He's An Arrangement

December 18th, 17th, and October 6th, 2013

December 18th-Emma

I was dizzy when I went to sleep, but I hadn't said anything to Killian. I kissed him and fell back against the pillows. What I would do to go back and tell him I didn't feel good. I had dozed off as soon as my eyes shut because the room was spinning.

A date-rape drug. Like he was some college student trying to get into my pants. No, he's a dangerous, grown-ass criminal.

When will Killian notice I'm gone? What will the police believe? Will anyone look for me?

I shook the thought from my head and looked over myself. Blood fell from my shoulder, but I didn't complain. I have food in my stomach, and I can breathe normally. The metal is starting to rub against my wrist, but there's not much I can do for that. The duct tape across my mouth was curling at the edges, as I could tell from the mirror on the other end of the room. Placed there thanks to Neal. I'm a disaster. Crimson stained my pale skin, and bruises all over my face. A blanket covered the rest of my body, my hair pulled back in a ponytail.

He slept soundly next to me. How does a monster like him sleep?

I wouldn't be able to, but maybe this makes him proud. My suffering makes him happy.

December 17th

"We just need a simple description, with a few specific details. What's her ring look like?"

"She doesn't have it on," I answered, rocking Evelyn in my arms. As I had discovered at the loft, everyone but Mary Margaret was drunk. And she was vomiting into the toilet due to morning sickness, so Evelyn and I are both in here together, at four in the morning talking about my missing "fiancee".

"Emma has a tattoo on her right wrist, a flower with five petals. And a scar down her hip," I recalled, wishing I could run my hand down it right now, "Blonde hair, green eyes. Small, she's tiny."

He nodded, scribbling words in a notebook. Can he even read his own handwriting, "Can you give me a height, we can't seem to find medical records."

"She was in the foster system and moved from Boston a few years ago. Emma is five foot, five inches," I tried to stay calm, my foot tapping rapidly underneath the table.

"How long have you known her for, Mr. Jones?"

I clenched my eyes shut. I'm twenty-seven now, we met when I was in my last year of college. I got a chance to study abroad, in Boston, "Four years, I've known her for four years."

He wrote that down too, then placed both his fist on the desk and leaned in close, "A lot of the times, these cases lead back to the person that called in, so I'm going to give you a chance. Did you do anything to Emma Swan?"

I clenched my teeth at the assumption. I must look suspicious. A dead wife? A quick move to America, where I have already found a new woman to drool over. Heck, the only reason I can stay here is that Emma's sponsoring me.  I've got an underweight baby hiding in my arms, with an unshaved face and pajama pants, "I would never do anything to my love," I said simply, knowing he wouldn't believe me.

I'm his number one suspect.

"I'll be honest, Mr. Jones. I'm not all too concerned for Ms. Swan, here," he sat back in his chair, "It seems to me that she didn't' want to help with that baby there," he pointed a fat finger to Evelyn, "and ran away. This is common, a young woman running away and starting over."

"Emma doesn't run away," I whispered, even though she does. She ran away when she was eighteen. She and Neal ran away again, to Tallahassee.

October 6th, 2013