-Chapter Five-
Neither Emma nor Neal said a word as they exited the local repair shop and found themselves once again in the chilly outdoors, surrounded by the buildings and people of Storybrooke. Neither one said a word, creating a rare silence between them. Unsaid insecurities and worries swirled through their heads. All over something so simple. A car.
But it wasn't that simple. It was more than just a car. Aside from the sentimental value and all the memories it held, it was one of the few things they owned, and their sole method of transportation. There was no backup plan. That yellow car was it. And now they wouldn't be going anywhere at all.
Neal broke the quiet first, or at least tried to. "I swear, this car is out to get us," he said, trying to lighten the mood. He felt like he almost had to, for he hated getting upset over things that were, in the big picture of things, small.
Emma's lips twitched up a bit, although she replied, "It's not out to get us. Cars break down all the time." An almost undetectable hint of playful teasing could be heard in her voice as she said, "What? You think it's haunted or something?" But something else could be noticed in her as well. She, as most people would be in her situation, was not happy to say the least.
"Something like that," he replied before falling back into a silence.
They continued to move forward side by side, and Neal didn't want to bring up the inevitable question of what their next move was.
Emma beat him to it, voicing his thoughts exactly. "What are we going to do, Neal?" she said, dropping the happier, joking tone in an instant. She was upset with the situation to begin with, but she wanted to feel as if she was; like her problems would go away if she pretended they weren't there. But that wasn't true, not at all.
Thoughts of said problems wouldn't leave her head, what with the events being so recent.
They had had the car towed to what was apparently the only car repair shop in town after eating breakfast and had it looked at while they killed time for a few hours around town. It was easier said than done, what with there not being much to do in the first place.
The car had been looked at in an unusually short time, and they had been called back before lunchtime. The mechanic had figured out what was wrong with it. The engine had failed, the man had told them. It would need to be replaced, at a cost of over two thousand dollars, much more than either of them were expecting.
Emma repeated her question. "Neal. What're we going to do?"
"I'm...I'm not sure," he replied, thinking of no better answer.
The money just wasn't there. That they both knew. What remained of the watch money in the envelope wasn't nearly enough. Back when they had first started their road trip and thought they were going to Tallahassee, they had probably not been as smart with the money as they could have been. He wasn't used to having that much money, and they had gone a bit overboard in the very beginning with it, especially with food. As time passed, they learned to be more careful with it. But the damage had been done, and what remained was barely enough to get to Canada in the first place.
Now that this had come up, they were screwed, to put it bluntly. The police were more likely to find them if they remained in one town, but there was nothing else he could do. He finally said, "What do you think about staying here? I mean, not forever, but just until we get enough money to leave?"
"Won't they find us?"
"It's a small town. I really don't think we're America's Most Wanted around here. If there's anyplace to lay low until we get this fixed, it's here. They probably have no idea who we are," he said, trying to convince himself as well as Emma.
"But how'll we get the money? And no, we're not stealing it. Getting in trouble again is the last thing we need."
"I don't know. We'll figure something out. We always do."
"Yeah...I guess we do."
Emma paused before speaking up again. "So...we're staying here for awhile?" She still wasn't completely happy about how things had turned out, but there was nothing else they really could do. They were completely stranded.
"Yeah...I guess we are. Do you think that room at Granny's is still open? The place creeps me out, but it's somewhere," he replied, thinking about the way it had seemed like they were the only two people staying there at all last night.
"Somehow, I don't think that'll be a problem," she said as they turned the corner, again mimicking his thoughts exactly.
...
October 23
One Day Ago
The room was silent. All of its windows were firmly closed and the curtains drawn, blocking out even the occasional honk of a car or yell that came from outside.
The closed windows also contributed to a darkness, a pitch black that not even the late evening sky could match. The only light came from a digital clock on the bedside table, numbers glowing a bright red and contrasting with the black around it. No sound came out of it, not even the gentlest of ticking or chiming, as the numbers silently changed, now showing the time to be 8:15.
The person lying down, the room's sole inhabitant, suddenly jolted upwards in that exact instant. Pulling off the bed sheets that covered his body, he ran a hand through his dark, messy hair.
His face contorted into a distressed expression, but he did not scream, for fear of waking the other people and causing attention to himself. He merely let out a series of small gasps and moans as he sat up, and proceeded to double over in the bed.
The pain that he had woken up to was almost impossible to describe. It felt like flames had covered his entire leg, burning and melting it into something else entirely. But even that description didn't entirely fit. He would take fire over this any day of the week.
Seconds passed like days as the man pressed his eyes shut, no other thoughts going through his head except make it stop, make it stop, make it stop!
And it did, after only a few moments. Once it had passed, the man opened his eyes tentatively, afraid to see what had happened to him. Even though, deep down, he already knew.
His worst fear was confirmed. Where flesh and blood had once been, the entire lower part of his leg had turned to wood. His heartbeat quickened, threatening to pound its way out of his ears, as his hand flew upwards to cover his mouth.
He knew what this meant. He'd known what was coming for a long time. But horror and surprise still ruled over his mind, as did a swirl of other thoughts and emotions that went through his head in an instant.
His time was up. He had failed in his one and only duty. He was turning back into the puppet he once was because of his actions.
He would die soon.
What would his father think of him now?
He, August Booth, once known as Pinnochio, had failed. He had been the total antithesis of "selfless, brave, and true" his entire life. He was a complete screw-up.
It was too late to fix things. Wasn't he supposed to have more time? Another chance?
No. He was being foolish. There were no second chances in this unforgiving, magicless, world.
Besides, why did he start to turn back so quickly? Emma wasn't supposed to break the curse for another ten years. Was she already in Storybrooke?
Yes, that must be it. She must have gone to Storybrooke. And he wasn't there for her. Time had already restarted, and the magic that had kept him alive for the first eighteen years of running from responsibility had began to run out. That was the conclusion that came to August quickly.
Emma wasn't where she was supposed to be. She was supposed to be in jail. Who knows what could happen now? Or what could happen to somebody who went against their destiny? Was the curse going to break soon? Had it started to weaken? If so, then maybe he could delay it somehow. Maybe if Emma left Storybrooke, then everything would go back to normal. He would live. The curse would break when it was supposed to.
His only question concerned how, exactly, she had made it to Storybrooke. August had managed to track her here, to Tallahassee, but after that, her whereabouts had been unknown. The only thing that he knew for sure was that her, and most likely Neal as well, had continued to evade police after his failed attempts to remove him from her life. But he was slippery, and had managed to cover their tracks well, probably changing their names.
This whole mess had begun two months ago in Portland, when he had tried to chase Neal down in the alleyway. After that had failed, he had formed another plan to separate the two, and had called the police in with an anonymous tip about Emma and the watches shortly afterwards, hoping to have them put in jail. Things were unclear after that, he only knew that they had gone on the run and haven't been arrested yet. They had apparently made a pit stop in Storybrooke on the way.
His methods may have been questionable, but they were nnescessary. There was a whole town of people cursed by Regina, and Emma would never realize her destiny and save them, and him, if she had came to Tallahassee with Neal.
But, he realized, he had succeeded after all. Emma was going to face her past, all because he had made that one all-important phone call. He had brought this entire thing on himself, messing up the timeline fate had laid out for Emma. God, he was such an idiot. He had finally decided to stop running and do what's right for Emma, and circumstances kept getting in the way. How did people expect him to be responsible if it was so difficult? It was unfair.
There was only one option. If he could find Neal in Storybrooke and convince him to leave Emma like he was supposed to in Portland, then things would go as planned. It shouldn't be too hard, considering the things he knew about Neal.
Yes. That was what he was going to do. He had found Storybrooke once before, a long time ago, and he could sure do it again.
He stood up next to the bed he had tiredly fallen asleep on for a nap only a few hours before, his terrible wooden leg already making it hard for him to walk, and began to gather his things from the room he'd rented while staying in Tallahassee. It wasn't even eight-thirty at night yet, and he wanted to start immediately.
He had a trip to Maine to plan. And fast.