"Take me back!" Gold demanded.
"I can't do that," Emma replied. But it wasn't Emma—in fact, the spirit wasn't looking very well. Her blonde hair seemed to be turning gray, lines appearing across her face.
"You have to!" Gold shouted. "She'll hurt herself! She'll kill herself!"
"What has that to do with you?" Emma asked, raising a silver brow. "Without Belle Bailey, the Building and Loan will fall. The one obstacle keeping you from possessing Storybrooke will be gone. Wouldn't it be more of a convenience to let her jump?"
Gold grabbed the spirit by its collar. "Don't you say that," He hissed, eyes wild. "Don't you dare say that! It has everything to do with me! I—I need her."
Emma smiled, despite his tight grip on her collar. "The final spirit is coming," She said simply, and Gold realized he was holding an old woman. "My time is up. Good luck, Mr. Gold." The purple fog returned once more and he was alone.
XXXX
Belle was going insane, that was all there was to it. Granny, dead? Ruby, her best friend, not know who she was? She passed other friends on the streets—Mary Margaret, Emma, Magnolia, Anastasia—but their glances slid over her. She was unrecognizable. She'd become truly invisible.
"This is impossible," She muttered, running towards the Building and Loan. She stopped dead in front of the building—or what was supposed to be the building.
The sign remained, but it was old, faded. The windows were boarded up and the door was padlocked. Belle traced the snow around the window—no one had entered this building in years.
"This is impossible!" She cried out. Turning away, she ran down the sidewalk, heading directly for her apartment. Her heart was pounding wildly—this couldn't be true, this wasn't happening. At the door of her apartment, she fumbled in her pockets for her keys—and came up short.
With mounting horror, she realized that she was missing everything. Her license, her money, her keys—it was as if her very identity was stolen from her.
"No!" Belle cried, banging the doors of the apartment. "Dad! Please! Open the door! Dad!"
The door opened and her father's familiar face stared back at her, filled with confusion. Belle took in his red-rimmed eyes, how he wore only a tattered gray robe, the pungent smell of whiskey and fast food that permeated the apartment. Behind him, she could see trash everywhere—he was living squalor.
"What do you want?" Moe demanded.
"Dad," Belle said desperately. "I—I thought for sure you'd recognize me."
Moe stared at her, mouth hanging open. "Dad?"
"It's me, Belle!" Belle's face crumpled at his blank expression. "Belle Bailey! Your daughter!"
Moe's face hardened in anger. "I don't have a daughter," He sneered. "You're nuts. Get off my porch!" He slammed the door in her face.
Belle took a step back, staggering. Everything was blurring together and she was having trouble catching her breath. This couldn't he happening. This couldn't—
"Do you understand now, Belle?"
She whipped around to see Nova, staring at her earnestly.
"What did you do?" Belle demanded, grabbing her coat collar. "What did you do to my friends and family?"
"Belle," Nova replied, unfazed at the grip on her coat. "I granted your wish. You wished you had never been born. And now you see how Storybrooke would be without you. Your father is a drunken slob, unemployed, addicted to beer and television. Ruby and Granny lost the diner to Regina, and the stress of it killed—"
"That's a lie!" Belle shouted. "I helped them save their diner! The bank wouldn't give them a loan, but we did, and they were able to pay it off and own the diner fully!"
"You weren't there," Nova said quietly. "Because you didn't exist."
Belle stared at her, shock filling her veins. She wanted to throw something, wanted to scream—she resisted the impulse, taking a deep gulp of wintry air.
"Nova," She said an shaky voice. "Where is Mr. Gold?"
Nova shuffled her feet. "Well—I—"
"Nova, where is he?" Belle commanded, grabbing her coat collar once more. "Where?!"
"I'm not supposed to tell!" Noval protested.
"Tell me!"
"He's just about to close up the pawnshop!" Nova cried and Belle shoved her away, running down the street.
She didn't know why it was so fatally important that Gold remember her, but the idea that she wasn't a part of his life, however small, was a torment. She ran across Storybrooke, not pausing for an instant, until she found herself in front of the pawnshop.
As Nova had said, there he was, locking the door behind him. He put his keys in his coat pocket and paused, glancing at her coldly.
"Can I help you," He growled. It was a statement, not a question.
Belle gazed at him, willing him to remember. "Mr. Gold," She said softly. "It's me—it's Belle."
He continued to pierce her with that cool gaze. "I don't know any Belle."
"Yes, you do," Belle choked out. "I—I visit you every week. Every chance I can get. I bring you cookies every Christmas. I—"
"You are raving," Gold told her stonily. "I told you, I don't know you. The shop's closed." He straightened his coat and walked away with her, not even sparing her a second glance.
Belle watched him go. Shaking, her knees gave out and she collapsed into the snow.
"Each life touches another," She heard Nova's voice say in the wind. "And yours touched Mr. Gold. He was always a hard, unshakable man, but without you to see it, there is no goodness left in him."
"I should've asked him," Belle swallowed. "For the money. I should've tried to work something out—if only just to—it hurts so much…looking at him and having him not know me…"
Nova watched her.
"That's it, isn't it?" Tears were running down Belle's face. "I'm dead, aren't I? All of this…all of this is some kind of hell for me. I really did jump into the river and now I'm dead…"
"Take heart, Belle," Nova smiled, touching her cheek. "You know the consequences of a hasty wish and a life without your light. And you know…"
Belle's head slowly rose. Nova continued to smile at her.
"I know," Belle finished. "That I love him. I'm in love with Mr. Gold."
XXXX
Emma was gone and Mr. Gold was alone. All that was left to do was wait for the final spirit, but he was mad with impatience. The spirit needed to get here now. They had to go back. They had to save Belle.
He heard a noise and whipped around. He was surrounded by purple mist.
"Show yourself!" Gold ordered. "I know you're the spirit of Christmas future. Show yourself now."
He watched as a figure emerged in the mist. He wasn't sure what he was expecting—perhaps something akin to the Grim Reaper? But the figure was small, wearing an elaborate blue cloak, her eyes shaded.
"Are you the spirit of Christmases yet to come," Gold demanded with a growl.
Delicate fingers grasped the edges of the blue cloak and gently tugged it down. Gold's eyes widened. Belle Bailey, garbed in a deep red, almost medieval dress, stood before him.
"I am," She responded with a soft smile.
Gold's mouth was dry. "I don't—I don't understand," He said weakly.
"I wear the face of Belle Bailey," The spirit said helpfully. Gold's eyes widened.
"Are you saying—are you saying Belle is my future?" He asked, hardly daring to believe it.
She smiled at him, not answering.
"Is what you show me next," Gold swallowed. "The shadows of things that will be—or the shadows of things that may be?"
Belle took his palm. "Come," She said softly. "We have much to see."
XXXX
It was not snowing—it was raining. A disgusting, gray, murky rain that froze on the tops of windshields and made the townspeople of Storybrooke slip and slide as they went about their lives.
"Is this the future," Gold asked in a monotone. "It looks no different."
"There is a difference," Belle murmured. "There is someone missing."
Gold snorted. "Oh, I think I can guess the rest," He said sarcastically. "Is this the part where I find Regina having an auction over my old things? An empty funeral? Where I look upon in horror at my own gravestone, and no one cares? Where I realize the lives of Storybrooke are bettered by my death?" He laughed harshly. "And you think I don't know this already. You think I don't know I'm a monster to this town?"
The spirit said nothing. She gently took Gold's arm and led him forward, walking through the drizzle. They came upon his pawnshop and Gold frowned, looking at it. The windows were boarded and the door was padlocked.
"So," Gold said coldly. "I really am dead."
"Why do you say that?" The spirit asked.
"This is my vocation," He answered, crossing his arms. "The only thing I did for money that truly pleased me. I would never let it fall into such disarray unless I was dead."
She just looked at him and her stare made him uncomfortable. Looking away, he grunted, "What else do you want me to see?"
Belle took his elbow again, leading them to the sheriff's office. They passed through the walls into Emma's office. Gold frowned when he saw Regina, standing over Emma with a smug grin.
Emma herself did not look well. Her face was drawn and tight as she pinched her brow wearily.
"So, Sheriff," Regina said coolly. "What do you intend to do now?"
"I intend to do my job," Emma snapped. "Whether you like it or not."
Regina simply smirked.
"You may have control of the schools, the abbey, the apartments, but not for long," Emma growled. "You're not going to keep us down for long, Madame Mayor. I'd watch your back."
Gold glanced at the spirit. "I really am dead," He said tonelessly. "The abbey and apartments were under my control, not Regina's."
The spirit said nothing, just looked at him with that sad, solemn gaze. They exited the sheriff's office and the spirit cleared her throat.
"We have one more stop to make," She said softly.
"Oh, is this the part where we come upon my gravestone and I cry out in terror?" Gold asked sarcastically.
"Do you desire death so much?" Belle questioned.
"I desire peace," He snapped at her. "Peace from restless spirits, peace from this accursed town, peace from—"
"Peace from Belle?" The spirit asked. At that, Gold could not find a response.
"Your wish is granted," The spirit said sadly as the purple mists began to close around them. When the mist dissipated, they were in front of a cemetery.
To Gold's shock, he saw himself, clad in a dark coat, staring blankly ahead.
Gold whipped around towards the spirit. "What is this?" He demanded. "I thought I was dead! I thought this vision would show me my death!"
Belle did not respond, her eyes still cast upon his future self. Angrily, Gold turned from her, heading towards his shaded figure.
He did not look well. Gold wasn't a young man to begin with, but he was never more aware of the deep creases in his forehead, the faded silver hair, his eyes tired and weary. His future self looked old, as if he bore all of Storybrooke upon his shoulders. Gold frowned at this visage, wondering why the man looked so despondent—until he caught sight of what held his future shadow's gaze.
A gravestone. Squinting his eyes, Gold neared it, reading the stone carved etchings. He drew back in horror.
The tombstone read: BELLE BAILEY
He stumbled, falling into the wet grass, sheathed in ice. He looked upon this future self with stark terror, realizing the cause of his weariness, the dead look in his eyes, as if nothing mattered in the world—not his shop, not his power, not his riches—nothing.
Belle was dead.
"This can't be!" Gold scrambled to get up, pushing past his apathetic form to get to the spirit. "She cannot have died! Take me back there! I can stop here!"
"You can do no such thing," The spirit said sadly. "If Belle is to survive this night, it is her choice, not yours."
"What good is it?" Gold's expression manic, he wanted to tear the spirits limbs off, but she still wore Belle's face. All he could do was fall onto his knees and beg. "What good is this night, what good is it if all you spirits show up to save my soul if I can't save her?!"