Rapping her knuckles on the front door of Graham's personal address, she cannot believe how she got here.
She knows she should just turn back, return to her lovely friend's house instead of embarking on this maddening adventure - but there is something inside her that cannot bring herself to turn back, something calling her, telling her that she needs to go. In this new life, every moment is an adventure, one she may wake up from at any moment, find herself back on the 21st century Boston streets.
She had tried the police station first, but the desk sergeant told her he had not yet come to the station. When she had said that it was not for police business, he had suggested she try him at home - and that was an offer she could not turn down.
When he opens the door after what seems like at least a few minutes, he looks just as surprised to see her as she does.
"Emma," he says.
"Hello, Graham." She smiles at him and feels the blood rush to her face. "May I come in?"
He seems just as embarrassed as she is, running his fingers through his dripping hair.
"Oh, yes, of course." He smiles at her, stepping out of the way to let her in.
His house is quaint, exactly what a 19th century bachelor's place would look like, in her mind. Most of the downstairs consists of one large room, which he seems to use as the kitchen, dining room, and living room, all at once, though it is severely lacking furniture of any kind. He has a small dining room table, covered in papers and case files; a padded chair in the corner in front of a bay window; and a beautiful victorian-era roll-top desk encompassed by two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
"Would you like something to drink?" he asks, pulling out one of the kitchen chairs for her, then begins to roll up the sleeves of his button-down shirt, leaning on the counter, his eyes fixed on her.
"Whiskey, if you have it."
He lets out a soft laugh, reaching behind him for the bottle on the counter, then pouring a glass for each of them before sitting across the table from her.
"So, what brings you here, Miss Swan?" he asks, taking a sip of the glass.
"Damned if I know," she mutters, just loud enough for him to hear her.
He leans in towards her, taking another sip of his whiskey. "You are unlike any woman I have ever met. You don't act like the women I usually find crossing my path, yet I have been unable to get you off my mind since I first saw you. What do you suppose I should do about that?"
Emma looks up at him over the rest of her whiskey, her bright green eyes shining, and she feels her heart flutter in her chest. She challenges him: "What would you like to do about it?" She finishes her whiskey, then pushes herself away from the table, standing up to further investigate the contents of the living room.
She hears him set down his glass of whiskey, then push his chair so he can stand. Running a finger across the line of books, she pretends to read the spines, but is instead caught up in watching him approach her from the corner of her eye.
"You've been staying with Miss French quite a while now, I assume you've learned just what it is I tend to do with women who catch my eye," he says, stopping just inches behind her. She feels his eyes on her, fixed like a beacon shining through the fog, but she does not turn around.
"You're an impressive scholar, Mr. Humphrey."
"Give me the chance, Miss Swan, and I'll impress you in other ways, as well." He sets his hand on her shoulder, and she turns towards him, closing the little space between them to kiss him, aggressive and needy.
He wraps his arms around her, pushing her back against the bookshelves, but it is here, in this moment, with his lips pressed against hers, that Emma realizes something deep within her, though she may not quite understand what it means outwardly: she wants something, yes. Maybe even needs something. And though the southern sheriff is gorgeous and obviously ignites some sort of attraction within her, there is something off about their interaction - while it may fill the hole within her, she somehow knows that it is not the right solution for her problem.
She leans her head back, pulling away from him for just a moment, and searches his eyes for something, though she does not know what - though she does know that she does not find it.
"Something the matter, Emma?" he asks, but before she gets the chance to answer, there is a pounding on the door, which they then both turn to.
"Sheriff Humphrey!" Someone calls for him, continuing to pound at the door.
Graham turns back to her, eyes wide. "Emma," he says, but she is already bounding across the large room, then takes a seat at the table.
Nodding to her, he heads to the door, and they are both surprised by the sight beheld on the other side: Killian, kneeling on the stoop, disheveled and bloody, his collar held by who Emma can only assume to be the Dark One that she has held so much about, though she would certainly not know that he is just a primitive version of her very own Mayor Gold. His facial features may look similar, yes, but everything else about him is surprising, from his shining, reptilian skin to his odd, armor-like attire.
"Killian," she breathes, a surprising amount of hurt in her chest, seeing him there in that state.
Both of the guests are surprised to see her there, sitting at the sheriff's dining room table, and she can see the pain in Killian's bright blue eyes even with all the distance between them.
The Dark One, however, lets out a bone-chilling cackle at the sight of her. "Oh, Miss Swan, how nice to see you! I truly am glad you are here, dearie!"
"What can I do for you, sir?" Graham asks.
"Oh, yes!" The Dark One replies, as if he had momentarily forgotten why he was there in the first place. "Sheriff Humphrey, I need you to arrest this man."
"On what charges?" Emma asks furiously, standing up so quickly the chair flies backwards away from her.
Graham turns to face her, eyes pleading. "Please, Miss Swan, let me handle this." She takes a few steps back, searching for something to steady her before she falls.
"Why should I arrest this man, Dark One?"
She keeps her eyes fixed on him, on Killian, as the Dark One begins his barrage.
"He killed my Milah, my wife! Ripped out her heart right in front of me, so that neither of us could have her! Plus he killed two more of his men that tried to stop him. And I heard that he destroyed property at one of the local taverns."
She feels her eyes well up with tears, blurring her vision, but she still does not tear her eyes away from him.
"And do you have proof of these crimes?"
"Proof!" He laughs again. "What proof do you need to put a pirate in irons, sheriff? It's my word against his, and, really, who is going to trust the word of this criminal over the word of, well, me?"
Graham turns back to her again, only making eye contact for a moment as he steps towards the table, reaching for his old fashioned pair of handcuffs sitting in the center of it.
"Killian Jones, you are under arrest for the murders of Milah, two men from aboard the Jolly Roger, public intoxication, and destruction of property, Do you have anything you would like to say for yourself?"
He breaks his eye contact with Emma to look up at the sheriff, and says softly, "I'm not going to fight you, mate."
His words hit Emma like a knife to the heart: he is not going to fight, not even to save himself. And she finally realizes why she knew she needed to be here - not for Graham, but for Killian.
She wants to follow them to the station, begin fighting for his innocence as soon as she can, but the pain of seeing her innocent Killian in handcuffs is too much to bare, so she comes up with another idea. Instead, she breaks away from them and turns her attention towards the Jolly Roger, her first step in piling evidence against the Dark One - and proving the innocence of Killian Jones.
The deck is still silent, the crew apparently still absent under yesterday's order of their captain, but this time it helps her. At first, she knows nothing about what happened aboard this ship beyond what Killian told her just that morning: who was present, when exactly it happened, and, most importantly, where on the ship it all took place. It does not take long for her to find it, however: there, by the mast, she finds the first pool of blood - much less blood than she expected to find, given she heard the Dark One ripped Milah's heart from her chest.
But then again, that's a sight she never had the pleasure of seeing first-hand, so she really had no idea.
She follows the blood spatter across the deck, tracking Killian's footsteps before he had the chance to get his arm taken care of. She notices the pile of ropes by the mast, not as perfectly coiled as the rest of the ropes of the deck. But, perhaps the most noticeable, is the track of smeared blood, from the mast and up the steps to behind the helm, where she finds the funeral-wrapped body, who she presumes to be Milah, right where the Dark One said she would be found.
Something crosses her mind just then, standing there looking at the dead body of Milah: autopsies. When did people start doing autopsies on dead bodies? If she suggested to Graham that they perform one on Milah's body to help prove Killian's innocence.
She does notice, however, the stunning lack of blood on the wrapped body, especially given her cause of death. She wants to unwrap the body, search for more evidence, but she also knows that it's not her place, that it may do more harm to Killian's case than help, so she leaves it for now, continuing her search over the rest of the ship, which seems to be fairly spotless.
She leaves the hardest room for last, the captain's cabin. It looks almost identical to how she left it this morning, with the unmade bed, the messy desk, the rum bottles strewn about the room. But the one thing that is different is the one thing she can't take her eyes off of: strewn across the bed and left there when he was taken from the ship is Killian's long leather jacket. Pulling herself onto the bed, she takes the jacket in her hands, feeling it under her thumbs.
This is how Graham finds her, though surprised to see her. She does not know how long it has been since she disappeared from behind them on the way to the station, but he does not seem to be that worried about her, seeing her there like that.
"Emma, what are you doing here?"
It's not what expects to hear from her, but he answers the question anyway: "I would like to believe so, but the Dark One runs this town. No one is going to go against his word."
"I have to help him."
"Just a few hours ago, you were ready to give yourself to me, and now you're defending a pirate. What am I supposed to think about you, Miss Swan?"
Finally, she voices something, a realization she came to for herself just earlier that day, though she is still confused as hell about it all: "I wasn't - I don't think I was there for you, Graham. I think I needed to be there to help him, to help Killian."
"Oh, that's just brilliant. You can't-"
"I need to save him. I may not have discovered that through the best circumstances, but I know it's the truth."
Graham must not have anything else to say, for he turns on his heel and leaves her sitting there alone.