A/N: Just one more chapter until our two favorite ladies meet!
As we pass the sign reading "Welcome to Storybrooke" it's already dark out.
The spotlight that's trained on the town sign is much too bright, and the faded quality of the paint is more visible than anyone probably would have liked.
We'd been able to smell the salt air for a few miles as it came in through the vans vents, but it's too dark to make out the water that Ruby assures me is located to my right.
I occasionally see a flashing light, far out into the blackness, and I just assume that they're passing boats.
The air feels like a storm is coming, and the sky is as dark as a grave.
We drive down the small main street. Old Victorian buildings that looked a little run down hold a tea house, a coffee shop, a Subway restaurant, a Chinese place, a barber shop and an antique store that has a slightly horrifying mannequin in the front window wearing a clown mask surrounded by orange lights.
It's finally October, and there are pumpkins and sagging cornstalks tied to each lamppost along the way.
The street is almost completely deserted, although my watch tells me that it's only eight o'clock-ish on a Sunday night.
"They close up early around here," Ruby says with a shrug as the van's blunt nose begins to edge upwards. We've gone through the main street, and now we're winding our way up what must be a very impressive hill.
I peer out of the window, up and up, wishing that it were still daylight so that I could see.
"You'll get to see it tomorrow," Ruby promises, her grin infectious as she turns the van along a looping curve of the road, her knuckles white on the worn wheel. "The Mills Hotel is really impressive in the daylight, but I honestly think you'll be pretty impressed by it at night, too..."
We round a bend in the road, and there it is.
The Mills Hotel.
I'm pretty sure my Jaw hits the floor of the van.
I'm reminded, instantly, of the kind of period dramas that they show on PBS.
The Mills Hotel looks like it belongs in England...not here.
Not in Maine, US of A.
It's a sprawling, monstrously huge blocky building, seven stories high, with columns and towers. But the very first thing I notice is the color of the stone it's made out of.
I suppose I've seen red stone buildings before, but they've never stuck out in my mind. Maybe because they weren't this red.
The building is a color of red that you could only call blood. And, to top it all off, almost every room throughout its monstrous sprawl of rooms are lit like it's on fire.
That's the impression that I get, actually - that the entire building is on fire, but made of stone - very red stone - so that's impossible. But still...it seems to flicker, even as I close my eyes.
The Mills Hotel has burned itself into my vision, even as I close my eyes.
I suppose that maybe I should be afraid of it, a big red building outside of town, lit up and flickering like a bad omen.
Ruby parks Moochie along the front walkway, and we both get out of the van, staring up and up and up at the sprawling building.
It is lavish, excessive.
Beautiful.
With all of it's columns and towers and - as I peer up, I notice at the very top over the front door - gargoyles.
Ruby glances eagerly at me before opening up the van's side door and lugging out my suitcase.
"Come on, I can't wait to show you -" She keeps talking, but she's trotting ahead of me, just a little to far for me to hear, and I have to almost run to keep up, picking up and lurching along my suitcase so that it bangs against my thigh as we walk up the shallow stone steps leading toward the entrance.
The Mills Hotel's main entrance has four massive marble pillars that have been pockmarked by the salty Maine rain (I didn't even know marble came in red), and scarlet planters on either side of each pillar, big enough to contain a body.
Not that I immediately think that as I look at them, but there's something about this entryway that makes my thoughts turn a little ghastly.
Maybe it's the tiny carves faces on the planters - gargoyle faces. Spooky faces with distended tongues, bulging eyes and curving horns.
I shudder a little as Ruby holds open the main door for me, a big wooden thing that takes her two hands to keep steady and open.
I step through, and then it's over.
I've made my decision fully. For better or worse.
I'm here.
I have entered the Mills Hotel, and my choice is made.
Dark oak paneling along the cathedral walls echo back the sound of my flats on the checkerboard floor, a checkerboard not of the usual white and black squares, but of red and black.
Together, Ruby and I walk toward the front desk, a big sprawling wooden thing carved with loops and filigree that looks wide enough to park a carriage on (my brain is thinking Victorian pictures at this point - the hotel does that to you), much too wide for what I assume is the guest book, the old leather thing cracked open to two empty cream pages.
The antique brass bell on the counter makes a tiny ding! as Ruby presses her palm to it, and the sound carries down the hallway, around the corner...hell, maybe it went forever.
Two massive corridors, big enough to drive a couple of semis down at the same time, stretch away to our left and to our right.
But right to the side of the old oaken desk, rises a stairway.
I guess I was expecting something impressive, something Queen Victoria would have walked down. But this staircase is actually not like the corridors at all, not like the impressive desk or the rising cathedral ceilings around us.
This staircase is a tall, spindly thing, much too steep and wide, as steep as a cliff face. It doesn't look like steps, but rather like a ladder has been propped against one of the walls.
I stare up it in shock, the dark wood contrasting with the red of the carpeting on the steps. It kinda looks like a tongue.
"We don't usually use that staircase," Ruby says, wrinkling her nose as she follows my gaze.
When she catches my expression, she chuckles a little and wags her fingers at me, eyes wide.
"They say a couple of people have fallen to their deaths on it! We call it the Widowmaker."
"Great," I mutter, as I set my suitcase down beside my foot, shivering a little.
There are paintings on the walls here; old paintings that I realize - a little shocked - are originals. I wander over to the closest one.
It's of a naked woman, lounging on a rock, her back to the viewer, her face in profile as she turned, gazing to the left. She has long, straight black hair, a full mouth and flashing brown eyes, and she's smiling, amused, as she gazes regally at a big black cat that reminds me of a lion more than a panther as it crouches along the edge of the painting.
She looks regal, powerful, and I feel the skin on my arms begin to shiver. I like the painting very much, but it reminds me of something. It reminds me of...
"Earth to Emma, come in Emma!" Ruby jokes, touching my arm lightly.
"It says on the sheet here that I'm supposed to cover the front desk tonight, so...I guess I'll show you to your room, and then I've got duty!"
"So no one's covering the front desk?" I ask, a bit bewildered, blinking and staring back at the big oaken desk, that stands utterly empty. "That doesn't make any sense. What if someone comes in?"
"Oh, no one really comes to Storybrooke," Ruby says, wrinkling her nose. "Come on! This way!"
"A hotel that no one visits. So bizarre," I mutter, hefting up my suitcase again and turning to follow her down the broad hallway, the unnerving red and black checkerboard pattern of the floor continuing on under my feet.
I pause as I pass the painting again, my gaze lingering on the woman's commanding presence, her long dark hair flowing over her shoulders and back, the way her smile curves. It's a courageous smile.
She isn't afraid of the beast.
Strangely, I get the feeling that it's almost as if she's summoned it to her.
"Emma!"
"I'm coming..." I say, and then I actually am, trotting down the hallway at a brisk clip, and around the corner, following Ruby.
The skin on my arms pricks as I continue along the curve of the hall, as the paintings, all with little lamps overhead like you'd see in a private gallery, lit and showcasing the works of art in their full glory, continue on and on, all different subjects and artistic styles and time periods.
Here is a painting done in the impressionistic style, similar to Monet, but this is no charming idyll with water lilies and bridges over duck ponds. This is an impressionistic painting of a skull, all dashes of white and muddied browns in thick globs of paint.
I don't like it even a bit.
Here is another painting, done in a cubist style - all angles and bright garish oranges and reds - a cup of orange water.
Again, it doesn't suit my tastes, though I know that all art is subjective.
Ruby is too far ahead down the looping, turning corridors for me to even see her at this point, and there aren't any doors off of the corridor - it's as if the hallway was built specifically to showcase the art.
It's as if the hallway goes on forever.
I pause, then, pause because I can't bear the feeling anymore.
You know the feeling. The prickling sensation on the back of your neck, the hairs on your arms rising. The feeling you get when you're being watched.
I turn, but I'm in a peculiar place in the corridor, a little bend where I can't see the hallway curve ahead of me or behind me.
I glance back. But there's no one there.
"Come on, Emma!" echoes the far-off voice of Ruby, somewhere down the corridor.
"Coming!" I call back, trotting down the hall with my chin over my shoulder, still glancing back. Even though I move down the corridor, even though I move past remarkable paintings, the hall turning and twisting under my feet with the odd red and black checkerboard of marble, even though I see not a single other soul than the occasional back of Ruby...I still can't shake the feeling of eyes on me.
Maybe it's just me.
I'm tired - we'd been driving for most of the day, and I was never much for road trips and Storybrooke was farther up the coastline than I'd thought.
I'd just uprooted my entire life, given up the apartment I've had for years, given up the job that was familiar, that had somehow become a part of me.
Of course I'm feeling a little uneasy.
I'm still wondering if this was a good idea.
Yes. It is.
I'm just uneasy about the changes, the massive life changes I've just undergone.
But as I keep walking down the hallway, I glance over my shoulder every now and then, the hairs on the back of my neck pricking up, still unable to completely shake that feeling that there is someone back there, watching me.
But there is never anyone there.
"I know this seems like a long way," Ruby says, her hand on a spiral staircase as I round the final corner of the corridor.
The staircase is dark mahogany, and seems very old. It's ornate, carved with little vines and leaves and stylized filigree.
"But, seriously." Ruby wrinkles her nose. "You don't want to go up the main set of stairs. They don't call it the 'Widowmaker' for nothing."
"They've never heard of elevators, then?" I joke with a grin as we both begin to climb the wide spiral steps, Ruby's fingers trailing along the banister and me clutching and lugging up my now overly heavy suitcase.
"This place is too old for that," she says with a wink as we reach the first landing. "Anyway, this is the second floor," she says, gesturing with her hand down the long hallway. It looks like any hallway in a nice, older hotel - the plush red carpet stretched along a well lit corridor that sports wallpaper covered in little golden flowers and ornate golden light fixtures that droop from overhead like wilting flowers.
"These are the rooms for the guests, when we have them." Ruby points upward. "The old servants' quarters are up on the fifth floor, and that's where the employees live now. Not much has changed in like...two hundred years."
"Great," I mutter, following her up to the second level.
And then the third and fourth.
By the fourth landing, I was wondering if I was going to make it, and - mercifully - Ruby grabs my suitcase and lugs it up the final set of steps for me.
"It gets easier after you go up and down these a few thousand times. That's why my legs are looking so good," she quips as we reach the blessed final landing.
"You didn't say my legs were looking great when you saw me, by the way."
"I didn't notice," I tell her seriously as we begin down the wide hallway. There are large oak doors every twenty feet or so, on either side, their doorframes painted different colors, which looks out of place and interesting in such an old surrounding.
We pass a red doorframe, a blue doorframe, a pink doorframe...
"You're green," Ruby informs me, nodding to the fourth door on the right. It has a bright green doorframe, the color that's usually reserved for bottles of poison and rivers of acid.
I grimace as she takes out an old skeleton key from her pocket and hands it to me.
The slim brassy bit of metal looks like it belongs in a museum.
"Go on," she says, jutting her chin out toward the door. "See if it works."
I feel like Alice in Wonderland as I fit the bizarre old key into the lock.
It turns easily with a bit of a squeak, and the sturdy door opens beneath my hand.
I guess that I'd been expecting more Downton Abbey or Withering Heights beyond the door, with decaying red drapes, scarlet carpet that would swallow my flats and feet up to my ankles, and a canopied bed with far too many pillows that Jane Austen may have thought looked comfy.
But I was very wrong.
Beyond the door is a beautiful little room, the walls painted a bright turquoise blue, the bed plain and modern with a purple duvet cover and two plump blue pillows that are different - but not jarring - from the wall set at angles on top of the coverlet.
There's a nice old wardrobe, and a cushy-looking blue chair that seems so comfortable that I immediately cross to it and sit down. On the little mahogany table beside the chair is a stack of old hardcover books, and an empty mug of tea with an unopened box of organic earl grey beside it.
"How..." I begin, picking up the light box of tea and turning it over and over in my hands, the plastic wrap crinkling beneath my fingers.
Ruby stands in the doorway, my suitcase at her feet and a knowing smirk on her face as she crosses her arms.
"I told Regina some things that you like. You know, that you love turquoise walls and earl grey...little stuff like that. She's been asking about you. That's the thing about Regina," she says, waving to the wall. "She's very...thoughtful."
"Thoughtful," I repeat quietly, staring down at the tea in my hands.
I set the box on the table and sniff a little, looking up at the cool blue warmth of the walls.
I close my eyes and lean back in my chair.
It's strange.
I'm...content.
The odd thing is, I can't remember the last time I could have called myself anything even close to "content."
I open my eyes, glance at Ruby, who is now grinning smugly in the doorway as she toes my heavy suitcase forward and shut the door behind her.
She leans against it, glancing around again. I follow her gaze, taking in the little mini-fridge, the microwave sitting next to it on a broad mahogany serving table.
There's a mahogany bookshelf, too, three shelves filled with old paperbacks, two standing empty.
The curtains on the windows are drawn and tied back with scarlet bows, the curtains themselves a cheerful red color that goes along with the blue marvelously.
I feel right at home, I realize.
I don't question the feeling - I go with it, sighing in contentment as I fold my hands over my stomach, and cross my legs in a slow, leisurely gesture.
"I'll come get you in the morning - show you around, introduce you to the other employees and everyone else," Ruby promises, crossing the room and giving me a great big hug.
She nods towards my bathroom. "There'll be toiletries in there for taking a bath or shower, and I'm sure she's stocked the fridge and freezer if you're hungry after all those fries," she teases. "I told her you're a vegetarian," she adds, before I can protest. "So you'll be set. I'll come get you tomorrow morning at...say eight?"
"Sounds fine," I say, sinking deeper into the chair, glancing up at her with a smile. "Ruby..." I say, after she's crossed back to the door and has he hand on the doorknob.
"Thanks for looking out for me," I tell her. And then, even quieter, I add "I think I'm going to like it here. Thank you for everything."
"I hope you do," Ruby says with a grin, mouth all lopsided. "But wait to say that until after you meet Regina."
She shuts that door softly behind her and I'm alone.
Not many people in the world would care if their walls were painted turquoise or not.
She'd done this to make me feel welcome.
I stand up, walk to the bookshelves, glancing over the titles.
What an incredibly thoughtful woman.
No matter what Ruby says, I think I'm going to like Regina very much.
I just had no idea how much.
