by Aiden Thomas
Her father didn’t say anything, so Wendy didn’t, either. The awkward silence stretched on until they pulled up to the old brick building.
“Let’s go,” Mr. Darling said, trying to loosen his tie again as he got out of the car. Wendy followed.
As they walked into the lobby, Wendy tried to shrink behind her father. She shivered and fidgeted with the strap of her bag. She didn’t like being back here. It felt like walking into a cemetery crowded with ghosts.
The police department was all but devoid of color. Everyone was either wearing gray or black suits, or else they were dressed in police uniforms. Desks were placed in rows and detectives and officers walked around, speaking to one another, talking on the phone and handing off documents. Usually, the police didn’t have much to worry about in their small town, but the string of missing kids appeared to be keeping everyone busy.
Wendy stood in the middle of the lobby, arms wrapped around her middle as her father went to ask for Detective James. On the wall behind the front desk was a bulletin board. Tacked to it were the missing posters of Benjamin Lane, Ashley Ford, and now Alex Forestay. There was also the poorly done police sketch of Peter.
Quickly, Wendy cut her gaze away. She tried to avoid making eye contact, but she’d already spotted Officer Smith. When he saw Wendy, he stopped talking to a female officer. He stared at her for a moment before nudging his fellow officer’s arm and nodding in her direction. Wendy stared at the floor. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and anger.
“Ah, Mr. Darling, Wendy.” Detective James rounded a corner and approached them. He looked exactly the same as he had in her living room, in a perfectly pressed suit with his black hair parted to the side and a forced smile on his face. He held a thick file under his arm. Wendy noticed a silver ring on his middle finger. “Thanks for coming in. This shouldn’t take long,” he said.
Mr. Darling grunted in response.
Wendy kept quiet, but Detective James turned to her. “Wendy, if you’d follow me, we’ll head back to my office.” Wendy nodded and began to walk, but when Mr. Darling started to follow close behind, Detective James held out a hand. “Sorry, Mr. Darling, you’ll need to wait here until we’re finished.”
Wendy wasn’t used to people telling her dad what to do. Her eyes cut back and forth between the two.
Clearly Mr. Darling wasn’t used to it, either, because he puffed out his chest.
“She’s my daughter—you can’t talk to her without me being there,” Mr. Darling all but growled. Now even more people were starting to watch. Mr. Darling was very big compared to Detective James. An angry bear lumbering in front of a guy in a fancy suit.
To his credit, Detective James remained placid and unaffected by this show. “Actually, as of four days ago, Wendy is no longer a minor, so I need to speak with her alone,” he said plainly.
Wendy watched as her father’s face flushed, starting at his bulbous nose and spreading across his cheeks. His bushy mustache ruffled and Wendy knew he was going to argue with the detective.
“It’s okay, Dad,” she cut in, trying to defuse the situation before it turned into a real mess.
In all honesty, she almost wanted her dad to stay with her, if only to make her feel less frightened. But she also didn’t want him there to listen to any accusations or evidence that might be in that big file Detective James held.
“I’ll let you know if I need you,” she added. She tried to give her father a reassuring look, even though she was quite certain she probably looked like a pale, haggard, nervous wreck.
Mr. Darling’s small, dark eyes darted between Wendy and Detective James. “Fine,” he said tersely after a moment.
“Like I said, shouldn’t take us too long,” Detective James said. “Mr. Darling, please have a seat. Help yourself to some coffee if you’d like.”
Mr. Darling didn’t move. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest, showing the detective that he had no intention of doing either.
Detective James said nothing for a moment. His scarred eyebrow flicked upward momentarily, but then he turned to Wendy and said, “This way.”
* * *
Detective James’s office was small but not cramped. There was one window through which she caught a glimpse of the river between buildings, and sun filtered in through a set of blinds. All the shelves were filled with books, papers, and files, and there were a couple of boxes on the floor next to his desk. The desk itself was tidy, with one very old computer and a name plate. Hanging on the wall behind his desk was an elaborate drawing of an old ship with full sails. Small, delicate handwriting labeled the parts of the boat on old yellowing paper.
Detective James sat down in a wooden chair with cracked black leather cushions behind his desk. “Please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing.
Wendy sat down in the only other chair in the room. It was metal, cold and uncomfortable. Wendy fidgeted with her hands in her lap.
Detective James set a pad of paper and a pen on his desk, but then leaned back casually in his chair. “So,” he began, giving her that smile again. Wendy gripped the edge of her seat. “Let’s get right to it. I assume by now you know that Alex Forestay went missing last night?”
Wendy nodded. “I saw you on the news talking about it.” It was true enough.
“You saw him yesterday before he went missing, is that correct?”
“Yes, I read to the kids in the children’s clinic,” Wendy said. She wondered if he could hear the guilt hammering in her chest from across the desk.
“How often do you do that?” He began writing on his pad of paper, giving her a reprieve from his icy blue stare.
“Once a week.” Should she give longer answers? Were short ones suspicious? Or would she sound guilty if she rattled off information?
“Had you seen Alex prior to that day?”
Wendy shook her head. “No, that was the first time he’d ever come to story time,” she answered. “I think that was his first visit for treatment?” Shouldn’t he already know that? Was this a tactic for catching people in lies?
Detective James nodded. “Did you talk to him?”
“Yes.”
“What about?”
“Sharks.”
“Ah, sharks.” Detective James’s eyebrows arched in amusement, but he continued to write. “Was he acting strange? Did he seem at all scared?”
“Scared?” Memories of Alex’s cries and the look of sheer terror on his face as he got dragged into the woods flooded her vision. “No, not scared,” Wendy said, swallowing past the dryness in her throat. “He was shy, definitely shy…” Her fingers itched.
“When you were at the hospital, did you notice anyone suspicious in the children’s ward? Anyone who looked like they didn’t belong there?” Wendy could tell he was trying to keep his voice casual and light, but there was a distinct severity to his eyes as he watched her.
Wendy shook her head. “No, I pretty much know everyone that works in the children’s department,” Wendy said.
Detective James hummed to himself. “Small town. Everyone knows everyone else, right?”
“Right…” Wendy cleared her throat. “It was just nurses and doctors, some of the kids’ parents, too.”
“So, there wasn’t anyone in the room with you who was a stranger? No one you thought didn’t belong?” he asked, watching her.
Wendy’s palms were sweaty and her hands shook.
Did they know about Peter? Did they know he had been in the room? Peter said adults didn’t notice him, but was that right? What if someone had seen him talking to Alex? And then talking to her? Wendy didn’t know how to answer that question, but she was taking too long. She had to say something.
So she shook her head again. “No, I didn’t notice anyone like that.” Technically that wasn’t a lie. She knew who Peter was now, so he wasn’t a stranger. But he definitely shouldn’t have been in the hospital to begin with …
Detective James took a long moment to jot down some more notes. Did
he know she was lying? He must.
Wendy straightened her back, bracing herself against impending doom. For Detective James to reveal his hand.
After what seemed like an eternity, he put down his pen and sat back in his seat. “I have to say, Miss Darling, I find it very curious how, after what happened with the mystery boy you found in the road—Peter, I believe he told you his name was?—and now Alex’s disappearance, things seem to keep coming around back to you.” His expression was serious. He didn’t even try to put on that plastic smile.
Wendy didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.
He continued on, “Have you seen anyone strange around town, Wendy? Has anyone been following you? Bothering you at all?”
She could feel the tremor starting, barely a quiver in the center of her chest. “No, no, nothing like that,” Wendy said. A rough shudder jolted her shoulders.
Detective James leaned forward in his seat. “Are you sure?” he asked, snagging her in his gaze. “Wendy—” His eyes flicked to the edge of his desk. His brows drew together.
Wendy looked down. She held a pen, poised as if about to write something down. Her hand shook furiously, the tip a mere inch from the desk, bobbing through the air as if writing on its own.
Or drawing.
Wendy slammed the pen down.
She shoved her hands under her thighs.
Detective James watched her, expression unreadable.
Wendy made herself stare back. She took slow, deliberate breaths.
After a long pause, Detective James asked, “Have you seen Peter since he went missing from the hospital?”
“No.” She hesitated. “Do you think he had something to do with this?” she couldn’t stop herself from asking.
He considered her question before responding. “Right now, all we know is that kids are going missing—disappearing from their homes—and that this boy, Peter, also went missing. While, currently, I can’t say that we’ve recovered enough evidence to make any connections…” He said it in a way that sounded very rehearsed. “What we can say is that you and Peter were, at one point, in the same place. We don’t know in what capacity, but we can’t deny that all of these disappearances could be connected, because the two of you are connected. It’s possible that he’s being held captive with the other children who have gone missing.”
Wendy chewed on her bottom lip. So, they still weren’t sure what to make of Peter. That was reassuring. Hell, she still didn’t know quite what to make of him, either. Peter wasn’t being accused of anything yet, which was good. They were even considering that maybe he was a victim.
One way or another, everything kept leading back to her. Back to her brothers. Back to what happened in the woods.
Detective James’s expression hardened. He braced his elbows on the desk. “There is a very real possibility that whoever took those missing kids also took Peter, and could have taken you and your brothers. You need to be careful, Wendy,” he said in a low and even tone. “This isn’t a game, and this isn’t just about you anymore.”
Wendy wanted to snap at him, to remind him it had never been just about her. It had been about her and John and Michael. It angered her, the way people kept talking about them as if they were gone for good.
He pulled out a card from his pocket and handed it to Wendy. “If you think of anything that could help, see anyone suspicious, see Alex or Peter, or need help, call me.”
Wendy took his card. The corner was sharp and poked into her finger. She took a deep breath and nodded. “I will.”
CHAPTER 13
Bubblegum
The police station was only a few blocks from the hospital, but Wendy’s dad still insisted on driving her there. He kept looking over but didn’t say anything until they pulled up to the entrance.
He turned to face her, expression stern. “No more leaving the house alone,” he told her.
Wendy nodded. She knew it was best not to try arguing with him, especially about this. All the missing kids, cops, detectives, and mentions of her brothers were making him even more intense than usual, and she couldn’t blame him. Honestly, she thought he would be drinking more, but she’d noticed that the recycling bin was noticeably less full.
“No more staying out past dark, lock the house up when your mom and I aren’t there, and keep your phone on you at all times. If we call, I expect you to pick up immediately,” her father ordered. He held up a finger and pointed it at her. “Do you understand me?”
Wendy nodded and wiped her sweaty palms on her shorts. “Yeah, Dad,” she said, not wanting to say anything to anger him further.
Great. Now she would need to be more careful sneaking around with Peter. Her father would be on alert, noticing more and asking questions. She was surrounded by interrogators. Her parents had only her best interests at heart, but still, there were things she needed to do without them.
For a moment, her father stared at her, his face still etched with a deep frown. Wendy thought he was going to say something more, but then he let out a huff of air, sat back, and gave her a curt nod.
Taking that as her cue to leave, Wendy climbed out of the car. She walked to the glass doors of the back entrance, as if she were going to go inside. She turned and waved to her dad.
Satisfied, he gave her another nod and drove off.
What a day. She hadn’t even been awake for two hours and she was already exhausted. She felt guilty for not telling Detective James everything that she knew, but how could she? There was no way he would believe her. He would probably think she was having a mental breakdown, reliving the trauma of losing her memory and her brothers. They would probably lock her up and throw away the key if she started talking about magic boys, evil shadows, and other worlds.
She just needed to keep it together and help Peter. Knowing that she had the chance to see her brothers again was what mattered. And the sooner they figured out how to stop the shadow, the sooner she would get John and Michael back.
The sooner they could move on.
Right now, she needed to find Peter.
Wendy checked the time on her phone. It read 1:00 p.m., above a list of unread texts from Jordan. She would text back later. Right now she was stuck downtown and needed to find a way home. Wendy pulled up the ride share app.
Her backyard seemed like a good place to start looking for him, since that was closest to the woods. She was waiting for the app to load nearby drivers when a high-pitched whistle from across the street, followed by a series of giggles, caught her attention.
Across the street was a row of houses nestled right up against the woods. A minty-blue house was set back in the shade of the towering trees.
There, just sitting in the middle of the yard, was Peter and a little girl Wendy recognized.
What the hell was he doing? Wendy rushed over, practically running across the street.
“Now you try,” Peter was saying.
The pair sat cross-legged and facing each other. They were focused on a piece of grass that Peter held in his palm. The little girl wore a purple sundress, with a pile of grass and small flowers across her lap.
A flower crown of wilting, small yellow buds sat lopsided on the top of Peter’s head. He grinned lazily and gave the girl a nod of encouragement.
She took the blade of grass, squeezed it between the sides of her thumbs, and blew against it, eliciting a high-pitched squeak. She broke into a fit of laughter.
Peter chuckled along, looking quite pleased with himself.
“Peter! What are you doing here?” Wendy cut in, absolutely bewildered.
He cast her a fleeting glance. “Oh, hey,” Peter said. “You are very late.” He sent Wendy a stern look before nodding at the little girl across from him. “You weren’t home, so I thought maybe you were at the hospital,” he explained casually. “But then I ran into Cassidy, here.” Peter fixed Wendy with a wide smile. “We’re making grass whistles.”
“Grass whistles,” Wendy repeated. She fought the urge
to shove him over.
Cassidy beamed up at her. “I made Peter a crown,” she said in a small, shy voice. Her dad was an X-ray technician who worked with her mom. Wendy used to babysit Cassidy and her older sister, Rebecca, when they were younger.
Peter looked up at Wendy with a lopsided grin. It crinkled the freckles on his nose.
Wendy cleared her throat and tucked her hair behind her ears. He needed to stop looking at her like that. “You look ridiculous,” she told him.
“You’re just jealous she didn’t make you one,” he said with a dismissive shrug of his shoulders.
Cassidy giggled behind her hands.
Wendy shook her head. He looked so pleased with himself! “Cass, you really shouldn’t be talking to strangers, and you especially shouldn’t tell them your name!” she chided. Cassidy had just started elementary school, hadn’t they taught her about stranger danger yet?
Cassidy tried to wrestle the blade of grass back between her thumbs. “I know, but I didn’t. He already knew!” she said, face screwed up in concentration.
Wendy gave Peter a confused look.
He leaned back on one hand and made a wide sweeping gesture to himself with the other. “Peter Pan, remember?” he asked with a conspiratorial wink. “It’s kind of my job.”
Wendy let out a huff. “You’re impossible,” she muttered before turning back to Cassidy. “Well, where are your parents, Cass? They should be watching you.”
“They’re at work. Rebecca is supposed to be watching me,” she said, glaring in the direction of her house. Sure enough, Rebecca sat in a lounge chair on the porch. She seemed deeply engrossed in a book, a set of headphones covering her ears.
Wendy’s frustration boiled. How did Rebecca not notice her sister talking to a random guy?
As if he could hear her thoughts, Peter said, “Sometimes teenagers are just as bad as adults when it comes to noticing magic.” He raised an eyebrow, giving Wendy a pointed look, which she pointedly ignored.
Wendy glared at Rebecca, feeling a surge of protectiveness for Cassidy. “Well, this teenager has a lot of things she needs to talk to you about,” she told Peter. “Let’s go, Flower Prince.”
