"I told you to stay off the boardwalk," the policeman whispers, nightclub firmly placed beneath the woman's neck. She adjusts her shoulders, long blonde curls pulling behind her. In as many times as the three nights they've been out here, the hefty police man offers them the same warning. She nods curtly. "Come on girls. Let's go."

It had been a minor scuffle. One of the jacked-up regulars didn't like his girlfriend getting hit on, and seemingly had no qualms about starting a physical altercation with a woman. The cop materialized when their leader hit back. They jumped off the carousel, shooting daggers through smiles at the "shaken" couple. Impatience only leads to mistakes.

The policeman walks back to his car later that night, the lights of the midway clicking off in succession as though following his footsteps. He makes his way through the empty parking lot, his nondescript Camry a hundred feet away. He whistles tunelessly under his breath, happy to put another shitty night of patrolling drunks and punk teenagers behind him.

Something unsettles him, but he doesn't turn around right away, instead quickening his step. Quicker, quicker, until he breaks out into a run. He finally looks behind him, eyes wide and filled with terror. He slams into the passenger side of his Camry, fumbling with a door he knows is locked. He screams into the midnight darkness, no one around but a lone seagull perched upon a telephone pole to hear him.

…

"No more Katy Perry, pleaaaaase," Emma shouts from her perch in the backseat. Mary Margaret and Ruby ignore her completely, singing along with "Hot N Cold" like they were on their way to spring break instead of moving to a completely unfamiliar part of the country. The U-Haul trailer hitched behind Mary Margaret's ancient truck bounced along behind them, squealing and swerving every time Mary Margaret touched the brakes.

Without much in the way of employment prospects in their sleepy little hometown in Maine, the three friends decided it might be the right time for a fresh start; new home, new life. Being broke didn't help. The fact that Ruby's grandmother offered them a chance to stay with her for a while to find decent jobs in the city, save up some money, and try to figure out what they wanted to do with their lives was too tempting to pass up.

Mary Margaret has her hopes set on a public teaching job; Ruby wants to be a chef, Emma is eyeing the law enforcement track. Fresh out of college and with no experience, Emma is aware that their sights might be set high, but there's a hell of a lot more opportunity in Santa Carla than Storybrooke.

They pull up to the address Ruby had plugged into the GPS, and all three of them hunch a little and stay silent as they make their way down the long dirt driveway. Native American wood sculptures, trailers, an ungodly amount of wind chimes, and what appears to be animal bones strung up and hung from a clothesline litter the landscape.

"Um, Ruby," Mary Margaret asks, clearing her throat. "Is this the right place?"

"I don't…know," she whispers. "Granny's always been the one to visit us. I've never actually been to her house before."

An old woman plows through the front screen door and stands on the porch, hands on her hips, waving frantically. Ruby gulps, and waves back through the windshield.

Mary Margaret parks, and stays put for a few moments. Emma gets out, stretches her legs, and walks up the stairs with Ruby.

"Hi Mrs. Lucas, I'm Emma," Emma offers, extending her hand.

Granny pulls her in for a tight hug, slapping her hand away. "No Mrs. Lucas bullshit; call me Granny."

"Okay, Granny," Emma laughs. "This is a…great…home."

"Yep, yes it is," Granny agrees, sweeping Ruby up in a grand hug. "I missed this little girl, right here. So glad you and your friends decided to stay here for a while."

Mary Margaret walks toward them, her pastel shirt wrinkled from the ride, her head buried in her phone. "Why is this called the 'Murder Capital of the World'?" she asks quietly, before recapturing her manners and introducing herself.

"Definitely some bad elements in certain parts," Granny nods, looking out at the open field next to the house. "Just don't leave the house at night, you won't have a problem." She smiles and heads into the house, ready to give the girls a tour.

Emma, Ruby, and Mary Margaret look at each other warily, wondering why in the hell no one had done much research before they upped and left the only home they had ever known. Ruby shrugged and smiled, almost guiltily, before following her grandmother into the house.

"Don't leave the house at night?" Mary Margaret repeats incredulously. "What does that even mean?"

Emma puts a hand on her arm, hoisting her bag higher up on her shoulder. "It's fine, Mary Margaret. She's not a kid anymore, I'm sure she gets spooked by a lot of things. And it's not like we have to live here forever. Let's take advantage of the free rent and warm air and live a little. "

"We're not kids anymore either, Emma. I'll be twenty-four next month. I have my Master's degree. I feel pathetic."

"Oh, stop. We'll be paying off student loans for the next fifty years of our lives, so again, let's take advantage of carefree living for a little while. Come on," she nudges her friend, finally getting her to crack a smile. They follow Ruby into the living room, where they are once again in a state of shock.

"Gran? Did you, um, take up a new hobby?" Ruby asks, eyes scanning every inch of the log-cabin style home.

"Hardly call it new. I've been dating the Widower Johnson for quite a while now, and he's animal control for these parts. He brings me the leftover road kill, I clean it up. It's very soothing."

Stuffed animals decorated most surfaces in the living room; the den held large pots of water for boiling, presumably, bones.

"Yeah, I'm out," Mary Margaret whispers to Emma, panic rising in her voice. "I'm going to see if someone will loan me the money for a plane ticket, because I just can't, I can't, I don't think I, I really just can't."

Emma nods, not sure whether to laugh or cry. "Hold it together. Really, it's just for a little while. She's not killing anything, Mary Margaret. These poor animals were already…dead. So she's just giving them a little dignity, right?" Emma tries, sounding like she's talking to a small child.

Ruby appears with three Mic Ultras, gladly accepted by everyone. "We'll unpack the truck in a little bit." She takes a long pull of her beer and sighs contentedly.

Granny's off in the kitchen, doing god knows what, while Mary Margaret whisper-yells at Ruby. "You told us she lived in a quaint four-bedroom log cabin! This is not quaint! This is not what California is supposed to look like! This is not a home away from home! This is fucking Deliverance!"

Emma and Ruby both just stare at their friend, who never curses unless serious shit is going down. This obviously qualifies.

"I didn't know! Granny told me she lived in a log cabin near the ocean and me and my friends were more than welcome to stay with her! Should I have asked if her house was littered with dead animals? Because you can sure-as-shit bet that I will be asking that of any future landlord!" Ruby's fists are clenched and her face is red.

"Guys. Guys." Emma interrupts, running her hand through her hair. "It's just different, not what we're used to. We'll adjust – it's not like we can pool our money and go grab a three-bedroom apartment in Bel-Air. Seriously, this is an amazing gesture on Granny's part, and we should just be gracious about it and try to make it work for a few months. Then we can revisit. Okay?" she asks, trying not to sound desperate.

Ruby nods easily, Mary Margaret sulks for a minute, before relenting and briefly nodding, complete with an air of unease.

…

Emma unpacks the last of her stuff, looking around her new bedroom. She nods, feeling like it is about as close to homey as she's going to get. She sits on her bed with the bared-teeth wolf comforter and smirks at Granny's choice of décor. It's a far cry from their apartment in Storybrooke, but sometimes different isn't always a bad thing. If she hadn't been searching for more, longing for more, she's sure they could have made it work one way or another. But if she didn't want to end up in a job that wasn't fulfilling, with the same people she'd known all her life up in her business, she knew this was a shot at something better.

"Come on," she says, poking her head into Ruby's room, where she and Mary Margaret are trying to figure out what to do with the stuffed owl Granny placed on her nightstand. "Let's go out."

"But Granny said," Mary Margaret cautioned, motioning to the night sky out the window.

"I'm sure she was just being protective. We're not going to spend every night locked up in the house after seven pm. I want to check out the boardwalk," Emma says, rolling her fingers for them to hurry up.

"I'm game," Ruby tells them, straightening her shirt in the oversized mirror above her dresser. Mary Margaret still doesn't look thrilled, but combs her hair anyway.

…

Loud music, carnival barkers, dings and bleeps from arcade games fill the atmosphere, giving the boardwalk a heightened sense of fun, though dread and danger seem to lurk just beneath the surface. It's not late, maybe a little after ten. The perception that something is about to happen crackles through the air, and Emma's awareness of her surroundings is amplified.

She looks around in wonder, Emma's been to amusement parks and carnivals many times in her life, but nothing quite like this, where it's a fixture, just part of the everyday scene. Roller coasters clamber down sky-high tracks, but the screams that usually accompany thrill rides are muted, if present at all. The carousel music sounds more haunting that playful, and she wonders if it's the lack of children. The ride is full, mostly with drunk people and frat boys and hardened locals.

"Let's go listen to the band," Ruby suggests, pulling Emma by the wrist. Mary Margaret is in tow, holding onto Ruby's shirt as they make their way through the crowd.

The lead singer plays the saxophone while Emma moves to the beat, scanning the audience for nothing in particular. Her eyes make a hard stop on a woman walking in front of them. She is quite possibly the most beautiful woman Emma has ever seen, in fact, Emma knows she's the most beautiful woman she's ever seen. Her dark hair floats just past her shoulders, her lacy tank-top hugs her curves in all the right ways, her full, blood-red lips beg to be kissed. She has an air of arrogance mixed with sadness. Emma's mouth is hanging open, just a little, until Ruby pushes her fingers under her chin to close it, smiling. Emma shakes her head slightly, clearing the cobwebs, while making sure not to lose sight of her. There she is again, standing near the stage, just under one of the oversize speakers. Her eyes are closed, she's moving languidly to the music, subtle and free. When she opens her eyes, they are directly on Emma's, who can't bear to look away, even though she feel like she has to or else she will drown in this stranger's depth right this very second. Emma swallows, everything around her fading into the background like she's the focus of a director's dolly shot. She keeps staring, deciding if she should will her legs to carry her forward. The woman turns slightly, keeping her gaze locked on Emma, before disappearing into the swaying crowd.