When the sun would begin to set, the light filtering-in through the windows of Jefferson's home would cast strange shadows on the floor. It was at this time that Snow White would make her jail break. As the clock tower in the distance chimed its ninth chime, Jefferson knew that Grace would crawl under her bed covers as her false-father switched-off the light. And while most of the Storybrooke children were settling into their beds for the night—one boy was not.
Henry rounded the corner that led out of the main detention area just as Jefferson entered the Sheriff's Department. The smile that had been on the boys face quickly faded and was replaced by panic as he saw a man with an unusual neck scarf approaching him.
"Uh…hi." he greeted awkwardly as he stopped between Jefferson and the room where Snow White was not, "Are you looking for the Sheriff? She's not here."
Jefferson smirked.
"I know," he replied, "I'm not here for her. I'm here for you."
Confusion crossed Henry's face and Jefferson took a seat in one of the chairs that lined the wall, hoping to make the boy feel a little more at ease.
"My name's Jefferson," he introduced himself as he leaned back in his chair, "And I know about the curse."
The boys eyebrows lifted in surprise, and then lowered as if he were remembering something.
"Jefferson?" he asked, experimentally, "Like the Mad Hatter in my book?"
Jefferson heaved a sigh and rubbed a hand down his face.
"Believe me, kid," he began as he met the boys gaze, "That's not easy to own up to, but you're the only one who'll believe it."
"August believes," Henry piped as he took the seat next to him, "He said he's a believer."
Jefferson's brow furrowed as he searched the boys face.
"August." he repeated the name, "You mean—the stranger with the motorcycle?"
Henry nodded, "He wants to get Emma to believe."
Jefferson narrowed his eyes as he stared off in contemplation. "Don't we all."
With a renewed purpose, he rose from his seat and said his goodbyes to Henry. He didn't know anything about the stranger—other than what he had observed through his telescope—but he knew where he was staying and he knew that he couldn't leave any stones unturned.
When he arrived at the bed and breakfast, he managed to avoid running into its overseers'. He found the only occupied room by listening at each door and then, without any care to his rudeness, he knocked on the one that belonged to August. He heard his footsteps approach the door and Jefferson steeled his face as the stranger opened it wide.
"Yeah?" came his crude greeting as he gave Jefferson a once-over.
Jefferson didn't respond as he scowled at the man that stood before him with the unshaven face and the self-assured stare. August raised his eyebrows.
"Sorry—Did I park my bike in your spot or something?" Jefferson gave him a bored look, "No? Well, did I break some small town law? Flirt with your girlfriend? Tempt your—"
"You told a 10-year-old boy that you believed in his stories."
August rocked back on his heels as he eyed him curiously.
"That's right," he admitted, "I did. What's it to you?"
"Why did you do it?" Jefferson questioned, "Was it some ploy to humor the kid and win over his mother, or do you actually believe?"
The man, named August, made a show of thoughtfully considering Jefferson's words before he smiled at him.
"Both."
Jefferson stared, un-amused, and then he strode forward, shouldering passed the stranger as he slipped inside the room.
"Come on in." August mocked while Jefferson glanced around at his belongings.
His eyes lingered on the typewriter.
"You're a writer," he inferred, "Why are you in Storybrooke?"
August laughed in disbelief.
"You bang on my door in the dead of night, walk into my room uninvited and somehow you think it's okay to be questioning me?"
Jefferson sighed.
"I'm just trying to determine whether or not you actually know what's going on in this town. The truth."
"Do you know the truth?" he asked with an amused grin, "Because from my understanding, no one here does."
Jefferson rolled his eyes at the roundabout way they kept dancing around the subject.
"I'm under a curse," Jefferson blurted out, "Two, actually—the one that held this town frozen for 28 years, and a new one that's causing me to relive the same day over and over."
August gave a curious tilt of his head before moving to close the room's door. "How do you remember when no one else does?"
Frustrated, Jefferson threw his arms into the air and exclaimed, "That's my curse!"
"But you," he pointed a finger at August, "You're not from here. How do you know about any of this?"
August crossed his arms over his chest and gave Jefferson an earnest look.
"Because I'm from there."
Jefferson's shoulders slumped and his scowl relaxed as he realized that "there" meant "home".
"How did you get to this world?"
Amusement tugged at the corner of August's mouth but it didn't reach his eyes.
"I was sent here with Emma. To protect her."
Jefferson's brow furrowed at that knowledge and he found himself pacing back and forth in the small room. A thousand questions were running through his mind and he couldn't decide which was the most important.
"So," August broke the silence, "Who did you used to be?"
Jefferson's jaw clenched at the question and he averted his eyes away from him. August gave a laugh under his breath that turned into a grin on his face.
"That bad, huh? Aw, come on," he coaxed, "It can't be worse than having a nose that grew whenever you told lie."
Jefferson shot him a look. He was tempted to ask August if he had once been a wooden puppet, but he realized that there was only one question that mattered.
"Do you have magic?"
August gave a laugh.
"I wish," he said as he reached down to roll-up his jeans, revealing a leg that was turning to wood, "I could sure use some."
Jefferson swallowed as he stared at the leg, and then, he quickly glanced at the floor, feeling more sympathy for the stranger than he wanted to. It was a bit of an unwanted reality check to learn that someone had been dealt a worse hand than he had. Sure, Jefferson had been separated from his daughter for an immeasurable amount of time, but at least he wasn't slowly turning to wood!
"I gotta be honest," August confessed as he covered his leg, "I'm a little worried that I won't be around to see Emma break this curse."
Jefferson nodded. "Emma's not easily convinced."
"No," August agreed with a chuckle, "No, she's not. She's a tough cookie, but I think getting her to believe is the only way either of us will get what we want. And if a skeptic like Emma can believe in magic—Well, I'd say anything's possible."
Jefferson considered his words as he drew his gaze to the floor. Anything's possible. It occurred to him that getting Emma to believe could be the very key to breaking his perpetual loop. He glanced up at August and studied him for a moment.
"But how do you convince someone who refuses to believe?"
August gave a sigh.
"Proof. Irrefutable proof. It's gotta be something that she can't find a logical reason for. And buddy, that woman's got an arsenal of reasons!"
Jefferson smirked at that. He remembered some of Emma's reasoning. He could still hear her explaining about "the real world" as if he were insane for suggesting that hers was not the only one. He had known that, in this land-without-magic, that there was no proof of other viable worlds, but he hadn't known the extent to which Emma needed proof. Irrefutable proof. Jefferson found himself taking a seat on the bed as an idea struck him like a thunderstorm in his mind.
"I have proof." the words fell from his mouth as if they didn't belong to him.
August moved around the small room and stopped before him. "Care to share?"
Jefferson glanced up and a slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"Foreknowledge," he said, "I keep reliving the same day. I could easily learn everything that occurs. Conversations that people share. Mishaps before they happen. Every move that Regina makes before she makes it. It would give Emma irrefutable proof that I've been cursed and then she'd believe in magic!"
August blinked.
"Uh, that sounds like a lot of work," he admitted as he ran a hand through his hair, "And I respect your determination, but honestly, I doubt that Emma would buy it."
Jefferson stood to his feet and a scowl darkened his face.
"She has to," he growled as he took a menacing step towards August, "How could she deny my foresight if she sees it for herself?"
"She'll think it's a coincidence," August reasoned with him, "Or she'll think it's a hoax!"
Jefferson's jaw clenched angrily and he strode out of the room.
"Sorry—I'm just being honest." August apologized as he followed him to the door.
Jefferson humphed at that and then he exited the bed and breakfast. He wasn't going to let the doubts of a writer with a wooden leg stop him. The way Jefferson saw it—he only had one trick left up his sleeve and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to use it.
.
.
The clock tower chimed and Jefferson's eyes flashed open with purpose. He rose from his bed and tossed aside the covers before he moved across the room to a large walk-in closet. The closet was lined with clothing that he had neither chosen nor hung there—and yet, he couldn't deny that they were to his liking. Jefferson placed a dark scarf around his neck, adjusting it with a meticulous precision—like a ritual—that had come from years of hiding his scar. He donned a collared shirt and then a fitted vest, buttoning the buttons absentmindedly as his narrowed eyes stared-off with determination. Once he was fully dressed and his hair had achieved the polished tussle, Jefferson drove his car to Granny's. The diner, which he considered to be the hub of their little hamlet, was the perfect place for him to start learning the ins-and-outs of the day. Sitting at the booth in the corner with a cup of tea and a newspaper, Jefferson observed everything. He eavesdropped on conversations, he took mental notes of menu choices and he paid particularly close attention to the two instances that Emma visited the diner. He would learn her every move and her every word, and then, he would challenge her skepticism.
Jefferson continued out this pattern until the days passed by in a monotonous rhythm and he knew their beat like he knew how to breathe. He could sit on the bench across from Grace's school and name every car, bike and person, in succession, before they passed him by. He could narrow it down to the second when the postman would make his deliveries. He knew every disingenuous word that would come out of Regina's mouth throughout the course of the day. And Jefferson knew that Emma's occupation with Snow White's trial had caused her to search desperately for proof. Jefferson was ready to provide her with proof...