Nick shrugged. “To be quite honest,” he said. “I do not know. The Magistrate is slippery. We could hear that gunshot clear as day but it could have gone off in the dungeons. There might not even be a gunshot. It could have been a simple trick, trying to get us out here.”
“Or,” Magda said, “someone could be in trouble. Someone close to us.” She shifted her eyes between each door once more. “Let’s start at the closest door to us and make our way down. Just in case. Remember, Remy and James retreated to their rooms as well. Perhaps we should start there first. If The Magistrate is as slippery as you say, we should check on them first. They would be who she’s after.”
Nick gave her a nod. “Right,” he said. He moved in front of James’s door before looking at Remy. “I want you to throw open the door and move aside. You only follow me, you understand? You do not go in there first.”
Magda held her tongue from making a comment about how she could handle her own. Instead, she allowed herself to be touched at Nick’s concern.
“Ready?” he asked her in a voice just above a whisper.
“When you are,” she said.
One more nod between them and then Magda threw the door open.
Twenty-Three
Remy woke up to the sound of her grandmere’s singing. Such a familiar sound, something she had long forgotten. Remy Daaé, the woman Remy Cutler had been named for, was extremely French and proud of it. The only time she spoke English was to talk to her granddaughter. Everyone else was spoken to in French or not at all, including Remy’s father. The song her grandmother currently sang was a traditional French lullaby Remy still somehow knew by heart, even though no one had sung it to her in years.
She opened her eyes to see a strange but recognizable room. I’ve been here before, Remy thought to herself, pulling herself up into a sitting position and looking around the room.
The wallpaper was a faded gold color with crimson designs. It was old and definitely needed a touch-up, but the history in the walls was something Remy could appreciate. In front of her was a grand window that overlooked the bay, the deep, blue water sparkling under the heat of the sun. The windows were open slightly and she could feel a cool breeze caress her face and tease the long curtains that had been pulled open and tied back in favor of the view. It was quiet for a day at the docks.
“No one’s there.”
Remy’s head snapped to her right and was surprised to find her grandmere, sitting in a comfortable chair, a book on her lap, probably already forgotten. She looked just as she had the last time Remy had seen her – golden-grey hair pulled into a tight bun, every hair perfectly in place. Judgmental colorful eyes – Remy’s eyes – sharp and calculating, but warm and open. Red lips pressed into a thin line as she studied what was before her. Posture, perfect. Green dress with no wrinkles in a cut appropriate for her age but fashionable for the times. Remy Daaé was the definition of elegance, the kind of woman Remy aspired to be. Up until she died.
“Grandmere,” she forced herself to say. The silence was too loud, almost deafening. Even though the two knew each other, Remy felt as though she were staring at a stranger.
“I see you haven’t taken to learning French.” She rolled her colorful eyes before quirking a brow and leaning back in her chair. “Your mother has plenty of time to teach you. There’s no excuse for your ignorance; your parents are simply being lazy.”
“Grandmere, am I dead?” Remy asked, tilting her head to the side.
“Bah.” She waved the question away with a flick of her wrist. Remy flinched as though the woman had slapped her. “Is that truly the first thing you say when you see your grandmere? Questioning your livelihood? No hello? No how are you?” She started muttering stuff below her breath in French, and Remy’s somewhat trained ears were able to pick up parenting and crisis.
Remy gave her grandmother a flat look. “My apologies,” she said. “Hello, Gran-mere. How are you?”
“I can detect sarcasm, you know,” her grandmere replied. “Just because I am old and dead does not mean I have lost my ability to hear.”
Remy felt her lips push into a delighted smile, and before she could stop herself, she pulled her grandmere into a tight hug. The physical display of affection shocked the older woman, and she nearly lost her balance on the sette she was currently sitting on.
“My dear,” she said. Remy did not care if she was going to be scolded further; she missed her grand-mere too much to let go just now. However, instead of a carefully-worded lecture, Remy Daaé pulled her granddaughter tighter to her body. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, my dear. I’ve wanted to reach out so many times.”
Remy pulled back, sitting on the floor in front of her grandmother with her legs tucked underneath her frame. She straightened her back and folded her hands in her lap.
“Why did you not?” Remy asked, pushing her brow up as she regarded the older woman. “I seem to have gotten myself in all sorts of predicaments and I really could have used the guidance.”
Her grand-mere let out a snort. Remy was aghast at the lack of inhibition that seemed to plague her grandmere in death than when she had been alive. “That’s most assuredly an understatement, dear,” Remy Daaé said, giving her granddaughter a matching dry stare. “You’ve gotten yourself in plenty of situations you could have – and probably should have – handled with much more dignity and grace than you initially showed. However, you cannot regret your decisions, for they formed you and shaped you exactly as you are today.”
Remy rolled her eyes. “It would appear,” she said, straightening her arms out to emphasize her point, “that I’m dead. I can regret a couple of them, can’t I?”
Her grandmere raised a perfectly plucked brow. “And who says you are dead?” she asked.
This caused Remy to furrow her brow even further. Her grandmere reached out and flicked her forehead. “Do not wrinkle yourself simply because you cannot understand,” she said. “Your mother would have been exceptionally upset with you, even more than I am.”
Remy did not even hear her. “I’m not dead?” she asked. “But you are here with me. Before this, I was…” She let her voice trail off and tilted her head to the side. “I was with James. The Magistrate barged in and” - She shuddered at the memory. “She stabbed me. I am most certain I’m dead.”
“Yes, and you’d be wrong,” her grandmere said, her tone flat. “Remy, my dear, I thought you took after the Daaé’s intelligence. However, you’re showing me that you follow in your father’s footsteps, at least in this area of your life.”
“Father is a brilliant man,” Remy pointed out.
“He is,” Remy Daaé agreed, “but his common sense is lacking and he did not want to get any suggestions from anyone else.”
“If I am not dead, then what has happened to me?” Remy asked, quirking a brow. “I am not where I was, and since you are here, I assumed…”
“You’re wrong,” her grandmere said flatly, but her tone still had the warm affection she always had for her only grandchild. “I am here because once I died, I chose to watch over you. I could not rest until I knew you were okay, sweet child. I will always watch over you as long as I am granted the opportunity.
“To answer your question, you are in an in-between,” her grandmere explained. “Between life and death, awake and asleep. That place where reality feels both real and dream-like.”
“Purgatory?”
Grandmere shook her head. “Purgatory is another word for The Neverland,” she said gently. “This is a place that belongs to just you. A place where you can make your own choices in peace.”
Remy nodded, her eyes looking around the room. She did not notice it until just now, but she recognized this drawing room. It was in her grandparents’ manor in France. There were golds and crimsons, a high golden chandelier that cast light on everything and everyone in the room. There was even a painting of her grandfather, a tall, proud man that was cold and stiff, except when it came to his wife.
�
�Where is Papa?” Remy asked, turning back to her grand-mere.
“Waiting for me to move on, I suppose,” she told her. “We are both physically in The Paradise but I cannot fully move on without you, my dear. He misses you very much, you know.”
Remy’s heart pinched. She clenched her jaw. This was too much. She needed to focus on one thing. On the most important thing. “Grandmere, if I am not dead, why am I here?” she asked.
“This is the Room of Choices,” Grandmere explained. “You have two choices, Remy. The Creator brought you here so you could make up your own mind without any outside persuasion. It’s a quiet place you can stay in for as long as it takes you to choose. But once you do choose, make sure you are certain because once you do make your choice, there is no going back.”
Remy furrowed her brow. “And what am I to choose between, Grandmere?” she asked, still unsure as to what was expected of her.
“Why, death on earth,” she said, “or life in Neverland.”
Remy paled. “I’m sorry?” she asked, still confused. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I think you know exactly what I mean,” Grandmere said, her voice gentle but firm. “You can choose to return to earth and go back to the life you had. Your parents would welcome you with open arms. This place, The Neverland, would be nothing more than a dream. You would forget your time here completely. But you would be alive. Or you can choose to remain here, in The Neverland. Your parents will think you ran away until they see you for themselves, after they both passed on. You will still be alive and souls will still feel compelled to follow you. But you’ll be here, with James.”
Remy felt herself blush. “So you know about him?” she asked.
“How can I not know about him?” Grandmere asked, raising a coy brow. “I can hardly blame you, my dear. James Hook is quite the specimen, even with one hand.” She gave Remy a small smile but her eyes held a deep intensity that caught Remy by surprise. “I must caution you, Remy, that once you make your choice, there is no going back from it. You do know this, yes?”
Remy pressed her lips together. Truth be told, she did not know this. She took it for granted that Nick had saved her so long ago from those lecherous men. She took for granted that this was a realm for those no longer living. And here she was, being given the opportunity to stay here, among the dead, her beating heart still pumping blood throughout her body.
“Grandmere,” she finally said, picking her head up so she could look her grandmother in the eye.
Her grandmere nodded. “I know,” she said.
“Is there a way for me to see them one last time?” Remy asked. Her heart clenched with a multitude of emotions. It ranged from guilt to love to depression to deep, deep sorrow. She even questioned whether or not she was making the correct choice. She did not like the feeling of final. But she knew there was no other way.
Her grandmere shook her head. “I am afraid not,” she replied, her voice soft. Gentle.
Remy nodded her head, as though she understood. And she did. She really did. But that did not make it fair. Her eyes filled with tears quickly, blurring her vision. Her nostrils flared and her throat strained to keep any telling noise to herself. Her grandmere was not a fan of crying, especially big, racking sobs, and Remy knew herself well enough to know that she was going indulge in a dramatic show of emotion. In her defense, she could not seem to control it.
What finally undid her, however, was the look of sympathy, the utter brokenness of Grandmere’s face, and the open arms, offering Remy warmth and comfort and everything she did not realize she needed. Until now.
Without waiting, Remy leaped into her grandmere’s arms just as the dam broke and the tears fell and her nose ran and she could feel her face turn red and splotchy. Her grandmere’s arms closed around her and hugged Remy to her chest. She did not seem to mind that Remy was ruining her favorite dress or making loud, obnoxious noises. In fact, her grandmere’s fingers began stroking Remy’s hair, a gesture meant to both soothe and comfort. She did not shush her granddaughter, nor did she insist that everything was going to be all right. Instead, she simply held her granddaughter close to her heart and let her cry for as long as she needed to.
Remy missed this. She missed her grandmere more than she initially thought she could, and now that she had her back, she did not know how she could give her up again. It was as though she had forgotten what it was like to lose her, and now that she had her back, Remy knew she would have to give her up once again.
And then it hit Remy that once Remy made her choice, she would make someone she cared about feel this type of loss, this type of heartbreak. For James, it would be because she died. For her parents, however, they would never know where she got off to. They would not have a body to bury. They would not have the type of closure they deserved.
“What do I do?” Remy asked, looking through tears at Grandmere.
Her grandmere’s eyes were glassy as she responded, “You know what you want to do, Remy. I cannot tell you what is the right choice for you. Only you can decide that. But you must follow your heart, with a little direction from your head. You know what you want. Do not be afraid of that desire.”
“Will you…” Remy pressed her lips together and locked eyes with her grand-mere. She blinked away the tears as best as she could. “Will you watch over them? Until I see them again?”
“Of course, ma chere,” Grandmere promised. “You will have the ability to watch over them yourself, you know. Ask Nick. He’ll know.”
Remy nodded and pulled herself back into a standing position. Her hands shook, her heart broke, but she had made her decision, and she wasn’t going back. “I think,” she said, rubbing the last bit of tears away. Her eyes were still rimmed red – she could feel the soreness latch onto them – and she knew her skin was splotchy. “I think I’m ready to go.”
“Of course.” Grandmere stood and swept her granddaughter into a tight hug, resting her cheek on Remy’s head. “You know, I am always here for you. We will see each other again, and you will see your parents again. This, I promise you.
Remy nodded. “I believe you,” she said.
When they broke apart, Remy could already see her surroundings start to disappear. Instinctively, she clutched her grand-mere tighter.
“You do not have to let me go, Remy,” her grandmere told her. “Remember, I am always here.”
She placed her hand on Remy’s heart, and it instantly warmed. It was the last thing she saw, the last thing she felt, before blackness swallowed her whole.
Twenty-Four
James could not see straight. The minute he saw the dark red stain on the soft white material of her dress, the blade protruding from her gut, he saw nothing. And everything. At the same time. He yanked the blade out from Remy’s gut and stabbed The Magistrate straight in her heart. His mouth was contorted into a scowl – though that word was much too gentle for how he looked.
Remy had previously called him a beast. He was living up to that right now. Once the blade protruded from The Magistrate’s chest out her back, he twisted the blade just to make sure he snuffed out her heart to the best of his abilities. The bitch would die – all of her, even her soul – if she even had one. He did not particularly care; all he knew was that he needed her gone now. He received no pleasure when he felt her snuff out. He did not react to her wide eyes, her dropped mouth, and the look she got from being alive to being… nothing. She burst into ash and sprinkled everywhere.
James did not even care. He blinked once, his entire focus shifting from getting rid of The Magistrate to checking on Remy. She had already slipped into unconsciousness – which was not a good sign – and the bleeding was getting worse.
“Remy?”
It hit him, suddenly, that there was a good chance he was going to lose her. That just like The Magistrate, she would cease to exist. He placed his hands on her side, feeling the thick, sticky liquid stain his hands, his clothing, even beneath his fingernails. He needed help.
>
“Help!” he shouted. His voice cracked upon doing so, having never had to utter the word in his entire stretch of being. But now, he did not care. He knew when he had been beaten, and Remy was much more important to him than his pride. “Help! Please, help.”
He sounded desperate, pitiful even. He didn’t care. James didn’t care. All he cared about was Remy and the fact that she was losing her life because he had no idea what was going on. He couldn’t even use his left hand because God forbid, his hook sliced her even worse than she already was.
At that moment, the door to his room burst open and there stood Nick and Magda, each barely dressed, each with a cutlass in their hand, at the ready. James’s eyes filled with relief at the sight of them; he didn’t particularly care that they were both underdressed and clearly came from having sex, but James could not bring himself to make a comment regarding it. He was too concerned about Remy but he did slot it to the back of his head and would bring it up once Remy was okay.
Because she would be better.
“All right,” Nick said seriously. James did not think it was possible for the man to be serious, but to be honest, he was glad Nick was. He needed that right now. “I’m going to need some hot towels, clean water, and rum.”
“Rum?” James asked.
“For the wound,” Magda explained before Nick could. “The alcohol will clean it.”
James nodded. If Magda trusted Nick, he would too, without question. Magda disappeared in order to find the necessary tools. Nick plopped down by Remy’s side and pressed his hands – both of them – over her wound so James would not have to. Not that he minded in the least, but he knew that Nick knew it was awkward for him to help her with one hand. Nick did not even say anything before he took over, and for that, James was grateful. He did not like being unable to handle things for himself, and most of the time, he figured out what to do without asking for help. It was one thing he absolutely detested even more than apologizing.
Life in Neverland: Book 3 of The Neverland Trilogy Page 17
