Ignorance is Bliss

Outside of Storybrooke—A few days ago

Pan lets out a small groan, looking around him in confusion. He knows this place and yet he doesn't at the same time, false memories swirling around in his head that only cause a migraine to form. Why was he here? Where the hell is here? Slowly and on shaky legs, he stands up and brushes ash off his pants. In front and behind him is nothing but a single stretch of highway and on his sides is nothing but forest. Something important just happened to him, why else would he be standing in the middle of nowhere when it's pitch black outside?

Had he gone and got drunk? No, he's not the type that likes to drink. Pan's memories seem hazy, like he should know things, but there's a huge fence up that keeps him from reaching them, too tall for him to peak over. He was even having trouble remembering his name. Is Pan even right? Something, a tiny voice on the other side of the fence, whispers that it is, but a closer, louder, voice screams that the memories beyond the fence are lies. Great, he's going nuts. That's all he needed after the stressful week he'd had— Wait, no, that's not right. His week should have been easy considering all he had to do was ensure food got from point A to point B. He's only a pizza delivery man, the most stressful thing in his life right now is wondering if the customer would answer the door with clothes on and planning to give him a generous tip.

So why did he keep remembering that he'd watched a play being choreographed and directed? Why did he keep remembering a girl with dark hair and bright blue eyes when his girlfriends normally have blonde hair and brown eyes? They have to be Australian too— no, that's wrong. What is up with him? Why does he have two lives in his head? There's the side that stick out most in his memory—a mild mannered young man that's always gotten good grades and never raised a fuss—and then there's the other personality that seems to be forcing itself to the surface—an evil imp obsessed with power and some kind of private island filled with other boys for him to rule over... And that girl again, the chubby one with the pretty features and sarcasm, the one that smelled like fresh rain. He shivers at the thought of her, knowing she had been important somehow yet unable to make a connection to anything in his life.

Something about a necklace? A broken one, expensive and heavy and nothing he would ever buy—hell, he couldn't afford it. Maybe she'd stolen it and that's why she stands out so much? That sounds about right, he'd seen her on the news and it happened to be raining at the time, so he'd connected the scent to her face. He nods a little, beginning to walk with his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. Still, why would he walk way out here in the middle of the night? Maybe he's sleepwalking again. Yeah, that's believable. His doctor had warned that it might start up again at any time. The wind picks up, freezing cold and holding winter's bite. That's weird, it's actually kind of humid tonight. He looks behind him again, expecting to see a giant wall of ice for some reason. He must have dreamed it and his body told him to wake up before he ran into the imaginary danger.

Yeah, that's all it is. After all, it's not like he's actually a dictator in real life. There's no such thing as magic, no giant walls of ice in Maine, and there's certainly no way he would date a girl like the one in his thoughts. She's just not his type. No, Isaiah Marks is a normal human being with a normal human life and job. He works at a pizza place downtown, has an apartment close to the community college, and a steady girlfriend named Tiffany that he's known all his life. She's beautiful, blonde, and brown-eyed with soft skin and a tanned complexion—she's his type, not some thief. His dream of magic and villains and heroes was just that.

Or was it...?