by Chanda Hahn
Lost Girl
The Neverwood Chronicles Book 1
Chanda Hahn
Chanda Hahn Books
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Coming Soon
About the Author
Also by Chanda Hahn
Copyright © 2016 by Chanda Hahn
Line Editing: Bethany Kaczmarek
Final Editing: Kathryn DiBernardo
Proofreading: Ben Hale, Kathryn Jacoby, Jenna Moore
Cover Design: Steve Hahn
* * *
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
1st Edition
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN: 978-0-9961048-7-6
For all those that dream of following the
second star on the right.
Chapter One
SEVEN YEARS AGO
It never happened. It was just a dream.
The young girl ran her chilled fingers over the goose bumps on her arms and rocked back and forth in the dark oak chair, chanting the mantra over and over again in her head.
It never happened.
Trying to make herself believe the hollow words.
It was just a dream.
Or at least to sound convincing enough to fool her psychiatrist.
I made it all up.
She shuddered again as she heard the ancient heater on the far wall kick on with a long rattle, followed by a whoosh of steam. Maybe now the room would warm up and she could stop shivering.
But it really didn’t matter. She would still shake. The cold did little to hide the nervous trembling that had plagued her since she mysteriously showed up here a few months ago.
The days, hours, weeks—they all ran together, creating a void that consumed her memories and numbed her to the world. All she knew was her next treatment, her next appointment, her next test. Sorting real memories from terrifying images and clinging to what remained of her true self—or what she guessed was herself—was becoming a challenge.
It never happened.
She bit the tip of her thumb to cause just enough pain to snap her out of that dark place, away from the horrible images she’d seen.
The shadows.
Don’t go there. Concentrate on better things.
What did her doctor always say? That’s right. Happy thoughts. She needed to focus on happy thoughts to chase away the darkness.
There weren’t any mirrors in the hall, but she caught a glimpse of her reflection from the glass window of the nurses’ station across the way. At first it startled her. She didn’t recognize the scared young girl sitting curled in the chair, biting her thumb. Dark rings showed under her eyes, and her dull blonde hair fell past her shoulders, begging for a trim. Her freckles seemed stark against her pale skin. Had she always looked so young and scared? Had she lost weight?
Pop! She accidentally bit too hard and cracked the nail on her thumb.
Stop that! You have to get yourself together. Be calm. Be confident. Be normal.
Normal. Such an odd concept. A state she would never experience as long as she kept ranting about things no one else could see. She glanced down the hall and noticed the armed guard sitting on the other side of the fire door.
The office door swung open, and the psychiatrist’s black heels clicked on the tile as she stopped by her chair. When the doctor turned the full force of her dark brown eyes her way, the girl shivered.
A loose black bun rested at the nape of the woman’s neck, and her white physician’s coat hung open, revealing a somber black pantsuit. The doctor’s silver-painted finger beckoned her into the office, and the girl followed, taking a seat in the chair facing the desk. The building smelled sterile, except for this room, where the scent of fresh roses filled the air. It was hard to miss the pale pink buds in the vase on the filing cabinet. A gift from a suitor perhaps, or maybe the doctor’s way of bringing something living into a very dead environment?
The the gold-lettered nameplate on the desk read Dr. S. Mee.
Dr. Mee walked around slowly, pulling open a manila file folder and splaying it across her desk. She pushed record on a small digital tape recorder and set it down. Elbows on the file, the woman clasped her hands in front of her face and looked across at her.
“Subject number 1-04,” Dr. Mee started.
The girl shook her head, refusing to acknowledge her assigned number. Her doctor’s lips pinched together before she smiled softly. “Okay, but only in here. This is between us, all right?”
The child nodded, confident she could keep a secret.
Dr. Mee’s eyes squinted ever so slightly as she read the folder. “So, my darling Wendy. Do you still see shadows fly into your room at night?” She chuckled slightly in a disbelieving tone, “and do they promise to whisk you away from Neverland?”
“No,” Wendy lied, and a small tremor began in her hand. She tucked the hand under her thigh. Maybe the doctor wouldn’t notice.
“I see,” Dr. Mee intoned, dragging the last word out. “That’s a bit disappointing.” She pursed her lips and made a clicking noise with her tongue. “So you don’t see shadows?”
“No,” Wendy recited, trying to smother her nervousness.
Her doctor lifted a piece of paper and read something that was written across the bottom. “That’s not what the night nurse is saying here. At two a.m. you were screaming and pounding on the doors because there was a shadow in your room. Is this true?” She looked across the table.
Wendy shrugged. “I don’t remember saying that.”
“You know, Wendy, I only want what’s best for you. If you don’t tell me the truth, I am unable to help you. What about other side effects…anything at all from the treatments you’ve been given? Do you feel stronger, can you jump higher…anything at all?”
Wendy shook her head. Silent tears trickled shamefully down her cheek.
“Wendy, the corporation wants results, and so far we’ve seen very little—especially from you.” Dr. Mee said. “You’re special. I’ve known that since the moment you came to my facility. You were chosen to be a part of something that will one day help a lot of people. Unfortunately, I don’t see how hallucinating shadows will help anyone. It’s not what they’re looking for. I think you’re going to do extraordinary things someday.” She closed her folder. “It just won’t be today.”
She took her glasses off to rub her hand over her tired face. “I just wish we had something more to show for our efforts.” Dr. Mee looked over at the calendar and sighed. “We’re running out
of time,” she said to no one in particular.
Wendy held her breath. She knew she and the other kids were undergoing special treatments, getting tested for something, but she wasn’t sure what. Every few weeks, a group of soldiers would come to the facility and whisk the special kids away. The ones whose results were promising. Her best friend had been taken a few weeks ago, and she’d been so alone without him. She couldn’t have imagined how lonely the place would be without his mischievous smile and wild tales.
A rumor circulated among the other kids that they were taken someplace special, given new families. Wendy wasn’t sure what she believed.
Here, at least she was given meals and a bed. And what if the kids were right? What if those who showed progress were given to new families, were given a home? Maybe she shouldn’t hide anymore, maybe she should tell the truth to Dr. Mee about what else was happening to her. The doctor probably knew more than she was letting on anyway. Then maybe Wendy would be selected like the others, and she could find her friend.
But as soon as the thought crossed her mind, fear loomed up and overwhelmed her with doubt.
Did the government even know this facility existed? She bet not. The only people who ever came in and out of here were the staff and the soldiers who wore the badge bearing a red skull. Was the chance of a better future—a home—worth facing the cruel gossip from the other kids?
Dr. Mee gazed down at her hands. “I like you, Wendy, and I really want to help you, but I don’t think you’re ready yet for the next step in the program. What you have is a gift. You can see things no one else can. Unfortunately, that’s not something they consider useful. They will probably label your results a failure.”
Wendy’s mouth opened, and Dr. Mee raised her eyebrow and cut her off. “You’re not hiding it well enough, and since you’re so adamant about lying about your gift, you’ll have to continue pretending for a bit longer.”
Wendy blinked. She wasn’t surprised when Dr. Mee called her out on her lie; she wasn’t good at it. But was confused about why she suddenly encouraged it.
“If anyone, kids and staff included, ask about what you can do—lie. Can you do this for me?”
Wendy couldn’t contain the trembling, but she nodded slowly.
“Good girl, Wendy. You haven’t told anyone else about the shadows?”
“No ma’am.”
“Keep it that way. The less they know the better,” Dr. Mee said. “I don’t think it will hurt them if we delay reporting your results for a little longer. Maybe something will change in the next few days.” She studied Wendy with a pensive stare. “But that’s all I can give you. A few days—maximum—because I know Wendy. And if I know…they’ll soon know. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. You can go back to your room.”
Wendy pushed out the chair to stand and hesitated. Now that she’d started thinking about leaving this place, she couldn’t stop. “Dr. Mee, when do you think I can go home?” Her voice sounded smaller than her ten years.
“Home? Why, Wendy, you are home.”
Chapter Two
Wendy padded back toward her room but paused when she came to the main gathering hall. Pale yellow couches and sterile tables furnished the space. Metal bars secured the windows lining the far wall. On a sunny day, she could look out and see the dark woods surrounding the facility. The front of the room overlooked the cliff and the calm cerulean waters of the ocean.
Boys and girls ages six to twelve lounged about the main room, but Wendy knew there were kids even younger in a hidden away nursery. Every once in a while she’d see a nurse carrying a crying infant.
The room felt different. There were glances, stares, and more agitation than normal. That’s when she noticed who was causing the disturbance. Everyone had taken notice of the boy in an armchair in the corner of the room. About thirteen years old, he had auburn hair and the greenest eyes.
Some were upset, but Wendy’s heart sang with excitement—he was back.
The boy.
That’s what she always called him, since they were forbidden to call each other by their given names. If they were caught using them, they’d end up in the containment room with no food for a day. Within the facility they were nothing more than numbers, statistics on paper instead of actual living beings.
She hated using their subject numbers, so in her mind she gave each of them their own unique nickname. She had thought the boy was gone for good since he was taken away a few weeks ago. She knew it was because he’d showed positive results to the treatments. Why was he back? What had gone wrong? He should have been taken out of this place and—if the rumors were true—given a home.
Wendy went and sat in the yellow armchair across from him and tucked her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. She held still and studied him. The boy scrutinized her as well, but his eyes seemed a bit wild. Like a scared rabbit. When their eyes met, he turned away and began to mutter to himself.
Oh great, she thought. He didn’t remember her. Being with Boy was the only thing that gave Wendy happy thoughts. She didn’t shake when he was around. And that made her want to stick by him until he remembered her. He looked over at her and she smiled wanly.
“Hey, Boy,” she said. “I’m glad you’re back. I was getting lonely.”
He rocked back and forth and looked away from her. Was he ashamed? Too embarrassed to talk to her? Determined, she stood and walked over to the bookshelf filled with timeworn books and board games and searched until she found their favorite game.
She brought the game back and set it on a coffee table. Wendy kneeled down, lifted off the battered lid, its corners held together by yellowed tape, and began to pull out the familiar game board and cards. She knew the boy watched her, but he stayed silent. Wendy barely knew the fundamentals of Monopoly and really hated the game. It was too long and involved for her liking. But it was a game they had played before, had spent hours playing, quietly whispering to each other and going around the board and passing go and collecting two hundred dollars.
The boy loved games, any kind of games, and the crazier the rules, the better. Most of the time they just made up their own rules.
They’d made extravagant future plans together, wasting ages playing games and dreaming: If it were real money, they would spend it on frivolous things like gallons of mint chip ice cream or swimming pools filled with macaroni and cheese. They laughed together for hours, and sometimes when they’d get really serious, they’d begin to talk of a future outside of Neverland. She’d open up a bookstore, and he’d become a teacher. But when she looked at the boy in front of her, he wasn’t the same person.
Her boy had been the epitome of joy, laughter, and youth. This boy displayed none of those attributes. She just had to bring it back, help him remember.
She nudged the coffee table closer to the boy’s chair and set up the board.
Wendy hummed softly and continued stacking the cards. The chatter of the other kids turned to white noise around them. The boy closed his eyes and listened to her sing. He seemed to relax. She liked taking her time.
After a few minutes, he leaned forward and helped her set up the bank. Then it was time to play. All of the main tokens had disappeared over time, and only one piece remained—the thimble. It was impossible to play with only one piece.
Wendy offered the boy the thimble. “Looks like we’re down to one token.”
“That’s never stopped us before, Girl.” He smiled at her, his eyes dancing as a dimple appeared on his cheek.
She breathed a sigh of relief at her nickname.
He reached into his pocket, and placed an acorn on the board. “You go first.”
“How long has that been in your pocket?” Wendy chastised. She tossed him a stern look.
The boy blushed and answered, “You really don’t want to know.”
Wendy stifled a giggle, and they began to play, just like old times.
A skinny boy with dark hair,
glasses, and a slight limp came quietly and sat next to them, observing. He had a critical eye and frequently told them, “You’re playing it wrong.”
“No, we’re not,” Wendy finally answered.
“You’re not following the rules of the game.” He got out the tattered rules and read them aloud.
“Games are meant to be fun. This one just happens to have too many rules for my liking.” Boy said. He looked up at Wendy and winked, making her heart flutter. She tucked that away for the next time she needed a happy thought.
Whenever one of them had to pay taxes, they’d put it in the middle of the board and—if someone rolled snake eyes—they’d dive in and whoever snagged the most money kept it. It usually amounted to knocking the board over and wrestling for the money.
A few other kids came to watch—most gathered to observe the boy. He was entertaining to watch and he played to the crowd. Taking the acorn, he would make it disappear, only to reappear near a dark-haired boy with a serious expression and somber gray eyes, who Wendy called Gray.
Gray kept himself aloof from the other kids. He always watched and never really joined in any of the conversations. When Boy made the acorn appear out of Gray’s ear, Gray swatted his hand away and told him to grow up.
Boy laughed at Gray. “Never.
Gray occasionally rolled his eyes when Boy wasn’t looking.
Wendy grinned because her Boy was truly back. He launched into an outrageous story of a beautiful mermaid that lived near an island they all lived on, and Wendy liked it. Neverland didn’t seem so scary when he was around. She hoped he never left her alone again.
Wendy lay on the floor next to the coffee table and placed her hands behind her head. She studied the ceiling tiles and listened to Boy talk. His story became grim, with talk of kids being captured by Indians and imprisoned. Before she knew it, her thoughts had wandered back to that dark place she tried so hard to avoid.
Doctor Mee said they were here because of a trait they each possessed—a certain auto immune disease, and they were being treated with injections.
