It was 2011. He'd owned the shop now for so long he couldn't remember how long he'd been doing this same routine. Each morning he woke up, stretched, and got into the shower. He dressed in a suit, adding layer after layer to make any who felt the need to deal with him feel underdressed. That was a trick he'd learned as a lawyer. In the morning, he read the newspaper, cooked himself some breakfast, eggs usually, with spinach if he had it. He drove to town and parked his car in the lot or on the street. He didn't live far from work, but he wasn't about to walk there. With his leg, he'd never manage, and besides, walking might give the impression he cared about something. He walked down the street every morning. Sometimes people lifted their eyes to him in acknowledgment. He never returned the favor. He barely paid any attention to Marco on the ladder as he walked swiftly by him.
As he unlocked the door to his shop, he glanced at the abandoned library on the corner across from him. It always made him feel uneasy, probably because it was becoming an eyesore. One of these days, he would file a complaint with Regina about that, but today there was too much to do.
Inside the shop, he opened the blinds and took a deep breath of the musty smell that came with age. It still felt like home, probably more like home than his pink house, which he still needed to get painted. He turned the sign behind him to "open" in case someone felt like coming in to make a deal in the short time he'd be in today, but then escaped to the back room just like always. It was his favorite place in his shop. The spinning wheel he'd first seen when he bought the place was back here, along with a fold-away cot for nights he got carried away and just decided to sleep there. There were two tables crowded into the back that he could use to polish or repair or clean or whatever he needed to do.
Usually, when he left the previous night, he liked to set something out of the table, his first item on his precious to-do list, but this morning there was nothing on the counter because today was different. Today was rent day, just like it was on the fourth Sunday of every month. Today's task was collecting the rent. Odd, he knew from years and years of legal work, that a property owner would choose a Sunday to collect the rent and not a workday, but he wasn't exactly an ordinary property owner. And besides, Sunday worked for him. Sundays were always a slow day in the shop anyway, damn near a waste of time in this sleepy little town. But collecting the rent on Sunday also had the advantage that most of his tenants had work off and therefore would be home when he arrived to collect from them. That was another oddity. Most owners couldn't be bothered with collecting rent and preferred to let their tenants come to them. He could see the logic in that. But he saw an opportunity in collecting the rent that they didn't.
Going personally door to door may have been time-consuming, but it was also intimidating. It was a reminder to his tenants that he was never far, that he knew who they were and where they lived. It also gave him the ability to check on his properties. And yes, with most of the tenants, he never made it in the front door of their homes, but a quick sweep of the property was all he needed to know to make sure they were tending to it as per their rental agreements.
Of course, he couldn't accomplish this job all on his own. He had two goons, large muscular men that weren't the sharpest tools in the shed but looked intimidating enough to help. Apartment complexes had rent collected by their super intendants, his "assistants" usually collected from them. They also usually handled family homes in the area before turning over what was owed to him later, and of course, that was where he gave them their cut for the work. His task, aside from a few homes and apartments he liked to see to personally, was usually the businesses. So, after retrieving his ledger from his shop and looking over it for an hour, giving anyone who might want business with him plenty of time to come and find it, he locked the shop and began his canvassing.
For the most part, the day went as he'd more or less expected. Most of the shops and businesses paid just as they always did on time. But there were some surprises along the way. The Sisters of Saint Meissa, the convent that had been renting from his family ever since his aunts had control, managed to scrape together what they needed for their rent. Pity. He'd felt sure he'd be able to evict them in October finally. And it was a surprise that the woman across the street who ran Any Given Sundae had managed to pay back the loan he'd given her some months ago. Considering it was the end of October and already chilly, he would have thought the demand for ice cream would have dropped with the temperatures, but she appeared to have done well for herself. That was fine. It was an account he was happy to close out. Moe French and his flower shop "Game of Thorns" was a disappointment. He went in expecting that he'd have managed to make rent this month but was surprised to find him requesting a loan. The loan wasn't a surprise, but the timing of it was. He'd expected, perhaps even hoped, that he'd need this loan one month later as he always gave his loans three months to pay them back. He'd hoped he'd request the loan next month, which meant he could have collected collateral close to Valentine's Day. He would have enjoyed watching that spectacle. But, as he left the flower shop no heavier or lighter than he'd entered, he decided he could always wait to collect a few extra weeks in January just to have his fun. It wasn't as though there was anything else to do in Storybrooke. And for some unknown reason, he hated Moe French with every fiber of his being. He didn't know why. He just did. Every time he saw the man, he wanted to wrinkle his nose and hit him. He considered it a personal triumph that he hadn't done that yet.
The collection of rent from Granny wasn't a surprise. He wished he could say it was, but the only thing surprising about it was that he continued to allow this to go on year after year. Granny had two businesses in town. The Bed and Breakfast was anything but profitable just because no one ever came to Storybrooke. But that never seemed to matter because her second business, the diner, was probably the most profitable business in all of Storybrooke. Always busy, she raked in money, enough to pay for the diner and the Bed and Breakfast, and then some. But she never gave him rent on the day it was owed. Never. She always told him to come to the inn the next night, she always promised she'd have it for him then, and so far, she'd never failed. Why she wanted him always to wait was a mystery to him. Perhaps it had something with her books or how she paid her waitresses; he didn't know and didn't care, only wondered why he let her get away with it time and time again. It was odd. In the same way that he hated Moe French and didn't know why he had unending respect for Widow Lucas and could never figure out why. She didn't scare him. They weren't friendly. In fact, he was certain neither particularly liked the other, but he still respected her. Which was why, when he entered to collect rent, she simply sat his traditional burger with pickles in front of him, promised she'd have his money the next night, and then charged him for his meal before he left. She always charged him, even charged extra for the pickles. Perhaps that was why he respected her. She didn't accept give or take either, didn't try to flatter him or woo him, just carried on business as usual. Yes...that must have been it.
Of course, that wasn't to say that his visit to Granny's Diner wasn't beneficial. He liked to say that he was above it, but there was always good gossip to overhear. Granny's was the heart of the town, the center of everything. It was here that everyone knew everything. Isolated as he was from the rest of the town as he worked alone in his little shop, he enjoyed hearing what was going on. Not because he cared, just because it liked to know. He appreciated knowledge, understood the power it had, and gathered the information he learned into a collection just as he did the rent. One could never know too much, as far as he was concerned.
Today the talk of the town was all about Henry, the mayor's son, and Regina. It seemed the boy had run away…again. It wasn't his business, but sometimes he despaired thinking of why Regina had never given the boy back when she said she would. He never felt guilty over the situation, it wasn't his fault, and he could remember asking questions and making statements when she'd first asked him just so that he wouldn't feel guilty. But he did feel sorry for the poor boy. Regina had him seeing Dr. Hopper for therapy since before he could remember. Knowing the boy's true parentage, he'd always supposed it was only a matter of time until the boy ran away, and now it was becoming a habit. He'd shrugged at the news before he left. The boy always turned up somewhere, but he had a longstanding vow of his own making that he'd offer his assistance if he didn't. He might not think much of Regina as a mother, but he knew the world was the place for a young boy, or any child, to be on their own. He need only look at the boy's mother to prove that.
But, by the next afternoon, when he'd returned to Granny, he'd received an update from whoever was sitting two seats down from him. The boy had been returned last night. He'd run away to, of all places, Boston, and he found himself rather impressed. Henry had run away before but never ventured outside of Storybrooke. That was daring. Fortunately for Regina, a woman had brought him back to town, but she'd been arrested last night, not for kidnapping, but rather for a DUI. Regina had probably loved that. Especially when he'd heard the latest update. The boy had run away yet again. As luck would have it, the woman who'd brought him back and been arrested was a bounty hunter. Sheriff Graham was letting her help him find the boy yet again.
By the time he'd left Granny's, the boy still hadn't been found, but he wasn't particularly worried. From all accounts, he was convinced it was a family affair and didn't need his interference. He'd already done enough where young Henry was concerned.
No, he was determined to focus not on the boy or the woman or even Regina and just get his work done. It was just another day in Storybrooke.
Which was why he'd gone back to the shop after lunch, promptly finished work on the broken clock he'd set aside for himself after finishing the with the rent count and ledger, and then left at sundown for the Bed and Breakfast.
Widow Lucas never did like to give up the rent money in front of everyone in the diner. It was probably smart. Not that there was much crime in Storybrooke, but there was no need for her to have that much money, always in cash, on hand behind the counter. The Bed and Breakfast was far safer. He didn't want to like her intelligence, but he did. He was impressed with her, always had been, and he imagined he always would be even if he didn't want to be.
On this particular evening, when he entered the Bed and Breakfast, neither Grandmother nor Granddaughter greeted him. It was a bit unusual, but not when he considered that he was early and could hear both women upstairs arguing about something. He had no desire to interrupt them. Instead, he made himself comfortable in the parlor, taking a seat and waiting for them to come down. When they finally made their way down the staircase and could hear exactly what they were fighting about, he couldn't blame the old woman for wanting to have the conversation upstairs in private.
"You're out all night, and now you're going out again!" Granny screamed.
"I should have moved to Boston," Ruby retaliated.
"I'm sorry that my heart attack interfered with your plans to sleep your way down the eastern seaboard."
He caught a glimpse of Ruby, the Granddaughter, as she passed the hallway and went into their pitiful little kitchen. How they managed to prepare meals there for their guests was a mystery to him, not that they ever had many customers at the Bed and Breakfast.
"Excuse me?" a female voice interrupted. A voice he didn't recognize, odd. Eager to investigate, he pulled himself up and went to the little lobby where he could hear the women talking. Despite what Regina believed, this was his town. He didn't like not knowing who was in it. "I'd like a room."
A room. A true stranger to Storybrooke then. He wondered…the woman who had brought Henry back, the bounty hunter…was this her?
"Really? Would you like a forest view or a square view? Normally, there's an upgrade fee for the square but, as friends do, I'll wave it."
"Square is fine."
In the hall, Ruby straightened in the girl's presence, and he saw that the voice belonged to a young woman he'd never seen in a red leather jacket. Long blonde hair, tight jeans, young. There was no doubt in his mind. It must have been the girl everyone was talking about. She was staying here?
The girl seemed oblivious to him, but then so did Granny and her granddaughter, allowing him to sneak up behind her. He didn't like to have people in his town who he didn't know, but even more so, he didn't like to have people in this town who didn't know who he was. Where intimidation was concerned, no one excelled more than he did, and he wanted that fact known.
"Now, what's the name?" Granny asked.
"Swan," the girl answered. "Emma Swan."
"Emma…" he breathed while a chill crept up his spine.
He had the sudden sensation he'd just been doused in cold water.
The scene before him was crisp and clear in a way it hadn't been moments ago.
A smile grew over his face as he took it in and the fog in his brain cleared for the second time in his life.
This time, everything happened the way it should.
Emma...
"What a lovely name."
Well, welcome to the end. I really hope that you enjoyed this story! The next story in The Dark One Chronicles is called The Chronicles of the Dark One: Breaking the Curse. It will cover everything from season one in Storybrooke beginning with Rumple waking up in "Welcome to Storybrooke" and ending with Rumple bringing magic in "A Land Without Magic". The fiction is currently "in progress" with a five-day posting schedule. New chapters will be posted every Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday through Saturday.
Of course, if you liked what you read please review! I love getting those wonderful little gems in my inbox and communicating with the people reading on a personal level. And if you want to read more (and review more), please check out any of the other fictions in the Chronicles. For more information on The Dark One Chronicles, the Moments Series, upcoming fictions, posting and publishing dates, or a reading order check out my profile for updates. Peace and Happy Reading!