by Aiden Thomas
“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.
CHAPTER 17
Fairy Lights
When they got back to Wendy’s truck, Wendy slid into her seat and leaned her forehead against the steering wheel. With her eyes closed, she took a deep breath to steady herself. The springs of the passenger seat groaned as Peter climbed in. “What now?” he asked quietly at her side.
Good question.
Wendy turned her head, her cheek
pressed into the warmed leather as she looked at him. Red tinged his freckled cheeks. His shoulders slumped, hands clasped in his lap. The auburn hair at the nap of his neck was damp with sweat. There was a tilt to his eyebrows that made her want to reach out and touch his arm.
Peter couldn’t stay in the woods. Soon enough, they would be overrun with police officers and volunteers. Even then, there was no way she was going to let Peter be by himself, not after what the shadow had done to him last night. Peter needed to be protected, too. She wanted to hide him away somewhere safe. The idea of something—or another thing—happening to him was out of the question.
There was the fleeting and outlandish desire to just run away and disappear, but Wendy wouldn’t abandon her brothers, not again.
She sighed and forced herself to sit upright. “Now, you come home with me,” she said definitively. She glanced over at Peter, half expecting him to object.
Peter simply stared out the windshield and, after a pause, nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I don’t really have anywhere else to go.” An airy laugh escaped his lips.
“Good, then let’s go home.” Wendy moved to put her key into the ignition when she caught sight of the sun sinking below the tree line. She swore under her breath.
“What?” Peter said, suddenly alert, wide eyes jumping to the direction of the woods.
“The sun is going down and I haven’t called my dad yet,” she said, frantically digging her cell phone out of her pocket.
“Oh.” Peter sounded relieved. Wendy wished she felt the same.
She selected her father’s number from her favorites list and held the phone up to her ear. She pressed her lips together. The last thing she needed was to further piss her father off, or make him even more suspicious, when she was about to try to sneak Peter into the house overnight. Hiding a person in her room was a lot different than trying to hide something like a pet mouse, which she had done when she was little.
No. Peter was a person. A boy-type person.
Oh, God, was she really going to be one of those girls who snuck boys into their rooms?
The line rang once before he answered. “Hello?”
“Dad, hey,” Wendy said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I’m leaving the hospital now and heading home.”
“Did Jordan go with you?” Muffled voices in the background made it difficult for her to hear him.
“Er, no.” She cringed. “I couldn’t get ahold of her,” she lied. Wendy sniffed and rubbed her nose against the back of her hand.
There was a pause. Mr. Darling’s voice became gruff. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.
Wendy cleared her throat. “Nothing, I’m fine. I’m just getting really bad allergies,” she said. Out of the corner of her eye, Peter wrapped a stray thread from his shorts around his finger.
There was another pause. More muffled voices. Mr. Darling’s exhale crackled against her ear. “Go straight home. Your mother should be there waiting for you.”
“What do you mean?” Wendy asked. She frowned. “Wait, Dad, where are you?”
“I’m in the woods with the search parties,” he said. Wendy sat bolt upright. Quickly, her head jerked around, half expecting her father to be standing right in front of them at the edge of the woods.
Peter frowned. His head tilted curiously to the side.
“I told Donald Davies that I would help.”
Of course: Donald Davies, the father of the two boys who’d gone missing the night before. Wendy had completely forgotten that he worked with her father at the bank. They weren’t just neighbors, they were coworkers.
“But, like I said,” he went on, “your mom is home waiting for you, so hurry back. She’s had a long day and needs some rest. I won’t be home until late. Maybe in the morning.”
“Okay.”
“Night, Wendy.”
“Bye, Dad.”
Wendy put her phone away. Peter watched her, eyebrows raised expectantly. “So … what’s going on?” he asked.
“My dad is out helping the search party. He won’t be back until late tonight or early tomorrow.” Wendy couldn’t help being surprised. Her dad usually kept to himself. He didn’t really hang out with anyone outside of work—not that Wendy knew of, anyway. He wasn’t social or even all that friendly.
But it made sense, she supposed. Of course he would want to help. Mr. Davies had lost his sons, just like her father had lost John and Michael.
Wendy swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “One less parent to sneak you past, I guess.” She tried to say it casually with a laugh, but it came out as a squeak.
Peter didn’t say anything, just nodded. His jaw worked under his cheek, eyes trained on the thread again.
“You’re being too quiet,” Wendy told him. There wasn’t enough room in the stuffy cab for them both to be awkward. Wendy jabbed a finger into his shoulder. “I don’t like it.”
Peter glanced up at her. A shadow of an amused smile played on his lips. “Sorry. I’m just picturing the spot above your TV where your dad is going to mount my head if he finds me.”
Wendy let out a surprised laugh. It pushed some of the tension from her lungs. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She turned the key and the truck’s engine roared to life. “If he finds you, there won’t be enough left of you to mount.”
* * *
When Wendy pulled into the driveway, she told Peter to meet her at the back door. It would be easier to sneak him upstairs from there.
As soon as she stepped inside, she saw her mother lying on the couch. The TV was still on, the volume down low. Wendy crept forward to see that her mother’s eyes were closed behind her glasses, her chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm.
Well, at least she was asleep. Wendy wondered if her mom had been trying to stay awake until she got home.
The evening news caught her attention. A reporter stood in the woods with a floodlight illuminating his face. Behind him was the hunting shack Peter had been staying in, blocked off with police tape. Washed with bright light, it looked tiny and unassuming compared to when she had seen it in person. Men and women in police uniforms carried out items in small plastic bags. Some of them examined something on the ground, others were dusting the doorframe for fingerprints.
The volume was off, but a marquee scrolled the story of what she could already tell was happening:
… HASN’T BEEN IN ACTIVE USE FOR 6 MONTHS. CLOTHES, FOOD, AND TRACES OF RECENT INHABITANTS. WOOD-BURNING STOVE HAS BEEN RECENTLY USED. TWO SETS OF FOOTPRINTS INSIDE HUNTING SHACK AND AROUND EXTERIOR. POLICE TRYING TO FIND FINGERPRINTS OR DNA EVIDENCE. CURRENTLY, NO SIGN OF MISSING CHILDREN …
Wendy wondered if her dad had been part of the search party to discover the shack. She and Peter were lucky they had gotten out of there when they did.
Frustration worked its way through her. The police were getting distracted from the real culprit. They were losing valuable time tracing Peter’s path when they should be on the hunt for the shadow. But how could they even do that? She and Peter were having a hard enough time tracking it down, and at least they knew what they were up against.
Quietly, Wendy crossed the kitchen to the back door.
Peter was there, waiting patiently.
She unlocked the sliding glass door and slowly pulled it open, just wide enough for him to squeeze through. Wendy pressed her finger to her lips. She didn’t want to risk making any noise that would wake her mom.
Peter’s face was screwed up tight, his brow furrowed. He pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. It struck Wendy how much he looked like Michael when he wanted to come inside after stomping in puddles, but knew he would get in trouble for tracking mud on the floor.
Wendy had to pluck impatiently at his sleeve before he finally slunk inside.
She pointed to the living room. “Try to be quiet, my mom is asleep on the couch,” she whispered to him. He nodded in reply. His blue eyes were wide and alert. “Look,” she said, nodding in the direction of the TV
. “They found your hideout…”
Peter quietly stepped into the living room for a closer look. He squinted as his eyes scanned, reading the information scrolling by on the bottom of the screen. He sighed.
“Good timing on our part, I guess,” he said, keeping his voice low. His eyes slid over to Mrs. Darling asleep on the couch. She had a pillow propped under her head. Her glasses were askew. Deep frown lines scrunched her brow and pulled down at the corners of her mouth.
Peter’s shoulders sank.
Wendy gestured for him to come back and pointed toward the hallway that led to the stairs.
His eyes slid back to Mrs. Darling. He lingered for a moment before retreating. Peter had just entered the kitchen when Wendy pushed the sliding glass door shut. It let out a high-pitched squeal of rubber against glass.
Mrs. Darling stirred on the couch.
Wendy grabbed a bewildered Peter and shoved him into the hallway and out of sight.
“Wendy?” Mrs. Darling’s voice, thick from sleep, mumbled from the living room.
“Yeah, Mom, it’s me!” Wendy called back. “I just got home from the hospital.”
Peter pressed his back against the wall, cringing.
Mrs. Darling sat up and readjusted her glasses on her face. “Just now?” She looked down at the plastic watch on her wrist and frowned.
“It was a really crazy day,” Wendy said, nodding vigorously. “They needed all the help they could get! But I’m really exhausted, so I’m going to head up to bed.”
“Oh … all right.” Mrs. Darling sat back on the couch and gave Wendy a tired smile. “Sleep well, sweetheart.”
The only thing that saved Wendy from her poorly constructed lies was the fact that she’d never lied to her parents before, so they had no real reason to doubt or question her. Especially about things like sneaking around with mysterious boys. Or any boys.
“You too, Mom.”
Peter was waiting for Wendy in the hallway with his hands clasped behind his back. He looked like a child inside a museum who had been scolded not to touch anything. She tried not to smile.
