"So, I am appealing for anyone with any information to come forward, no matter how insignificant you may feel it to be. Thank you."

Emma shut off the television as the press conference came to an end, and began to pace once more in front of the fire roaring away in her lounge.

"We have to call that number," she stated.

"Oh no we don't," Regina objected. "This could ruin you Emma. I thought you wanted to be known as one of the best in the industry, not someone a serial killer decided to go on a murder spree for?"

"Innocent people are dying," she protested, whirling on her lawyer. "I can't just sit here and do nothing."

"You can and you will if you want to keep your career," Regina threatened. "I have to go. Some of us have work to do tomorrow. But if you know what's good for you, you'll burn that package just like you did the last two." She stormed from the room before Emma had a chance to object, leaving the younger woman alone with her own thoughts.

Logically, she knew that Regina was right. By coming forward with what she knew, if the authorities leaked the information to the media, her career would be ruined. She'd always be known as the girl who caused a spree of brutal killings in America.

But her conscience wouldn't allow her to sit on what she knew any longer.

So with Regina gone, Emma reached for her phone and quickly tapped in the number that had been scrolling across the bottom of the screen, as the FBI gave their press conference.

"Hello, FBI tip line," answered an overly-cheery voice, considering the nature of the calls she fielded. "How may I direct your call today?"

"I um… I need to speak with the lead on the potential serial killer case, please?"

"I'm afraid all of our agents are busy right now," the overly-cheery voice replied. "But if you leave the information you have with me, it will be assessed by the relevant people, who will be back in touch with you when they have determined its validity."

Emma didn't like the idea of passing her information on to a middle-man. The information she held was sensitive, and she knew that the more people who knew her name in relation to it, the greater chance it had of leaking.

"I'm sorry, I can't do that," she told the call handler. "Can you please just instruct someone to call me back?"

"I'm afraid we can't do that without more information." The overly-cheery voice hardened slightly at Emma's refusal to cooperate, and she sighed as she brought a hand up to massage the headache that was beginning to form.

Again.

"I'm sure you already have this number," she replied instead. "So instruct your lead investigator to call me back. I assume he or she will want to talk to the only other person who knows that this killer has been cutting the ring fingers off their victims." Emma didn't bother to wait for a reply. She wasn't in the mood for more bullshit. Instead, she simply ended the call and tossed her phone down onto her sofa, before making her way over to the small liquor cabinet in the corner of the room, to find the whiskey hidden inside.

Ever since the first package had arrived, she'd been using it to try and drown out the mental images of the pictures she'd been forced to look at. Thankfully, the shrill ringing of her cellphone stopped her before she could down the glass she'd poured for herself. Emma had to admit, she was worried that she was on the verge of becoming an alcoholic with the amount of liquor she had consumed since the parcels had started arriving. But it was the only thing that seemed to help her sleep these days.

"Yes?" she asked, answering it without bothering to check the caller ID.

"This is Special Agent Jones with the FBI. I was asked to call you about some information you had."

Emma sat down with a heavy sigh as she contemplated how to word what she knew. She didn't want to sound like a crazy person, but she also didn't want to just blurt it all out. She knew there was no chance of being believed in either of those situations. And her years of binge-watching crime dramas were yelling at her not to make herself a suspect in this huge mess.

"Is um… is there any way we could do this in person?" she asked eventually. "I think it might be easier to show you what I have."

"You could come down to the Wilshire Federal Building, and we could speak here," he suggested.

"I can't do that," she replied quickly. The moment the media caught wind of her at the FBI field office, she'd be in the center of a shit show. And that would definitely spell out the end of her career. "Can you come to me?"

"I'd need some kind of assurance that I was not walking into a trap, and that this is not an elaborate prank," he sighed heavily. Emma knew she was being difficult. She just hoped that he would realize why when they eventually met.

"He blames me," she whispered into the handset. "He says he's doing it all to protect me. But he ends all of his letters the same way." The tears she had been fighting to hold back spilled over as she reached for the package that she hadn't yet opened.

She hated the thought of innocent people losing their lives because of her.

"What do they say?" Agent Jones interjected softly.

It took Emma a few moments to steady her breathing enough to be able to croak out the words.

"Look what you made me do."

The gasping sob that followed was all the confirmation Agent Jones needed that he wasn't being played. "Text me your address. I'm leaving the office now."

"Thank you," she sobbed. "Thank you for believing me." She hung up the phone before she could say anything else, and with trembling hands tapped out her address to send to the number he had called from.

Emma paced in front of her door as she waited for his arrival, using the nervous energy to keep her away from the call of oblivion offered to her by the whiskey. Thankfully, the buzz from her front gate sounded before she could reach for the bottle.

"Yes?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly from the fear and exhaustion caused by the events of the last few weeks.

"It's Special Agent Jones, with the FBI."

Emma took a few deep breaths in before she buzzed him through, and then continued her pacing until he rang her doorbell.

She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but when she pulled open the door, the man she saw standing on the other side was not it. Instead of a gruff, middle-aged man, she was face-to-face with what was possibly the most beautiful man she'd ever seen in her entire life.

"Emma Swan?" he asked, his brow crinkling in confusion.

"H… How… how did you know my name?" she gasped, as the fear and worry flooding her veins made her tighten her grip on the door.

Thanks for your wonderful response to the prologue. I hope you'll continue to enjoy what I have planned for this piece.