Morning came. It came forth like a doctor from the emergency room with remorse in his eyes and bad news on his tongue. Beneath the covers that Jefferson had not folded himself into were not the street clothes he had gone to bed in. Outside his window, as the clock tower chimed its gloomy chime, the day was not the new day he had been hoping to wake up to. There was no new day. It didn't exist. Jefferson doubted that it ever would.
He dressed himself in black and scarfed his neck hurriedly before ruffling a careless hand through his hair. He left his home and drove away in his car, speeding through the town like a getaway driver. Jefferson's hand griped tight at the wheel and his eyes stared hard at the road. He rounded a curve at a dangerous speed as he clenched his jaw, chewing-over his newest idea: A curiosity of where the road would lead him.
The winding road that laid before him was heavily bordered by forest. The trees flew by in a blur at the speed he was pushing his little car to. When the "Storybrooke" sign came into view, Jefferson narrowed his eyes, glaring so hard they grew wet with anger. He slammed his foot on the accelerator, pressing the pedal to the floorboard and propelling his car forward at a speed that forced his back to his seat. He zoomed passed the towns signage, moving faster than any fallen tree, boulder, or passing animal could stop him. Jefferson headed straight for the invisible border and his car struck it like a bug hitting a windshield. He was barely aware of the impact that crushed him and his car like an accordion before his vision turned black.
.
.
The clock tower chimed and Jefferson found himself in his bed, unharmed. He frowned as he realized he had momentarily forgotten about what happened when people tried to leave Storybrooke. Someone always got hurt; car wrecks, engine failure, heart attacks. No one ever died, but no one ever made it across the border. Jefferson thought of Snow White as he stared up at the ceiling, having no reason to rise from his bed.
What happens to her every night? He wondered. How far does she make it through the woods?
After night had fallen and the cold, humid air allowed a fog to sweep across the town, Jefferson took a walk. He kept just within the line of trees that lined the road, having no desire to encounter the little yellow bug or its driver. He was weary of Emma. He was weary of everything, and if he didn't keep himself occupied with some sort of task—he feared his mind would start to slip.
Jefferson walked through the forest with only moonlight to light his path as he followed the familiar trail he had twice captured Snow White on. He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, fighting off a chill as he far surpassed the spot where he had caught her. Wherever Snow White was she would certainly be cold.
Jefferson came to a shallow stream that wound its way through the dark forest. He followed it South to where he judged the town border to be, and then he saw her. His hands slipped out of his pockets as he ran to where she laid. Slippery stones were beneath her and her legs had plunged into the cold stream as her head was pillowed by a large jagged rock. Jefferson took a knee and reached-out a hand to her cold cheek, moving her unresponsive face towards him. He could see her chest moving beneath her coat as she breathed, but her lips were turning blue from the frigid air. Jefferson suppressed a shiver as he pulled back his hand and stood to his feet. His eyes glanced around the forest as the moon shone over head, casting light down through the canopy of leaves.
We both know what happens when people try to leave Storybrooke.
The curse happens. No matter how small the proportion, there was most definitely magic in Storybrooke. It must have been floating in the air, as tiny as atoms, making-up only the smallest percentage of the air's composition. It was the only thing that explained how the borders of Storybrooke went on the defensive whenever they were threatened. Magic had been in Storybrooke all along, but it was a stingy bitch with her own agenda. Jefferson stared down at Snow White, feeling a tug of guilt at his chest, but he would do nothing to help her. Come morning, she'd be back in her cage as if she'd never slipped and hit her head. Jefferson went home, leaving Snow White to her fate.
.
.
The next night, he followed Emma. He found her car parked on the side of the road as she searched the forest in the wrong direction, calling-out "Mary Margaret". Her search continued on into the morning as she stumbled passed the trees, exhausted and hoarse from yelling. Her ill-fated attempt extended passed the time set for Snow White's arraignment day and Jefferson could see the hopelessness on her face. As he stood behind a tree, watching her from a safe distance, Jefferson noticed that her hopelessness distracted him from feeling his own.
.
.
Morning came again. Same as always, and Jefferson sought-out the misfortunes of others. He watched Leroy struggle and fail to balance 3 cardboard-cup-holders filled with 12 cups of coffee. His blunder resulted in a messy spill of cream, sugar and black coffee on the hospitals recently mopped floors. Leroy stormed-off, leaving the strange man who janitored the psychiatric ward to clean up the mess. Nurses complained about not having their caffeine fix and Jefferson observed them with a blank stare. It was like watching a daytime soap opera; it was a mind-numbing distraction from his own woes.
The afternoon rolled around to find Jefferson still wandering around the hospital, filling his ears and eyes with pointless drama and minor injuries. When the little boy, who had fallen from the tree, was wheeled-in on a stretcher, Jefferson paused. He stepped out of the way as the stretcher, carrying the crying boy, rolled passed him. A worried looking woman with a cell phone pressed to her ear hurried after the boy.
"He broke his arm this time." she told the person on the other end before she followed the stretcher into a room.
Jefferson swallowed and glanced down at his shoes as a wave of guilt came over him. How could he take comfort from a little boys injury? Jefferson walked-off down the hallway and through the hospital doors as thoughts of another little boy crossed his mind.
It was night when he entered the Sheriff's Department and Henry was just rounding the corner out of the main detention area. The boys expression turned panicked as he saw the man approaching him and he quickly put himself in Jefferson's advancing path.
"Uh…hi." he greeted awkwardly as he walked backwards trying to detour the man from seeing the room where Snow White was not, "The Sheriff's not here right now, but I can tell her you dropped by. What's your name?"
"Jefferson." he replied with disinterest as he kept moving forward.
With a stretched-out arm, Jefferson distractingly ruffled Henry's hair and walked passed him into the room with the prison cells. Henry scrambled after him, making little sounds of protest as he followed him into the room. Jefferson took a seat behind Emma's desk and his blank gaze raked over the mess that covered it.
"Oh!" Henry exclaimed as if he had been enlightened, "You must be in on Emma's genius escape plan!"
Jefferson gave a dark laugh before he fixed the boy with a sharp look.
"Emma wouldn't brake the law to set Snow White free. That wouldn't help anyone."
Henry blinked at the mans choice of words and then walked towards him.
"You said Snow White," he pointed-out as he placed the book he was carrying on Emma's desk.
Jefferson gave a tired roll of his eyes. Too many times he had been through this song and dance with the boy.
"Yes," he replied as he glared at the empty cell, "Snow White. Emma's mother. Your grandmother. Regina's reason for cursing all of the unfortunate characters in your book."
Jefferson thrust his finger at the book and then swallowed down a lump that had risen in his throat. His brow furrowed as he thought back on the illustrations of the Mad Hatter.
"Never have I been driven more mad than I am now." he said as he glared at the book, "I've tried everything, kid. Everything! I even got your mother to believe!" Jefferson grinned at the memory but his amusement held no mirth. "Still, I keep reliving this same day. Over and over and over and over and—"
"You got Emma to believe?" Henry interrupted.
Jefferson gave a tired sigh.
"Yes. But it didn't do any good. Did it? Nothing that happens matters," he muttered as he slumped in the desk chair, "When 8:15 A.M. rolls around, the day starts all over again."
Henry's expression turned contemplative as he drummed his fingers on his book.
"If the same day keeps repeating," the boy began, "Why are you the only one who realizes it?"
Jefferson's jaw clenched impatiently.
"Because it only happens to me."
Henry's eyebrows knitted together.
"But why?" he asked, "Why you? Why this day? Why not the day before? Or the day before that?"
Jefferson's swallowed as he considered the boys words. Why "this day"? Jefferson's realized that of all the 28-years worth of days he'd spent in Storybrooke, "this day" was the first day he'd been proactive—albeit unsuccessful. He had saved Snow White from crossing the border, sure, but he'd failed to have Emma make him a hat. Jefferson gave a humorless laugh as he thought about how futile it all had been.
Even if by some fluke Emma had managed to make the hat work, Grace still wouldn't have known who he was. How cruel would he have been to take her away from the only world she knew?
"I made a mistake." Jefferson confessed
"What did you do?"
Jefferson smiled at the curious boy as he imagined telling him just exactly what he had done to his mother and grandmother. Kidnapped them. Drugged them. Held them a gun point. Wrestled Emma on the floor. It had been criminal. It had been crazy. No wonder she hit me with a telescope.
"I," Jefferson began, unsure what to say, "I may have wronged a few people."
Henry twisted up his mouth in thought.
"Have you tried to apologize?"
Jefferson gave a bark of a laugh and rubbed a frustrated hand down his face.
"Kid. They don't remember any of it."
Henry gave a sheepish smile as he recalled what the man said about the day always restarting.
"Well, maybe you can make it up to them some other way."
Jefferson stared at Snow White's empty cell with a brooding gaze. Make it up to them. Apologize. Atone. Eat humble pie. Jefferson blinked and then his eyes widened.
"Penance," Jefferson breathed the word as he looked at the boy, "Do you know what penance means?"
Henry screwed-up his face as he thought about it, but then he shook his head. Jefferson smiled.
"It's kind of like punishing yourself to make up for some wrongdoing."
Henry frowned.
"But isn't being cursed enough of a punishment?"
Jefferson gave a humorless laugh.
"One would think," he replied, "But, this isn't your run-of-the-mill curse. I think I've been too busy trying to find a magical solution to break the curse that I ignored one very important fact."
"What is it?" Henry asked.
Jefferson met the boys curious gaze.
"Not all curses are punishments," the words flowed from his mouth and into his own ears as if they were unfamiliar, "Some curses are meant to be lessons." Jefferson's gaze grew distant as he considered that. "And you, Henry, just made me realize that I've yet to learn mine."
Suddenly, Jefferson rose to his feet and started to leave. Henry went after him, begging him to wait but Jefferson kept moving.
"Stop!" the boy yelled as he grabbed Jefferson's arm, "What's your lesson?"
Jefferson stopped and glanced down at the boy. Henry let go of the mans arm, dropping his hand at his side.
"Tactfulness", Jefferson said with a quirk of smile as he took a step back towards the exit, "Perhaps I'm supposed to learn how to be helpful without being a hindrance."
Henry looked too confused to respond as he blinked at the man. Jefferson reached-out a hand to playfully ruffle the boys hair.
"Don't worry about it, kid," he said as he pushed open the door to leave the sheriff's department, "You won't remember anyway."