Monday, September 5th, 2011

     Henry’s locking his room when he goes to bed now. I can’t say I blame him. Too many times now, Regina has let Graham come in through the front door and led him up the stairs to her room, panting and kissing all the way. It’s so hard to convince the sheriff to only use the window after she does that! My skeleton key was out of my pocket and in the keyhole before I could roll my eyes.

     His room was dark, and Henry was out. A fire-breathing dragon wouldn’t wake this boy when he’s sleeping, but I moved to his desk as quietly as I could as a precaution. His backpack was open and upright. I reached inside and my fingers wrapped around a large book. Lifting it up into the moonlight pouring in from his window proved it was what I’d been searching for these many years. “Once Upon a Time” shined across the leather cover. I held the book close to me and crept out of my son’s room, locking the door back up behind me.

     I knew I had a limited amount of time. I sat the book down on my bed and read the whole thing, with its incredibly biased storyline, from cover to cover. I took a moment when I finally finished and checked for signs of Regina. I could still feel her. Why didn’t it work?

    I thought back to Vivian, my one friend, now long gone, who’d broken the curse without the return of a savior. Vivian had said once that it was not only reading the book that brought her back, but a combination of things. She had also said that by now, I’d be begging the savior to come to Storybrooke. Not inclined to getting on my knees, I tried other ways to find my special combination.

     My first thought was to destroy the book, but that proved futile. I tried tearing the pages, but that was like trying to tear sheet metal with my bare hands. I held a match to it, but the pages again reacted as sheet metal would, and I jerked my hand back with the rising heat of the book.

     I had no magic that I was willing to use, but I still had my book of riddles. I pulled that book out and opened it up beside the book of my history. I investigated it to see what it had to say, if anything, on what to do.

    The riddle about the dress came to mind. Rid the room of those who would rip the fabric/ The tailor will stitch it back/ The greater the tear, the greater the repair/ The sleeves may not be even, but the dress will fit. I think the reason Regina doesn’t like Henry so much is because he doesn’t belong. He’s not cursed, and so his absence would not upset her. She’s been nicer to him, sort of. But there is no love from her, only obligation.

     Page after page yielded no result, so far as I could tell. I’d read every one of the riddles before, and none of them sounded like they applied to this. I reached an empty page at the end and the only thing that made sense was to go back and read through them again. But before I could turn back, there was movement on the page. Black ink appeared on the white page, as though it was leaking from the other side. The ink separated and spread, straightened and curled, until it formed some very obvious words:

I will win.

     The book of riddles hit the wall across the room before I realized I threw it. It landed open on the same page. I got off my bed to the corner by the door and saw that the ink was still scrolling across the page. I snapped it off the floor and held it in my arms as a new riddle revealed itself to me.

How can a Queen be saved?

Though the loss is little, it may feel high in cost

A sacrifice deserves a sacrifice

An end deserves an end

For a Queen to be a Queen

She must give up the Thing She Loves Most

     Nothing else appeared on the page. I choked on nothing and coughed. I sat the book down to catch my breath and think about my interpretation of the riddle. It couldn’t mean what I thought it meant. It sounded like the book was telling me—in order to rid myself of this false personality—I would have to kill Henry, as I killed my father.

     I closed the book of riddles and put it away. Maleficent once warned me that the one who cast this curse would have no morals. Now the curse was counting on me still having none. But there is no reason great enough for me to kill my son. There may come a time when my cursed self takes me over and I forget who Henry even is, and for the first time in a long time, I considered the possibility of giving up my son. I would rather Henry safely live in a world where I didn’t know him, over knowing he died for me to remember him all the days of my life.

    I took the book of fairytales back to his room and looked on my sleeping son before closing the door behind me.

     Vivian had always said the curse was a living thing that could think for itself. I never agreed with her, but this is no ordinary curse. It is trying to trick me and beat me, and has told me as much. Before I reached my own room, I embraced Vivian’s theory, and with it a new motivation. If I start to think of it as a living being, then I know I can manipulate it like every other person I’ve had to fight, and I will win.

Sunday, September 4th, 2011

     I’m losing chunks of time. My cursed persona is getting stronger, and she’s taken me over a few times now. Each time feels like just a few hours, but when I’m in control again, I find that days, even weeks have gone by. She’s always there, even when I’m in control, I can feel her in the back of my mind. I can sense her. Her presence is like a low buzzing or a hum, waiting for her turn to take over. “Turn” is the wrong choice of word, as it implies that I have an equal opportunity to be myself. I don’t so much, anymore. She barges in whenever she wants, wherever she wants, and sometimes it’s hard for me to differentiate myself from her.

     There are qualities that separate her from me. She’s a terrible driver, for one thing. I’m lucky to be alive to write this entry, and so are several residents of this town. I can’t say the same for the mailboxes of those residents. The last time I had control of myself, I had the presence of mind to hide the car keys, and she hasn’t found them yet.

     She doesn’t seem to know about some of the things I do as myself. Anything that has to do with magic or the workings of the curse seems to be out of her scope. She doesn’t know about this diary, or the book of riddles, or Daniel’s coin, or even my safe haven underneath my father’s crypt.

     Any reminders of magic bring me back instantly, but I have to wait for her to come across them. It has become increasingly harder for me to force my control over my own body, as I did when Henry had fallen into that pit when he ran away. But I can’t just attach a leather strap to Daniel’s coin and wear it around my wrist. Just to be safer, I’ve strategically placed several talismans in places around my home and office. I’ve brought up little wooden chests from my safe haven and set them up on bookshelves and on my desks. To any cursed or normal person, they might look like charming decorations. But I know them to be chests for holding the hearts of those I wish to control. They are—for the most part—empty. But seeing one is enough for me to be aware that it is something from home that was not meant to be part of this world. So now, being home is relatively safe, and being in my office is relatively safe. Being on my way to work or home is a risk. Being anywhere else is a risk.

     Even still, all of my magical things only work when she sees them. Until then, I’m stuck with her in charge, and she can be very oblivious to what’s on her desk or in her pockets. My protections haven’t completely prevented my cursed persona from taking over and messing things up for me. As mayor, I’ve watched her screw up plans for one project by shifting funds into another, completely stupid one. I almost lost this last election thanks to her, and I ran unopposed!

     Henry hardly talks to me anymore. I can’t blame him. I know she doesn’t like him. She’s not trying to kill him, at least. She’s feeding him. She’s making sure he’s clean. She’s even taking him to therapy.

     I’ve been afraid to face him when I’m myself, so he’s been neglected by her and by me, as well. It breaks my heart to stay away from him, but I see how he looks at me through her eyes. I don’t know if I could handle seeing the same thing through my own.

     Today, I decided I couldn’t ignore him when I’m myself, forever. I gathered all of the courage I had and made my way around my house to find him. Henry was downstairs in the living room. He was standing beside the mantle, with one of the chests in his hands. The lid was lifted and he was peering inside.

     My first instinct was to tell him to get away from there, but I held it back and just watched him. He didn’t know I was there, and he was so fascinated by the box. He held it in his hands and traced a finger over the carvings on the lid. I sometimes wish I could tell him about the Enchanted Forest. I wish I could tell him about how old that box is and what it first contained when his grandfather gave it to me when I was his age. But this is such a better world, even with what’s been happening to me. And to us.

     “Looking for something?” I finally announced myself. Henry stood upright, shut the lid and put the box back on the shelf.

     “No, just looking.” Henry didn’t run, even though I originally thought he would. He stood and stared at me. I don’t know what he was looking at, but it was like he was waiting for something to happen. Whatever it was didn’t happen, I think, because he approached me. I stood back, but instead, he sat on a chair in front of me.

     “Can I ask you something?”

     “Of course.” My exhale of breath surprised me. I didn’t even know I was holding it.

     “How come you’ve never told me anything about my dad?”

     Now I was tense. I sat down across from him.

     “You’ve never asked.”

     “Did he die?”

     “Not that I know of.”

     “Did you divorce him?”

     “No—“

     “Is it Sheriff Graham?”

     “No!” I may have laughed. He slouched at this news, before sitting upright again and taking in a deep breath.

     “Was I adopted?”

     I knew this question would come, eventually. I never wanted to think it would, but I was surprised it took this long.

     “I adopted you shortly after you were born. I don’t know your real parents,” which was true. I personally had never met them. “I only know they couldn’t take care of you.”

     “Why?”

     “Well, your mother was in prison, and I’m sure she wanted to do what was best for you.”

     He looked at me as though her imprisonment was somehow my fault.

     “Do you know who she is?”

     “No,” which was also true, “but I’m glad she had you so I can love you.”

     Henry didn’t look too thrilled about that. My heart sank as I stood from the couch.

     “You better get ready for school.”

     “Today’s Sunday.” He got up anyway. It’s not unusual for me to forget what day it is.

     “What did you think you’d find in there?” I asked before he left.

     “I don’t know. Not a heart or anything.” He stopped at the doorway.

     “Certainly not.” My own heart pounded loud in my chest. “Why would you think I’d keep something like that?”

     “You wouldn’t.” He turned to me. “That’s something an evil queen might do.” My son was blessed with many fine qualities. Subtlety was not one of them. He did his best to correct himself, no doubt because my jaw had dropped. “But you’re not an evil queen! The box just looks big enough.” He stood there and waited for a better explanation to come out of his mouth. He looked up and to his left, as though he was listening for it. Three full seconds passed before he realized none was coming, so he turned and ran for his room.

     “Where are you going?”

     “I have to get ready for school!”

    “Today’s Sunday!” The only answer I received was the slamming of his bedroom door. I sat back down on the couch. There’s only one way a thought like that would even enter his mind. He’s read the book of fairytales. He may even have it.



Saturday, October 31st, 2009

     Henry has been upset since yesterday. I knew I should have seen the signs. He’s upset, and after yesterday, who wouldn’t be? He’s blaming me, I know he is, but I don’t think he quite knows why.

     The show aired live, so everyone in town saw what happened. Everyone’s been looking at him differently and speaking to him differently.

     “Henry,” I broke the silence at last night’s dinner. “I know today has been hard. I’m sure it was embarrassing and—“

     “I’m not embarrassed.”

     “Do you want to talk about it?”

     “No.”

     “All right. Just the same, I think it would be good if you saw Dr. Hopper on Monday. Will you do it for me?”

     “Fine.”

    I didn’t know what Halloween would bring. I didn’t know if he would even want to dress up in his costume again. I wondered as the morning grew closer to disappearing and the afternoon beginning. Finally, I knocked on his door, but no answer. I turned the knob and pushed the door open to find him gone. I ran around the house, searched the yard, and called his name up and down the street before calling Graham to say my son was missing. In less than an hour, the whole town had met and planned to search everywhere we could. A group of us went to the woods and paired off. As misfortune would have it, I was paired with Miss Blanchard, who insisted on consoling me.

     “I’m so sorry, Mayor Mills.” Miss Blanchard and I began our steady walk in as straight of a line as we could.

     “I don’t want to talk, Miss Blanchard.” My pace quickened, but she kept up with me. “I just want to find my son.”

     “It’s just—I never thought he would take such a drastic action. Everyone was used to Henry saying weird things.” This was the closest thing we’d had to a parent-teacher conference in a while. As we walked our careful pace, Henry’s teacher informed me that none of the children seemed surprised or confused by what he had said about Sam or the sixth grader on the show. Apparently, Henry had been saying lots of things like this in class for a while.

    “And you never thought to tell me about this, Miss Blanchard?”

     “I just thought he was playing.”

     The sound of a whistle blew through the air. It was the sound of us to stop and come back. Miss Blanchard and I turned around. Her pace was faster than mine, and she continued to walk on when I stopped. There had been a crunching noise to my right. I turned and saw a fallen tree, its trunk arched off the ground. Beneath that arch were two familiar sneakers.

    “Henry!” I ran to him. My son bolted up and put out a hand to keep me back. On one shoulder was his backpack.

     “Where are you going? Everyone in town has been looking for you.”

     “I know. I’m running away, mom.” A breeze made its way past the trees and feathered Henry’s brown hair. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t belong here. I’ll miss you.”

     “You’re not going anywhere. You’re still a child.”

     “I don’t care. I don’t belong here.” He was still such a little boy. The tree was so big and old, even on its side; Henry only towered over it from his shoulders up.

     “Where exactly will you go?”

     “I know there’s a diner fifteen miles away from us.”

     “Do you know how far that is?” I didn’t like it there. There was something familiar about the rustling of the trees and the softness of the ground beneath my feet wasn’t pleasant. “By car, that’s nothing. But by foot, that could be a whole day for you.”

     “I don’t care.”

     “Well, I do!” It was time to talk some sense into this kid. “There are wild animals out there. And if you get lost, you may not be found, because there’s twenty miles between us and anyone else. And what if you are found? Henry, you know everyone in this town. Everyone here knows you and likes you and wants you to be safe. Not everyone out there is like us. There are people out there who will want to hurt you because they can, and they might look like everyone else.”

     I was getting to him. Henry’s defensive posture relaxed, and now he was only visible from the neck up.

     “A knight doesn’t run away when he’s needed, Henry. I need you.” I stepped in closer, pressing into the dirt beneath my feet. “Please stay?”

     “Okay. I promise.” He saw my outstretched hand and walked around the tree to meet it, but once he reached the end of the trunk, the ground gave way from where the tree had once stood. I don’t know how, but Henry managed to avoid falling in and was hanging onto a strong root at the edge of a pit that looked just like the one in my dreams.

     I was terrified. Henry tried to put his feet flat against the wall of the pit, but he couldn’t turn without the root he was holding onto threatening to bend. I knew that if I just grabbed my son, I could pull him out of there and he’d been fine. But I was so afraid when he fell that I became dizzy. Confusion swept over me before everything made sense, and someone who hadn’t been able to in years came to the forefront of my being. My cursed persona took over my body, and I took a backseat to this terrible moment.

     He reached for my hand, but it was her hand now. She stood there and watched him. She knew him. She wasn’t afraid, but she would not help him.

     Then she took a step back. I have never seen that look of terror on Henry’s face before. His eyes grew wide and he cried for me and begged for me to come back. She was just going to let him hang there, surely not for long because his was thrashing his legs and that would only make him lose his grip.

     I couldn’t stand this. I struggled inside this cage of a body against the curse that had locked me inside it. Every ounce of my identity focused on reaching inside my pocket to grab that coin. First, the shoulder. To my surprise, I moved it back! Then the elbow, back! Four fingers and a thumb attached to my palm reached inside and closed around the coin. I made them hold on and pulled my elbow back once more to raise my hand in front of my face. My hand opened, and there was Daniel smiling back at me. I felt myself rush to the front of my own consciousness and placed the coin back in my pocket. I called out Henry’s name and ran back to him, and at that moment, Graham, Dr. Hopper and everyone else ran in. Graham reached and pulled Henry up and back onto solid ground. I ran to my son and held onto him, repeating “I’m here” over and over again.

     Henry was crying, but he wasn’t really hugging me back. Graham bent down to us and said Henry should get checked out. He grabbed Henry’s hand and took him over to the waiting ambulance. I watched my son sit on the edge of the ambulance as he got checked out by the EMTs. My son looked back at me, but there was something different in his eyes. It frightened me almost as much as watching him fall.

     It was only then that I realized Dr. Hopper had been standing beside me the whole time. I turned on him so fast, he jumped.

     “This is your fault, Hopper!” I pointed my finger right into his chest. “None of this would have happened if you’d started treating him sooner!”

     “N-no! You’re right. I’m sorry.” He took two cautious steps away from me and held up his hands. “I’ll see him every day, if you want.”

     After Henry was cleared, I took my son, and everyone went home. He wouldn’t speak to me during the drive or when we got home. I knew the whole way, even when he shut the door to his room, that I could tell him everything. I could explain everything he suspected and more. But I couldn’t, and now a bond is broken between us. I will fight everyday to mend it.



Friday, October 30th, 2009

     I had to order a pattern for a knight’s costume to be delivered. There’s not a lot of demand from little boys in town to dress up as knights, just as there’s not a lot of demand from little girls to dress up as princesses. I don’t know if that’s due to the curse or just the leanings of the children here, but I’m sure that’s how it is everywhere else, too.

     I decided to have his costume made by someone else, this time, for the sake of convenience. We took it over to some seamstresses who must have been mice or birds back home, because the ladies chirped and tittered with their shrill voices over Henry and how great his costume would look. I was not looking forward to hearing their voices again a few days later, when we had to go back for the final fitting. The women fluttered around my costumed son. He beamed at me while quick fingers lifted his costume here and pinched it there.

     The costume itself was very basic. It just looked like chainmail and a tunic. That would never protect a soldier for long. I suggested we add a helmet at least, and add a plume to the top.

     “That’s not practical, mom.” Henry rolled his eyes.

     “But it would be intimidating.” I looked to the seamstresses for encouragement. A couple of them nodded and splayed their fingers over his head to mimic what I was suggesting. “A big, black plume on top of your helmet would make a statement.”

     “No, it wouldn’t. That would just look silly.”

     I didn’t remember anyone laughing at my soldiers when they made an entrance, but this was Henry’s idea of a knight, so I held my tongue. The ladies put their hands down and went back to work.

     Henry’s costume was ready the following day. He was so excited for the field trip, but I haven’t shared his enthusiasm. I’ve had a bad feeling about this field trip, and I keep having those same nightmares..

     Finally, today arrived. Miss Blanchard’s class gathered at the school to board the bus before the sun was even up, since the show aired at seven. All of the students were full of energy and in their costumes as the bus made its way to Storybrooke One, while the parents were chugging coffee and wondering how the children’s energy was even possible. We reached the studio in no time, and our hoard of monsters and other characters went inside. Waiting for us was someone familiar to everyone’s morning.

     “Hi, kids!” The pleasant woman waved to the children in her smart attire. “Welcome to ‘Good Morning, Storybrooke’! My name is Goldie Locksley, and I’m one of the co-anchors for the show. Are you excited to be here?” The children cheered. “Let’s save some energy for the show, okay?” Goldie spoke with the enthusiasm of telling a story to very small children. “Do we have any future correspondents for our show here, today?” A few kids shot their hands up in the air. “Well, you’ll have to work hard and you’ll have to be patient. I used to be the weather girl, but I was just promoted because the last anchorwoman died.” Goldie probably shouldn’t have ended that with a smile, but she did.

     “But you’ve always been the co-anchor.” Henry piped up. “I’ve seen you on the show ever since I was little.”

     I instinctively reached out to stop him from talking, but I held back. Let him go on, I thought.

     Goldie looked confused for a second, but recovered quickly. She lifted her head and spoke to the parent-chaperones. “Kids, right? Anytime before right now is when they were little!”

     All of the parents laughed and nodded.

     “What’s your name, sir knight?” Goldie pointed to Henry.

     “Henry.” He said, no longer impressed.

     “Well, Sir Henry, do I have a surprise for you! Everyone, would you like to meet my co-anchor, Hart Archer?”

     Most of the students—and some of the parents—were thrilled at this idea. So Goldie led us all to the make-up department. Hart was sitting in front of a mirror with tissue tucked into his collar. He turned to all of us.

     “Good morning, Storybrooke Elementary students!” Hart greeted us just like he was introducing the show. Everyone loved it, except Goldie, who sighed and was clearly jealous of his ability to work the show title in his greeting. “Ready to watch us do the show?” Everyone cheered. “Well, for the last segment, you’ll be on the show with us! Are you excited?” The children screamed. Hart was clearly not prepared for this. He looked like he was about to jump out of his make-up chair before Miss Blanchard took over and calmed the children down. Everyone finally quieted as a man with a headset over his ears and a cup of coffee in each hand walked up to them.

     “Everybody say hi to Steve.” Goldie took one of the cups from him. Steve waved at us as soon as Hart took the other. “Steve will let you know when to come up to the desk with us, okay?” She took a sip of her drink and made a face before handing it back to him. “Steve, this latte is too cold. You know I can’t drink this. And yesterday, it was too hot.”

     “Nothing’s good enough for you.” The tone of his voice, slumped shoulders and puppy dog eyes suggested he was talking about more than just the coffee. He whispered, loudly and very ineffectively, “And no one.”

     “Now is not the time, Steve.” Goldie spoke in a lower voice and out of the side of her mouth. She looked at a watch on her wrist that wasn’t there and spoke in her on-camera voice. “Wow, everyone, it’s time to go to set!”

     Hart and Goldie left us, and Steve escorted us all to the set. It was much smaller than it looks on TV. The desk, the reading area and the kitchen were all on the same stage. There was no place for the children to sit, so we stood behind the cameras. The view was not good, and the students fidgeted and complained, but Steve got them all to calm down and be quiet for the show.

     The show progressed quickly, and soon it was the final commercial break. The students were rushed on set and placed in front of the anchor desk. Goldie and Hart got up from their chairs and came around to the children. The two of them were all smiles as the break ended and the music came back on.

     “Here are some students from Storybrooke Elementary in their scary costumes for Halloween!” Hart told the cameras. He bent down to a little cowboy. “What’s your name, pardner?”

     “Sam.” Henry’s first friend was almost too quiet. Steve passed Hart a microphone.

     “I reckon you’re supposed to be a cowboy, Sam?”

     “Yes, Mr. Archer.” All of the adults “awwed”.

     “What grade are you in?”

     “Kindergarten.”

     “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

     “A first-grader.” The cuteness was almost too much for even me.

     “Well I think you’ll just have to wait another year for that, buckaroo!”

     “He won’t be in the first grade.” Henry spoke up. Everyone turned, not expecting him to speak yet. “He’ll be in kindergarten again, just like he has been every year.”

     “Stop picking on him.” A taller boy stepped forward and stood up to, or rather, over, Henry.

     “I’m not picking on him, I’m telling the truth.” His words made my pulse race. He looked straight up at the boy. “He’s never leaving kindergarten, just like you’re never getting past the sixth grade.”

     The boy didn’t look confused like Goldie did earlier. His response was just to hit him.

     Henry fell to the floor and the anchors stood back. I wanted to rush to him but felt dizzy. For the first time in years I actually reached in my pocket for Daniel’s coin. I didn’t have to look at it, thank goodness, and the swaying subsided. Henry stood back up and hit the boy back, and the two boys fell into a brawl. Everyone on the set rushed to tear them apart. Two burly camera men picked up the boys and separated them. Henry was furious. He was kicking and shouting “None of this is real!” One man was still standing behind his camera and got every second of this. I ran over and ordered him to turn it off before rushing to my son. The field trip and the show were over for today.



Thursday, October 1st, 2009

     I had the stupidest dream last night.

     I was walking in the woods and came across a pit in the ground. It was well worn and looked like it was dug years ago. The top of a ladder was poking out of the top of the hole. I didn’t want to look inside, but I found myself walking closer. I peered over the edge, but there was nothing down there. Then I heard laughter behind me and a tap on my shoulder, but when I turned to see who it was, I woke up.

     I spoke with Dr. Hopper today, and I’m going to do something I swore I’d never do: I’m going to indulge Henry. Not to say I don’t. Henry always gets what he wants, almost. I certainly haven’t raised a spoiled brat, but he isn’t wanting, either. Still, there’s one area I stay away from.

     The inevitable came soon enough. I remember when Henry came home from his first day of first grade. He was crying. He’d never been so sad.

     “What’s wrong, my love?” I bent down and dried his tears.

     “Sam’s not in my class this year.” He didn’t want to look at me. “He’s still in kindergarten.”

     Sam and Henry were inseparable. They did everything together.

     “Well, you must be very smart to advance to the next grade.”

     “I don’t want to be smart.” He tore away from me and stomped on each word. “I! Want! My! Best! Friend!”

     “You can still be best friends with Sam.” I followed him.

     “But it won’t be the same!”

     “No, but you can make new friends too.”

     “I don’t want new friends!”

     Henry was right, his friendship with Sam was never the same, but I was right, too, and he made new friends in his new class. But then second grade began and not only were his first grade friends still in first grade, but Sam was still in kindergarten. Explaining that one to him was a bit more difficult. That’s when I called a meeting with the school board and integrated the grades in Storybrooke elementary. His questions eased about being the only student to advance at the school, but there have still been other problems.

     I know I remembered everything after that forgetting charm broke, but I was still never certain of Henry’s parentage. There’s still a chance he may not even be the savior’s child. There were once tons of magic beans back home. It’s entirely possible that someone came over hundreds of years ago and he’s descended from that person. So what if Dr. Mercer said he’s never seen that marker-thing before? He couldn’t have tested everyone in the world, could he?

     Even so, it’s still very hard to not think that maybe he could be the son of the savior. I remember later, the same year he was sick, when Halloween was getting closer. It would be the first Halloween when Henry would really comprehend what dressing up and trick-or-treating was all about.

     “What would you like to dress up as, this year?”

     “I want to be a knight!”

     I just couldn’t bring myself to allow that. What if I let him go as a knight and something clicked in his head? What if he figured out who gave birth to him and then he doesn’t want me as his mother?

     So that year, he was the saddest cowboy ever. The next year, his desire to be a knight hadn’t wavered, so he was the saddest astronaut ever. And each year after that, our ritual of desiring and denying continued. Halloweens found his as the most grievous ghost ever, the bleakest blood-sucker ever, the most pitiful pirate ever, and the most remorseful robot ever.

     This approaching holiday is proving no different. Henry is being extra nice and is begging me every day to be a knight. I need to prevent him from wanting to do this, and that’s what brought Henry and me to Dr. Hopper’s office. I didn’t tell Henry that was the reason, of course. Dr. Hopper did a full evaluation on Henry. The next day, I visited the doctor by myself to hear the results. Dr. Hopper’s conclusion was that my son was a normal boy with a healthy imagination. He questioned me when he saw I was dissatisfied with his results, so I told him about his idea for a Halloween costume. I gave false reasons for not wanting him to dress as a knight, but for each one I gave, Dr. Hopper had a sensible response that made each one sound silly.

     “Regina,” Dr. Hopper leaned forward in his chair when he knew I was out of answers. “You only get a very small window where a child is a child. Why not let him dress up as a knight just once, before he doesn’t want to dress up at all?”

     Tears actually welled up in my eyes. The doctor had hit on a truth. Henry was getting older and would always get older, even if he was smart enough to see that the other children would not. I wiped my tears away and nodded in resolution to Dr. Hopper’s reasoning. When I went home and told Henry I’d decided to let him be a knight for Halloween, he was so excited that he danced around his room.

     When it was time for dinner, Henry ran downstairs with a note from Miss Blanchard.

     “I forgot to tell you!” He handed me the letter and told me what it said before I could read it. “Our class is going on a field trip to the television station the day before Halloween, and we get to be on Good Morning, Storybrooke! You need to sign it so I can go.”

     “How long have you had this note?”

     “A month, I think. Tomorrow’s the last day to turn it in.” His eyes were shifty. Henry always waited until the last minute on things like this. “I didn’t want to go before, but now that I get to be a knight, I want to. Can I, please?”

     I read the permission slip from top to bottom. “This note says they’re looking for parent chaperones, as well. I’ll ask Miss Blanchard if it’s not too late to come.”

     “Aw, mom!”

     “I won’t interfere with anything.” I put the letter down and held my hands up in front of me. “But if my son’s going to be on TV and I have a chance to be there, I’m taking it.”

     It took a moment, but once Henry realized I said he could go, he gave me a big hug.  

Sunday, March 21st, 2004

     Dr. Mercer would certainly check out of Granny’s Bed and Breakfast as soon as he could. And if he was as bad as Dr. Whale made him out to be, he may even try to leave earlier. I had planned on confronting him in the morning, but considering this, I left the hospital. Henry was sleeping soundly on his own and there were plenty of attendants to watch him.

     The doctor had checked out sooner than I had anticipated. Both Granny and Ruby noted how little they’d seen of him since Mr. Campbell had brought him into town and lent him his clothes. I left quickly, with one idea where he might be. Pulling up to my house, I saw that I was right.

     My front door was slightly open. I stepped inside without making a sound and reached through the panel by the door for my broadsword. At the base of my staircase was a bag full of apples from my tree. Shoe prints made of crumbly soil went all the way up the white carpet on my stairs. They faded on their way to my room. Peeking inside, I saw my open diary on my bed. I led with my sword and looked all the way in. Dr. Mercer was too occupied looking at the small wooden chest that held Graham’s heart to see me.

     I could have run him through before he had a chance to respond, but instead I hid the sword behind the door.

     “How fortunate to find you here, doctor.” My words made him jump away from the chest. “There was no symposium in Boston, was there? And no one you had to call to prevent them from bothering you while you were here?”

     “No.” He stood still. “You’ve found me out, then?”

     “I’ve heard things. But it’s not every day a credible doctor breaks into my house.”

     “And I don’t suppose anyone knows you’re here?” He took a few steps toward me, but stopped and held his hands in front of him when I drew my sword. “Are you going to run me through, your majesty?” He nodded behind him to my diary. “I’ve read things.”

     “That’s just something I write for fun. It isn’t real.”

     “It’s the first thing that rings truth around here. But I know when I’m beaten. I’ll be happy to leave.”

     “I can’t let you do that.” I lowered my sword and leaned it against the wall, which made him relax a little.

     “Are you going to call your sheriff on me? I can’t be arrested. Do you know what they’ll do to me?”

     “You don’t understand.” I walked right up to him. “You saved my son. I want to help you.” I touched his cheek with one hand and pulled him in for a kiss. He responded immediately and put his hands on my waist, pulling me closer to him.

     “Do you want to go to the bed?”

     “Not yet. Come with me.” I took him down to the kitchen and turned on the lights. He was still wearing Kurt’s shirt. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”

     “Do you have anything harder?”

      I reached in my cabinet and pulled out the tall scotch bottle with the red label with the “60” on it. With two glasses in my other hand, I led him into my living room. We sat opposite each other on two sofas and I handed him the open bottle across my coffee table

     “I can’t believe I’m about to ask this—are you aliens?” He passed the bottle to me after filling his glass a third full.

     I poured myself a similar amount and took a sip. “Well, we’re not Portuguese.”

     He swallowed his scotch in one gulp. I looked down at his glass and then in his eyes.

     “I’m sure it’s a lot to take in.” I said.

     “So, there’s magic here?”

     “There was.”

     “Not anymore?”

     “I can still do some things that aren’t normal for this world,” I sat my glass down. “But that’s not important right now.”

     Dr. Mercer sat his glass aside. “Why did you say you want to help me?”

     “Why were you stealing my apples?”

     “You can’t just bring a plague on a plane safely. But with waking fever, I now have a cause and a cure. There are things that need to be tested, but I can do that. I can own the third world.”

     “Why not the whole world?” Every time I said something, he inhaled deeply like I was making him forget to breathe. I think he was only used to me being in a situation I couldn’t control.

     “It’s too risky.” He exhaled.

     “Not if Storybrooke is your home. No one can enter unless someone from here helps you in.” I ran my finger around the top of my glass. “Should I get rid of my tree?”

     Dr. Mercer placed his hand on top of mine. “Not if we’re going to take over the world.”

     I stopped tracing the glass and turned my hand so I was holding his. He pulled me around the table onto his lap and kissed me.

     “How did you figure out we’re not from this world?” I asked before moving from kissing his lips to his neck.

     “That blood test I did revealed a marker I’d never seen before.” He shivered. His neck was a good spot. “I named it the C marker.”

     “Would that explain why no one else was infected?”

     “It could. Everyone I tested had the marker except for Dr. Whale and Mr. Campbell.”

     “And Henry.”

     “No, Henry had it,” his words made me pull back. Dr. Mercer stroked my back with both hands, “but his was different. So I classified everyone else’s as C Positive. That could explain—“

     “Henry can’t have the marker. He’s adopted.” I didn’t know whether to laugh at him or be angry.

     “Well he’s got it.” He shrugged. “Do you think there are more of you running around out there?”

     I don’t think I’ve mentioned what happens when the power of a forgetting charm wears off. The emotion the charm erased is magnified tenfold. If it’s a happy memory, you will be elated. If the memory is sad, you will be distraught. If the memory makes you angry, you will be in a rage. Granted, the rage will only last a few minutes before you become aware of the present. But hope that no one is close enough to you while you’re back in that moment.

     There was no hope for Dr. Mercer. As soon as he said what he said, everything came back to me about Henry’s adoption—and he was the one who made me remember! It didn’t even take me a few minutes to rip out his heart and crush it in my hand. He was dead in less than thirty seconds.

     When I calmed down, I realized where Henry came from wasn’t important. My son is as safe as he can be and has a mother who loves him. Only now I was sitting on the lap of a dead man—and there was sand on my couch. But I knew what to do. I went upstairs and grabbed the chest with Graham’s heart. I opened the lid.

     “You will come here and help me remove Dr. Mercer’s body from my house. Then you will bury him in the woods. Then you will go home and forget about all of this. All you’ll know is Dr. Mercer left Storybrooke.”

     Within minutes, Graham was at my door. He loaded Dr. Mercer in his car. I rode with him into the woods and watched him bury the doctor. My desire to take over this world was buried with him.  We didn’t get back to my house until the sky was beginning to lighten.

     “It’s too bad Dr. Mercer had to leave Storybrooke.” He said as we reached my porch.

     “It is, Sheriff.” I waved goodbye and went inside. There was the doctor’s travel bag by the stairs. Beneath the apples and passport with a false name was a journal. I opened it and found hand-written notes by him of his progress with waking fever. There were records of blood types of all the people he tested. Most people had a C+ beside their “A”, “B”, “AB” or “O”. I flipped the pages until I found my son at the bottom of the list.

MILLS, HENRY    O+ / C-

Saturday, March 20th, 2004

     My son’s awake! Henry’s healthy and his fever is gone! Dr. Mercer really has done a miracle. It took a few days since he was treated, but he’s fine and so are Dr. Whale and Mr. Campbell.

     Previously, I’d allowed the doctor to come to my house to see my tree. He paced around it, examined the leaves and felt the ground with latex gloves covering his hands. After about an hour of this, he took some of my apples, leaves and scraped off a small piece of the trunk. Then he went back to the hospital. He didn’t speak to me again for four very long days.

     He called me before I’d left for work and I was at the hospital in minutes. Dr. Mercer brought me into his lab. It was actually Dr. Whale’s lab, but it was the best lab with the best equipment. And since Dr. Whale was unable to use it, it made sense to everyone on the hospital staff that he should. The doctor took me over to a microscope and had me look into it. I saw hundreds of little spider-like creatures. He said this was a very small slice of an apple from my tree, and there were probably millions of them on all of my apples. I had to take a step back.

     “So I gave my son waking fever?”

     “Not intentionally.” He sat back on a metal stool at the other end of the counter.

     “But he’s eaten apples from my tree before. How come he didn’t get sick then?”

     “I don’t know. If I had more time to study this, I may be able to find out why, but right now my job is to make your son and the other two men well.”

     It was still upsetting. How could I not have known? Intentional or not, it really was my fault Henry was hospitalized. Kurt probably had waking fever before I turned him into Mr. Campbell. Probably after I had him over for dinner all those years ago; he just wasn’t showing symptoms when I put the stasis charm on him. That also meant that Owen may have contracted the fever as well. A pang of guilt hit me and I wondered if he was even still alive.

     “But I’ve never heard of this tree causing it back home.”

     “Oh, you’re not from here?”

     “Well—technically, I’m—Portuguese.” That was far away. I was sure he hadn’t been there. “My family moved here when I was very little. They—brought the tree here.”

     “I’ve never heard of anything like waking fever occurring in Portugal.”

     “We were from a very small village. Hardly anyone’s heard of it—most Portuguese don’t know it’s there.”

     “Eu nao acredito em voce.” Bluff called.

       “Enough about me.” My dodge made him smile.

     “It’s possible that the organism that causes waking fever came from other sources, but perhaps when your family left Portugal, the organisms attached themselves to the apples of the tree. But I discovered the organisms aren’t on the leaves at all.” He rose from his stool and walked over with a glass dropper. “Look what happens when I add liquid from the leaves in with the apple.”

     He held the dropper over the slide and squeezed twice. When I looked into the microscope again, the little spiders wiggled and shrank away to nothing.

     “Come with me.” He grabbed a syringe and headed straight for Henry’s room. He was faster than me, and I didn’t even have a chance to voice my concern before he walked up to Henry’s bed and stuck the syringe in his arm. The potion was gone from the syringe in a second.

     “How do you know it will work on people?!”

     “It does.”

     “Then why didn’t you try it on Mr. Campbell or Dr. Whale first?”

     “I did.” He held a gloved hand to the door. “Go and check on Dr. Whale.”

     I didn’t want to leave my son, but Dr. Mercer led me to the room next door. He let me enter first. Dr. Whale was sitting up in his bed, calmly sipping a large plastic cup of water through a straw and watching Good Morning, Storybrooke on the TV on the wall in front of him. My gasp and cry of joy interrupted Dr. Whale from his sipping and pulled him away from his straw.

     “I can’t say as I’ve ever heard a woman be so happy to see me.” Dr. Whale sat his cup down. “Good morning, Mayor Mills.”

     “Good morning.” I couldn’t stop smiling or crying. “I’m just so happy, because if you’re healed, then my son will be too!”

     “That is good news.” He looked past me. “Who is my mysterious healer?”

     “May I introduce you to Dr. Mercer?” I held out my hands as Dr. Mercer stepped forward.

     Dr. Whale’s eyes grew wide, and I thought I detected Dr. Mercer pulling back. But then Dr. Whale’s surprised face eased into a smile and he held out his hand.

     “Pleased to meet you, doctor. Thank you for saving our lives.”

     This seemed to put Dr. Mercer at ease again, and the two shook hands. There was some small talk between the two about how Dr. Mercer figured it out before he left to get some sleep. Dr. Whale stopped me before I could leave as well.

     “How did you find him?”

     “On the internet.” I wiped my tears away with the heel of my hand and they finally stayed away. “Well, Kathryn did. It’s lucky we caught him. He was just returning from another country for a symposium in Boston. For a moment I thought you knew him.”

     “I do. Not personally, but I’ve also read about him on the internet. Although I think not the same article Kathryn did. I can’t stress this enough, but he should leave as soon as possible. Or better, get the sheriff and have him questioned.”

     “Why?”

     “There’s a reason he flew in from another country. He’s not allowed to practice here. His methods are shady, at best. He’s brilliant but careless.  He was stripped of his doctorate here in the U.S., but that doesn’t stop him from practicing in other countries that might look away from that sort of thing. It’s true that he has saved many lives, but a great many more are usually lost before he’s through.”

     “If he’s so terrible, how come he hasn’t been caught?”

     “There’s never been any conclusive evidence that he’s caused the death of so many people. But I would be worried about the lives of the people in this town.”

     “Do you think Henry’s in trouble?” I turned to go kill him.

     “No—“ Dr. Whale reached out his hand to stop me. “If I’m all right, Henry should be too. But my guess is he won’t be staying much longer. You need to do something.”

     He was right, and I already know what I want to do.