They spend the next five months on the move.
They never stay at one city for more than a fortnight, slipping out into the countryside as soon as a whisper of suspicion reaches their ears.
Their time in the city is spent gathering supplies and earning money. Nicko hangs out with other boys and takes up a few of their jobs in exchange for a share of the cash. She finds it more difficult to earn money, but now and then she gets a break, taking out trash from a seedy restaurant or filling in at a part-time job for a fellow foster kid. With their combined efforts, they manage to rake up a couple dozen bucks per town. It's not enough, she knows, and so sometimes they have to resort to shoplifting. Nothing big- a loaf of bread here, a roll of bandages there, but every time she slips an item into her pocket she feels a flash of guilt, accompanied by a memory. Neal Cassidy. The one person who helped her, who stole for her, and who asked for nothing in return. He seems to be everywhere- in the pack of chocolates that Nicko manages to steal, in the swan-shaped keychain that hangs from a slender thread around her neck. Sometimes, she even thinks that she sees a yellow bug parked around a corner, but as soon as she reaches the spot, there's nothing there.
You're seeing things, she tells herself sternly after it happens for the fifth time. Get over the guy; he's probably halfway to Canada by now.
And so she does what she does best. She wraps up her feelings and pushes them back to the furthest corner of her mind. She runs away from what she can't deal with. And life goes on.
As soon they suspect someone has recognised the three of them, they run back into the forest. For a couple of days, they stay deep in the woods in case someone sends out a search party. But no one does, and they eventually emerge from the heart of the forest.
Emma likes this life. She loves the feel of the long-dead leaves crunching underneath her feet as they tread silently through the trees. She treasures the cold nights when they huddle up close to a smokeless fire and tell ghost stories while eating the day's catch.
There is no shortage of food. She fashions a rudimentary bow and a handful of arrows using a whittling knife while Nicko and Eva set up snares. They collect berries and nuts and dandelions, and feast on the woodland creatures she shoots through the eye. They spend their time as they like; there is nothing holding them to their old life. They walk, they play, they fight. The three of them practice their skills daily, taking turns with the bow and having mock swordfights using firewood.
With every day away from the world, they heal. They become nothing more than two girls and a boy romping through the woods with no care in the world. No past. No future. Just the present: the scent of the fallen pine needles, the laughter that echoes through the trees, the deathly quiet before they make a kill.
One day, Eva comes up to her while she's stitching up one of their old coats in preparation for the approaching winter.
"Em?"
"Hm?" she replies. She's never been good at needlework, and this particular coat seems rather bent on falling apart.
"Do you ever wonder..." Eva falters and then starts again. "Do you ever wonder whether it was all real?"
Emma doesn't understand what she's talking about, and her expression must show it because Eva opens her mouth nervously for a few seconds before stammering out: "I mean... were Mom and Dad really... Snow White and Prince Charming? Were all the stories actually real?"
And Emma has to put the needle down for a few seconds before answering, because however much she blames her parents, hates them for abandoning her, she has never questioned the truth of what they said. They are- were- Snow White and the Prince. They used to rule over two kingdoms in the Enchanted forest before it was ripped away from them by the Evil Queen's curse, and they escaped from it only hours before she was born by stepping into a magical wardrobe that brought them to this world. That is their story. That is who they are. Anyone who didn't believe her when she was young was simply not in the know. A few metres away, Nicko stops skinning the squirrel he's holding and looks at her, an unreadable expression on his face.
She turns back to Eva.
"Yes," she tells her little sister. "They were real."
But from that day onwards, the doubt starts to grow. What if her parents' stories were just figments of their imagination woven into an intricate pattern that seemed like the truth? What if it was all a lie?
Whatever she says to Eva, Emma no longer believes like she used to.
Five months after Augusta and a couple of weeks away from the latest town, something happens. According to the map they have, they're miles away from the nearest civilization. They're walking a few metres away from the road, careful not to lose sight of the familiar grey tarmac in the underbrush when she takes a single step- just like any other of the thousands she's taken while trekking through the forest- when something changes. Something's different. There's a shift in the air; Eva and Nicko feel it too and tense beside her, ready to run.
And then-
Agony.
There's an explosion of pain in her side, right where the months-old knife wound has left a scar. It's as if the knife has plunged into her stomach again, the cold metal twisting inside her, ripping her apart from within. She can't see. She can't breathe. She manages to get up and stumble the few metres to the road before collapsing again, overwhelmed with pain.
Above her, Nicko and Eva are shouting frantically, but she can't hear them. There's a ringing in her ears that blocks out all coherent thought.
She's slipping. Her consciousness is slowly fading away. Her head lolls to one side and she sees something that shouldn't be there.
It's a town sign. The flowing letters are hard to make out, but she tries to focus, to hold on to anything that can keep the white-hot pain flaring at her side from pulling her down into the darkness.
She glares at it through tear-dashed eyes. Concentrate, she tells herself. You have to get up; you have to take care of your family. But it doesn't work. She's less here with every passing second. Any moment now, she'll be gone altogether.
She finally manages to make it out. She's hanging on to consciousness by the slimmest thread, defying the darkness against all the odds, but at least she can read the blasted sign.
'Welcome to Storybrooke' it says.
The thread breaks.
In the distance, she can hear the wail of a police siren, but she doesn't care anymore. She closes her eyes.
And then the darkness takes her.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The next one won't be for a few days.
Thanks, as always, for reading.
Please review!