Beane Odette - Reawakened - A Once Upon A Time Tale

Ashley wiped her face, let this sink in.

Emma added: — Life is there to be taken. You have to take it. It doesn’t seem like it could be that simple, but it is.

This seemed to strike a chord with Ashley. Some of the clouds that had been darkening her face lifted. Emma had surprised herself a little with the speech, but it was how she’d made it this far. Be bold, be strong — there’s no other way.

It would be a few hours before she found out just how literally Ashley took her advice.

It was Saturday, and Mary Margaret and Emma were together in the apartment. Emma’s few possessions had been delivered from her apartment in Boston. She was going through her clothes as Mary Margaret made scrambled eggs. Life was starting to feel a little more normal.

— That’s it? That’s everything you’ve got? — Mary Margaret asked, sizing up the box.

— I’m not a hoarder. I don’t keep things.

— Makes it easy to move, right? — Mary Margaret said.

Before she could get too upset at Mary Margaret’s innocent comment, the doorbell rang.

Mary Margaret answered, and gasped a bit when she saw who it was.

Mr. Gold, a bandage on his head, darkened their doorway.

— Hello there. Miss Blanchard, — he said politely. — I’m looking for Ms. Swan.

Emma walked up behind Mary Margaret. She remembered him horn Granny’s on her first night in town. Creepy dude.

— Yeah? — was all Emma said.

— Ah, Ms. Swan, hello, — he said. — Perhaps you recall meeting? I am Mr. Gold, a local… businessman.

— I remember.

He nodded curtly and continued: — I’ve heard through the grapevine that you’re quite good at tracking people down. And as I have a need to track somebody down, I thought to stop over and offer you some work.

Both she and Mary Margaret looked at him for a long while. Mary Margaret then made an excuse and retreated into the apartment. Emma, cautious but intrigued, shrugged and invited him in.

— Her name is Ashley Boyd, — he said as they both sat in the living room, — and she’s stolen from me.

— Why not use the police?

— Because this is a delicate matter. I don’t want her to get into any trouble. I just need what she stole to be returned.

— What did she steal?

— I don’t think it’s important for you to know that, — he said. — Find her, you’ll find it.

Emma didn’t know what to think, but it wouldn’t hurt to earn a little money. She hadn’t made a dime since she’d been there.

— She broke into my shop last night, muttering something about taking control, choosing to take control of one’s life, some such nonsense. — He shrugged, touched the bandage on his head, and as he did so Emma tried to conceal the glimmer of surprise in her eye. Good grief, she thought, it’s Ashley from the diner.

— Okay, — Emma found herself saying. — Okay. I’ll find her.

Mr. Gold, apparently delighted, stood and thanked her. At the door, he was nearly run over by Henry, who came bounding in, a big smile on his face. — I have until…

Henry was exclaiming, but he stopped in his tracks when he saw Mr. Gold looking down at him.

— Hello, young man, — said Mr. Gold. — Ms. Swan and I were just discussing a business matter. I was just leaving.

Henry looked terrified. And Emma knew why; she remembered from the book: Henry thought Gold was Rumplestiltskin.

— Hello, sir, — Henry said quietly, then entered the apartment, head down.

Once Gold was gone, Emma sat down with Henry and told him that he couldn’t keep showing up in secret, even though she did want to see him. She explained that Regina would find a way to use it against them. Henry assured her it was okay — that he had until five o’clock and that his mother would never know. Emma didn’t like it one bit. Before she could insist that he leave, though, Henry started asking questions about why Mr. Gold had been there.

— He asked me to find someone, — she said. — A girl. It’s just a job.

— What girl?

— I doubt you’d know her, kid, — she said, regretting saying anything at all.

Henry sat down on the couch, removing his backpack. He dug around and took out his book, started flipping through the pages.

— Is she pregnant?

Emma turned, eyes wide. — How did you know that?

Emma’s plan was simple. She never made a complicated plan unless she needed a complicated plan, and in her experience, whenever she was trying to find somebody, it was simplest to start with friends. Emma didn’t know much about Ashley, but she knew she had one friend in Storybrooke. Ruby.

She and Henry went right to the diner. When she saw that Ruby had a moment free, Emma pulled her over to the back entrance and asked her if she had any guesses about where Ashley might have gone.

— I don’t. No, — Ruby said, shaking her head. — Excuse me. — She pushed on the back door and propped it open. — I’m waiting for them to drop off my car, sorry.

— You don’t think the boyfriend could be involved?

— He would have to be involved to be involved, — Ruby said. — He hasn’t talked to her in at least six months. He’s such an ass.

— She mentioned he hadn’t… done the right thing, — Emma said. — When he found out she was pregnant.

— He dumped her, — Ruby said disdainfully, chewing her gum loudly. She looked like she was about to say something else, but just then a tow truck trundled into the back parking lot, pulling a cherry-red Camaro. The truck stopped, and the driver got out, waved to Ruby (who waved back quite flirtatiously, Emma noticed, and added a hip-twisting curtsy for good measure), and started lowering the vehicle. Nice car for a waitress, Emma thought.

— And where’s Ashley’s family?

— She doesn’t really have one, — Ruby said. — Horrible stepmother somewhere. I think stepsisters. I don’t know. She doesn’t talk to them.

Henry tugged conspiratorially on Emma’s jacket, and nodded up at her when she looked down. She shook her head and gave him a «not now, kid» look.

— You know, maybe you should go ask Sean, — Ruby said. — Maybe he knows something. He lives with his dad. — She took Emma’s hand, pulled it up, then took the pen from behind her ear. — I’ll write down the address.

A burly man in his fifties opened the door when Emma rang the bell of the two-story midcentury on Randolph. The father, she assumed. She asked for Sean, and the man introduced himself as Mitchell Herman, asked her what she wanted. The way he said his own name, the way he shook her hand, the way he crossed his arms afterward — Emma could feel it when she wasn’t going to like somebody. Pushy fat rich men were not exactly her type.

Emma was glad she’d left Henry in the car as she explained that Ashley was missing and that she’d been hired to find her. She told him few other details, but Mitchell took what she gave him and ran: — Of course she disappeared, of course she bailed on the agreement. Can’t trust her to be a good mother, can’t trust her to do the right thing. She let herself get pregnant in the first place, didn’t she?

Oh, Emma thought. I really don’t like you.

— Who’s at the door, Dad? — Emma heard, and behind Mitchell, she saw Sean emerge from a back room and come down the hall. He was so young — just a baby, not even twenty. Just like Ashley. Emma couldn’t believe that her own son would one day turn into a similarly gangly, bright-eyed creature. She couldn’t believe that she used to be like Ashley…

— Is everything all right? — Sean asked.

— No, Sean, everything isn’t all right, — Emma said, her voice suddenly stern. — Ashley is missing. If you know anything, you need to tell me where she is or go to the police. Right now. And I mean anything.