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August sat in his Portland apartment with the window open. The fresh sea air filled the small rooms with a taste of salt. He let the cool breeze wash over him before he looked down at the pages on the kitchen table. Pages he acquired after the death of a man called the Dragon.
Although August thumbed through the research, his mind filled with thoughts of his wife. He thought of her in front of the mirror, obsessing over her appearance that, in his opinion, was near perfection. He saw her profile next to him at Dairy Queen, insisting to the cashier she wanted a Sunday with Hershey's syrup because the combination of black and white made it chic enough to eat. She often looked beautiful to him, but no more so than when he saw a flash of her weakness and insecurity.
In the last few weeks, Dorothy had been strung out on insecurity like some kind of addict. He hated telling her he had a job out of town. The look on her face nearly split his heart in two. All of his lies piled up and now were beginning to suffocate him.
He studied the picture of the door on the loose page.
Dot knew. August did not know how much, but she knew enough to drink more gin than she should. He knew he had to tell her, but his fear of losing her prevented him. How could he expect her to believe he had once been made of wood? That Snow White and Prince Charming and the Evil Queen were real people?
August stood up and ran his hand over his mouth. She would divorce him on grounds of insanity.
The wind blew the drapes, and August felt a surge of hope. Despite everything he still hoped for the best. He believed in his love for his wife and her love for him.
August sighed and started to put the materials back into the satchel. He felt something inside the leather carrying case. His fingers touched the familiar paper of the book. The page he pulled out was folded horizontally and another vertical fold as if it had been in someone's pocket. He undid the first fold and an irrational jolt of excitement overtook him. He peeled back the last fold and revealed a colorful picture.
August saw himself with a little girl hoisted in his arms. The girl had light blond hair, almost white, with a dark streak of black down one side. In the picture August and the little girl looked down at the face of an infant. The baby boy slept in a furry bundle in the arms of his mother. Dorothy cradled him and wore the same expression of joy and contentment that August found on his own face in the picture.
He gasped. For a moment he turned away, then looked back at the domestic scene on the page. He smiled and flicked the paper with his finger.
"I knew it!"
He held up the paper and kissed his wife's storybook picture.
"I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!" He carefully set the page on the table, as if the paper had suddenly turned into some priceless artifact.
"We do get a happy ending, Mrs. Dorothy Booth, and I have proof!"
All at once facing her seemed possible. Before August went to pack for the return trip to New York he folded the page and tucked it back into a hidden compartment within the satchel. He left the satchel in Portland, afraid to present the treasure to indifferent eyes. He would show her, but only when the time was right. Until then he didn't want to risk anyone seeing it.
When August arrived home he took a cab from the airport. For the last few weeks Dot spent late nights at the office. On the rare occasions that August saw her she was cold and distant. Dot's late nights allowed him the freedom to follow Emma without having to invent more lies but the lack of communication drove a wedge between himself and his wife. Emma's sentencing was only a week away and August told himself he could be a husband again after Emma was safely incarcerated.
August pulled the plush armchair toward the fireplace and watched the flames late into the night. He wondered if Dot's sudden interest in her career veiled her need to take her mind off the fact they still hadn't managed a baby. She might pretend otherwise, but he knew it was a sensitive issue. He was bursting to tell her about the page; to tell her everything would work out just how they wanted.
All his willpower was needed to keep focused on his plan. He would have to break the story to her carefully, in pieces, so not to alarm her. She had been under a lot of pressure at work, and August decided the gentle approach was the better option.
He slouched in the chair and laced his fingers together as he watched the flames. In his heart August knew one day he would have to go to Storybrooke. If and when Emma ventured there he promised himself long ago to be at her side.
If Dot understood and he brought her to Storybrooke… If Emma succeeded in breaking the curse… If he reunited with Geppeto… If Geppetto saw how happy he was he knew his papa would love Dorothy as much as he did. August wanted his wife to meet his papa. Again, August had to settle his excitement. The possibility was laced with too many "ifs."
He heard her car roar into the garage. He stood and smoothed out the wrinkles in his sweater. He checked his hair in the mirror and then glanced at the grandfather clock across the room. Half past two a.m.
Dorothy barreled into the living room. She carelessly tossed the keys on the coffee table. She started to take off her coat and jumped when she saw him. She put her hand on her chest.
"Darling, you frightened me."
August smiled but said nothing. Dorothy let the fur drop to the couch. She went directly to the bar; such had been her path as of late.
"You shouldn't have waited up."
August crossed the room and picked up the coat. He went to the closet and put the fur on a hanger. He heard the clank of bottles and glasses. He shut the closet door and went back into the living room.
"We need to talk. Lately seems like there's no time."
She made a sort of cooing sound.
"No, darling. There is no more time."
Her phrasing was strange but he refused to let her sour mood dampen his spirits.
"So let's make time. Right now."
She turned on her heel. Her eyes raked over him and she smiled. With a nod she downed the liquid in the shot glass.
"Fine." She pulled out another glass. "But I need another drink first."
She turned her back to him. He could see her profile over her shoulder as she poured.
"I wager you do too."
With gin glasses in hand she crossed the room. He reluctantly took the offering. If she needed the drink to rally her courage so be it. With what he had to say maybe the gin would help her accept the fantastical.
She swallowed her drink in a single gulp. August heard her mention drinking problems once or twice, but until recently he saw no signs.
She watched him with a frightening intensity. He could see she wasn't about to continue the conversation until his drink was gone.
He shrugged his shoulders and brought the drink to his lips.
"August." Her breathless tone lingered between them. He stopped and looked at her.
"Nothing," she said and averted her eyes to the ground. Dot rarely looked guilty.
He swallowed the liquid and set the glass on the table. The alcohol burned as it slid down his throat, but he relished the pain. He hoped it was the only pain the night would bring.
"Can we talk now?"
Dot rounded the couch, and her red nails slid along the back cushion as she walked.
"Yes, darling, let's talk."
August felt a little light headed.
"Why don't you sit down," she suggested.
August obeyed and nearly stumbled when he sat in the chair across from the couch.
"Now," she said as she poured herself another drink. "Where shall we begin?"
With drink in hand and her other arm folded across her middle she swaggered into the middle of the room.
"Perhaps with the blond you've been following around? Or your secret apartment in Portland?"
August's heart jumped to his throat. He moved to the edge of the seat.
"Dot, it's not what you think. I…" For an instant his eyes went out of focus. He blinked and shook off the sensation.
"Darling, at this point I really don't care if you're having an affair with the princess."
August narrowed her eyes when she said princess. He assured himself it was only a turn of her speech.
Dorothy downed another drink.
"You see what matters is that you are a hero and I am a villain."
August's stomach knotted. Whether the nausea came from Dot's words or the drink he couldn't tell. He slipped from the chair and sunk to his knees. He glanced up at the glass on the coffee table. Traces of the liquid clung to the sides.
"In case you don't know, heroes and villains can't fall in love. For me it ends in rather excruciating pain. So I decided to put a stop to it before that happens."
His eyes blurred completely. He narrowed them and tried to make out the emotions of her face.
"You… you poisoned me?"
She avoided his eyes. With graceful steps she turned in a circle that before now he would have found cute and sexy.
"An act worthy of Cruella De Vil." She held up her arms, with the glass still in one hand.
August strained to intake enough air. He slumped to his elbow.
"Cruella De Vil?"
He looked at her heeled feet and up the elegant evening dress to the top of her two-toned hair. He saw Cruella De Vil. Villain. He saw it plainly in every part of her being.
"Yes, darling. You know what they say about me, if she doesn't scare you no evil thing will. Frankly, I find that a bit rude. I mean, I may have killed a few people in my time but I didn't rip out the hearts of all the villagers in the South Woods."
August gasped. If he was about to die then he had things he needed to say.
"Dot, you don't understand. Forget about heroes and villains-there is something I have to tell-"
His wife threw her glass into the fireplace and it shattered into pieces. She bent down until she was eye level with him.
"My name is Cruella. Forgetting is exactly what I plan to do." She straightened and pulled a small blue bottle out of the v-neck line in the front of her dress.
"Complete amnesia is one thing, but to only erase specific memories? To delete a person completely from you mind like you never met? That comes with a price. Hard to believe this little bottle cost me everything." She held up the potion to the light.
Through blurred vision August saw enough still in the bottle for one more person.
"Well, everything but the car."
"You didn't poison me?" August felt an overwhelming sense of joy at the realization.
"I know I'm a villain, darling, but I did love you. If villains are capable, which I doubt."
August lifted himself off his elbow, he tried to stand but he failed. Dorothy watched him with her ice blue eyes. She made no move to help him.
"If what you're saying is true, you had no right, Cruella."
The use of her real name must have caught her by surprise because she took a step backward.
"You should have believed in me like I believed in you. So you were a villain in the Enchanted Forest, so what? That doesn't change the fact I love you."
She scoffed.
"Easy for you to say now. You're about to forget everything."
The room spun but August fought the downward spiral.
"It's not just coincidence that we met. It's magic, good magic. Don't undo it."
She looked down at him. Her empty eyes held no hope.
"Too late, darling." She knelt by his side and touched his cheek. "Forget, Pinocchio. Forget so you can find your happy ending with some," a look of disgust twisted her lips, "hero."
August shook his head. He tried to reach out for her but he forgot how to move his hands. The firelight in the room turned to ember. She cradled his face and gently guided his head to her lap.
"What… what about our children?"
Cruella's fingers touched his hair. He inhaled and committed to memory the whiff of cool mint and black licorice.
"A fools dream, darling. Besides, I never told you. Insanity runs in my family. Geppetto wouldn't want that. Having a puppet for a son is bad enough."
August tried to move his arm up so he could touch her face, but his entire body was paralyzed. Her fingers stroked his hair.
"Don't fight it, husband. Let me go."
"I have to show you…" August managed to choke out with his last conscious breath, "our happy ending."
Cruella hunched over the limp body of her husband for another hour. He looked so peaceful in his forgetful slumber. She drank the gin and raked her fingers through his hair as she recounted the events of the last few weeks. She spent most of her time making plans for this moment, and now she had only to drop August off at his Portland apartment.
A tear left her cheek and fell onto his forehead. She set the empty glass on the coffee table next to his. She pulled out her cell phone and called the hired help. In only a few moments her husband would be gone forever.
"Have you ever been to Paris?" the stewardess asked as she handed Cruella the gin.
"No, darling, but I'm sure it will help me forget all about life at home."
The stewardess laughed awkwardly and pushed the cart away. Cruella took out the small blue bottle and poured the contents into the drink.
"Black or white or gray…" She mumbled to herself.
The man across the aisle leaned forward.
"Excuse me?"
She turned away from the window and faced him.
"Spots, darling. A villain can never change her true spots."
The man looked confused. She lifted her drink.
"To new beginnings in Paris and to hell with bad memories and heroes."
He lifted his glass. She drank with more than a little regret. Within a few moments she fell into a deep sleep.
When she woke up the man across the aisle waived to get her attention.
"You were out like a light for hours. We're nearly there."
Cruella glanced out the airplane window and saw the Eiffel tower illuminated brilliantly against the night sky.
"I didn't catch your name. I'm Fineberg. Peter Fineberg."
She grinned. She knew she was starting a new life in Paris, but felt like she was forgetting something. She didn't bother trying to remember. Whatever it was must not have been important.
"I'm Cruella." She thought twice about using her real name, but something in the haze of her memory told her she was done pretending to be someone she wasn't.
"Cruella, who can't change her true spots?" The man winked at her.
She thought he was arrogant, not very handsome and he made no sense, but he smelled of money. Cruella liked the smell of money.