22. Wendy

Hook—Jas—is gazing at me with a smile and a kind gaze. He's handsome like an angel with his white-blond hair and grey eyes. His hand is firm around mine.

I've snapped. My courage is shattered. Can't stay on this island of lunatics a minute longer, even if Tink… even if what I'm seeing can't be real, even if it's all in my mind and Tink hasn't transformed into some kind of monster.

If it's all in my mind, then I need out, I need to wake up.

I think I hear Peter shouting something but I can't make out the words.

"Come," Jas says. "Let's get you home." He tugs on my hand and we step away from the four men staring at us, reaching for us. "You must have missed your family."

"I have."

"You must be worried sick about them."

I nod, then wonder if it's true—and why am I having doubts now?—but before I can think of anything else to say, Peter grabs my hand and pulls.

"No," he says.

"Let her go," Jas says. "Peter, let her go."

"Can't," Peter hisses between his teeth. "You know I can't. You let her go."

"Release her, Peter," Jas says, his jaw tightening. "Now."

"You heard him." I try to shake Peter's hand off. "Release me. Come on!"

"If you go back…" Peter's face twists in a grimace that looks like pain. "Then all will be lost."

"What do you mean?"

"He has a mission," Jas says, his gaze hardening, "don't you, Peter? To find the right Wendy."

"But right for what?" I insist.

"To save the world," Peter says.

"And that's me? I'm supposed to do that?"

"I don't know," Jas says. "Are you?"

"No way."

"Told you so," Jas tells Peter. "All this is bullshit. So, what's the harm in taking you back home, right?"

"Don't," Peter says again. "Don't do it, Hook."

"Great king you are," Jas mutters, his eyes narrowing. "Letting the Fae use you, not seeing the bigger picture. Condemning all your men to death."

"You're the one who doesn't see the bigger picture," Peter growls. "Wendy, don't go."

God, this is so confusing. They kidnapped me, kidnapped who knows how many other girls before me, and now they're all dead and buried.

Why would I stay?

"Jas," I breathe, "can you really get me home?"

His gray gaze flickers, softens. "Yes. I said so. I don't lie."

"Sure you can lie. You're not a Fae," Peter snarls. "No matter how badly you wish it."

"You think that's what I wish?" Jas says. "All this time, you think I've been fighting you for myself?"

"What then?"

"I'm trying to save you! All of you. And I'll do it if it kills me." His pale eyes darken. "Release her right now, Peter."

Peter blinks. His hand tightens more around mine. All color drains from his handsome face. "No, Jas. Don't do it. No!"

But something slams into him, throwing him back, and my hand… My hand begins to shimmer, turning ghost-like. It slips from his.

"No…" Peter whispers as he starts to fade, too.

"It's for the best," Jas says.

"You'll kill us, Hook," Colt says, his voice echoing. "She was supposed to be the one to save us and you're taking her away. Don't you see what you're doing?"

"Don't listen to them, Wendy," Jas says. "They're the ones who are blind."

"But…"

Everything is growing fainter and fainter—the trees, their faces. Their voices.

"Neverland will be swallowed by the sea," Peter says, his voice cracking. "The Mermaid Queen will take me. Wendy, wait!"

"I can't," I whisper, even if I feel my heart is breaking. "I can't wait, and I don't trust you."

With a curse, he pulls the chain with his pendant over his head and fumbles to get it over mine. "Wear this."

"What? No. I can't…"

But he manages to pull it over my head, the small acorn thumping against my collarbone, and then it all goes black.

* * *

I floatin the blackness for what feels like a long time—and yet I don't feel any panic. It's a warm and welcoming blackness, which makes no sense but there you go. Nice warm void.

It feels familiar.

It feels soft and comforting.

"Hey," a woman's voice says and my lashes lift in shock. "Feeling okay?"

"…Charlie?"

"What, you think I'd leave you home alone after the scare you had?" My friend is sitting on my bed, twirling a lock of her hair around a finger and smiling at me. "No way in hell, girly."

"It's you." I sit up so fast black edges my vision and my stomach roils. "Ugh…"

She frowns. "Why don't you lie back down and I bring you some hot soup I made, huh?"

"Soup?"

"I know, right? Hidden talents. I saw it on a TV show and decided to make it for you. It has chicken nuggets in it."

"Chicken… nuggets?"

"That's right." She smiles brightly. "Don't knock it till you've tried it."

"And I had… a scare?"

"Oh yeah. Don't you remember? You were attacked on the street by a crazy hooligan who tried to grab you. Wanted to rob you, I guess."

"I was?" I pat my bed, my quilts, needing to convince myself they're real, that I'm back in my room. The small white roses on the blue fabric are reassuringly familiar.

"You fainted. Kept saying that the man tried to kidnap you and that rescued you."

I look up. "Who?"

Charlie taps a finger against her lips, deep in thought. "You said… that it was the junkie from across the street. But…"

"But what?"

"You came home alone," she says. "And he's not around anymore. I haven't seen him all day."

The junkie.

That rings a bell.

But that's… that's all. A tiny bell in my mind. Hazy images hang in between my thoughts like sheets on which a projector is throwing fuzzy pictures—trees, a seashore, a house.

Faces.

Monsters.

"You had nightmares," Charlie says quietly. "You didn't want to go to the police, you said, you wanted to go to bed so I tucked you in. They seemed… bad."

"Yeah," I whisper.

"You kept calling out for me. Broke my heart."

"I did? It did?"

She giggles, then claps a hand over her mouth. "Sorry. It's not funny. You just… seem so shocked by everything I say."

I shrug. Pick at the corner of my quilt.

"Well, I'm buying you pepper spray and I'm sticking to your side until the police catch the pervert," Charlie declares, all signs of mirth fading. "And I called your work and they said to take the day off, no problem."

"And you…" I start, not even sure what I want to say.

I remember running—but not on the streets, not in a town but among trees, the sound of the sea crashing in my ears, a strong hand wrapped around my wrist, blue eyes flashing.

Then more faces—all of them handsome, some smiling, some scowling, lit up by jumping flames.

"You have to face your fears. Those who fear are lost."

Who said that?

Just dreams.

"I'm staying right here with you," Charlie says, breaking through my thoughts. "Now, I'm going to heat up the soup, okay?"

I nod, reaching for my pendant, an ingrained gesture of comfort—and my fingers close around an unfamiliar shape.

I look down at the golden pendant resting against my collarbone.

"Oh, nice pendant," Charlie says from the door. "I never noticed it before. Is that an acorn? Where did you get it?"

"I… don't remember."

A snarl, a flash of dark eyes."Wear this."

"How can you not remember?" Charlie asks.

"The cost is my memory… my soul."

God. It wasn't real. It can't have been. I was attacked on the street, that's what happened. Charlie has just explained it all to me. I've been here this whole time.

I'm in shock. I never met the Lost Boys and Hook. I never went to Neverland. My nightmares are all mixed up with stories I read as a child.

That has to be it.

Nightmares and memories given faces as I try to make sense of what happened, using a jagged storyline to frame them and give them meaning.

That's all.

Somehow as I slept, I linked events and symbols together, stringing them like beads on a necklace. I should write down all I remember in my dream log, before I forget it all. Maybe later they'll make more sense to me than they do now.

But the question remains… where did I get the acorn pendant?

And why does it feel so important?

* * *

I endup staying home for two more days with a fever.

Charlie diagnoses me with shock and maybe also a cold, and I don't argue with her. Her soup isn't all so bad and besides, all I want is to stay wrapped up in my blankets and try not to think and not to dream.

It mostly works.

But eventually I have to drag myself out of my cocoon and get back to work before I get fired. My boss already sounded pretty annoyed on the phone when I told him I needed more time. I guess supportiveness and business sense don't entirely go hand-in-hand.

So here I am, trudging through the gray morning to work—gray as the morning I was attacked, which I barely recall.

I still shiver as I cross the street, glancing over my shoulder, expecting someone to grab me at any moment—a fanged mouth, claws for hands, a beastly shadow flickering on the walls, hands holding me down—

"Wendy?"

I scream like a little girl, then twist around and run. I keep screaming as I go, almost crashing into a pole, then slipping in a puddle of water and falling.

Falling.

Still falling.

Suspended in mid-air.

A hand has grabbed my wrist in a steel grip, stopping me from crashing face-down to the sidewalk. A low voice says, "Wendy."

I stare up at him, my mind blank. "Do I know you?"

"It's me, Peter!"

Handsome face.

Dazzling blue eyes.

A powerful body.

Ink covering every bare inch of his skin and a thin black scar running from his ear down his neck, dipping into the V of his sweater.

It nags at me. Where have I seen it before? Where have I seen him before?

"You're the junkie," I whisper as it eventually comes to me. "From across the street."

A bark of a laugh escapes him. "That's all you remember of me?"

"What else?" But his hold on my wrist is eerily familiar. I frown down at it as he rights me, sets me back on my feet.

"Wendy, you have to remember," he says, his voice a deep rumble I feel in my bones.

"Remember what?"

"Neverland. The island. Us."

"I imagined it all," I whisper. "I dreamed it all up. It was a dream."

"No, it wasn't." He lifts his other hand, uncurls his fingers and something glints on his palm.

My silver thimble.

"Where did you get that?"

"You dropped it in the woods. I found it after you left. Please, Wendy, you have to remember. You have to come back."

"Come back? Are you crazy?"

"Maybe. Damn, I can't stay for long. I'm using the last of my strength to be here. Wendy, if you don't come back to us, we're all going to die. Everything you know will be gone, all the people you love, gone."

I laugh. "Nonsense. I don't even know who you are."

"I'm Peter Pan. And my friends are Tink, and the Twins. And do you remember Hook? He sent you back here."

"Hook," I whisper, frowning as I try to recall. "No, I…"

"Use the acorn I gave you." Peter takes my hand, wraps it around the golden acorn hanging around my neck. "Think of us. Think of the island. Remember, Wendy."

"Oh, God." I gasp as sharp shards of memory slice through me.

I remember pleasure.

I remember fear.

I remember pity.

"This acorn is your link to me," he says. "To us. Don't you want to help us?"

"You tied me up," I whisper, choking on fear and anger, shame and desire. "And used me."

His eyes darken. "You liked it," he breathes.

I want to deny it but something in me won't allow me to lie. Still… "You're monstrous. Your shadows… and the mermaids, the Reds… Hook…"

"You remember." He grins, and it transforms his face from handsome to breathtaking, like he's some king of old come to life. "Wendy, you're remembering!"

"Doesn't mean I want to go back," I mumble. "Here is my home. I have my family, my friends."

"Fuck." His lashes lower. "I see."

My heart clenches in my chest as I look at his bowed head. I remember… more. I remember how I felt around him, around them. The glimpses of who they really are, of vulnerability and pain, drawing me in.

But is it enough?

"If you change your mind," he whispers, "take the acorn in your hand and call out my name three times."

"That's all?"

His face flickers, like a projection, like he isn't really there. His hand over mine seems to lose density, to turn into fog and smoke, and that's familiar, too. "Say you believe in us, Wendy, and we will appear to you."

"This isn't a fairytale!"

"No, you're right, it isn't." His smile is tight and bitter and sharp like a blade when he lifts his eyes once more. "I don't believe in fairytales. But I, for one, believe in you."

"All of this has happened before, and it will all happen again."

― J.M. Barrie , Peter Pan