The Drowning, a RSS Fanfic
Summary: In a small town, to have a child drown is a tragedy that can live in the minds of townspeople for years. But when another child drowns, sadness quckly gives way to suspicion.
TW: heavy themes, also very morally-questionable characterisations.
Rating: M
Prompt: mystery (murder optional), mountain cabin
A/N: surprise, @killingkueen, it is I, your Secret Santa! Here roasting my ass in the Southern fucking hemisphere, but about to flee to the cold embrace of the Northern Hemisphere (wait for me, cold!).
It was a delight to be your Secret Santa, and I hope that I managed to deliver. It's a bit too angsty for my usual fare, but the inspiration kinda mandated it. This fic is SUPER loosely-inspired in El Secreto de sus Ojos (The Secret in their Eyes), an Argentinian film (do recommend watching it, the American remake is just so bad).
Happy Holidays!
Chapter 1
Emma had never been to Storybrooke, not in the two years since she had first been contacted by Henry. It was a boundary that had been firmly set early on. But Regina’s frantic phone call had been enough to have her pack a bag and speed all the way there from NYC, barely sparing a thought for her job. She had enough savings to pause chasing after lowlifes for bail money, she’d be fine.
When she had chosen to make the adoption process an open one, she hadn’t really imagined what that might entail, hadn’t dared to hope for much. But Henry was a curious kid, and so the moment he had been told he was adopted he had pretty much demanded to meet her. And, though his adopted mother hadn't been too thrilled, she had allowed them a manner of a relationship. Emma was like a cool aunt, foil to Regina’s strictness, taking Henry everywhere he wanted in New York City, having pizza parties and movie marathons once every few months and then shipping him back to Storybrooke to his actual mother, the one that knew his medical history, that enforced necessary boundaries and guaranteed he ate nutritious meals. And she was more than okay with that.
Now that Henry was in the hospital, however, Emma thought about all the things she missed in-between their visits, including the series of events that had led to her son being in a coma in a fucking hospital. All she knew was that he had been found in the water near the docks by a fisherman, a local drunk named Leroy. There was suspicion of foul play, since Regina had been adamant about Henry going nowhere near the docks, claiming it wasn’t safe.
Though she was itching to go to the hospital as soon as she arrived in town she forced the bug to turn towards the sheriff’s station, where she was meant to check in on Graham, as per Regina’s instructions. He had brought Henry over to her apartment several times over the past few years, and they had established what felt like a tense rapport, an unacknowledged attraction warring with the nebulous knowledge of whatever thing he had going on with Regina, some kind of unspoken affair that wasn’t quite a relationship but didn’t seem casual either. Whatever connection Emma felt with him was not worth poking that hornet's nest, especially if it could endanger her access to Henry, however sporadic.
To her chagrin, Regina was there when she arrived, berating the Irishman for his incompetence and drilling him on any possible leads he might be able to pursue. It was the reason Regina had likely called her, Emma knew. Not because she genuinely wanted her to know about Henry’s condition, but because she wanted her to use her dubiously-acquired skills to find out what had happened. She would’ve been angry at the blatant manipulation if Regina wasn’t looking like she hadn’t slept in days and was barely holding herself together. She didn’t like the mayor, but she couldn’t deny she was a caring mother.
“Okay, okay, time out. Can someone walk me through what we have?”
Once again the need to go to the hospital overwhelmed her, but she stomped it down. Henry would be fine. He was a strong kid. And at the hospital she could do nothing for him except watch him struggle to breathe, surrounded by machinery. There she could be of use, could help track down whoever had hurt him, so when he woke up he wouldn’t have to be afraid.
“Little to nothing. No witnesses, no leads, no suspicious activity in town around that time. Henry was having what looked like a normal then. He was last seen a few hours before he showed up in the water, and since he was rescued alive it means he couldn’t have been in the water for long. Not only he didn’t drown, he also had only the early signs of hypothermia, even though the water was freezing. Doctors speculate he couldn’t have been in there for more than five minutes. He has brain activity, though we don’t know whether he’s suffered brain damage. If-” the sheriff paused, looking at both women in front of him before lowering his head and correcting himself. “When he wakes up we’ll know more, even if he’s not able to tell us himself.”
“No strangers in town?” A shake of the head. She wrote the information down. “No deviations from his schedule recently?” Another shake of the head, this time from Regina. “No similar occurrences?” Storybrooke was a small, sleepy town, but it didn’t hurt to ask.
“Well, actually-”
Emma’s head snapped up, her eyebrows raising. She caught the way Graham rubbed his nape, as if aware he had made a mistake, and Regina’s glare before she interrupted.
“That’s got nothing to do with this. It happened ten years ago, it’s ancient history.”
There was a tenseness in Regina’s tone that told Emma both that there was something there and that it was better left unexplored for the time being.
“We’ll get back to that. And who was the last person to see Henry?”
Regina’s eyes narrowed, her mouth pursing in distaste. Before she could speak, however, Graham decided to answer.
“According to testimonies it was the librarian, Belle French.” He paused, looking a bit defensive. “He went into the library in the morning, right before closing. The librarian only works half days on Saturday. She’s rather new, unlikely that she knows anything.”
There was something protective in his words, which Emma quietly made a note of.
“Well, doesn’t hurt to try. There’s not much else to go on.”
On the way to the library she found out, from a still-reluctant Graham, that Belle French had moved to Storybrooke close to five years ago. The town, being as small and bucolic as it was, still perceived her as a newcomer, and once she met her Emma could see why. Besides the thick accident advertising her foreignness, she dressed in a daring sort of way a bit out of place in a conservative little hamlet like Storybrooke, with interesting patterns and daring hemlines. She did appear to be welcoming at first, and genuinely concerned for Henry, asking after him and seeming more than happy to help by providing whatever information they might need.
Perhaps some other time Emma would’ve been a bit more tactful in her interrogation, especially considering there wasn’t any suspicion of foul play yet, but the image of Henry in the hospital, hooked to machines, pale and still on some standard hospital bed too big for his small frame, rattled her, pushed her to be more aggressive, to press on when she would usually back off.
Her initial questions about her last interaction with Henry didn’t seem to pose any problem. The librarian tried to be as thorough as possible, down to looking up which books Henry had turned in and which he had checked out. Emma wrote the last list down, already thinking about trying to track down the books, see if Henry had had them in his person or if they had been recovered nearby. That would tell her where, hopefully, he had been before ending up in the water.
But when her questions turned more personal, centering around her background and more personal information. Almost as soon as she started asking about her past the librarian seemed to clam up, flinching visibly the more she probed.
“I don’t see how questions about my private life might help uncover what happened to Henry.”
The librarian’s accent got thicker the more she was questioned, a tightness entering her voice.
“Oh, you never know what sort of thing will help crack the case. And, as the last person to have seen Henry, you’re central to the investigation. Everything about you is interesting.”
Her instinct told her there was something there, something in the way the librarian’s shoulders hunched and her hands wrung together that screamed a secret begging to be let out, but before she could explore- and, likely, perhaps cross a boundary that shouldn’t be crossed, especially since the librarian seemed genuinely worried and nice-a figure emerged from the shadows, startling her. Emma, as a true foster care kid, had an almost unnatural ability to feel people, especially people looking at her. And yet she hadn’t noticed the figure in the shadows, somewhere between the Religion and Social Sciences section, until they stepped into the light. It was a man, short and unassuming, hair a tad too long for someone in his forties, dressed impeccably in a pressed suit beneath a woolen overcoat, a book in one hand and a cane in the other.
“My, my, what an interrogation this little chat has turned out to be. I thought for a moment I had made a wrong turn into the Sheriff’s station.” The man’s voice was soft and heavily-accented, affable even though his eyes were cold. “Miss French, if you don’t mind bearing with my company for a few more minutes I’d like to stay, make sure you’re not in need of a bit of legal advice.”
His tone remained even, congenial, but a threat lingered behind his words all the same. Emma didn’t need to ask him for his name to know who he was, Henry had mentioned him plenty of times, and Regina too.
“Miss French is not in need of a lawyer.”
Graham’s voice was gruff, but had an edge of deference to it, as if he were talking to his superior. The man shrugged, leaning against the circulation desk, as if to make himself comfortable.
“I shall stay all the same. I’ll take any client I can get. After all-” A pause, an ironic smirk, and the gentle tap of his cane against his crippled leg. “I’m not much for ambulance chasing.”
The librarian snorted, and Emma’s attention went back to her. Unlike a minute ago she looked relaxed now, a smile playing across her face as she tried hard not to laugh. It was as if the presence of the man had had the opposite effect on her as it did on both Graham and herself.
“You’re Mr Gold.”
Another wolfish grin, the glint of a gold tooth enhancing the effect.
“Ah, I see my reputation precedes me. And you-”, he pointed towards her. “Are Miss Swan, here to solve the mystery of what happened to little Henry. I do feel sorry for what happened to the boy. Wish him nothing but the best.” There was an abrupt shift in tone as something genuine slithered into Mr Gold’s voice. “But if you wish to uncover whatever happened to the boy, you better look elsewhere.”
It was a dismissal and, though she didn’t like to comply, Emma couldn’t deny that there wasn’t much left to do there. Once she and the sheriff departed Mr Gold turned towards the librarian, watching as pity replaced the discomfort she had shown earlier.
“Well, Miss Swan seems like a lovely person.”
The pawnbroker did nothing to hide the heavy sarcasm in his tone, still ruffled by the blonde’s attitude. Belle, gently taking the book he had placed on top of the desk to scan it, bit her lip.
“She must be going through something horrible, and Regina too.”
“Bless you bleeding heart. I wouldn’t be as forgiving as you are, if someone had tried to drag my past through the mud like she just did.” There was a faint note of admiration in his voice, as if he was in awe of her goodness, before it turned serious. “But I have to counsel you to try not to get too involved. Regina already doesn’t like you, and now she’s upset and looking for people to blame. It’s a dangerous combination.”
“But I like Henry. I feel awful for him. If anything I said about his last interaction with me helps, then I don’t regret it.”
“Henry’s a nice lad, but not worth putting yourself on the spot for. Try to practice a little selfishness, my dear, it’ll serve you well.”
The words might have sounded heartless, but Belle smiled at them.
“You don’t have to worry about me, you know? But it’s sweet of you to do so.”
“Yes, well, sometimes it pays off to befriend the town monster.” He looked down at the book she handed him, all checked out, and allowed the tips of his fingers to brush against hers. “They tend to be protective of those close to them.”
— — —
The library had given Emma a few leads and one massive guilt complex, but she shrugged the latter off, telling herself to stay on track. The librarian’s feelings would recover, but Henry might not and the only thing she could do for him was find out what had happened, who had hurt him.
Her next stop led her to Granny’s, ostensibly to get a room- she had the feeling Regina wouldn’t be making up the spare room for her at her home-, but mainly because she knew such a place would be ripe for gossip.
Ruby Lucas, the proprietor’s granddaughter, proved to be a veritable fountain of information, and clearly so bored with small town life that she was jumping at the chance to talk to someone new. Emma also suspected she was gathering her own gossip. After all, she was the teen birth mom of the mayor’s son, who’d showed up out of the blue to investigate a possible murder attempt on him, she was basically made of gossip.
Ruby had been in Storybrooke all of her life, and her grandmother too, so there was little they didn’t know about the town and its occupants. And she was chatty too, which worked in her favour. It only took one thinly-veiled reference to a “previous tragedy” for the waitress to launch into a detailed account of the incident both Regina and Graham had tried to sweep under the rug. Emma, out of a sense of obligation, ordered a burger and fries so she could justify sitting in the mostly-empty diner and listening to the grandmother and granddaughter talk.
It turned out Henry wasn’t the first ten-year-old to be found floating in the waters near the docs, only that this boy had been found already dead. It had been a huge scandal ten years ago, and though most people had moved on, there was still talk of it, every now and then.
That boy had been Bailey Gold, Rowan Gold’s only son.
“There was never a Mrs Gold, or at least none that we knew. One day Mr Gold just showed up, already owning over a quarter of the town, with a small boy in tow.”
“Bailey was a lovely boy.” Granny, who didn’t seem to care a jot for the pawnbroker, softened when she spoke of his son. “The apple fell very far from the rotten tree in his case. Very polite, good to a fault. Always eager to help. I think he realised the adults judged him on account of his father and tried to prove them wrong, to prove everyone wrong. And Gold, that old miser, really loved him. The sun rose and set on Bailey for him.”
“So, what happened?”
“One day Gold went to pick him up from the playground- he was old enough to be out on his own, in a town as safe as this one, and kids were more likely to play with him if his father wasn’t around- and he had vanished. He went berserk looking for him, got the sheriff involved right away and everything. A few hours later, when it was almost about to get dark and they were talking about canvassing the woods, an old fisherman found the body. There was a bit to-do with the investigation but, in the end, it was ruled an accidental drowning.”
“Gold hated that, fought tooth and nail to reopen the investigation, but there weren’t any leads, or any suspects.”
“I almost feel sorry for him just remembering it all.” Granny looked grim for a second before shaking her head. “Then I remember he almost evicted us on Christmas three years ago over a misplaced rent check and the feeling passes.”
“Gran, we didn’t even get to the best part yet.” Ruby’s enthusiasm, in light of the subject matter, seemed more than a little out of line, but it didn’t seem malicious. “Months later, around the anniversary of the event, people began to hear horrible sounds coming from the woods on the hilltop. Like howling, or screaming. Some people thought there might be wolves. In Maine. Somehow. But then people made the connection and started to say there was a ghost boy haunting the woods.
“But that makes no sense. Bailey didn’t die near the woods.”
“Well, yeah, but the woods were his favourite place. His dad bought a cabin up there and everything, fixed it up, put a ton of money in it. They used to go there all the time. It makes all the sense!”
“Sure, no, it makes all the sense now.”
The waitress shrugged.
“People haven’t heard sounds in the woods for years, but every now and then people bring it up. It was a very real thing. People were terrified of going up there.”
“Don’t doubt it. Who was mayor at the time?”
“Regina was fresh from her first election win back then. Took the whole thing very personal, as if the child’s death somehow reflected on her leadership or something. Gold hounded her about it, it further soured their relationship, I think.”
“They didn’t like each other before?”
“They knew each other before he came to town, that much was obvious. Or, at least, Gold knew her mother, and not in a pleasant way. Horrid family all around, as far as I could tell. Regina’s the best of the bunch, compared to her heartless mother or crazy sister. Thankfully, neither has stepped foot in Storybrooke in a few years. Good riddance.”
— — —
The conversation left her with a clear notion that there was a strong possibility that what had happened to Bailey Gold was related, in some way or another, to what happened to Henry, which is what she told Regina rather emphatically a few days later, once she had explored almost all the other leads she had managed to gather. Regina was, rather surprisingly, adamant that what had happened to Gold’s kid had been long ago and had been nothing more than a tragic accident, thoroughly investigated and put to rest. When Emma pointed out the similarities, a kid vanishing from the playground and winding up in the docks, face down in the water, she dismissed her.
“I’m familiar with the case, Miss Swan, you aren’t. I was mayor when it happened, I was deeply involved in the whole sorry thing, so I’m telling you to drop it because I know there’s nothing there to disturb other than some unpleasant feelings.”
Even as Regina said that, swanning around her house, busying herself with tidying up an already impeccable home- all things Emma knew that the other woman did because the moment she stopped, the moment she was alone with her thoughts and nothing to do, she’d break down-, Emma could tell something had occurred to the brunette. There was a shadow of something in her eyes, some inkling of suspicion, that she didn’t comment on but took note of. To try and redirect the conversation she asked about the books Henry had checked out from the library the day of the incident, and from Regina’s look- confusion mixed with distaste- it was obvious that she had no idea about them, and that she disapproved of those sorts of books.
Graham came up to meet her as she exited the mayor’s house, sensing her frustration right away. He didn’t talk to her right away, letting her air out her grievances about what felt like the one solid lead she had- other than, perhaps, the missing library books-, which Regina was determined to dismiss or ignore.
“Look, Emma, I promise that, no matter how Regina comes across as, she loves Henry and only wants what’s best for him. If she says that what happened to Bailey Gold isn’t related to what happened to Henry, then it’s true.”
“With all due respect, Graham, you’re a bit too close to this to be impartial.”
“And you aren’t? After all Henry’s your-”
He stopped himself before he said something dangerous, like recognising that Henry was Emma’s biological son. Regina absolutely forbade that sort of talk and the sheriff obeyed, like the loyal dog that he was.
“Can I at least see the case file? I mean, just so that I can cross this off my list, confirm the dead end.”
Graham reluctantly allowed her to swing by the station after her daily visit to the hospital- more as a reminder that Henry lived and breathed and was fighting than a proper visit- and have a look at the file in question. It was neat and orderly, all the t’s crossed and the i’s dotted. Emma was no stranger to case files, she’d bribed her share of cops to rifle through dozens of them, looking for clues that would help her locate her targeted bailjumper. And, though usually those had been case files from NYC precincts and so her sample might be eschewed, case files tended to be messy. Too much handling, information added, worked on, studied. But Bailey Gold’s case file was… neat. Very straightforward, the inevitable conclusion neatly wrapped up, as if no alternative scenario had been conceived. The autopsy was conclusive, lacking perhaps a level of detail she had seen in previous ones, but that may have had to do with the nature of small-town coroners. That, along with a few scarce witness statements, constituted the lion’s share of the report, with no passing clue or vague remark pointing in any other direction.
It bothered her. That it was so damning, so convincing.
Too convincing.
Chapter 2
Regina was on a warpath. Her first stop was the pawnshop, but the door was shut and locked, a “Be right back” sign jauntily swinging from the glass window, mocking her. She headed to the library next, her heels clacking almost painfully against the asphalt. Even though it was past closing time, she was unsurprised to find Mr Gold there, following the librarian around as she shelved books.
She had known about this unlikely friendship for a while. She paid attention to what mattered in town, and everything Gold did mattered. So she had noticed when he had begun to visit the library, at first once a week, and then almost every other day. He usually slipped in near closing time, and lingered there past the official hours. She had kept the information for herself, thinking she might be able to use it later, but right then she couldn’t care less that she had given the game away and made him aware that she knew about his silly little crush.
“Did you do this to my son?!”
“I’m crippled, not deaf, dearie.”
The mayor stared at him, hating how unflappable the pawnbroker looked, even as the accusation lingered in the air. He didn’t try to look surprised or even affronted. Clearly, he had been expecting her outburst and seemed almost faintly amused by it.
“Cut the crap, Gold. I know you’ve never really let go of that old anger of yours. It’s been years but you never really did move on from the past, did you? Still stuck on what happened.”
Her tone was derisive, as if he found him pathetic, and that at least seemed to elicit some sort of emotional response from the Scotsman. He snarled, his right hand tightening around the handle of his cane, tension visible on his shoulders.
“No parent worth a damn ever moves on from the death of their child. They just endure it, one day at a time. Something I hope you don’t find out first hand.”
The mayor took a threatening step forward, hand raised in a vaguely-menacing gesture, when the librarian pushed the shelving cart in between her and the pawnbroker. She was a petite little thing, even in towering heels, but didn’t seem to notice or care about the size disadvantage, her gaze firm but not unkind as she told her that she understood that she was upset, and worried, and wanting to lash out, but that Henry was a strong boy and she had every confidence he’d be awake soon enough.
Her kindness, the softness in her voice, felt somehow worse than Gold’s scorn and anger. It spoke of pity, of weakness, things that Regina had strived to erase from her life. She felt exposed, the feeling like acid in the pit of her stomach.
“Or maybe I’m barking up the wrong tree here. Maybe I should be looking elsewhere for my suspicions. After all, Henry spent a lot of time here and who knows who loons fixate on for no reason? What sort of obsession some mentally-unbalanced individual might develop, and what dangers that might lead to.”
She felt a pang of satisfaction when the librarian visibly flinched, though she kept it together, careful not to take the bait. Behind her the pawnbroker stood, still like a panther, but ready to pounce the moment he thought Regina might overstep.
“Madam Mayor, this isn’t necessary.”
Graham’s Irish lilt jolted Regina out of her thunderous mood, like water being poured over a fire. Still, she resented his intrusion, the way he cautiously put himself in-between the two women. It wasn’t for her sake that he did it. She had seen how he was with the librarian, how gentle and careful. Apparently there was something about the little chit that appealed to men with power in town.
“Stay out of this, Graham.”
“I only mean, visiting hours are almost over at the hospital, and I know that you’ll want to wish Henry goodnight, like you do every day.”
His gentleness somehow didn’t rankle the way the librarian’s had. There was a familiarity to it that disarmed her, that got beneath her steel exterior. She glanced at her watch, noticing the lateness of the hour. Graham was right, she needed to get to the hospital now to get there on time and give Henry his good night kiss. Getting into some manner of fight between Gold and his little librarian would eat up too much of her time. She stalked off the library, Graham following at a more sedate pace, through a soft, understanding look at Belle before closing the door.
“Well, the library has certainly gotten exciting lately.”
Mr Gold’s acerbic comment fell a bit flat in the tense, uncomfortable silence that followed the departure of the mayor and the sheriff. The librarian looked at him, outwardly composed, but with a shadow in his usually luminous eyes. The mention of his son had rattled him, she could tell, and the vulnerability didn’t sit well with him. He was about to bolt, gaze drifting towards the door, likely calculating how much time should he let pass before he was sure Regina was far enough away. And though Belle wanted to give him privacy she didn’t think the best for him would be to be alone with his pain.
“Would you like a cup of tea? I was just about to make myself one, and I’d enjoy it much more with company.”
She saw him hesitate, his need to go somewhere safe to lick his wounds warring with his desire to not be alone with his thoughts. In the end he nodded, a small smile flicking across his face.
“That’d be lovely.”
She directed him to her office, keeping a mostly one-sided conversation as she prepared the tea, making sure the pot was warm before she poured the water and offering him sugar, honey and a little pitcher of milk, of which he only took the honey. She could tell he appreciated the artistry of it, though she wagered he would’ve been equally polite if he had been handed a mug with microwaved water and a teabag. When she produced a tin of Danish Butter Cookies from a cupboard and presented it to him so he could grab one he looked at her like she was the sun and the moon. That look went straight through her, making her feel strangely drunk.
“You’re too kind to an old monster, my dear. Far too kind.”
“You’re not a monster. And Regina was out of line, about what she implied, and what she said about Bailey.” She paused, sitting down to pour her own cup of tea. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but I’m here, if you want to talk.”
The following few minutes were spent in silence, but not the tense one from before. There was a warmth simmering between them now, a coziness she had managed to build inside her office, with the tea and the cookies, that did away with the discomfort from a few minutes ago.
“Bae loved books. That’s one of the things I remember most often. Whenever I find some new book I like I think about what he would’ve thought of it, think about what it would’ve been like to share it with him. He used to come up to the library a lot. Back then it was closed but he’d peer between the boards on the windows, looking at all the dusty books inside like they were some treasure he was trying to get too. He liked adventure stories the most, full of knights and battles and fantastical places.”
His voice cracked, the words trailing off.
“You don’t have to talk about Bailey if you don’t want to. You don’t owe me his story.”
“No, but I want you to have it. I want you to know about Bae, and what happened to him. When they told me someone had fished him out of the water it was like someone had stabbed me. Like they’d cut out a part of me. I felt incomplete. I still do, sometimes. The next thing I felt was rage. Pure, unfiltered rage. I wanted to find out who was responsible. I wanted them to pay. Bae was a good lad, and smart. He knew better than to go near the docks.”
He paused to take a sip of tea, his eyes unfocused, lost somewhere in the past.
“At first they treated it like a suspicious death, an actual investigation, especially after the autopsy pointed towards strangulation. The sheriff questioned people with a grudge against me, which was a rather long list- still is. There were a few possibilities that seemed promising. A butcher who blamed me for his failed business. A drunk I had evicted a few weeks before. But then, suddenly, the investigation was over. A new autopsy had been carried out without anyone informing me, and the new verdict was drowning. No wiggle room, no doubt, no possibility of contesting it.”
He stared at his empty cup of tea, now fully immersed in the recollection.
“I raged against it. I thought it was bullshit and pushed hard for the investigation to be reopened. Regina, fresh from her first victorious election, was intransigent. Told me that accidents happened and that I was looking for people to blame just so I had somewhere to put all my anger and my pain. She insisted that there was no one to blame, that it had been a regrettable tragedy. I never believed it. The impotence nearly killed me.
“Eventually, I rebuilt myself, or came as close as I could. Sought out ways to keep my son’s memory alive, to keep him with me. Like supporting the opening of the library, which has brought many unexpected added benefits, I must admit.”
“To us both.”
— — —
As the days stretched and the town held its breath, both hoping for and dreading news from the hospital, Emma began to contemplate the possibility that there wasn’t any foul play and what had happened to Henry was an accident. As much as Regina swore up and down that Henry never went near the docks, wouldn’t dream of disobeying her, it looked as if she might just be saying what she hoped was the case, instead of facing reality. Emma knew Henry to be good at bending truths and cautiously stepping out of line when it benefitted him, Regina’s motherly pride, and perhaps the fear that she might have failed Henry by smothering him with rules and then leaving him to his own devices to follow them.
The more she became convinced that her theory of an unfortunate accident was the right one, the more Regina insisted that Gold was behind it, having changed her tune. And yeah, the guy was sketchy, no doubt. There was something unsettling in the way he carried himself, something threatening. Still, it was a stretch to think the pawbroker might have tried to kill the mayor's son just because of what had happened to his own son under Regina’s watchful gaze.
“You don’t understand. You weren’t there. He holds me responsible, I know it. He’s sure I swept everything under the rug because I was new and inexperienced and didn’t want the stain of an unresolved crime on my first tenure as mayor. It’s too big of a coincidence that his son drowns tragically and years later the same thing happens to my son.”
“But why now, Regina?”
“Because Henry’s ten now. The same age Bailey was. Just, just look into him.”
Emma did, not because she thought the suspicion had merit but because there wasn’t anything else she could do and just sitting by Henry’s bedside was driving her mind. There was nothing that pointed towards Gold, who seemed to have, perhaps, too clean a background, which would’ve been a red flag if she was investigating him for financial crimes or shady deals, but was hardly a smoking gun when it came to pushing children into the water. Graham letting her know he had spotted the Caddy at the cabin on the afternoon of the tragedy all by cleared him for Emma, but Regina was determined.
“He may have not done it himself, but he’s got people. And he’s awfully chummy with that little librarian, he might have managed to convince her to do it for him. The chit is unstable, and she was the last to see Henry. She could’ve followed him somewhere, or lured him into the docks somehow.”
“That’s a bit much, Regina, are you sure you’re al-”
“No, you don’t understand. When I say that girl is mentally unstable I mean it. She had a past, a past I was nice enough to ignore when she was hired because I thought everyone deserves a second chance, but perhaps my kindness was badly repaid. Here, I have records.”
The brunette passed her a folder full of hospital form admissions, therapy notes, treatment outlines and a whole lot more personal information than Emma was comfortable, and legally-allowed, to have. They painted a pretty horrible picture, making the blonde regret her harsh questioning of the librarian’s past all the more. No wonder she had been so tight-lipped about it, given both how painful the memory of it must be and how very intolerant people tended to be about mental health matters.
It was then that Graham intervened again, clearing his throat so both women would remember he was there. He seemed to spend a lot of time at the mayor’s house, where Regina oscillated between leaning on him and ignoring him altogether. Emma felt a pang of pity against her will. The sheriff was a grown adult, capable of both making his bed and lying in it.
“Belle was with me that afternoon. We went fishing, that’s why I saw Mr Gold’s Caddy at the cabin.” He shrugged. “It’s a good spot for trout.”
As Regina gawked at Graham, apparently too angry for words, Emma wondered if that was really the reason why the mayor seemed so fixated on the librarian. If, perhaps, Graham was two-timing her, or having some sort of emotional affair that the mayor resented in some way.
Emma told him so when they both left the mayor’s house, telling herself she wasn’t confronting Graham because she cared about his romantic life, she was doing it because he didn’t seem to realise how dangerous Regina and her petty jealousy could be.
“It isn’t like that, and I’m sure Regina knows. Belle and I- we have an understanding. It’s very innocent, she’s like a sister to me. We’ve had similar life experiences, it’s how I know when she’s feeling too overwhelmed or afraid of enclosed spaces. We go trekking, or fishing, or even bird-watching, and talk or just enjoy the silence. She needs to be outside when she gets a certain way. I’m sure you can understand, from what Regina showed you just now.”
“Yeah, I really wish she hadn’t, by the way.”
She felt awkward, knowing so much private information about a person she had only met once. She wondered how she’d feel if complete strangers she had met once were privy to all the gritty details about her time in foster care.
“She was with me the whole afternoon. We found out about Henry when I got the call just as we were packing things up.”
“Well, that’s good for her, but bad for me. Regina’s gonna stay on my ass until I give her someone she can blame.”
— — —
To keep up the peace and give herself something to do Emma dove back into the Bailey Gold’s case file, which did not bring about the sudden and irrefutable realisation that Gold had had anything to do with Henry’s accident, but rather the sinking suspicion that Gold’s accusation that Regina had swept Bailey’s death under the rug, categorising it as an accident for her own nefarious reasons, was spot on. Which did leave open the possibility of this being some sort of revenge plot, though it felt a bit weak.
“You can stop looking, you know. Gold didn’t do this. I know it.”
Graham’s voice snapped her out of her inner musings. She had been staring at Bailey Gold’s file for the past ten minutes without taking everything in, mostly puzzled by Regina’s vehemence in her accusation of Gold.
“You’re telling the truth.”
Emma would comfortably call herself a very down-to-Earth person, but ever since she was a kid she had been able to tell when someone was lying. It had served her well during her years in foster care, and was one of the things that made her the best at tracking bail jumpers. She trusted that instinct, which is why it surprised her that she could not detect an ounce of doubt or hesitation. He wasn’t speculating, or guessing, or hoping. He knew Gold didn’t do it.
“But you said you only saw his car at the cabin, not him. He could’ve left it there in order to have an alibi. Gold is literally the only person I can figure who’d want to hurt Regina in that way. What happened to him was horrid and for some reason he blames Regina for it. I doubt he could ever move on from it, not without getting revenge. Though it seems rather shortsighted and unfair to blame Regina for something she had little to do with.”
She had only met the man once, but she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was a man who would not tolerate being wronged. The kind that would hold on to a grudge, feed it and wait for the perfect moment to strike. The reasoning behind it just felt petty and weak.
“Regina’s sure Gold did it because there’s a good reason to blame what happened to his son on her.”
She looked at Graham, noticing how tired he looked, how out of sorts. She doubted he had slept much the past couple of days, between investigating what happened to Henry and keeping Regina from burning the town down in her rage. He looked exhausted, but also completely coherent, fervent now that he had apparently decided to speak.
“What do you mean?”
The entire story spilled out in hushed tones, the puzzle pieces slotting cleanly in place, allowing her for the first time to grasp the full picture of what had happened ten years ago. The feud between Gold and Regina had nothing to do with the pawnbroker blaming Regina for failing in her mayoral duties. The truth was much uglier, but not altogether surprising.
“Regina covered it up, and Gold knew. Back then Regina’s sister lived with her. Zelena was- unhinged. I didn’t know her for very long, but you could tell right away that there was something off about her. She came to Storybrooke to stay a while ostensibly because she was looking to bond with her sister, but Regina told me the truth, that she was running away from potential stalking charges. Something to do with a man, I don’t recall the specifics.
“Then she met Gold and she became… obsessed. Mostly because, apparently, her mother and Gold had been involved at some point in time, and that seemed to… intrigue her.”
“You mean she was into Gold because he used to bang her mom?”
She shared a look of disgust with the sheriff, who reluctantly nodded.
“He rebuffed her. He wasn’t interested and I think he too found it more than a bit unappealing that she wanted him because he had had a relationship with her mother. When she doubled down he was cruel about it. Made it clear he wasn’t interested. Zelena didn’t take it well. At all. Ranted to Regina all the time, told her how she wanted to hurt Gold like he had hurt her.”
He paused, looking a bit ashamed.
“Then Bailey went missing. Zelena showed up at Regina’s house a few hours after Gold had reported it. She was in a panic, apparently. Told her that she had taken the kid so that Gold would freak out a little. Thought she might even play the part of the hero and pretend she had found him wandering in the woods. Maybe it would get Gold to see her in a different way. But Bailey had fought, and had managed to get away. So she had chased him down and… she said she tried to get him to shut up, because he was crying and screaming for his dad. Put one of her hands over his mouth and the other around his neck. She let go when he stopped moving, but by then he was dead.”
Emma saw the scene in her mind’s eye, only the woman she was picturing had no face and the child looked exactly like Henry. It was too horrifying to even speak of it.
“Regina told her that she’d take care of everything. Told Zelena to dump the body in the harbour and go home. Then, when Bailey was found, she pushed hard to rule the whole thing an accident. Went as far as requesting a new autopsy from a doctor who owed a favour to the Mills. Took care of everything, even though Gold made it very difficult. Later, she sent Zelena away, threatening to reveal the truth if she ever set foot in Storybrooke again. Regina didn’t like Zelena, but felt responsible for her. It had something to do with the way her mother used to treat them. Something about favouritism.”
Graham finished his story, eyes glued to some imaginary detail in the file in front of him he was pretending to focus on. Anything to avoid Emma’s disgusted, judgemental gaze. She bit back all that she wanted to say, all the accusations she wanted to make. She wondered how Gold could stand looking at Regina without exploding, without taking his cane and beating the truth out of her.
“You can see now that what happened to Henry is not the same thing that happened to Bailey. And Gold may be a lot of things, all dangerous, but he’s not a child killer. As much as he hates Regina there’s no way he could do that to a child, not after what he went through.”
“What about Zelena? Could she have come back, unnoticed? If she was holding some kind of grudge against Regina, isn’t it possible-?”
“No. Zelena didn’t do this. I know it.”
Another clear-cut truth, but Graham seemed in no mood to tell her why he was so sure.
“I don’t know how you do this. How you stay with her, when you know what she did. What she made you do.”
“I don’t know either, if it helps.”
— — —
When Belle saw Graham walk into the library, she could immediately tell something was wrong about him. His shoulders were slumped and he looked tired, pale, the dark circles under his eyes prominent under the overhead light of the room.
“When was the last time you took a break, Graham?”
“Good afternoon to you too, Belle.”
The attempt at a joke felt a little flat, the smile accompanying it barely there.
“I mean it. You look tired. You’re going to burn yourself out at this point and you’ll be no use to anyone like that.” The librarian bit her lip, unsure about whether to say what she was thinking. “You know, you can tell Regina no. You’re not her slave. I understand that she’s going through a horrible time and you feel the need to be there, but you’re still allowed to take basic care of yourself.”
The mention of Regina seemed to unsettle the sheriff somewhat, putting him on the defensive.
“Don’t worry about me, Belle. Worry about yourself.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
The sheriff sighed, one hand tangling around his hair as he thought about how to broach the topic that had brought him there.
“I mean- I didn’t know you were that close with Mr Gold. And you seem to have gotten even closer to him lately, even as everyone else in town has decided to give him a wider berth.”
“What does Rowan have to do with anything?”
The use of Gold’s first name seemed to almost disturb Graham in some way.
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be seeing him.”
“I’m not, but what if I was?” The librarian rolled her eyes. “Are you going to lecture me about unsavoury relationships? Because I’ve very carefully chosen not to comment on whatever is going on between you and the mayor, so I don’t appreciate you trying to butt in on my relationship with Mr Gold.”
“Those things are not comparable.”
“If anything, that’s a point in my favour. At least Rowan is not my boss, nor does he keep me like a secret.”
Her voice was raised, defensive, a hard edge to her that seemed almost foreign to him.
“No, Belle, he’s worse. He’s not a good man. In fact, he’s the opposite. He’s dangerous, capable of things you can’t even imagine. Regina has done many things, but at least she’s not a killer. Gold is.”
Anger flashed across the librarian’s face, an emotion she seldom directed at the sheriff.
“Don’t tell me you now believe Regina’s nonsense about Rowan being responsible for what happened to Henry? I thought you knew better. He’d never harm a child. Besides, we both saw his car in the woods.”
“I know. That’s not what I’m talking about.”
For the second time the sheriff found himself recounting the sordid details of what had happened ten years ago, what he had allowed to happen, had been complicit in. The shame he felt when Belle looked at him as if she couldn’t recognise him was devastating, but he pressed on, refused to give her room to talk, to take him to task over what he had just told her.
“The reason I know that Gold had nothing to do with Henry’s situation in spite of having ample reason to do this is because I know for a fact he’s already taken his revenge. He told me himself years ago, one evening in front of Bailey’s tomb. I used to visit often, once a week at least to leave flowers and, I suppose, alleviate my guilt. One evening Mr Gold was there. I thought he’d want me to leave him to his grief, thought he wouldn’t want me anywhere near his son’s grave. Instead he thanked me for the flowers, but told me I didn’t need to bring fresh ones the next week. Told me his son had been avenged. Went into detail about figuring out Zelena had done it, about thinking about turning her in, having her spend her life in jail like justice demanded. But, after what Regina had pulled, he didn’t trust the system anymore. So instead he tracked her down and put a bullet between her eyes.”
Graham let the words linger in the air, his stare intense as he tried to gauge whether his words were having any impact on his friend. Belle was motionless, face carefully blank, giving away nothing.
“Gold didn’t tell me that so I would have some peace. He didn’t tell me because he thought I would be glad to hear it. He told me because he knew I couldn’t tell anyone else. Not without incriminating myself and Regina. He knew I would even have to keep it from Regina, or she’d try to take him on. He played it perfectly. The confession was a punishment, one I was glad to accept at the time. But now all it does is make me worry for you.”
He rose, wanting to take a step forward, to perhaps console her or reassure her, but there was no fear in her eyes, no disgust or even surprise at the revelation that her recurrent visitor to the librarian was a cold-blooded killer. Instead, something else, something he hadn’t really expected, crossed her face.
Approval.
He took a step back, feeling the roles reverse as revulsion began to creep up his spine the more he saw her.
“You don’t care that he killed someone?”
“It’s not that straightforward.” The librarian sighed, clearly not wanting to pick a fight but also unable to give him the answer he wanted to hear. “I’m glad he didn’t let Zelena ruin some other life, and I’m sure you feel the same way about that.”
He looked at her like he didn’t know her, which he felt was pretty close to the truth right then and there. Belle stared back, unapologetic, looking both like the kind, gentle person he had known for a few years now and a complete stranger, someone angry and cold and violent.
“Just… just stay away from Gold, okay?”
He grabbed his jacket and stumbled out of the library, thinking things might right themselves tomorrow, after a bit of sleep and some self-searching. If sleep ever came, which he highly doubted.
Chapter 3
They fished him out of the water in the morning. A passerby who saw the net pulling up the still body of sheriff Graham ran back to the Diner to tell everyone there and, soon enough, the entire town was talking about it. Emma, who had been just finishing her cup of hot chocolate when she heard, went straight to the hospital, where she was soon joined by a distraught and enraged Regina, who seemed to be in a pretty heavy state of denial as she tried to bully doctors and other hospital staff into letting her know "how Graham was doing”.
Gold showed up a little later, looking more solemn and less like his sardonic self. He was there, ostensibly, as a representative of the Town Council, to verify the sheriff’s death and, Emma supposed, put into motion the process of replacing him. He was, in contrast to Regina’s almost-hysterics, calm and collected, though not in a flippant way that would imply he didn’t care. Deputy Nolan, who worked only part time as a law enforcement officer and was usually found manning the local animal shelter, completed the trio of officials, looking grave and perhaps a little bit frightened at the possibility of taking on all of Graham’s responsibilities and having to lead the current investigation, even if it was temporary till a new sheriff was elected.
As for herself, Emma felt like she was a bit in a trance. She kept replaying her last few interactions with Graham, kept thinking about the nuance of their relationship, the spark of something that had existed between them from day one but that both, due to circumstances, had decided to ignore. He felt a pang of regret now, sitting down on an uncomfortable hospital chair, waiting for whoever needed to be there to receive the official news about his death.
That limbo was interrupted by the arrival of Belle French, eyes huge and looking like she had run all the way there, her hair windswept and her coat unbuttoned. Immediately her presence caused a few shifts in the room: Mr Gold tensed up, eyes going soft and distraught at the sight of her, and Regina’s face contorted into something between disgust and rage.
“What’s the bookworm doing here?”
The librarian ignored everyone at first, going directly to the doctor and announcing she was Graham’s emergency contact, which did not exactly calm the mayor down. The doctor took her aside, not quite out of the hallway but out of earshot from everyone else, and spoke in low, hushed tones, his expression gentle but grim. Belle nodded, her eyes watering but holding herself together as she thanked the doctor and signed the paperwork that was put in front of her. David Nolan approached a moment later, likely to discuss next steps with the doctor. There would be an autopsy, but given where he had been found- in the exact same spot Henry had and, years ago, Bailey Gold- there only seemed to be one possible cause of death, and the attempted murder investigation would soon be updated to a murder investigation.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Regina’s snarl cut through the solemn silence in the hallways, her voice grating and shrill as she demanded to know what business Belle had been Graham’s designated next-of-kin. She took a couple of steps closer to the librarian, one hand pulled back in a threatening manner, but before she could do any harm, the pawnbroker stepped in front of her, expression calm but eyes flinty.
“Pull yourself together, Regina. This behaviour is very unbecoming, and getting yourself banned from this hospital- which I will demand they do, if you get violent- is not what you or your boy need right now.”
Regina paused, clearly weighing the pros and cons of acting on her rage, but Gold stared her down, probably the one person that she couldn’t bully or threaten into backing down. Finally, with a dismissive huff, she turned around and left, likely going to Henry’s room to sit with him. Then Mr Gold turned around, the ice around his eyes melting as he looked at the librarian.
“Are you alright, Belle?”
The way he said her name made Emma feel like she was intruding on a deeply personal moment, but tried as she might she could not look away. The librarian shook her head, her composure breaking just as the pawnbroker’s arms encircled her. He let her bury her face against his coat, one hand like a band of steel around her waist and the other tangling in her hair, his face tilted down so he could murmur something comforting to her.
Emma still didn’t like the pawnbroker. Every alarm bell in her body went off whenever the man was nearby. He moved and looked almost like a jungle-cat, deceptively still. But, in that moment, she was glad he was there, to stop Regina when no one else would’ve been able to.
Besides, now she could truly cross him out of her suspects list. Because, looking at the way he was holding the librarian as she cried, she knew for sure he would never do anything to hurt her like that.
CH— — —
There was an autopsy, but none of the initial findings were conclusive, so people in Storybrooke were in a state of limbo, expecting big news at any moment while life went on, more or less as usual. Emma spent her time between visiting Henry- Regina had reluctantly let her know that some new neurological tests were throwing promising results, and doctors were slowly transitioning from grave and silent to cautiously optimistic about his prognosis- and helping Nolan with the investigation and keeping order in the town.
Gold was keeping his distance from most people, knowing there was a considerable number of town residents who were utterly convinced he had something to do with whatever was going on, and so things were tenser than usual. He turned his attention instead to sorting out the late sheriff’s apartment. There were no family members there to claim anything, only a vague will where he asked for his things to be donated, namely the local shelter. As his landlord Gold took the initiative to catalogue the belongings, trashing what could not be donated, distribute the rest amongst the few local charities that might be interested- minor the nuns- and keep a few personal possessions for those close to the sheriff that might want to claim them.
When Belle showed up at his home he thought she might be there for something of Graham’s. He had set aside a few things he thought she might enjoy, some well-looked-after books and a couple of carved figurines that looked hand-made. He told her so, letting her know that he had a few things there and a few at the shop, and she was welcome to any of it that she wanted. But she shook her head, her eyes soft but purposeful as they looked at him. She looked better than he would’ve thought. Composed, more in control of herself. Her eyes were still the slightest bit red-rimmed, as if she had cried recently, but nothing else seemed amiss.
“I’m not here for that. I’m here to check on you. May I come in?”
He might have hesitated if he wasn’t so surprised that Belle could think outside of Graham’s death and the slow and painful process of mourning that man, given how much he had meant to her. He ushered her inside when nothing else seemed to come to mind, leading her to the kitchen so he could prepare some tea. It was freezing outside, and the Australian had never quite gotten used to winters in Maine, feeling the cold more than most.
“You’re generous to worry about me, my dear. Especially given how I’m sure Graham must occupy your thoughts most of the time.”
One of the first things he had heard about the new librarian, before he had ever even set eyes on her, was how fast she and the sheriff seemed to have grown close to each other. At the time he had felt only a detached sort of pity for the newcomer, given how much he knew about the sheriff’s complicated love life and Regina’s vicious covetousness over anything and anyone she viewed as her own.
Then he had met her, and had found her charming. Beautiful enough to explain the sheriff being besotted almost right away, but also funny and engaging. She refused to be bullied by him, or be afraid of him, and laughed at his acidic comments. One visit to the library had turned into a weekly tradition, and then, over time, one day a week had turned into three.
He’d realised he was in love around that time, and though he recognised the futility of his feelings he was still glad for them. Ever since Bailey died he hadn’t let anyone else close. He’d found purpose and will to live in other ways, but never companionship, never love. Belle French had changed that and it did not matter that she couldn’t reciprocate. He was content to be her friend and keep any deeper feelings private. He’d even prepared himself for the possibility that, one day, the sheriff would finally manage to untangle himself from whatever toxic relationship he had with Regina, and decide to make an honest woman out of the librarian. Had shielded as much of his heart as he could, thinking he was being realistic.
But in the face of Belle’s genuine concern, seeing her there, in his home, days after the sheriff died, all his resolve crumbled. It felt almost intoxicating, having someone care for him to the point of being able to put their own grief aside. If he hadn’t already been head over heels for Belle, this little visit would’ve sealed the deal.
“You seem surprised.”
“Not at you, dear. I’ve always known you have too big a heart for your own good. But I’m unused to such kindness. I’m a difficult man to love, or so I’ve been told.”
He aimed for flippancy, like he’d done often before. The truth was better off said in a sardonic manner, so people would dismiss it. It didn’t seem to have the expected effect on the librarian, who looked solemn, but in a way that was soft, gentle. He lowered his eyes, watching the dredges of tea at the bottom of his cup as if he was trying to read his future in them.
“Not to me.”
He looked up sharply, a denial on the tip of his tongue, where it died a quick, ignominious death. The look in her eyes was too raw, too honest. He had been aware that she felt a certain fondness for him, but what he saw in her face went beyond simple affection. Beyond the tentative friendship he thought that they had established over time. It was almost as if-
“What about Graham? You- you loved him, didn’t you?”
He hadn’t questioned that fact in years. Had simply accepted it, seen the logic behind it- the sheriff was, after all, young, handsome and kind to a fault, why wouldn’t Belle fall for him?- and decided that it didn’t matter. That he could settle for whatever Belle could give him, and be glad of it. But she was looking at him like he’d grown a second head.
“I… I thought you knew. That the rumours weren’t true. Graham and I… we bonded over trauma. We both spent time in mental institutions as children, and didn’t come out of them unscathed.”
He blinked, sure that he had heard her wrong. Sheriff Graham had always seemed like a well-adjusted, no-nonsense individual. A bit reserved, perhaps, and a tad taciturn, but nothing that would’ve led him to think that he carried something like that in his past. And Belle… Belle was full of light. Fanciful, yes, with her head always stuck in some book or three, but nothing that would make anyone think of madness, much less of a dark, grim past.
But there was no mistaking the hurt behind her eyes, the shadows that settled across her face as she told him. As if speaking of it was akin to relieving the experience.
“What happened?”
The story spilled out in the space between them. Losing her mother in a car accident when she was ten, and going mute as a result, too lost in her grief to form words. Her father, loving but overwhelmed, too broken by the death of his wife to make the best decisions, was convinced by medical experts that it would be for the best to put her in a place where she would receive constant professional help.
“Perhaps it wasn’t the wrong idea, but it was certainly the wrong institution. It was run by some very uncharitable nuns, very strict, not very compassionate. They tried to force me to talk. They would withhold food unless I verbally requested it, and then force-feed me when I’d get so weak from hunger I couldn’t get out of bed. They’d lock me up too, saying that if I wanted to use any of the common areas I’d have to ask for it. At night I’d hear horrible screams, and I became scared of some of the other kids. It was awful, and it took over a year for my father to realise I wasn’t getting better, but worse. By the time he pulled me out I was afraid of enclosed spaces, and large groups of people. I still am, sometimes.”
Violent impulses overwhelmed him. He wanted to go to her and crush her to him, wanted to hunt her father down and make him pay for his mistake, wanted to find some way to erase the entire experience from her mind.
“Graham knew because Regina told him, warned him to keep an eye on me. I didn’t understand at first how I even got the show with my background, but later it became clear that she enjoyed having leverage on me, like she does with everyone else that works for her in some capacity. Instead of doing what he’d been told, Graham told me of his own experience in a mental institution. He’d grown up with his grandad in his sheepfarm, both of them isolated from the rest of society. When the old man died he was placed in an asylum because he didn’t know how to properly interact with other people, grew up heavily medicated until some uncle tracked him down and sprang him out, took him to live with him in the States.”
Rowan thought, rather grimly, that the good sheriff’s often complicated and downright unsavoury relationship with the mayor made a bit more sense now that he had all the facts. Regina wasn’t quite her mother, but she was a good manipulator nevertheless. Good at finding out and exploiting other people’s weaknesses, even if they weren’t aware that she was doing it. He had no doubt that she’d used the Irishman’s past as a way to ingratiate herself to him, sinking her claws into him before he was ever aware of it.
“Graham always knew when I felt too overwhelmed, or needed to be out. He would take me hiking, fishing, bird-watching, anything that would allow us to be outside. We wouldn’t talk much, but it’d be nice. What I felt for Graham was kinship. He was the older brother I never had, protective and intuitive but respectful of my boundaries. He made me feel comfortable. But it wasn’t romantic, or passionate. Not like what I feel for you.”
“But you- you never said anything.”
He hadn’t either, but only because he had the decency to recognise Belle was too far above someone like him. But she had to know that all she needed to do was snap her fingers or smile in his general direction and he was in her pocket.
“Because the idea of telling you about my past was too terrifying, and it would've been wrong to pursue something with you without sharing everything. You were so nice, so attentive. What if it all changed when you found out the truth? I was sure that you wouldn’t be unkind about it, but it didn’t mean that you would want me once you knew.”
Rowan fought the urge to snort at the idea that anything Belle said or did could ever make him not want her.
“Why now, then?”
She shrugged.
“Because Graham’s dead, and Henry might still not make it, and I don’t want to live with regrets. I don’t want to be scared of going after what I want anymore.”
He was undone by her bravery, the way she stubbornly held his eyes even though she could tell it was difficult for her, given all that she had just told him, how she refused to back down, even as silence stretched between them. He had always found her beautiful, but she was even more so at that moment, open and vulnerable and choosing to be like that. To expose herself to him so.
Kissing her was inevitable, her bravery rubbing off on him. Impossible little chit, brave and beautiful and there, in front of him, showing that she cared, letting him know the worst parts of her, trusting that he would be careful with them. He’d thought for the longest time that she wanted another, that she was out of his reach. Thought he’d spend the rest of his life admiring her from a distance. But she felt real in his arms, warm and soft against him, her arms winding around his neck, pulling him closer, showing she was as eager for him as he was for her.
He knew she deserved better. Deserved something slow, something gentle and romantic. Perhaps some other time he could try to give her that, but at that moment he felt frantic. Kissing her wasn’t enough, crushing her small frame to him wasn’t enough. He wanted to drown himself in her, to pour so much of himself into her that it would be impossible to tell when one ended and the other began.
Fortunately, given how tight she held onto him, how strongly she pressed her mouth against his, she seemed to feel the same way. One hand sunk into his hair while the other travelled down the lapel of his suit, clumsily trying to tug it off his shoulder. He helped her as much as he could, his need to feel as much of her skin against his winning over his refusal to let go of her for even a second. Between frenzied kisses and heavy breathing they shed both their winter outwear, and he was rewarded by the feeling of the pebbled skin of her arms and neck against his hands and the tip of his nose. It was only when he felt her shiver just as his finger began to undo the buttons of her silk shirt that he regained some sense of self, enough to know that however rushed he felt to strip Belle naked and have his way with her, they at least needed a bed, and all of them were upstairs.
“Come here, darling.”
He took her hand, trying to be gentlemanly even as he all but dragged her upstairs, the strong grip of her hand in his and her barely-contained laughter telling him he wasn’t doing anything she didn’t seem to heartily approve of. Once in his bedroom she pounced on him before he could feel even a twinge of self-consciousness, pushing him backwards insistently till his legs hit his bed and he felt rather ungracefully onto the mattress. She fell against him a second later, hands and lips everywhere, undoing his shirt and loosening his belt before sneaking under his undershirt so that skin touched skin.
It wasn’t until he felt the clasp of her underwear give under his fingertips that he realised how far things had gone, in the blink of an eye. He breathed in, trying to get enough oxygen into his brain to think for a second, to give himself enough self-control to slow down and act a little less like a sex-crazed maniac. He slid his hands up and down her now bare back, revelling in the softness of her skin, feeling the barely-there notches that marked her spine, thinking to himself that she was too skinny, in need of some pampering.
Belle noticed his change of pace, her own hands pausing, fingers hooked on the waistband of his underwear, but instead of pleased at the notion that he wanted to go slower, that he had decided to gentle his approach, she looked stricken.
“I’m-I’m sorry.” Her voice was thin, unlike her. “Am I- am I going too fast? Is this too…?”
He didn’t know how she was going to end that question, whether she was going to say “too soon”, “too much” or something alike. It didn’t matter, because he knew what she really meant. Knew that, if he let her, she would retract back into herself, would follow his lead and slow down, be softer. But it wouldn’t be what she wanted, wouldn’t be as real as it was now.
“It’s not too anything.” His voice sounded raw, too uncultured, nothing like the soft, purposeful burr that he had cultivated over the years. “If anything, it’s not enough.”
He hauled her back against him, telling his sense of propriety to go fuck itself. There was nothing proper between them, only something natural. Inevitable. Her passion, her wildness, was the only thing that made sense. Anything else would be madness. With little patience he tore at the sides of her flimsy underwear, peeling the sodden fabric off her with nothing but delight. She half-sighed, half-moaned in response, the sound much less inhibited than any before, her own fingers managing to push his boxers down far enough that he could wiggle out of them with relative ease. The sensation of cold air against his aching cock only made him more impatient, desire bleeding slightly into pain as he wrestled her into the mattress, her warm body beneath his, eyes impossibly blue as she stared up at him, making electricity rush down his spine, leaving him feeling more alive than he had in ages.
His first thrust spoke more of desperation than desire, but though Belle whimpered in pain she wrapped her legs around his waist and urged him closer instead of trying to scramble away from him. After basking in the utter delight of being buried balls-deep inside such heat Rowan forced himself to pull out, eagerly thrusting back inside a moment later. It was a deliciously messy process, full of blood and sweat, grunts of exertion and impatience and the occasional struggle for dominance. Thrusting in and out of Belle's hot little cunt felt a little bit like what he had always thought heaven must feel like, a rapturous wonder that defied words and explanations. It became impossible to differentiate pain from pleasure, and by the looks of the woman beneath her he wasn't alone in such lovely confusion.
When he felt her flutter against his cock relief washed over him and whatever shred of his self-control remained were washed away in the violence of his own release, burning into nothing by the time it was all over. Afterwards he fell on his side, barely managing not to crush her, his hands and lips caressing whatever bit of skin they could reach, his voice low as he told her how wonderful she was, how dear to him. Told her that he hoped that he didn’t hurt her, that he would be gentle like a lamb if she wished it, she only had to tell him so.
“You were perfect.” The undertone of satisfaction in her voice was impossible to fake, as was the slow, brilliant smile he gave her. He kissed her, unable to do anything else, and tucked her firmly against him, holding tight till he drifted off.
Chapter 4
Compared to the almost violent passion of the night before, morning found Belle and Rowan sedate and quiet. Waking up together, by some miracle, hadn’t been awkward or stilted but rather natural, both basking a little in the stillness of the moment before hunger drove them out of bed.
As he fixed himself something to eat Rowan tried studiously to ignore the way Belle looked, all domestic and soft, hair mussed and a bit of sleep clinging to the corner of her eyes. It was cute and homely and yet it made his insides burn to know she smelled of him and that the hem of the shirt she had borrowed barely graced the top of her soft thighs, leaving her glorious legs bare. It was the most intimacy he’d ever shared with someone and it made buttering his toast a very slow process. Thankfully, Belle didn’t seem to notice, chattering about the latest book she had read, not an ounce of self-consciousness or regret in her.
The almost magical moment was interrupted by a rather abrupt knock on his door. Rowan checked his watch, wondering about the time. It was a Sunday, after all, nine AM was an ungodly hour to pay a social call. Besides, very few people would dare call on him at his home, and the only one that he would welcome was already inside. The alternatives where Regina- God forbid- or the ever-annoying-
“Miss Swan. To what do I owe this unwelcome intrusion on my lazy Sunday?”
He had every intention of being as unpleasant as possible in order to drive her away fast, but the improper little chit practically elbowed him out of the way before scurrying into his house like she had no manners at all, which, to be fair, was pretty close to the truth.
“Sorry to bother you, Gold,” she said, sounding distinctly unbothered, “but I was told that you had some of Graham’s stuff and I wanted to know if I could go through it. I’m looking for anything that could be a potential clue as t-”
Her jabbering came to an abrupt stop just as he was done locking the door, and when he turned around he saw her standing there, still wearing that ridiculous beanie over her puffy princess curls, her eyes wide as saucers as she looked into the kitchen and spotted Belle, in a distinct state of almost-undress, looking very much like she had gotten out of bed only a few minutes ago. His eyes zeroed in on the librarian, who made no move to cover herself, to try and pretend she wasn’t just wearing her lacey knickers and his shirt, nor did she seek to hide herself or give the newcomer any explanation. Instead she smiled and waved before redirecting her attention to drizzling honey into the piece of toast he’d just made for her.
Her complete and unaffected nonchalance thawed something inside of him that had turned to ice the moment the blonde had stepped into his home. Belle wasn’t ashamed of what had happened last night. Wasn’t ashamed of them. And she wasn’t bothered by the idea of other people knowing either. The relief was almost dizzying, threatening to knock him down for a second. Emboldened by the silent display of acceptance Rowan walked past Miss Swan, still playing at being a statue in the middle of his foyer, and moved close to the librarian, pressing a kiss to her hair, breathing in the fragrance of her.
“I’ll be right back, sweetheart.”
He went to his office, where he had kept the small box of personal belongings of the sheriff that he had there, leaving the door open enough that he could hear both women make conversation feet away, Belle’s cheerful, accented cadence followed by Miss Swan’s awkward, stilted answers. When he came back to the kitchen with the box Miss Swan refused to make eye-contact, awkwardly thanking him for his help and barely-listening as he told her there was another box at his shop that she was welcome to collect the next day.
She was about to leave, one foot on the other side of the threshold, when she got a call.
“It’s the hospital.”
The tension in her voice and face lingered for the first few seconds, and this time it was Rowan who felt like looking away, wanting to give her a smidge of privacy as she prepared herself for some bad news. A second later, however, her frown cleared, exuberance overtaking her features as she rushedly told however was on the other end of the line that she would be right there.
“Henry’s awake. He’s talking. I have to go to the hospital, see it for myself.”
She was out the door before either Belle or Rowan could congratulate her. The pawnbroker was surprised to feel anything other than mild happiness at the news. He knew little Henry, of course, and had nothing against him, but he hadn’t thought he cared much about him. Perhaps what he felt was relief that a story so similar in some ways to that of his son turned out to have a happy ending. And the twinge of bitterness he felt at the notion that Regina, who had been a key player in the tragedy that had befallen Bailey, wasn’t as deep as he thought it would be.
The sound of his cellphone ringing snapped him out of his musings. It was the hospital, to let him know, as a representative of the town council, that the sheriff’s autopsy results were ready, and would be released to the authorities. He thanked the caller and hung up, and for a few seconds just stared at Belle, whose smile dimmed at his solemn look.
“Well, it seems the little mystery the town’s been drowning in is about to be solved. Either by Henry or by the late sheriff. Or both.”
He approached her, one of his hands going to stroke her hair, luxuriating in the freedom to do so. He hadn’t known how touch-starved he was until the librarian had moved in and had struck a friendship with him, gifting him a million little touches here and there. But last night had opened some sort of floodgate and, suddenly, those little touches weren’t enough.
“I could drive you back to the library, if you want. Or the diner. You’ll be able to find out more about what’s going on there.”
He didn’t want to keep her there, not when he knew she cared about Henry and, though not romantically, she did love the sheriff. But Belle shook her head, leaning back against him and humming in appreciation at the solid feel of him behind her.
“Let’s make the most out of this bit of quiet, enjoy it before the bomb drops. All we know now is that Henry’s awake and things are good.”
— — —
The bomb, when it finally did explode, turned out to be a bit of a dud. The story that began to circulate, tentatively at first, but gaining momentum as more and more people confirmed it, seemed almost disappointingly mundane. There was no big mystery, no killer lurking on the edges of town, ready to drown his next victim. Little Henry confessed, appropriately chagrined, that he had been going to the docks a lot, contrary to what he had promised his mother. He had made a secret fortress there, a hidden place where he read books he got from the library and comic books he bought with his money from chores. Mostly fantasy stuff that Regina apparently disapproved of, thinking it might rot his brain or some nonsense.
The day of the accident one of the comic books had gotten blown in the wind, and when he went to retrieve it he fell in the water. He remembered the shock of cold from falling into the water, the way it felt like thousands of needles prickling him, and then nothing. He didn’t recall seeing anyone or being pushed or anything that even remotely pointed to someone else being involved.
As for Graham, the results of his autopsy were shocking, but in an unexpected way. The sheriff had, apparently, died of a heart attack. It was discovered he had an undisclosed heart condition, a cardiomyopathy he might have been entirely unaware of, that explained why a young and otherwise healthy man, who exercised and ate well, would suffer a cardiac episode so young. There was no sign of drowning, so the coroner speculated that the sheriff might have been patrolling near the docks- perhaps searching for clues- when he had suffered his heart attack and had sadly tipped over into the water.
Two tragedies, tied in unexpected ways- it was speculated that the amount of stress the sheriff had been under could’ve triggered the attack-, one that had ended happily and one that hadn’t. But at least little Henry would make a full recovery, and people considered that a good ending overall.
There was a celebratory toast at the diner offered to Leroy, whose quick acting had saved little Henry’s life, and by the time the crowd dispersed the sun was beginning to dip on the horizon. Belle glanced at the pawnshop on her way back to the library, noticing the Caddy missing in spite of it still being too early for the shop to be closed. She decided to close up the library as well, knowing no one would visit that day and that Regina wouldn’t care whether she complied with opening hours that day or not, and headed towards the woods, following a familiar path.
She wasn’t surprised to find the Caddy parked near the cabin, even though no one seemed to be inside the house. She walked around, brushing snow and leaves off the floor till she found the door for a storm cellar, carefully camouflaged against the muddy brown of the forest floor. Opening the well-oiled trapdoor she went down the sturdy stairs, unsurprised to see light illuminating the room below.
The stairs gave way to a rather large room, dominated by what appeared to be a cell of some kind, a crude, but functional, cage, complete with what looked like rudimentary bathroom facilities off to one side, a desk, a chair and a cot to sleep in. Rowan was inside, sitting down on the chair, eyes blank as he looked around but, Belle would wagered, managed to see nothing.
He startled when his gaze drifted towards the stairs and he saw her there, standing still like a statue.
“Belle, what are you-?”
She smiled, trying to look reassuring.
“I thought you might be feeling some type of way about the news circulating around town today, and I didn’t want you to be alone.”
“I’m glad that Henry’s safe. As much as I hate Regina sometimes, I never wished her to go through what I had to go through.”
“Oh, I know. But still, it must be bittersweet.”
Rowan frowned, gesturing around himself, looking vaguely discomfited.
“But how did you know I would be- here? How did you even know this place existed?”
The unasked question- Do you even know what this place is?- floated between them, heavy and dangerous.
“I’ve often spotted the Caddy parked next to your cabin when I come here with Graham, so I knew you came here a lot. But I didn’t realise why till Graham told me about Zelena and what she did.”
“What did he tell you about Zelena?”
His voice was an angry hiss, but a note of fear snuck in as well. Belle shrugged, her face carefully blank.
“He told me what she did to Bailey, and that you tracked her down and shot her for it. He was disappointed when that knowledge did not deter me from loving you, or wishing to pursue those romantic feelings.”
He stiffened for a second, but relaxed when he saw no sign of rejection in her eyes. No disgust or fear. She wasn’t there to threaten to go to the police with her knowledge of what he’d done, or even to tell him off for it.
“But perhaps he didn’t understand why because I never really told him the story of how my mamam died. He knew she’d been involved in a car accident, and how that had led to my time at the asylum, but nothing beyond that. I never told him she’d been killed by a drunk driver, who survived the crash and went on to live a happy, carefree life because he was the local mayor’s son and his father made sure the entire incident was buried. All brushed under the rug in time for his son to go to college and leave everything behind. Papa was furious, obsessed. He would’ve been able to let it go and move on eventually, perhaps, if the injustice of it all hadn’t eaten away at him until there was nothing left.”
Something familiar flitted across her eyes, something he knew on a deep, personal level. It felt like kin recognising kin, almost.
“So when Graham told me what you confessed in front of Bailey’s grave I put two and two together. I knew you wouldn’t have shot her. It would’ve been fast, and over too soon. It wouldn’t have erased the hurt, or properly made her atone. I knew that because I lived through something similar, saw someone I loved be consumed by the feeling. And I heard the rumours too. About the wolves in the woods. The screams. I understood then that you had made sure that Zelena was properly punished for what she did. A murder like the one she committed, the only proper sentence would’ve been life in prison. So that’s what you made sure she served.”
“What are you saying?”
“You must’ve taken her and kept her here until she died, which is when the screams stopped, and people began to give up on the idea that the woods were haunted. That’s why I never heard them.”
The Scotsman kept looking at her, and Belle knew he was weighing the pros and cons of lying to her, of trying to deny the truth of what she had just told him. In the end, however, he seemed to discard the option, leaning against the back of the chair and pointing with his cane to a spot in a corner.
“Graham promised me forever. Promised me, before he knew what had happened, that whoever had killed Bae would spend the rest of their life atoning for it. And she did, I made sure. She hanged herself there, using a bedsheet as a makeshift noose. When I came across her she had been dead for a few hours, at least. Dove, who had been helping me from the beginning- big softie loved Bae like mad- took her down, helped me dispose of the body somewhere far away from here. Far away from Bae.”
He sighed, feeling the cathartic effect of the confession. It felt good to unburden himself, and even better to see nothing but pure understanding in Belle’s eyes. No flinching, no wincing, not even a small moue of discomfort. He thought of her own pain, of her tragedy, and wagered he’d feel exactly the same if she came out and said she had done what he did to the idiot who killed her mother. Whatever kindred bond she had shared with Graham paled in comparison to the understanding that was now between them.
“I thought that would be the end of it. That I’d be able to move on. Instead, I became stuck. Kept coming back here, where I’d made sure Bae had justice. Had peace. I thought I’d never be able to move on. Was angry for a long time, that I hadn’t been more careful. That I had allowed that bitch to take the easy way out. I accepted that I would never be able to get over what had happened. That I’d simply grow old and frail until the time came where I wouldn’t be able to make it out of the house, much less to this isolated place. But then something happened. I began to try and do small things to honour Bae by, things that he would’ve liked. Like pushing for the reopening of the library, which turned out to be a life-changing decision. Suddenly I had someone to talk to. Something to look forward to. And, against all odds, you seemed to feel the same, to be interested in me as much as I was interested in you. I rediscovered my passion for many things by looking at them through your eyes.”
He stopped, his voice feeling a bit too shaky all of a sudden. He looked around, thinking for the first time about how small the room looked. Small and barren, empty.
“After we slept together I decided that keeping this prison, this mausoleum, meant keeping Zelena in my life. Letting the wound fester. And I don’t want that anymore. Once I might have thought it would be a fitting end, but now I want- I want more. With you. So I came here today to take one last look. I’ve already called Dove. He’ll dismantle everything tomorrow. Has been wanting to do so for years. I think he also wants to move on. Not from Bailey, but from his death.”
Belle nodded, as if it all made perfect sense to her. And, it likely did. What had happened to her, the tragedy that had shaped her, had made her like him in many ways. So when she approached he let her, cautious but spellbound. This Belle in front of him was so different from the one he had created in his head. Flawed, for one, and dark in some ways. Better. This was a person who could understand him, accept him. Who he could build a life with.
She stopped just outside the cage, by the open door.
“Alright, then. It’s time to get out now. Just take my hand.”
She stuck her hand inside the cage, trying to pretend like the threat of confinement didn’t tug at something deep inside her, talking in low tones, as if she was addressing a dangerous but wounded animal. He got up, leaning heavily against his cane, feeling like he was taking some sort of monumental step. When his hand grasped hers he sent a last, quiet prayer for Bae and the past and stepped forward and out of the prison he had built for himself, feeling like his head was finally above water.
