Chapter 1: Welcome to Storybrooke
She felt compelled to drive and she drove for hours without growing tired. Of course she was a little hungry along the way and stopped at a biker bar for a burger and a cold beer. In the bar which was just off the highway, some of the patrons—who looked like regulars to her—were all discussing something bizarre that had occurred the day before.
"And he was there, standing on the road with a funny little hat and that baby in his arms," said the red-haired waitress who was leaning over the tall, rickety bar table. The waitress, Anna, did not seem too concerned about the subject she was relating to the leather-clad man who had dark wavy hair and a straight jaw. Neither did he as far as she could tell, but it was worth listening to.
She could not figure out why she had been so suddenly compelled to get up in the middle of the night and drive all day towards the middle of nowhere in Maine, but she could not ignore that these two things were not a coincidence. But there was no time for that. The woman paid for her burger and beer, got back into her car, and continued to drive. Exhaustion finally started to settle in her stomach when she had gone another hour and it was the combination of the heavy meal and the beer that had made her realize the weight of her tiredness. And yet, she continued on until she finally felt that she reached her destination.
Before crossing the town line, the woman stopped her car at the sign that announced what place was before her. She got out her maps and poured over them until she was sure that the place had been correct. When she felt ready enough, she got back into her car and crossed the line with no idea what the town, Storybrooke would bring, but she knew it had something to do with her.
She had not felt the draw of magic in a long time. Longer than she had ever anticipated. Twenty years before this day, there had been pockets of it across the mundane world. Small ripples drew her to places like England, Germany, Egypt, and even down into the Amazon. Weird little towns in the US that were similar to Storybrooke in design—she thought about this as she began to drive around the center of town—but all those places had been easily found on a map.
The town was larger than it appeared and it took her some time to drive all the way around it before she got her bearings. There was a dockyard full of ships, even though none of them looked to be coming or going, and the center of town, where most of the residents seemed to gather, revolved around a clock tower that was stuck on 8:15 even though it was clearly closer to five. The woman had not felt the disturbance until hours after 8:15 the night before, but she knew the clock had something to do with the sudden appearance of this town, Storybrooke.
Eventually, she made her way down to the only inn she found in town that was attached to a place called, Granny's. The place was a diner full of a few people and seemed to be run by an older, stout woman and her tall, thin, dark-haired granddaughter who wore short-shorts and a low cut blouse mid-drift. She asked about a room for the night and possibly longer if she wanted. The old woman did not seem too peculiar when she handed over the old key which had a big brass rectangle that was engraved with an owl. The woman cleared her throat.
"What is so special about this town?" The young woman asked the older one who only went by the name, Granny.
"Well," she said sort of gruffly, "what do you mean?"
"Oh, you know, what sort of touristy things can I find here? Any places I should see?"
Granny shook her head and her eyes, only for a moment, went rather blank.
"Actually, we don't get many tourists. Now that I think of it, you may be the first person in ages who has passed through here. Not that we don't appreciate the business, but there isn't really anything too special about our town."
"Thank you anyway," the young woman said. "But there is something special in every town I visit."
Granny smiled out of kindness and began to walk back towards her diner where her granddaughter, Ruby, could be heard laughing loudly.
"A kind thing of you to say. Now that I think of it, there is a fine antique shop just down the way. Perhaps there you can find something special you might be looking for."
The woman thanked her again, promised she would return for a slice of cherry pie before closing time, and left Granny's diner to seek this shop.
When she found it, she was disappointed with the storefront. It was rather plain with blue wood siding; it was just a run-of-the-mill kind of place called, Mr. Gold Pawnbroker & Antique Dealer. Luckily the lights were on inside even though it was near six and she didn't think anything in this town stayed open very late. The woman sighed and reluctantly entered the red door with the feeling that she might not have found the right town after all. Perhaps it was another ripple, she thought, a ripple that would soon fade into nothing.
A small bell at the top of the door tinkled when she walked in and the smell of the shop was overwhelmingly musty with the mixture of old books and all sorts of woods and resins hanging heavy in the air. It was dimly lit, only made darker by the sun that had already begun to set. There was some rustling coming from a doorway in the back, but the woman paid no mind. Her eyes drifted across the items that crowded every shelf and display case. There were too many things to look at and only one of them amused her, as it had stood out among all the rest of the things. A mobile made of glass unicorns of clear, blue, and a variety of colors. They made her chuckle and somewhere she felt as if they were there ironically.
"Do you find something funny about unicorns?"
For a moment, the woman felt as if all time had ceased to exist. She forced her eyes over to the man she assumed was the proprietor, a task that seemed to take all of her strength to accomplish. Her mouth had gone dry and her stomach heaved, suddenly bereft of any meal and she felt as if she hadn't eaten for days. The tips of her fingers tingled as if they had lost circulation and she was sure if she had taken one step in any direction, her footing would have been lost despite that both her feet had been firmly planted on the shop's dark wooden floor.
"Or perhaps," he said, his dark eyes narrowing briefly at her, but only in the slightest of movements, "it is an item you might be interested in?"
The woman did not respond, and instead, stared at him with both fists clenched at her sides as she tried not to move.
"I do not think I have seen you in town before," he said. "I know just about everyone around her, but I don't think I have ever seen your face."
The woman, who felt like it took an eternity to regain the feeling in her fingers, the sure-footed first step she took towards the counter and the strength to clear her throat to speak.
"No," she said. "I have just arrived today and will be staying a few days. I was looking for a quiet getaway and Storybrooke seemed to be the right place."
He continued to look at her narrowly and leaned heavily on what looked like a cane, but she could not be sure from where she stood.
"You must be Mr. Gold?" She asked.
"Indeed I am," he said.
The woman stepped forward and offered her hand towards him. His hair, long past his ears and more salt and pepper streaked than it was brown, briefly obscured his face as he looked down at her hand with an almost puzzled stare.
"I'm Norah," she said, waiting almost forever with her hand outstretched over the glass display case which was the only case filled with much smaller items than the rest. Mr. Gold, took her hand in his gloved one and shook it.
"Norah," he repeated almost in an octave higher and softer than he had spoken before. She expected him to smile and laugh, but instead he only pressed his lips together and withdrew his hand. "I do hope you enjoy your stay here in Storybrooke. Now if you will excuse me, it is nearly time to close up my shop for the day."
She nodded and exchanged the nicety, finally commenting that she thought the unicorns were only beautiful even though they seemed very odd among all of the older books and other assorted items including an old busted cuckoo clock and wooden windmill. He watched her leave; the bell tinkled again as she exited.
Norah walked calmly as she could back to Granny's where she sat at the counter and asked for that slice of pie she promised to purchase. Feeling in need, she also ordered a hot chocolate to go with it.
Although Granny criticized her for eating the pie so slow, Norah did not care. She did not care because the only thing that mattered was finding out how that town got there and how it was even possible that the well-dressed owner of the pawn shop was even as he was or why he had looked at her the way he did, half lost and half distrustful.
Norah wondered most why he did not recognize her face as she did with his.
When she finally finished her pie, Granny immediately took the plate.
"You might be the slowest pie-eater I've ever seen," she said.
"I'm sorry," Norah replied. "I am just a little tired from my drive, that's all. It has been a long day."
Granny smiled again and put the plate into a gray bin for dirty dishes. "I understand it. So did you find what you were looking for?"
Norah tried to return a smile, but could not find one that would have been genuine.
"Perhaps," she said. "I think I found just the thing."
