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elfiola · 28 days ago

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New Chapter! **Chapter 3**

Happy belated New Year everyone! I'm not really one for New Years resolutions (I'm terrible at sticking to them) but I would really like to update my current WIPs more often this year, including this one. Please note that there is a trigger warning for this chapter including domestic violence and death of a major character. If you have read or watched Practical Magic you will know what I'm talking about, but please proceed with care. As always, a massive thank you to my beta @snowbellewells for her fantastic (and extremely patient) beta skills - I really am so grateful for her adding all of the commas I missed and correcting my embarrassing grammar errors!!! A very special thank you to @hollyethecurious for the beautiful banner you see below, and of course the mods of @cssns for giving me a way to introduce this story to you all :-)

See previous chapters: chapter 1 chapter 2 OR check out A03

Tag list is under the cut - please let me know if you would like to be added or deleted :-)

@snowbellewells @teamhook @veryverynotgoodwrites @jonesfandomfanatic @lfh1226-linda @motherkatereloyshipper @stahlop @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @kmomof4 @ultraluckycatnd @undercaffinatednightmare @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jrob64 @tiganasummertree @anmylica @deckerstarblanche @gingerchangeling @hollyethecurious @laianely @exhaustedpiratetedpirate @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @spartanguard @i-will-sing-no-requiem @soniccat @captainswan-kellie @insanelydeadlybookcollector @beckettj @thatdamnokie @whimsicallyenchantedrose @zaharadessert @bluewildcatfanatic @this-seems-familar @hookedmom @thgpjohttydfangirl

Chapter 3

“Bloody fuck!” Killian thundered across the empty bullpen, the computer mouse he had been agitatedly clicking to zoom in on a CCTV captured image of a man bearing no resemblance to his suspect, careening across the room and shattering against the wall of his brother’s office.

“I appreciate the frustration Little Brother, but throwing government issued hardware at walls isn’t going to solve the problem at hand; although, I can’t fault your aim, the pieces have all landed neatly into the trash.”

Liam’s wry observation as he poked his head out of his office door, only served to make Killian press his palms into his eyes in annoyance at being caught out throwing a tantrum, the explosion of white spots bursting across his vision as he did so doing nothing to ease the exhaustion and subsequent headache he knew he couldn’t afford to nurse right now.

It had been four long and excruciating weeks since Killian had set his sights on Walsh Osman being their killer; however, whether by some kind of tip off or sheer instinct, the man had gone completely off grid. He had left his business, his home, and his girlfriend, disappearing to god knows where. Killian was sure that he hadn’t crossed over into Mexico - which would have likely been the fastest escape route from the authorities - but it also didn’t seem as though he had tried to return to any of his old haunts in Nevada or New Mexico. Perhaps he had knowledge on how to survive in the desert and was lying low until he could figure out his next steps, and if he did, what hope did they have locating him out there?

At first, it had been easy to set a course for bringing in Osman for questioning about his relationship with all of the victims. Killian had only needed two days of research to get all of the information that he needed to back up his hunch and present it to Liam and the rest of the team for approval to follow through on the lead. Starkey had even been able to speak with the elusive Emma Swan about her boyfriend’s whereabouts; although that had proven to be a dead end. She had apparently broken up with him the week prior to the vandalism of her home and hadn’t had any reason to believe that he was the ‘Wounded Heart Killer’ until he had decided to tag the walls of her bedroom with his calling card. She had only returned to Phoenix long enough to hand over a few assignments that she had been working on and set her home to rights before heading back to Maine to support her sister and mourn the death of her brother-in-law.

Thinking about Emma Swan again caused a sigh of longing to escape Killian’s lips. He had wanted to question the lass himself and perhaps while he was at it, understand if his immediate attraction to her was merely of a physical nature - much like the hormonal teenager with no real knowledge of women he used to be - but Liam had demanded he attend the video conference call with the bosses back in Quantico for an update on how the case was progressing. After the interview, she had taken off again, and although there was nothing out of the ordinary with her statement, he couldn’t help feeling that it was a little too simple. There had been very little emotion behind her words (at least according to Starkey), and it left him feeling unsettled. His gut was telling him that Emma Swan was anything but lacking in emotion, despite her line of work where facts and science were the only things of importance. He needed to speak to her and make sure that she was completely safe, but he didn’t want to interrupt her time of mourning with her family unless it was absolutely necessary, so he continued to wrestle with his own feelings on this enigmatic woman in silence, praying that her small hometown on some rural coast up north was too much of an inconvenience for her ex to bother making the journey.

“You’re exhausted, Kil. You need a proper meal and a good night’s sleep. Everything will be waiting for you in the morning. Right now, you’re no good to these poor women who need you to find that bastard and bring them the peace they deserve.”

Killian jumped at Liam’s gentle words, not realizing his brother had made his way over to his desk, leaning against it as he assessed his best agent and more importantly, his only family. Again, Killian sighed, this time in resignation. Liam was right, he couldn’t be of any use to Osman’s victims if kept insisting on neglecting his own bodily needs that allowed him to perform at his best. He owed those women his best.

Now that he was without his mouse, Killian squinted blearily at the keyboard looking for the shortcut keys that would help him shut down his computer for the night. Liam chuckled, and nudging him aside, shut off the computer for him, before also nudging him out of his seat to grab his jacket so they could leave the office together.

Stepping out into the warm, clear night, the brothers debated on where they should go for take out. Although they didn’t live together anymore, it was not uncommon for them to share dinner unless one or the other had to work late or had a date. Killian would usually whip up something for the two of them to enjoy; however, he couldn’t remember the last time he had shopped for groceries and anyway, he was much too tired to put together anything that could be considered a well-balanced meal.

The brothers had just agreed to try out the new Thai restaurant a couple of blocks away from the office when Liam’s work cell began to ring. Knowing that if someone was calling this late it wouldn’t be for a casual check-in or inquiry, both men changed direction and headed back inside, Killian staring intently at the phone in Liam’s hand as he answered the call.

“Jones,” Liam answered brusquely, his eyes flicking towards Killian as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line.

Killian tried to discern what was happening by reading the expressions on his older brother’s face; however, Liam as ever, revealed nothing, his demeanor unruffled and his emotions kept locked away.

“I have one of my agents with me, so we’ll both head out to the scene now. Be there in 30.” Liam hung up without waiting for a response and began walking towards the parking lot, pulling out his key fob as he did so.

A pit began to form in Killian’s stomach the longer Liam maintained his silence. If the call had been to advise of an intangible lead, Liam would already be filling him in on all of the details and his speculations at what it could all mean. Heading towards Liam’s FBI issued, nondescript black sedan rather than Killian’s conspicuous silver Chevelle, Killian tried to reign in his questions until his brother - and at this very moment, his boss - was ready to relay where they were going and why.

Finally, as he was backing out of his designated space, Liam spoke, his voice low and full of self-condemnation.

“Phoenix PD were called to the Echo Canyon trail earlier today to investigate some partially burnt human remains. Preliminary reporting suggests the remains are that of a female, aged between 25 to 40 years. It is not known yet whether the victim was killed on site or if they were transported there after.”

Killian focused on the streetlights they were speeding past, his mind flipping through all of the cases he had been a part of since he joined Liam’s team as though they were pages in a book on the worst of humanity. They had caught Felix Piper over a year ago just outside of Tucson; he had been a simple arsonist who turned serial killer when he decided he didn’t mind if there were people in the buildings he set alight or not. However, he wasn’t really one for outdoor pursuits; therefore, it was unlikely they were dealing with another of his victims. If this body was found in Echo Canyon, the killer would have to be an experienced hiker to not only make it through the trail, but strong enough to drag their victim (dead or alive) to their final resting place.

“Why are we being called out? What makes the cops think this is out of their jurisdiction?” Killian asked, his eyes still trained on the world outside of the car, readying himself for the horror he was about to investigate.

Liam sighed, his hands flexing on the steering wheel as he too began to prepare himself. “They found a… calling card. A heart with a hole in its middle was found on the victim’s chest, just above their own heart.”

A feeling of panic swept over Killian.

Could the body in the desert be that of Emma Swan? Did she not make it to Maine to be with her sister?

No. No, surely the victim was not Miss Swan, just another poor woman who was unfortunate enough to cross the path of Walsh Osman.

Silence again permeated the vehicle, each Jones brother lost in their own thoughts of what this latest victim would mean for the overall case against Osman. Before Killian could think too much more on what their next best step was in tracking their killer down, Liam turned into the parking lot of the national park, where a couple of uniformed officers were waiting with flashlights, ready to lead them to the crime scene.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Neither man was dressed appropriately for a hike, but they pressed on, their discomfort immaterial compared to the situation awaiting them. Finally, after about 45 minutes of steady incline along rocky paths, they reached an outcropping that offered stunning views of the desert beyond and the city lights that seemed so insignificant when up this high. The area around them was strewn with boulders of varying sizes and interspersed with rugged plants and undergrowth determined to thrive in the harsh conditions of shallow soil and sparse water supply.

A mixed group of uniformed officers, detectives and forensic personnel were huddled around a corner of the cliff face furthest from the trail, lit up by generator-powered flood lights that had Killian shielding his eyes against the brightness as he and Liam walked over to John Smee - a veteran detective who was always more than glad to hand over a case to anyone else if it meant he didn’t have to have to work too hard to catch the killer. Killian had often wondered why such a man had ever bothered looking for a career in law enforcement if it had seemed like such an effort to chase down leads and catch criminals. Shaking away his thoughts of the rotund man who had noticed their presence, Killian settled his mind on the victim who had been found and what they could uncover from her brutal murder.

“Sir, Agent Jones.” Smee nodded his head in deference to the two men from the FBI who would likely be taking over the case if they confirmed that the evidence they had found matched their ongoing chase for the ‘Wounded Heart Killer.’

Both men muttered their own greetings briefly before Liam cut straight to the point, “What are the events that have led up to now?”

“Well…” Smee began nervously. The man was terrified of the Jones’ and had always preferred to liaise with Agent Starkey on any matter that related to the FBI; however, given the high profile of the case at hand, his own captain had demanded he speak with those in charge directly to ensure all facts were transferred with accuracy.

“There was a local geologist - a Mr. Darling - who had been doing some surveys of the area and decided to bring his dog along. As you might know, people are not allowed to bring dogs on this trail-”

Killian raised an eyebrow in impatience, as his head tilted to the side signaling to skip the irrelevant details and move on. Smee, on noticing the agent’s silent request, gulped heavily and continued, “Well the ah, dog, it began creating a ruckus, barking and straining to get away from Mr. Darling so it could investigate this space right here,” Smee glanced quickly at Killian again to make sure he hadn’t further aggravated him.

“Go on, detective,” Liam urged, his voice polite but leaving no question that he needed to hurry up.

“Yes, sir. As I was saying, the dog was causing so much noise, that a few hikers alerted some of the rangers down at the park’s station. When the rangers arrived, they found a very distressed Mr. Darling who had found a body shoved into a crevice in the cliff which had been covered up with dead tree branches and rocks as you see here. Once the rangers confirmed what was inside the crevice, they called us and we’ve been collecting evidence ever since. We haven’t been able to ID her yet, but it was this that made me think that she may be related to the ‘Wounded Heart Killer’.”

Creating a path amongst the people crowded around the crime scene, Smee led Liam and Killian to the victim, now interred in a body bag ready to be transported to the morgue. Crouching down beside the bag, Killian carefully unzipped it, revealing what was clearly a young woman who had suffered terribly before her death. Despite most of her face being burnt beyond recognition, some of her hair was still intact. It was dark brown and likely would have been sleek and shiny once upon a time. Killian sighed in relief - this woman was definitely not Emma Swan. Moving the zipper down further, it was obvious that the killer had no clear knowledge of how they wished to dispose of the body. It seemed like shoving it out of sight into the crevice was a last resort once they realized that burning the body would take too long and arouse too much suspicion the longer they stayed out in the open.

Scanning the victim’s chest area, Killian found the link to their killer, but almost recoiled in disgust at the sight. Raised flesh, unmarred by fire but showing a burn nonetheless, depicted a small heart with a hole in its middle. She had been branded.

The bloody bastard branded her so that she would remain his forever...

“Do you have an approximation for time of death?” Killian barked, standing up again and looking around at the group.

“No-not an exact time, no… b-but based on a cursory observation, and the rate of decomposition of the areas of her body that haven’t been burned, it’s believed she may have died between seven months to a year ago…” Smee quickly answered, before anyone else could stoke the anger brewing in the agent’s eyes.

Killian stepped back, allowing one of the forensic team to reclose the bag, and stalked around to the crevice that had been discovered behind all of the detritus used to hide it. Scorch marks could be faintly seen on the ground and against the cliff face itself. Lost in thoughts of how their victim could have been brought up here unnoticed, a breeze drifted in off the desert floor, the scent of roses and sweet cinnamon thick in the air. Killian closed his eyes, allowing the wind to dance around and through him, momentarily distracting him from the horror he had just observed and thanking his overworked mind for the respite that his favorite smell always invoked.

With a final sigh, Killian made to turn his attention back to the crime scene, when he heard it: a voice apologizing and pleading for forgiveness. It was as though the voice - low and husky in tone that would be perfectly enticing to him were it not for the panic and terror that was woven through every word spoken - came from the very breeze itself. Quickly moving towards the outcropping’s edge, Killian peered out into the darkness of the night, trying to discern where the voice had come from. It was so clear that he couldn’t have imagined it surely, but no one else seemed perturbed by the outburst as they continued collecting the remaining evidence so they could finally leave the site and start the trek back down the hiking trail.

Golden curls and an amused smile broke through Killian’s thoughts as the voice changed from panicked apologies to whispered pleas for help, forcing him to flinch backwards in surprise.

Why did hearing that voice make him think of Emma Swan?

The pit that had formed in his stomach the moment Liam had answered his cell deepened, threatening to swallow him whole in fear, his earlier worries of whether Emma was safe with her family coming back to the fore. How could he possibly be thinking like this? Hearing imaginary voices that somehow make him think of a woman he has never even met? No, he was tired and upset at discovering a new victim - that was the logical explanation. He was a man who dealt in facts and believed that if he could see it and if he could touch it, then it must be real. Hearing voices would be a sure fire way to get himself taken off the case, no matter what position his brother held at the Bureau. But then again, he had always trusted his gut’s instincts - they had never steered him wrong, why would now be any different?

“Liam,” Killian called out, walking over to his brother and gesturing that it was time to go. Liam nodded, but his own raised brow asked what the urgency was in leaving so quickly.

“We need to know where Emma Swan is. Now.”

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Elsa paced the kitchen, alternating her path from length to breadth and back again, furious with her inability to calm her mind enough to reach out to her sister through their bond. It had been four weeks of silence from Emma after she had promised to be back to help her bury her husband and support her in the necessary adjustments that she and her little girls would need to make to their lives so they could carry on without him. Instead, she had to make all of the arrangements for the funeral herself, pack up the rest of their belongings so she could list the quaint craftsman style cottage that she had loved so much for sale and move in with the aunts, while also continuing with her plans to open her small cafe now that she had employees who would be relying on her to provide paychecks to them. She did all of these things, as grief stricken and overwhelmed as she was, all while under the judgmental gaze and whispered accusations of Storybrooke’s denizens.

Elsa knew that Emma would never let her down like this without a good reason. The text messages she had received in the days after Emma was due to return home explaining away her absence were stilted and formal, lacking any warmth or humor that was usual of her sister’s form of communication. Elsa would never claim to be a more powerful witch than Emma; it was fact that her sister had exceptional talent in spades across all different disciplines of the Craft. However, over the years, Elsa’s abilities with intuition had been carefully nurtured and allowed to develop to the point that she no longer needed the subtle cues of the natural world to let her know what the immediate future held. She hadn’t needed the call from the Phoenix PD this morning asking if she had spoken to her sister, she hadn’t needed to know that the FBI were involved and hoped to confirm that Emma was safe from her boyfriend turned prolific serial killer, and she certainly hadn’t needed to see the telltale smudge of red on the full moon last night that heralded that discord and death was now on its way.

The house creaked and groaned around her, breaking up the silence that had pervaded throughout since Aunt Belle and Aunt Ruby had taken her girls for a day out further down the coast so Elsa could concentrate on tracking down her missing sister. The noises calmed her, offering her solace and the sense that she was not alone in this. Breathing deeply, Elsa turned to the kitchen table that was already set up with everything she needed to reach out to Emma. A small black velvet cloth was spread out, upon which a brand new pillar candle sat within a circle of white rose petals, ready to be lit. Beside the cloth lay a clear quartz crystal - a conduit to which Elsa could focus her frayed energy and help in powering her location spell. The white rose petals would hopefully strengthen the bond that she and Emma had created with each other so long ago for the duration of the spell, while the candle would light the path to discovery of her most beloved sister.

Elsa sat down, trying to even out her breathing and empty her mind of everything but the question of where Emma was and ignoring the burble of dread that she was anything but okay. Picking up the crystal, Elsa began to trace the scar on the palm of her hand, murmuring softly as she did so. After a moment, the candle ignited, the flame elongating to twice its usual size as Elsa continued her incantation. A tingling sensation began to race along her scarred hand, as though a thousand angry ants were crawling over it, and Elsa fought to keep her focus - she was so close to finding the answer to her question that she couldn’t afford to be distracted.

The piercing chime of her cell phone ringing in the back pocket of her jeans startled Elsa, causing her to drop the crystal onto the cloth and disturbing the ring of petals that she had carefully arranged around the candle. The candle’s flame extinguished at the interruption, but Elsa was too busy reaching behind her to retrieve the device to notice.

She didn’t bother checking to see who was attempting to call her; she was too keyed up and more than ready to go against her usual peaceful nature and tear the caller a new one.

“El?” a trembling voice whispered.

The rebuke ready to spill from Elsa’s lips dissipated at the sound of her little sister’s terrified voice, relief and terror merging to form a knot in her chest that didn’t know whether it wanted to loosen or tighten into something almost Gordian at the sound.

“It’s me, Em. Where are you? Are you safe?” she managed to choke out, trying to keep the fear out of her own tone, but knowing she had failed miserably.

A small sob, followed by a shaky breath was the only answer for a long moment before Emma confirmed she was holed up in a motel just off Interstate 95 near Boston. She had no idea where Walsh was, only that he had left some hours ago and she had only just managed to escape long enough to find a payphone and call the only person she wanted to talk to right now.

“Stay inside your room and barricade it. Do not answer it for anyone but me, okay? I’m bringing you home to Storybrooke, we’ll figure out what to do next after that,” Elsa soothed, already moving towards the vestibule and where she kept her car keys on the small row of hooks beside the front door. She hated to end the call, but Emma needed to get inside her room where she could find some modicum of safety until she was able to get to her. With a final reassurance that she was leaving now and would be there as soon as possible, Elsa hung up and raced out the door, texting Aunt Belle to let her know what was going on and to ask that she extend their trip to an overnighter so that she could get Emma home and settled in properly.

Sending a prayer of protection towards her sister, Elsa climbed into her car and sped off in a swirl of dust and gravel, hoping that she could make good time and bring Emma back to where she belonged - home.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Four hours of driving with nothing but her own thoughts for company, Elsa tried to reconcile the events that had led up to her racing down the I-95 to rescue her sister. Emma was an intelligent woman who worked with law enforcement every day, who was young and fit and had no trouble sending a man on their way when she no longer felt a connection to them - whether by kind words or a knee to the groin, whatever the situation called for. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and knew how the law could protect her should she ever find herself in need of help, which was why it was so odd that instead of calling 911, she decided to call Elsa instead. Did she not feel safe talking to her colleagues? How much did the FBI know about Emma and her relationship with Walsh?

Elsa hadn’t received much information over the phone from the authorities; only that Emma’s safety was in question and that Walsh was a suspected serial killer whose victims spanned across multiple states. The fact that Emma was an extremely talented witch who should’ve been able to find some way to subdue her kidnapper played on Elsa’s mind. Emma had told her that she had used belladonna on Walsh previously so she could come home to Storybrooke. Had Walsh found out and decided to punish her for it? How was she being held against her will to the point that she could not employ any of her magic to escape? There were limits to their abilities of course; they couldn’t do things like disappear and reappear at will like in Harry Potter - but surely there was something that Emma could have used to her advantage to make her escape.

Elsa had made good time getting to the small dingy motel just off the interstate, thankful for the full tank of gas she had had the presence of mind to fill only the day before. Staring at the row of rooms that she had parked across from, Elsa figured that Walsh would have chosen one as far away from everyone else as possible. Slowly, she got out of her car, keeping her keys in her hand while she searched her surroundings to ensure no one could come at her by surprise. Making her way to the dented and peeling door marked with a crooked number ‘8’, Elsa gently knocked on it, a series of taps that they had used as children when communicating with each other whenever one (usually Emma) was in detention during their school years. In a matter of moments Elsa could hear something heavy being pushed aside along with the turning of the door’s lock. The sight that greeted her had tears springing to her eyes, forcing her to swallow down the sob that was fighting to break free.

Emma’s golden curls hung limply around her face, greasy from days of going unwashed and without proper care. Her skin was a ghostly white, highlighted even more so by the dimly lit room behind her. Her clothes were wrinkled and in some places ripped, as though she had been in a fight. The black eye that bloomed heavily with a mix of purples, blues and reds was the most concerning however, and Elsa fought to not reach out and prod at it to confirm the extent of the injury.

“Oh Emma,” Elsa could no longer hold off the tears that were now streaming down her face, reaching out to grip her little sister’s trembling arm and pull her into a hug.

“I’m so sorry, El. I shouldn’t have called, but-” Emma began to mumble into Elsa’s shoulder, her voice weary and defeated.

“Don’t you dare apologize! This is not your fault. I don’t care what happened, this is not on you, it’s on him. As soon as we get out of here, we are finding the nearest police station and we’ll sort this out okay?”

Emma just nodded, slowly stepping back on unsteady feet and turning around to gather up the few possessions of hers that Walsh had shoved into a duffel bag after he had kidnapped her and forced her to travel in zigzags across the country in the weeks since.

Elsa could feel her heart breaking all over again at the movements of her sister. It was obvious she had at points fought hard against her kidnapper - her movements slow and cautious, as though she feared injuring herself further. However, aside from her physical appearance, there appeared to be something off about Emma. Focusing in on her aura, Elsa was shocked to find that it was a muted shade of gray. Usually, Emma’s aura was a sunshine yellow, cheerful and full of playful energy, that would often glitter with spots of white that highlighted her quick mind and connectedness with the world around her. The gray that was now emanating from her was not natural, Elsa could feel that, but she couldn’t discern the reasoning behind it.

Deciding to puzzle out that anomaly later when she could be sure of their safety, Elsa ushered Emma out the door of the dilapidated lodgings and began quickly making their way towards her car. They were halfway there when Emma, who had been explaining that Walsh had disappeared hours ago after he had punched her for laughing along with the poor delivery kid who tried to understand what the hell Walsh meant by wanting pepperoni and cheese donuts and not the pizza that he had actually ordered, suddenly stopped, her eyes fixed on the full moon above that was just beginning to brighten against the purplish-blue of the twilight sky.

“Blood on the moon,” she murmured, her grip on Elsa’s arm tightening even as her other hand plunged into the depths of her tote bag, frantically searching for her stone of protection.

“I know, but we’re leaving now Em, we’ll protect each other okay?” Elsa continued pulling Emma along with her, now only steps away from her car.

“No, no, I need my dragon glass, he must have taken it, that’s why- shit!”

Emma stumbled, her sneaker catching the edge of a small pothole and slipping off her foot entirely. Before Elsa had a chance to help her put her shoe back on, Emma - with a speed that was surprising, given her previous fragility - had already put it back on and re-tied it, before setting off towards the dark blue Honda parked at the other end of the lot. Elsa sighed in resignation and followed after her, picking up the bag that Emma had dropped as she did so.

The driver's side door to the car was unlocked for which Emma was grateful. She didn’t want to have to reveal to her sister just yet that she was still recovering her power from whatever influence Walsh had placed over her, draining it to the point that even unlocking a door seemed damn near impossible. Yanking the door open, she leaned in to start searching the console, hopeful that Walsh hadn’t tried too hard to hide it. Spotting the faint gleam of a smooth, dark surface at the bottom of one of the cup holders, Emma quickly reached for it, the tips of her fingers just managing to graze across the top of the object, when she was forcefully yanked backwards by her hair. No sooner had she registered that she was not alone, than two arms wrapped around her torso, pulling her into the back seat.

“Emma, are you sure it’s not just in one of the millions of pockets in this bag?” Elsa called out, her head dipped low to search the contents of Emma’s tote, her hand fumbling through the accumulation of receipts, chewing gum wrappers, hair ties and pens. Coming to a stop at the open door of the car, the sharp tap of metal on glass drew her attention away from her search and onto a man holding her little sister tightly against his chest in the backseat, the gun clenched in his hand returning to its position beside Emma’s temple.

“Drive,” the man growled.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Elsa focused on keeping her hands steady on the wheel and her breathing even - it wouldn’t help their situation if she freaked out now. The man - Walsh - was quietly humming along to a tune, his body wedged into the corner of the backseat, his face cast in eerie shadows that seemed to twist and morph his features into grotesque forms that wouldn’t have been out of place in a Renaissance painting depicting the demons of Hell. Tucked tightly into his side along with a bottle of tequila was Emma, her revulsion at the position she found herself in clear upon her face. However, her eyes never strayed from the gun gripped in Walsh’s other hand as it tapped out an accompanying rhythm to the tune that was now starting to poke heavily at Elsa’s threadbare nerves.

“When I was a kid, I always wanted a sibling. Someone who would have my back, whom I could rely on no matter where I was or what I was doing. Someone who could never abandon me, you know?”

Swallowing back a sarcastic reply that the world was grateful to his mother for only spawning one psycho, Elsa kept her expression a mask of indifference, knowing that any small show of emotion could upend any plans she could come up with to get them out of this mess.

“Why did you never tell me you had a sister, babe? We’ve been together almost a year now. Didn’t you think it was time I met your nearest and dearest?”

Emma flinched at the sound of Walsh’s voice next to her ear, causing him to chuckle as he traced a long finger tenderly down the side of her cheek.

“T-there was never a good time. Elsa lives so far away and is so busy, I-I didn’t want to bother-”

“'Bother with introducing her to the most important man in your life?” Walsh’s voice became deadly soft, the finger that had been stroking her cheek, hooking under her chin so that she was forced to look up into his eyes glittering with the unpredictability of his deranged mind.

Elsa tapped on the brakes hard enough to jerk both Walsh and Emma out of their seats, interrupting the surging anger that was in danger of erupting at any moment, but not enough to arouse suspicion of her intent. Walsh adjusted himself back into place, his interest now settled on Elsa, allowing Emma a moment of reprieve.

“You know Elsa, you’re quite pretty too, what with that icy blonde hair and big blue eyes. You’d be even prettier if you smiled more though. You remind me of that cartoon princess, you know the one that all the kids want to be. She never smiled much either.”

Elsa knew exactly who Walsh was referring to even as she tried to push down the shudder that threatened to expose her distaste for his observations. Her girls loved that princess and often compared her to their mother, something that never failed to make her heart soar and reveal her hidden smile.

Walsh’s eyes connected with hers in the rearview mirror as he spoke, and Elsa attempted to return her attention to the road, but not before noticing the two pendants that their abductor wore on a silver chain around his neck. The first, was what appeared to be a solid silver love heart with a hole punched through its middle. The pendant was large enough that Elsa could see even in the dim light of the car, what appeared to be teardrops embossed onto the heart. The second pendant was of a Celtic cross made of brass set with alternating gemstones of amber and ruby. The cross seemed to emanate a flow of energy that overwhelmed and dampened all else - including her own abilities.

So that’s why Emma hasn’t been able to fight back…

Realizing she had been staring for too long, Elsa silently turned back to the road, but Walsh had already caught on to what she had been looking at.

“Handy little thing this is when you have a witch for a soulmate,” he chuckled, lifting the pendant up for a closer inspection. “The woman I bought it from swore it would render me impervious to all witchcraft, but it seems her 100% guarantee was a little flawed. I’ve fallen under the spell of the most beautiful woman in the world, and though I haven’t been released from her thrall, I don’t ever want to be.”

“Walsh, please. Let Elsa go. I’ll stay with you, I promise, we’ll go anywhere you want. Just the two of us,” Emma whispered, her tone submissive - something no one who truly knew her would ever associate with the fiery Swan sister. Flicking her eyes back to the rearview mirror, Elsa watched as Emma pulled Walsh to her, placing his head into the crook of her neck, her hands reaching up to smooth down the wild tangles of his unkempt and shaggy hair. The pendant around Walsh’s neck was beginning to truly affect Elsa now. She attempted to tap into their connection and send as much energy to Emma as she could and share some of the burden of placating the monster who clearly had no intentions of ever getting over his obsessive desire for the woman he was currently threatening with a gun; however, she felt her energy hit what almost felt like a wall of impenetrable steel blocking the way forward.

Did Emma do that?

Before Elsa could attempt to try again, she felt the invisible wall encircling her and Emma both, while everything else around them, including Walsh, became distant and muted. Glancing again into the back seat, Elsa caught her sister’s eye just as Emma leaned forward slightly, her voice seeming to echo within Elsa’s head, exhausted and strained, but no less urgent.

“ The belladonna is in my bag…”

The forgotten bottle of tequila was still wedged between Emma and Walsh, its contents still three quarters full. If Elsa could find a way to get ahold of the bottle and somehow add enough belladonna to it to knock Walsh out long enough for them to find the nearest police station, then they could be free of this nightmare. Elsa’s mind raced with ideas that she discarded just as quickly, conscious of the weapon that glinted menacingly with every light they passed on the empty highway stretching out before them. She sent a prayer to Lady Fortune and The Maiden to help guide her way.

Time had stretched into tension-filled silence since Emma had attempted to placate Walsh by making promises she had no intentions of keeping, and it seemed that Walsh had finally caught onto her words and the emptiness of their meaning.

“You promise?” he sneered, lifting his head from Emma’s shoulder. His eyes were red-rimmed, a combination of alcohol and whatever pills he had been popping to stay awake as he drove cross country, evading the law he knew were coming for him. His skin was a pasty gray that contrasted heavily against the dark sweater that Emma wore, giving him the appearance of some kind of ghoulish spectre determined to drag its prey back to the bowels of the underworld from which it crawled.

Emma tried to remain stoic in the face of such malice emanating from her ex, but she couldn’t help the involuntary flinch as his grip around her waist tightened.

“You left me once before, for her . Fool me once… No, nothing you say will be worth a fucking damn until you understand the depths of my love for you and admit that you feel the fucking same! Do you know how many women I had to discard while trying to find The One? To find you? ”

Deciding that trying to refute his words would only escalate his insanity further, Emma shook her head mutely, locking her eyes onto his in the hopes that he would keep talking, giving Elsa time to formulate how to get the belladonna out of her bag and somehow into Walsh’s system. Eyeing the tequila bottle next to her, Emma reached for it in a show of taking a swig and passing it onto Elsa; however, Walsh was too quick. He dropped the gun to rest between him and the door of the car, grabbing the bottle himself and taking a long gulp.

“Not yet babe, you can have it after we complete our bonding ritual.”

“What are you talking about Walsh? I meant it when I said I’ll go wherever you want!” Emma couldn’t keep the rising panic from spilling over into her words, wondering what the hell he meant by a ‘bonding ritual’ while also praying she would never have to find out.

“We are branded onto one another’s souls. My heart is yours just as yours is mine, but I don’t want to hide our love from the world; I want our brands to shine so brightly that no one will ever mistake what we are to each other. No one will ever come between us, not when they know they will never have a chance to do so.”

Where the lighter had come from, Emma had no idea, but suddenly a small flame erupted, giving a demonic flair to Walsh’s features as he pulled the Wounded Heart pendant away from his chest and held it above the flame. His intentions now clear, Emma scrambled to the other end of the car trying to maneuver herself into any kind of defensive position that the small space would allow. Walsh followed her, one hand clutching the red hot pendant, the other, the bottle of tequila.

“Don’t be afraid, Sweetheart. Just one little burn and it will pass before you know it. Here, take this,” Walsh attempted to nudge the tequila into Emma’s hand even as he tried to find a bare patch of skin above her breast to place his mark; however, the car swerved violently, almost fishtailing onto the other side of the road.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Don’t you dare touch my sister!”

“Watch the fucking road!”

“I’ll watch the fucking road when you stop trying to brand her like she’s fucking livestock!! If you have any sense in whatever is left of your drugged out brain, you’d realize that trying to burn a mark onto someone that every cop and FBI agent in the country are on the lookout for is the worst idea! Now give me that bottle and keep your hands to yourself, or I swear on Hecate, you’ll wish the cops had you in their custody!”

Emma couldn’t remember a time that Elsa had ever raised her voice to anyone let alone let loose an expletive at them. Even in her years of absence, she found it hard to believe that Elsa would’ve been in a situation that called for it. Walsh too, seemed stunned at her outburst. He silently handed over the tequila, a speculative cast to his expression, as though he was slowly unravelling a complex puzzle but unsure if he had all of the pieces to reveal the entire picture. Elsa snatched the bottle away and took a furious sip, careful not to show her distaste for straight liquor.

“I see your sister has the same fire as you, Babe. Must be where you got it from, huh?” Walsh chuckled, slinging an arm around Emma, the gun now back in his hand, as he began to stare out the window, his thoughts turning to where their next destination would be now they had a new companion.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

“How much belladonna did you put in?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t really in a position to measure it exactly, Em.”

Elsa and Emma stood by the hood of the car directly in Walsh’s line of sight as he relieved himself behind some low shrubbery that surrounded the deserted car park of the rest stop somewhere in New Hampshire. He had forced both women out of the car, taking the keys from Elsa, the threat of deadly repercussions if they tried to flee made real at the sharp click of the slide being pulled back on the gun he still held in his hand.

“I know I put enough in there that he should have well and truly passed out by now,” Elsa muttered, her nervousness only evident by the constant transfer of one foot to the other, causing an erratic sway to the lower half of her body.

After preventing Walsh’s attempt to burn her baby sister and managing to get him to hand over the bottle of tequila, the next issue was how she was going to extract the tiny bottle of belladonna from within the mess of Emma’s bag. Making sure that Walsh’s attention had been occupied elsewhere, she looked down into the front passenger seat only to find it sitting atop the bag as though she had only placed it there moments ago.

Thank you, Mistress Fortuna…

“Do you think there’s a chance we could overpower him somehow?” Elsa asked, glancing sideways towards Emma and dismissing the question instantly. Emma’s skin still held a ghostly pallor to it, and one dull green eye looked sunken in from lack of sleep as the other was still swollen and marked up by the hit she had sustained earlier today. Even her already slight frame appeared more frail from stress and obvious weight loss. Her gifts - an essential part of her being - had been smothered to the point that Elsa worried if she would be able to make a full recovery. Emma would need her and the aunts more than ever after this was all over.

Emma didn’t seem to hear Elsa’s question anyway, her body stiffening as she stared up at the moon. The red smudge that had been there during its entire phase had deepened to the color of wine - or more accurately, blood - which could only mean one thing: death would visit them tonight.

“I’ve been thinking,” Walsh drawled, his voice thick and languid as he drained the last of the tequila.

Emma and Elsa both snapped to attention as he approached, the gun in his hand tapping a beat against the side of his leg. Both women forced themselves not to tremble at the malice curling through his drunken slur, their own hearts seeming to match beat for beat whatever tune he was playing out in his head.

“I don’t think I like your influence over my Emma. You’re like a volcano waiting to erupt; too unstable and too volatile.” Walsh’s gaze was fixed on Elsa, his mania reaching new levels as the tapping against his leg became faster. Emma would have burst out laughing at this assessment of her sister under any other circumstance; Elsa was the most level-headed and kindest person she had ever met, a person who held herself with a dignity that likely outstripped any royal family on this earth. Her outburst earlier was a minor ripple within the deep, still waters that was her soul, a natural response that Walsh could never (and would never) comprehend.

“Emma and I need to disappear, and I can’t have you tagging along, whispering in her ear and turning her against me. We are forever, but I will always be second in her heart if you’re still here.”

Elsa’s eyes widened in fear, but she was rendered speechless, any attempt to make him see sense fleeing her completely as her thoughts turned to home and her daughters who would begin to wonder where she was. Emma on the other hand, sprang into action, the threat to her adored sister’s life providing the surge of energy that she had been lacking since she had called Elsa at the motel to fill her up and clear her weary mind. She didn’t have the use of her abilities - the pendant around Walsh’s neck still affecting her - but it hadn’t been so long since her bail bonds days that she had forgotten how to tackle someone and disarm them.

Walsh noticed Emma tensing for a fight, and in an attempt to stop her charge towards him, he accidentally dropped the gun, the force of it hitting the ground and sending a shot off into the darkness beyond the dim lighting of the parking lot. The crack of the gun shattering the silence of the still night air froze everyone - including Walsh - the shock of the noise allowing a moment’s reprieve before all hell broke loose again.

Elsa was the first to snap out of it. The gun had slid only a few feet behind Walsh, but with the advantage of facing her would-be murderer, she could see where it had landed and made a dash towards it. Despite his reflexes being dulled by drugs and alcohol, Walsh seemed to retain an almost inhuman strength as his arm banded around her waist, tackling her to the ground just as her fingertips brushed against the handle. Flipping over onto her back, Elsa found herself pinned to the ground, Walsh’s body caging her in, his breath hot and sour against her face.

“You stupid bitch! You aren’t gonna come between us, I will never let it happen!” Walsh screamed, his hands encircling Elsa’s neck.

“NO!” yelled Emma, as she leapt onto Walsh’s back, attempting to pry him off Elsa, and failing miserably. He was strong, much too strong in her current state. She searched around for the gun, the thought of letting off a shot to scare him into releasing Elsa the most logical idea she could think of. In the scuffle between Elsa and Walsh, the gun seemed to have been flung somewhere into the shrubs close by, but Emma had no time to search as Elsa’s gasps for air became more and more labored. Spotting a thick branch that would likely do enough damage to force Walsh away, Emma grabbed it and prepared to beat the living daylights out of her piece of shit ex-boyfriend. It was her fault that Elsa became a part of this mess, but she would make sure Walsh paid dearly for it before handing his ass to the cops.

Emma was about to bring the branch down when Walsh seemed to go limp, his weight falling heavily onto Elsa, who managed a small whimper of relief to show that she was okay. The sound of a motorbike kicking into gear startled the sisters briefly, the hope that someone would come to their aid extinguished as it faded away. It didn’t matter really, they were both too concerned with their present problem of dealing with a comatose serial killer to worry any more about it.

“I think he’s well and truly out of it now. Help me lift him up,” Elsa urged, pushing against Walsh’s chest. He was dead weight on her small frame, and she could already feel the tingle of her legs going to sleep from being in the same position for too long.

Nodding quickly in answer, Emma tucked her arms under his armpits and began to lift, as Elsa continued to push. They had just about lifted him off Elsa and were preparing to lay him out on the ground when Elsa glanced at his face and let out a cry that sent a chill spiraling up Emma’s spine.

“Emma… he’s gone…”

“What do you mean ‘gone’ ?” Emma snapped, already knowing what it meant but not wanting to reconcile with it.

Turning the body of her former ex and tormentor over, Emma could see exactly why Elsa thought he was dead. Dark brown eyes rimmed in red stared unseeingly at the night sky that was now strewn with a sea of stars that no one whose spirit resided on this plane would not immediately appreciate. The full moon was now a beautiful white light in the darkness, unblemished with portents of doom.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god… We have to call the police, I have to turn myself in, oh god, my girls! How am I going to explain that I killed someone? That right after their father leaves them, their mother has to leave too, and all of it is my fault!!” Elsa sobbed, her anguish piercing through Emma’s horror at what lay before them.

Pulling Elsa off the ground and into her arms, Emma held on tight. So many times throughout their childhood, it was Elsa who had been the one to soothe, to comfort, and to keep the fear at bay. She had supported Emma through every whim and every decision not to return home where she knew she ultimately belonged; there was no way in hell Emma was going to allow her to take the blame for this. It was likely that if they left Walsh here, he would be found by the first family that made a pit stop while making their way up north for whatever summer festival or activity one of the many small towns dotted around all the way along the coast and up to the Canadian border had to offer. The local authorities with hopefully no real knowledge of dealing with dead bodies and evidence would take over, and maybe mishandle the body in some way before realizing who Walsh was and calling in the FBI to take over. By that time, it could be hoped that toxicology reporting would show up the copious cocktail of drugs and alcohol in his system and therefore, maybe lead to a ruling of his death as an overdose.

That’s too many hopes and maybes to get out of this with no suspicion of our involvement…

Emma continued to hold onto Elsa as she sobbed into her shoulder. She thought of their Craft and the rules around what they could and couldn’t do in compliance with it.

What if Walsh didn’t have to be dead?

Gently pulling away from Elsa, Emma placed her hands on her shoulders to gain her attention.

“You said that you asked the aunts to bring Jack back to you. What was it that they said?”

For a moment, it appeared as though Elsa hadn’t heard her, her brow creasing in confusion as she struggled to understand what Emma was saying.

“They… they said that they wouldn’t do that, that they don’t do that - ever.”

“Okay, but they never said they couldn’t, right?”

Again, Elsa stared confusedly at her sister, her line of questioning seeming odd given-

Oh…

As the comprehension of what Emma was asking was reflected back to her in Elsa’s face, Emma nodded quickly, their salvation in getting out of this mess only a couple of hours away.

“We need to get home to Storybrooke now. And Walsh is coming with us.”

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