Henry's case file is a lot longer than she thought it would be. Given the small-town-therapist—if that was a thing—vibe she'd gotten from Dr. Hopper and the fact that Henry had yet to complain to her about going to sessions, she'd expected a few notes here and there, and probably a couple of drugs Regina would have "strongly recommended." This, though...this looks like someone's trying to make Henry out to be Jack the Ripper.
Well, got to start somewhere. She plops down onto the bed, the mattress just as creaky as it had been last night, and drapes her jacket over the base so she can lean her back against it. She opens the file and finds little blocky, almost bubbly, letters dating Henry's very first session four years ago. First grade? Regina had been so concerned about this fairy tale thing that she put him in therapy in first grade? Emma narrows her eyes.
Henry had kept insisting that none of the kids he'd been in kindergarten with had moved up to first grade with him.
Henry had kept approaching kindergartners who had ran away from him, seeing him as a big kid.
Henry had been picked up by Graham and taken home late one night from the cemetery of all places, going on about there being vampires in the town because no one got older.
Henry had-
She slaps the folder shut and holds her breath. All the nausea and dizziness from when he'd first shown up at her door was coming back with a vengeance. Inhaling, she bites her lip and flips through the notes, settling on the beginning of this school year, when Mary Margaret Blanchard gave him that book.
Dr. Hopper's notes didn't reveal anything Henry hadn't already told her—proudly. Everyone in the town is from some fairytale world. Regina is the Evil Queen and brought them all here out of revenge. None of them remember who they are. They're stuck, frozen in time, until a Savior comes and breaks the Curse.
She laughs in spite of it all. The kid had seen one too many Superman movies or read one too many Harry Potter books or something...although she could kind of see the appeal. Why not think about some better world when the world around you sucked? Not like in a my-classmates-don't-age kind of suck but a my-adoptive-mother-has-somehow-damaged-me kind of suck, made him too dependent on her early on and ruined his chances at knowing how to make friends, maybe. No friends, a mom who obviously had some control issues, and, like Ms. Blanchard had said, his being given up as a baby had done a number on him.
What if this is all her fault?
Swallowing, Emma skims a few more pages. She could take a drink for every time "book" is mentioned in the notes and be hammered before ten o'clock. That's the next step, she decides. She'd have to read this crazy-ass storybook.
That'll have to wait. Someone's knocking, and it had better not be Madam Mayor with more passive-aggressive apple gift baskets.
She doesn't bother with the peephole, opening the door to find Graham there giving a look of mock-admonishment.
"Hey there," she says. "If you're concerned about the 'do not disturb' signs, don't worry. I've left them alone." She places her hand on her hip.
"Actually, I'm here about Dr. Archibald Hopper."
She crinkles her forehead. Wrong about the hot chocolate and now wrong about why he's standing here?
"He mentioned you got into a bit of a row with him earlier?"
"No." Row? Right. Maybe her instincts aren't failing her. Maybe this is a really awkward lunch invitation. Honestly, the guy could have come up with a better story.
"I was shocked, too. And given your shy, delicate sensibilities... He says you demanded to see Henry's files and when he refused, you came back and stole them."
Bullshit!
"He gave them to me."
"Alas, he's telling a different tale. May I check your room? Or must I get a search warrant?"
Grunting, she turns around and looks at the case file, splayed all over the bed. Regina. That has to be it. Hopper had seemed just a bit too meek for her liking and the whole apple basket visit had been to mention Henry was in therapy. And here she'd gone and taken the bait like a sucker.
Motioning that he could come in, she gestures at the files.
"This what you're looking for?"
"Well, you're very accommodating," Graham says, picking up one of the papers and checking it over. Uh huh, very, she thinks, not quite able to return the genuineness of his smile. On account of being pissed. His weak-sauce attempts at flirting might be cute if his timing wasn't so awful.
"I'm afraid, Miss Swan, you're under arrest. Again."
He's not kidding, handcuffs and all.
"You know I'm being set up, don't you?"
"And whom, may I ask, is setting you up?"
Reading the crazy-ass storybook will have to wait. She needs to punch someone in the face first.
A/N: Coming up? Emma, you have to have a place to live before you can think about punching people!
