Emma opened her eyes with a start, not entirely sure what had just happened. She'd stepped off the gangplank onto the dock and then...
Nothing. She had no recollection of the passing of time, which must have happened because here she was, lying on a bed, staring at a blank wall. Where the hell was she? The hospital?
She began to turn over, but started violently when she got prodded hard in the back.
"Swan!"
She flipped over and stared up at the tall man with the mustache in confusion.
"What?" she answered.
"What?" he mimicked. "I'll tell you what. We announced a pop inspection and you don't get to sleep through that. On your feet and out of your bunk!"
Emma rolled slowly into a sitting position, and her jaw dropped open as she surveyed her surroundings. She recognized the gray walls, the steel-framed bunks, the smell that only smelled like this place.
ASPC.
The Arizona State Prison Complex in Phoenix, Flamenco Unit, Block 2.
What. The. Hell.
"Swan!" The guard barked again. "You better be shittin' water or barfing up breakfast! What are you doing in bed?"
"I - I'm sorry," she stammered. "I overslept." She got unsteadily to her feet, glancing down at her plain, beige prison scrubs. She stepped outside her cell so the guard could finish his job, her eyes scanning the line of women along the block as they all stood waiting.
How in the hell did she get here? Her mind searched frantically for an explanation, any explanation. She couldn't be here. She'd done her time, years ago. Wait - time! Had she been sent back in time?
"Hey," she whispered to the woman standing next to her. "What date is it?"
"What?" The woman looked at her like she was nuts.
"Today's date," Emma whispered furiously. "What is it?"
"Put a sock in it, Swan!" The guard called out. "Don't know what you're jawing about, but until I'm done in here, you zip it!"
Emma bit her lip in frustration, looking around again. There it was - a calendar on the wall. And the date on the calendar said...
She squinted staring hard.
"Something interesting over there, Swan?" The guard asked, stepping in front of her. "You want to explain these?" He held up a napkin-wrapped bundle. "You know you can't keep these."
He unwrapped the bundle, showing a pile of limp, cold french fries.
"Those are my fries," she said incredulously. "I used to keep fries in my -"
"In the top shelf of your locker," he finished. "You know the rules - no unwrapped perishables in the cell. See Sanchez for work detail."
"Right. Sanchez." Emma nodded. "Sorry."
The guard tossed the napkin in the trash, then motioned to the other guard near the door and they exited the cell block, leaving the women behind to re-tidy their bunks and put away things they'd pulled out.
"I told you they'd smell the fries," the woman next to her said. "You can't hide shit like that."
"Yeah. I guess not," Emma said, still in a little bit of a daze. She turned her head to look at the calendar again, and her eyes widened, her body locking up and freezing her in place as she read.
The date was current. She was in prison, it was today, and she didn't know why. Or how.
"Swan!" The other guard peeked her head in the door. "Work detail's out here - we've got a whole lot of weeds to pull today!"
Emma turned toward the door, making her feet move forward, with her eyes still looking back at the calendar.
###
Regina reached for the parking brake, and found herself clutching a wineglass instead.
"Here you are, my dear," Marco said. "I trust you found the room to your liking?"
"What?" Regina whipped her head around, looking at the comfortable living room she was now sitting in. "Marco - what's going on here?" She set the wine glass down.
"You don't like it?" he asked. "I want you to be comfortable here, Regina. You are welcome to redecorate in any way you'd like. Money is no object."
Regina stood up. "What the hell is going on!"
"Calm down," Marco said, placatingly. "I know it isn't exactly what a younger woman like you imagined for her life, but I need someone with a good heart...for my boy."
Regina raised a brow. "Pinocchio?" Regina asked warily. This entire scenario was getting more and more bizarre.
Marco nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. And any day now, I'm going to find him. I will never give up," he promised.
"You...don't know where Pinocchio is?"
"I told you this," he reminded. "We won't always be just the two of us. One day, when I am reunited with my son, we will be a family."
Regina looked around the house again. "Marco, I don't know what's going on here, but you're not yourself. And I don't even know how I got here. And why don't you know me?"
Marco looked confused. "Of course I know you, Regina. We are newly wed, after all..."
"Newlyweds?" Regina said, shaking her head. "This makes no sense." She clenched her hands into fists. "I'm getting out of here. This smells like magic, and I'm going to find out what's going on." She strode angrily past Marco, down the hallway to the front door, and grasped the doorknob. It may as well have been sealed with concrete. The door was obviously unlocked, but immovable all the same. No amount of tugging would get it open.
Likewise, the back door. And every window in the house. Marco watched her curiously, as though he were indulging a strange pastime of hers. Finally, he gave a chuckle, grabbed his hat and walked out the front door, as though it were the easiest thing in the world. Regina rushed down the hallway behind him, but the door slammed shut before her eyes, locking her in once more.
###
David stepped out of the car, and the world spun with disorienting speed around him. He staggered back, burying his face in his hands until the worst of the vertigo passed. And when he opened his eyes again, he had no idea where he was.
Or who he was.
###
Henry blinked, then blinked again.
He was in the middle of Granny's and Ruby was pushing him out of the way gently.
"Henry, I need to get past," she said, balancing plates in each hand.
"Oh...uh...sure." He stepped out of the way as Ruby leaned over, placing the plates on the table.
"Bend over a little further, why don't you," Granny called out from behind the counter. "The people at the bar can only see part of your crotch!"
Ruby straightened up. "Well, it beats a plateful of your dried-up lasagna!" she shouted back. "And my shift is over, anyway." She yanked off her apron, throwing it across the counter as she slammed out the door.
"I'm locking the door at midnight!' Granny yelled after her, before swiping the apron off the counter and pushing through the doors into the back room.
"Hey!" called out a very drunken Leroy from the counter. "What about my refill?" He slammed his empty beer mug down, then pushed off the bar stool, staggering slightly. He gave Henry a disgruntled look.
"What are you lookin' at, kid?"
Henry shook his head, completely confused. "How am I here? I shouldn't be here."
"You're tellin' me," Leroy said. "Don't you have a bedtime or something?"
"W-Where's my mom?" Henry asked. "And Killian?"
Leroy gave Henry an odd look, then rolled his eyes and nudged Archie, who was sitting next to him at the bar. "The kid must've sneaked a beer or two," Leroy said.
Archie turned on his stool. "Henry!" he admonished. "Is what Leroy says true?"
"What?" Henry waved his hands. "What is going on here? Why is Granny fighting with Ruby?"
Archie pushed off the stool and stood. "Maybe I should walk you home, Henry," he suggested. "You don't have anyone picking you up, do you?"
"I don't know where my mom is," Henry replied. Archie's eyes met Leroys and they shared a look.
"Henry," Archie said gently. "You need to stop this now. Nothing good can come of it." He grabbed his umbrella off the counter and gestured toward the door. "Now, lets get you home."
"B-But my mom -"
"Henry." Archie stopped, putting a hand on Henry's arm. "That's enough now. We've talked about this - moving forward."
"What do you mean?" Henry asked, awash in confusion.
"Henry," Archie said kindly. "Your mother's been gone for a long, long time. It's not realistic to expect that you'll find her someday, or that she'll look for you. I'm sorry."
###
"21:53. Call it." Dr. Walsh peeled off his gloves with a heavy and disgusted sigh, punching his hand down on the bed next to the man he'd been working on.
"You did everything you could," the nurse said, pulling the sheet over the patient's head.
"I thought I had it," Walsh said. "We had the arrhythmia under control. Maybe if we'd tried the epinephrine -"
"There was nothing else you could have done," the nurse said gently.
"How many more?" he asked. "How many more am I going to lose? I try and I try and -"
"Dr.! Dr. Walsh!" an orderly called out, pushing his head through the door. "Incoming!"
"Was there an accident?" Walsh asked, following him out.
"We're not sure," the orderly answered. "She was found collapsed on the sidewalk. She doesn't seem to be breathing but her heartbeat is strong."
"How is that possible?" Walsh said, following the orderly into the Emergency Room. "Who is it, anyway?"
The orderly pulled the curtain aside, showing the pale, unconscious woman. "Mary Margaret Blanchard."
###
Killian pulled his cutlass, hacking away at the dense undergrowth in front of him. He felt like he'd been walking for hours, but without the sun, he had no idea how long it had been in reality.
He'd stepped off the gangplank of his ship and had promptly tripped right over a fallen log, falling face-down in the spongey soil instead of onto a dry dock. He had no idea what had happened, but whatever it was, he was here, and he was alone. He'd scoured the area for Emma and Henry to no avail. Now all that was left was to figure out where he was.
He paused, wiping the sweat from his brow, then he leaned back and shouted.
"Emma! Henry!"
There was no answer, other than the sound of the occasional shuffling in the trees around him, not large enough a sound to be anything other than small animals. He stood there panting for a moment, realizing that he'd need to find water, and soon. Perhaps if he could break out of the trees to an open area, he'd have a better idea of where he was come daylight.
The trees appeared to be thinning out and he pushed forward with renewed vigor, and in the distance he could hear the sound of water, possibly a waterfall of some kind. He broke through the trees and stopped short before he could topple over the cliff. The waterfall was just off to his right, thundering over the side, and he closed his eyes with a groan as he turned his head, able to make it out clearly in the moonlight.
Skull Island.
Bloody hell. He was in Neverland.
###
The woman walked down the street, trying her best to tune them all out as they bickered, or complained, or dabbed at their eyes. Their sadness was a heavy, heavy thing, and she could feel it weighing her down, pervading the air around her.
A few of them looked at her curiously, but they seemed to be wrapped up in their own troubles, as they always were. Still, it wouldn't do to cause alarm or suspicion. She needed someplace to stay, until she could find what she needed.
The sound of a cry, sharp and shrill, pulled her from her thoughts. She stepped closer to the strange conveyance, looking inside.
There was a baby, strapped into some sort of basket on the seat of the strange carriage. The woman looked in through the windows, pressing her face to the glass. A glance around her showed that there was no one in sight to claim the child.
She looked for a knob or a latch of some kind, and finally managed to open the carriage by pushing and pulling at a metal lever. The door swung open and it took her a few more moments to work the child free of its bindings.
Why would someone bind a baby so?
She lifted the child carefully out of the basket, holding him close.
"You're very young to be so alone," she said, looking around again. No one seemed to be around to claim the child.
"Come, little one," she said. "We'll find a warm place for us both." She was about to exit the conveyance when she saw the keys dangling from the place near the wheel. She reached out and pulled them free.
"Perhaps we can find your home," she said. She looked at the building in front of her, wrapping her cloak protectively around the child.
"We'll start here," she said.
She began on the first floor, knocking on doors or trying the keys. She mounted the stairs, and finally found a lock that the key fit. She turned the knob and stepped inside.
A glance about showed that while strange, there were signs that a baby lived in this place. There were small blankets and clothing and toys.
"I cannot feed you, little one," she said. "We'll have to seek out a wet nurse, until we can find your mother."
She rocked the baby gently, singing until it sighed, closing its eyes. She continued singing softly, laying the child down carefully in its cradle. She pulled the blanket up, smoothing it down around the babe with soft and gentle hands. Her fingers reached out, tracing the letters on the blanket, spelling out the baby's name.
"Neal," she murmured. "I hope your mother finds you soon. Until then…sleep. You are too young to be touched by the troubles of this world."