DISCLAIMER: I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that ABC's geniuses have given us on Once Upon a Time.
This is a what-if story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…
In the shadow of the toll bridge
Lost and Found
The hospital had never seemed so…stale to Snow as she sat in the waiting room with Belle, glancing up at the clock every five seconds. Before she'd stopped volunteering, she had always made an effort to make the place look a little cheerier, a little more welcoming to visitors and patients. And while those efforts seemed to have been continued by fellow volunteers, sitting here now as an outsider, she realized sadly how that bit of color didn't help very much in the midst of distress over a loved one.
Mo French had been examined by the ER when he'd first arrived and now was in with Dr. Whale. At the doctor's insistence, Rose and Mary Margaret had waited outside, and the wait was now becoming unbearable. Checking her watch for the millionth time, Rose glanced down at the schoolteacher who looked up and gave her a warm, supportive smile. That feeling of familiarity hadn't faded one bit, though Rose suspected it was part of that natural empathy good teachers seemed to have. She wondered, suddenly, if perhaps this woman had been spending a lot of time with Ashley Boyd. The serenity and calm Mary Margaret exuded would certainly explain the change in Ashley's countenance in the past few days…well, that and the marriage proposal…of course. Rose chuckled inaudibly in her ruminations and was about to bring the subject up when the exam room door opened and Dr. Whale emerged.
Immediately, Snow was on her feet and stood a little behind Belle as the doctor approached.
"Well?" Rose asked, wringing her hands together.
Dr. Whale's gaze shifted between the patient's daughter and her friend, wondering not for the first time today what Mary Margaret Blanchard was even doing there. "I think we should speak…privately."
Snow bit her bottom lip as Belle looked over at her. "I'll um…I'll go get you something to drink."
"No please," Rose said suddenly, grasping Mary's wrist. "It's ok." She turned back to Whale. "You can just tell me here. Now."
With permission from kin granted, Dr. Whale shrugged and slipped his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. "Well he's lost a lot of blood from the hemorrhaging. So we gave him a transfusion for that. If it continues this badly, we may have to give him another."
"Another?" Rose asked, instinctively squeezing Mary's arm even tighter. She sincerely hoped the teacher didn't mind…
…And she didn't. "Why is he hemorrhaging?" Snow asked. "Where is it coming from?"
"We think it's an intestinal bleed," he said. "Possibly from the mixture of too many different medications. But there's no way to tell for sure until we get the bleeding stopped and we can't do that unless we take him off the blood thinner."
"He's been on that for years," Rose argued. "So he won't have a heart attack".
"I know, but now his blood is so thin, it won't clot. Look Miss French, we're aware of your father's heart problems, but getting the bleeding stopped is the first priority. If we can't do that, nothing else will matter."
Snow darted a glance at Belle whose face had gone deathly pale. "N-nothing else will…" Belle started panting. "What are you saying? Is he gonna…c-could he die?"
Dr. Whale sighed, fiddling with the chart and avoiding the brunette's haunting expression. "Look, let's just see what taking him off the Coumadin does and then we'll have a better idea."
"And if the bleeding doesn't stop?" Rose said, her voice cracking under the strain of her day going from bad to worse. "What then?"
"Well…there won't be much that uh…that we can do," he said lamely as the patient's daughter let out a painful cry. His bed-side manner was failing miserably, and he suspected it had something to do with the fact that Mary Margaret was standing right there…why on earth was she glaring up at him with eyes like daggers?
Snow placed a hand on Belle's shaking shoulder and steadied her, taking a step forward and looking him in the eye. "Doctor," she said slowly. "I think Miss French would like a second opinion."
Whale reeled back, affronted by the remark. "I assure you, Miss Blanchard. Every effort is being made to ensure—"
"I'm not questioning that. I just think that," she glanced at Belle and then back again, "Rose would benefit from a concurring physician, that's all."
Dr. Whale glowered down at her, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back as if appraising her. Who was this woman? Where was the lost little lamb he'd shunned on their date? "With all due respect," he said, "I am the attending physician here. I'm the guy everyone else calls for a second opinion."
Rose sensed the mounting tension and glanced back and forth between the two. Remarkably, Mary Margaret gave her a slight nod, took Dr. Whale by the arm and led him away from her, out of earshot.
"You're also the guy," Snow muttered, making sure her friend did not hear, "who claimed that nothing had changed about a coma patient's condition precisely 5 hours before he got up and walked out of this hospital. Get us. A second. Opinion."
Whale glared at her, wanting to argue. But the point was irrefutable, at least from her perspective. He'd been under very specific orders from the mayor regarding John Doe and he couldn't very well reveal that now. Eyes narrowed and cross, he seethed through gritted teeth, "Fine. I will page the head cardiologist."
"Thank you, Dr. Whale," Snow replied in a normal speaking tone and returned to Belle.
Dr. Whale straightened his lab coat by tugging down on his lapels and watched as Mary Margaret placed her hands on her friend's shoulders and entered Mo's room. Staring at the head of ebony hair as it disappeared into the exam room, Whale shook with frustration, paradoxically both annoyed…and aroused. The sting her accusation wreaked on his ego was unacceptable. He would not stand for that. But he was absolutely mesmerized by the drastic change in Mary Blanchard's entire demeanor. Who was this…vixen? That fiery, biting tongue. That piercing gaze…With renewed desire, his grimace curled into a wolfish grin as he thought perhaps the mayor's suggestion that he give it another try with the bewitching Mary Margaret…wasn't such a bad idea. Perhaps she'd make a worthy conquest after all.
…
"What is it that you expect me to do?" Emma asked as she leaned against Graham's office desk, staring at the file folder that Regina had just shoved into her hands.
"You're the sheriff's deputy, Miss Swan," Regina said. "Tasks like this fall to you."
She closed the folder with a sharp slap and dropped it behind her on the desk. "Tasks like what? Tearing families apart? Separating siblings without even trying to find their father?"
"Emma," Graham tried a softer approach, "if there were any record of—"
But Emma thrust her hand up to stop him, still glaring at Regina. "I promised those kids that I wouldn't split them up."
With a snake-like twitch in her neck, Regina's mouth curled into a sly smile. "Well I suggest you stop making promises you can't keep." The silence in the small office was deafening and Emma grew nauseous at the idea of driving Ava and Nick all the way to Boston to be thrust into the life of incarceration that was American foster care.
Ava and Nicolas Zimmer had foolishly tried to pin a bit of shoplifting on herson. They'd claimed they were just taking necessities and that their parents were having a tough time financially. But Emma wasn't fooled. Toothpaste? That might be something a poor mom would ask her kid to buy, but candy bars? She'd been a kid on the run before. These two had no parents.
Catching them in the act of faking a home address, Emma had brought them back to the station at once and questioned them about what was really going on. Their last name had seemed vaguely familiar to Graham for he immediately dug up an old file in which a death certificate was issued for their mother. Her heart bleeding for them immediately, Emma whisked them away to somewhere infinitely more cheerful than a police station – Mary Margaret's house. It had felt like home to her. Perhaps it might bring a measure of comfort to them.
Graham, looking back and forth between the mayor and the deputy, knew what Emma must be feeling now for she had dropped small hints of her own life along the way. How desperately he wanted to reach out and give her hand a supportive squeeze. But he knew better than to try. He was "the enemy" in this case, bound by the law and—from her bitter perspective—Regina. Looking at Emma's face twisting in pain, he wished selfishly that Emma had been here 20 minutes ago to hear him argue against this course of action. To hear him yell at her for having immediately called social services about the two orphans before they'd even had time to investigate their father. "This is Storybrooke, not Brooklyn New York, Regina!" he'd said. "We could have afforded a little delay, here. Let the kids stay with Mary Margaret a few nights while we tried to find their dad." But Emma at the time had been getting the kids settled at Mary Margaret's house, promising them she'd return with good news no doubt. She hadn't seen his failed efforts to buy them a little time but had arrived back at the station just as Graham was examining (in shock) a complete set of court-ordered documents placing Ava and Nicolas in the boys' and girls' homes in Boston.
"Well you can get someone else to do it because I won't throw those kids to the wolves." said Emma.
"Fine," Regina answered matter-of-factly. "I'm sure the sheriff will have no problems finding a deputy who will do her job."
Graham's head hung sadly as he leaned against his desk, glaring up at her from beneath his brow. "Emma's not going anywhere, Regina, so you might as well stop tryin' that line."
The mayor crossed her arms in a huff. "Then she better take them." She looked back to the deputy, "I suggest you get going. It's almost 8:00."
Graham sighed and studied Regina curiously. The mayor had displayed so much erratic behavior in the past few weeks, it was hard to tell what the motivation might be this time. She'd acted with an odd degree of haste in this case. Apparently she and Emma had had the same hunch about the children for Emma had barely identified them as orphans before Regina showed up in his office this evening with the birth records already in tow. And she'd already made calls to these boys' and girls' homes in Boston? Graham had been involved in the politics of Storybooke for…well as long as he could remember. He'd never known bureaucracy to work quite so fast.
"What's really behind this?" Emma asked sharply, as if she were reading Graham's mind.
"I beg your pardon?" the mayor snapped.
Emma stood her ground. "You heard me. Why are you so desperate to get these kids out of town tonight? What kind of a threat are two 12-year-olds to you? Afraid Henry might actually get a friend or two? Afraid you'll lose more of your grip on him?"
"Why you little b—"
"Ok, now calm down," Graham pushed himself off the desk and stepped between the two.
"Sheriff," she barked while still staring at her rival. "Would you please inform your deputy that I am acting in the best interest of two children who have been wandering the streets of Storybrooke homeless and without parents for years? And if she had any understanding of children and what it takes to raise a child, she would have a little more respect for someone who actually has one."
Emma glared at her. "I do have one," she seethed, her voice low and oddly quiet. "And more importantly I was one…in that system you're so quick to throw them into."
"They have…no…parents," Regina said steadily.
"That we know of—"
"All right! That's enough!" came Graham's voice again, this time a little more forcefully. "This is getting us nowhere. Emma, for what it's worth, I agree with you." Emma started and looked at him. "And I told Regina as much when she first brought me this file." He pointed at the case folder he plucked back up from his desk. "But the fact is, there's nothing we can do about it now. The children have been remanded to the custody of the state and since Maine has no vacancies, they must go to Boston."
Emma's stomach hurt so much she wanted to hurl. What would she say to Ava and Nicolas? How would she break it to them that they would not only have to leave the only town they'd ever known but be separated as well? She was about to mount another objection, but Graham had turned to Regina.
"I'm not going to have Emma do this."
"You're the sheriff. She's the deputy. You're needed here—"
"I'll be the one taking them Regina. Emma will do fine in my absence. And I will be leaving tomorrow."
"Tonight—"
"Tomorrow, madam mayor. That's not a drive I want to be making with two little tykes in the middle of the night. You should understand that," he paused and dropped his voice even lower. "You're a mother."
The air between them had gone icy cold and Emma could swear she actually saw knives thrusting out of Regina's eyes as she glared down her once obedient sheriff. Without warning, she suddenly felt a swell of admiration for Graham. Perhaps he might break free from the mayor's leash after all. Perhaps they might—
"Fine," Regina finally conceded, though her icy glare remained as she slid toward the door. "First thing in the morning sheriff. Those homes will be expecting you by lunchtime."
…
As Regina stalked out of the station house, she couldn't help feeling a modicum of self-pity as she thought of how well this day began. Singing all the way to her office, she'd successfully nullified the emerging prince charming and had returned her precious hunter to the status of queen's favorite pet. Now, though it seemed her victory concerning Prince James had blossomed into family planning with Kathryn, her control over the sheriff was clearly threatening to unravel. Not to mention that if Emma or Graham did even the slightest bit of digging, they might actually find that old woodsman and those children would be united with their father. Something needed to be done. And fast. Yanking her car door open and crashing into the seat, the queen made a decision. It was time to repay a visit…to her friend in West End.
…
"You look so tired," Mo told his daughter, smiling up at her from his hospital bed.
"I'm fine Papa," replied Rose.
Snow smiled. She still called him 'Papa.' It was one of the many things she'd noticed about Belle in these long hours spent waiting in the hospital. She was so much like the woman Snow knew. Fiercely devoted to her father, intelligent, caring. And if she was not mistaken, she'd seen one or two books peeping out from her bag. But there was still something missing: a spark of wit and strength the curse had drained from her, replacing it with strife and uncertainty. The old Belle certainly wouldn't have needed Snow to speak up on her behalf with Dr. Whale. It was devastating to see such a remarkable beauty reduced in such a way.
"Miss Blanchard," Mo startled her out of her musings.
"Yes sir?"
"Please tell my daughter to go home and get some rest."
Snow gave him a warm smile, looked to Belle and then back again. "I don't think that would do much good Mr. French. Besides, we're still waiting on that consult."
The old man's eyelids drooped heavily and she could see the wear and tear this particular bout had wrought on his already frail body. Even in their old world, Belle's father had a knack for getting sick. But whereas there they'd been able to count on herbal remedies imbued with a little diamond mine magic, here there were only tubes and catheters and drugs. "Well at least don't let us keep you waiting," Mr. French smiled slightly, his eyes twinkling.
"Oh yes, Mary Margaret. Please. You don't have to wait here all night," added her friend.
"Wild horses couldn't drag me away Rose," Snow leaned back in her chair and crossed one leg over the other. "There's nowhere I'd rather be."
Father and daughter smiled gratefully just as a gentle knock rapped at the door. "Mr. and Miss French I presume?"
Snow gasped at the familiar voice and gripped the arms of the chair, her heart skipping a beat.
"That's me doctor," Mo wheezed as Rose helped him prop himself up a bit.
Snow pivoted slowly in her seat and watched with a giant lump in her throat as a little man in a hospital lab coat glided in the room. He was only about 5'4" and his voice was as sweet and airy as a bird's. But his eyes were sharp and he surveyed the room through rounded spectacles that rested on the very edge of his nose. His gaze lingered on Snow and for a second she thought she saw a glimmer of recognition. The little man held that gaze and tilted his head. "And I see you have a friend here."
"Yes," Rose stood up from her chair. "This is Mary Margaret—"
"Mary Margaret Blanchard," the doctor said, holding out his hand.
Snow clasped it with both of hers and shook heartily. "Pleased to meet you Doctor—"
"Stone, my dear. Doctor Tobias Stone at your service, but I believe we have met before."
Snow shook her head. "We have?"
"Well, I suppose 'met' isn't quite the word is it? Though I have seen you around the hospital. You used to volunteer here, yes?"
Snow stared blankly, unable to form words for some reason. Her life as Mary Margaret seemed so long ago though she knew it had only been a little over a week since she'd quit her volunteering. Her days spent as Storybrooke's favorite candy striper felt like someone else's life. Volunteering. That's how he knew her. She struggled to hide her disappointment. "That's right," she said finally. "But I only ever worked in the ICU."
Doctor Stone's hand slipped from her grasp but his smile remained. "Ah yes. Well, I rarely make it out of the surgical ward, so our paths would not have crossed often."
"Surgery?" Rose cried, unaware of the reunion she was disrupting. "I thought we were waiting on a cardiologist."
"You were. But Doctor Samuels was called away before he had a chance to review the case thoroughly and asked me to consult. I would have been here sooner, but I only just got out of surgery." With his attention shifted, he walked around the corner of the bed with Mr. French's chart in hand. "Now I have had time to review your chart Mr. French and I do agree with Dr. Whale's recommendation. We're going to take you off the Coumadin so your blood thickens and see if that helps stop the bleeding. It has ebbed a little I understand?"
"Yes," Mr. French and Rose said together.
"Good. Now I understand your concern, but our immediate priority must be to get the bleeding to stop completely. Only then can we get a better look at what the larger issue may be."
"If the bleeding doesn't stop…" Rose gulped, clasping her father's hand. "W-will he…I mean Dr. Whale seemed unable to give me an answer when I asked—"
"I won't lie to you my dear." He regarded father and daughter very seriously. "If the bleeding doesn't stop, that would be a great concern. But we're not there yet. And even if we are, I can tell you that will hardly be the last thing we can try. Dr. Whale did not want to mention the surgical options available in that event because your father is a risky candidate."
"But you don't agree?" Snow leaned forward in her chair, finally finding her voice.
"Oh I agree that any surgery is risky," said Stone, but then he smiled and looked back at Mo. "But not impossible. Trust me Mr. French. You are in good hands at this hospital."
"No, we're in good hands with you," Snow said, unable to help herself as she stood and joined Mo on the other side of the bed.
"Well thank you dear," the doctor said, his rosy cheeks bursting into a wide grin.
"No, thank you..." Snow replied, "Doc." Snow beamed at him with pride as she watched her old friend carefully talk through the options and possible diagnoses with Belle and her father. He had such a gentle soul, such a loving heart. He had been easily the smartest and most empathetic of all the dwarfs and it was a joy to see that the curse had not robbed one bit of that intellect, preserving in him the skills of a true doctor and the hands of a surgeon.
After a while, when the bed-sheets had soaked through, Doctor Stone paged a few nurses to help change the dressings and administer his orders while he escorted daughter and friend back out into the vestibule. "Thank you again Doctor, for explaining so patiently," Rose shook his hand.
The relief in her voice was a joy to Snow's ears.
"My pleasure dear. I'll be back to check up in a while once the blood has had time to thicken. In the meantime, I suggest you try the blueberry pie in our cafeteria. It's delicious."
Snow choked back a sob. Blueberry pie had always been Doc's favorite.
"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you," Rose wrinkled up her nose and grinned the first real smile Snow had seen all evening.
For a few moments, they just watched as he retreated, and then Snow placed her arms around Belle's shoulders and sighed. "You see? Everything is gonna be fine."
Rose too let out a small sigh of relief. "I'm sorry I've been so panicked all day. Things just," she glanced back at her father's exam room. "Things change by the hour with him. One minute he's fine, the next he may be dying, and then the next he's fine again."
"I know."
"He's had so many problems for…for so long," she shook her head, hugging herself around her waist. "I just wish he could catch a break."
"Well don't you worry. Like Doctor Stone said. He'll be—"
"Rose!" they heard and both whipped around. A man was stalking toward them, his thick boots pounding down the hallway that led from the elevators. Belle seemed to recognize him instantly, for she did not look surprised. When his face drew closer and came into view, Snow let out a tiny gasp. That face. That sharp angular face and wavy black hair atop a muscular build that (she hated to admit) rivaled her own husband's. It was Gaston.
"Jack," Rose said as he continued toward them.
Snow shot her a look. Jack? As in Jack from Garcon's with the lemons and the limes and- she held her breath, bracing herself for a confrontation. So Gaston was Belle's boss. Well if he were here to give her a hard time about missing her damn bar shift, so help her-
"Oh Rose," Jack cried as he wrapped his arms around Belle's waist and lifted her to him, burying his face in thick curls of brown hair against her neck. "Baby, what is going on?"
Snow's jaw just about hit the floor as she stared, flabbergasted at a sight that, quite frankly, disgusted her. She happened to know that the last time Gaston tried to embrace the brunette, he'd gotten Belle's knee in the groin…right before Adam nearly ripped out his throat. What on earth was he doing calling her 'baby' and scooping her up in his arms?
"I'm…I'm fine, Jack," Rose managed, catching Mary Margaret's eye from beyond his shoulder, her face flushed with embarrassment. Jack set her down and drew back from her, grasping her firmly by the shoulders.
"You're fine?" he tensed, squeezing her arms. "Why the hell didn't you call me? Your dad's in the hospital again and I have to hear about it from Sean as he walks in the door to cover your shift?"
"I know," Rose said quietly, now purposefully avoiding Mary Margaret's gaze. "I know I'm sorry. I should have called. It's just…everything happened so fast and Ashley was right there when the hospital phoned and—"
"Babe, you tell me when these things happen, you understand? I won't have you going through this kinda thing alone."
"Oh I wasn't alone," Rose squeaked, shifting out of his grasp and resisting the urge to massage where he'd been gripping her. "Mary Margaret was with me. Jack this is Mary Margaret Blanchard. She's the schoolteacher at Storybrooke Elementary?"
Jack seemed to notice for the first time that there was anyone else in the room. He turned to the black-haired beauty and ran his eyes up and down her form. When his eyes met hers however, he started. She was…glaring at him. Why was she glaring at him?
"Pleased to meet you," Snow said coolly, extending her hand.
"Likewise," Jack said, briefly perplexed by the steely look in the school teacher's eye and then immediately losing interest. "Babe," he turned back to Rose. "You call me next time, you hear? We're in this together. You and me."
"And her father," Snow interjected, practically spitting it in Gaston's direction. The brute turned to her, staring down incredulously, and then back to Belle.
"And of course your father. That goes without saying."
"It certainly did," Snow muttered under her breath, though Gaston seemed not to hear. At that moment, Snow felt her phone vibrate in her purse. She ignored it, listening intently to the repulsive exchange.
"Rose," Jack's grip had returned to Rose's arms, though less forcefully. "You've been here too long. Let's take a walk, get some air huh? Whadya say?"
Snow glared at him. Take a walk? With her father bleeding in the next room? Seriously?
Nervously, Rose glanced between him and Mary Margaret. "Actually, Mary and I were just talking about getting—"
"Some blueberry pie," Snow interjected, reaching into her purse and grabbing a $20. "From the cafeteria. It came highly recommended. Would you mind, Jack?"
The challenge in her eyes was unmistakable and it certainly wasn't missed by the man. But from what Snow could tell, his reaction was not one of recognition. No, he seemed merely…annoyed. She was hardly surprised; Regina wasn't dumb enough to entrust the secret of the curse with the likes of Gaston. But it certainly seemed that as 'Jack' … he hadn't changed much.
"Sure," he grunted, held his hand up, and refused her money. "My treat. I'll be right back."
Snow let out a breath she felt like she'd been holding since he got there as they watched him strut down the hall. A few moments passed, and then she turned to Belle. "So that's…Jack."
Rose's eyes slid shut, mortified. She knew what that must have looked like. And she knew she must reply. "Yeah that's…that's him," she muttered and finally turned to her new friend.
"Why didn't you tell us he was…that he was more than your—"
"My boss?" Rose let out a bitter chuckle, shaking her head. "I don't know. Embarrassment I guess." She sighed and rubbed her arms. "Plus Ashley and Sean don't know and I…I want to…" she glanced up. "I want to keep it that way."
Snow frowned and touched her shoulder. "Rose, your business is your business. And I respect that but—"
"I know," she sighed and rolled her eyes up toward the ceiling. "I know…believe me, sleeping with the boss is…not my proudest moment."
Belle's confirmation of the affair sank into the pit of Snow's stomach. They're sleeping together. Wherever Adam was, he was going to be so…pissed.
Rose slid away from her and slumped into a waiting room chair, rested her elbows on her knees and leaned forward, rubbing her palms together. "It happened the last time Pa was sick," she explained, though her voice was far away. "He'd had a blood clot that caused a small heart attack and they had to keep him overnight for observation. So they sent me home to get some sleep."
Snow moved back to the set of chairs and sank down next to her. Patiently, she waited for her to continue.
"I had to call off that night too, and phoned Jack on my way home to tell him I'd be out the next few days. About an hour later he knocked on my door."
Snow closed her eyes, sensing where the rest was going. How typical of Gaston. Preying on a weak moment.
Rose took a deep breath and told the rest. "When I opened the door, he was standing there with a bag of Chinese food and a rose. Said he didn't want me to be alone."
Snow clenched her teeth. A rose, she thought angrily on behalf of Adam, though there was no way of course that Belle could grasp the irony.
"After that he…well, he kept coming by and we…sort of…fell into a routine." Rose closed her eyes, drifting back to that night: the night when she'd given into temptation and surrendered herself to the soulless, carnal pleasures Jack had offered, an empty, loveless fix for the fear and stress over her father's illness. With a sigh, she ran her palms down her thighs, pushing herself back against the chair. "I've tried to…I mean, I kept meaning to break it off," she shook her head. "But he was…I mean, I j-just…couldn't."
Snow watched as Belle's gaze drifted further and further away, though she noticed it was not the glassy Storybrooke-curse look she and James had seen about town in others. No…this was a very specific memory – one this woman had truly experienced or one she'd been designed to recall so clearly that it had completely enveloped her, trapping her as the curse itself had. "Rose," she whispered tentatively, touching her hand. Belle looked up. "Does he…hurt you?"
Rose straightened up immediately. "Oh no," she said, shaking her head. "No it's nothing like that."
"Really? Because he practically ripped your head off for not calling him."
Rose sighed, glancing in the direction where Jack had disappeared. "I know," she admitted. "I know he has…a temper. And he can get…a little over-zealous sometimes." She looked up again. "But he's not abusive." There was conviction enough in her voice as she said it, though she couldn't help but think on what was sure to be bruises on her arms by morning. The schoolteacher regarded her carefully, and there was still some doubt there, she thought. But that couldn't be helped. Rose barely believed herself anymore. Why should Mary? She sighed again, and twisted in her chair to face her companion, deciding to come clean about the one thing in the relationship of which she was absolutely sure: "It's not him, Mary Margaret. It's me…I'm just…I'm not strong enough to end it." The two looked at each other for several moments, one woman's eyes filled with sympathy and compassion, the other's with shame. Eventually, it was too much for Rose to handle and she retreated, pushing herself off the chair and moving to the other side of the waiting area. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the wall, watching the door of her father's room for signs that the nurses were through.
Snow opened her mouth to speak but then her phone vibrated again, and she realized it was the third message in an hour. Pulling it out of her purse, she flipped it open and was a little shocked to find three text messages from Emma:
Emma: HEY, CAN YOU MEET ME AT THE HOUSE? – 7:11
Emma: IF YOU GET THIS IN THE NEXT FEW MINUTES, CALL ME – 7:42
Emma: WHERE ARE YOU? – 8:09
Though the writing was electronic, the panic in her daughter's messages was as evident as the worry in her husband's uneven script. Something was wrong. Her daughter needed her. And though she worried about leaving Belle, this latest development with Gaston would clearly not be resolved in one night (besides, they still had no idea where Adam was). Anxious to return to her daughter, she keyed in a quick response and snapped the phone shut. "Rose," she said rising from her chair. Belle did not turn around, but remained by the wall, resting her head against it. Snow touched her shoulder and finally the woman turned, wiping a single tear that leaked from the corner of her eye. Snow sighed. "My…roommate has been texting me for the last hour. It…sounds like something might be wrong."
Rose opened her mouth to reply but then shut it when she glanced down at the phone in Mary's hand. She nodded, her arms wrapped around her middle. "Thank you for waiting with me."
Belle looked crestfallen, and Snow rushed to continue, determined that her friend understand that the timing of her departure had nothing to do with the confession about Gaston. "Look," she slipped the phone in her coat's pocket as she shrugged it on. "I'm going to tell you something that will probably sound…strange." Belle regarded her, eyebrows raised. "And I don't expect you to believe me," Snow continued. "I mean I don't know why you would…but you…are one of the smartest, and bravest women I've ever met." Belle's eyes grew wide with confusion and wonder, and she was about to protest, but Snow wasn't finished. "If there's anyone strong enough to end this…it's you."
Rose stared open-mouthed as Mary Margaret buttoned up her coat, pulled on her gloves and slung her purse over her shoulder. "I…" she grasped for words, all vocabulary fleeing from her brain as she scrambled to string together any two words that might make sense. "I…appreciate that," she managed, "but there's no way…I mean you don't know—"
"I do though," Snow cut in, this time smiling broadly as she placed a mitten-covered hand on Belle's shoulder once more. "As sure as I'm standing here. And one day you'll understand that, I promise."
Rose continued to stare in disbelief. Having already believed Mary Margaret could not have said anything stranger, she was now at a total loss for words.
"For now just…trust me." She let her hand slip from Belle's arm and clutched the strap of her purse. "You can end it…if you want to." And with that, she glided away, leaving a thoroughly perplexed beauty in her wake.
…
The cottage Emma now called home was indeed far more suited to the children than the police station, and the deputy couldn't help but notice the calming effect Mary Margaret had had on Nick and Ava the instant she walked in the door. Having given only the hastiest and sketchiest of explanations to her roommate, Emma had watched in awe as her roommate offered no objections to their staying the night and set straight away to fixing up dinner, TV trays and conversing as easily with them as if she were their favorite aunt. Emma supposed it should be no great wonder. The woman was a teacher after all. Still, the ease with which she…mothered them stirred something strange in Emma's soul: a measure of heartfelt kinship and, inexplicably, regret.
"And she just…showed up? With papers in hand?" Snow whispered, watching the two children seated on the couch beyond where she and Emma were talking.
"She was already verifying everything with Graham by the time I got back," Emma hissed, her arms crossed tightly in front of her.
Even from her position across the counter, Snow could hear the tight crunching of Emma's leather jacket as she squeezed the sleeves together in fists of anger. With the kids well-fed and glued to the TV, she'd finally been able to get the whole story from Emma: a remarkable story. One, she knew, that struck very close to home for her daughter. "That's really…fast," she said.
Emma nodded vigorously. "Right? That's exactly what I said. She seems awfully rushed to get these kids out of town, and has made it virtually impossible for Graham and I to even begin searching for their father."
Snow nodded, opening the fridge and retrieving a few oranges and pears from the bottom drawer. "Especially since it's already so late," she added, sliding a cutting board into the middle of the island. She'd retrieved a cutting knife from the drawer and began cutting the fruit into snack-bite wedges.
"Graham of course sided with her," Emma scoffed, more to herself than to Mary.
Snow glanced up. "What does he think?"
Emma rolled her eyes and sighed. "Basically? That she's freaked out about having had these two orphans running around her town for so long. That she's just rushing to cover her ass."
Snow paused mid-peel and snorted. "Well…that also sounds like Regina," she admitted. But as she continued to study the children across the room, she knew better. She didn't recognize Nick or Ava from her old world and only vaguely recognized them from school, but if Regina was working this hard to get them out of town, they were clearly significant to maintaining the curse in some way. "I agree with you though. It is rather…suspicious that she already had paperwork made out and everything."
Emma blinked in surprise. "Thank you!" she said, gratefully. She had honestly expected Mary Margaret to agree with Graham's admittedly more logical explanation. Emma felt very strongly that she was right, but couldn't offer any legitimate reason the mayor would chase the Zimmers out of town other than to ensure proper and official foster care.
"Did um," Snow said slowly, arranging the fruit wedges on a plate, "did Henry…have any theories?"
Emma jerked back. "Henry?"
Snow smirked. "Yeah Henry. You know…your son?"
"I know that," Emma rolled her eyes.
"Well did you ask him?"
"Ask him what?" she whispered, glancing back at the kids to make sure they weren't listening. "If he knew which fairy tale characters Nick and Ava are?" Emma finished with a light chuckle, expecting Mary Margaret to laugh as well, but the schoolteacher shocked her with an expression devoid of amusement. "Are you serious?"
"Why not?" she countered and was answered by the most incredulous grin. Snow took a deep breath as she set her cutting knife in the sink. "Look, I know this whole fairy tale thing is…out there," she said carefully, knowing how precarious she must be in broaching this subject with her jaded daughter. "But you have to admit that Henry's theories have led to some pretty…interesting results."
Emma crossed her arms and huffed. "Like him and Archie almost being buried alive?"
"And you helping Ashley escape Mr. Gold. And David waking up," she challenged.
Emma bristled at the mention of David, but didn't respond.
Snow sighed. "Look, I'm not telling you to…buy into it," she said, though she wished with all her heart she could reveal how much of it was true. "But you have to admit, he has a way of…guiding you to the truth." She paused, allowing her suggestion to sink in, for she could tell Emma was at least considering it. "Just…ask him," she added softly. "You know it'll make his day. And if anything good comes out of this—" she threw a glance over at Nicolas and Ava, then looked back again, "—let it be that."
Emma shook her head, regarding Mary Margaret the oddest expression. For it was not in defiance or doubt that she stared, but rather in wonder. Why did people keep saying things to her that should make absolutely no sense and that every rational, pragmatic fiber in her being screamed for her to ignore, and yet at the same time seem perfectly reasonable? She opened her mouth to reply but a loud knock at the door startled them both.
"Who is that?" came Ava's voice across the room. The women looked over to see that Ava had sprung to her feet at the threat of intrusion, her brother huddled close behind her. How many times, Emma wondered, had they feared detection over the years? Had they lied their way out of getting caught? How much of herself did she see reflected in the eyes of this little girl? And how desperately did she want – no…did she need to help them?
"It's all right, I'm sure it's nothing," Emma held out her hand, indicating that they should stay and stand down as she went to the door. She flung it open, bracing herself to find Regina or Graham. But when she opened it, she stared for a split second at thin air…and then down at her son. "Henry!" she cried.
"Hey Emma," the ten-year old said casually as he walked right into the house and straight over to the Zimmer kids.
"Kid—what—" Emma spluttered and then looked to Mary Margaret. "What'd you do, call him over here?"
But Snow was just as surprised as her daughter and shook her head at once, taking the plate of fruit with her as she came around the kitchen island and joined the children at the couch. "I didn't know he was coming," she said, setting the fruit down in front of Nicolas. "Henry, where's your—" Her eyes at that moment fell on the large brown volume Henry had clutched to his chest. It was the book. Slowly, she straightened up as her grandson plopped down beside Ava and let it rest on his lap. "How…did you get—"
"Where's your mom, Kid?" Emma barked, not really wanting a repeat of any number of threatening conversations hashed out again with the mayor.
Amazingly, the boy was not phased by the panic of either woman. After flashing a toothy grin at Ava, he turned to his mom first. "She went out. Said she be back really late and that I should put myself to bed." Then, propping the book up straight on his knees, he shifted around and looked at Mary Margaret. "And I got it out of your desk drawer Miss Blanchard."
"You got—" Snow stuttered, shaking her head, "but I locked it—"
"You had the book?" Emma asked.
"I found your desk key."
Snow jerked a glance over at her purse. "You found—Henry—"
"Wait, why did you have his book?"
"Well it's really her book—"
"How did you get my key?"
"Henry—"
"The same way I got your credit card—"
"HEY!" Emma shouted, and the room settled down. "Could we have one conversation at a time please?"
"I agree," Snow said with a nod, glancing down at the Zimmer children who were watching the chaotic exchange with rather absorbed fascination. "Henry, what do you mean you got it from my desk drawer? It's Saturday. The school's closed."
At this, Henry stared down at his lap rather sheepishly. "I…have that key too," he admitted, recalling the morning a few months ago when he'd followed the queen to the square and saw her use her spare to get into the corner drug store. From then on, he became obsessed with the idea that his evil adoptive mom had to have spares for other places too and, right before he'd run away to Boston, he finally found the one to the school. He glanced up at his grandmother, for the first time ashamed, and sighed. "I'm…sorry I broke in, but I had to find out—"
"Wait a second," Emma cut in. "Why did you have it in the first place?" she turned to Mary Margaret who was still staring open-mouthed at the kid.
"I…uh…" Snow shook her head, still quite in awe of her industrious little grandson. What a clever little sneak he was turning out to be! She turned to Emma, but managed to flash Henry an approving grin to relieve his guilt. Henry beamed back at her gratefully, his blue eyes sparkling like her husband's. "I just wanted to um…check something," she finished lamely.
"Uh huh," Emma replied, unconvinced. But she turned her attention back on Henry. "You sure your mom'll be gone all night?"
Henry thought for a moment. "She said she had… 'business' to attend to." He turned and looked at Grandma Snow. "And when she says that?...she's usually gone all night."
The statement had a silencing effect on the room. Snow, of course, knew exactly what Henry meant. Nicolas and Ava were still staring silently, trying to follow anything that was being said. And Emma…well, even the mere mention of the mayor seemed to bring the more immediate situation with the Zimmer children back to the foreground.
Glancing between all three children now, she took a deep breath. "Henry," she began, approaching the other end of the couch. She looked at the book and then back up at Mary Margaret who gave her an encouraging nod. "What did you um…" she gulped and lowered herself to the edge of the couch. "What'd you find out?"
As if he'd been waiting to hear the question all evening, Henry parted the book and let it fall open on his lap, turning immediately toward Ava and Nicolas at the other end of the couch. "I know who you are," he proclaimed with joy to who he hoped might become his new friends. "I thought I remembered early today, but I had to get the book to be sure."
Emma gave Mary Margaret another worried glance as he flipped through the pages, but Mary's eyes were glued on Henry as she waited for the kid's next revelation.
"Whadya mean, who we are?" said Nicolas, his small voice seeming to almost startle himself as it was really the first time he'd spoken without taking a cue from his sister.
"Yeah, what is that?" Ava chimed in, letting her curiosity for this strange book surpass the awkwardness of being saddled in the middle of a rather bizarre family dynamic.
"It's a storybook," Henry replied as he continued flipping, his small hands leafing through pages and pages of colorful oil paintings and prose.
"Well we can see that," Ava responded, her voice suddenly droll.
Henry looked up. "Well…yeah but it's not just—" he stopped himself, truly thrown for the first time tonight, and rested his palm over an open page.
Emma gulped, glancing uncomfortably between Henry and Ava. Poor kid, she thought sadly. It was just now occurring to him that Ava and Nicolas…wouldn't automatically believe. So keen to have more allies for Operation Cobra, so dedicated to this self-imposed mission of his, he was completely unprepared for the guarded close-mindedness with which runaway orphans were forced to approach this cruel world. Nervously, he looked over at Emma, his expression helpless, and suddenly it was all too clear what she needed to do. "It's not just a storybook," Emma said and she felt rather than saw Mary Margaret shoot a startled glance in her direction. Smiling down at her son, she sat beside him and slid the book over so that it rested between their laps. "It's real."
Henry's jaw dropped and he whipped his head around to Snow before beaming back at him mom. Nicolas's expression also shifted from doubt to intrigue, but Ava's remained dubious. "Whadyou mean it's real?"
Emma placed her hand over the pages. "These stories? Well they're about people in this town. People in Storybrooke."
Nicolas skirted around his sister and crouched down on the other side of the coffee table, straining to get a look. Ava moved a bit closer too, peering over Henry's shoulder at a few illustrations, but she drew back and pursed her young lips together. "These," she pointed down at drawings, "look like fairy tales."
"They are," Henry chimed in, straightening up with fresh confidence inspired by his mom. "But they all actually happened. You were cursed into this world by an evil queen."
"Right," Ava said sourly. "I knew I left my magic wand somewhere."
"Hey!" Emma barked, ready to scold, but Henry interrupted.
"You don't have a magic wand," he said wryly. "You're not a fairy."
Ava scoffed, bolting to her feet. "This is stupid! Nicolas, let's go—"
"Hold on a minute," Emma pleaded, reaching her arm across her son and clasping Ava's wrist. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mary Margaret move in behind Ava, looking on supportively as she watched the conversation play out. "Look," Emma sighed, drawing back when she was confident Ava wouldn't immediately bolt again. "I know it's a lot to believe. It's…still hard for me." She glanced down at Henry and then back to the girl. "But believe me, every time Henry shows me something in this book? Something amazing happens. And if we have any hope of keeping you and your brother together…we need something amazing to happen."
Ava looked between Emma and Henry and then over to her brother, expecting to find the same 'gimme-a-break' expression as her own, but Nicolas wasn't looking at her. He was staring at the book, completely mesmerized.
Cautiously, Emma leaned back and looked at her son. "Who are they, Henry?"
He gave her a proud, goofy grin and then slowly flipped back a few pages. Pausing, he glanced around the entire group and then laid the book on the coffee table, opened to a full-color illustration of two kids standing beside a wheelbarrow with a broad-shouldered woodsman crouched down beside them. "Hansel and Gretel," he said quietly. From behind them, he heard Snow gasp.
Emma jerked around. "What?"
But Snow shook her head. "I just…I remember that one now, that's all."
Emma looked back at the illustration and stared. The clothing they wore was decidedly Dutch and the man pictured beside them was painted with his back to the reader. But the girl's long golden curls, the boy's dark wavy mop…both kids were carbon copies of the Zimmers. And the way 'Hansel and Gretel' were grinning up at the woodsman whose arms were braced one on each of their shoulders as if the picture was a snapshot taken just before he'd embraced them both – well, the image of such a clearly happy family struck the young deputy as rather incongruous given the children's impending trip.
Nicolas, who all the while had been glaring with intense fascination, propped himself up on the table with the heels of his palms and strained a look at the picture. Seeing this, Henry reached forward and slid it around, affording the young boy a proper look. "Ava," he whispered, running his hand over the page. "It's us."
Ava hadn't moved or said a word since Henry's revelation and staunchly refused to look closely.
"Ava," came Miss Blanchard's voice behind her. The schoolteacher placed her hands on Ava's shoulders and crouched slightly beside her. "You know the best chance you and your brother have of staying together is if Emma finds your father." Gently, she gave her a little nudge. "What would it hurt to look?"
The girl seemed to sense she was outnumbered, so she grudgingly plopped back down next to Henry and shifted the book back to her. When she saw the image of the two children, she too was admittedly stunned by the resemblance, but refused to admit it out loud. After several long moments of her looking at the book and feeling everyone else's eyes on her, she was about to push the silly story away from her and insist this was all still…nonsense. But something else in the painting caught her eye. Something the girl 'Gretel' was holding in her hand. Leaning forward a bit more, she squinted at the page, scrutinizing the very small detail and gasped. "Nick," she whispered. "Look."
Nicolas immediately looked to where his sister was pointing. "It can't be!" he said.
"What?" asked Henry.
More than a little spooked, the girl looked up at Emma. "Well…I'm not saying it means anything—"
"What is it?" Emma asked anxiously.
"It's the…the…" Ava looked back down, still not trusting her own eyes. But Nicolas finished for her.
"It's our father's compass."
"His what?"
"His compass," Ava confirmed. "Mom gave it to us a long time ago." She was staring straight ahead as she spoke, as if trapped in a sort of half-trance.
"Do you still have it?" Emma asked hurriedly, her mind spinning.
"Ava does," Nicolas said quickly, looking over at his sister. "Give it to her."
"Mom said not to give it to anyone—"
"Mom's dead, Ava. Give it to her!"
The room went silent again as all eyes turned to the young boy, whom everyone could agree had stayed mostly in his sister's shadow. But for whatever reason, he had latched right on to Henry's version of things, and Emma found she couldn't really blame him. The likeness between him and this 'Hansel' was quite uncanny, and the idea that there was a man out there like this woodsman who so clearly adored his children and was only being kept apart from them by an evil curse was far more attractive a scenario than facing the possibility that their real father just…didn't want them. Emma remembered when she'd finally had to accept her own cruel fate as an orphan. If Henry's theory kept that realization at bay, then so much the better.
Ava and Nicolas were still staring at each other, locked in some sort of telepathic stand-off, but at last the sister relented and went over to the easy chair on which she'd dropped her book bag. With another glance at the group, she sighed and retrieved the compass, bringing it back to the couch and placing it reverently in her lap. "Our mom kept it," she said quietly. "She said it would…help us find him."
Emma's breath hitched in her throat as the sudden vulnerability of this child squeezed her heart. She could tell instantly what the trinket meant to Ava. After all…in all the places Emma had lived, all the cities she'd moved to…she always took her baby blanket.
Ava glanced at her brother who nodded. "If I give it to you, do you promise we'll be able to stay together?"
Emma felt the words getting caught in her throat and instantly she thought of the mayor's warning today: I suggest you stop making promises you can't keep. But she would not let that stop her. Holding out her hand, she peered into the lost girl's eyes and nodded. "I promise."
Hesitating a moment more, Ava sighed and placed the compass in Emma's palm. And when Emma closed her fingers around it, she could feel the weight of what it meant to the girl in her hand. "Thank you," she whispered with a small smile to both children; she rose from the couch, leaving the kids in the sitting room and went right for her coat.
"Where are you going?" she heard behind her as she shrugged on her lucky red-leather jacket. Emma turned toward a panicked Mary Margaret.
"Whadyou mean where am I going? Gotta see what I can find out about this." She gave the compass a little shake before threading it through her sleeve.
Snow glanced up at the kitchen clock. "It's almost nine-thirty; what're you gonna do?"
Emma bit her bottom lip and thought for a moment, the answer buzzing in her head like a song. She held up the compass in front of her and gave it a little nod. "Gonna see a guy who likes buying…treasure."
Snow's eyebrows rose high on her head in comprehension. "You're going to Mr. Gold's?" she whispered. "The man who almost bought Ashley's baby?" Her heart was racing. That's not all 'Mr. Gold' had done of course. But she couldn't tell Emma that. And really, they were out of options and out of time.
"Do you have any better ideas? Graham is picking them up first thing tomorrow and heading to Boston. I'm not gonna let that happen."
Unable to offer alternatives, Snow shook her head, fearing for her daughter's safety where Rumpelstiltskin was concerned, but forcing herself to remember: Emma Swan could take care of herself.
"Keep an eye on them," Emma nodded toward the Zimmers and turned toward the door. She was halfway across the threshold when she stopped and stepped back inside. You know it'll make his day, Mary Margaret had said. And if anything good comes out of this…let it be that. She knew it was risky, but Mary had been absolutely right about Henry and his theories. Once again, against all odds, that crazy storybook of his had given them a clue. Hastily, she took a step toward the sitting room and grinned down at her son who was busily showing Ava and Nicolas the rest of their story. "Hey Kid," she called.
Henry jerked his head up. "Yeah?"
Emma smiled. "You comin'?"
…
The Radley Place fascinated Dill. In spite of our warnings and explanations it drew him as the moon draws water, but drew him no nearer than the light-pole on the corner, a safe distance from the Radley gate. There he would stand, his arm around the fat pole, staring and wondering…
Rose stared intently at the passage in front of her, trying to let Harper Lee's precocious Scout distract her from the events of the day. To Kill a Mockingbird had always been one of her favorite books, so much so that she often carried a small paperback copy in her purse. Reading the novel was usually comfort food for Rose, but not even its brilliant pages could quite sooth the agony of worrying tonight.
It was very late and Jack had long since departed for the evening while she continued her vigil by her father's bedside. Dr. Stone had been in a few more times as well as a host of other specialists. Taking her father off Coumadin had indeed helped control the bleeding, but there was still the ever-present question of why he'd started bleeding in the first place and how they were supposed to keep it from happening again. The variety of physicians that had examined him by now all seemed to be in agreement that it was the combination of too many medications that had caused the erosion of Mo's intestines. So the immediate problem could be corrected. But no one could quite come up with an answer for her yet as to how her father was supposed to continue any sort of stable quality of life if he could no longer take the medications he supposedly couldn't go without.
And so here she was…waiting. Waiting until morning now, for even Dr. Stone needed rest. Visitation hours had long since expired, but Stone had graciously arranged it so she could stay. Her father, blessedly, was finally resting, but still, she could not bear to face an evening alone at home with so much uncertainty. Jack had invited her over to his house but…well, especially with what had happened in front of Mary, she didn't feel quite up to going there. So she turned to the only meaningful comfort in her life: books…
Inside the house lived a malevolent phantom. People said he existed, but Jem and I had never seen him. People said he went out at night when the moon was down, and peeped in windows. When people's azaleas froze in a cold snap, it was because he had breathed on them…
An avid reader for…well, for as long as she could remember, it was rare that a good book could not keep her fully occupied and distracted in times like these. But it had been an especially trying day and at this late hour, the halls of this wing were just too quiet. And so she pressed a kiss to her father's forehead and then moved to the door, hazarding a glance down the long, empty corridor outside Mo's room. Satisfied that all was quiet, she stepped out in the hallway, book in hand, and started to wander…
Miss Stephanie said old Mr. Radley said no Radley was going to any asylum, when it was suggested that a season in Tuscaloosa might be helpful to Boo. Boo wasn't crazy…
Allowing herself to get lost again in the pages, Rose padded down the hallway, expertly dodging carts, chairs and wet-floor signs lying about the hospital wing despite the fact that she never looked up from the novel. It was a honed skill of hers: walking and reading at the same time. As she turned a page, she also turned a corner and wound up stepping into an elevator with a night-shift custodian. He nodded to her, but she was too absorbed now to notice…
It was all right to shut him up, Mr. Radley conceded, but insisted that Boo not be charged with anything: he was not a criminal…
The elevator dinged a few moments later and Rose stepped out, unaware that the custodian had already gotten off a stop before. She turned down another corridor, this one much darker than the wing in which her father slept. Down the hall she could hear sounds that her mind registered as moans and wails of pain, though she did not find them too out of the ordinary. She was in a hospital after all…
Nobody knew what form of intimidation Mr. Radley employed to keep Boo out of sight, but Jem figured that Mr. Radley kept him chained to the bed most of the time…
Rose continued her aimless trek, gliding right past the reception desk currently unmanned. Had she been paying closer attention, she might have noticed that the wing was unlike most she'd seen at this hospital. That to enter the admin area, she'd passed through a steel gate rather than an archway. That the sign above the desk read an ominous 'PSYCH WARD' in bold letters hanging from the ceiling tiles. The noises started getting louder as she read on…
Atticus said no, it wasn't that sort of thing, that there were other ways of making people into ghosts—
At that moment, a loud clattering startled Rose from her book and she jumped when she looked up, finding herself in completely unfamiliar territory. The hallway was modeled like others here at Storybooke General, but certainly none this dank. She glanced around, hearing more sounds down the corridor and started when she saw the sign and the gate she'd just walked through. If this was indeed the psych ward, why in the world would they have left the entrance unlocked? A quick peek around a corner confirmed her suspicions. Some commotion had clearly alerted the staff away from the admin desk; she saw three nurses and a large, muscular man struggling to drag a patient back to her room. It was likely one of them had just come through the gate when the others rang for help.
Frightened, she turned away, retracing her steps back to the entrance gate…and then she froze. Her breath caught in her throat and something sharp gripped her heart. She'd never felt anything like it before, but it was as if something had gone through her. She whipped her head around, looking to see if someone had breezed by her, but she was still alone. Trying to shake it off, she took another step toward the gate…and froze again. There it was: that sharp pain gripping, almost tugging her backward. The hallway down which the initial commotion had occurred seemed to be dying down and she heard footsteps and indistinct chatter as the nurses were returning to their station. Hastily, for she knew she did not belong here, she ducked down the opposite corridor, along another row of rooms attached to the ward. The staff walked right by the hallway entrance, not seeming to notice her, and Rose breathed a sigh of relief. Now was her chance to get away…And then it happened a third time. She stood, paralyzed by the realization that something was keeping her here, almost begging her to stay. And she could feel, though she could hardly explain it, that she was close…very close to the source. To the force pulling her along. Giving in, she clasped her book tightly to her breast and took a deep breath. You are one of the smartest, bravest women I've ever met, she heard Mary Margaret's voice. And though she hardly agreed, the schoolteacher's confidence in her prodded her along. She passed by a series of rooms, doors all closed and locked, with the terrifying sounds of whimpering and crying beyond the walls. But she pressed on, determined now to discover this inexplicable force that seemed to have taken hold of her. The tightness in her heart continued to twist and compress her soul to the point where she could barely breathe. What on earth was happening to her? She felt like a magnet being dragged toward an invisible field that she was quite powerless to resist. And then all at once, it stopped. She was standing outside the door of a patient's room, but this one was open. Timidly, she peered around the doorframe into the room and caught her breath.
Inside, a patient lay peacefully on an elevated bed, covered in a pristine white sheet up to his torso. He was relatively young, Rose guessed, in his late 20s-early 30s. Upon closer inspection, Rose noticed the man had tubes sticking out of pretty much every available vein along his arm and she shivered when her gaze swept down his form and she saw the black, industrial Velcro straps, tethering him to the bed. Psych Ward! she reminded herself, feeling quite the fool, and she turned to back out of the room…but then found she could not leave. More importantly…she did not want to. She took a deep breath, steeled herself against her rattled nerves, and approached the bed. As she drew closer, the moonlight peaked out from behind a cloud, shining through his barred windows and casting a heavenly glow across his handsomeface. His…very handsome face. No, she thought as a strange thrill coursed through her. Completely inappropriate Rose, she thought, stop that! But the truth could not be denied. This man was…beautiful. His face was long and angular, with a pronounced chin and a rather healthy, rich complexion for a psych patient. His hair was long, matted a bit against the sweat-stained pillows, but she had to resist the urge to run her fingers through the dusty blonde strands at his forehead. She was so close now…too close to be believed for an emotionally challenged bartender who had never ventured beyond the worlds in her book and the walls of her imagination. This was no fantasy though. This was no horror novel. This man was real. And what more – she knewhim. She had no idea who he was but…she knew him. Against every cautious fiber in her body, she reached forward to touch his cheek, barely able to believe her daring when a voice wrenched her from her stupor.
"What are you doing in here?" it bellowed behind her. She turned, nearly yelping out of her socks from the intrusion, and beheld a tall, slender man with piercing black eyes and a very cross look on his face.
"I'm…I'm sorry," she squeaked in a mousy voice.
"You don't belong here," the tall man growled and Rose found herself almost repulsed by the severity in his expression. He was dressed in a long white lab coat, but underneath was blackness. Black pants, black dress shoes, black shirt and tie. He had jet black hair, parted on the side and cropped short at the back, though his hair trailed in two thin lines from his temples, down his sideburns and under his chin, almost framing his face like it was some sort of austere Victorian portrait. His eyebrows furrowed in one dark line across his brow as he stalked into the room, pounding his fist into the wall intercom. "Nurse!" he called, jerking his head toward the hallway.
"I'm-I'm r-really sorry…I got lost and—" she stammered and shrank back instinctively, crashing against the patient's bed as the doctor advanced on her. She was about to continue when she heard something shift behind her. She whipped around and gripped the metal bed rail for support, and then she gasped. The man…he was awake. And he was staring at her.
Their gazes locked, and though she could sense the doctor getting closer and was sure a nurse had now entered the room, it felt as if everything outside of herself and this patient was happening in slow motion. The man's eyes, a deep penetrating blue, were just as beautiful as the rest of his face and they squinted up at hers as she came slowly into focus. He blinked once…twice…and then his eyes flew wide open. Rose jerked. He…he recognized her.
He swallowed hard, and she could tell that talking was difficult for him. But when finally he spoke, his voice was deep…and rich…and terrifying. "Belle?" he croaked.
Rose's heart sank. He didn't recognize her. He thought she was someone else.
"Belle!" he cried again, this time arching upward on his bed, trying to wrench himself free. "Belle!" The violence with which he tugged and yanked against his restraints was unnerving, and even if the doctor and nurse hadn't at that moment shoved her out of the way to contain him, Rose would have stumbled back. She watched in agony as a second nurse ran into the room and skirted around the other side of the bed just in time to catch the man's wrist as he wrenched it free.
"BELLE!" he screamed a third time as Rose backed into a hospital cart, sending it and a half-dozen stacked towels and various toiletries crashing to the ground. "Let go of me!" he bellowed. A third nurse had run in and Rose gasped as she saw her tapping her finger against a syringe in her hand and raised it above her head. "Belle! My love!" she heard, though she could no longer see him amidst the throng of staff pinning him down. "Run!" he screamed at her. "Go NOW!"
And run she did, her book dropping to the floor, as she practically lunged for the door and raced back up the corridor, fleeing the nightmare from which she could not wake.
…
DICLAIMER: The title, characters, plot and dialogue from To Kill a Mockingbird is entirely the property of Harper Lee and Warner Books.
*** Kudos to burning.., littleoddball, and music nimf (among others I'm sure I'm forgetting) for figuring out many of the easter eggs in the previous few chapters. Because they're not central to the story, I'll give one away: Roger and Anita mentioned in Chapter 12 are the names of Pongo's and Perdita's owners in 101 Dalmatians. Several others have already correctly guessed the identity of John (though I won't spoil that one) and a few very sharp readers out there have unknowingly guessed at some scenes and concepts I actually do have planned for the future. Plenty more in store for our beloved characters here. So sorry it's been a while between updates but this particular chapter went through a few different drafts and versions to get just right.
Hope you're enjoying. I know my concept for Beauty and the Beast is way off canon from the show, but as I warned you back in Chapter 11 (or was it 10?) I had a really clear idea of where I wanted to take that world and those characters. The Psych Ward scene was actually in my head before I saw the end of "Skin Deep" which is why, in my story, it's a Psych Ward, and not a basement prison block.
Want to send special thanks out to Samantha, Rebecca, KayleeThePete, Samantha and Jillian A.K. for such great reviews and perspectives as well as to the hundreds of you who have favorited and/or requested alerts.
Very much looking forward to this weekend's episode – more so than other episodes lately perhaps, as I absolutely love Leroy/Grumpy and can't wait to see the woman behind his grief. Judging from the previews, it looks like we'll finally get some meaty David/Emma interaction on the show too – it's about time!
Happy Reading/Writing/Living***
PS…anyone else just totally stoked that Meryl Streep finally got herself another Oscar?