by Odette Beane
“He’s no one,” she said. “Let’s do the deal. How about I give you all your money back and you just give me the ring. You can keep everything else.”
He cocked his head, thought it through. Finally, after a long and skeptical look at Charming, he turned to one of his companions and nodded. The other troll again pulled out the sack full of jewels.
“Thank you,” said Charming, and Snow thought: No, do not thank him. But Charming didn’t catch her look of warning, and continued with his ridiculous manners: “We appreciate your help.”
The head troll held up a hand, looking at Charming, telling the other troll to wait.
“Look at those hands,” sneered the head troll, pointing at Charming’s clean fingernails. He grinned devilishly. “Look at that well-fed posterior. This one is a royal.” The head troll snarled this last word, and Snow knew that the deal would not be going through—not with any civility, at least. All five trolls pulled their daggers.
“So what?” said Charming, defiance in his voice.
Snow hung her head. “Never admit that,” she said to him.
“Take him down,” the head troll commanded, and the others moved in around Charming, who pushed Snow away and raised his sword.
He did not get a chance to use it, though—he was swarmed and brought down by the fast-moving, catlike trolls, whose movements were impossibly smooth, and twice as fast as their lumbering frames suggested they’d be capable of.
Snow watched helplessly as they tore open the sack Charming was carrying, containing all of Snow’s possessions. The dust the Prince had taken from her fell to the ground, and soon, one of the trolls had found the wanted poster in Charming’s vest. The head troll unrolled it, took a long look, and shook his head, looking back at her.
“Snow White,” he said. “We’ve been doing business with Snow White all along.” He laughed. “Quite the reward!” he said. And then, to his cronies: “Take her as well.”
Two trolls scrambled toward her, and as they did, Snow glimpsed Charming shaking free of the others. She ducked at the last moment, and both trolls missed her. As she scrabbled forward and gathered up their possessions, as well as the jewels, she saw Charming tossing one of the trolls into two more—impressive, she thought—and she knew that they both had a clear path to run. “Come on!” she cried to him, and she turned to run. She heard his steps behind her.
And then she heard him go down.
She turned back and saw it then: Another troll had climbed up and grabbed Charming’s ankle as he ran, and now all of them were piled onto him. If she left, she’d be free, and she’d have everything. But he’d be dead.
She didn’t think for long.
Snow dropped the satchel and opened the vial of dust all in one quick motion, then pivoted and headed back toward the fight. The head troll saw her coming and smiled a disgusting smile. “Royal blood,” he said, “is the sweetest blood.”
As a response, Snow tossed a handful of dust in his face. He turned into a snail, then fell through a crack in the bridge.
The other trolls came for her, and one by one, she threw dust at them, turning each and every one into a snail. By the time she was through, Charming lay alone on the bridge, looking at her in awe, and a number of impotent snails were sliming their way around on the wood. Her vial was empty.
“You saved me,” Charming said, getting to his feet. “Thank you.”
“It was the honorable thing to do,” Snow said.
He looked at her empty vial. “Now you don’t have your weapon,” he said.
“I’ll think of another way,” she said, “to kill who I want to kill. I couldn’t go and let Prince Charming die.”
“I have a name, you know,” he said. “It’s James.”
“Well, James,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”
She was almost embarrassed by the way he was looking at her now, and she felt herself starting to blush. She turned. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get out of here before more of them show up.”
He nodded. They walked together, side by side. Snow heard a satisfying crunch when Charming stepped, firmly and deliberately, onto one of the snails.
• • •
Emma, Graham, and Mary Margaret stalked the woods for hours in the hope of finding the lost man, each of them swinging the beam of a flashlight back and forth across the trunks of trees and the thick, prickly bushes. Graham was a good tracker, and he’d managed to follow John Doe’s trail for a decent distance before he lost it. Mary Margaret, Emma noted, seemed oddly emotional about it all. Emma wondered what was going through her head. Most likely, she was thinking she was responsible in some way. God help her if she thinks he’s her Prince Charming, Emma thought.
They spiraled off where the trail ended, but the three reconnoitered after thirty minutes of little success. Emma had been about to suggest they wait until morning to resume the search, when they heard a rustling in the direction of the hospital.
“Who’s there?” Graham said curtly, decisively, in the direction of the noise.
Without responding, Henry appeared in the clearing, trademark smile on his face.
“Good lord, kid,” Emma said, going toward him. “Your mother’s gonna kill me if she knows you’re out here.”
“Have you found him?” Henry asked, looking from Emma to Sheriff Graham.
“Sorry, Henry,” Graham said. “Not yet. And Emma is right—we need to get you home.”
“I can help, though,” Henry said. “I know where he’s going.”
“Where?” Mary Margaret said. “How could you know?”
“I know because I know the story already,” Henry said. “Come on.”
He ran off before Emma could snag him by the back of his shirt, and after an awkward moment of dumbly looking at one another, the other three ran after him, calling his name.
Fast for a little half-pint, Emma thought, dodging left and right to avoid barely visible tree trunks. She was running too fast to hold her light steady, and she caught only occasional glimpses of Henry’s big, bouncing backpack. “Kid!” she yelled. “Come on! Where’re you going?” But Henry never slowed.
He led them through the forest until she and Graham emerged, panting, in the clearing at the shores of a river Emma had not yet seen. Henry stopped and turned, waiting for them to gather—Mary Margaret had fallen behind, and finally emerged as well. “It’s the bridge,” Henry said, pointing into the darkness.
Emma looked to where he was pointing. The road that led out of Storybrooke crossed the river here, spanning it with a white and rusted bridge.
When she looked back at Henry, ready to ask him what the hell he was talking about, he was already looking around near the tree line. “He’s gotta be here somewhere.”
“Oh my god,” Mary Margaret said, hand over her mouth. She pointed toward the river. “There,” she said “He’s there. I see him.”
John Doe was there indeed. Facedown in the river, not moving, his hospital gown billowing up in a cloud around him.
Graham got to him first, wading into the river. He had John Doe upright in a flash and dragged him to the shore, then pulled his walkie-talkie from his belt and called for an ambulance. As he spoke, Mary Margaret knelt, put a hand on John Doe’s chest, and slowly leaned over his face.
“Come back to us,” she said to him.
Emma—uncomfortable, fairly certain that the man was dead—watched grimly from above as Mary Margaret administered mouth-to-mouth. Emma didn’t know what to make of it—any of it. She didn’t have it in her to tell Mary Margaret what was obvious. Holding John Doe’s wrist and waiting for a pulse, Graham probably was thinking the same thing. And was she crazy, or was Mary Margaret kissing John Doe?
Before long, Henry was standing beside Emma, watching as well. She had the urge to cover his eyes.
“He’ll be all right,” Henry said knowingly. “Don’t worry. She has to kiss him to wake him up. It makes total sense. It’s not gross.”
“Let’s hope
he wakes up, kid,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t care whether it makes sense or not.”
Emma could hear the sirens in the distance now; Graham, watching sadly, seemed to be on the cusp of stopping Mary Margaret. He looked up at Emma, and she shrugged.
And then John Doe gasped.
Emma could feel Henry’s excitement at the sound, and she took a few steps toward them, Henry following behind. “She woke him up!” he said. Emma didn’t know what had happened. She turned her light on John Doe’s face and was shocked to see that his eyes were open, and he was looking up at Mary Margaret.
“Thank you,” he managed. He wiped his face, wet from the river, and looked around confusedly.
“My name is Mary Margaret. Do you know who you are?”
He stared at her, apparently trying to decide. “No,” he said eventually. “I—I don’t.”
• • •
Minutes later the ambulance arrived, and Dr. Whale and the paramedics loaded John Doe into it. Emma watched Mary Margaret, who looked on with concern. In another minute the ambulance had pulled away.
She’s got it bad, Emma thought, looking at Mary Margaret, who’d now begun to futz with her necklace. “We should go to the hospital and check on him,” the teacher said to no one.
Emma walked up. “Yeah,” she said, nodding. “We should. Come on. Let’s go.”
They quietly trudged up the grade and wound up to the bridge. Emma grinned a bit when she saw the sign attached to the bridge. It said toll bridge in simple black lettering. But someone had seen fit to scribble a little r between the t and the o.
• • •
Charming and Snow ran miles through the forest before stopping for breath, keeping a brisk pace as they put distance between themselves and the trolls. Snow was a better runner than Charming, she soon realized, and she slowed her pace (slightly).
After an hour, the run became a walk. They were safe. There was no reason to stay together, Snow reckoned.
And yet they walked, saying nothing.
They walked some more.
A little more.
Finally, after another hour had gone by, they reached the road and came to a fork. It was time to part.
Charming looked down at his boots and said, “Well. That was interesting.”
“It was, I agree,” said Snow. “You stepped on one of them when we ran off.” She looked at him mischievously. “Surely not on purpose?”
“Oh, no,” said Charming, looking up. “That was on purpose. Very satisfying squish.”
She laughed. They both twisted a bit, faced each other.
“I suppose we should make our exchange,” Charming said. “We’re heading in different directions.”
“You’re right,” she said. Her eyes lingered on his for an extra moment, and then she reached into her vest and removed the small sack of jewels. He in turn removed the pouch of gold coins. He held it up, dropped it into her other hand, and turned his palm up. Snow emptied the sack of jewels into his hand. They both looked down as he sifted through them and found the ring.
“I know, I know,” he said, looking at her eyes. “Not your kind of jewelry.”
“Who knows?” she said, plucking it up. “Only one way to find out, right?” She smiled and slipped it onto her ring finger. The fit was perfect; she lifted her hand and splayed her fingers.
“You’re right,” she said. “Not for me.”
He nodded, put the rest of the jewels back in the sack, and took her hand into his. As he pulled the ring from her finger, he said, “If you need more, you can have the rest of the jewels.”
“That’s not necessary,” Snow said. “We both got what we needed today. I think.”
“Yes, maybe so,” said Charming. An awkward moment passed; Snow resisted the urge to say something silly, to relieve them from the moment. She didn’t want to.
“Good luck to you,” he said. Then: “If you ever need anything…”
“… you’ll find me?” she offered, a crooked smile appearing on her face.
“Yes,” he said. “Always.”
“You know it might sound crazy,” she said, “but I believe you.”
He nodded and took a step backward. “Perhaps we’ll have to wait and find out,” he said. He nodded again and looked at the trail he was headed down. He twisted back to her. “Good-bye, Snow White,” he said. “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”
“Good-bye, Prince Charming,” she said, and turned, walking away down the path. She didn’t turn back, as she didn’t want him to see that her cheeks had gone so scarlet.
• • •
They had to walk all the way back to Storybrooke’s small hospital, and by the time they arrived, Emma noted, a number of new vehicles were parked out front. She looked disdainfully at Regina’s Mercedes, then up to the ambulance parked atop the emergency stripes near the door.
Inside, a number of nurses, as well as Dr. Whale, stood around John Doe’s bed, examining him. Emma noticed another woman beside him, someone who did not look like a medical professional. She was blond, tall, regal-looking. On her face was caring concern. She spoke to John Doe slowly, like she was explaining something, and he looked at her.
Just as they got to his bed, Regina saw them and came to intercept. “I’m not sure what you think you’re doing in this town, Nancy Drew,” Regina said to Emma, “but I’m getting tired of the disruptions you’ve begun to cause.” She glanced at Mary Margaret and said, “There seem to be a whole lot more… conflicts in Storybrooke since you’ve been here, Ms. Swan. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”
“Maybe it’s not,” Emma said. “Maybe you’re right.”
Regina glared back, trying to figure out what Emma might have meant. Emma herself didn’t know, but she liked the reaction she’d gotten.
“Who is… that woman?” Mary Margaret said faintly, ignoring this stare down, ignoring Regina’s anger. She was instead looking at the blond-haired woman beside John Doe, who was now stroking his hair.
“Her name is Kathryn,” Regina said. “John Doe’s wife. And John Doe’s name is David. David Nolan.”
“Is this them?” Kathryn asked, looking over, relieved smile still on her face. “Are you the people who found him? Thank you. Thank you so much.” She left David’s side and crossed the room. She took Mary Margaret’s hands in her hands and said, “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“I don’t understand,” Mary Margaret said. “How could you not have known he was here? Before?”
A pall came over Kathryn’s face; she slowly released Mary Margaret’s hands and looked at the group. “We—we separated. A few years ago. It was under… terrible circumstances, a huge fight. And he stormed out and told me he was leaving town, moving to Boston, that the marriage was over. And all this time I’ve just assumed he was there, that he… moved on.” She looked back at him; he was preoccupied with Dr. Whale. “All this time he’s been right here,” she concluded.
“You never once tried to find him?” Emma said skeptically. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like the woman’s delivery and she didn’t like the smarmy look on Regina’s face.
“Of course I did,” said Kathryn, turning back. “But no one knew where he was. There’s only so long you can search for someone who doesn’t want to be found in the first place.” She looked at Regina and smiled warmly. “But the mayor put the pieces together and called this evening. It’s unbelievable. This is—it’s like we’re starting over. We get a second chance.”
“That’s so lovely,” Mary Margaret said, smiling at the woman. Emma doubted she was the only one in the room who could see through the false sentiment.
Kathryn went back to David at the bed.
“Come on, Henry,” Regina said. “Time to go home.”
As he passed by Mary Margaret, Henry looked up at her. He didn’t try hard to lower his voice when he said, “Don’t believe any of it. He woke up because of you. The story. True love. It’s your destiny to be togeth
er.”
“Henry,” Regina said. But Henry darted from the room. Regina, shaking her head, followed after him.
“Excuse me,” Emma said to her back. “Madam Mayor.”
Regina turned.
“A word before you go?”
Regina sighed, nodded her consent. The two left the room together. Henry was already out in the parking lot when Regina stopped walking and the two women turned to face each other.
“Isn’t love sweet?” Regina asked. “I’m so happy that such a tragic story had a happy ending. That never happens.”
“None of this particular story makes any sense,” Emma said flatly. “Let’s not play games.”
“What is it that you think, then?” Regina asked, eyes alight, looking amused. “I’m using evil magic on that woman? Forcing her to lie?”
“No, but I think you’re manufacturing something. I don’t know why. But it stinks, whatever it is.”
“You do know, Ms. Swan,” Regina said, strolling back in her direction, “that bad things happen. Even in small towns like Storybrooke.”
“Storybrooke’s just like everywhere else,” Emma said. “Full of good people, with a few rotten ones thrown into the mix.”
“I’m surprised you’re not happier to see two people reunited,” said Regina. “There is no curse in the world worse than being alone. Am I right?” Regina smiled and looked over her shoulder toward the parking lot. “I’m lucky to have Henry,” she said. “It would be terrible to have no one at all.”
• • •
Mary Margaret sat alone at her own kitchen table, one hand half-clasping a glass of water, the other resting in her lap. As her macaroni and cheese sat cooling in front of her, she thought through all that had happened since John Doe (his name is David, she reminded herself) had reached out to touch her hand.
She sipped her water, sighed, ran her fingers through her hair.
She swirled a few pieces of macaroni in the orange sauce, set the fork back down, twirled the ring on her middle finger.
When the knock on the door came, she knew that it couldn’t be him, that right now, he was home with his wife, relearning his own history. She had seen their embrace. And besides, why would she be hoping a stranger was at her door? No one wanted that.
