A Curse Upon Thee 7

Chapter 7: The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

“Gaelic and Japanese…”

Whistling while he worked would have been a great skill to have for several reasons.

One, a great way to pass the time considering he didn’t have a phone yet.

“Two rather distinct languages…”

And two, of course, if he could do it loud enough-

“It just begs the question, how a young man like you had exactly the inclination to learn both to such a level of fluency.”

A pair of blue eyes flicked up at the old man behind the counter, the owner of the shop that was currently pretending like his eyes hadn’t been on Finn for the last hour or so. “Wish I had any answers for you, Mr. Gold.”

No, if he could do it at all, he might have been able to pretend like he couldn’t hear Mr. Gold’s weird probing questions that came at him several times a shift.

Man needs to switch up his interrogation skills, swear to God. His last four weeks in Storybrooke had been a lot like his first three, just another extension of the same weird-ass small-town rhythm. It was the kind of groove that was less routine and more… more… 

Finn blinked, one hand still wiping down a piece of silver he could have sworn he just polished this morning. Rut.

Yeah, a rut.

That was exactly what it felt like.

Granted, he didn’t exactly hate it, but it wasn’t exactly exciting. But Finn wasn’t stupid enough to think that excitement was something he’d be bound to find in Storybrooke, Maine. Still, give me like a little something, Finn shook his head. I’m losing my frickin’ mind in this place.

Mornings, like always, were for the Gold-meister.

That weird something of a boss he had that might be the devil or just some Special-Grade psycho who liked cursed antiques, but that was none of Finn’s business either way. The guy wasn’t exactly sacrificing souls or releasing a Night Parade so he was fine taking the guy’s money to do whatever he needed doing.

Whether that was hauling dusty crates that buzzed with Cursed Energy under his palms or waxing some weird old pair of puppets that he could swear were looking at him, Finn got the job done and collected his weekly pay of seven hundred dollars. Love how this guy doesn’t believe in minimum wage. 

If all he really had to deal with was the old man thump-thump-thumping around on the floorboards with that stupid cane, thump-thump-thumping, asking questions that weren’t questions… well, he could live with that.

“Such a… resilience about you, Mr. McHale.”

“Tell me, do you ever feel as if you’re… more than what you appear?”

“Any thoughts on this piece?”

Over and over, blahblahfuckingblah, like Finn couldn’t guess what the guy was trying to get at.

Half the time, he wished he really had no idea, because playing dumb forever was its own bullshit job. 

Afternoons were, as always, a booth at Granny’s with coffee that tasted like burnt ambition and a clear view of the town’s weird, static-cling drama. He dodged Henry and his goddamn book. He traded charged, going-nowhere-fast glances and spicy dialogues with Ruby. 

And, most of all, he watched.

He watched the people do their little routines that seemed the same every time, almost on autopilot. Weird.

Every now and again, he would see Emma and the Sheriff talking.

Inside the diner, outside the diner, over by the guy’s cruiser; it was all real clumsy and hopeful, a real sappy bullshit awkward-as-hell sort of thing. It was the kind of thing you saw in Hallmark movies, except it wasn’t Christmas and Emma didn’t have a boyfriend who took work calls at dinner trying to get a promotion.

At least, he thought she didn’t.

Being honest, he really didn’t know the lady.

All she did was run him over and cover his bed and breakfast stay.

Speaking of the two maybe-lovebirds, Finn realized he hadn’t seen either the local cop or the local drunk driver once today. Weird.

Walking around the town after dinner at Granny’s, the roll of cash in his pocket feeling thin and light, Finn let out a yawn as he stared up at the sky, the sun already long having dipped and dived straight over the horizon.

No streetlights to taint the darkness, everything above the small town of Storybrooke was completely dark, stars twinkling bright in the infinite distance. 

Finn wasn’t really focused on them, though.

No, he was thinking. 

Even after about two months of living in this town, he was still trying to make the math make sense.

Mostly when it came to the Cursed Energy in this town, because of all the shit that didn’t make any fuckin’ sense…

Where was all the leakage? That was the main question. It wasn’t floating. It wasn’t bleeding off the population, the way it should. More important than that though… where the hell were all the goddamn Curses? That was honestly more important than the first. 

In a place this… this stagnant, the air should be thick with low-level Curses. Little greasy Fly Heads and Grub Worms crawling out the gutters, but no, there was nothing. 

And the players… Sore wa… okashii. It made no sense.

Apart from Boss Gold, whose whole bullshit was confusing enough, and Momma Mayor, who was a walking, talking fortress of tightly-leashed malice, there was… him.

That was it. Three of them. 

In a town of thousands.

It was like the whole town was a closed system, some kind of rustic ol’ Cursed Terrarium, and he’d just been dropped in the middle of it.

“…make it make sense.” The night air was cold as ever as he walked through the streets of Storybrooke, the blanket of negativity he’d gotten used to feeling a good bit heavier than usual for some reason. Can’t exactly track it, so none of my business, I guess. He shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his windbreaker, steps speeding up down the sidewalk.

Wait a- Blue eyes blinked as he spotted Graham, the man stumbling out of the sheriff’s office across the street, door banging shut behind him.

The sound of it carried loud and far, a flat crack against all that quiet.

Graham? The guy looked… off.

Not the sad-eyed gentle-voiced guy from the hospital. Not the guy he’d seen trying to make awkward small talk with Emma over coffee and pie, every week or so. Nah. The sheriff’s eyes were wide, wired; darting around the empty street like he was waiting for something to claw its way out from between the lampposts. Pale face slick with sweat in the twilight, whole body shuddering in a way that made Finn freeze for a second, instincts he didn’t remember making the hair on his arms stand up.

I-is he tweaking or somethin’? Whatever was up with the guy, it looked like some kind of bad trip, but Graham seemed too straight-edge of a guy for that kinda thing, though.

Finn didn’t have too long to think about it as those wide wild eyes landed right on him, the sheriff looking like he’d just seen a ghost.

“You,” Graham breathed.

Oh… great.

The man started walking over; legs clearly unsteady, as if he’d just figured out they existed.

What the…  “Hey, Sheriff.” Finn pulled his hands out of his pockets, fingers on his right brushing the thin roll of cash as he waved at the man with it. Casual. Just a guy out for a walk. His left hand stayed loose at his side, ready for whatever. “Rough night?”

“You—you were…” Graham stopped a few feet away, the man swaying a little in place. He was looking at Finn, but it felt a lot more like looking through him; eyes fixed on something a thousand miles past Finn’s skull. “I don’t know you.”

Every instinct Finn had snapped to attention. The laid-back-kid routine evaporated, a mask he didn’t even realize he’d been wearing sliding right off. “I mean… yeah, I’ve…” What the fuck is this? “I haven’t been here all that long, man. I’m pretty damn new.”

“No, no, no… not here.” Graham grabbed his own hair, fisting it at the roots, looking as desperate as he was manic. “From before. I… I was… in the woods.” Unfocused eyes stared Finn’s way, looking at nothing at all as the man kept rambling. “There was a wolf. And… and a heart. I was a… a Huntsman. I… I let her go. I let her go…”

What the actual fuck is he talking about? Finn took a half-step back, the pavement cold under his sneakers. “Yo, officer, you’re not making any sense.” He kept his voice flat, careful; the same tone you’d use on a stray dog baring its teeth. “You need to sit down?”

“Finn.”

Graham’s eyes snapped into focus, looking like all the difference between a blown lightbulb and one that flickered back to life right before it explodes. Heavy hands grabbed Finn’s shoulders, grip surprisingly strong for how much the man was shaking. “Y-you’re the only one who’s different. You’re not… you’re not stuck. You came from outside.”

Finn stepped back, but the man stumbled forward with him. “Get your hands off me, m-“

“D’you remember? Before? Do y-” Graham’s words cut off in a sharp wet gasp as he stumbled back, hands flying from Finn’s shoulders to his own chest; clawing at the fabric of his shirt, fingers scrabbling uselessly as his pale face went a waxy gray.

What the…

Any thought in Finn’s mind went silent as the spike hit.

A vice of pure focused Cursed Energy, invisible to anyone else but as real to Finn as a fist to the jaw. Okasareteru. A raw Cursed Technique, the first he’d felt in two goddamn months; forming around the sheriff and wielded like a scalpel from somewhere Finn couldn’t see. 

No, not around.

Inside the man. Squeezing. Constricting. Crushing.

“Ghhh-” Graham’s mouth worked, but nothing came out. Just that awful wet choking sound.

Finn’s head whipped around, eyes scanning the dark street, the rooftops, the alleys that carved black gashes between the storefronts. Who? Where? He could taste it now; the specific cold imperious flavor of it, that same fortress of tightly-leashed malice he’d felt a dozen times walking past her big-ass house on the rich people street.

Her.

“GRAHAM!“

The scream tore through the night as Finn spun around, already knowing who he’d see before his eyes caught up. A head of blonde hair, red leather jacket flying behind her as Emma Swan came pounding down the pavement towards them.

She reached Graham just as the man’s knees buckled; the sheriff slumping to the ground like a bag of wet laundry, all the strings finally cut.

“No, no, no, Graham!” Finn just stared, mouth half-open, as Emma dropped to the asphalt beside him. Her hands thumped uselessly on his chest, compressions that weren’t going to do a goddamn thing against what was killing him. “Come on, stay with me, stay with me!”

“Emma…” She didn’t even look up at him, tears in her eyes as she kept pumping. He could feel it, though; the Cursed residue, the cold dark energy he thought was locked tight inside Regina wrapped around Graham’s heart and squeezing.

Squeezing.

…

Stopped. 

As the light faded from Graham’s eyes, the energy vanished with it, snapping back to its source like a recoiling snake.

Emma just kept sobbing, her cries echoing in the dead-quiet street, pushing on the chest of a man who was, for all intents and purposes, just murdered right in front of them.

“…what t-“

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

“-he fuck?”

It seemed like that was the only thing he had to say for the last couple hours.

Emma sat across from him at the station, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead with nothing but the smell of cheap burnt coffee as perfume to cap off the night. 

“What the fuck?”

“It was a heart attack.” Emma’s voice was a murmur, hollowed out and scraped clean too. While he’d been on repeat like a Tickle Me Elmo running out of batteries, she was sitting at Graham’s desk, eyes on a report that said nothing important. “The doctor… Whale… he said his heart just… stopped.”

Finn stood by the window, back to her, blue eyes staring out at the parking lot. “Yeah, I got a beach house I could sell you in Idaho, too.”

“What are you…?”

Finn turned as her eyes, red-rimmed and exhausted from tears, lifted to meet his.

“It wasn’t a heart attack.” He knew that much. This was his area of expertise and he wasn’t going to let some Muggle doctor claim something else. “Something… crushed him. From the inside. I felt it.” He took a step toward the desk. “It was her.”

Emma’s face crumpled, grief and disbelief throwing frantic fists and feet behind her eyes. “Felt it? Finn, that’s…” She shook her head. “That’s just crazy.”

Is it, though?

“Is it?” He parroted his own thoughts as he took another step, hands curling at his sides as something in his voice went harder than he’d heard it in… ever. “Me walking off getting hit by your car wasn’t crazy enough for ya, Emma? Crazier than this whole town where nobody ever leaves? Come on, your kid running around with a book he thinks i-“

“Stop it!” Emma’s hands slammed flat on the desk, the woman on her feet before the sound finished bouncing off the drywall. “He’s dead, okay?” Her voice cracked, tears in her eyes again as she looked his way. “Graham is dead, and it was a heart attack. It’s… it’s just a thing that happens!” Her breath hitched. “It’s real. It’s fucking real.”

“What’s real is this place is cursed, Emma!” His finger jabbed at the window, the dark street beyond nothing but shadows and that same heavy blanket of negativity he’d been choking on for months. “This whole town is a cage, and she’s the one holding the keys! Graham was remembering something, he was saying he wa-

The station door swung open, both their heads snapping towards it as everything Finn had to say died as quickly as the sherrif at the sight of two men standing there.

Both of them were tall, grim, and pale; dressed in all black and the sunglasses they had on were no different. At night. Really?

“Finn McHale?” The taller one’s voice came out flat, clearly the sound of a man used to doing a job and bored of it. “We’re with Blackwood Security.”

“Who?” Emma’s tears went forgotten as confusion wiped them clear off her face.

“A local safety company,” the shorter one answered, just as rehearsed and practiced as his friend. “We largely handle security systems.”

Largely.

Finn’s eyes flicked from the two suits to Emma’s face and back as a chill that had nothing to do with Cursed Energy crawled down his spine. Kore wa… “…and?”

“Mayor Mills sent us.” The taller one again, his hand drifting toward his belt in a way that was probably supposed to look casual. “She has some questions for you regarding your actions concerning the Sheriff’s death.”

My actions. His jaw went tight, the muscles in his shoulders tensing up under his thin red windbreaker. “What kind of questions?”

“Those are really for her to decide.” The shorter one stepped forward. “Now, please. Come with us.”

Oh, fuck this.

Nobody was locking him up. Not her. Not anyone.

Finn rushed the first goon; the one reaching for his arm like this was gonna be easy. A hard palm hit an unprepared elbow, the hit striking home right in the spot where bone ground against bone. The guard yelled, high and surprised, arm going dead as he stumbled back.

With a yell on his lips, the second guard lunged, going for Finn’s jacket in a move that was more enthusiasm than technique. 

The young man spun on instinct, not bothering to fight the momentum as he pivoted on his heel, soles skidding on linoleum as he slid past. Both hands grabbed at the man’s coat and with a grunt, the security guard’s own weight sent him face-first into the drywall with a thud that shook dust from the ceiling tiles.

“Finn, wha-“

“Tell Momma Mayor to get fucked.”

His foot connected with the back door, frame splintering around the lock as it blew open. 

The night air was cold but that didn’t slow him down in the slightest as he tore through the open door, no idea where he was going. Finn’s feet pounded off into the dark, not looking back as Emma’s shocked “Finn!” already faded behind him.