Henry dropped Kayla off at her parents' house half an hour later. Mr. Gold was standing at the door when they got there, almost as if he had been waiting for them but not quite.

"I hope I didn't keep her too long," said Henry apologetically.

"No, no, of course not," Mr. Gold assured him. "Kayla, I think your mother needs some help in the kitchen."

"Okay." The girl obediently disappeared into the house. Mr. Gold glanced back at Henry and smiled.

"Our girl has taken quite a shine to you, hasn't she?"

Henry returned the smile. "I'd like to think so."

"Just curious…how long do you and your sister plan on staying in Storybrooke, exactly?"

"Helena is leaving on Tuesday. I plan on staying long enough to…figure some stuff out."

For a fleeting instant, Mr. Gold's expression visibly faltered. For that same instant, Henry was afraid that the adopted father of his child might begin to find his presence threatening.

"Your sister is leaving?"

"Yes. She'll come along in the car when I go back to Boston to pick up my things from my apartment."

"I see," said Mr. Gold.

Henry studied the older man's expression-impossible to read, even for a detective of eight years. He heard Mrs. Gold call her husband from inside and ask for help with something. "I'll be there in a moment, darling!"

"Mr. Gold, can I be honest with you?"

"Absolutely. As I always say, honesty is the best policy."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but somehow I suspect that there is a lot more to you than a simple pawnbroker."

Mr. Gold's smile widened a millimeter. He retreated into his house without responding.

At the station the next morning, Henry donned his new deputy outfit and badge with mixed feelings. On the one hand, he needed a job and a place in this town in order to fit in while he was investigating it, but on the other hand, what he also needed was more time to concentrate on his true mission.

"I may send you on a couple of errands today," said Graham. "I know patrolling a small town is nothing compared to what you're used to, but it'll be good for you to get acquainted with Storybrooke."

"That's no problem," Henry assured him.

"Feel free to browse our criminal records if you have a moment. We're old school here. Everything is kept in filing cabinets."

"Sure," said Henry. Not that there would be any point, other than for profiling purposes. They probably weren't even real.

Outside, Helena was sipping her morning coffee and walking past the still-closed library. Out of the corner of her eye, she happened to notice Kevin escorting Eleanor into the therapist's clinic and smiled. Across the street, she saw Kayla jump out of Mr. Gold's car and run in the direction of a group of schoolchildren waiting at a bus stop. Mr. Gold waved to Helena. She waved back courteously and continued on her way, pulling out her phone to answer a few texts from her friends back home as she walked.

"She mentioned to me that she's planning on leaving Storybrooke tomorrow," remarked Mrs. Gold.

"So I heard, darling."

"Poor thing seems to have run out of things to do in this town. I'll bet she's quite eager to get back to her normal life."

Mr. Gold flashed his wife a hint of a smile. "Yes, that would be nice for her, wouldn't it?"

For now, Mr. Gold's watchful eye was the last thing on Helena's mind as she apologized to one co-worker about a flat iron she'd borrowed and hadn't returned yet and asked another to look into a couple of her more urgent cases. A few minutes later, out of nowhere, Helena tripped and caught herself on a fence with her free hand. Her cell phone slipped and landed on the concrete. She heard a tiny gasp from a mouth other than her own and glanced around. She saw no one ahead or behind her on the sidewalk.

"I'm sorry," a meek voice whispered.

Helena looked down in the direction of the voice. Pressed up against the fence was a crumpled heap of a girl, not quite a woman and not quite a child. Her legs, which were what Helena realized she must have tripped over, were pushed up against her chest. Her head was tucked so Helena couldn't see her face.

"It's okay," Helena replied softly. She crouched down next to the stranger. "How old are you?"

"Th..thirteen. I'm really sorry."

Helena hesitantly placed one hand on the girl's shoulder. She looked up. Her blue eyes were brilliant and terrified. "Shouldn't you be in school?"

"I…I don't…"

The girl nearly screamed when the front door to the house they were standing next to flew open.

"Ashley!" hollered a tall brunette. "What do you think you're doing out here?"

Ashley pulled herself into a standing position immediately, revealing in full a dress that was sloppily patched up in so many places that it barely qualified as an article of clothing. Her messy blonde hair fell over one shoulder. "I…w…I…"

"I don't want to hear it!" The woman marched over to where Ashley and Helena were standing, cuffed the girl lightly on her right cheek, grabbed her by the wrist, and yanked her to the front door. "Now get inside. If every scrap of clothing in my house hasn't been washed by lunchtime, you're not getting anything."

Helena stood quietly on the sidewalk and watched, putting in the necessary effort to remain poker-faced. Nevertheless, the woman turned around and threw her a dirty glance.

"What are you looking at me like that for? She's only my stepdaughter."

Helena said nothing. The woman closed the door and disappeared. Dozens of angry thoughts raced through Helena's mind. In similar situations she'd been able to pull out her phone, call for backup, and remove the child from the premises. But the fact that she was a licensed social worker in Massachusetts was likely to mean little to the residents of Storybrooke. Also, her phone was now broken.

Helena picked up the smashed cell phone, turned it over in her hand a few times, tried pushing some of the buttons. Nothing. There goes my only connection to the outside world, she thought bitterly.

From that point, it was a fifteen-minute brisk walk to the police station, where she knew her brother was working now. Much as Helena didn't feel like asking Henry for help right now, he was in a much better position to take action than she was. "Hey, Henry?" called Helena as she opened the door. "I need you to help me with something. I found…" she stopped when she realized the only other person in the building was a tall curly-haired cop in uniform going over some papers at his desk.

"Are you Henry's sister?" he asked. "He just left ten minutes ago. I sent him to handle an intersection with a busted traffic light and after that he's making some rounds for me. He's not likely to be back anytime soon."

"Oh."

"Is there anything I can help you with?"

"I'm here to report a case of suspected child abuse. The girl's name is Ashley, she's thirteen, and I saw her stepmother abusing her physically and threatening not to feed her if she didn't clean the house."

"Shouldn't she be in school?"

"That's what I said."

"Huh." The sheriff got up. "What's the address of the house?"

"I don't know," said Helena, realizing she stupidly didn't take it down. "But I can show it to you. I was just there."

"Okay. Let's go. I'm Sherriff Graham, by the way."

"Helena Stable."

They both climbed into a police car and Helena told Graham where to drive. "I'll need you to stay in the car," Graham instructed. "It wouldn't be appropriate for you to come inside."

Helena bit her lip. She knew he was right, which really sucked because she obviously could have been of help.

Once Graham parked the police car outside the house, he got out and wasn't halfway to the front door when it opened and the same woman Helena had seen earlier opened it and smiled sweetly. She heard them exchange a few words and saw them smile and shake hands. Curious, she leaned over and manually rolled down the window on Graham's side enough to be able to hear.

"-your stepdaughter, Ashley."

"What about her? If this is about the fact that she's not in school, my poor darling said she wasn't feeling well today so I'm keeping her home."

Helena rolled her eyes. Yeah, because anyone who was actually innocent would be worried that that was what brought a cop to her door.

"I understand," said Graham. "Do you mind if I talk to Ashley for a minute?"

The woman's face fell. "Did…did she do something wrong?"

That was the last that Helena could hear. Graham and Ashley's stepmother disappeared into the house. Twenty minutes later, Graham returned licking crumbs from his lips humming cheerfully to himself.

"Well, everything in the house looks normal. Fairly luxurious, in fact. Whoever Ashley's father was left that family very well off."

Helena tensed up. "That woman is her primary caregiver?"

"Linda Boyd. And yes. She certainly doesn't seem like the type of woman who'd ever want to hurt anyone. Her cookies are delicious."

"And what about Ashley herself? Did you talk to her?"

"She was in bed sick. I saw her for a few seconds. She smiled and told me everything was okay."

"No way," said Helena. "I know what I saw."

Graham shrugged. "Maybe it was just an isolated incident. Do you want me to give you a ride somewhere?"

"Just drop me off somewhere in the town center." Helena turned to look out the window at the house one last time. This time, she memorized the address.

Half an hour later, Helena returned to the police station.

"If you're looking for Henry, he still isn't back."

"I have something for you." Helena put a file folder down on Graham's desk on top of the documents he'd been perusing. He picked it up and looked at the words written on the tab.

"Ashley Boyd's school record. How did you even get this?"

"I told the secretary that you sent me to pick it up."

Graham chuckled. "Clever."

"Open it."

Graham smiled at Helena almost pitifully, then opened the folder. He began skimming its contents and frowned after thirty seconds.

"This says Ashley's been homeschooled since her father died."

"So her stepmother lied to you about her being home sick. I know what's going on. She's not being homeschooled. She was pulled out of school to do housework so that woman wouldn't need to waste her precious inheritance hiring someone to clean that mini mansion."

Graham looked up at Helena. "You aren't going to let this go, are you?"

"No, I'm not," said Helena. "I told you, I know what I saw. We're going back over there immediately."

"So you make the rules now? You do remember you don't actually work here, right?"

"Right . Guess that means I wouldn't be the one to get in trouble if you weren't doing your job right and someone just so happened to mention it to the almighty Mayor Mills." Helena grabbed the keys to the police car off his desk, and marched outside.

"Oh, that is not fair," he mumbled before following suit.

"Why are you so obsessed with this, anyway?" asked Graham once he and Helena were seated in the car. "Are you a friend of the family?"

"No." Helena waited a moment. "I've always had a sense about children. It's ridiculous that so many people assume that in any situation involving an adult and a child, the adult is right unless the child is covered in blood and bruises. There are an infinite number of ways to abuse someone that don't leave visible scars."

Graham guessed that she was speaking from experience, but he didn't say anything. When they pulled up to the Boyd house, he parked and again instructed Helena to stay in the car. He knocked on the door, Mrs. Boyd opened it. They both entered the house after a few minutes. Five minutes went by. Then ten. Then fifteen.

"Screw this," mumbled Helena. She jumped out of the cop car, closed the door quietly, and snuck up to the front door. When she pressed her ear up against the door frame and heard nothing, she quietly pushed the door open.

"So, I lie to you about one little thing and you assume I'm some wicked stepmother? I don't believe this."

"I'm just telling you what I heard," said Graham in his calmest possible voice. "And what I'm seeing here is that you lied to me. Why would you lie to me about homeschooling Ashley?"

"Because it's none of your business!"

"Actually, it is. I'm going to have to ask you to let me talk to Ashley again."

Helena leaned in far enough to see that Graham and Mrs. Boyd were in a small parlor off to the side, where Mrs. Boyd was attempting to bribe the sheriff with some homemade oatmeal raisin cookies. Helena quietly closed the front door behind her and ducked into a small hallway. She looked around at the walls and saw dozens of framed professional photographs of Mrs. Boyd and two girls that looked maybe fifteen and sixteen who were mirror images of her. Ashley wasn't in any of them.

Helena was startled when she heard a muffled scream. She dashed forward two steps in the direction of the scream. At the end of the hallway was a rough wooden door labeled "laundry room". Helena pried it open. Ashley was standing next to an old fashioned washing machine scooping detergent into the water. When she noticed Helena she looked up and gasped.

"What are you doing here?"

"It's okay," said Helena. "I'm not here to hurt you." Ashley glanced around warily. "Why were you screaming just now?" Ashley shook her head. "Why did you lie to the sheriff when he talked to you this morning?"

"How…how did you know about that?"

"He's here again now," said Helena. "He knows you lied."

Ashley shrugged her hand off and stepped back, grimacing in pain as she did so. "Why would you bring him here? I'm fine!"

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am!" Ashley turned around and limped over to the laundry basket, stopping for a moment to clutch her side as she scooped up an armful of towels.

"You're telling me that because your stepmother is making you feel trapped," said Helena quietly. "She's either threatening to punish you if you tell anyone what she's doing to you, or she's making you feel like if you're taken somewhere else your life will be even worse." Ashley's eyes widened, telling Helena that her instincts were correct. "I know that because I've known a lot of kids like you, and because I was one once. But I promise you that as long as you continue to keep your stepmother's secrets, nothing is going to change. She's going to keep treating you like this is the life you deserve, and it's not."

Ashley blinked and looked away into a corner as a silent tear rolled down her cheek. "The sheriff is going to ask to talk to you again," Helena continued. "And I promise that if you tell him everything, we will find a way to get you out of here. Try and remind yourself that things can only get better, okay?"

Ashley looked up for a second and nodded tearfully. Helena smiled. Then she exited the laundry room and quietly snuck back out of the house.

Twenty minutes later, Graham stepped outside with Ashley clutching his arm and still limping slightly from the pain in her side. Mrs. Boyd was chasing them and hollering something about how if Ashley's father were alive they wouldn't be in this mess. Graham helped Ashley slide into the seat behind his own.

"You were right," said Graham to Helena. "Linda pretended Ashley was sick so that she could have her lie down and I wouldn't notice she was injured."

Ashley pulled the seatbelt over herself and gazed at Helena with a broken look in her eyes.

"What's going to happen to me?"

Helena reached back and squeezed her hand.

"For now, you're going to the hospital to get that bruise on your side checked out," said Graham. "I need to get back to the station and figure out where you're going next. Would…um…" Graham glanced at Helena. "Would you mind walking her in?"

"No problem." Obviously the man was embarrassed about how a woman who wasn't even qualified to do his job had better instincts about the situation than he had.

A few minutes later, they arrived at the hospital.

"Thank you," Graham said as Helena pulled off her seatbelt and looked to him. "I mean it. If it hadn't been for you…" He let his voice trail off.

Helena flashed him a smile and got out of the car. For a split second, the smile he gave her in return made her heart flutter. She squashed the feeling as best she could as she helped Ashley get out on the other side. Tomorrow she was finally going to leave Storybrooke, and the last thing she needed was a man giving her a reason to return.

Henry whistled to himself as he rounded a corner that led to a remote road in the woods. He made a map of Storybrooke in his head as he drove along. His GPS was useless here as it just showed the entire town as a big green blob, so the best way to make navigating this town easier was to memorize it. He took note of everything that could be considered a landmark, from an unusual sign to a strange rock or tree. When he pulled over to take note of a sign for a toll bridge with some faint graffiti on it, he heard someone singing. Not singing words, just belting out notes.

"Hello?" Henry called. "What's going on?"

He waited. Moments later, a young brunette woman in a purple ball gown with determined eyes appeared out of the brush clutching a hunting knife. Henry drew his gun.

"Drop the weapon, put your hands above your head, and back away slowly."

"What the hell is that?"

"Don't make this any harder on yourself."

"I'm not kidding!" she yelled. "What is that? Is it possessed by some sort of dark magic that could kill me?"

Henry's eyebrows went up. "How do you know about magic?"

The woman's expression softened.

"How do you?"