Clock Chimes

Chapter Five

STORYBROOKE, MAINE, 2022.
Four days before Emma's death.

Emma jerks herself awake, skin hot and slick, heart racing from a strange dream she no longer remembers. A buzzing sound distracts her, and her bleary eyes search the dim room, wondering lazily about the source of the noise, as well as attempting to slow her heart rate. It takes a good eight seconds to realize the soft buzzing is her phone on her nightstand, vibrating in periodic intervals every few seconds, signaling a call she's receiving.

Frowning, she picks up her phone, glancing at the clock next to her bed. It's barely six in the morning. She frowns deeper, sliding her thumb across the touchscreen to take the call without even looking at who it is.

"Emma?" It's her father's voice, sounding a strange mix of exhausted, stressed, worried, and overly awake for so early in the morning.

Emma sits up slowly, her head spinning slightly from lack of sleep, and careful not to wake her sleeping wife next to her. "Dad?" She asks, voice gravelly. She glances towards the brunette locks splayed across the pillows, watches the steady rise and fall of Regina's olive-toned chest. It calms her, grounds her. "What's...going on?" She queries almost hesitantly, knowing her father wouldn't call her at this time with an unspoken sense of urgency in his voice if it wasn't something important. And important in this damned town usually means the old "everyone's gonna die" bullshit.

"It's...look, is it too much to ask you to come down to the station at this time in the morning?"

Emma bites back a groan, already sliding out of the warm, inviting sheets. "No," she says slowly, reluctance clear in her voice.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry. But it's...Emma, I think something bad is going on." David confesses, and though it's unspoken, but Emma can tell he's scared. A lump forms in her throat, thinking back to her unsettling dream, her foggy mind, the wrong feeling in her gut.

"I'll be there in ten." Is all she says before she hangs up, and shoves herself into yesterday's jeans.

---

The Bug screeches to a halt as Emma sloppily parks, taking up more than her fair share of a space, and she sprints up to the station, bearclaw in one hand, and a coffee carrier in the other. She does her best not to look sheepish as she ducks inside, meeting her father's, as well as her deputy's, eyes.

"What? I need sustenance. I figured saving the world could wait five minutes for a stop at Granny's." Her father still looks on edge, but a smirk begins to play on the edge of his mouth. "Got you one," Emma offers up in a bribing tone, waving a to-go cup in his direction.

David crosses the distance between them easily with his long legs, large hand wrapping around the warmth of the cup. "Thanks," he snickers slightly, taking a small sip before wiping his pink lips with the back of his hand. "What makes you think we're saving the world?"

Emma fixes him with an unimpressed stare. "Come on. It's Storybrooke, it's six A.M., you're at the station. Something's going on." Then, growing serious, she drops her voice slightly. "I can feel it. My magic, it feels...weird." She confides, finally placing what feels so off about herself this morning. Her magic feels too antsy, too ready to use. Her magic usually gives her a gut feeling as well, and it's there, no mistake.

David sighs. "Look, I can't prove anything, but..." he signs, sitting down before running a hand over his face. He then opens a drawer and takes a ziplock bag out, extending it towards her. Frowning, she steps forward, collecting the bag in her hands. At first, she can't see anything. Then, at the left corner of the bag, there's a tiny amount of black dust inside.