With a screech of tyres, the cruiser came to a sudden stop before the grand town hall, its sleek frame vibrating from the abrupt halt. The imposing mustard-coloured building, flanked by four sturdy pillars, loomed before the sheriff like a bastion of authority. As the sheriff emerged from the car, the door protested loudly, swinging open with a metallic groan. A gust of wind swept past, tousling her blonde hair into a whirlwind of golden tendrils that danced around her face.
Taking a moment to collect herself, she inhaled deeply, drawing in the scent of anticipation that hung in the air. The breeze brought a momentary clarity, offering respite from the chaos of the day so far. With a determined thud, she shut the door and strode purposefully towards the entrance, her steps echoing against the stone façade. Inside, the urgent rhythm of her footsteps drowned out the frantic protests from Regina's secretary as she pushed past.
As Emma stood before the frosted door engraved with 'Mayor Mills', her hand hovered in mid-air, poised to grasp the doorknob. Before her fingers could make contact, a crackle of energy rippled through the air, accompanied by a subtle hint of magic swirling around her. Suddenly, the door swung open of its own accord, leaving the blonde's hand suspended in mid-air, reaching for something that was no longer there. With a decisive click, the Mayor's office lay before her, the Mayor seated resolutely behind her desk, her gaze meeting Emma's with unwavering intensity.
"Miss Swan, was it necessary to barge into my office?" The Mayor's eyebrow raised, irritation evident behind her reading glasses. "Surely even you know how to knock, Sheriff."
Emma bit her tongue, frustration bubbling within her, she hadn't even had a chance to open the door before it burst open. With a resigned sigh, the blonde ran her hand through her hair and put her other hand into her back pocket, a sign of her inner turmoil. "Regina…" Emma began, stepping into the immaculate room, her eyes briefly taking in the stark contrast between her dishevelled appearance and the ordered environment. She felt a pang of vulnerability in the face of Regina's composed demeanour, caught off guard by the depth of emotion flickering in the brunette's eyes.
Regina rose from her desk chair, her movements deliberate as she stood in front of the vast mahogany structure, a silent demand for attention and respect graced her before she spoke. "By all means, Miss Swan," Regina interrupted, her tone laced with bite, clearly annoyed at the disruption. "Please, take a seat. Make yourself at home," she added, removing her glasses, and placing them on the desk with precise movements.
"Listen, Regina, I'm sorry for coming here, but…" Emma's voice trailed off as she approached, her gaze now lingering on the polished tile beneath her feet. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on her shoulders, overshadowing her usual confidence with a sense of urgency and desperation.
"But what, Sheriff? Spit it out. I don't have all day!" Regina's impatience surfaced, yet as she observed the dishevelled state of the blonde, her annoyance gave way to concern. Beneath her resolve, a flicker of worry sparked, overshadowing the need to maintain her carefully constructed barriers. Regina's voice softened as she met Emma's gaze. "What happened? Is it Henry?"
The relief was palpable as Emma shook her head. "No, Henry's fine."
Regina's features softened momentarily before she regained her composure, though the worry lingered beneath the surface. "Well? What is it?" She almost shouted, sounding bored.
Emma's voice wavered as she spoke, her vulnerability laid bare in the face of Regina's unwavering presence. "A girl was found dead this morning, murdered. I'm here to ask you to come with me."
Regina was taken aback, as a sharp sting tugged at her heart at Emma's accusation. After all they'd been through, she couldn't believe that the blonde would think she had anything to do with this. Steeling herself, Regina maintained her cool, "I can assure you, Sheriff," she vehemently spat, "I have nothing to do with this!" she turned away, heading back to her desk, her heels tapping rhythmically against the pristine black and white floor.
But Emma wasn't letting her go so easily. She grabbed Regina's arm, stopping the short brunette in her tracks. "No, Regina, I…I need your help. I thought that you know the two of us could figure this out together. I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" her words stumbled over each other as she struggled to explain.
Regina shook Emma off, feeling slightly affected by the blonde's touch, but just as quickly her resolve hardened once more as she faced the sheriff with a steely gaze. Despite the hurt and the lingering worry, she maintained her composure, brushing past the blonde and heading towards the exit with measured steps. Over her shoulder, she spoke, "Well? Come along, Miss Swan. We have a killer to catch."
Meanwhile, on the other side of Storybrooke, Dr. Whale had just entered the morgue nestled below the hospital. His clipboard in hand, he perused the scant information he had on his 'patient' his demeanour unfazed as he approached the body lying atop the steel autopsy table a few steps away.
Moving forward with purpose, he placed his clipboard down beside the girl's body, his eyes taking in the scene before him. He noted the lacerations on her face and hands, but the most striking wounds were the gash on the young woman's neck and the sickening instrument impaled within her abdomen. Quickly slipping on a pair of latex gloves and covering his face with the surgical mask hanging around his throat, he prepared for the task at hand.
With a flick of a switch, he illuminated the overhead light above the corpse, casting a stark brightness upon the scene. The doctor wasted no time, poking and prodding with gloved fingers, meticulously examining the tightening flesh for any signs of irregularity. Finding nothing amiss, Whale turned his attention to the drawer to his left, pulling it out from beneath the steel table. Within, he located what he needed-a pair of steel pliers.
Clamping onto the branch wedged between the girl's flesh, Whale began to tug, but it wouldn't budge. Frustration crept into expression as he struggled against the stubborn stake, eventually relenting, and placing the pliers back now with a resigned sigh.
Clasping both hands around the instrument, Whale yanked with all his strength for a second time, the sound of a sickening gurgled crunch echoing in the otherwise quiet room. With another determined tug, the stubborn branch was finally released. Raising it to the light, the doctor couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at how blunt it was. Picking up an evidence bag, Whale carefully placed the 'weapon' inside, leaving it to the side to examine later.
Once the branch was removed, Whale moved on to the meticulous task of gathering the girl's prints and dental records. Opening up the black ink pad, he reached out for the right hand of the body lying before him. With gentle precision, he spread the stiffening fingers out flat against the cold steel of the table. Methodically, one by one, he rolled each digit against the ink and then pressed the prints of the victim, right to left, across his paperwork. He repeated the same procedure on the other hand before proceeding to check the girl's teeth. With practised expertise, he began to note down her dental pattern, jotting down all the necessary information he needed before heading over to the ancient computer nestled in the corner of the silent room.
The doctor settled himself at the desk of his antiqued computer within the morgue, the hum of the machine providing a stark contrast to the eerie stillness of the room. He began the process of running the prints of the girl lying just behind him, his fingers dancing across the keyboard. However, his first attempts at scanning them into the computer failed miserably. 'NO MATCH' flashed across the screen in deep red, casting an ominous glow in the dimly lit space.
Frowning in confusion, the doctor tried again, his brow furrowing as 'NO MTACH' flashed once more, mocking his efforts.
Leaving the fingerprint match for later, he turned his attention to entering the young woman's dental records. Yet again, frustration welled up as 'NO MATCH' flashed angrily across the grey monitor, like a stubborn reminder of his failure. Sighing heavily, the doctor muttered to himself, "Impossible."
Standing from his chair with a sense of determination, Whale made his way back over to the decaying body in the room. Once again, he stretched gloves over his hands, the snap of latex breaking the silence as he prepared to examine the body yet again. His trained eyes meticulously scanned over the girl's form, noting every detail with clinical precision. A fracture to the victim's left foot caught his attention, the bone of her ankle protruding from broken skin. Small cuts and bruising marred the girl's body, a map of pain and suffering etched into her flesh. There wasn't any part of her that wasn't in some way mangled and damaged, painting a haunting picture of the horrors she had faced.
Turning his attention to the victim's neck, Dr. Whale found it difficult to discern what exactly had caused such a fatal wound. He reached out to the right of him, never once letting his eyes wander from the gruesome laceration. After a moment's search, his fingers closed around the familiar weight of his head magnifier. Popping it on he grabbed one of the many small magnifiers scattered around him and positioned it into place, leaning forward to take a closer look at the open wound.
Peering through the magnified lens, the doctor could make out a series of teeth marks engraved within the girl's flesh. At first glance, he could have classified this as an animal attack, but as he observed the state of the body and noted that she was completely drained of blood, he quickly dismissed that thought. Dread crept over him like a shroud as the chilling realisation settled in, he knew what this was; he'd seen it before.
In the world of black and white, Whale had encountered many victims with marks such as this before, on countless bodies. But this time was different. Fear gnawed at his insides as he recognised the unmistakable signature of a vampire attack. Memories of nights spent hiding away as demons bound to the darkness terrorized small towns flooded his mind. He recalled the scenes of horror and destruction, villages left scorched into ashes or residents left to bleed out as chaos reigned. His hands trembled slightly as he struggled to come to terms with the implications. He couldn't shake the chilling realisation that their kind could be here in Storybrooke, a land that was riddled with fairytale characters and famous stories alike. With a heavy heart, he thought, 'Like we'd be so lucky.'
With a sense of dread weighing heavily upon him, Dr. Whale wasted no time in springing into action. Carefully, he retrieved sterile swabs and vials from the nearby cabinet, his hands shaking ever so slightly as he worked to collect samples from the bitten area. Each movement was deliberate, his mind racing with the implications of what he had just discovered.
Once the swabs were secured, Whale moved swiftly to the laboratory section of the morgue. There, he carefully prepared the samples, running tests to analyse both the blood and the saliva left behind by the perpetrator. The air in the room felt thick with tension as he worked, the hum of the machines serving as a constant reminder of the gravity of the situation.
As the tests ran, Whale found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the screen. Time seemed to stretch on endlessly as he waited for the results, each passing second feeling like an eternity. And then, suddenly, the screen flashed with a match. Whale's breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and dread.
But when the name flashed on the screen in blood-red letters, Whale paled even further, if that was possible. His hands trembled as he read the name, a name he never expected to see in connection with such a heinous crime. The implications were staggering, sending a chill down his spine as he realised the depth of the darkness lurking within Storybrooke. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Whale knew that things were about to get much, much worse.
Then the heavy door to the morgue suddenly swung open, revealing Sheriff Swan and Mayor Mills standing in the doorway. The doctor's heart skipped a beat as he turned around immediately, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of the two women. Fear gripped him like a vice, squeezing tight as he locked eyes with them. He could feel the weight of their scrutiny bearing down on him, and a cold sweat broke out across his forehead.
Gulping down the bile rising within his throat, he forced himself to maintain a semblance of composure, though his hands trembled ever so slightly over the old mouse of his computer, he cleared the monitor of any evidence. With a weary smile and a nod of his head in greeting, he silently prayed that they wouldn't notice the turmoil churning within him.
As Emma stepped into the room, she was instantly hit with a godawful smell that assaulted her senses. It was overwhelming, unlike anything she had imagined. It wasn't the scent she associated with death; it was something more visceral. The stench made her stomach churn, and her face scrunched up in disgust. It was the sickly, putrid odour of rotting meat as if it had been left in a fridge for days to decompose. Emma felt bile rising in her throat, threatening to spill over.
Taking in her surroundings, the young woman began to feel anxious. The sterile white walls of the room seemed to close in on her, suffocating her with their clinical aura. She could feel her head spinning, a dizzying sensation that made her grip tighten on Regina's arm for support. She hated hospitals, and she hated this feeling of helplessness. The room felt oppressively cold, yet a thin film of sweat began to coat her skin, a physical manifestation of her mounting discomfort. Emma fought to keep her composure, but with each passing moment, the overwhelming atmosphere threatened to overwhelm her entirely.
Glancing around the cold, lifeless abyss she found herself in, Emma noticed that the walls weren't as pristine white as she had first believed. They were smeared with a dark crust, a grim reminder of the tragedies that had unfolded within these walls. The sight made her feel lightheaded, exacerbating her already overwhelming sense of nausea. Unknowingly, she found herself scooting a little closer to Regina, seeking solace in the presence of the composed brunette. One glance towards Regina and the sheriff sobered up, steeling herself for what lay ahead.
To her left stood Regina, seemingly unfazed by the grim surroundings. She exuded an air of regal poise as if she were accustomed to these kinds of situations. Emma couldn't help but wonder what trails the older woman had endured to become so accustomed to the horrors within these walls.
"Whale," Emma heard Regina eventually break the silence in greeting, her voice cutting through the heavy atmosphere like a knife.
Looking over towards the doctor, Emma noticed that he was visibly shaken, a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanour. His hands trembled slightly as Regina stepped forward towards him. With a hesitant step back, he spoke, his voice unsteady, "I'll be back shortly, please," he motioned towards the body, "Take a look." And with that, he quickly slipped out of the room, leaving a sense of unease lingering in his wake.
Emma made her way over to where Regina was currently looking over the victim. As her eyes fell upon the sight before her, she couldn't help but gasp, lifting a hand to her mouth in horror. She had tried to avoid looking at the body when she first entered the room, but now she couldn't tear her gaze away. If she thought that what she had previously seen was terrifying, she'd been sorely mistaken. The girl from earlier today looked nothing like she remembered. It was as if she had stepped into a scene from a horror movie. The body that lay before them appeared eerily unreal, like a grotesque imitation of life. Emma couldn't shake the feeling that she was looking at a big rubber dummy, a waxwork figure, anything but the remains of a girl who was once living and breathing.
Feeling a comforting hand on her shoulder, Emma glanced up into Regina's deep pools of brown, which seemed to stare intently at her. She thought she could see a flicker of concern flash through the mayor's eyes, but it was quickly masked away with a subtle turn of the woman's head.
"I've never seen anything like this before," the brunette remarked, her voice laced with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension as she walked around the table, scrutinizing the dead girl's injuries.
Regina continued to examine the bite marks within the girl's skin, her brow furrowed in deep concentration. She was intrigued by the peculiar nature of the wounds and began to read the notes the doctor had left behind. Scanning his script, her eyes instantly latched onto four unmissable words: 'body drained of blood'. In an instant, Regina froze, her mind drifting back to a memory of one of the many books she had read to pass the time when she first arrived in Storybrooke. Regina wasn't one for reading about fantasy and horror; she had essentially lived through it. But once she started something, she had to finish it, whether it was good or not.
As Regina absorbed the chilling revelation, her mind raced back to the pages of folklore she had once perused. Vampires. The word echoed in her thoughts, conjuring images of mythical beings that fed on the life essence of the living, their existence shrouded in darkness and terror. She remembered how folklore described them as the undead, creatures that caused havoc and destruction wherever they roamed.
As the weight of realization settled upon her, Regina could scarcely believe what she was contemplating. Vampires in Storybrooke? It seemed preposterous, inconceivable. Yet, the evidence before her eyes spoke volumes. "Impossible," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, disbelief evident in every syllable. Emma watched in silence, the gravity of the situation sinking in as Regina grappled with the horrifying truth.
Then the door swung open, its rusty hinges groaning in protest, stirring both Emma and Regina from their thoughts. In the doorway stood Dr. Whale, his figure tense, a crossbow clenched between both hands. The weapon was pointed directly towards the young blonde sheriff, its menacing presence casting a chilling shadow over the room.