His brief search revealed nothing.
He looked around again. Then let his eyes rest on the coffin itself.
— No. You are not digging up some grave, Graham, — Emma said. — Stop for a second. Think about this. The law aside, you’re not well. You’re…
— What are you two doing here?
Emma and Graham both turned, startled at a third voice.
Regina, holding flowers, stood outside of the crypt, a few feet away, a look of legitimate shock on her face.
— Police work, — Emma said, stepping out into the grass. — What are you doing here?
— Putting flowers on my father’s grave, — she said, — like I do every week.
Bullshit, Emma thought, looking at Regina with great skepticism. It was her father’s grave? It was nothing if not suspicious. That word didn’t even do it justice.
— We’re looking for something, — Graham said to Regina.
— You don’t look well at all, dear, — Regina said, her face softening now that she’d seen Graham. — Let’s take you home.
— No.
Regina, tense, looked back and forth between them. Eventually she raised her chin and nodded.
— I see. You and she.
— It has nothing to do with that, — Graham said firmly. — It’s about you. I don’t love you and I don’t want to be with you. Not anymore, Regina. It doesn’t feel right. — He shook his head and looked down, frustrated. He tried again: — I don’t feel anything when I’m with you. I want the chance to feel… something.
Regina took this in a new rage building in her eyes. Emma saw Graham bracing himself for some standard Regina-style verbal abuse, but her eyes snapped to Emma.
— This is your fault, — she said. — You can’t stay away from what I love, can you?
— They keep coming to me, Regina, — Emma said. — Maybe you should ask yourself why people keep running away from you.
It felt good to say that.
— Regina, it’s not…
But Regina ignored Graham’s words as she took a quick step toward Emma, dropped her flowers, and — to everyone’s surprise — punched Emma square in the mouth.
Her head snapped back as a circle of pain opened up around her mouth, but she didn’t fall, and she held herself steady by reaching for the coffin. She saw as Graham lunged to restrain Regina before she could strike again.
Emma stared at Regina for another moment, rubbing her jaw.
Then, without another word, she walked away. She heard the last of their conversation as she headed back to town. She wasn’t going to do this now.
— Graham, — Regina tried. Her voice had softened.
— Don’t talk to me, — Graham said. — Don’t talk to me anymore. We’re done. Forever.
Emma smiled.
Later, Graham dabbed hydrogen peroxide near the small cut on Emma’s jaw. She protested, but she let him. She liked being close to him, she liked the care he was taking. She liked what he had said back at the crypt. For Emma, this was the beginning of a new story. A new love story, maybe, even though Emma would never have called it that.
— I don’t understand any of it, — Graham was saying. — The wolf, any of it. I think — I think so much of it has been Regina. You almost start to feel insane when you’re in the wrong relationship.
— Tell me about it, — Emma said.
— I don’t know how I went so far down that road with her in the first place.
— I know why we do that, — she said, thinking of all the times it had happened to her. — It’s sate. And being alone is terrible. Ow! — He’d dabbed the peroxide over the open cut and it stung. He smiled apologetically, touched her hand.
— All better, — Graham said.
— Getting there, — Emma said, and she leaned forward and kissed him. It felt right.
It was nice, and brief. A little breach in the wall, Emma thought.
He pulled away from her after a moment. He smiled at her strangely.
— What? — Emma said. — What’s wrong?
— I remember, — he said.
— You remember what?
— The first time we kissed, I had a flash of it, — Graham said. — Just a flash. That’s what set it off. And now — now I can remember everything. — He was getting excited. He took her hand. — She is the Evil Queen, Emma. She…
Graham’s legs suddenly buckled, and Emma reached for him, concerned.
— You okay? — she said.
As his eyes rolled back into his head, he tried to muster a sound, but Emma couldn’t make it out.
— Hey, hey, hey, — she said, holding him up. — Come on, Graham. You’re just dizzy, right?
But it was worse than a dizzy spell, she soon realized, and the weight of his body forced them both down. He looked sadly at Emma. The sadness was what really scared her.
— Graham! — she cried, shaking him. — Graham!
He groaned again and took a few labored breaths.
— I love you, — he said.
— Don’t act like you’re dying, Graham, — she said, panic in her voice. — Please don’t do that.
He reached up, touched Emma’s face. She was crying. He was using all the strength he had to wipe away the tears.
He was gone. Gone just like that, gone with little explanation. Cardiac arrest? By the time the ambulance came, Emma knew in her heart that he’d left the world. She stayed with him on the ground, weeping over him, until the paramedics had to calmly, delicately remove her arms from his body. She watched numbly as they put him on the stretcher and carried him away. There was no need to go to the hospital. It was obvious to everyone in the room. Unlike John Doe, this one would not be waking up. There were no miracles to be had here.
Part two
LOST HEARTS
CHAPTER 7
DESPERATE SOULS
Since Graham’s death, Emma had been sleepwalking through her job as acting sheriff. Storybrooke had suddenly gone quiet, giving Emma some room to mourn the loss of her friend.
The news about Graham was simple: He’d died of natural causes, a heart fibrillation that had haunted him since childhood.
Dr. Whale showed her the chart, and Emma accepted it, but a part of her suspected something was off with Graham’s death. But that didn’t mean she was about to start believing in a curse. It was just the type of thing people did when they were vulnerable; she’d seen it a thousand times. The truth was he was gone, and that was that.
It was a Wednesday morning when Emma arrived at the office and found a message from the service telling her that Mr. Gold had called and asked her to come by his pawnshop when it was convenient. With nothing else going on, she picked up her coffee and headed back to her cruiser.
She found Gold in his back office, applying some kind of clear liquid to a cloth. Emma assumed the horrendous odor in the room — somewhere between manure and sweat — was coming from it. As she announced herself, Gold did not look up, and instead kept applying the liquid.
— Lanolin, — he muttered. — That’s the smell.
— Lovely, — Emma said.
— It’s the same reason sheep’s wool repels water, — he noted. — Quite amazing, really. Highly flammable, of course.
— I got a message from the service, — said Emma. — What can I do for you?
— I wanted to express my condolences about Sheriff Graham now that things have died down, — said Gold, finally looking up. Emma wouldn’t have called it a sympathetic look, but she could see that he was trying to be kind. — Not good for the town. But I know you two were close. — Gold began cleaning up around his desk. — You’ll do well as a replacement, — he said.