A Curse Upon Thee 22

“Christ…”

She clicked her tongue at the joke in front of her. It was a joke, and the worst kind, too; the kind that was in no way funny to her. The fact she had to keep pretending this was anything even close to a real investigation was doing terrible things to her blood pressure.

“I don’t even know why we’re bothering.”

The sheriff of Storybrooke bit back a sigh as another complaint from her deputy hit her ears for the fifth time in as many hours. The blonde woman glanced down, a curse almost slipping free as grease from her half-eaten burger bled through a napkin and threatened to soak the edges of the Kathryn Nolan missing persons file.

“We’re bothering…” She paused for a moment, dragging the manila folder a solid inch to the left and squarely out of the grease-pit splash zone. “We’re bothering because it’s our job, Phineas.”

“Case is closed, though.” Phineas dangled a fresh fry in front of his face like it was a worm and he was looking to haul in a big one. “We already got Kathryn back home, y’know, with ol’ Blondy McComa Boy.”

“Yes, but even if the case is closed on Mary Margaret and David both…” Emma kept her eyes on the rest of the paperwork, flipping past a stack of witness statements that amounted to an absolute masterclass in telling her less than nothing. Three different manila folders were spread open across the sticky formica, wedged awkwardly between half-eaten burgers and a puddle of ketchup. “None of that means we just stop looking into who actually grabbed Kathryn.”

Blue eyes narrowed her way as Finn chomped down on his dangling fry. “Y’know…” He smacked his lips slowly. “For someone who was never a cop till like four months ago, you’re oddly good at this. Aren’t we supposed to get training or something? Did you get any, ‘cause I didn’t.”

Her eyes drooped until she was staring past her lashes. “…how is this question relevant?”

“I mean, it is to me.” Finn leaned back, arms crossed over his chest as his red leather jacket squeaked against the booth’s cracked red vinyl. “‘Sides, we both know it was ol’ Reggie Wedgie behind it anyway.” 

This little… Emma glanced up and around the place to see if anyone had caught Finn publicly badmouthing the mayor, something he’d gotten in the bad habit of doing ever since their little interaction last week. It was one thing to keep it private and internal — especially since they’d shared similar opinions since day one of this job — but her deputy seemed to have lost his filter since Mary Margaret’s case. 

Thankfully, no one seemed to be paying attention to the both of them, Granny’s Diner busy and bustling with the hum of today’s late lunch crowd. Air smelling like burnt coffee and heavy with fryer grease, Ashley Boyd weaved in and out between the crowded tables with the frantic efficiency of a nineteen-year-old mom who desperately needed the tips. While she’d had a bit of a hiccup her first week on the job, she’d quickly gotten to a level of skill only surpassed by Granny’s previous waitress. 

“Hey coppers, who we busting today?”

Speak of the devil…

Ruby Lucas slid into the booth beside Finn, her executive assistant hip-checking her boyfriend over to make room for her own plate, only to immediately steal one of his fries.

“I vote the mayor.”

“I vote you shut up.” Emma clicked her tongue at Finn, the woman fighting to keep her eye from twitching. “Because you know ‘Your honor, she’s like totally so evil, bro’ isn’t gonna fly in court, Finn.”

Her redheaded deputy actually pouted. “… I don’t talk like that.”

“Anyway…” The blonde rolled her eyes. “We need actual legwork if we’re gonna even try something like that. Physical evidence. Something that connects our suspect to the kidnapping without relying on your spooky radar.”

“We need a lead is what we need,” Ruby mumbled around another filched fry. 

Emma tilted her head over at Ruby. “We have one bit of a lead. Old psych hospital… some kids saw lights in the basement there last week.”

Finn hummed. “So, the hospital?”

“Where else?”

“Refills?” A figure in a white apron appeared at the edge of their table, the hardworking waitress Emma had helped with her baby situation ready and waiting with a steaming pot of coffee tight in hand. “Fresh pot right here.”

Emma didn’t waste a second in sliding her mug across the formica. “Please and thank you.”

Ashley topped off the dark roast, the stream steaming as it splashed hot into the ceramic. For a second, the waitress hovered at their table with the coffee pot. “You guys are… still looking into that kidnapping thing with Kathryn, right?”

“Yeah.” Before Emma could form the words, Finn answered for her, blue eyes tracking the waitress as he leaned forward. “Why?”

“My fiance, Sean…” Ashley swallowed as she stood there, something in her voice just a bit tighter. “He does electrical work sometimes. A little side work, because… well, we need the money if we’re gonna get married, right?”

Where is she going with this? Despite her misgivings, Emma nodded slowly. “Uh-huh…”

“Sean told me that the old estate on the edge of town, the big one, needed some fixes to its system and he mentioned that the guy who lived there… he was kinda off, like muttering to himself and stuff…”

Emma straightened up, the file in front of her listing backward. “I get that, Ashley, but kinda off isn’t really something we can investigate.”

“I know, I know, but one of the things he was muttering…” Ashley shook her head. “It was your name, Emma.”

The diner might as well have vanished around her as Emma sat up tighter, body almost completely still. “When was this?”

“A week ago, maybe?” Ashley shifted her weight, the girl shrugging. “The guy paid him all in cash and didn’t bother with a name. Sean thought it was weird, too but… money’s money, you know?”

A small spiral notepad found itself free from the inside pocket of Emma’s jacket, a pen next to it already uncapped and ready with a quick click. “You have the address?”

Ashley rattled it off quick as she could, and Emma made good on the info as her pen scratched against the paper. As the server walked off, the sheriff tapped the tip of it against the notepad in front of her. “Okay. So we’ve got two actual leads now. The hospital, and now this place.”

“Split up?” One hand already going for the zipper of his jacket, Finn made to stand up. “Makes sense, right?”

“We cover more ground that way.” Emma ripped the page out of the notebook, shoving both into separate pockets. “You take the hospital, I’ll check the estate.”

“So we’re taking the creepy old hospital?” Ruby interjected, looking between the two of them with a deep, unhappy frown. “And Emma gets to talk to some random old rich guy?”

“I mean, you’re hanging with the magic man, Bee. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Promise?” She raised an eyebrow, a smirk on her lips as she stared at Finn.

Finn grinned back. “Pinky.”

“Okay, that’s enough lovey-dovey stuff on the clock.” Emma glanced up at the clock on the wall, the hands not looking good. Burning daylight already. “We should get moving if we don’t want to be poking around after sunset.”

Emma stacked the files and stood up, documents shoved under her arm as she slid her way out of the booth. All three of them headed for the front door, Emma dodging a family carrying trays of half-eaten pie. Two steps from the exit, something clipped her.

Hard. 

What the-! A solid shoulder clipped her collarbone, enough mass to make her stumble sideways as her boot scuffed the edge of a floor mat.

“Shit, sorry.” 

A man’s hand caught her upper arm, long fingers digging into the crook of her elbow to steady her with a strong grip. Emma blinked up into a face that was handsome and knew it, if the use of eyeliner said anything. A patterned dark scarf wrapped around his neck, the man pulled her back up to her feet. He was tall, dressed in a long, elaborate dark coat with a thick scarf wound tight around his neck and wearing more silver rings than seemed practical for an afternoon in small-town Maine. 

“Wasn’t watching where I was going.” His voice was low, smooth, and a little too deliberate; the apology sliding out easily. “My bad.”

“It’s fine.” Emma grunted, eyes narrowed just a bit as she shrugged off his grip. She didn’t like being touched by strangers and she didn’t trust performative smooth talkers, but a bumped shoulder in a crowded diner wasn’t a crime. 

She moved past him, pushing the glass door open into the cold air as her deputy and assistant followed her right outside.

“That dude looks like a beefier Johnny Depp without the hat.”

“What?” Emma turned around to see Finn’s blue eyes tracking the man as he walked around the counter corner and took a seat.

“Nothin’.” Finn shook his head, following her onto the curb. “Let’s go.”

Whatever. Emma walked out into the street up to her Bug. As she reached for the door, another hand reached into her pockets, rooting around for her keys and… and…

“My phone?”

Finn blinked. “What about your phone?

Keys in hand, her other patted the front pockets of her jeans and checked the inner pockets of her jacket, nothing and nada coming up. “Damn it. I can’t find my phone.” Losing your grip, Swan.

Nights of no sleep with a crying Mary Margaret were definitely playing their part as much as the job. Emma sighed as she let her shoulders drop. “Must have left it in the station.”

“Station?” Ruby raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I mean… I think so.” Emma frowned back, trying to think. “That was the last place I saw it at least. I was making plans with Mary Margaret. She’s been a little…” The blonde shook her head. “Not important.”

Finn reached into his windbreaker, and pulled out his bright red burner. “Take mine. I’m riding with Ruby anyway, she’s got hers.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” He tossed her the clamshell with a grin. “Just don’t lose it. I got all my important contacts in there. Both of them.” 

Emma pocketed the burner, the sheriff giving her deputy a tight nod before opening the door of her Bug. 

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Wow…

The estate sat at the absolute end of a long winding driveway, the drive out a half-hour ordeal through twisting back roads lined by thick Maine forestry. The trees were thick out here, bare branches interlocking over the road to block out the late afternoon sun.

It didn’t do much to block out the house, though.

And I thought Regina had a mansion. The house was a structure; two stories of dark stone with wide staring windows below a polished slate roof. Lights glowed a dull yellow from the downstairs window, bright enough that she could make them out even against the approaching orange sky.

Emma cut the engine of the Bug a hundred yards down the driveway, her car coasting to a silent stop. Unclipping her seatbelt, she stepped out of the car, hand dropping immediately to her right hip. The weight of the weapon was solid and familiar at her fingers as she walked the rest of the way, boots crunching on gravel.

The heavy front door stared back at her, the entrance ajar by just a few inches. Huh… Emma approached the porch, stepping carefully over rotting leaves as she kept one hand at her weapon. “This is Sheriff Swan.”

She stepped closer to the door, voice loud and flat and carrying the full weight of her badge. “If anyone’s inside, make yourself known.”

Boots touched the bottom of the doorway, soles almost completely silent on the hardwood as her hand finally gripped her weapon all the way. “I’m armed and I’m coming in.”

The foyer was huge, floors polished clean as they led to a massive sweeping staircase.

She moved deeper into the house, slicing the pie on every doorway as she kept her breath low and controlled. Each room she cleared, she announced herself loud and clear but all Emma got back was the same silence in return every time. 

Kitchen: immaculate but empty. 

Living room: massive fireplace but unoccupied. 

A small den lined with dusty books; just for ghosts, apparently.

No one home but the door’s open and the lights ARE all on. That just didn’t make sense. Hell, a lot of it didn’t make sense and everything about this only raised more questions. Before she could try and think of an answer, the sound of groaning hardwood made Emma blink.

Wha- Air pressure shifted behind her, Emma Swan not even having the chance to turn before 

Before she could even turn around, a heavy cloth clamped tight over her mouth and nose, a muscular arm wrapping around her chest tight and pinning her gun arm against her ribs. Jerked backward and off balance, Emma fought with foster-kid survival instinct as adrenaline spiked in her veins.

No! Boots kicked as she thrashed, Emma threw her weight around, aiming for a knee or a shin or anything at all to get free. Nononono! Her head slammed back, Emma trying to crack a skull but the attacker absorbed the blow, dragging her backward down the hall as she tried to bite through the thick fabric over her face.

The chemical smell flooded her lungs, burning the back of her throat in an absolute assault of sickeningly sweet fire. The edges of the hallway turned black, everything bleeding inward as a dark static closed in from the corners. Her legs turned to water as oxygen went away, the heavy Glock slipping uselessly from her holster to fall against the floorboards.

The world tilted, smeared, and then went entirely black.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

The headache woke her up.

It didn’t arrive slowly or carefully or any of the other nice ‘-ly’ words. No, Emma Swan dragged her eyes open as the feel of a ball-peen to the skull rang loud and throbbed hard enough to make her teeth ache.

The world swam into focus, blurry and disjointed, as Emma tried to lift her hands. My…

Her hands didn’t budge, Emma blinking down at thick rough rope biting deep and hard into her wrists. She was sitting upright, arms bound to the wooden arms of a heavy chair, her ankles in the same state tied to the chair legs.

Emma blinked rapidly, chemical fog still thick in her brain as she tried not to vomit.

The room came into focus, slowly but surely, some small space filled with antique furniture and heavy drapes drawn tight over the windows. The sound of a sob caught her attention, Emma blinking at the noise as she turned her head with a gasp.

“…Mary Margaret?”

The schoolteacher sat not too far from her in a matching wooden chair, hands and feet bound exactly the same way. Her face was a messy, streaked disaster of ruined mascara and pale skin, chest heaving as frightened wide eyes stared back at Emma.

“Mary Margaret?” She parroted the name again, the words coming out more of a croak as she swallowed hard. “Why… why are you here?”

“I got… I got a text,” Mary Margaret sobbed out, the words a breathless gasp as they left her throat. “From you. Saying to meet you here.”

My phone? Emma’s stomach dropped out from under her at those words, the feeling going even deeper as she heard the sound of heavy footsteps echoing from just outside the room. 

The door opened, yellow light from the hallway spilling into the room as someone else entered with it. 

The man from the diner — the same one with the over-elaborate scarf and the rings — stood there, Emma’s cracked smartphone in his hand as he spun it by the corner. 

“You.” 

The man smiled, teeth all on display as the backlight from the hallway made his eyeshadow stand out even more. “I go by Jefferson, but yes… me.”

“Finn was right,” Emma spat his way, the sheriff still pulling at the ropes holding her wrists as she did her best to ignore the burn. “You are a douche.”

He laughed. 

The man actually threw his head back and laughed; a sudden sharp, genuine sound that echoed weirdly in the dim room. “Well, he’s got good instincts. But he’s not here right now, is he? You are, aren’t you?” Jefferson took a slow step closer, leaning over to look her right in the eyes. Savior.”

Emma blinked at him, easing up against the ropes as she stared at the kidnapper with confusion written all over her face. “The what?”

“You have to make it work.” He stepped even closer, invading her space as he loomed over her chair. Manic energy poured off him, the man right in her face as the smile vanished. “You have to make the hat work.”

“What… what hat?” Emma pulled her head back, jaw locked tight. “The hell are you talking about?”

“The one that travels between worlds.” Heavy hands grabbed the back of her chair with both hands and, with a sudden, violent jerk, he began dragging the heavy chair backward across the floorboards.

Mary Margaret was screaming now, her friend bucking against her restraints as Emma was pulled into the hallway.

Jefferson ignored both of them as he brought Emma into a white room that would have looked nice if it wasn’t also a disaster zone of fabric, felt, and sewing equipment. 

And hats. 

Everywhere. 

Dozens of them, all completely identical; an overladen selection of tall dark top hats scattered across wooden tables and lining the white backlit shelves. What the hell? Emma barely had a chance to take it all in as the world spun around, Jefferson bringing her to a stop in front of a workbench holding a single perfectly-made top hat.

“Your son brought you here to break the curse, but you can’t see it. You just refuse to let yourself see it.” He let go of her chair and started pacing behind her, Emma catching sight of him every time he crossed her peripheral.

“Make one that works.”

Emma blinked. “What.”

“Make. One. That. Works.” Jefferson’s words were a demand, one hand gesturing wildly at all the materials on display; spools of thread, needles and everything elsescattered all over. “Use your magic. You’re the Savior. Henry brought you here for a reason. This is the reason.”

“I don’t… I don’t have magic, okay?” Emma stared back at him, voice low and steady as she could make it. Keep him calm, keep him from doing anything. That was so much easier than it sounded, especially when she was already tied up and at the psycho’s mercy. “I’m not your… Jefferson, I’m not your person. Magic…”

She swallowed a mouthful of nothing as she thought back to Finn and Graham and Gold. “Look, it’s been a crazy few months for me, okay? I don’t know a thing about magic. I barely even believe in the stuff.”

Jefferson’s smile vanished, his face suddenly flat and cold.

“Then you’d better start believing.”