"Where would Ian take Derek?" JJ asked.

Emily paced back and forth in the empty living room of what used to be her home. It was the first place she'd thought to look, but the house had been deserted. "I don't know!" she snapped. "He never told me anything. For all I know, he could've left Storybrooke with him..."

JJ shook her head. "From what you've told me, he would want to be somewhere he can control, somewhere familiar. He wouldn't risk taking him outside the town line where he runs the risk of him escaping."

That made a lot of sense, but it didn't make her feel any better. "He basically runs the town," Emily pointed out, "He could be anywhere."

...

"You couldn't have just left well enough alone, could you?" Ian asked, almost conversationally. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, watching Derek with something like curiosity. "You just had to stick your nose where it wasn't wanted. I had everything under control, everything just the way I wanted, and then you showed up."

Derek failed to react. Failed to even look at him. He just remained stoically silent, staring straight ahead.

"Did you honestly think she'd want you when she has someone like me?" Ian asked, scoffed.

Still no reaction.

"You filled her head with ideas, though. Memories..." He barked out a laugh. "You didn't know they were real memories, though, did you? You had no idea you were waking her up."

Interest piqued, Derek sorely wanted to know what exactly he'd meant by that. But he refused to give him the satisfaction, refused to play into his sick mind games. He wasn't going to give him the reaction he was looking for.

When his remark failed to elicit the desired response, Ian glowered. Well, if that's the way he wanted to play it...he was more than happy to oblige.

He pulled what appeared to an ice pick out of a black velvet bag. "You have no idea what I've had to do to create this," Ian informed Derek, running his fingers almost reverently along its surface. "I used the last drop of magic I had to make a weapon perfectly suited to a beast like you. Cut from the heart wood of a black oak, I had to cure it in my own blood, then hang it out to dry in the light of a full moon."

Then, without warning, he thrust the weapon into Derek's chest. As it made contact with his flesh, the wound started smoking horribly, the pain a blinding burning sensation.

...

Emily stumbled backwards slightly in surprise as the door to her mother's palatial mansion swung open in the midst of her instant knocking.

Her mother looked none too pleased at the disturbance (though, that might've just been her natural facial expression). "Why on Earth are you making such a damned racket?" Elizabeth asked with false politeness, even as she opened the door further to let Emily inside lest she continue on with her knocking and garner the attention of the neighbours.

"As if you didn't know," Emily muttered, just loud enough for her mother to hear.

"If you have something to say, Emily, come out and say it..."

She whirled around, ready to give her mother exactly what she'd asked for. "Where is he!?" she demanded, in spite of having promised herself to retain a calm and level head. "Where the fuck did Ian take him?"

Elizabeth heaved a sigh, clicked her tongue. "Mind your manners, Emily," she scolded as if she were four years old again. (Though, that would imply that her mother had put forth any effort at all in raising her, rather than passing her off to nannies and tutors whenever her presence wasn't convenient.)

"I'm a grown woman, Mother," Emily reminded her, "And my choices in vernacular are really the least of your worries right now."

"And what, pray tell, do you mean by that?"

"Derek's life in in danger!" she snapped. "And if he dies, I swear to God, I'll find a way to hold you responsible for his death..."

Elizabeth's expression morphed into one of surprise, or at least a very good facsimile of it. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Emily rolled her eyes, not buying for a single second that her mother wasn't the brains behind all of this. "Ian took Derek God knows where and is doing God knows what to him – if I don't find him soon, it could be too late."

Elizabeth moved to the little bar cart that rested against one wall of the foyer and poured herself a glass of cider. "I really don't know how you expect me to help you in this rescue endeavour of yours... Perhaps you should try calling the Sheriff," she added, a cruel and knowing jab.

"Don't pretend that you're not behind all of this," she accused. "Don't act like you're not Ian's puppet master – did you tell him to lock me in the basement too or was that his own bright idea?"

"Emily!" she gasped as if scandalized. "I won't have you stand here and accuse me like this."

"Don't you care at all? Don't you give one single damn that an innocent man is going to die because he tried to help me?" she asked desperately, nearly begging.

Elizabeth turned back to Emily, giving her a simpering smile. "Perhaps if he'd simply kept his nose out of your marital affairs, he wouldn't be in this position..."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

She shrugged, almost airily, the ice in her glass clinking. "I think you know exactly what it means, Dear. Your marriage was fine until that Beast came along and ruined everything."

"It was not fine! Being controlled is not fine – being mentally and emotionally abused is not fine! Maybe I didn't see it before, but I see everything clearly now. Maybe you're not going to help me, but that's not about to stop me from putting things right..."