't deny the uneasy pressure in her gut, as she walked through the place.
Finally, to stop her nervous wondering, Mr. Gold walked in, from a room in the back. He flashed her a welcoming smile, and offered her his hand. She took it promptly.
"Miss French. It is a pleasure to meet you" He bowed his head to the side, letting locks of his light long hair fall on his face.
He looked old. Well, older than the pictures, at least. He was smaller, too, and seemed to have a walking impairment, as he leaned heavily on this cane. His figure was an interesting one.
It was a surprising sight, to be honest. Belle would have imagined a tall, dark, threatening man to run this place, but Mr. Gold seemed… harmless.
"Good morning, Mr. Gold. Belle French, writer for The Author" She released his hand and adjusted her notebook over her chest, "My superior, Miss Blanchard, talked to you about my time here"
"Of course," he nodded, "It's good to finally meet you. We're very pleased that you're here to learn about our Habitats." He rested both his hands on his cane, finding new balance in his stance.
"That is my pleasure!" Belle agreed with a smile on her face. She looked around for a moment, "Where is your team? I'd like to introduce myself"
Gold met her eagerness with calm. "You'll met them as you discover our Habitats. But I'm afraid I'm the only one in an administrative position"
Belle raised her eyebrows, clear blue eyes rounded in surprise. "You run all this by yourself?"
"Yes," he smiled, seeming flattered by her shock. "I have my supporters and some financial help, but that's all I really need," He shrugged, the relaxed smile never leaving his sharp face. "I like to make the decisions myself. I hope you can understand that" He motioned to Belle with a flick of his hand, and Belle quickly explained herself.
"No, no! Of course, I do," She thought for a second. "I'm just... surprised. This isn't exactly a small place or light responsibility" She glanced at the many objects around. If they were any indications of the number of creatures they had, it wouldn´t be anything short from impressive. "You must work a lot, Mr. Gold"
Again, he accepted the compliment with a shrug of his shoulder. "In the beginning, yes. But as the years went on and I developed and expanded my team, it became easier," he embraced a lighter tone. "I guess I cracked the mystery on running a place this special"
Belle was silent for a few seconds before replying. Her eyes still doing little to hide her youthful enthusiasm. "That's amazing"
"Please," Gold waved his free hand, "save your praise. You need to meet out creatures first"
Belle agreed with a chuckle. "That is right" And a moment, as she weighted her next words. Somehow, they felt daring to say, under the watch of so many pieces of creatures around. Corpses, they were. "I trust Miss Blanchard disclosed our objectives with this project"
Gold hummed, turning his back to Belle to walk to his desk. "She did. We had a long talk, right before you got here. She explained the nature of you research and how you intend to approach our habitants" His eyes fell to the many forms and papers on his desk, and he busied himself with organizing them. "I have no oppositions," Finally, he looked back at Belle. That same smile still in place. "I'm sure you will find all their kinds immensely interesting, to say the least"
"I hope," Belle let out a hopeful sigh. "Personally, I was very anxious to get here and meet them" She looked around again, but this time she tried to ignore the more gruesome parts of the ornaments. "Their legends are as old as time, so to finally meet a living being that I've only known from dusty books, that's…!" She breathed out, content in not choosing a word. There would none to englobe all she felt, anyway.
"A privilege, I suppose" Gold completed, "Indeed, it is. We don't allow simply anybody here. Some of our residents are…" He looked down, as if searching for the least offensive term. "Volatile to the general public gaze — which is usually and unmistakably a mixture of curiosity, disgust and fear — and, to keep this from turning into a circus, I reserve the right to carefully select and arrange the meetings"
Belle listened attentively, as Gold again motioned to her with thin fingers.
"I must say, The Author's is a team like no other. I think you can finally end the fear that surrounds most of their names"
The very idea of it filled Belle with joy. She nodded more times than it was necessary. "That is what I honestly want, sir" Her smile contaminated Gold, and he surrendered to her energy.
With a chuckle, he replied, "Well, no need to delay you a minute longer, then. I'll provide you with the guide to the initial Habitats and, as you explore the Park, our team will introduce you to the most secured locations" He handed Belle the map of the Park, colorful in plastic paper. For a while, his words echoed in the silence, and he seemed to realize their weight. "But don't fear them. They present no danger to you. All their cages are designed to keep their specific kind in, invulnerable and inescapable to their capacities" A calm pause, and a reassuring smile. "It is all perfectly safe"
Belle smiled back, feeling honestly refreshed by the concern the man showed. "That's nice to know. Thank you"
Gold bowed his head again. He found new balance with his cane, as he raised his arm towards the door. "Go on, now, and meet our creatures. We are all very keen to read the story you are going to write"
Belle couldn't help another giggle. "As I am, sir" She copied his bow, folded the map inside her notebook and excused herself. "I'll being immediately. Thank you again and have a good day"
"Good day, Miss French"
She turned her back to him and exited the office, with more delight than her little chest could hold.
Her work had finally begun.