by Odette Beane
“I’m going to have to cuff you,” Graham said. “Sorry.”
“Fine,” said Emma. “Arrest me again. Have a problem? Arrest Emma!” She spun and locked her wrists behind her back. “Some police force.”
At the police station, as he was taking her mug shot, she asked Graham about Regina: “This whole town is afraid of her. You know it, I know it. Why don’t we do something about it? What else does she have her hands in?”
“She’s the mayor,” Graham said. “She has her hands in everything.”
“Everything?” Emma asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Hey, easy,” he said, and escorted her over to the cell. “You’ve been here for two days. She’s been here for decades. Maybe you don’t know everything, okay?”
“I know what I stole and didn’t steal,” Emma said. “Archie is lying.”
Again, Graham said nothing. But Emma could have sworn she saw something in his eyes.
• • •
She sat in the cell, fuming, before she heard a familiar voice and stood.
“Hey! You have to let her out!”
It was Henry. He came into the room ahead of Mary Margaret Blanchard. Graham, surprised, looked up from his desk.
“Henry, what are you doing here?” he said. He turned to Henry’s teacher, confused. “Miss Blanchard?”
“We’re here to bail her out,” Henry said. Then, after looking at Emma, he smiled and said, “Well, she is. I don’t have any money.”
“Why would you do that?” Emma asked.
Mary Margaret looked sheepish and began digging in her purse. “I don’t know,” she said. “I trust you.”
The sheriff seemed a bit surprised by this turn of events, but he took it in stride.
As Mary Margaret and Graham attended to the paperwork, Henry sidled over to the cell.
“Good job,” he whispered to her.
She bent down and whispered back: “Good job with what?”
“With getting arrested. It was the plan. I get it.” Henry nodded. “Intel. Operation Cobra, right?”
“Sure, kid,” she whispered back. “Something like that.”
“Okay, then,” Graham said from across the room, holding up a piece of paper. Mary Margaret smiled, nodded. “Looks like everything’s in order.”
Emma stood to her full height. “Good,” she said. “Let me outta here.” She looked at Henry. “I’ve got something to do.”
• • •
She went directly to the hardware store.
Emma was good at finding people, yes. And she had a knack for telling when someone was lying. Both qualities had helped her in her life hunting down bail-jumpers, but there was a third quality—the underbelly, the dark link between the first two, she sometimes thought—that made her really good at what she did. Push her far enough, and she could find chinks in armor, too. She knew how to hit people right where it hurt. If she wanted, she could find those chinks, and when she did, she wasn’t afraid to start shooting.
She chose a chain saw with a two-stroke engine, asked a clerk to take it out of the box and gas it up, and paid with her credit card. “Doin’ a little yard work?” asked the woman behind the counter.
“No,” Emma said. “Not at all.”
Who in the hell did that woman think she was? Take something precious from me, she thought, and I will return the favor. The thought moved in a circle; Emma’s rage kept her from going much further than that as she strode down Main Street. She hit the choke and yanked the rip cord as she strode into the back garden, eyeing Regina’s apple tree. Apples meant something to this woman—she knew it. At the trunk, she hesitated, then decided not to take the whole thing down. A major limb would suffice. A wound, but not a mortal wound. This was only the beginning, and she wasn’t quite ready to use the nuclear option.
The Solo cut through the branch with relative ease, and the limb emitted a satisfying CRRAAACCKK just before it fell from the tree. Emma smiled, stepped back. She didn’t need to look up at the window—she had sensed Regina there, watching it happen.
After a moment of silence, with the smell of gasoline and oil in the air, the wounded tree not complaining at all, Regina burst outside.
“What are you doing?” she screamed, striding toward Emma, who raised the chain saw like a weapon. It wasn’t running, and it was not as though she would cut Regina in half. She wasn’t quite to that point, yet.
“Picking apples,” she said coolly.
“You’re out of your mind.”
Emma took a step forward and met her in front of the broken tree. “No. You are if you think your shoddy frame job is gonna scare me off. You’ll have to do better than that, lady. Come at me again, and I’ll be back for the rest of this pile of bark and worms. Because, sister? You know what? You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
She turned and walked away, leaving Regina beside the branch, speechless.
Over her shoulder, Emma said: “Your move.”
• • •
A few hours later, having finally cooled down with a walk in the woods, Emma returned to Granny’s B&B with new resolve. She didn’t know how, but she was going to find a way to be a part of Henry’s life. She wasn’t going anywhere.
Granny, seeming rather uncomfortable, stopped her in the hallway.
“I’m sorry, dear,” she said. “But we have a no-felon policy here. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“What?” Emma said. “The newspaper report? From this morning?”
Granny nodded sadly.
Emma, no longer surprised by any of it, produced the key to her room. “And let me guess,” she said. “It was a call from the mayor’s office that reminded you of your own policy.”
“We try to keep things safe for our travelers,” Granny said, taking the key. “That’s all.”
Well, I’ve lived in a car before, Emma thought. She packed up her few things and took them out to the VW.
“What the…,” Emma said, squinting as she approached with her bag. There was a boot on the front wheel. Regina again. Did the woman ever take a break?
Just as she had the thought, Emma’s cell phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number.
She did, however, recognize the voice.
It was Regina. She wanted to make a deal.
• • •
Emma left her car and walked the half mile to the mayor’s office. Emma and Regina greeted each other tensely, and Regina motioned for Emma to sit. She brought over a drink—not cider this time—and had one for herself.
“Thank you for coming,” Regina said. “I’d like this to be civil. I think we can make it work.”
“Make what work?” Emma said.
“All of it,” Regina said. “You. Here. I get the sense that you’re more determined than ever to stay in town. And I’m not blind. I know that standing in my son’s way will only make him want something even more than he already does.”
Emma relaxed—a little—and sank back into her chair. She took a breath. “Okay,” she said. “I’m listening.”
“I accept that you’re here to take my son from me.”
There it was. Emma thought for a moment, then said: “That’s not what I’m doing here.”
“Then why are you here?” Regina asked.
She wasn’t entirely sure herself; she’d been grappling with the same question all day.
“I’m worried about Henry, frankly,” she said finally. “He thinks everyone in this town is a fairy tale character. That’s not a great sign.”
Regina nodded. “And you don’t, I take it?”
“Of course I don’t. I don’t think my mother is Snow White and I don’t think you’re the Evil Queen. Henry is having a hard time distinguishing between fantasy and reality. All of it is crazy.”
Emma frowned, seeing Regina’s grin. Her eyes had ticked to the right, and Emma spun to look at the office’s door. Henry, a look of sadness on his face, stood watching.
“You think I’m crazy?” he said,
his eyes welling up. Emma’s heart shot up to her throat.
“Henry, no, I—”
But it was too late, and he ran away. Before Emma could even stand, he had disappeared from view.
Furious, she turned to Regina. “You did this on purpose. You knew he’d be here.”
“Of course I knew he’d be here,” said Regina coolly. “He’s my son. He’s here at five o’clock precisely, every Thursday. Mothers keep track of their children.”
Emma, her pulse racing, felt the anger mixing with sadness and regret. She had lost—she had hurt Henry. It didn’t matter how it had happened. She was a fool to have come here.
“You have no soul,” she said to Regina. It was all she could think to say before hurrying off after Henry.
• • •
He was in therapy, at Archie Hopper’s office. Emma saw them through the window as she hurried up to the building. The quick glance told her all she needed to know. Henry, inside, sat in his chair, hunched and deflated, and it broke her heart. She couldn’t stand to see him sad, and it brought her joy to see him happy. Perhaps that was the simple compass that could guide her.
She burst into the office without knocking, and both Henry and Archie looked up in surprise.
“I need to talk to you,” Emma said.
Archie stood. “Miss Swan, this is highly irregular,” he said, hand out. She glared at him, and he withered a bit. He began fidgeting with his glasses. “I’m sorry about the file. She told me—”
“It’s okay, Archie,” she said. “I’m not worried about that right now.” She turned to Henry. “I need you to know that I stayed for you,” she said. “I’m here because of you. I don’t think you’re crazy. I think this town is crazy and this curse is crazy, but that doesn’t mean I think you’re crazy.”
Henry seemed skeptical at the start of this speech, but his posture improved as she went on.
Encouraged, Emma pulled the wad of papers from her pocket and said, “I read the pages. You were right—they are dangerous. And there’s only one way to keep her from knowing my story.” She walked over to the fire and cast the papers in. “She can’t ever read it.” They all watched the pages burn. “Now we have the advantage.”
Henry smiled. “Brilliant!” he cried.
Emma looked at Archie, expecting an admonishing look, but she could see that he was pleased at how happy this had made Henry.
“I knew you were here to help me!” Henry cried.
“That’s right, kid,” Emma said. “That is why I’m here. Not even a curse can stop that.”
CHAPTER 3
SNOW FALLS
It was on the high road beyond Midas’s castle, about a year before their wedding, where Prince Charming and Snow White first met.
The terms, initially, were not amicable.
Snow White had been living as a fugitive when she dropped from the tree onto the carriage escorting Charming and his bride-to-be through the forest. Of course at the time, Snow White didn’t know who he was, what their future held, or the curious way he’d arrived at this betrothal—to her they were only wealthy people down below, their carriage only a target to be ransacked. Her aim was the same as with the others she’d robbed while on the run: to make some money and escape unscathed. To live to fight again. To avoid the Queen and her soldiers, to find a way to clear her name.
Stretched across a horizontal branch, she watched from above as the carriage trundled up, then stopped. The man—quite arrogantly, she thought—got out, strode down the path, and investigated the fallen tree that had stopped them. The tree was there because Snow had cut it down in the night and placed it there. A simple and elegant plan. She was amazed how often it worked.
She dropped from the tree onto the carriage. In a matter of moments—she’d grown quite good at this—she snatched a purse from within, barely noticing the regal, sleepy-looking blonde who sat twirling her hair. The purse was all she cared about, and as she darted away she noted its heft. There would be something valuable within. She’d made it to one of their horses before the woman even started to scream.
Thirty seconds later, the wind in her face, Snow White galloped away atop a sturdy brown stallion, thinking already of the Troll Bridge. She was surprised when she heard a cry behind her. She turned and saw the arrogant man in pursuit.
She rolled her eyes.
They always think they can catch me, she thought.
The man, however, surprised her with his riding ability; when she looked over her shoulder again, he was only two horse-lengths away. She kicked her stallion once more, but it was too late—she felt the man’s heavy hands on her shoulders, as the two of them careened off of their horses and crashed into the ground.
They rolled together. Snow made herself compact for the impact, but she heard the man grunt and knew he’d lost his breath. When their rolling finally stopped, he was on top of her, but his breath was ragged. He squinted at her face, and Snow assumed he was only now figuring out that she was a woman. She disdained the surprise in his eyes.
(Even though she had to admit, it was a pretty nice set of eyes.)
She used this strange little moment—the two of them locked in each other’s gaze—to hit him in the chin with a rock.
He fell back, stunned. She was galloping away again when she heard his words trail behind her: “I will find you! I will always find you!”
• • •
Mary Margaret Blanchard walked alone down Main Street, counting the cracks in the sidewalk, hands in the pockets of her skirt. She’d just had a date with Dr. Whale. A terrible, terrible date.
She sighed, kicked at a stone, looked up at the clock tower. When was the last time she’d been out with somebody she liked? She didn’t know. He’d been superior, which was perhaps to have been expected—he was, after all, a doctor. But he’d also been uninterested in a way that made Mary Margaret feel a familiar old sadness. Was she boring to other people? She had so much trouble just connecting. It was as though she’d been going out on dates with the wrong men her entire life. She—
Her reverie was interrupted by what she saw across the street: Emma Swan, Henry’s birth mother, sat in the front seat of her yellow VW Bug, poring through a newspaper.
Mary Margaret smiled, crossed the street, and tapped on the window.
“You decided to stay in town for Henry,” Mary Margaret said. “Didn’t you?” She admired it. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like, but she admired it.
“Either way, I decided to stay,” Emma said, stretching her legs. “What I can’t believe is that there are no places to rent in this town.” She held up the newspaper. “And no jobs. What gives?”
“I’m not sure,” Mary Margaret said. “People like things to stay the same around here, I suppose.”
“What’re you doing out?”
Mary Margaret crossed her arms. “I was on an unsuccessful date, thank you very much.”
Emma nodded. “One of those,” she said. “I know them well.”
“No one ever said true love was easy, right?” Mary Margaret said. Emma nodded again, and Mary Margaret thought she saw something in her eyes—something about true love, maybe, that hurt her—and she suddenly felt terrible. Why was she always talking herself into corners?
“Well,” Emma said. “Have a good night. I’ll just go back to my office.”
“You know you could stay at my place,” Mary Margaret said suddenly. It surprised her, but as the offer hung in the air between the two women, she decided that it felt right, somehow. That it would work. That they’d get along just fine.
She offered a follow-up smile and added: “I mean just until you get your feet on the ground.”
“That is, um, very nice of you,” Emma said, “but I gotta say, I’m not really the roommate type. No offense. You know? But that’s nice of you, really. I appreciate it.”
“Of course,” said Mary Margaret. She took one step back. “Of course. Whatever works.”
They separated, and Mary Ma
rgaret went home, trying to distance herself from the feeling of being rejected two times in one night. Tomorrow she would volunteer at the hospital. The people there, at least, would be happy to have her around.
What had possibly compelled her to make that offer to a perfect stranger? She didn’t know. Not for the life of her.
• • •
“I found your father.”
Sitting next to Henry on his castle’s top platform, her legs dangling down, Emma looked over at him.
“Excuse me?” she said.
It was Saturday, but Regina was busy all day, which meant that Emma and Henry could spend some time together. She’d met him out here before, and this seemed best, really. No reason to involve Regina, no reason to make it messy.
“I seriously doubt that, kid,” Emma said.
Because she had tried, once, to find him. To find both of them. She hadn’t gotten very far, as the circumstances of her own abandonment as a baby were a tad murky. There was nothing. Zilch. There wasn’t a chance in hell this kid knew anything she didn’t know.
“No, I did,” Henry insisted. “He’s here, he’s in town.” He twisted and picked up his book. Emma glanced up at the sky quickly, realizing what he meant. It just kept going and going.
“Look,” Henry said, flipping to a page that showed a man—a handsome man, strong-jawed, eyes closed, bleeding from the chin—lying in the grass. “It’s Prince Charming. After Snow White hits him and gets away.”
“What kind of twisted version of Snow White are you reading here, kid?” Emma asked, taking the book. She flipped back a few pages and let her eyes wander across the text.
“It’s complicated,” Henry said, “but the point is that he’s here, and he’s Miss Blanchard’s true love, and she doesn’t even know that he’s here. I saw him. In the hospital. He’s been in a coma for years.”
Emma flipped back to the picture. “This guy?” she said, pointing.
“His name is John Doe,” Henry said.
“So they don’t know who he is.”
“That’s right, but I know,” he said. “And now you know. And we have to get him to wake up so he remembers who Ms. Blanchard is.”
