In Storybrooke, Mr. Gold strives to be the man Bae used to love--until Belle is kidnapped to Neverland. If he resumes his Dark One powers to save her, can he control them? In the Enchanted Forest, Emma battles ogres, zombies and her ex to get back h...
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Captain Hook: Whatever story you think you know, my dear, is most certainly wrong. (Tallahassee).
The Dark One twisted his hand into a fist. Red smoke swirled around Smee like a nor'easter, and he felt himself shrinking. In a second, his arm was too small to grip the rusty tin, and it clanked on the ground. His navy blue peacoat, khaki pants, clean white polo, and beloved red cap hung loosely around him. Then they dropped away. With mounting terror, he could feel his back hunching while his elbows pushed backwards, and his knees pushed forwards. Suddenly, he dropped to all fours.
I'm buck naked, Smee thought, until he jerked his head from side-to-side and saw he'd grown a pelt of bristly, white-and-brown fur. That and the gleaming toes of the Dark One's black dress shoes were all he could make out. When he craned his head to look up, everything above the hem of his tormentor's black pants was a blur.
But now the dumpster's stench was stupefying—rotting potatoes, moldy leaves, rancid tuna sandwiches. Even so, he could pick out the sandalwood, burnt amber, and mint that was the Dark One. With a squeal, he scurried in the opposite direction, heading for the one invitingly tight space he could see: under the dumpster.
Reaching the sheltering darkness, Smee panted in quick, panicky bursts that wiggled his whiskers. Then he felt a sharp jerk on his butt. "Eek!" He'd grown a tail—and the Dark One was using it to drag him, squeaking and scrabbling, back into the open.
Next thing he knew, Smee was writhing in midair. Squirming upside down, he glimpsed his tormentor crouched on his good leg with his bum leg stretched out in front of him. The hand that wasn't dangling Smee was grasping the cane.
"I have some questions, dearie. Don't be shy. Unless a former sapient rat ambles by, your secrets will be safe with me. Provide the answers I require, and I may opt for mercy and not slam you against this dustbin until every bone in your little rat body shatters."
Smee went limp.
"Good. You understand the rules," said the Dark One. "I know you shot me, and I know you struck me with a car. The only thing you got for your troubles is proof I can't be killed. Yet tonight, you're following me. Who put you up to it?"
Below him, Smee could see the biscuit tin lying on its side, a line of white glowing along its lid. I'm done for. Then he had a brilliant idea. Play one against the other. Either way, he'd make out. If the scorching light won, it would no longer need his services. If the Dark One did, he'd be grateful Smee had alerted him to his enemy.
Smee's confession came out in hasty squeaks. "That box I was carrying. There's something in it. Something evil. Something that wants me to kidnap Miss Belle."
When the Dark One responded, Smee couldn't believe his incredibly acute rat ears: "Why would the butcher pay you to go after me? We've never done business."
