AN: I'd really like to say thank you for all the awesome feedback I've been getting. I realize I took longer to update than usual, I'm actually in the middle of my exams but I'll try to be quicker with the next chapter. Hope you'll enjoy and review!

"I won't stand in your way, let your hatred grow… and she'll scream, and she'll shout, and she'll pray, and she had a name, yeah she had a name."

Muse, Stockholm Syndrome

…

"So you say that all you found was the note."

"Yes. I was coming home, I found that the door was unlocked and there it was." Graham looked at her fixedly for a while. "Aren't you going to write down my statement?"

The first thing that Emma had done was actually calling the cops. It hadn't hit her that maybe her ripper was watching her or that it was not a smart thing to do in the long run. There had been a murderer inside of her house, and when you feel that your life might be threatened, calling the police is the thing to do. Emma Swan still considered that she was a smart woman.

Graham let out a slight sigh, not a weary one, she didn't actually know what to make of it. "The thing is, Emma, you've called to tell me that this was about the Driveway Ripper. Now, I will write down all you have to say and you can state that there was an intruder in your house, but I honestly don't see why you would think it was Killian Jones."

Emma assessed the look on the Sheriff's face. She took it that he wasn't being completely straight with her, and that was exactly because he knew that she wasn't either.

She thought she would have to be very careful about the next words she would speak. "Maybe I am being a little paranoid."

"When I first asked you about him, you didn't hint that you were worried he might come after you."

"I wasn't. It's just – what he wrote, it echoes with some of the things he's told me during our visits, in prison."

"What things?" Graham exhaled at her silence – he could have almost smiled, out of disbelief, but since he had started dating Regina Mills, he had not truly smiled again in his life. "The deal is simple here, Emma, if you want me to take you seriously, you're going to have to stop being vague."

The young woman clenched her jaw. She was so tired of making deals with people. "I'm not." She argued. "I just – I've got a feeling that it's him."

"All right. Then I'm just going to ask you a few questions, and I hope that you'll remember that obstructing the catch of a serial killer is a federal crime."

Emma arched a brow, as if legal vocabulary would scare her now. As if she wasn't already going through the scariest experience of her life.

"Killian Jones has made no attempt to contact you, since he's escaped?"

"No."

She didn't feel guilty about lying. She was not protecting a wanted murderer, after all, she was only trying to catch him her own way. If there was the slightest chance that she could play Killian Jones, it needed to be by means that the police couldn't know about. Because to earn the trust of a dark one, you have to get them to believe that you've gotten to be dark yourself. If she came clean to the sheriff, he would either stop her or ask to be kept informed, and that was exactly the kind of mistake that her Ripper would find out about. She thought that he might just hear her speak one word, and he would know.

Graham held her eyes and she had a hard time not lowering hers. "Okay, now you're making me be the bad guy. What if I ask you something else, Emma. Earlier, you said that you found that note on your mirror when you were coming home. Coming home from where? I don't see a grocery bag anywhere here, and you haven't been to school in weeks."

A look of startle painted Emma's face. "You checked up on me?" She blamed herself for acting as though Graham was still that high school boy who liked following her home, calmly and actually without being shameful, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. She sighed and forced herself to look impassive. "I just wanted to take a drive."

"Okay. Where did you go?"

"Nowhere. I just wanted to get out for a while."

"Then I'm assuming if you have nothing to hide, you wouldn't have a problem if I called here again to ask you a few more questions about your visits with Killian Jones. If your fiancé picked up and I told him the reason why I was calling, I suppose there would not be a problem with that."

The look on his face remained of ice and Emma didn't say anything, the way a cornered animal decides to go down with as much dignity as he'll be allowed. Graham was always good at catching them. She remembered that in the schoolyard, in kindergarten, he used to pick up a small animal, a bug or a mouse, and he'd keep it in his pocket during class. She figured it made sense that he had grown up catching killers for a living, and that he could almost always tell when someone was lying to him, especially now – a cold nature can be an asset to detection, when some people stand in your way.

"It's not personal, Emma." He added unemotionally. "I just want you to tell me what you know that I don't. The reason why I checked up on you was that I thought you may have caught our killer's eye and that he might try to contact you again, and now I really think he has."

Emma said nothing for a while. "So you're not going to take my statement into account?"

"Not officially, no. I'll report there's been a breaking and entering, but I'd rather that Killian Jones got sloppier instead of more careful. He has every reason to leave town and if he didn't, I want him to think that we think he did. Emma?" He said after a short pause. "If he contacts you or if you have any reason to think that he's following you, I want you to tell me."

"Of course." She got up because she wanted this to be the end of their interview, but when she led him out, Graham turned around before reaching the door.

"Whatever it is you've undertaken, it's safer that you stop. You're never playing a killer, Emma, he's always playing you." He sighed, and this time it was weary, as if to say that he knew she would not let him help but that he wished he could anyway. "There are no more dangerous games to play than games of control with someone who kills."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't. Just try to be careful, Emma."

"I will call you if I need you, Graham." She said. "I trust that you'll have my back."

He smiled for a short moment. It was his first one in a while. "Well," he admitted, "we all had a thing for the high school queen."

…

Emma felt that the family dinner was more silent than usual. She was standing next to Neal, opposite her parents. Whenever she met Mary Margaret's eyes, it seemed to her that she was going to smother with her mother's worry. Her mom had never been the best person to keep a secret and Emma sometimes wished she hadn't told her anything about her meetings with Killian Jones, because this one secret had to be eating at her, and she wanted her mother to be at peace.

"Well." David Nolan said with a smile that Emma had always thought was the incarnation of charm and kindness. "The big day's coming nearer. I hope you both aren't too nervous."

"No." Emma said almost at the same time Neal answered "Not at all", and she thought that there was something that sounded nervous about it exactly. She hoped she was the only one to hear it. "Mom helped me pick the wedding dress last week." Emma added.

"Yes, it's gorgeous, really."

A silence followed Mary Margaret's awkward assertion. Emma wished her mother were a better liar. "Well," she said, putting on a smile, "I'm going to get dessert. Mom, come help me?"

Emma tried not to pay attention to the dubious look on her fiancé and her father's faces when they disappeared in the kitchen. The young woman let out an apologetic breath when she met her mother's eyes, once they were alone. "Look, I get that you're worried about me, but I'm doing fine."

"Worried? I'm not worried, Emma. I was worried during your first teenage parties, I was worried about alcohol and cigarettes and drugs, I am not worried about my daughter meeting with a deranged serial killer who is now on the run –"

Mary Margaret let out a sigh, and it actually wasn't reproving but desperate. Emma always felt strange, when she realized how young her mother looked. This one evening, she felt guilty as hell.

"How could you not tell us about this, Emma? You embarked on this insane adventure all on your own, with no regards as to what it might do to you – people like this, people like the Driveway Ripper, they're the kind that leave you a mark."

"I know that." These days, that mark had felt very, very dark.

"What were you thinking?"

Emma bit her tongue when she realized she had almost answered with Killian Jones's words – because in truth, she was only curious what would happen.

"I don't know." She admitted, and it must have sounded very confused because when her mother sighed again, it was a motherly sigh. Mary Margaret had gotten used to putting herself together when her daughter needed it. Sometimes, she thought that if she was hurt and that a look of terrible worry pervaded her daughter's face, she might forget her pain entirely in order to calm her down.

"Emma, I just want you to be safe. These past few weeks you've been acting so off, and I thought it would help me just to know what was the cause, but it's worse. I'm scared, Emma. Just please… tell me you're not going to continue down that road."

"I don't see what you mean, mom." She didn't even fully register that she was lying. "Killian Jones is gone, and I'm not going to go near a prison again."

The look of concern didn't leave Mary Margaret's face. She had always somehow been able to tell when something was wrong with Emma, when she was lying or playing an act, and it wasn't because her daughter was a bad liar. There had always been this curious connection between both women, which was inexplicable biologically speaking. Emma did no longer try to explain irrational things. All she knew was that her mother was bright in her new state of darkness, her family and fiancé were still there and yet somehow, they couldn't help her. They were all blurry from the water, above the surface of that other world that Emma had discovered. It didn't make sense to Emma to think that there was only just one world, made up of both good and evil. She thought that this might terrify her more than anything, because if it was so… she could never go back, of course.

Emma inhaled sharply. She was getting married in two weeks and she was going to go see Dr. Hopper to apologize for missing school. She was not covering the tracks of a serial killer, all that she wanted to do was catch him and she still thought she could. She did not feel allegiance towards her Ripper.

And yet she was beginning to think that this sounded shallow, as shallow as the surface of the bright world. There had been a killer inside of her home and she had not told Neal, and he had a right to know. She was having phone conversations with a murderer on the run and Neal had a right to know. This was going too far. Part of her knew it.

But the obsession was always with her, like a bad habit, too strong to be shaken off. And so she only told her mother. "I'll be careful, mom."

"Just be safe, Emma." Was the reply.

…

"Was it me, or did something strange happen at dinner?"

Emma frowned with fake incomprehension. She decided she was just as bad a liar as her mother. "I don't see what you mean."

"Well, your mom looked a bit sick and you were acting awkward."

"Was I?"

The look that Neal gave her made Emma realize it was vain to try. He had probably known her too long for her to be able to fool him now.

"Just tell me, Em. Is it about the wedding?"

"Of course not."

"Is everything okay with you?"

"Yes. I –" She sighed at how blatantly the lie had come out. "I've just got a lot on my mind, Neal."

"Does that have to do with your visits at Storybrooke Penitentiary? You never told me why you stopped going." He remarked.

Emma's blood ran cold, just like that, as if while her fiancé was not aware that she was hiding something from him, she could convince herself that she wasn't.

"Like you said." She answered. "Visiting prisoners wasn't the ideal pre-wedding activity."

"I'm not saying I'm not relieved that you let it go. I just don't know why."

Emma met her fiancé's eyes. She had always thought that his face was the most honest she had set eyes on, and it didn't give her the will to lie to him. "We're both going to be okay, Neal. I can't tell you much more right now, but you need to trust me. All right?"

He let out a slight sigh, somehow not begrudging. "All right."

…

Killian had never even had a thing for blondes. Emma Swan was his type just the same, of course, and if he hadn't found her attractive right away when she had stepped inside his penitentiary it's likely that he would have ultimately, following her as closely as he did – because there was something utterly alluring about her demeanor.

Watching her and her boyfriend make love that evening, it seemed as clear as could be.

Emma's home address had been the easiest thing to find. Storybrooke was a small village and when you looked for someone hard enough there, it was only a matter of time, and usually a short one, before you found them. Killian wasn't unaware that this may also apply to him. Every cop in this town was looking for him, and he was not so eager to go back to jail.

Killian Jones's conduct had never been described as smart, technically speaking, he had not done everything in his power not to get caught and if he had he would not have been. The women that he had killed were all women that he had been with. Seducing them had been part of his hunt, and the last one had been quite a climax. Due to the atmosphere of terror and wariness that dominated Storybrooke before his arrest, she had made his task most difficult and ultimately her surrender had been by far the most enjoyable. It was one stage very dear to Killian. Another was the look of betrayal on the women's faces when he took off his mask.

His last woman had been a beautiful woman. She had a French name. Beautiful. He had driven to the border of Canada with her body in the trunk of his car and buried her under a pile of snow.

His current behavior was not a great deal smarter, in fact, not at all. Staying so close to Storybrooke was bound to put him back on the police's radar at some point, and his obsession with Emma Swan however legitimate would not help him stay free. But Killian had always gone for the most exciting option and at the time being, it was that golden-haired student of his. It did not matter that he was caught by justice. Killian did not think through such common terms. He had once fancied to charm young women and murder them, and now what he fancied was Emma Swan.

He had been suspicious of it for some time, and when he had stepped inside her home for the first time, he had been sure. He had discovered her universe and felt his predatory instincts awaken, he had opened her drawers without being hurried, stroked the immaculate cover of her double bed, and he had known that she had become his new game. He didn't see the point in going against it.

Killian shifted slightly in his position. Emma Swan's house was just at the edge of a small wood which Killian had immediately noticed, thinking that it would be a fine advantage for the second stage of his enterprise – observation.

He watched through the window of her bedroom from afar, and currently he was presented with a beautiful view on her back. He had always wondered what normal couple life was like. Deep inside of himself, Killian felt like an antipathetic boy trying to dissect romance.

He didn't wait until Emma's fiancé was asleep before he called. He wanted her to know he had been watching.

And she seemed to know it, somehow. She heard the telephone ring once, and he saw her body tense as if she had been immersed in iced water. Very, very dark waters. She had barely caught her breath from her recent activities and Killian thought this was good. He wanted to hear the breathlessness in her voice. He wanted her to feel that there was no safety or reprieve for her anymore, that she could not hide anywhere and not even in her fiancé's arms.

To own someone, you need to be the monster they dream of and the darkness that surrounds them. You need to become both their jailer and their cage.

She picked up, clutching the sheets against her chest, and the fiancé seemed to grow concerned at her side. The couple didn't look like good match at all to Killian. The boy was the image itself of plainness and he could never understand half of the woman he was about to marry.

Killian understood. The woman knew and probably hated him for it.

Emma picked up and he heard her let out a breath. It sounded scared and ragged and incomprehensive, because without being able to explain why, she had known it was him calling.

Killian straightened the binoculars to zoom in on Emma's face. He paid no attention to the fiancé.

"The White Swan or the Black Swan?" He said to begin with.

He heard her drag in a breath again. She was probably trying to reason with herself and failing. "I don't know what you mean."

"Well, it seems to me that you're caught between the two, at the time being. You've seen a bit of my world now and while you're dancing between the darkness and the light like a ballerina, I don't think you have an idea how close you are from the fall – and once you've fallen, love, the choice is definitive."

He watched her clench her jaw. You had to respect the woman's spirit. It got him feeling a bit awed, looking at her unbroken temper. He couldn't decide whether his aim was to save her or break her. Maybe he would only stop her in her deadly prance to set her on fire and watch her burn.

"Let me put it in different words. You've been playing with me, love, and I don't want you to think that I mind – no, it's been quite swell, really. But as smart as you think you are, I think you know that you can't play me without getting played as well. You've been dipping your toes in the water and now it's difficult to stop, isn't it? They are fine waters, yes. It's difficult for me, too. Answer my question now, Goldilocks. The White Swan or the Black Swan?"

"Where are you?"

"You know where I am. I've been with you ever since you walked out of my prison, and you've been with me, and I'm not getting out of your skin until you've gotten out of mine. There's no more time to hesitate now, sweetheart, you've just run out, I'll warn you – no good comes out of wandering in a world that isn't yours. It'll make you his, soon enough. White or Dark, Emma? It's about time you stopped pretending."

He watched her straighten up on her bed. Her fiancé had to be going wild but she looked straight ahead, out her window, until although Killian knew she could not see him, it felt like she did. His mouth broke into a smile.

"Dark it is." He concluded.

The next second, she hung up on him.