Chapter Three: The Investigating Sorcerer

Rumplestiltskin had always been aware his wife was inclined to take copious amounts of notes while working on a case, but he's apparently forgotten that it often resulted in novel-length materials over anything and everything that might prove relevant to their resolution. He rubbed at his forehead in frustration as he turned yet another page, his eyes drinking in his beloved's curled handwriting as she recalled everything she'd learned about the inhabitants of Storybrooke, whether they had been part of the string of disappearances or not. He read about everyone who worked at the sheriff's station (all three of them), the assortment of teachers at the high school (one of which had been helpful in providing local history all the way back to the town's founding), and the seven men who were part of the town's bowling league (he didn't know much about bowling, but seven seemed a bit unusual number for a league). It wasn't until he reached the pages on community disappearances that he found a name he recognized – Martha "Granny" Lucas – and one he didn't – Ruby Lucas, the most recent Storybrooke citizen to vanish into thin air.

A photograph of the young Ms. Lucas was paper clipped to the section detailing the circumstances surrounding her disappearance, everything Belle had learned about Ruby and her boyfriend, Gus, who had also gone missing. She wrote about how authorities seemed to think there was no foul play, just two young people running off to be irresponsible, but Granny was adamant that Ruby would never do such a thing. Even with all their disagreements during the girl's teenage years, her grandmother firmly believed that she would never abandon her family without so much as a word to let loved ones know she was safe. In truth, Rumplestiltskin would have likely agreed with the authorities' assumption had it not been for Belle's instinct that Granny was right and the same thing had happened to Ruby that happened to all the others who had disappeared over the years. His wife was one of the strongest psychics in the country, and he had learned to trust her instincts implicitly.

Gathering up the few files he hadn't fully perused, he exited the quaint little room, leaving his luggage behind, and went in search of Granny's Diner, in hopes of finding both some lunch and the woman herself. He was not disappointed on either front as he took a seat in a booth at the back corner. While admiring (if you could call it that) the rather interesting choice of wallpaper, a young woman with blonde hair and a nametag brought him a menu; she wrote his order of a burger and iced tea on one of those pads of paper every waitress in America seemed to possess before turning to hand it to Granny herself. The elderly woman read what her employee had written, frowned, and looked around the room until her eyes landed on his booth.

It was a strange interaction, to be sure. Unless the girl had written that a stranger in town had placed the order, there should have been nothing to arouse any sort of particular interest. He pushed the matter from his mind and set to examining the rest of his wife's notes while he waited for his lunch to arrive. He was so absorbed in his reading that he didn't notice right away when the food was placed in front of him, but before it had cooled he'd added his ketchup and started eating, careful to wipe his fingers clean before turning pages – Belle would have his head if he got her notes messy; he still hadn't lived down the last time it happened.

When the plate had been cleaned and his glass refilled twice, he became aware of someone standing beside the table; glancing up, he was only slightly surprised to see Granny wearing an uncertain expression. He eyed her for a moment, then set aside the papers and sat back in his seat. "Would you care to sit?" he offered with a wave of his hand, judging that he had guessed her purpose correctly when a visible wave of relief cascaded over her.

"Thank you," she said somewhat stiffly, sliding into the seat across from him. "Mr. Gold, I was hoping to talk with you about—"

"Your granddaughter," he interrupted. "Yes, I know. My wife keeps very detailed notes of her investigations," he set a hand on the stack of papers beside him, "so I'm well aware of the situation."

"Then you know the sheriff is an imbecile who refuses to do anything to find her," she said. At his nod of confirmation, she continued, "On the phone, you said your wife was missing too now. Do you think she's with my Ruby?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Are they dead, Mr. Gold? Should I be preparing to bury my granddaughter the way I did my daughter?"

Rumplestiltskin's countenance hardened. "Mrs. Lucas, I know for a fact that my wife is not dead, merely trapped somewhere I have yet to find. We have no reason to believe your granddaughter will be any different."

Granny stared at him with a piercing gaze both hopeful and suspicious. "Will you find them?"

"Even if it kills me," he swore, as one worried loved one to another. It was miraculous, the change that came over the woman as she stood and straightened her sweater. Hope, real hope for probably the first time in weeks. She knew his reputation, and if anyone could find her girl, it was Rumplestiltskin Gold.

"Lunch is on the house," she told him with a nod, beginning to turn away and then stopping. "Your wife ordered the same thing, you know. She said it was her favorite meal because it reminded her of her husband." And with that she continued on, disappearing through a door behind the counter.

His throat tightened uncomfortably as he pictured the scene in his mind's eye: his Belle sitting up at the counter, being friendly and chatting with everyone around her while eating her own hamburger. It was always the same when they traveled together, they would find a restaurant and try their burger specials and varieties of iced teas, comparing them with other establishments in both quality of food and décor. The tradition had started on their honeymoon, as a way to reenact their first date, and it made his heart ache to think that she would have ordered it here in this place in order to feel closer to him. He should have been here, maybe then she wouldn't—

The sorcerer shook his head, forcing the thoughts out of his mind. He couldn't afford to think of the past when there was work to be done and his Belle was waiting for him.

Four hours later, Rumplestiltskin had seen the whole of Storybrooke and spoken with everyone on Belle's list of those connected to the disappearances. His impressions of them dovetailed with Belle's, and it was good to have her insight to reference during the interviews. His wife had always been so much better at dealing with people thanks to her gift; experience told him to expect the worst of humanity, while Belle's abilities let her see the good shining through it all.

He was stepping out of the local drugstore when his phone began to buzz in his pocket. The name displayed on the screen made him sigh in relief, though his voice was strained as he answered with, "It's about time, where are you?"

"I just got to the inn you said Belle was staying at," his son answered, not taking any sort of offense at his father's tone as his own was laced with worry. "Where are you?"

"Around the corner. I'll meet you there." Cursing his old injury the entire way, Rumplestiltskin hurried down the street, his cane thudding along the sidewalk and alerting his son as he neared.

Baelfire straightened from where he'd been leaning against his car, welcoming his father's embrace. "I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner."

"It's alright, son," the sorcerer said, his smile broad but tinged with sadness. "You're here now, that's what matters."

Taking his father's bag from him, Bae opened the passenger door and said, "Let's go find this wayward stepmother of mine."

The Strand Hotel was twenty minutes up the coast from the little town of Storybrooke, and even with the overgrown vegetation surrounding the dingy building it was easy to see that it had once been the pinnacle of luxury. It sat high above the rocky shore that gave the hotel its name, looking as imposing a figure as they had ever seen. There was no sign of Belle anywhere they could see outside the building, not even a trace of her car, which they both agreed was strange but not unheard of. If some force was taking people for a reason, it certainly wouldn't do to leave a trail of breadcrumbs behind. And yet that same odd combination of magic was here, much stronger than the faint remnants he'd found in the town, almost as if someone had painted the magic into the walls, layering it like new coats of color over the old. The combined taste of it all was repulsive, and he was glad his son wouldn't have to endure it as well.

Dusk was upon them as they gathered their equipment, Bae shouldering a heavy-looking backpack and handing his father only a flashlight – they both understood that Rumplestiltskin needed to be as unhindered as possible so he could take necessary action at a moment's notice. Once again, his son proved to be ready for anything, with the flashlights, a crowbar, and lock picking tools stashed in the large pack. There was even a sledgehammer stored in the trunk, just in case they met any real resistance inside.

It took hours to explore even a fraction of the hotel, having to jimmy open doors and avoid questionable sections of flooring while still being as thorough as possible. It helped that Bae had brought along one of his team's latest creations: a tracking program that recorded their movements and essentially mapped everywhere they had been, even registering when they went up to a different flight. The information was then overlaid with the existing building plans on file (to show their scant progress) and automatically uploaded to the firm's servers. Though it was still in the beta development stage, it was quite a fantastic creation, and Rumplestiltskin found himself rather proud of his son for the accomplishment. To this day, even after years of marriage, it never ceased to amaze him just how much Belle had done for his relationship with his son; it was a gift he would never be able to repay, though he would never stop trying.

It was when they had looped back around to the lobby that Rumplestiltskin first felt a glimmer of something. That taste of magic was accompanied by a cloying smell of something sickeningly sweet that he couldn't quite place, and as he shone the flashlight around the spacious room, the very air seemed to vibrate around them, though he couldn't see anything to cause or be affected by it.

And then he heard it.

Her scream, his Belle, her voice so very far away, just an echo at the back of his mind.

Rumplestiltskin!