A Curse Upon Thee 18A

The coffee was still warm in his hand — not piping hot, because he wasn’t stupid — but still warm when Finn finally spotted her.

“Mornin’, Effie.”

The woman most in Storybrooke knew as Effie sat bundled up outside Granny’s Diner, layered four different oversized sweaters deep — and at least half that many knitted caps — on a slatted wooden bench. It was only cold enough for one of each, two if you were pushing it, but that didn’t stop the old lady. A lot didn’t stop the old lady, honestly.

Whether it was the nuns trying to get her into the barely-used town homeless shelter or store-owners repeatedly calling the sheriff’s office to handle her, she did whatever she wanted as much as she wanted to. 

And luckily, none of that was anything worth throwing her in a cell for.

Gray hair stuck out at impossible angles, a halo of a hundred different bunched-up silver strands, as the woman hunched over muttering to herself in exactly the same way that made most of Storybrooke cross the street before they got too close.

Most people weren’t Finn McHale.

“Ms. Effie, how we doin’ today? Got your favorite.” He held out the paper cup to the old lady, steam curling off the plastic lid, as he passed over the greasy foil-wrapped sandwich with his other hand. “Granny’s special. Bacon, egg, cheese. All for you”

The old woman snapped up to look at him, rheumy eyes too sharp for someone three steps into dementia and six feet into schizophrenia. For just a second, Finn could swear something else looked back at him through those cloudy irises. 

As quickly as it arrived, it was gone again; folded back under the layers of wool and crazy as Effie blinked back at him with a half-toothless smile. “Oh, you’re a… sweet boy, Mr. Red.”

Ruby… Finn hid a sigh behind a closed-mouth smile. His fault for helping out Effie out one day in front of his girl, because now his nickname was all the old lady called him by. “No problem, Ms. Effie.”

He held out the food and drink further, weathered hands trembling as the homeless woman took it from him. “Pretty… pretty hands. Greedy hands. Same thing, sometimes, you know?”

…I guess. Blue eyes blinked. “I think your hands are pretty, Ms. Effie.”

“Always so sweet to me, Red.”

Finn shook his head, long red hair whipping around his shoulders as a bit of a smile spread across his face. “And why wouldn’t I be, Ms. Effie?”

“Not like… the others. They don’t… they don’t see.” She didn’t seem to be seeing much either, as she stared out in front of her at nothing. “Don’t see…” The old lady didn’t look up as she took a sip from the coffee, ignoring the young man in red still standing there off to the side. 

“Yeah, well…” The red leather of his jacket moved with his shoulders as he fished around inside one of the front pockets. He pulled a crumpled twenty out of his wallet, smoothing the bill flat before pressing it into a palm that just set her coffee cup down. “Make sure you’re eating.”

“Red…” She blinked those clouded eyes again, the feel of money enough to bring her close to something like lucidity. “Oh, don’t. Don’t buy me with her money.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugged, a laugh popping free. “Not much for me to spend it on anyway, Ms Effie.”

Bit of an exaggeration, yeah, but it was as close to the truth as he needed it to be. Storybrooke wasn’t exactly the most popping area for commerce and entertainment, after all. Considering Ruby fed him half the time, considering she and Granny had made up a few weeks back, and Emma bought him lunch when they were working cases…

The hell else am I supposed to do with my paycheck? Saving for a 401k seemed like something he would never do, even if he ever got old enough anyway. “Take the twenty, Ms Effie. And don’t spend it all in one place.”

Effie’s fingers closed around the bill, slow and deliberate, the shaking in her fingers almost nowhere to be seen. Cloudy eyes blinked down at the crumpled green paper before the old woman looked back up at him. A smile crept across her face, stretching her thin lips.

“Debts and… payments always come due, Red.” Her voice was clearer now, something almost crisp and familiar in the way she worked her sentences. “Always. Whether we… remember making them or not. The scales… they balance.”

Finn opened his mouth, words failing him for a good second or two as a chill that had nothing to do with the sweater-worthy weather ran down his back. “Uh… sure thing, Effie. You take care of yourself, yeah?”

“Oh, I always do, boy. I always… always do.” She bit into the foil-wrapped sandwich, cloudy eyes never one reaching his face. “Make sure to hide the keys and I won’t ask for shelter.”

Yeah, sure, whatever. Finn was already walking away, red sneakers scuffing the pavement as he headed to work.

“Red!”

Finn glanced over his shoulder, just a quick twitch of his neck, at the sound of Effie’s voice but she still wasn’t looking his way. No, the old woman was just chewing slowly, that weird little smile still locked in place. The fuck was that abo—

His pocket buzzed, a harsh vibration against his hip shoving all other thoughts aside. Finn dug out the cheap clamshell phone, flipping it open to see Emma’s caller ID glowed on the tiny screen.

“What’s up, Boss?”

“Anonymous tip.” Emma sounded like she was chewing glass, her tone stretched tight over a wire of pure stress. “Evidence in the Kathryn Nolan case.”

Finn blinked, stopping on the sidewalk. They’d been looking for the woman for the last few days now, a missing persons case in a town as small as Storybrooke requiring all hands on deck to take care of it. 

All four of them.

“That’s good, right? A lead.”

“…It’s at my place.”

Shit.

“Get over here now.”

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Walking into Emma’s apartment was different than it normally was for Finn, the loft as empty as usual but far more quiet. The sort of quiet that felt wrong, like everyone was holding their breath for exactly the wrong reasons. Blue eyes flicked up to meet the single person waiting for them in the apartment, the former coma patient as tall and blond as ever as he stood in the exact center of Mary Margaret’s living room.

For someone whose wife was missing, the guy looked more sad than when he’d given the news to the cops. Compared to the slight case of the blues from earlier in the week, David Nolan looked more like someone had just told him his dog died and shot another pair of puppies in front of him to rub it in. 

Emma and Finn both stared at him with almost identical expressions but likely for vastly different reasons; Emma because the man was in the apartment she shared with Mary Margaret and Finn, well… the guy was literally suspect numero uno in the disappearance of his wife.

“I have a key.”

The explanation left him before either Finn or Emma could even open their mouths with the question.

“Mary Margaret…” His voice was hollow, scraped clean of his usual steadiness and calm warmth. “Mary Margaret, she gave me a key a while back.” The man shook his head slow. “I was… I was just checking on her. Making sure she was okay. With everything happening. And then I saw… I saw…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence as he swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing.

Finn’s eyes tracked past the man to where he gestured with his chin, all the way across the room until his gaze landed on the dresser against the far wall. What the… The energy hit him first, an ethereal backhand across the jaw that forced a flinch from him before he could take in anything else. 

Raw Cursed Energy, unshaped and unmolded, wafted from a small open jewelry box atop the dresser, the little wooden thing with painted flowers on it a literal mess of negativity. The feel of the thing — metallic tang of old blood fresh and strong — was a stark constrast to the folksy crap that Mary Margaret probably picked up at some local craft fair to hold her loose change.

It was a familiar, suffocating pressure. The exact same malice he felt every time he had the misfortune of standing too close to Regina’s office.

“Fuckin’ hell.” The words slipped out of his mouth before Finn could catch them, teeth clicking shut a split-second after.

Emma shot him a sharp look, her freshly-gained cop face locking into place. “What?”

“Just… bad vibes.” Finn swallowed hard, doing his best to avoid looking over at the man that was nearly in tears just a few feet away. “Really bad vibes.”

She didn’t buy it — Emma never bought his bullshit for some reason — but she didn’t push it either. Instead, she pulled a pair of blue latex gloves from her jacket pocket, snapping them on crisply and quickly.

“Emma, wait!”

She whirled on him, cop-face still secured and eyes narrowed. “What is it now?”

“…maybe you should let me handle that…” Finn licked his lips, the taste of old blood still prickling at his senses. “Just to be safe.”

“One of us is the sheriff here, Deputy McHale.” Without another word, Emma walked over to the dresser, hands up and ready. “I can handle some things.”

Go ahead, sheriff. Finn clicked his tongue but stayed exactly where he was, red sneakers rooted to the hardwood as he watched his boss. He didn’t need to get closer. 

Hell, he didn’t want to get closer. Whatever was in that box had nothing good for him and probably nothing good for anyone. Least it’s probably not dangerous… Blue eyes slid over to Mary Margaret’s boytoy. Not if he already saw what was in it. 

Emma reached out and lfted the painted wooden lid the rest of the way open.

Only to drop it as soon as she saw what was inside, a gasp leaving her lips as she jumped back and away from it. Finn saw it too, eyes wide as the feel of Cursed Energy came a close second to the actual sight.

Small, dark and bruised a deep red, it sat nested inside the jewelry box like it belonged there.

A heart?

A human heart.