Chapter 24

Tools In The Right Hands

David paced in the "War Room" (a converted dining room), hands linked behind his head and at the end of his patience. He was alone with Regina, arguing over how to proceed after they found Emma. The Council would no doubt choose then to intervene, and then there would be blame to place, punishments to dole out. Legalities and procedures weren't his strong point… that belonged to Snow. He was the one to carry out the plans, to see them through… not plan "what it" scenarios. But he was Alpha, not Snow. And Snow was new to her role for the first time in almost fifty years. He couldn't ask this of her on top of everything else she was struggling to figure out. This was his burden; like so many others he was shouldering so his beloved wouldn't have to.

"Maybe if we break Walsh from her control… we could get him to testify against her to The Council."

Regina waved her hand dismissively in the air, looking upset that he would even say such a thing. "Her power doesn't work that way. She doesn't control anyone. Manipulate until she's convinced you of a new name and birth parents, yes. But not control."

David brought his hands down and rested them on the table, trying to be a gentle as he could with the subject of Cora. "But you were. Who you were before and after weren't–"

Regina cut him off again as she rose from her chair, locking eyes with him. Frustration and shame settling around her like an unwanted coat. "No David, you're not listening. I was NEVER under her control. Every choice was mine to make. Every single thing I did was because I wanted to do it. All Cora did was convince me I wanted it more than anything else in the world."

David hung his head, soaking his thoughts in self-loathing, hating that he hadn't been good enough to protect Emma in his own home. "And Walsh was already a monster before meeting your mother."

Regina nodded, mouth turned down for her own reasons. "The Council would have to dismiss every death he caused as my mother's fault. Even the one's before they met up, because we don't have a clue as to when that actually happened. He would walk away from this without even a slap on the wrist. However evil Cora is, we can't let him go free."

David resumed his pacing, "So what do you suggest? Cause Emma would be pegged as both an outsider and a victim too traumatized to have an untainted testimony, and Killian will be lumped in right there with Walsh. How else do we tie her to this without getting Walsh to turn on her?"

Regina's eyes were darting back and forth in her head; the only tell on her frowning face that she was going over information only available in her brain again. "Her goal has always been power. Walsh is her tool –or one of her tools– to getting more. Directly, he gets her nothing but a pile of bodies. Which makes him a tool against someone else. Emma gets her nothing but a few packs of pissed off wolves chasing her down. Which makes Emma a tool against someone. Killian was her tool for controlling the other two, but he was a tool she had to use within limits. We need to figure out how the three of them garner my mother power, and from what source."

David paused his legs, turning slowly back to Regina. "Didn't you say that Cora might be getting help from somewhere to pull some of this off? Or that she was pulling a favor for someone? What if the three of them were part of that deal? Who would grant Cora power if she stopped doing this, or because she's doing this?"

Regina froze, eyes darting again. "Oh hell no…"

The sounds coming from Killian's cell would be enough to make even the most stalwart soldier run for his mother's skirts. During his internment to the cell underground, he had been eerily calm, and now he was the farthest thing from. His first eruption of sound and rage had brought Snow and Ruby running headlong into the tunnel worried something had gotten in there with him. What they found was a half-formed wolf dragging itself along the bars –not on the ground where normalcy and gravity would put him, but half way off the ground as if he were climbing a horizontal ladder– speaking in a foreign tongue they couldn't understand. Snow sent Ruby off to find Robin, hoping that he might be able to translate, if not help contain Killian again. She spoke to him in as soft a voice she could, struggling against the primal urge to follow Killian's wolf into the maddening rush of hunting and death; needing to remain herself a little while longer. For his sake as much as her own. He stilled his horizontal climb, hushed his words, and canted his head to an angle only an owl would commend. He was staring at her with his swirling eyes of blue and white, and Snow felt fear for the first time in nearly thirty years. Wolves –especially werewolves– make plenty of their own noise, and have no fear making their presence known in the wild. The only time a wolf is silent is when prey is spotted; when a kill can easily thwarted with the smallest sound, but accomplished in very little effort of movement. Snow held her body straight and his gaze with unblinking eyes. A rookie mistake she knew better than to do, but these were her ancestor's lands, she was mate to the Alpha of the territory; this was one concession she simply couldn't give.

The seconds ticked by and the cavern felt like a pressure cooker, just waiting for one of them to flinch and the whole area to burst. And as such, Snow would very much doubt if anyone would give her grief over the very childish scream she let out when Ariel chose that moment to come from whatever ether she transported through. A heavy thud from the cell showed Killian's malformed hand struggling to regain purchase on the bars, his contorted shape partially escaping confinement in his attempt to reach whichever of them he suddenly had an appetite for. Snow shook her head in disbelief, unsure how much more disturbing he could get if they let him. But where Killian's focus had been on Snow before, it was all for Ariel now. Snow focused her attention solely on Killian, hoping that being watched would keep him in a bit of check, but the cringe of Ariel's shoulders wasn't so subtle to be missed either.

"Shit… sorry. I thought he'd still be out of it." Ariel hissed words and pained movements brought hungry whimpers from their caged friend.

Snow laid her hand on Ariel's arm, still keeping her attention to Killian. "Speak clear and soft. No moving like you're in pain, hold your arms if you have to. No dramatic movements of any kind. He shouldn't be able to get out, but let's not provoke him further to test that theory. You really pissed him off earlier didn't you?"

Ariel bit her lip, "It was necessary, though he might not see it like that. I'll fill you in later when he isn't tracking me like that."

Snow nodded. "Fair enough. What news?"

"Whatever Cora did to hide Walsh and Emma? It stopped. We know where they are. Tink is already up there making sure there aren't any magical booby traps. This is the part where we saddle up and sally forth, right? Or something like that? I don't know terms for land travel all that well."

In Snow's defense, it was the elation of finding Emma that caused her to forget Killian in general as she hugged Ariel with joy and relief; tears falling easily over her pale cheeks. She pulled away when Killian let out a second eruption with more of those god-awful sounds he'd been making for the better part the morning. Holding Ariel by the shoulders, shaking slightly in excitement, she bade the Fae to leave again and report to David and others up in the main house. Killian began thrashing in his new confinement between the open gaps, too big in his half-form to slink through. His unknown language came back to him, frantic and urgent between growls of frustration. All of which Snow was half ignoring in the minor victory they now had.

It was then that Ruby came rushing down the hall with Robin in tow, both wearing matching furrowed brows of confusion. Must have been a sight, Killian in a broken rage and howling with herself standing close by and happy for the first time in weeks. Ruby ignored the emotions in the air and dove ahead with questions regarding Killian's new spot wedged between the cell bars. Snow waved her off, hoping for a chance to make it up to her friend later. "He's fine; we had a visitor that he wasn't too fond of. Robin, can you understand anything he's saying? Or could you try talking him down? I can't even tell if he's thinking in English let alone understanding it."

Robin nodded slowly as he took in the state of his old friend. "Aye, I might." As Alpha, Robin wouldn't be able to avoid eye contact, but never let it be said that the Alpha of the North American Nomadic Pack wasn't above acting submissive for the betterment of a fellow wolf. He took a few tentative steps closer to Killian, hands out as if looking for balance on his old trained feet. Killian responded by hunching his shoulders and expanding his frame as much as possible. Robin's hands came up fluidly in surrender, "Just me old friend. Just ol' Rob." Another step closer. "You seem to have forgotten what language to speak in again. Like when we first came to The Colonies and we were trying to convince everyone you weren't a Mick so you could find work?" Killian moved his jaw, his eyes frantic once more. "No… no, no don't try English if you aren't coming by it naturally. Just repeat to me what you were trying to tell the women earlier." Killian garbled out something, hard to understand to even Robin's ears if Snow were to judge the tilt of his head. There was the briefest moment of a smile on Robin's lips, which he hid when he turned his back to Killian. A show of trust (that thankfully worked) to help further calm their friend. "He's saying something about 'feeling her' and 'needing to go'. I assume by your smile milady, you know what he's referring to?"

Snow smirked, "As if you don't."

Ruby spoke up for the first time with a huff, "Well I don't. Someone care to clue me in?"

Snow was fit to burst with renewed hope, taking as much control as she could from her link to David to simply stop herself from bouncing on her feet. "Ariel was here just before you two came running down; I sent her back up to the house to inform the others. They found them! It seems the bubble that kept us from finding Emma, was also keeping Killian from using what small link they already had. And if he can feel her now, that means she's still alive."

Ruby's eyes flashed in the din, unable to stop herself from throwing her head back and howling for the hunt. Just as Snow was unable to stop herself from hugging her old friend in their joy. It was a gentle (male sounding) clearing of a throat that reminded them that the worst wasn't over, however good the news.

Ruby let go first, "Right… you're right Robin. But she's alive!" Ruby's smile was wide and infectious. "So, change's all around then?"

Killian chose then to throw his weight against the bars in a third eruption of noise, bringing a sad truth to Snow's understanding. "Not for me. I'm still too new to all of this. I guess being raised among wolves doesn't prepare you for the torrent of emotions and instincts you deal with internally. You two should go and join the others; Emma will need you both. Killian here is going to finish his change into full wolf form. When he's done and he signals me he's ready, I'll let him out. His link will take him right to Emma; all you guys have to do is keep up."

Ruby looked concerned of all things at the idea of Killian out on the loose, "Couldn't Ariel show us the way?"

Snow shook her head. "No. The less the Fae are involved now, the better when The Council gets involved later. Tink is already doing us a favor and scouting ahead for any magical traps laid out. If this is just a mistake on Cora's part, then we have precious little time. If it's intentional, then we are being played in some manner. What's more, Killian deserves to find Emma. His wolf needs it. I won't take that from him. Now go on, his change is half done already. Bring Emma home."

Ruby and Robin raced out, shedding clothes quite literally as they went, without further speaking on the matter. Snow turned back to Killian, looking more the large black beast now than the creature he had been; his eyes were still a swirling chaos though. She walked right up to the bars, lowering her face to be level with his muzzle, meeting his eyes dead on. "You hear me in there? Bring. Emma. Home. I'm not losing anyone else to that psychotic bitch."

Emma was sitting on her new scars to eat breakfast. Not that she let it show on her face, or let the pain shake her hands. There was burning and stinging flickers striking through her skin like lightning bolts, and Emma retained her face in calm serenity. Whether this pleased Walsh or angered him, Emma wasn't in the mood to care. She knew she was safe so long as she kept her manners. Walsh had revealed that much in his tactics, that he needed an excuse to beat her, needed it justified. And while it was just as easy for him to construct her failures, Emma wasn't about to give him an opening he didn't have. Her time was short now, his control slipping more now that Grandmother had given her approval. Emma needed to buy as much time as she could until he slipped enough for her to run. Although, the idea of staying and torturing him for the sheer amount of running he had already forced her to do was just as enticing as freedom. She had begun to entertain very dark and graphic thoughts of his torture in her mind when he first raised the cane to her; they kept her centered. The one with Walsh skewered from the rectum on his bamboo cane was a particular favorite. It was the same scenario playing behind her eyes as she calmly set down her fork and addressed Walsh for the first time that day. His face was made of glass and as easy to read as a child's ABC book. Obviously he was torn between the anger of her breaking the rules of no chatter during her meals, and a pleased, wistful look to her seeking him out. There was a brief consideration that maybe the wolf and man were not in collaboration like the other werewolves she had met, but at odds with each other; it was quickly discarded on the grounds that she stopped giving a fuck one way or the other.

"Walsh? I'm sorry for interrupting the course of the meal; you know I wouldn't unless it was something important or worrisome." I swear I'm trying out for Broadway after this; these skills are too good to keep away from the public. "It's just the leather cuff keeping me safe inside this room? It's become hard and scratchy on the edges, and my skin underneath feels tingly and itchy. Would there be a way to take a look at them during some point of the day?" Maybe Hollywood…

Walsh turned his head to the ankle in question, studying it as if it was a lab experiment gone sideways. "Get up, stand at the foot of the bed and hold the pole with both of your hands."

She moved as fast as she could, making sure to keep her food tray balanced and unspilled. No point in doing anything if it only meant a quick caning. Walsh knelt down next to her leg, the urge to drive her knee into his nose overwhelming, only holding back when Graham's lesson of quickened healing spun through her head again. Walsh's hands slid over the welts he gave her, and he moaned in pleasure when she couldn't stop the hissing sound of pain. Thankfully, he remained to task, unlinking the leather strap and chain from her leg. Again the urge to plow into him and run took her a minute to push down, begging her own instincts to wait for a sure escape. Emma distracted herself by checking out what damage her ankle might actually be in; running away wouldn't happen if her legs weren't in working order. She could see the skin looking wrinkled and wet, the obvious answer that the water of her sponge baths got trapped under the restraint. The scratches the strap had left were minor abrasions and nothing more. But the air passing by all for the first time in two and a half weeks was cool and comforting. A tease of freedom.

Walsh sighed, "Just as well I suppose. You're getting your mark and collar today. And I don't think I have to worry about you going for a run, not with so much ice and snow outside."

Lie.

Emma smiled softly as she imagined shoving her thumbs into his eyes. "I hate running."

Walsh patted her calf, "Just the same my sweet girl. Still, I guess we can move up your marking to before dinner. I won't even punish you if you can't keep clean and quiet after. It can be a trying experience for one so frail." A heavy clatter sounded as the chain fell from his hand and the bile rose in her throat as he stood up behind her, letting his body brush against every inch of her that he could. He buried his nose into her hair near her neck, letting his hands rest on her waist, humming his contentment in her ear. "You're beginning to smell like me."

Emma forced herself to grip the pole harder. Chanting in her head over and over that he is werewolf, that he is stronger and faster. To play this slower and smarter, not quick and dead. Walsh walked from the room without further word, leaving her free to move about as she liked. She wants to run, needs to run. She let her feet take her as far as the open bedroom door, halting on the threshold with rapid breaths. But running through and out of a building when you don't know where the bad guys are, usually ends with you running right into one and the punishment they feel you've earned for your troubles.

Slow and smart Emma. You have the chain off. It's one step closer.

So she climbed back into the bed to finish her food. She'd need it for the branding. She smiled as much as she was able; Killian wasn't here and he was still taking care of her. The information he had given her, the photos he had shown… it was all her ace in the hole. She knew what Walsh was willing to do to his girls; Walsh was ignorant that she was informed at all. She just wasn't sure how he planned on going about it. If he'd strap her down to make a more defined mark, or if he expected her to hold still… if he used a burning or a carving method. He would need a decent fire to get something metal hot enough, and there wasn't one in her room. Unless there was a fireplace located in the rest of the house, in which he'd have to take her out to it. There was hope in that; a living, screaming thing that demanded attention. If he took her out of the room, she'd have a chance to get out of the house. Even if he still tied her down and pushed hot metal into her skin, taking her out of her bedroom would give her a decent layout of the rest of the place. Any possible exits and blunt objects useful for causing massive head traumas would be revealed. Option after option fired off in her brain, very nearly bringing a genuine smile to her lips. A smile halted by the idea of Walsh carving his brands into his girls. That option would be more work. Though it would mean something sharp, and werewolf or not, enough damage and there's no super healing fast enough to stop dying. But she would have to distract him to get it away from him; her hits would have to be precise and extremely bloody.

Maybe cut out his throat like a real wolf would do.

Her mind became a playground of every gore film she had seen. John Kramer and Jennifer Hills would be impressed with her ideas. A small voice whispered that either way he chose to brand her; she would still fail, only serving to piss him off. But for Emma, even that idea was welcome, enraging him so much that he killed her. In the end, she would still be free. Everyone would just have to forgive her for being impatient.

Lunch was a hamburger with oranges. Not a combination Emma would ever put together, but food was food. Halfway into the burger, Walsh stopped her gorging on red meat to place a small paper cup on her food tray, insisting she swallow the vitamins inside before she took another bite. She hesitated, not sure about ingesting unmarked pills, but then he offered to help her swallow them and Emma wasn't in the mood to find out how he would manage that one. He stood above her until he checked her mouth and judged the pills ingested; his thumb and index finger lingering on her lips for a nauseating moment too long. His voice was smug as he told her that he always takes care of his girls, especially if they made it to their Marking Day. Emma did her best to ignore his tirade of self-love, choosing to think more on everything he was making her ingest before he branded her. Sadly, red meat, vitamin C, and other such things were still unhelpful in telling Emma what method he planned on using. Immunity and blood production boosters would be good for either carving her skin or burning it. Unless one of the vitamins was something she hadn't identified properly. She'd be stupid to turn down any of it; his demented behavior was actually working in her favor for once.

She finished her food and Walsh stripped her free of all clothing, moving her to the center of the room. He made her pose in every variation of Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man as he walked in circles around her. Until he stopped finally in his inspection and his fingers grazed the outside of her right thigh, declaring that it would bear his first mark.

Only mark jackass…

He lead her out of the room, down a small hallway with a few other doors… all shut. Briefly she wondered if anyone else was locked away like she was, finally deciding that the best thing she could do for those possibilities was to follow the escape plan as she had it –even half-baked as it was. The hallway emptied out into an open space bearing thrift store quality furniture, and only the bare minimum needed for living; couch, coffee table, TV… nothing from this side of the millennium. The room looked like it was meant to be a living room or family room with a fireplace off to the far wall, boasting a roaring fire already well underway and an iron poker laying on the hearth, its resting its head in the heat. A large metal pipe contraption stood just left of the fire; more straps hanging and a horizontal bar in the middle able to be adjusted for height. Emma would honestly be impressed if she was into that particular kink. The metal was shiny and new looking, the straps held no bends or breaks of previous use. Walsh must have just purchased –or built– the thing; just for her, just for this. But since Emma was aware he'd been all over collecting his girls, this was likely a new addition to his routine; he was evolving. And for the money he likely paid for it, it was something he planned on using frequently. Continued use meant he felt safe and able to stay in this house; he was nesting.

And I was planning on stabbing you in the jugular with that chicken bone; we all have sacrifices to make Walsh.

As it was, with the branding iron red and ready, she wouldn't get to bleed him at all; getting burnt dog hair at best for all her troubles. She felt him watch her stare down the iron poker, easily misreading her reactions for something else entirely. It made her miss Ruby and Graham and the easy flow of conversation the three of them could fall into, like a hive mind speaking from three mouths. It made her miss Killian. With or without his heightened abilities, the man would tilt his head and read her thoughts like he was reading the morning paper. It was unnerving and freeing all at once to know that there was someone in the world she couldn't hide from. And to have that person look at her, and see just simple little Emma Swan. Not a woman to place on a pedestal, or something frail to hide away from the scary world. Not a pity case or something to toss aside when he was done. Just another being to spend time with. Or fuse his mouth to for hours on end; something she planned on encouraging when she got back home if he was still interested.

For science…

Walsh broke through her very pleasant mental segue (Of lip biting and hair pulling) to bring her up to his stockade. He used his body to trap her between himself and the adjustable horizontal bar, nearly bending her body over it with his crowding. His hands settled on her hips, swaying them both so she could feel how happy he was with her. His fingers pinched and pulled at bits of her skin to make her flinch and jump against him; Emma tried hard to keep the noises to a minimum, but his fingers were leaving bruises in their wake. She contemplated jabbing her elbow into his sternum just to piss him off and make him speed things up, resisting only when the idea of him pinching off a chunk of flesh floated through her head. Only after he had left the better part of her torso in a new shade of skin, he lifted her wrists to the hanging shackles one at a time. Once he was certain she was secured, he crouched behind her. A bar with cuffs of its own and about the length of her arm was wedged between her ankles, lining them up with hooks attached to tension cords at the base. He rose, standing behind her again, gently pushing down on her back to make her bend over the bar again. She couldn't see what he was doing now, but heard metal clinking and shuffling as Walsh brought down a second horizontal bar over the highest part of her lower back. There was room enough to allow a mostly upright position, but her middle was restricted from too much movement. Walsh moved in front of her, kissing her lips hastily before shoving something firm and smelling of leather in her mouth.

From here, Emma could see that the other side of the open living area held a small dining table with a door just beyond it, one that Walsh was striding through. He couldn't have been gone minute before he returned to her side just as quickly. His hands held a few things within them, none that Emma could see properly. Except the stretchy plastic of a tourniquet. Panic swept through her, she didn't want to be made high for this, nor did she want to be sedated. She'd rather have every painful memory as it was. If not to fuel her own rage, then to set fire to someone else's. For once in his pathetic existence, Walsh read her properly, taking a minute to pet her hair in efforts to calm her down. He explained the drug was just to keep her awake during and after the branding. He tied the tourniquet and loaded the syringe, smiling at her as he stuck the needle into her arm. In three blinks, her eyes began to tear up as her heart rate picked up speed. The roar of the fire became deafening as each pop it gave sounded like a gunshot. Emma could feel the blood in her veins, urging her to fly. Focusing became a problem between her eyes crying oceans and the warp speed she felt she was vibrating in.

Then it all reduced to three white points.

Flesh burning.

Walsh smiling.

Emma screaming.

There was a ringing in her ears that started low and distant; a telltale sign to her own dementia that it sounded like a wolf's howl. The drug worked, she stayed alert in spite of wanting to pass out from pain and exhaustion. Her leg was numb and on fire all at once. Sweat had broken out along her body, her muscles spasmed as waves of pain racked her. She refused to try and look at the image burned into her skin, not wanting to add vomiting to her current list of problems. Walsh's hands touched her damaged thigh and she screamed again; a sound he responded to with giggling each time she couldn't stop one from bursting from her lungs. Then he was rubbed something slick and gooey into the burn. It didn't add to her pain, but his touch was enough to make her recoil from each newly applied layer of goop. He walked away one more time, leaving Emma hanging limp in his metal stockade. She brought her dreams to the front of her brain, where she lay in Central Park or the open grass of Brookside and the brindle dog ran from grass edge to tree line in gleeful abandon, stopping to nuzzle Emma's neck from time to time. Were the chestnut dog stood stoutly at her side, watching the brindle run with a careful eye. Where the black dog lay over her legs, watching her instead. Needing them to be real, needing the comfort of her mind's creations as she heaved through the pain.

Her head was snapped back by her hair, shocking her lungs into gasping for air. Something cold and metal touched the hollow of her throat, hanging from something strapped tight around her neck. Walsh let go and pressed an open-mouthed kiss into her neck as he pushed his nose into her ear. "All mine now."

He gave a lick from jaw to temple as he released her hands from their restraints, catching her body as it went slack under its own weight. He released the horizontal bars and the piece holding her legs apart. Emma figured he would have left her at the stockade's base, but he lifted her limp body, only to let it rest on the floor near the fireplace a few feet away. The fire was still burning hot, once again playing host to the branding iron's head. Walsh picked up his chatter as if none of his abuse had transpired, clucking out his reminder that she had to eat before she got her bath; even told her she could use some beauty sleep. Emma curled into herself as much as she was able, indulging her waking fantasy of her dogs for a few more minutes. His footsteps moved to the closed door she saw earlier –to what she guessed now as the kitchen door– so he could prepare her evening meal.

He left her alone on the floor.

Unchained and near all the exits.

Emma's only thought was that Walsh assumed her mind and body too broken now to think of running. But that drug was in her blood, and her blood was begging her to fly.

Emma lifted her head to look at the fire. Next to the hearth were a set of leather gloves and a set of knit gloves. Protection against the hot metal Walsh had needed to prevent his hands from burning too. Convenient. But it meant nothing if she couldn't get her legs to function. So she grabbed the gloves and dragged herself the few feet to the dining chairs, using the spokes and seat to drag herself up. Her scarred leg wasn't entirely cooperating, but the goop and adrenaline were numbing just about everything from that hip down. She couldn't put weight on it as she would like, but it was enough to stand… maybe even hobble out of here. She used the chair to help her walk back to the fire; she donned the gloves, and lifted the iron poker. It wasn't as heavy as she had thought (another point in her favor) and its tip was still glowing red. To test it, Emma held it to one of the hanging drapes, sighing happily as it caught flame within moments. She made her way to the wall of the dining room, leaning to the side of the kitchen door that would open to her. It wasn't long before the drape was completely gone and the flames licked the wall and roof –tasting the new flavors to devour. Smoke was gathering, but still filtering mostly through the few windows this shack had to offer. On cue, Walsh exited the kitchen, attention trained on the smell of synthetic fibers burning and melting together. Not on Emma's position by the door.

Emma had believed that if she got a moment like this, she would attack with a battle cry from her stomach. Or maybe a pithy and witty comment to attack his ego one more time. But the moment was on her now and all she found herself doing was shoving that hot iron forward into his neck. Strong enough that in the surprise, it tilted his head back, driving the brand into the underside of his jaw. His hands flew up to grasp the weapon to his throat, searing and melting the flesh to the metal. She might never get the sounds he was making out of her head, or the smell from her nostrils, but she was fairly certain that finding sleep after this wasn't going to be a problem.

Emma left him writhing on the ground while she dropped the gloves to get a decent grip on the cheap dining chair; using it to aid her escape out the front door. The door itself was a blur, and unimportant in the scheme of things –another surprise for her, she figured on a big moment there too. There were blankets here and there of white powder; an early snow for the season had come at some point while Emma was locked away, but not the winter death trap Walsh had wanted her to believe. The chair had been abandoned at the inconsequential door, and Emma replaced it with a fallen branch lying just off the front walk. (If you could call it a front walk up, it was really just a section of cleared away forest debris.) There was an immediate and small clearing around the home as a buffer between it and the wild that would sniff at the windows, after that was nothing but woods surrounding it all and a barely used drive stretching out in front of her. She could bypass through the trees, but not knowing where she was on a map could mean she'd only be wandering in circles along the Canadian border for god knows how long. She could stick to what was considered the road leading up to the house and eventually hit something more substantial, but that would make it horribly easy for Walsh to catch up to her when he finally got off that floor.

Something unnatural sounded from the house behind her, and was answered by something sounding far bigger and so much angrier from the woods to her right. Her feet moved before she gave it a thought, making her way towards the bigger and scarier thing. She could put it between herself and Walsh as another delay; have them fight each other as her legs carried her farther away. Or hell, if Bigger and Scarier decided to eat her, then this nightmare would end and she'd still be sticking it to Walsh. Every step was a new pain of her branded leg screaming at her, or of a twig and rock cutting into her feet. But every step was one more away from the crazy son of a bitch that took her away from her family. She felt like complaining about the cold too as it stung her skin, but it was helping numb the existing wounds, so she let that one go; cold never bothered much before anyway.

A black shadow exploded from the tree line still fifty or so feet in front of her. For a moment Emma wondered if Bigger and Scarier might in fact be a rabid bear, but this thing is too fast, too low to the ground it covered like a demon seeking a soul to claim. It was only when the sun glinted off the silvery fur of its left paw that Emma's heart felt fit to seize and stop in her chest. A smile twitched the corners of her lips, her body ready to shut down in the safe feeling that came in his wake. It was over.

"Killian!" She screamed, too elated not to say his name. But his speed remained, set to barrel through her if he didn't recognize her. She stood directly in his path, too weak now to move in time to get out of his way.

Confusion over his actions didn't have a chance to really set in. Something heavy and hard landed on her from behind. She felt something crack within, sharp things slice into her, and her head bounce on the cold ground. Then there was nothing at all on top of her. The black she had wished for, the emptiness she had needed when Walsh touched her, finally crept its fingers into her brain; hiding the world from her senses to give her peace for the first time in weeks. Her ears were the last to turn off, letting the wet snarling sounds of flesh being torn echo through her. She didn't worry over it, not now that Killian was here.

Then the world was gone.