Chapter 16. The Tree

CHAPTER 16

The Tree

Plants and ferns flanked the tire-worn path. Wendy and Peter followed until it branched off and faded into the trees. “We just need to keep heading north,” Peter said, his eyes sweeping back and forth. “We should cross one of these trails and then hit the creek.”

“We also need to be on the lookout for the search parties,” Wendy added, coming to a stop at Peter’s side. “I don’t know how long it’ll take them to comb through the woods, but they’re starting on the northern side and working south. It would be bad if we ran into them halfway,” she said, tucking the map into her bag. “Especially if we haven’t found the tree yet.”

“We should be able to hear them from pretty far off,” Peter said. He jerked his head and gave Wendy a small grin. “Come on.”

Long grass gently slapped Wendy’s legs as they moved deeper into the forest. She could feel the prickle of sunburn on her shoulders as the hot summer sun streamed through the trees. The air smelled of sweet cedar and tangy sap beading on bark. Black beetles bumbled over logs and the sharp cry of hunting birds sounded overhead. The sound of Peter and Wendy traversing the landscape joined the chorus.

Wendy frowned. She watched Peter navigate the fallen logs and underbrush and it occurred to her that he wasn’t moving with the same ease as he had last time they were in the woods. Peter kept his eyes trained on the ground, his footfalls as heavy as hers. He used to be so at home in nature, but now he was as unbalanced as she was.

Maybe it was because of his drastic growth spurts? He was almost a head taller than her now. His arms and legs were noticeably longer, and his movements made it seem like he was still getting used to them. The way he walked reminded her of a newborn deer trying to find its balance.

Following him closely, Wendy watched as he moved through the woods. Tendons stretched up his forearms, swelling at his biceps before disappearing under the sleeves of his T-shirt. She could see the muscles of his back shift and flex under the material. The sunlight filtering through the trees caught the red streaks in his auburn hair. A small trickle of sweat ran down the nape of his neck and disappeared into the collar of his shirt. His full lips were parted, his breaths a steady rhythm.

Wendy’s face grew unbearably hot and she cut her eyes away. She frowned at the ground. These changes Peter was going through were … distracting. And frustrating. Wendy was used to seeing guys in Speedos at swim practice. She was no stranger to the human anatomy of a teenage boy. Wendy was largely unaffected by it, and barely batted an eye when her teammates tried to flex and show off. Peter shouldn’t be any different. She just needed to get a grip. She was irritated with herself for being so flustered. There were important matters at hand, things she needed to focus on.

It was while she was staring determinedly at the ground that she realized Peter wasn’t wearing shoes.

“Peter, where are your shoes?” she asked.

“My feet got too big. They don’t fit anymore,” he told her with a shrug, as if walking through the woods barefoot was a perfectly reasonable solution.

“How does that not hurt?” she asked, face screwing up in confusion. She could hardly stand walking across the cement of her backyard to throw out the trash without flip-flops on.

“It’s not a big deal. I didn’t wear shoes in Neverland,” he pointed out, glancing at her with a raised eyebrow. “I’ve got some pretty serious calluses.” Peter’s lips teased a grin.

“Okay, but you’re here now,” she said. “You’ll call attention to yourself walking around without any shoes on.” If people saw him, they’d probably think he was a transient, or maybe even a runaway.

Peter blinked. “Oh. I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Should we stop by the hunting shack and get you another pair?” she asked. “You won’t be able to go back to it after today.” Which was another distressing thought. Another problem on their ever-growing list that needed a solution.

“I don’t have any more shoes that fit.” Peter still didn’t seem very worried. “I could try looking around the neighborhood for a pair,” he considered.

“No,” Wendy said firmly. “No stealing. The last thing we need is someone seeing you steal a pair of tennis shoes off their back porch.” Wendy racked her brain, trying to come up with a solution. The idea of taking Peter to go shopping for new shoes felt ridiculous. She couldn’t even picture him standing in the middle of a Fred Meyer. It’d be like seeing Bigfoot in a hipster café: wrong and laughable. “My dad has some old tennis shoes lying around you could try on?” They were probably too big, but at this rate, Peter would fit them fine in a matter of days. It gave her little comfort.

Peter nodded in agreement. His eyebrows pinched together. He looked bothered by something, but he didn’t say anything, and Wendy thought it best not to ask. There was tension in the air and heaviness between them.

Maybe he knew what she was thinking already.

Wendy spent so much time thinking about how all of this was affecting her, she hadn’t spent much time considering how Peter felt. It must be frightening, to be so far from his home, and alone. Except for Wendy, but she doubted that brought Peter much comfort. It must have been wearing on him to be holding the safety of all those kids on his shoulders. Not to mention, to be so unsure of his own fate. It made her chest ache to think about him going through that alone. How had she let herself get so caught up in her own nightmares that she didn’t consider what this was doing to him? Looking at him now, the effects seemed clear on his face, in the dark circles under his eyes and the way the corners of his lips tugged down when he wasn’t paying attention.

She wanted to reach out and touch him, to tell him that it would be okay and they would figure it out. But would he hear the doubt in her voice? Wendy chewed on her bottom lip. What did Peter have to keep the darkness away? After they got out of these woods, she would figure out how to keep him safe.

They crossed the first trail, which was just some gravel on hard dirt, pounded into place by logging trucks. The creek was a short hike past that, and they followed it downstream, sloping deeper into the woods. She started trailing closer to Peter again, but, this time, she was more careful not to step on him. The woods were vast. Even with a guided plan, it was a lot of ground to cover. Not to mention, the terrain became rough, which slowed Wendy and their progress.

The farther they went, the quieter the woods became. There were no more birds chirping or chipmunks scrabbling their claws against trees as they chased one another. The only sound left was the bubbling of water in the creek.

“Do you miss Neverland?” Wendy asked, wanting to break the eerie quiet.

Peter tilted his head back, looking up into the boughs of the trees as he considered her question. “Sort of. It’s a lot nicer there,” he said. “I miss the beaches, playing games with the lost kids, being able to spend all day just lounging in a hammock by the waterfall,” he said in a far-off tone with a sigh.

“That definitely sounds better than trudging through the woods, looking for your shadow with me,” Wendy agreed with an airy laugh. “How terribly dull Oregon must be in comparison to Neverland.”

“It’s not that bad. Being here has its perks.” He nudged his shoulder into Wendy’s. She pressed her lips together as they threatened to quirk into a smile. “What I really miss is being able to fly. This body”—he looked down at himself—“just feels weird.”

Wendy trained her eyes on Peter’s face, actively keeping herself from taking inventory. Again.

“What do you think started all of this in the first place?” she asked. “Losing your magic and growing up, I mean?”

“I don’t really know,” Peter confessed. “I just assume the shadow did it, but it did only start when you came to Neverland with me…” He squinted, giving Wendy a curious look. “This has something to do with you, but I’m not sure what.”

“Do you have a plan?” Wendy asked. “For when we find it? How are we going to…” Wendy struggled to find the right word. “Stick it back on?”

“Well, we’ll need to weaken it somehow. And then you can sew it back on!”

Wendy looked at him. That wasn’t much of a plan. She was a decent seamstress. One of the doctors at the hospital had even showed her and Jordan how to do basic surgical stitches on an orange, but how would it work with a shadow?

Suddenly, Peter jerked to look over his shoulder. Wendy’s gaze followed, but she didn’t see anything in the mix of greens and browns.

A shiver ran from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She edged closer to Peter and twisted her fingers into the back of his shirt. She looked between Peter’s sharp expression and the unmoving trees. “What is it?” she asked.

The woods were getting darker as the trees grew closer together, blocking out the sunlight from above the canopy of branches. When had it become so cold? She moved still closer to him, her shoulder pressing into his warm back.

Peter kept staring into the distance, standing still as the silent trees. Fear swelled in Wendy’s body and thrummed through her veins. She tugged on his shirt. “Peter?” Was he even breathing?

“I thought I heard something,” Peter murmured. He tilted his head, listening to something Wendy couldn’t hear over the pounding of her own heart. After a moment, he gave his head a small shake and sighed, though his shoulders remained tense. “It was nothing.”

A nervous laugh escaped her tight throat. “I thought you weren’t afraid of anything,” she said in an attempt to ease the tension.

Peter only looked at her. When he started walking again, she let the material of his shirt slip through her fingers. “What’ll happen if we can’t do it?” Wendy asked, rooted to the spot, hands clenched into fists at her sides.

Peter turned. His hard expression softened. “My magic is supposed to keep me young forever so that I can help lost kids find their way,” he said. “If I keep growing up, then I lose my magic, and I can’t fly or find those kids or take them to Neverland with me. Without me, there’d be no one to guide them. They’d just…” His shoulder lifted in a shrug. “Stay lost.”

Wendy wanted to ask what that meant, but the prickling on the back of her neck pulled her attention.

Peter must have felt it, too, because his body tensed and his blue eyes darted around them.

A long silence stretched. Wendy’s skin crawled.

“Do the lost kids stay in Neverland forever?” Wendy asked. Maybe if she just kept talking, the feeling would go away.

Something breathed against her neck, like a quiet whisper. Wendy jumped and spun around.

Only motionless trees stood, flanked and waiting, as far as her eyes could see.

A dense and heavy silence hung in the air. It was like she was underwater. The air felt like it was pressing against her skin, and her ears needed to pop.

“Sometimes.” The air shifted behind her. Peter’s warmth pressed between her shoulder blades. “But most of them are able to find their way and move on,” he said, his voice low.

Wendy’s breaths came short and quick. The sleeping creature, nestled between her ribs and spine, began to wake and tremble.

Her hand went to the acorn around her neck. “I think we’re close,” she murmured, squeezing it tight in her palm. A sense of déjà vu, a ghost of a memory, teased at the edge of her mind.

Peter moved to her side. His bare arm pressed against hers for once provided no ease. His eyes were alert and sharp.

“Can you feel it, too?” Wendy breathed in barely a whisper.

Peter nodded slowly. “Maybe we should leave, Wendy,” he said quietly, as if trying not to wake up the trees. His hand slipped into hers, warm and calloused.

Wendy heard the whisper again, this time louder but still indecipherable. She couldn’t tell which direction it came from. Her heart thudded against her chest.

Wendy took a step back. Peter’s hand gave hers a squeeze.

A soft sob above Wendy’s head sent her neck snapping back. She stared up into the boughs trying to spot something, she didn’t know what.

“Can you hear them?” she asked Peter. Quiet sniffles. A far-off cry. “They’re getting louder. I think they’re coming from over here…” She pulled on Peter’s hand, taking a tentative step in the direction where the voices seemed to be louder.

When he didn’t respond or move, Wendy tore her eyes away from the woods to look at him.

Peter was still as a statue. The color had drained from his face. His eyes were wide, staring at something behind her. His hand was limp in hers.

There was buzzing in the air, hanging over her shoulders. Every muscle in her body coiled in a burning sear. She let out a rattling breath. It billowed through her lips in a white cloud.

Peter’s grip on her hand tightened again. “Wendy, get away from it,” Peter said, his eyes still locked on the space behind her shoulder. He said it quietly, but it might as well have been a shout in the silent woods.

Wendy slowly turned.

Behind her stood the tree. Its thick trunk twisted upward and split off into jagged, bare branches. They loomed above, sharp fingers reaching out. The tree’s bark stood out in stark contrast to the others: ghostly pale compared to their rich greens and browns. Gnarled roots knotted and churned through the underbrush. The air smelled of rotting leaves and dirt.

The woods hummed. The hair on her arms stood on end. She could hear the voices growing louder now. A swirl of whispers and gentle weeping. They were coming from the tree. No, from the roots that curled and sank into the earth, making small cages and gaping holes. A wind picked up and rustled the leaves. The voices grew louder, more frightened.

Wendy took a step closer, taking her hand from Peter’s grasp and reaching for the tree. The whispers coaxed and warned her. Was there something there? Hidden under the roots, in the dirt?

The voices grew harsh.

“There’s something there,” Wendy mumbled. She leaned down but suddenly Peter stepped in front of her. His large hands gripped her arms.

“We need to get out of here.” His expression was all taut muscles and hard lines. His eyes pleaded with her to listen.

“He’s right, you know.” The lazy voice floated down to them through the trees.

Wendy and Peter both craned their necks back.

Lounging on a thick branch, with its back against the tree, was the shadow.

She could clearly make out all its features. It was a haunted, distorted version of Peter. Instead of having his warm hair that shone in the sun, its hair was like shiny black oil. Its nose and chin were pointy and severe. Its skin was pale white, its eyes hollow and black. They seemed to suck in all the light from around them. Its thin lips twisted into a cruel smile, revealing unnaturally white teeth. It was made of sharp angles, cheekbones and a jawline she could cut herself on.

In every way that Peter was bright and warm, the shadow was dark and twisted.

It looked as solid and real as Peter now. “You should really be more careful—there’s no telling what you’ll find in these woods.” It curled a dead leaf between its pale fingers.

Wendy’s blood stuttered in her veins, but surging anger pushed her forward. “Let them go,” Wendy demanded, trying to pull herself free of Peter’s grasp.

The shadow laughed and dissolved, spilling down the tree like a heavy black fog. It was a deep, rumbling laugh that reverberated through her bones. The shadow pooled on the ground before her and materialized back into its human form.

“Let who go?” it drawled.

Peter stepped forward. “You need to stop this,” he said, voice firm. “Let the kids go.” Peter drew his hand through the air. With an explosion of light, the sword materialized in Peter’s grasp. With his shoulders squared, Peter faced the shadow. The sword sparked and shone, a weapon made up of tiny golden particles. But then it started to flicker.

The shadow leaned its head back and let out a sharp, barklike laugh that echoed through the trees. “Oh, Peter,” it purred. “Do you really think you can stop me?” it asked with a wide grin.

Peter gripped the hilt with both hands. The sword surged with energy and glowed bright, but only for a moment before it started to wane and fade out. Peter’s knuckles blanched as he aimed the blade at the shadow. “I’m warning you,” he growled through gritted teeth.

“Oh dear.” The shadow’s mouth split at an unnatural angle. “Are you having some difficulty performing?” it asked. “You’ve hardly any fight left in you, Peter.” The shadow reached out and flicked the edge of the sword. Like a lightbulb, it blinked out of existence, dissolving into a quickly disappearing pile of sparks at Peter’s feet.

Peter’s shoulders went rigid. His hands clenched into fists at his side.

“Soon, all your magic will drain from your body, and not even you, the great Peter Pan, will be able to stop me,” it said in a singsong tone, twirling its long fingers in the air.

Wendy shook and her eyes stung, but she wouldn’t let herself run away. This was it. This was the thing that had taken her brothers from her and was keeping them captive. It was the thing keeping them apart. Wendy surged forward, trying to push past Peter. “Let them go!” she shouted.

The shadow’s attention shifted to her. “Wendy,” it breathed. “So nice of you to join us this time.” The shadow sucked in a deep, rattling breath. Its eyes rolled into the back of its head, eyelids twitching. “Mmm,” it hummed before looking at her with sharklike focus. “You are delicious, aren’t you?” The shadow’s smile split its face in half. “All that fear and guilt just streaming from you.” It chuckled. “It’s nearly overwhelming!”

She might have been afraid, but anger boiled through the ice in her veins. “Where are my brothers?” Wendy tried to move in, but Peter held an arm out, keeping her back. She wanted to rip and claw that grin off the shadow’s face.

It let out deep, booming laughs. “They’re here, of course!” It held its hands aloft, gesturing around them.

Wendy gritted her teeth together. What game was it trying to play?

“Don’t you remember, Wendy?” it asked, observing her curiously, twisting its head this way and that. It started walking in a slow circle around Wendy and Peter.

“What are you talking about?” she demanded. She couldn’t trust anything it said. It was probably just trying to manipulate her, to trick them. Wendy knew it fed off negative energy—she couldn’t let it get the better of her.

The shadow feigned a look of surprise. “Why, this is where dear Peter found you and your brothers!”

An electric shock ran through Wendy’s body. Caught off guard, she felt her resolve waver. Wendy glanced in Peter’s direction, unwilling to let the shadow distract her. “Is that true?” she asked him.

Peter gave a curt nod, eyes still locked on the shadow. He was poised, ready to lunge, a smoldering glower on his face.

Was that why she kept drawing the tree? Why she had seen it the other night in her dream? Was it some sort of muscle memory that kept coming back to her, that had brought her here? This was where Peter had found her. It was where she and her brothers had gone missing. Where her living nightmare over the past five years had begun.

Wendy turned back to the shadow. “Where are my brothers?” she repeated, losing her patience and composure.

Its eyebrows arched high, wrinkling its forehead. “Hasn’t Peter told you?” Its bright white teeth dragged over its bottom lip in amusement.

“He told me you have them, and all the other kids who have gone missing from town,” Wendy seethed through gritted teeth.

The shadow broke into another round of rumbling laughter that Wendy felt in her bones. After a long moment, they died down and it looked at her. “You’ll never see them again, Wendy,” he told her quietly with a smile.

A sudden burst of rage and anguish cut through Wendy like a knife. She lunged for the shadow, but it collapsed into a pool of black and dissipated into the woods, leaving echoes of laughter in its wake.

“No!” Wendy shouted. She wouldn’t let it get away, not now, they needed to stop it, she needed to get her brothers back. Wendy made to chase after it, but Peter grabbed her from behind.

“Wendy, stop!” Peter said, his breath harsh against the side of her neck. He locked his arms tightly around her middle, pulling her against him, lifting her off her feet.

Wendy struggled and thrashed. She kicked her feet out and tried to yank herself away from him, but he didn’t budge.

“Let me go!” she screamed into the woods. She pushed at his arms and attempted to jerk herself from his grip. “I need to stop it!” she yelled. She pounded her fists against his arms. “I have to get them back. I have to get my brothers back!” She was shaking now. “John and Michael, I have to get them back!” Her voice cracked and wailed. She felt like she had been broken in two. Her body ached all over, the longing for her brothers coursing through her skin. There was a gaping hole in her stomach.

“It’s gone, Wendy,” Peter said in her ear.

Wendy wanted to shout at Peter, but when she sucked in a breath, a wobbly sob choked her. Wendy’s legs gave out from under her, but Peter held her tight, keeping her close. She doubled over in Peter’s arms. Uncontrollable wails ripped through her throat. Sobs wracked her body.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Peter said gently into her ear, trying to coax her down, his cheek pressed against her hair. His words were as shaky as her hands.

She had failed them. Again.

The guilt and grief were all-consuming. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t pull herself out of it.

Under the cries of her mourning, Wendy could’ve sworn she could hear far-off chuckling.

Wendy twisted in Peter’s arms, burying her face in his shoulder. She balled his shirt into her fists and bawled with abandon.

Peter’s body tensed at first, but then his muscles relaxed. He placed one hand on the back of her neck and the other on the small of her back, pulling her closer. He tucked the top of her head under his chin.

The shadow had been right there in front of them. They should’ve stopped it. They should’ve done something. Wendy should’ve stopped it. That was why she was here, that was what she was supposed to do, but she hadn’t. She couldn’t—she didn’t know how. The thing that was holding John and Michael captive had been right in front of her, but she was still no closer to saving them.

Wendy didn’t know how long they stood there. She would start to calm down, but then she would think of her brothers scared in some dark room together, or Alex alone and crying in the woods, or the little girl, Ashley, being tormented by the shadow, and a new wave of guilt would consume her.

But Peter remained, holding on to her and occasionally speaking softly in her ear, “It’s going to be okay. We’ll find the missing kids. We’ll figure this out. Wendy, it will be okay.”

Eventually, the crying subsided into intermittent hiccups. Maybe she had finally cried out all the tears left in her, or her body just didn’t have the strength to keep it up. Every sob and ache drained Wendy of her energy to fight. The very air seemed to be weighing on her shoulders. She was exhausted and defeated.

The only comfort was the radiating warmth of Peter as she huddled against him. When she finally pulled back, the front of his shirt was soaked with her tears and snot. She rubbed her nose off on the back of her hand and tried to wipe the wetness from her cheeks. Her eyes stung. Everything was blurry. Her whole body ached with grief.

“Let’s get out of here,” Peter said gently. He tucked some of her hair behind her ear. “It’s getting late. We don’t want to run into the search crews…”

Wendy could only nod in agreement as she wiped her nose on her arm. She started to follow Peter, fingers lacing with his, but as she left the clearing, Wendy couldn’t help sparing one last look at the tree.

It stood there, silent and gray as stone. All trace of the whispers had vanished.