The Hook (1991)

by Terry Brooks

  Suddenly he stopped dead, his shadow behind the screen straightening. "Sir! Lightnin' just struck me brains! Cap'n, you could make the little buggers like-no, mo'rn like-you could make 'em love you! Love you like, like…" Here, words failed him.

  Hook buried his head in his hands, dejected anew. "No, no, Smee. No little children love me."

  He peeked through his fingers at the screen concealing Smee, reached surreptitiously beneath the pillow on his bed, and removed a small key. Slipping the key into the bureau lock, he turned it, pulled open the drawer, and removed his pistol. Hand on the butt, hammer cocked once more, he placed the barrel to his heart.

  Behind the screen, Smee was eyeing Hook's boots. With a cautious glance over his shoulder, he slipped them on. "Cap'n, that's the point! The ultimate revenge, doncha see! Pan's kids in love with Cap'n Hook! The perfect payback!"

  Hook looked up slowly, thinking. His forehead furrowed, adding ten years to his apparent age. The pistol lowered. Just maybe…

  Smee, busy behind the screen trying on the captain's coat, turned to admire himself in the mirror. "Can you imagine the look on Pan's face when he returns and finds 'is kids standing beside you!" Smee pirouetted rakishly, the captain's coat flaring. "The two of them ready to fight for the sleaziest sleaze of the seven seas? For Cap'n James Hook? Oh, I tell you, Cap'n, it would be beautiful, it would!"

  A light came into Hook's tired eyes. "I like it,' he whispered. "It has a certain symmetry."

  "And you'd make a fine father, too, I might add," encouraged Smee, fitting Hook's wig on his head.

  "Me?"

  "Oh, yes, Cap'n, if I do say so meself."

  "Really?" Hook considered the idea. "1 do know a little about neglect."

  "A very fine father," said Smee, setting Hook's tricorne in place.

  Hook leaped to his feet, suddenly animated, and clapped his hands together in delight. "Oh Smee, what a fine idea I've just had! I will not only destroy Pan, but 1 shall have his own children-except they'll be my children, by the bones of Barbecue-lead the battle against him! I shall be so loved, Smee! James Hook, family man!" He took a deep breath. "James Hook, father!"

  Smee eyed himself in the mirror, then picked up the cigar holder with its twin stems and placed it in his mouth, puffing contentedly. " 'Tis the wickedest, prettiest plan I've ever 'eard," he declared with a smile.

  The object of all this villainy was miles away, curled in a ball in the crook of a limb not too high up in the branches of the Nevertree, cold and hungry and discouraged. All around him the Lost Boys were sleeping, each of them sheltered in the tree house that had been built for him when he had come to Neverland. There was no house for Peter, of course; he had arrived too late to have one built, and besides he wasn't a Lost Boy. He wasn't anything much at all, he thought dismally. He was odd man out in this ridiculous world.

  Overhead, Neverland's moons hung like giant Japanese lanterns against the night sky, crowding so close that they seemed in danger of falling into the ocean, their brilliant light hiding the stars beyond. Peter stared at the moons and wondered what had become of Moira and home. He wondered if he would ever see either again.

  A light flashed out of the darkness and Tink settled beside him. He looked up at her, lost and lonely and frightened. In a bizarre and unsettling world, she had become the most familiar thing. She saw what was mirrored in his eyes and gave him an encouraging smile.

  "Believe your eyes, Peter," she whispered. "Believe in faeries and Lost Boys and three suns and six moons. It will be all right, if you do." She bent close. "Search inside yourself for one, pure, innocent thought and hold on to it. Because what used to make you happy will make you fly. Will you try, Peter?"

  Peter stared at her, trying to comprehend. Finally, he said, "If all this is real, was the rest of my life a dream?"

  She shrugged. Faeries do not engage in philosophical discussions, it's said. "What used to make you happy will make you fly," she repeated, preferring practical advice.

  Peter nodded wearily and closed his eyes. "Okay, Tink. I'll try."

  Tinkerbell waited as his breathing slowed. When sleep claimed him, she came forward cautiously, leaned upward from where she stood on his chest, and stole a kiss from his lips. Then she turned about and crawled inside his shirt, a tiny glow working its way about. Finally she found a comfortable spot close to the collar and settled in. Peter had begun to snore. She joined him, her own snores little more than tiny breaths. Her light pulsed with each one, fading gradually as she, too, fell asleep.

  Nearby, sitting cross-legged at the entrance to his own house, Rufio watched the tiny light wink out. A scowl lined his smooth features. He didn't like this imitation Pan, this fat, old grown-up trying to steal what was his. Jealousy wormed its way through him. He intended to be rid of this intruder as quickly as possible.

  He pulled the Pan sword close against him, and his eyes were as bright as fire in the dark.

  One by one the lights of the Nevertree went out, extinguished by the faeries who kept night watch as they flitted down through the branches in search of dewdrops to drink and ladybugs to ride and tiny rainbow crystals to treasure. The lights disappeared in their wake, leaving only the moons of white and peach and pale rose to color the dark. Neverland drifted away into children's dreams-to the belief that kept it timeless, to the promise that kept it young.

  Why Parents

  Hate Their Children

  It was a rejuvenated Captain Hook who had Jack and Maggie brought to his cabin the following morning. Gone was the gloom that had beset him the evening prior, gone the despair and disconsolation. A smile wreathed his angular face, as broad and inviting as a crocodile's (though neither Hook nor any self-respecting crocodile would have appreciated the comparison, I am sure). He was dressed in full regalia-boots shined, coat brushed, wig curled, tricorne set carefully in place. He wore new lace at his throat and sleeves, and his hook gleamed wickedly. The room was restored to its former elegance as well, the furniture righted, the remnants of dinner cleared away, the shattered dining table and the blasted replica of the Jolly Roger replaced, and the few pictures knocked askew straightened or rehung.

  Hook was pleased. It had taken Smee hours to accomplish all this, but it had been worth it.

  The captain was at his craftiest this day. There was an inevitability about his plan that gave him an unshakable confidence as he stood waiting at the door, hands clasped behind his back, a benevolent look fixed upon his countenance. Pan's children turned against him-it was delicious. Pan's children made to love Captain Hook-it was charming. Best of all, it was devious.

  Hook's smile broadened even further as Smee ushered the children in. A flush of expectation colored his bony cheeks.

  "Good morning, children!" he greeted effusively, and tried not to brandish the hook. "Sit down, right over there."

  Smee propelled the little dears across the room-Hook could not help noticing their undisguised interest in the map of Neverland-to the chairs and desks that had been set up for them facing Hook's own gilt-edged walnut desk. Maggie's chin was barely above her desktop. Jack was already squirming. Neither looked the least bit comfortable with the situation.

  Hook moved over to stand in front of a chalkboard that had been unearthed from one of his warehouses. It was two-sided and revolved on pins. The side facing the children was blank.

  "Do you know why you're here, children?" he asked solicitously.

  They shook their heads.

  "You are here to attend school," he announced.

  "What sort of school?" Maggie asked suspiciously.

  Hook drew himself up. "The school of life, my dear," he replied grandly. Then he cocked his hook admonishingly. "Henceforth, if you wish to speak, you will raise your hand."

  "You're not a teacher!" Maggie declared defiantly.

  Smee struck the edge of the desk with the flat of a ruler and Maggie jumped a foot. Hook smiled benignly. "Order, now. You don't want me to have to put you on detention, do you? Deten
tion can be most unpleasant."

  He reached back to the chalkboard, gave it a sharp spin, and then caught it with the reverse side facing forward.

  Jack and Maggie stared. The chalkboard read:

  WHY PARENTS HATE THEIR CHILDREN

  Hook turned back again. "Now pay attention, class. We have a lot to cover in today's lesson. Which is: Why Parents Hate Their Children."

  As he turned back to the board Maggie leaned over to Jack and whispered, "Parents don't hate their children!"

  Out of the corner of his eye Hook watched the boy. Jack seemed less certain of this than his sister. He whispered something back. Hook couldn't hear what it was, but he didn't need to, judging by Maggie's reaction.

  "They don't!" she insisted angrily. She seemed to search her memory for proof, then exclaimed hurriedly, "Doesn't Mommy read us a story every night?"

  Hook turned slowly, still smiling, and pointed to Maggie.

  "You, the cute little urchin in the front row. Won't you share your thoughts with the whole class?"

  He waved his hand expansively as if there were others besides the two, all waiting to hear what Maggie had to say. The little girl was white-faced, but her jaw stuck out determinedly.

  "I said Mommy reads to us every night because she loves us very much!" she declared loudly.

  Hook feigned astonishment. "Loves you?" He repeated the words as if they lacked validity. He glanced knowingly at his bosun. "That's the 1-word, isn't it, Smee?"

  Smee shook his head reprovingly. Hook came forward to stand before the children, then scraped his hook slowly, deliberately down the middle of the desktop.

  "Love? No, I think not. She reads to you to stupefy you, to lull you to sleep so that she can sit down for three measly minutes-alone-without you and your mindless, inexhaustible, unstoppable, repetitive, nagging demands!" Hook cocked his head and began to mimic, " 'He took my toy! She hid my bear! Give me my cookie! I want to potty! I want to stay up!' I want, I want, I want-me, me, me, mine, mine, mine! Now, now, now!" His voice lowered. "Mommy and Daddy have to listen to it all day long and they hate it! They tell you stories to SHUT YOU UP!"

  Maggie's lip was trembling. "That's not true." Her voice lowered. "You're a liar!"

  Hook backed away instantly, hand and hook clasped to his heart. "Me? Lie? Never!" His smile was bright and hard. "The truth is way too much fun, my dear."

  He assumed a look of tragic resignation. "Before you were born, they would stay up all night long just to watch the sunrise. Then they would sleep until noon. They did silly things for no reason. They laughed very loud. They played all sorts of games and sang all sorts of songs. None of which they do now, do they?"

  He paused. "Before you were bom"-he sighed longingly-"they were so much happier." He glanced quickly at Smee. "Am I right?"

  "Happy as flappin' flounders in the deep blue sea, Cap'n," Smee agreed.

  Both children shuddered with recognition of the possibility that it was true. Hook was exceedingly pleased.

  "Can't you see what you've done to them?" he demanded, a pleading look on his face. "You've given them responsibility! You've made Mommy and Daddy grow up! How could they possibly love you for that?"

  A knock on the door brought them all about. Hook muttered something unintelligible, and the pirate Tickles stuck his head through hurriedly.

  "Cap'n?" he ventured hesitantly.

  "Yes, what is it, Pickles?" Smee rushed forward to whisper hurriedly in his ear. "Very well!" stormed Hook. "What is it, Tickles!"

  The pirate cringed. "Cap'n, it's time to give the order for the firing squad!"

  Hook brushed him back with a casual wave. Sauntering over to the door, he opened it wide and bellowed, "FIRE!"

  Flintlocks crashed from somewhere outside and then there was silence. Jack sat rigid in his chair. Maggie sat with her eyes closed.

  Tickles tried sneaking back through the door without being seen and came right up against Hook. Belly to belly, they faced each other.

  Hook sniffed. His nose wrinkled in distaste. "It's a bath for you tonight, Tickles," he hissed, and booted the pirate back the way he had come.

  Hook closed the door without having ever once looked through it and returned to stand in front of the chalkboard.

  "Time for the dreaded pop quiz," he announced.

  He spun the board once more and this time when it stopped, he wrote the words "I LOVE YOU." He turned to face the children, waiting until Smee had completed handing out blank sheets of paper. This was really going quite well, he thought delightedly.

  "Are we ready, now?" he asked. "All right. What do your parents really mean when they say, 'I love you'?"

  Maggie raised her hand excitedly, forgetting momentarily that she had decided she didn't like any of this and wasn't going to play the game. "I know! I know!" She took a deep breath. "They mean we make them really, really, really happy all the time!"

  Hook shook his head. "Really, really, really wrong! Sorry, you flunk." He turned to Smee. "Give her an F."

  Smee took a quill with red ink and marked a huge F on Maggie's blank sheet of paper.

  "Hand me Pan's dossier, Smee," ordered Hook, ignoring the stricken look on her face.

  Maggie's face crumpled. "He gave me an F. I never got an F before on anything?"

  "Stop complaining," muttered Jack.

  Hook was paging through a thick folder that Smee had handed him, shaking his head. "What do we have here? Broken promise after broken promise. What sort of father is he, Jack?" He watched Jack's eyes snap up. "Your father went to little Maggot's school play, didn't he? But did he go to your baseball game? No, of course not. He missed the most important event in your young life, didn't he?"

  Maggie surged to her feet, screaming. "This isn't a real school! You're not a real teacher! You can't give me an F! You let us go home!"

  She charged around the desk and threw herself on Hook, tugging and pulling at his coat.

  "Maggie, stop it!" cried Jack, appalled. "Let go of him! He'll just lock you up again! What are you doing?"

  "Smee!" Hook shouted, trying unsuccessfully to hold Maggie at arm's length. "Get this little…" Words failed him. "Just take her outside for recess, Smee. Let her play with the keelhaul ropes or the gaff hooks or something. Shoo, shoo."

  Smee pulled Maggie off the captain, kicking and screaming. "Mustn't depress the cap'n," he advised.

  "He loved my school play!" Maggie howled as she was hauled through the cabin door, punching at Smee. "I was terrific! Don't listen to him, Jack! He hates Mommy and Daddy! He wants us to hate them, too! He wants us to forget about them! You've got to always remember, Jack, because Neverland makes you forget! Don't do it! Don't…"

  And then the cabin door slammed shut and there was absolute silence.

  Hook and Jack faced each other wordlessly. Hook smiled. Time to turn up the charm a notch now that the girl was gone. A disruptive influence if ever there was one and of nowhere near as much use as the boy. There was a look in the boy's eyes that Hook recognized.

  He bent close. "Well, Jack?"

  Jack shifted in his seat. "How did you know about the game?" he muttered.

  Hook smiled mysteriously. "I have a very good spyglass. '' He moved over to Jack's side so that they were both facing the chalkboard. "WHY PARENTS HATE THEIR CHILDREN" faced back at them.

  "He's missed every important moment in your life for years, hasn't he, Jack?" Hook said softly, cajolingly. "He's got an excuse for everything, but the fact remains, he's never there. Your sister is too young to realize the truth, but you're not. If he really loved you, wouldn't he be there for you when it counted?"

  The room was so quiet Hook could hear the boy breathing. His face was lowered into his chest, his lank brown hair shadowing his elfin features.

  Hook placed a hand on his shoulder. "They tell us they love us, Jack, but the proof is in the pudding. Do they show it as well? Are they there when they should be?" He paused, sighed. "It's all so clear, really, when you think it
through."

  There was a barely perceptible nod. "Jack, Jack." Hook seized on it. "I think you and I have a lot in common." The boy's head lifted, astonishment in his eyes. "Wait, now-don't be too quick to judge. Hear me out. You look like a boy with pluck in him. Tell me-is it true what I see in your eyes?"

  He lifted Jack out of his seat and steered him across the room to a large, iron-bound chest. He turned Jack about, stepped back in a swagger, cocked his head, and slurred, "Didst y'ever wish to be a pirate, me hearty?"

  Jack's eyes were wide now, but no longer simply with astonishment. There was longing there as well, a need to be accepted, a hunger to belong.

  "No," he whispered, "just a baseball player."

  "Ah, baseball!" breathed Hook.

  Reaching down dramatically, he flipped back the lid of the chest. Inside were thousands of baseball cards.

  Jack gasped. "I never saw so many cards!" he whispered.

  Hook bent close. "Take a few, why don't you." He waited as Jack filled both hands. "You see, Jack, you can be anything you want on my team. It's all up to you."

  And he put his arm about the boy and gave him a possessive pirate squeeze.

  Think Happy Thoughts

  That same morning found Peter Banning becoming reac-quainted with his body. It was not a pleasant experience. Too many places sagged, pouched, jiggled, and otherwise stuck out in some inappropriate or embarrassing manner. Too many parts simply didn't work. For countless months he had been telling himself that he needed to get in shape, that he had to start exercising. And now the moment of truth had finally arrived.

  It was all Tink's doing. "If you want to get your kids back," she had announced, rousting him from his tree branch at sunrise with Pockets, Latchboy, Too Small, No Nap, Ace, Don't Ask, and Thud Butt looking on, "you have to be ready for Hook. You can't face him looking like this. We have to get the old Pan back."

  The old Pan. As if there really was such a thing. As if he were it. But she kept insisting, and the small group of Lost Boys who wanted to believe it was possible kept insisting right along with her-all of them peering down at him rather like they might at something odd spied on a zoo outing.