by Nikki Hyson
“You’re just as real now as you were in life. Don’t let anyone tell you different. If love born of the heart is real, then so are you.”
Stephan hesitated, visibly struggling. “Lily.” He rose, taking a step down towards her. Then another.
Lily looked up. “Time.”
James watched Stephan fade slowly from sight.
Was this how it had been between him and Barrie? Had he stood at his elbow while Barrie wrote? That wasn’t what all the stories said. He should know. He’d read everything. The stories all started and ended with the Pan. They’d been for the boys and about the boys. He, Hook, had always been secondary.
James rotated his flesh and blood hand, studying the lines crossing it. “What am I?” How had he come to be? Whose memories did he carry? “Who am I?”
His hand filled with the coolness of Lily’s fingers. She sat on the step beside him, pushing into his shoulder.
“I must look a madman,” he admitted. “Sitting all alone. Talking to myself.”
“Only a little. You going to tell me what’s wrong?”
“I wouldn’t even know how.”
Lily rested her head against his shoulder. “I find the beginning is generally the best place to start.”
James opened his mouth. Shut it again as a lump formed deep in his throat. She waited. He said nothing. To tell her one truth would raise questions he didn’t want to answer. Not yet.
“Not today.” He didn’t want to lose the tenderness in her eyes when she looked at him. He knew. Damn it all I know. James forced down the lump. “Please, not today.” Things will never be the same once I tell her everything.
“James, you know I’m your friend, don’t you?”
“I know.”
“Then you should also know that my allegiances aren’t easily swayed.”
Passing his thumb over the back of her hand, the words were hoarse in his throat. “I know.”
“Good.” She squeezed his arm tightly. Letting him go, she tilted her head towards one of the snack tables. “Would you like something to eat or drink?”
“If I have tea on every break I’ll be swimming by noon.”
“I already am,” Lily laughed and stood. “You going to vanish on me the second I turn away?”
“No. I’m here for all of it. Cris gave me the day off.”
Her look hinted at what thoughts swirled regarding the Count. “Really?” Her tone implied little more. “Kind of him.”
“Actually, it is. Go on,” he urged when she still hadn’t moved. “I’ll be here when you get back.”
She smiled, heading off down the hall with a half dozen others.
“How are the bees?”
Agnes stopped at the foot of the stair with a few crackers in one hand and a new friend in tow. James offered his best smile. “Quite well. And what is Katie up to?”
“Climbing trees. In a dress.” She shook her head with a laugh. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with that child.”
“Just love her, I would imagine.”
Agnes’ eyes widened with approval. “Why yes. Exactly so. I can see why Lily likes you so well.” James opened his mouth to contradict but Agnes moved on, dragging her new friend to the forefront. “This is Kyle.” It was the bespectacled teenager with the cat companion. “He writes about a racing stable from the POV of the stable mate. You’ll never guess what it is. A cat. Kyle, this is James. He writes about honey bees.”
Kyle appeared less than thrilled to be out of his corner. Shoes shuffling slowly back and forth, he nodded. “Hey.”
“Nice to meet you, Kyle,” James said. “A cat? Great hook.”
The boy blushed to the roots of his hair. “Thanks.”
Agnes exchanged a smile with James. Her arm remained linked with the boy’s so he couldn’t escape. Mouthing silent thanks, she led Kyle away.
Some minutes passed between one random thought and the thousand others chasing through James’ mind. Lily’s voice, calling everyone to order, broke this spell. “Sixty seconds,” she added, her feet drawing even with his lowered gaze. She didn’t wait for him to look up. Squatting down, her hands rested on his knees for balance. “Thank you.”
“Whatever for?”
“For sticking around. I promise you’ve nearly seen me at my worst. November must be a hard time to get to know me.”
“I don’t think—”
“—James. I know you and Dah lied. I know—“
“—Lily. Don’t.”
“We’re going to get you away from that Guild. You’re going to have a life where you choose your own path.”
Tears burned the corners of his eyes. No matter the cost. “It isn’t that easy.” I will protect her from this.
“I would’ve been rather disappointed if it was.” Lily stood. “Have to go.”
James nodded, catching her hand and giving it a squeeze. “Thank you.”
“We’ll get this sorted,” she promised.
27
James watched Lily’s hand start its decisive path across the paper. He never doubted she’d do anything, give everything, to keep her promise. He couldn’t let that happen.
Hesitation fled his body, regret draining away with it. He knew what must be done. She needed a way to leave him without looking back. She needed to know the truth. In the end, so did he.
Hand passing over the journal’s cover one last time, James opened it to the ribbon marker. Pulling a pen from his coat pocket, he uncapped the nib.
Minutes ticked by. Stephan came down the stairs, his eyes ever drawn to Lily, yet he refused to leave the steps.
James didn’t look up. Lost within a forgotten world, he slowly recalled to life a man who could be at home in Peter Pan’s living room. A man incapable of seeing a puppy locked into a painting. Captain Hook was a shadow, a cloak draped over James’ true self. Nothing more. As he wrote, James remembered. The more he remembered, the faster he wrote.
The write-in marched on. Stephan came and went; the quarter hours slipping by. Never once did he join Lily. Never once did he miss her moments with pen and paper.
Breaks passed. None dared disturb the man on the stair whose hand flew and never looked up. Not even Lily. She, intuitive little creature that she was, probably understood better than James did. A lancing of festering wounds. A running of blood until the infection drained away. He didn’t wonder over it. He didn’t stop. The pages just filled.
The crowd roared repeatedly as the day wore on, one writer after another claiming victory on the elusive fifty thousand mark. The silences afterwards felt even more penetrating, those closest to the finish line determined to cross before the next break, or the one after. Keyboards rattled with intensity, necks cricking and shoulders bowing under the pressure.
Hand cramped, back stiff, the pen slipped from James’ fingers. He re-read the last of what he had set down:
James lay in his bed, strength nearly gone except for the grip of his best friend’s hand. Studying Barrie’s tear filled eyes, he understood regret. He’d always wished for things he could never have. The reminder raised thoughts of Anne to his mind’s eye.
Anne’s golden hair, worried free from too many pins. He didn’t see the tears shining in her eyes the last time she’d looked at him. He didn’t see the wedding that wasn’t to him. He didn’t see—so much.
He should have never made her cry.
“I’ll put you in a book,” Barrie said, drawing him back to the present and this slow, tedious business of dying. “You’ll be the hero.”
“No,” James said. Regaining focus, staring into the earnest, unlined face. “If I must be anything, make me a villain. Give me a pirate’s heart so the world can see me for what I am.”
“James, she never blamed you. Not once.”
“No.” He closed his eyes, each breath harder to draw. “But she should have.”
Instinct prompted him to fight, to live, but he was so weary of this life. Forty-two years old and he was done with it. His th
oughts grew lighter, dispersing until only one remained. Just one.
Sucking in a last breath. “Barrie.” He opened his eyes. “Promise me.”
“Anything.”
“Make it a cracking good yarn.”
Barrie smiled, tears sliding down his cheeks. “I promise.”
Closing the nearly full journal, James released a sigh that wound back through years. “I took your name, Anne. When they told me to pick a surname, I chose yours. Crawford. I didn’t even know.” The words passed over his lips with a prayer’s soft reverence. All the puzzle pieces finally fit together.
“Better?”
All the pieces except one. Neck little more than cords of snarled energy, James lifted his head and winced. Why Lily? What had drawn them together?
She sat beside him, arms draping loosely upon her knees. The library stood empty, lights only half-lit; everything returned to its proper place. A slight tilt of his head revealed that they weren’t entirely alone. Stephan sat behind them, about three steps back, watching.
Better. Am I? James kneaded one of the knots in his shoulder. “You’re still here.”
“Where else would I be?” she chuckled.
Stephan didn’t answer. He faded away.
James rubbed his nape, deciding not to answer either question. He tried to move and only groaned. “My arse is numb.”
She laughed. “I should say so. You’ve been sitting in the most uncomfortable spot a body can find. I told you to join us at the table.”
“Did you?”
Lily stood, holding out a hand to help him up. “You didn’t hear.”
He rose with a grimace. Stifling the rest of his complaints, James slid the journal into his pocket. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and headed down the hall.
She gathered the last of her things while she waited. Her eyes twinkled at him, still laughing, when he joined her a few minutes later.
“Did you finish?” he asked after she’d locked the door.
“Yes. Quite a few of us did. Your new friend Agnes was one.”
“Good. What about the boy? Kyle? How is he doing?”
The night sky hung close overhead, snow just beginning to fall. “I think he’ll make it. He cleared forty five k before he left.” Lily slipped her hand into the crook of James’ arm. “He’s a good kid. I might’ve got something going between him and Agnes. Hope for the best.”
“How do you mean?”
“Kyle just aged out of the boys’ home a few months ago. He’s living out of a backpack, but he’s got a job. He’s trying. Staying with some boys who aged out last year. Not a good environment.”
“So you introduced him to Agnes.” James inhaled the cold night air deeply, the tingling in his lungs pleasant. “She seemed to like him.”
“Yes. She said she’d sleep on it, but then she asked me for his number. It’s been quiet for her. Her last family moved away a year ago.”
“She does like to chatter.”
Lily quirked a brow, innocence belied by the chuckle. “You noticed? Anyway, I think it’ll turn out for them.”
James, reflecting on the two, nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. I think it might.” They took a right at Crescent Avenue, walking past the bus stop before she looked up in query. He didn’t answer; asking a question of his own. “Your story. You never told me what it’s about.”
“Oh.” She paused. “You’d think I’d be used to that one.”
“You too? I thought it was just me. Agnes asked and I just said the first thing that came to mind.”
“Which was?”
“Honey bees.”
“Did you really?” Lily smiled. “I wondered why she called you my Honey Bee Friend.”
He waited for her to continue, but Lily fell silent. He prodded. “Your story? What kind is it? Mystery? Political thriller? Sci-fi? Romance?”
Lily arched a brow with an upward tilt of her head to study him better. “Do I look like the sort to write a political thriller? And what would I even do with a laser gun?” She squeezed his arm when he only smiled. Looking ahead, she said, “It’s just a little story about ordinary people in a village. They live and love. Have troubles to sort through. Nothing great or large. I’m not that good.”
“I think you’re wrong there. Writing the ordinary properly, without the action and intrigue, must be the hardest thing to get down. Why else would the shelves be packed with vampires and spies? Spaceships and half-dressed women? Anyone can write that sort.”
“Well, it sells.”
“I think you were just born in the wrong era.” Passing under a street lamp, James tilted his head back. Snow fluttered softly, spinning slowly through the clear light like dancers on stage. “You should’ve been friends with Beatrix Potter, or having tea with H.G. Wells. Especially Wells. You would have gotten along famously with his cousin.”
“That is the sweetest thing anyone has ever said.” Lily hesitated. “But you haven’t even read my writing.” Weighing words that might have seemed more than passing strange to anyone else, she added, “You speak as if you knew them.”
“There are two ways of knowing. One is like this; walking and talking as if there’s no one else in the wide world. The other is by reading the words another has left behind.”
Lily opened her mouth, the question he already knew starting to form. He held up his hand to stop her.
“It doesn’t matter, does it?”
She shook her head, admitting it didn’t.
“Now, tell me about your village. What year is it there?”
“Eighteen fifty-eight.”
James’ step faltered. How could she pick the year he’d been born? He smiled, steadied. “Told you. Wrong era. Is Stephan there?”
Her turn to flinch. “How do you know about him?” Before he could frame an answer, her mouth formed a soft Oh. “You saw him on the mantle. Mum?”
“She caught me looking.”
“What did she say?”
“Only a little.”
Her look expressed dissatisfaction.
James continued, “You met in college. He was a writer and your fiancé. Three years ago he died. A hit and run accident. He loved you very much. ”
“That’s a little?”
“I shouldn’t have pried. I’m sorry. I just saw the picture and wondered.”
Lily held up a hand. “I know. She probably enjoyed telling you. Mum loved him like a son. Rarely gets the chance to remember him aloud. I don’t talk about him much.”
“It’s natural to speak of those we love and lose. It’s also natural to hold their memories tight, in the dark. To keep them private and safe. That’s how each of us copes with loss. That’s what makes us unique.”
“Have you lost anyone close?”
“Yes. Long ago.”
She stared at his profile while they waited for the light to change. It occurred to James the thousand questions she might be asking him. One in particular sprang to mind. What great love could Captain Hook have lost?
In the end, only two words passed her lips. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” he countered, light flicking to green. They stepped forward with the rest of the crowd.
They walked quietly, through the snow, for several blocks; each lost in thoughts entirely their own. James couldn’t shake the memories stirred to life as he’d written them. Turning onto Adeline, those memories pounded up the back of his skull.
Still three houses away, Lily’s grip tightened on his arm. Covering over her hand with his own James murmured, “Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m not.” Two houses away, she glanced at it. “I’m angry.”
“I understand. But you should also be a little cautious.”
One house away. Craning, she openly searched the curtained windows.
“Lily, please look away.”
She did, only to focus on him. “You’re afraid of them.” A little accusation and more than a trace of awe. “You?”
“They are not to be
trifled with.” Drawing even with the walk leading up to the cobalt door, James took a quick step. “Only a great fool wouldn’t be.” Passing it, he swallowed. “They take what you love most and use it against you. They twist words and rewrite destinies on a whim. Look at your father, Lily—”
“—That’s why I’m angry—”
“—the great Pan—”
“—and you’re not limping.”
The first time in three years he’d forgotten the part they’d instructed him to play. The first time he’d broken character.
“No.” Realizing the tell he’d just laid before her, James looked at his cane. “I’m not.”
She looked at it too.
They looked at one another.
28
James knew a moment of distilled panic. “Not here.” He’d never begged for a thing. Not in this life, nor in Neverland. “Not yet.” But he wasn’t just the pirate, or the assassin. Not anymore. “Lily.” For her, he’d beg. “Please.”
Her lips thinned, neither smiling nor frowning. A small nod. A provisional promise.
Silently, they walked the remaining block. Approaching her building, she didn’t let James go. Each move certain, she didn’t pause until she’d pulled the key from the lock. Her look lingered on it a moment longer than necessary, but she still didn’t look his way.
James swallowed, understanding the insight now flashing across her face. Lily’d finally wondered how he’d entered the building to give her River. Perhaps pizza boys were buzzed in by strangers, but who would release the catch, after midnight, for a stranger?
Lily said nothing, continuing down the first floor hall instead of heading up the next flight. She stopped at apartment one-o-three and knocked. A bay sounded, abbreviating mid howl as the chain rattled free.
Amos wriggled out the widening crack before it opened fully. Lily favored the beagle with an ear rub, and the teenage girl with a smile. “Did he behave himself?”
“He’s an angel. I gave him two walks and Dad took him for a run before supper. He should be good for the night.”
