The Golds and the Strange Case of the Strand Hotel
Chapter One: The Missing Wife
Four days. It had been four goddamned days since he'd last heard from his wife and he hadn't even noticed. Bae had warned him about getting too absorbed in his work, pointing out that Belle was even worse about checking in with her team and that she needed him to pull her out of her little focused world so she didn't do anything stupid. Doing stupid things for idiotic reasons had always been Belle's modus operandi, though, and Rumplestiltskin was loathe to admit that, a good deal of the time, his wife actually achieved wonderful results with her methods.
This had better be one of those times, because the more he read through her research, the more worried he grew. There were pages upon pages of historical data on the hotel within Belle's account on the firm's private server, and it wasn't difficult to see why his wife had been so intrigued by the location – over the past twenty years or so, at least sixteen people had gone missing on the property. It was after the ninth disappearance that the hotel had closed, nearly a decade earlier, but people still visited the deserted building to admire the way everything had been left where it was, as if staff and guests alike would soon be returning to pick up where they'd left off. The place had become a hot spot for urban exploration, attracting the sort of people who wandered around abandoned amusement parks or factories that had been shut down and left standing; the rumors of the premises being haunted only added fuel to the fire and an appeal for the ghost hunting sort as well.
The strangest part of it all seems to be the complete lack of official investigation by any credible authority. When people go missing, especially in such large numbers in a centralized area, the logical next step is to look into what might be causing said disappearances, but all efforts to bring about such an investigation by the families of those missing have been ineffectual.
Rumplestiltskin could practically hear his wife's voice as he read over the words she'd written just days earlier, and it made his hear clench with new worry. "How much longer?" he tersely demanded of his driver, closing the laptop with a heavy snap.
The man at the front of the luxury car met the sorcerer's eyes in the mirror and swallowed thickly. "It's just up ahead, sir," he answered with what might be considered a steady voice. Mr. Gold wasn't usually so tense on these trips; something was off about this whole thing, and the driver was just glad there was a clause in his contract that, were he to be transfigured into anything non-human, the company would ensure his physical restoration within 48 hours.
Strained silence filled the car as they drove through the sleepy little town, a steely gaze watching the passing surroundings with suspicion. It seemed too perfect, too wholesome and clean, and with a name like Storybrooke… Rumplestiltskin tried calling Belle's cell phone for perhaps the hundredth time as they pulled to a stop at nondescript establishment. The sign proclaimed it as "Granny's Bed and Breakfast"; he scowled at the grey and white building, swearing that no law, magical or otherwise, would protect these people if they'd had anything to do with his beloved's disappearance.
As with every other time he'd chanced to try, his call was greeted by Belle's chipper voicemail message. The phone was returned to his pocket, the laptop to its bag, and he popped open the door. The moment he stepped from the car, he could feel the magic in the air. Old magic, strong, but nothing more than an echo reverberating off the trees surrounding the town, seeping into the waters of the nearby shore. It was so distinctive, he could almost taste the difference in its flavor, despite the years that had worn it down to almost nothing. And there, just below the surface, was the tang of something new, something that gave him hope that this might end quickly so he could have Belle back in his arms where she belonged.
Hoisting the laptop bag onto his shoulder, he took the leather overnight bag from his driver with a dismissing nod before stepping into the B&B. Whatever he had been expecting of the place, this certainly wasn't it. The drab colors continued in from the outside, mingling with the dust that covered the light fixtures and desk. A china cabinet to the left held nothing of interest, and the number of keys handing from their assigned spots behind the counter confirmed the observation that the inn didn't get many visitors.
"Can I help you?" an elderly woman asked, suddenly appearing from a back room, no doubt alerted to his arrival by the astoundingly loud creak of the door. This must be Granny herself; she certainly fit Belle's description of being someone you didn't mess with lightly.
Leaning heavily on his cane as he set down the overnight bag, Rumplestiltskin replied, "Yes, I called yesterday enquiring about my wife, Belle Gold…"
"Mr. Gold!" Granny almost looked flustered, as if she had forgotten the half hour conversation that had been half him ranting and half her arguing right back. "Of course. Here's your key, I'll take you upstairs." She even carried his bag for him; an old woman carrying the bag of a magical cripple. He was in just the mood to allow it.
He waited until she'd retreated upstairs to open the door to the room, and it proved to be a sound decision. The smell of roses hit him as soon as he was through the doorway, causing a falter in his step as his vision swam with tears. She wasn't here. She really was gone, no trace of her own psychic signature to be found for at least three days past. And yet, all of her possessions were still scattered about the place, a charming clutter of bright colors, books, and loose papers littered with her scrolling handwriting.
She was out there somewhere, and he would find her, even if it killed him.
III
Note: The response for this has been unbelievable! I started this on a whim and people have really taken to it. Thank you so much for all the encouragement, it means more than I can say!