"Miss Cassidy, we've been over this a hundred times."

The haggard biology teacher, a middle-aged man who resigned himself to the fact that his only legacy would be getting a high school class to pay attention for more than five seconds, pinched the bridge of his nose before glancing at the young girl across from him. She had been standing in front of his polished wooden desk for the past ten minutes in the same position, arms crossed over her neatly pressed white button down shirt and a steely gaze, a fire blazing in her pale blue eyes, that could make anyone feel small. Her phone was turned to silent though the screen lit up every few minutes with a new message from one of her classmates.

"I cannot change your grade." In most cases, he was saying this to a student who had done poorly on one of his admittedly difficult tests but Faye was a special case. "You already have a perfect score."

"But I got all the extra credit right. Five questions worth five points each so you should be giving me 25 extra points. That's how extra credit works."

"The extra credit is for students who may need a bit of a boost in their grades, not someone like you," he explained, having déjà vu as he remembered this exact conversation for the past three tests. Unlike those times, his best student was refusing to back down. "You can't get higher than 100%"

"Then why do we have the saying 'Give 110%'? Technically, you're wrong, sir."

Dr. Garner would have grinned at her witty remark but he was longing for his special armchair and a night of relaxation, his few hours of freedom from the classroom. "Miss Cassidy, surely your friends or your father must be wondering where you are by now. Wouldn't you rather be enjoying the lovely day outside?"

"And I will when you change my grade. I'll remind you that I run the fastest mile in my gym class so I'd make it to the door and lock it before you even got out of that chair. I'm prepared to wait here as long as it takes but I bet you want to rest after a long day of trying to teach a bunch of bored teenagers who would rather gossip about the latest celebrity scandal than listen to your riveting discussion on mitochondria."

The following five minutes were a battle of wills, Dr. Garner hoping that she would eventually cave in out of desire of being with her friends. A slow, quiet ticking from the clock on the wall broke up the tense silence.

"Give it here," he said, reaching for his red pen.

Knowing she had won, she handed him the test booklet, 100% written across the front page. He crossed it out, replacing it with 125%.

"I'll input it in your file when I get home. You do understand that this changes your grade in no way, yes?"

"It's the principle of the matter, sir. Thank you," she replied, placing the booklet in her backpack.

Taking a glance at the clock, Faye hurried out of the classroom, waving back at her classmates who were staying after for sports or other activities. She joined the end of a short line for the bus stop around the corner. As she waited to board, she checked the messages from her friends, ranging from upcoming parties to homework questions. There were also a few from her father, including the usual reminder that he would stop at the grocery store after work, but that was soon followed by an odd text.

Don't stop at home. Meet me at Luigi's. I'll explain when you get here.

"Help me."

She retrieved the headphones from her backpack and in the middle of untangling them, she noticed the man in front of her, mid twenties with perfectly coiffed blonde hair, was eyeing her up and down. Attending Davenport Academy had both its advantages and downsides. Its reputation alone was enough to get any kid into the best colleges and if it were not for the full scholarship thanks to her grades, Faye could barely afford even one textbook.

The problem was the required uniform: the blue plaid skirt that stopped far above her knees, the white button down shirt that did little to hide her slim figure, and short heels making her look like some kind of schoolgirl fantasy. Four years of those same looks, whether it was on the bus or as she walked to class, taught her to simply ignore them.

Putting the headphones in her ears, she clicked on one of the playlists, turning the volume up high, and followed the line onto the bus. She sat at her usual spot in the back, still feeling the man's eyes on her.

"You know it's not real. It's not. Things that are real. Puppies, gravity, Ryan Gosling…" she whispered.

Just when she was about to signal the bus to stop, the pizza parlor to her left, her eyes flickered to the man. He looked as if he was about to stand up himself but stopped when she lowered her hand. After several minutes, she stepped off the bus with a dozen other passengers, despite the stop being several blocks from her home. The man continued to follow her down the street, keeping a short distance between them, but she managed to lose him by pretending to enter a nearby café.

Not bothering to wait to see if he left the café, she walked towards her apartment building and sneaked into the side alley. She climbed up the fire escape and through the window that led into her living room.

"Help."

Turning the volume up on her phone, the music practically pounding in her head, she grabbed a bottle from the cabinet in the bathroom and swallowed two thin white pills. For a moment, she heard a low rustling sound but she passed it off as one of her neighbor's cats roaming the halls. Her phone lit up with a series of texts from her friend Sophie about their calculus homework.

Lying down on her bed, she started to do the homework herself, tapping her pencil against the book in rhythm to the music that was now slightly lower. Her door creaked open and a dark-haired boy, no older than eleven, walked in, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets. He jumped at the sight of her.

"H—hi. Do you…do you live here?"

"Well, unless those are your girl scout ribbons on the wall, I'm pretty sure I do," she said, pointing at the tall book shelf with various trophies and ribbons. "Is your name Faye too? Sorry but here, there can only be one so we might have to fight to the death to decide who keeps it. Fair warning, I'm the reigning champion for the past seventeen years."

His lips curved into a small smile. "My name's Henry."

"Well, you're not a very good robber so I'm guessing you're one of the kids Mrs. Gorski's babysitting. Did she try to get you to eat her raisin cookies? Some advice? She hides the good ones in her bear jar." Faye closed the textbook. "Let's get you back there before she calls the cops."

As she got up from her bed, ignoring his protests, she heard a loud crash. "Wait here," she whispered.

She grabbed one of her miniature soccer trophies, thinking that actual robbers were inside her apartment. Tiptoeing down the hallway, she listened to a man and woman yell at each other, the man having a thick accent.

"Please, Bae, just let me talk."

"I have no interest in talking to you. Go."

Instead of a pair of robbers, her father was in the living room with a blonde woman in her late twenties that greatly resembled one of his ex-girlfriends, Emma, and a middle-aged man with dark brown hair that was mostly grey, dressed in a crisp black suit and leaning against a gold headed cane.

"I'm not going anywhere," the older man insisted, determined though the guilt was written across his face.

"Get out of my apartment!" her father shouted, looking uneasy.

Faye had only ever seen him this shaken one other time, shortly before he decided to break up with Emma and move to Canada. "Dad?" she asked, breaking the awkward tension in the room.

Three pairs of eyes fell on her, all with different expressions. Her father's face was as pale as a sheet, his hands shaking slightly, and for a brief second, he glanced at the older man in fear. Emma managed a weak smile and halfhearted wave and the older man gaped at her as if she was a ghost.

"What are you doing here? I told you to wait for me at Luigi's."

"I needed my—what's going on? Are you in trouble? Is that why Emma's here? Is this like an intervention where your loved ones come to help? Is he an ex or something? I didn't know—" The older man was still staring at her in shock. "Not that I have a problem with it. My dad just never mentioned you before but you called him bae and I just assumed—I'm rambling now. Is he sick?"

"I'm not—"

"Because if you are, Chace's dad can help us pay for any treatments and I'll skip clubs and practices if I have to so I can be there for you. You don't have to do this alone."

Her father gently pushed her towards the front door. "I'm not sick, okay?" he assured her, cupping her face in his hands. "You just can't be here right now, champ. Don't worry. Get us a table at Luigi's and I'll be there soon. We'll get any toppings you want and you can tell me all about your day."

"Neal," started Emma.

"Emma, I got this."

Faye was at a complete loss at the situation, listening to the man accuse Emma and her father of knowing each other. She assumed they arrived together but now it seemed he was clueless about their past relationship and he had hired Emma to find him. Henry entered the room, just as confused as her, and in minutes, Faye had gone from worrying that her father had some terrible illness to learning that she had a half-brother and for some reason, he was calling him Baelfire. Distraught, her father watched Emma follow Henry up the fire escape.

"You look very much like her…your grandmother."

Her father stepped between her and the older man. "Don't talk to her. Don't even look at her," he hissed.

"I have no intention of hurting your daughter. All I want is a chance to be heard. You came back to protect Emma…to show that she had lived up to her end of her bargain with me."

"And now she has. You can go," he said, keeping Faye behind him.

"No. Our deal was for her to get you to talk to me. If you truly want her deal to be fulfilled, you have but one choice. You have to talk to me."

Her father swallowed hard. "You've got three minutes." He turned towards Faye. "He'll be gone after that. Don't worry."

"But—"

"I promise I'll be right back."

Faye sat on the couch for what felt like an eternity, still clutching the trophy. She was unsure which return would be more awkward, Emma and Henry or her father and the mysterious older man. Fighting the urge to eavesdrop outside her father's bedroom, she was startled by a series of loud knocks on the front door. She peeked through the peephole, the man from the bus standing out in the hallway.

Each knock made her heart beat out of her chest. The man ceased knocking after a few minutes and placed something on the floor before disappearing down the staircase. She reluctantly opened the door and was surprised to find her bracelet, several charms dangling from the silver chain. Not realizing that it had fallen off, she picked it up from the floor and clasped it around her wrist.

"You okay, champ?"

"Are you?" she asked her father, seeing the tears in his eyes. "What happened?"

"Nothing important. Why don't you get your bag? When Henry gets back, we can uh walk around the city, get to know each other…"

"Grandpa can't come too?" Her father stopped in the midst of picking up the fallen nightstand. "I would've realized how much you look alike a lot sooner if you hadn't always told me that he was dead."

"Faye, I know how this must look to you but believe me, it's complicated. He's not someone you want to consider family…someone who abandoned me and left me to fend me for myself when I was even younger than you. You're better off not knowing him. Go get your bag. I want to hear how you finally broke down Dr. Garner. Forget that he was ever here."

Despite the gut feeling that her father was not telling the whole story, she simply nodded and headed back to her room. Her grandfather was standing by her desk, holding an old picture of her with her parents. She struggled between heeding her father's words and wanting to give him a chance. Her grandparents on her mother's side hardly acknowledged her, considering her a stain on their family tree, and at best, they sent her money on her birthday. The last time she had seen them was at her mother's funeral and for all these years, it was just her and her father.

His head snapped up at the sound of the floor creaking beneath her heels. "She passed away when I was four. It was about a week after my birthday."

"My apologies. I shouldn't have intruded."

"Not many places to go if you want to avoid my dad. I'm guessing your talk wasn't that great."

He placed the frame back on her desk. "Are all these yours?" he asked, his dark eyes passing over her trophies.

"Well, unless my dad had another kid without me knowing and gave her the same name…sorry, my dad says I get my bad sense of humor from my mom." The faintest smile graced his lips. "Do I really look like my grandmother?"

"A spitting image of her when she was your age. I see you inherited her talent for drawing as well," he said, looking at the many hand-drawn pictures pinned to the walls. "She'd get lost in her own little world, drawing for hours at a time."

The tangled web of awkwardness followed them out of the apartment, with Faye stuck in the middle. Her father refused to so much as look in the direction of her grandfather and held a bit of a grudge against Emma, who never planned on telling him about Henry. There was also a slight tension between Emma and Henry for that very same reason.

The five of them were sitting in a booth at a nearby bar and grill for dinner, with Henry, Faye, and her father on one side and Emma and her grandfather on the other. Any attempts to defuse the tension were met with silence or a quick change in conversation.

"Are you guys dating or something?" Faye wondered.

Emma choked on her root beer, her eyes flickering to Henry and her father who were choosing music on the jukebox. "W—what? No, we uh—heh, we are not a couple. Why would you think that?"

"Why else do you keep dodging when I ask how you know each other? I'm sure it would be weird to tell my dad that you're dating his dad now. Not that it's totally weird. My friend Sophie has a thing for older guys too but that has to do with pissing off her strict parents."

"We're not dating. I told you I used to be a bailbondsperson and now I'm a sheriff. Your grandfather just happens to live in the same town. I didn't know he was looking for your dad until today."

"Were you really not going to tell him about Henry? I didn't realize the breakup was that bad. I mean, I was six at the time so I wouldn't know all the details but—"

"It's complicated, Faye," she said, gripping her glass tightly.

"I'm hearing that a lot today."

"Let's change the subject, shall we?" her grandfather said, looking like he was seconds from a heart attack. "I want to know more about you."

Her grandfather was interested in all aspects of her life, even subjects as boring as her classes. For the first time, she had a relative other than her father who wanted to hear about science fairs, spelling bees, and soccer championships.

"What are we talking about?" her father asked, returning to the booth with Henry.

"Just how Faye must never sleep," joked Emma. "Straight As, varsity athlete, head of dance committee, and class president?"

"Co-president. I technically won the election but the other guy's mother complained about how they donate like a million dollars every year to the school so the principal said we both won. Barrington Grayson doesn't understand the word no," said Faye, dipping a fry in her milkshake.

The awkward tension soon returned, with one word responses and long silences. Her father immediately shut down any further attempts for her grandfather to talk to her, as if he was afraid of Faye being brainwashed into some evil minion. She was saved from the increasingly uncomfortable meal, thanks to a text from Sophie about a 'mega crisis'.

"I'm leaving now, Soph. I'll tell you all about the family drama when I get there. Seriously, we could be our own segment on Dr. Phil. I don't know why he's being so weird."

The next day was not much better, with her father refusing to discuss the odd coincidence of Emma and his own father living in the same town. He only seemed interested in getting to know Henry as a way of making up for the lost years, even if it was for just one more day. Her long list of suspicions only grew when she spent all of her lunch period searching for any references to Storybrooke, Maine while half-listening to the various conversations amongst her friends.

As she walked up the staircase to her apartment, she thought of different ways to confront her father. "Dad, I know you're lying. No, that's too aggressive," she muttered. "I know you want nothing to do with your father but I feel like you're not telling me everything and that hurts because I don't like having secrets between us. That's good. Just do the puppy dog eyes and—"

Her worries about confronting her father were the last thing on her mind when she opened the door to the storage closet and instead of finding stacks of cardboard boxes and crates filled to the brim with cleaning supplies, toys, and other belongings, there was a dark-haired man, his right hand tied to the radiator and the side of his head caked with blood. After taking in his possible obsession with black leather, she noticed that he was attempting to loosen the zip tie with a blood-stained metal hook.

"Thinks she's so clever, doesn't she? I've been tied up worse than this," he muttered, continuing to scratch at the plastic.

"Wow and here I thought the weirdest part of my day would be watching that video of a water skiing dog." His pale blue eyes grew wide as he turned his head toward the doorway. "Judging by the outfit, you're Cal's latest competition. He must really want that part."

"Milah?" he whispered, speaking with what sounded like a British accent.

"Uh no, it's Faye. That accent's way too good to be fake so you're definitely here because of Cal. His accents are usually hit or miss...mostly miss." She loosened the zip tie, freeing his hand. "Pretty sure you missed the audition already. He was shouting all week about it if someone so much as shut a door too loudly. Maybe they'll give you another chance. I mean, you went all out with the costume. If you want, you can get cleaned up in my apartment."

The man stared at her in disbelief. "The handsome, silent type, huh? No wonder Cal thought you were a threat. Okay, blink once for no and twice for yes." No response, not even half a blink. "You must be awesome at staring contests. Trust me, you shouldn't stay in here. There's a 99% chance that Cal bombed that audition and he'll take it out on you."

Just getting him out of the storage closet was more of a challenge than she anticipated with his reluctance to so much as look at her and his limp. The way he recoiled at her touch, she wondered if he was a germaphobe. His odd behavior kept piling up once they were inside her apartment, from how he observed the bathroom sink with curiosity before she showed him the knob for the water to his general confusion over something as simple as a light switch.

In the middle of cooking on the stove, her phone vibrated on the counter, a picture of her and her father making funny faces on the screen. "Hey Dad. I just got home. Dance committee took a little longer than I thought and Coach Williams made us stay two hours late at the gym so we decided to get some pizza after. Are you out with Henry? I managed to get that Avengers comic he wanted from Owen. All it took was a promise to do his physics homework for a month but it could've been worse."

"Faye, I don't have a lot of time. I just wanted to um—something happened."

"Is everything okay? Did you and grandpa have a fight?" she asked, thinking that all the pent up emotions boiled into a heated confrontation. "Did you punch him?"

"Wh—first of all, don't call him that. He's um—he was having some heart trouble so I drove him, Henry, and Emma back to Storybrooke in Tamara's car. I didn't think it would be good for him to get on a plane. I'll be here for a few days, just a chance to get to know Henry better."

"Do you want me to drive up there too? Just send me an address or—"

"No! I—I um—there's no need for that. I'll work something out with Emma so he can visit. You shouldn't miss school."

"Well, it's the weekend and I'm sure the teachers won't mind if I miss a day or two."

"No, you worked hard to get into that school, Faye. I want you to stay there." ("Neal, we're here," she heard Emma say in the background) "I'll be back soon. Love you."

As she placed her phone back on the counter, She wanted to believe that her father was telling the truth, that he was helping his own father in a time of need. A small voice in the back of her mind was chipping away at the optimism, reminding her that he had been acting strange ever since yesterday. There was no evidence of Storybrooke and the fact that both her grandfather and Emma lived there seemed too farfetched to be pure chance.

"This is your father?"

The question snapped her out of her paranoia. Turning away from the stove, she saw the man holding one of the picture frames of her and her father at the zoo.

"He speaks. Uh yeah but he's out of town for a few days so you don't have to worry about him freaking out over you and your man cleavage." His eyes, filled with remorse just a moment ago, flickered to his open, hairy chest. "He didn't have time to go to the market either so you're trading in one nut for another. Instead of tying you to a radiator, I cook you very healthy food. Cauliflower rice and mushrooms. You can blame my friend, Sophie. She's on this health kick and I promised to do it with her out of BFF solidarity."

Faye poured the rice into two separate bowls. "So do you have a name or should I keep calling you Jack Sparrow like I've been doing in my head for the past ten minutes?"

"Killian Jones," he replied, with some hesitation.

"Wow, it sucks that you missed that audition. That even sounds like a pirate name." She grabbed a pair of forks from the drawer. "Arr, I'm Killian Jones, the most fearsome pirate on the high seas, and this be me trusted parrot, Crackers and me first mate, Peg Leg Pete," she said in a gruff voice.

"What pirate has a parrot? My first mate was named Mr. Smee. Your perception of pirates in this land is rather odd."

She left the bowls by the stove and leaned across the counter. "I think you're odd. Either that or you're one hell of a method actor. What's your deal? You've been looking at me weird ever since I found you in that closet. Have you never been around a girl before?"

"Of course I have," he said, indignantly. "I'll have you know, I've been around my fair share of—you're not the first lass I've seen."

"You thought I was another girl. Do I look like an ex?"

"I am rather famished. Would you kindly—"

Killian's voice faltered as she stared into his eyes with a fierce determination. It was much like when she faced off against Dr. Garner over a grade change.

"Maybe Cal didn't tie you up in that closet. Maybe you're just some crazy guy who saw me around the city and decided to tie yourself up for a chance to talk to me."

"I'm not some mad man! Swan tied me to that strange contraption to prevent me from enjoying the sight of the crocodile taking his last breath," he hissed, a frenzied joy in his tone.

"Sw—are you talking about Emma? How do you know her?"

He immediately went quiet again. She remembered the strange expression on his face when he was holding the picture frame.

"You know my dad, don't you? Are you from Storybrooke? Why didn't you go back with them?"

"Back? Why would they—no, they're too late," he mumbled, running his fingers through his dark hair. "It was foolproof. The poison would've taken him by now. The crocodile won't win this time."

He limped towards the front door but she easily caught up with him before he made it down the first step.

"Out of my way!" he snarled.

She pressed the wooden stirring spoon against his chest, refusing to be intimidated despite the fact that he towered over her. "Back the hell up before I shove this so far up your backside that you cough up wood chips. You're limping and talking crazy so it's probably not a good idea for you to walk around alone. Where's your car?"

"My ship is at the docks."

"Your—let's just go. My neighbor Mrs. Gorski never drives her car because she thinks the government can make her crash with just the push of a button so she won't even notice that it's gone."

Her mind was reeling with a million questions as she drove the grumpy, possibly insane man to the harbor. She started and erased multiple texts to her father, unsure of what to even ask him.

Instead of getting into one of the many cars, Killian paced back and forth along the docks, muttering to himself. With each passing minute, more and more people were whispering about the homeless Captain Hook impersonator. Growing impatient, she stepped out of the car.

"What the hell are you doing? You said your car was here. Did that bump on the head give you amnesia?"

"My ship's gone."

"Your sh—look, it's cool that you're so passionate about acting but newsflash, you're not actually Captain Hook." His fist clenched. "You didn't fly here from Neverland on your little ship. You know what might be the truth? That you're some psycho stalker who made me lose the chance to know the only other family I have besides my father and my arrogant grandparents who treat me like dirt on the bottom of their shoes!"

"You're better off without knowing the crocodile. You shouldn't consider him family."

She scoffed. "You sound just like my dad. Why should I listen to a psycho like you?"

"Because I've known him for a long time. He's a demon."

"He cares about me."

A rage brewed inside her at the sound of his wry chuckle. "He doesn't care about anyone but himself. He's a coward who uses people. He would've used you to get back in your father's good graces. Play the part of the loving grandfather to prove that he's changed…that he's a better man. You're just another pawn in his games. It worked well enough to get your father to race him back to Storybrooke in hopes that it'll save him. You played your part, love."

Her fingers curled so tightly around her keys that it drew blood. If his harsh words did not confirm at least some of her suspicions, she would have ditched him at the docks to fend for himself.

"Get in the car."

"I am not getting back in that carriage," he said, sounding as if he was experiencing a war flashback from just looking at the sleek convertible.

Deciding to play along with his delusion, she sighed. "You think your ship is in Storybrooke, right? How do you plan on getting there? Are you gonna swim? Because let's be honest, no one is going to drive you all the way there when you look like a reject from the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. You know where it is?"

"Aye, I have a map." He eyed her warily. "Why are you willing to help me?"

"It just happens to be a win-win situation. I'm not saying I believe a word you say. You're wrong or you're right but either way, we both get what we want. Get in the car."

Whenever she imagined her first cross country road trip, she thought it would be with her closest friends, not some stranger with questionable ties to her family and Emma. After such a long day, all she wanted to do was fall asleep in her bed but her curiosity kept her awake.

Just as they entered Maine, she stopped at a nearby gas station. "You want anything? You've been pretty quiet this whole time, besides the occasional glances over at me. What kind of chips do you like?"

"Chips?"

"Oh, are we still playing this game? What did you and your pirate buddies eat in Neverland? I'm not entirely sure but my guess is that they don't sell dead squirrels. It just hasn't caught on yet."

He was not amused by her jokes. "I'm not a savage. Why have we stopped? Every minute that passes is a minute closer to the Dark O—"

"Because cars can't move without gas, genius. I've been driving for the past seven hours and since you don't have a license on you, I need some food in me before I fall asleep at the wheel. Don't start pillaging while I'm gone."

Faye walked towards the convenience store, thanking the man who held the door open for her. While choosing a few snacks, she decided to be petty and grab her father's favorite chips. If he continued to lie to her, she would crush the bag right in front of him.

She had just finished paying for the snacks when she heard a series of shouts, followed by a loud smack. Killian pinned the man from before to the hood of the car, his hook digging into the man's stubbly chin. His sleeve was slightly pushed up, revealing a tattoo (a heart with Milah across and a dagger piercing it) on his wrist.

"Is that guy dressed like a pirate?" asked the girl behind the register, pushing her dark blue hair out of her eyes.

"Heh, that's my uh brother. He's making me go to this convention in Maine with him. He likes to get into character when he—you know what? Keep the change." She left a twenty dollar bill on the counter and hurried outside. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"As discussed, mate. I believe you owe the lass an apology." He tightened his grip on the man's arm. "Or shall we do this another way?"

"I'm sorry," he sputtered, struggling to look up at her.

"Now get in your carriage and leave this place. Be glad I'm showing you mercy."

The man nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to get to his car, where another man was peering out of the passenger window in fear. Killian's satisfied smirk fell as he caught sight of the stern look on her face.

"You should be thanking me. That man deserved far worse."

"What, did you hear one too many pirate jokes and just snap? Did he say you should cut back on the guyliner?"

"He was staring at your backside and saying vulgar things about you to his friend. He said he'd enjoy—it's not something a young woman should ever hear in proper conversation." With a quiet scoff, she tossed the plastic bag into the backseat. "You're not upset by this?"

"It's called being a girl."

"All men treat you in this way in this land?"

"Oh, they don't have pervs in England? Like you're not thinking the same things as him."

"Of course not," he said, offended by the very idea.

"Then why do you keep sneaking looks at me?" He remained silent, dropping his eyes to his boots. "If it's not because you want to get in my pants, then good. You're not my type anyway."

The GPS in her car soon became useless and she needed to rely on his maps for the rest of the trip. Judging by the increasing amount of trees, the town appeared to be in the middle of nowhere.

"You're a spitting image of her." The sound of his voice, quiet and hesitant, snapped her out of own thoughts. "Your grandmother. You asked why I kept looking at you so strangely. That's why."

"My grandfather said the same thing. You know her from Storybrooke?"

"No, long before that. It's why I was in shock when you opened that door. I thought you were her. It seems silly but perhaps I thought I'd never get myself free and I hoped to see her face one last time."

"But you called me M—did you use to hook up with my grandmother?" she asked, her tone a mix of surprise and disgust. "I mean, no judgement on the whole older woman thing. My friend Sophie's into that too. Not older women—well, one time but—getting off track here." She spotted a Welcome to Storybrooke sign. "Is that why you hate my grandfather? Did he find out about the affair and she went back to him?"

His nostrils flared. "He's truly messed with your mind if you think she chose him over me. I spent centuries searching for a way to get my vengeance for what he did…for taking her away."

"Centuries? What are you—"

As she drove past the town line, a sharp pain paralyzed her right arm, soon spreading to her head. It felt like a hammer beating against her skull. Killian's voice sounded as if it was a thousand miles away and the last thing she saw before blacking out was the car careening into a tree.