— He told you about that?
Henry shrugged.
— Yeah, — he said. — But I heard about it anyway.
Small towns, Emma thought. That solved the mystery of how Regina knew.
She didn’t like the idea of Graham, who was obviously not himself, running around town having visions of anything, and she certainly didn’t like the idea of him going to a child and believing what the child had to say about the intersection of fantasy and reality. Graham was potentially in the midst of a psychotic break, she realized. She had to find him.
— Where did you send him? — she asked.
— I didn’t send him anywhere, — Henry said. — I told him about how the Queen trapped him into a bargain and that she ordered him to go kill Snow White.
Emma furrowed her brow. In Henry’s universe, the Queen was Regina and Snow White was Mary Margaret.
— And why did she do that?
— Because the Queen killed Snow White’s father, and she knew that she had to get rid of Snow White as well. But she couldn’t do it herself because she couldn’t risk being found out. So she went looking around the countryside and found the Huntsman.
— Okay.
— That’s where the wolf thing comes from, — Henry said. — He loved them, and he had one as his friend. And Regina knew that, and she promised to protect the wolves if he helped her kill Snow White.
— And so what happened?
— He dressed up as one of Snow White’s guards, — Henry said, — and almost killed her, but she ran away. While he was chasing her, he realized he didn’t want to do it.
— How good of him, — Emma said, leaning back in her chair. She looked over at his backpack. — You really know these stories cold, kid, don’t you? You don’t even need the book.
— I know them all, — he said. She didn’t like the way he said it.
— So where did he go when you were done? — she asked.
— I don’t know, — Henry said. — He got really upset when I told him that the Queen stole his heart when she found out that he…
— So you don’t know where he is? — she said.
— All he said, — Henry replied, — was that he had to find that wolf. Before it was too late.
A wolf.
Sure.
Emma had seen one of those things. Once.
She was faster than he expected her to be — men were always underestimating her. She knew that she would not be able to outrun him forever, but she had enough time to do what she needed to do. After a few minutes of tearing through the woods, Snow White found a tree to hide behind, crouched low, and began composing the letter to the Queen. So long as she could say what she wanted to say, she could accept her death. So long as the message got through.
Within minutes he had found her. She had already completed the note.
She hardly looked up when he came around the corner.
Panting, he took her in, saw what she was doing, and shook his head.
— You’re running for your life and you stop to write a letter? — he asked. — I will never understand people. Royals or otherwise. — He raised the dagger.
— You would have caught me eventually, — she said, setting aside her quill and beginning to fold; the man paused. — This was a better use of my time. — She looked up and held the letter toward him. — Please deliver this to the Queen after you’ve killed me.
— What does it say?
— You can read it if you like, — she said. — It’s not a trick, — she added, seeing the skepticism on his face. — Read it first, then you can kill me. I’m ready.
Cautiously, he reached out with his free hand and took the letter. While he read her words, Snow White watched as he slowly let the dagger fall to his side.
And then, a surprise: She saw a tear in his eye. She watched as it trickled down his cheek.
Snow White said nothing.
The man stuffed the letter into his tunic.
— Take this, — he said, holding out a reed. — It will work as a whistle. Blow into it when you need help. Help will come.
— You’ re letting me…?
— Yes, go, — he said, straightening up. — I’ll buy you as much time as I can.
— But why?
— Run, — he said. — Don’t ask another question. Just run, girl.
Graham was running away from Regina’s house when Emma spotted him. She drove past him, back toward his truck, and parked, waiting for him. Soon he trotted up.
— Hey, Sheriff, — she said. — You look stressed. Can I have a second?
He glanced up and saw her standing in front of his car, arms crossed.
— Not now, Emma, — he said, continuing. — I’m busy. You should be at the station.
— I’m trying to help.
— You’re not.
— Hey, stop, — she said, coming toward him. She put a hand on his arm and told him that he needed some rest, that it was no good to listen to a ten-year-old. Graham, frustrated, told her that Henry was the only one who seemed to make any sense. He tried to tell her about the wolf — to tell her that it somehow fit, that he couldn’t feel anymore; he hadn’t felt much in a long time.
— I have no heart, — he said. — I can’t say it any other way.
— You do, — Emma said, shaking her head at him. How had he descended into this much of a tailspin after one awkward interaction on the street? Sure, he’d crossed a line, but it was just one bad moment. They could fix it. She didn’t understand what had happened to him.
— Graham, come on, — she said, stepping close. She took his hand and put it on his own chest, held it there. — Feel.
He closed his eyes, breathed in.
— That’s just the curse, — he said. — It’s not real.
— No, — Emma said. — It’s not. That’s you. That’s your heart. You’re fine.
Looking over Emma’s shoulder, Graham said, — Am I?
She frowned at this, twisted, and turned to look. She gasped.
The wolf. The wolf was there, standing on the sidewalk not ten feet from them.
— I’ve seen that wolf before, — Emma said.
Her first evening here. In the middle of the road, when she had tried to leave Storybrooke. Graham had made fun of her. And now here he was, chasing it.
What in the hell is happening? Emma thought.
— That makes two of us, — Graham said. — Come on.
They followed the wolf into the woods. Graham retold Emma the story he’d heard from Henry — that in the other world, the Queen had taken his heart — and he said that it had occurred to him that the wolf was taking them back to his heart.
— This wolf was my companion at one point, — he insisted. — I think it’s trying to show me where to find it.
— You have it, Graham, — Emma said.
He shook his head.
— No. And I have to get my heart back, Emma, — he said. — I have to.
— Do I need to again point out how insane you sound?
— Not necessary, — Graham said, distracted. — Look.
They were at the edge of the cemetery, and the wolf had trotted up to a large crypt and stopped, nosing at the door, looking back at them. Emma had to admit — it looked a whole lot like the wolf she’d seen the first time she’d tried to leave Storybrooke.
— In there, — Graham said. — My heart is in there.
He rushed to the crypt. Emma followed him in.
The inside of the crypt was relatively clean, considering, and Graham started to feel along the walls and the floor of the small stone room, clearly intent on finding a secret panel, something. Anything. Emma just watched, unsure what to do. Could she find a way to snap him back to reality? Or was this something bigger, something that would require… a hospital?