TITLE: Awakenings (4/?)
Chapter Four
Emma wakes to the sun reaching unpleasantly into the cave, burning her eyes. For a moment she is utterly disoriented, the previous night's events seeming to have vanished with the darkness. The wolf is standing at the mouth of the cave, she realizes with a jolt of adrenaline. And Graham is gone, leaving her with a fresh sense of loss, sharply painful, though a part of her has expected it all along. She is willing to accept that she has simply become a victim of her own grief, has followed the wolf out here and fallen asleep, dreaming the impossible happy ending she so desperately craves. But as she sits up, entire body protesting her night spent on the ground, her fingers brush the cool inner lining of Graham's leather jacket.
Immediately Emma is filled with concern, hugging the jacket to her chest as she struggles to find her bearings, feeling as though it might be her lone remaining connection to her own sanity. She wonders what has happened during her time asleep, the creeping sense that she has missed something terrible beginning to overtake her. Twenty-four hours ago, it would have seemed utterly absurd, but out here among the mist-shrouded trees and delicate greenish rays of early morning sunlight, memories of Graham's miraculously warm fingers still whispering against her skin, Emma finds herself almost willing to believe that she has witnessed some sort of marvelous spell, whisked away with the midnight hour.
"Graham?" she calls, getting to her feet, and poking her head out of the cave.
It is early still, the sounds and smells of the forest all-encompassing. But she knows where she is now, the old toll bridge visible in the distance through the trees. Frowning, Emma closes her eyes for a moment, trying to remember more clearly that night with Graham and Mary Margaret, when they had found David at the river. She cannot recall seeing the delicate light of the phosphorescent lichen then.
"Graham?" Emma repeats, louder this time, but there is no answer to her call. She feels almost instinctively that he is no longer here with her, just as she had known the instant he'd died, ripped away from her with the suddenness of a lightning storm.
The wolf comes a few steps closer, baring his teeth now, a clear message that she is no longer welcome here. It is almost a relief, making her way toward the toll bridge and back onto the path into town. She feels confusion more than anything else, mingled with the heavy sadness that has enveloped her since his death. She has not allowed herself to feel any sense of joy in finding him out here, she realizes; even his fleeting touch has seemed laced with grief, an exquisite mix of ecstasy and torture.
Emma feels directionless when she emerges from the trees, startled to see the abandoned Sheriff's Department car still parked where she'd left it the previous night, practically in the middle of the road. For a moment she is surprised that it has not been towed or ticketed, then realizes that responsibility is her own. Most of the town has yet to begin stirring, and she climbs into the car in silence, hoping that no one has seen it during the night and become suspicious. Still unable to face Mary Margaret after her own disaster, Emma drives slowly toward the jail.
Parking in front, she straightens her jacket and steps out of the car, sensing eyes on her back instantly. When she turns, she finds Mr. Gold regarding her from a few feet away, a look on his face as though he might be capable of seeing clear into her mind. Emma is certain that he was not here mere moments ago, when she pulled into the parking lot, and she feels a growing sense of unease over how long he might have been watching her unseen.
"Good morning, Miss Swan." Gold smiles, all superficial cordiality. "You're up early today."
"So are you," Emma counters, cautiously. "I was just about to go in to work. Did you need something from the Sheriff's Department?"
"Actually, I wanted to talk to you." He comes a few steps closer, lowering his voice just enough to make his next statement seem like a threat. "I noticed the Sheriff's Department had some business in the forest last night."
Emma does not answer, forcing herself to meet his gaze and stand her ground.
"I hope you found what you were looking for," he continues, voice scarcely above a whisper now.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she asks, feeling her pulse quicken.
"A lot of things can be found by simply getting lost," Gold answers. "There are treasures in those woods, you know. But you must be very careful with them."
"I am not lost," Emma says tightly. "And I have a lot of work to do. So if you'll let me get on with it…"
"Are you a believer, Miss Swan?" he asks, a bit sharply. "You know, there are those who would tell you that there's magic here."
For a moment Emma is silent, still trying to feel out what sort of a game he is trying to play. "I believe there are real people hurting here. I believe there might be real evil."
Gold's smile widens, slowly. "Sometimes the most dangerous thing of all is the promise of a happy ending."
"Then it's a good thing I don't believe in them," Emma snaps, then turns and walks away without giving him the chance to say anything further.
It is a relief to step inside the front door of the jail, the keys to the building a cool comfort in her hand. It makes her feel as though she still has some measure of power over something in this town, even as the rest of her hastily-constructed life here threatens impending collapse. Taking a breath, she pauses for a moment, glancing at her reflection in the old mirror which hangs on the wall by the coat closet, and halfheartedly running a hand through her hair. There is a smudge of dirt on her left cheek, and she rubs at it, surprised when it gives way to reveal a delicate scratch underneath. It is not so much that she cares about her appearance this morning, but allowing the town to find out that she has spent the night on forest floor will generate exactly the sort of attention she hopes desperately to avoid.
The only warning she gets is a soft release of breath, almost a chuckle from the main room. Emma whirls to find Regina sitting serenely behind the desk which once belonged to Graham, nearly invisible in the dim light creeping in around the curtains. In hindsight—which kicks in the instant she catches sight of the mayor's sharp silhouette—Emma thinks she ought to have known this was coming. She has a knack for twisting the knife in precisely the right way to produce maximum suffering.
"What did you do to my son?" Regina starts in immediately, not bothering with any sort of pretense this time.
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Emma feels exhausted suddenly, all of her adrenaline spent. "Get out of my office."
"Henry ran away last night," says Regina, standing her ground, entirely unfazed. "Just after dinner. I sent him upstairs to do his homework. When I went to check on him, he was gone. Apparently he managed to climb out his window somehow. I'm sure I don't need to further impress upon you how dangerous this sort of behavior is for a boy his age, Miss Swan."
Emma resists the urge to cringe at the sound of her name spoken by yet another hostile voice. "I am aware of that, Madam Mayor. I'm the one who found him and brought him home on my patrol of the town last night, so if anything, you should be thanking me."
Though the sting of her argument with Henry has scarcely faded in the past twelve hours, she has firmly convinced herself that she has acted in his own best interests, especially considering the most recent events in the town. Especially if Graham is alive. Especially if he has managed to survive some bizarre attack on his life. The last thing she wants now is for Henry to become any further embroiled in potential danger, and if that means hurting him to keep him uninvolved, then she is resolved to do it, forcing back the tiny voice of doubt in the back of her mind, which says this is nothing more than an excuse for her own failure in her new role as parent.
"That's funny." Regina crosses her arms. "Because he came home crying about something that you did. That's not very professional, deputy."
"All I did was bring him home," says Emma quietly.
"See, it's not that I'm surprised, Miss Swan." Regina smiles, slowly. "I always expected you to let him down. I just thought you'd have the good sense to be more subtle about it. Get too busy to see him, or slip town when he wasn't looking. But this—Well, sometimes your incompetence is truly astounding."
"What did you do to Graham?" Emma interrupts, retreating once more into anger. Regina is avoiding, she thinks, striking where she expects to find weakness. She remembers now Graham's words in the forest, the look of horror in his eyes. And if Regina truly knows everything, Emma wonders whether she might be suddenly feeling threatened. Using Henry's wellbeing when in reality, she is more concerned for herself.
"I hardly think that's an appropriate question," Regina snaps, smile vanishing. "He
was a good man. He understood responsibility, unlike you. His death was a great loss to Storybrooke. And you're deflecting."
"His body," Emma presses. "What did you do with his body? I know you made the funeral arrangements. I read it in that self-congratulatory piece you had Sidney Glass put in the paper."
"Tragically, he had no family," says Regina. "The responsibility fell to me to give him a proper burial. Which you might have known, had you bothered to attend the service."
"Really? He had no family? Or did you drive away anyone that cared about him?" The words land with the satisfying weight of a solid punch, and Emma continues. "Where would I go if I wanted to put flowers on his grave? Even if he has a headstone in that graveyard of yours, I'm betting the real answer would be the woods."
Regina opens her mouth to reply, but is interrupted by the door flying open. Her entire demeanor shifts instantaneously, all traces of venom vanishing, replaced by the well-practiced façade of benevolent public figure. Emma feels a moment of fleeting jealousy, wishing her own defenses could be so strong.
Henry is standing in the doorway, the look of excitement on his face superseding any anxiety she's had over seeing him again after their last confrontation. He does not even pause at the sight of Regina, though she certainly has not expected to find him intruding on their conversation.
"Emma, you need to come outside right now!" Henry takes hold of her hand and tugs forcefully.
"What is going on?" Emma hesitates.
"Just come outside!"
This time she allows herself to be pulled along, heart racing as she follows. Henry leads her to the edge of the parking lot, where a white-faced Mary Margaret is standing with Graham. He looks terribly disheveled, dead leaves clinging to his hair, the right sleeve of his shirt entirely shredded, revealing a long, bloodied cut underneath.
"What the hell are you doing?" Emma demands, instantly terrified, for what has happened to him in her absence, and what danger he has put himself in by being here now. "What is going on here? Don't tell me you don't know! You obviously know more than I do, and I deserve an explanation."
"I'm sorry," breathes Graham, in a voice she scarcely recognizes. "I'm sorry. I don't even know who you are."