Get Lost

by Xavier Neal

  “Yeah, Belle made it earlier. She wanted some to go with her sandwich,” Eiden calls from beside his brother. “Dude, that’s lame.”

  “What’s lame?” Justin sits down on the arm of the couch before handing me my water and placing his juice on the table.

  “This picture.” He shakes his head.

  As Eiden struggles with his twin, who resists his attempts to turn the picture around, Peter climbs in through the window with a cocky grin and familiar red cup in his hand. “Ah, at last, the lovebirds.”

  Justin snips, “What? Can’t think of another name?”

  “Not a PG one,” the response grabs the twin's attention.

  “Have you been drinking?” Justin asks, reaching for his own cup.

  “Yup.” Peter has another sip.

  My voice quickly squeaks, “And driving?”

  “Flying.” Peter corrects me with a pointed finger. “There are no stupid laws about that in this world.”

  “That’s because we can’t fly,” I state loudly.

  “You don’t say.” Peter gets defensive as Justin has another sip of juice.

  “What did you need us all here for?” Eiden asks. “You two are just here to watch the show.” The grin on his face makes me uncomfortably shift my body.

  “You two, you two have been pretty happy, huh?”

  “Yeah,” I answer cautiously as Justin continues chugging down the juice. I assume that he is thirstier than he thought.

  “You two have gotten pretty close, right?” He licks his lips at me before glancing at Justin. “Looks like you two are really in love.”

  “Well…” I look up at Justin with hopeful eyes to see him try to hide a soft smile.

  “So, that means you two must be pretty honest with each other, right?” Peter asks before raising the cup to his mouth.

  Justin glances at the empty glass he just finished and shakes his head. “Peter, please don’t do this.”

  “Do what?” I ask quickly.

  “That means Justin’s told you about his past, right? You know, before he was a Lost Boy.” The words leave his mouth with such derision.

  “Yeah.” My answer slowly leaves my mouth. “Peter, don’t.”

  “Did he tell you the truth or give you that sob story about wanting to be a traveling musician, blah, blah, blah.” The words sting my heart.

  My jaw slides open; I’m unable to respond as he cocks a half grin. Justin calmly says, “Please, Peter.”

  “By your reaction, I’ll take it that he told you the little fantasy lie he likes to tell. Tell her the truth, buddy. What did you love more than music?”

  With a hateful look on his face, he doesn’t break eye contact with Peter, “Money.”

  “Money.” Peter joyfully tosses his hand in the air, “You don’t say! Money and what?”

  “Power.” The answer surprises me enough to sit up and lean over.

  “Justin,” I call his name in hopes he’ll turn his head to speak to me. “What’s he talking about?”

  “You know, Justin’s the biggest con of us all. Yeah, he liked music. Hell, he was great at it. You really should’ve heard him play. But, it wasn’t his true passion. What was going on when I finally met you, Justin?”

  Justin’s jaw bobs uncontrollably before belting out, “Conning girls out of their bank accounts and…”

  Peter quickly interrupts, “In fact, when I got around to finally meeting this beautiful artist, what were you doing?”

  Taking off his fedora, he tosses it to the side with a heavy sigh. “I was wanted on criminal charges in thirty two states and had just finished my biggest con yet. I scammed more than a million dollars out of the vice president’s daughter.”

  “You what?” I exclaim, moving my body so I can see his eyes, which have a glazed over, dead look inside.

  “Tell her what you would do,” Peter insists, tilting his cup at Justin, who seems to have tears choking his throat.

  Trying to breathe through them, he takes deep breaths. “I would research and target the girls I wanted to con. Change my behavior, my looks, and my attitude to accommodate what they wanted. I would promise them the world on a silver platter, to love them, cherish them, and be everything they needed. Meanwhile, I was accessing their bank accounts while they slept, draining them dry. I knew exactly where to put the money, what to say to, what to do, and where to go in order to make it as though I never existed.”

  Proudly, Peter states, “I saw him in action after his little presidential stunt and knew I had to have him as part of my team. I got him because I realized that if I needed to be a chameleon in this world, I needed to be able to do it better than just on paper. I needed a con artist who already knew how to work this world over.”

  I nod slowly as my heart feels like it’s literally caving in. “Have you…have you been conning me?”

  While Peter continues sneering proudly, Justin

  allows a tear to fall from his face as he nods at me.

  “When? This whole time?”

  “I…”

  “I want specifics!” I scream, stomping my foot in an attempt to not cry. “When you fell into my desk that day?”

  “Yes. I got my phone stolen on purpose, so I could get a copy of your information, class schedule, home address.”

  “What else?”

  “The next day, when Peter came in, I stole your key to the art lab to steal a copy of the art teacher’s personal storage key. She has a stash of personal paints, which were the types you needed to paint that replica.”

  “You stole from her? She trusts me!” I snap loudly as he adjusts his tie.

  More tears fall down his stone cold face, which shows no emotion, though his voice shakes, “The day of the party, I asked to use the bathroom so I could scope out the kind of tools I would need to pick the lock on your father’s office. The day I had flowers delivered to you, I did that so I could sneak in successfully.”

  I wrap my arms around my cramping stomach and whimper, “God, what did you need from him?”

  “His signature, so I could successfully forge some documents.”

  “Wonderful, isn’t he?” Peter injects, chuckling as beads of sweat drip down Justin’s black shirt.

  “So, is everything out of your mouth a con?”

  “No.” The word is stated with more passion than the

  rest. “No!”

  “Why should I believe that? I was dumb enough to believe everything else.” I run my fingers through my hair. “Is everyone in on this? Does everyone know how you’ve been lying to me? Wait, that’s a stupid question. Of course you do! This is what you people do.”

  “Peyton, I know how this looks.”

  “It looks like I should have been watching your every move instead of the distractions, right? It looks like I should’ve taken the advice you gave me the minute we met.”

  “Peyton, I…”

  “Trouble in paradise?” Peter chuckles, lifting the cup.

  Aggravated, Justin turns to me. “Ask me about why we needed your help. Ask me for the truth on that.”

  “Don’t ask him that,” Peter quickly interjects. “Don’t ask him that.”

  “Why do I have to ask? Why can’t you just tell me?” I sniffle away the tears that are desperate to escape me. Justin’s eyes linger deep in mine before it hits me. “Did you drink Narcturnal?” He nods and I snap, “Who gave it to you?” Immediately, I shake my head slowly. “Peter.”

  “That’s low,” Eiden mumbles. “Real low,” Aiden echoes.

  “What? Wouldn’t you rather know the truth about your beloved before he tries to take you back to Neverland?” His shrug causes Justin to tilt his head to the side.

  Rising to his feet in a defensive way, he says, “I never told anyone that other than her. The other night on the boat…”

  “That was you!” I screech. “You ruined our date.”

  “Maybe.” Peter proudly shrugs, approaching Justin, the two of them now in front of me, positioned for
what looks like a war. In a low grumble he thinks I can’t hear he gripes, “Broke my favorite necklace in the process.” Full of annoyance, I snap my head back at him.

  “Why do you really need me to be part of this plan?”

  “Because you’re a Darling—” is all that escapes

  Justin before his body is tossed onto the coffee table, shattering it.

  I jump out of the way and then watch Peter throw a punch into Justin’s side, forcing him to yelp in pain. The two of them begin to wrestle on the floor, punches thrown wildly, headlocks slipping, until Justin finally gets in a good swing, landing his fist on Peter’s jaw, knocking him over.

  “You really think we couldn’t steal a painting without you?” Justin whimpers, holding his ribs. “You just heard him. I stole more than a million dollars from the vice president’s daughter. You don’t think I could steal a painting from a museum? He needed me to get to you.” Suddenly, my mind starts racing, and Peter turns toward me as he attempts to recover from the punch.

  “Now, Peyton…”

  “You lied to me, too, didn’t you? This isn’t about saving my world from some great danger, is it?” I whimper.

  Peter tries again. “Now, Peyton—”

  “I’m done.” I toss my hands in the air as Justin manages to drag himself over to me. “I’m done!”

  “Wait!” Justin attempts to stop me. “Peyton!” My hand stops on the doorknob. I toss my head back as he reaches to me with something in his hand. “It won’t answer all your questions, but it’ll answer some.”

  My eyes glance down at the key that I assume opens my father’s always locked office. With a heavy sigh, I snatch it, turn the knob, and storm out of the building just in time to catch a downpour.

  After a long walk in the much needed rain, I drag my soaking body into the penthouse with my mind swarming full of the lies and deceit I was conned into believing. I bounce my head on the doorframe, wondering if any of it was real. Or, was everything a distraction? Moping through my living room, I head for my bedroom. One step in, I turn around and stare at my father’s door. Up until this point in my life, the door and what lay beyond has never bothered me. Up until this point in my life, I never imagined my father would be keeping secrets from me. And up until this point in my life, never has anyone said something was because I’m a

  “Darling.” What did that mean? Why does it matter? Why is that the reason they need me? The key twirls around my fingertips; I’m anxious to know what’s on the other side. I approach cautiously, knowing curiosity is what got me here in the first place. My mind spends a few minutes going back and forth about the trust my father has in me and the trust I used to have in myself. I have to know what’s got everyone so wound up. Quickly, knowing I don’t want to waste any time, I dry off and change into dry clothes, wanting no evidence of my presence in the office.

  I approach the door again, key still in hand, anxiety still in my throat, and let out a soft sigh.

  Be aware that the answers are often just skeleton keys to doors of questions that may not have the information you want to believe on the other side. The sound of Justin’s voice seems to whisper in my ear.

  I shove the key in the lock and open it to view a small office that doesn’t look special. My hand searches for the light switch on the wall, which is when I realize that there isn’t one. I nervously tiptoe around the area. It seems as if nothing has been touched. I approach the bookcase, my fingertips slowly stroking the different titles, which seem to be historical books about ancient paintings, sculptures, and artifacts. My eyes continue scanning the shelves until I reach the empty shelf above the floor. Perplexed, I lower my body, slide the shelf off, and notice that there’s a lock in the wood.

  Shoving the key in the lock, I turn it and open the safety box concealed there, pulling out a stack of old papers. As I begin to thumb through them, I realize several aren’t in English. Frustrated, I toss them back in the box, lock it, put it back in place, and replace the shelf. With a heavy sigh, I prepare to rise when I notice what appears to be a scrapbook under the desk.

  I drag the book over to me and place it in my lap, opening it up in the middle. My eyes scan over faded article clippings about a woman named Wendy Darling and photos of her. Letting my fingers flip pages backward, I notice several clippings with the words “Precious Society” in large print.

  Precious society, fact or fiction? There was another attempt at the Le Fawn museum to steal the beloved Sous Clef. The Painting, which had recently been moved from a gallery in London, was reLocated here only days before its attempted theft. The priceless piece of artwork is slated for another relocation due to the incident. The place and date of this event is kept under lock and key. Sous Clef is said to be one of the precious pieces the mythical society is sworn to protect.

  My hand tosses a few pages, passing more pictures of Wendy, a few gentlemen with the last name Darling as well, and a couple more articles about the painting that look more recent. Closer to the end of the book, I find a fancy invitation covered partially by the envelope it came in. I attempt to open the covering, to slide the invitation out, which is when I realize it has been sealed. Doing my best, I manage to make out only a few words. These words are: “year of birth, Peyton Elaine Darling, banquet, and inaugurated.”

  What is this? Can’t anyone tell me the truth? Can’t anyone trust me? Does anyone have faith in me? Does anyone believe that I can do what is right? Geez, I might not be eighteen, but I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t need everyone to hold my hand or shelter me!

  Suddenly, my cell phone begins to go off in my pocket. Without checking the call, I answer it distractedly, “Hello.”

  “Hey, sweetheart,” my father’s voice drags my attention back to reality.

  “Hey, Dad.” I try to sound cheerful. “What’s up?”

  “Just wondering if you’re home. We’re headed that way, and I wanted to talk to you about that visit to your grandparents’ house as it’s coming up,” he begins slowly. “About what?” I stare at the invitation, still curious as to what the other half reads.

  “Well, just making sure you haven’t changed your mind about going. I know how close you and Justin have gotten, and I was just checking to make sure he had hadn’t changed your mind.”

  Holding back my pain, I sigh. “Why would he?”

  “Sometimes, love can make you do some crazy things.” The words come slowly out of his mouth.

  “It’s not like I’d be gone that long, Dad.”

  “You never know.” He drifts off before he follows it with, “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing. Just sketching.”

  “Well, we’re just a few minutes away. I was calling to make sure you were home. I’ll see you in a sec, okay?”

  “Okay,” I respond and hang up the phone.

  My hands slam the scrapbook closed and push it back into place. Quickly, I rush out and lock the door shut. Grabbing my sketchbook from between my mattress and box spring, I toss it open, grab drawing utensils, and spread them out to appear as if I’ve been here the entire time. The minute I hear the door, I slide the key into one of my pillowcases and arm my hand with a black sketch pencil.

  Knock. Knock.

  “Come in,” I call, realizing I am on a blank page like I was going to start something instead of like I was finishing something.

  “Hey, princess.” My dad slides in, shutting the door quietly behind me. “Your mother is headed straight to bed. She’s exhausted. Thank God we don’t have to travel again for a couple of days.”

  “Not until the night of the museum’s big thing, right?”

  “Right.” He nods, sitting on the edge of my bed. “I’m starting to think I shouldn’t go.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. It just feels like I should be here. You know, it’s the day before your birthday.” He loosens his yellow tie. “I was thinking, since you’re going to see your grandparents the next day, maybe I should go with you. Spend some bir
thday time with you, you know?”

  “Dad, you and I both know you and Mom have to travel that day,” I nervously giggle, twiddling my pencil around, unsure that I want to betray the Lost Boys or even risk possibly putting my parents in this mixed up situation. “It’ll be fine. Besides, you’ve spent plenty of birthdays with me, and when I get back from meeting my grandparents, we can continue the celebration.”

  Chuckling, he nods slowly. “You’re right. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  A silence settles between us, which is when I muster up the courage to pursue the questions that have been swarming around in my mind since this afternoon. “Dad, do you know something about Justin that I don’t?”

  Suddenly uncomfortable, he clears his throat. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know,” my shoulders shrug, “like something about his parents? Or where he’s originally from?”

  “Nope.” The answer is obviously a lie by the way he lowers his eyes and scratches his nose. “All I know is that he’s lost…”

  My jaw bobs up and down for a moment before I chuckle out. “A Lost Boy?”

  His eyes meet mine, desperate to give me answers, yet instead he nods. “Almost sounds like a fairy tale. Throw in a couple of secrets, a couple of villains mistaken as heroes, an unsuspecting victim, and I’d say you’d probably have a different version of that story.”

  “Peter Pan?”

  The name causes my father’s whole body to shake. “That’d be the one.” He rises to his feet. “I think I’m going to head off to bed too.”

  “Hey, Dad, one more question.” I slide my sketchbook to the side.

  “Shoot.”

  “I was down at the museum the other day and overheard some people mention something called the Precious Society. Do you have any idea what that is?” The question freezes him more uncomfortably than the Peter question did.

  After a long moment, he swallows, adjusts his tie once more, and takes a deep breath.

  “No.”

  Surprised my own father would lie to me so blatantly and to my face I nod. “Night, Dad.”

  Once he closes the door, I rest my head on top of my pillows. How can I live in a world where everyone wants to lie to me? My boyfriend cons me and for what, really? My father has been hiding secrets from me since I was born and lies to me about them as well? It seems like everyone in my life is hiding something from me, and I’m the only one trying to do things the honest way. Am I not supposed to be living an honest life? I don’t know what frightens me more: that all the people I care about seem to have something they aren’t sharing with me or that I have a feeling these things are connected and I can’t figure out how.