Darling

by K. Ancrum

  The ride this time was quiet and tense, but it was a different kind of tension than before. Wendy’s heart was steady, but her veins felt like they were full of lightning. She wasn’t shaking and scared—she was ready.

  “Peter is going to send us home as soon as we get there,” Curly said suddenly after they had been riding for a while. He unbraided his hair and combed his fingers through it a few times. “He likes to isolate people, so just let him. We won’t really leave; we’ll follow you at a distance. Peter knows when he’s being tailed, so we’ll have to keep pretty far away.”

  “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Wendy said. “The police will be following and listening in, and if anything happens—”

  Curly shook his head sharply. “We never leave Tinkerbelle alone in the night.”

  Oh yeah. Wendy had forgotten about that. The train ride to Peter’s house seemed like it had happened so long ago, but it was barely 2:15 a.m.

  Tinkerbelle leaned the side of her head on the bus seat and closed her eyes. Nibs reached over and ran his hand through her short blond hair.

  “It’s almost over, Wendy,” Tinkerbelle said sleepily. “Whether you succeed or not. How do you feel?”

  “Nervous. Determined … exhausted.” Wendy laughed. “I stay up this late pretty often, but I’m usually in bed and on the Internet or playing video games. I think I’ve walked more tonight than I have in the past month.”

  Tinkerbelle smiled softly and closed her eyes. “I know we might not, but I hope we see you again. Even if it’s just in passing or on the train.”

  Beside her, Curly began rebraiding his hair, pulling tightly so his braids were stiff and shiny.

  Wendy wondered how they got ready for bed normally, if they spent some time together as a family and watched TV, or read books out loud so the younger boys could listen. If Peter had never entered their lives but they’d all found themselves living under the same roof, Wendy believed they could have survived without him. They would have been much happier, too.

  When their bus stopped at the corner of Clark and Albion, Nibs shook Tinkerbelle to wake her up. Curly pulled the string to stop the bus, hopped out the back door, and held it open for them. When the bus pulled off, Peter was there, standing across the street.

  He was stock-still, watching them with his hands tucked in his pockets. They waited for the traffic light to change, then crossed the street to meet him on the other side.

  Peter looked them up and down. “It’s been an interesting night, hasn’t it?” he asked, without any inflection whatsoever in his voice.

  Curly and Nibs didn’t say anything. They waited as if in military rest for Peter to say or do something instead.

  Peter’s golden eyes were fixed on Tinkerbelle as he stared her down in suspicion. “Go home,” he said.

  Curly and Nibs turned and began walking down the sidewalk without a second glance at the girls they were leaving behind. Tinkerbelle watched them leave, then met Peter’s gaze.

  “I’m taking Wendy back,” Peter said quietly. “Then, when we get home, you and I are going to have a talk.”

  Tinkerbelle flinched like he’d hit her, hands visibly shaking.

  Wendy’s heart was pounding in her chest. Only the scratch of the wire’s tape against her skin and the knowledge of what was at stake gave her the bravery to speak. She stepped closer to Tinkerbelle, edging herself into Peter’s line of sight to hopefully break his focus and resettle it on herself. “Tonight had nothing to do with her,” Wendy said firmly.

  Peter’s gaze flickered in Wendy’s direction for a second, but then resettled onto Tinkerbelle. A predator rarely gets distracted.

  Wendy steeled herself and tried again. “Stop scaring her. You don’t do anything to girls. You never have and never will.”

  Peter’s neck snapped so fast in Wendy’s direction there was an audible crack. For one incredibly horrifying second, an expression shifted over his face that was so full of the promise of violence, Wendy almost stepped back.

  But she didn’t. She filled herself with the last shreds she could reach of Ominotago’s boldness and said, “Do you know who I am? I know who you are. I’ve always known.” By the grace of God keep my voice still, keep my knees steady, keep my face blank, Wendy chanted silently.

  Peter’s golden eyes shifted back and forth as he clawed through his memory, Tinkerbelle almost entirely forgotten.

  Wendy tilted her head to the side and looked at Peter like he was being amusing. There was such a thin line between throwing him off guard enough to trick him and saying something that would make him react as quickly and dangerously as she’d seem him already tonight.

  “Wendy, no,” Tinkerbelle whispered.

  “Wendy, yes!” Wendy exclaimed, grinning at Peter. “Only my last name is probably throwing you off. God, if she knew how easily she’d slipped your mind, she wouldn’t have stayed away from this city for almost twenty years.”

  Peter’s arm shot out so fast it was a blur, grabbing Wendy’s forearm with crushing pressure. He swung her around and slammed her so hard against the brick wall of the building behind them that stars danced across her eyes. Tinkerbelle screamed, but there was no one on the street to hear her. It was too late at night, but also too early in the morning.

  In spite of the pain, Wendy giggled and bared her teeth in her closest approximation of the feral smile Peter had given Detective Hook earlier. “I’ve been told I look like her,” she said.

  “Mary Moira,” Peter replied roughly, ghosts swimming across his vision. He looked more haggard and more his age than Wendy had ever seen him—auburn curls finger-combed and frizzed, lack of sleep, setting spray for his makeup letting the circles beneath his eyes show through.

  Wendy ignored the throbbing in her upper arm and the scrape at the back of her head. “She was running from you, but I’ve been looking for you,” she said, tilting her chin up to gaze at him beneath lowered eyelids.

  Peter clenched his teeth angrily, but the rest of his face crumpled into the expectant despair of a man who knew he couldn’t keep getting away forever. “What do you want? Did you come here to kill me?” he rasped, shaking her shoulders roughly.

  Wendy clenched her left hand into a fist as she struggled not to react to the skin on the back of her arm tearing as it scraped against the brick. “I came to watch you,” she said.

  Peter instantly let go of her arm in confusion. He backed away from her and began pacing, like a tiger as he circled her.

  “Sorry for the girl next door act, but I had to see for myself if you were really him. Or if you had…” Wendy looked him up and down wolfishly, then continued, “… depreciated or retired. You’re very rare, Peter. No one who meets you can ever forget.”

  Peter hissed air through his teeth angrily, and Wendy tried not to flinch. She started again: “I’ve grown up hearing stories about you for as long as I’ve been alive. No one can catch the great Peter Pan,” she lied triumphantly. “No one would ever want to.”

  “They can catch me, and you’re a liability,” Peter said firmly. He grabbed Wendy by the top of her dress and Tinkerbelle by her sleeve and marched them into an alley where there would be even less likelihood of witnesses.

  “I’m not a liability,” Wendy said quickly as they stumbled into the darkness. “I’m an asset.”

  Tinkerbelle had begun to cry, and it took everything in Wendy’s power not to reach out to comfort her.

  Peter looked at Tinkerbelle and sneered in disgust. “Stop it, you’re being too loud,” he shouted at her.

  Tinkerbelle covered her face with her hands and worked to quiet herself.

  Wendy felt a spark of anger, and it was enough to fuel her. The fact that he was shouting when he wanted quiet was just more proof that as dangerous as Peter was, he was fallible, and he was messy.

  “How long do you think you can keep this up?” Wendy asked, challenging him. “Can you even still do it, or are you retired already? It would be such a letdown for me
.”

  Peter paused, clearly surprised that she would ask that. “I’m not retired,” he said with no small amount of offense.

  Wendy put her hand on her hip. “Really? Because it would be very disappointing to have come all this way and gotten to meet you only to learn that you were done.”

  “And why does that even matter to you?” Peter asked darkly. “Do you want an autograph or something?”

  It was Wendy’s turn to pretend to be offended. “No. I want to help.”

  Peter gasped. Then he threw his head back and laughed at her, his delight crawling up the alley walls and spiraling out into the night sky. He held his stomach and laughed until tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes.

  Tinkerbelle nudged Wendy in the side and nodded at a beer bottle on the ground while Peter was distracted.

  Wendy made a decision. “Fine. I thought you might be looking for a protégé, but I guess not. I’ll get started on my own then,” she said loudly, nodding back at Tinkerbelle in understanding. She crouched down, snatched the bottle off the ground, and smashed its end against the wall. Then Wendy turned and stabbed it close to Tinkerbelle. Tinkerbelle shrieked as the sharp glass edges skittered off the brick near her head.

  Wendy reared her arm back to stab at Tinkerbelle again, but Peter lunged forward and slapped the side of Wendy’s arm so hard that she smashed the bottle to pieces against the wall, rendering it useless.

  “No,” Peter growled, stepping close to her, all traces of levity gone from his beautiful face. “Tinkerbelle is mine.”

  “Then take me seriously,” Wendy said, keeping her face blank. “I’ve taken you seriously.”

  Tinkerbelle was gasping in feigned terror, crouched on the ground. Her hands were shaking like they usually did when she was afraid, but Wendy could tell she was doing it a little bit too fast. She was acting.

  Wendy’s chest squeezed hard and her throat felt hot. They just might succeed. They just might be able to do this.

  Peter reached down and wrenched Tinkerbelle up, then shook her hard with one hand. “It is too dangerous for you, and it’s late. You need to go home,” he said.

  Wendy remembered what Fyodor had said. Peter would have to push in a way that a man does, not a boy. Peter didn’t kill women and he didn’t beat women, only boys.

  Wendy didn’t want to test the theory, but it seemed to be holding fast. “I want her here,” she said, thinking quickly. “If you’re both taking me home, I want my parents to see Tinkerbelle with me at the door, not you. Be practical.”

  Peter let go of Tinkerbelle and brushed his hands down the side of her arms as if in apology. “You can’t be impulsive,” he said to Wendy, even though he was looking at Tinkerbelle. “I admire your enthusiasm, but fucking hell. You can’t just go out swinging or you’ll never last long enough to get good at this. You have to plan and be graceful about it.”

  He paused to pluck a few pieces of glass out of Tinkerbelle’s hair, then brushed the finer pieces away with the side of his sleeve. Then he cupped Tinkerbelle’s face in his hands and thumbed the tears off her cheeks.

  Tinkerbelle sniffled and leaned up into his gentle grip, away from Wendy like Tinkerbelle was scared of her.

  “Say you’re sorry,” Peter demanded of Wendy. “You can’t scold me for scaring her if you’re just going to turn around and scare her, too.”

  “I’m sorry, Tinkerbelle,” Wendy said, rolling her eyes.

  “You have to be nice to people, too,” Peter said, already in teacher mode. “The world won’t give you things easily if you have a bad attitude.”

  “Look, I don’t even know if you’re retired yet or not,” Wendy said with just as much attitude as before.

  Peter looked at her sharply. “I’m not retired.”

  “Prove it.”

  Peter scowled. “Why would I do that? We literally just fucking met.”

  “Fyodor has an opinion about what happened to James tonight,” Wendy said boldly. “I think you might be able to guess what.”

  Tinkerbelle made a noise of pain and despair, selling the illusion of her ignorance.

  “If you did get rid of James,” Wendy continued, “he should be nearby. If you don’t take me to him, I’ll still walk away knowing it happened and approximately where to find him. Which would make me, in your own words, a liability. Then, well, you could get rid of me, too … but then you’ll have sullied your streak and done something I’m beginning to understand you don’t ever want to do. Alternatively…”

  She ran a finger up the side of Tinkerbelle’s arm, and grinned when Tinkerbelle flinched. “You could bring me with you and give me a lesson in etiquette. We could come to some kind of arrangement.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Peter asked.

  Wendy smiled. “It’s what I’ve always wanted to be when I grew up. Surely you had dreams of what you wanted to be when you grew up.”

  Peter frowned softly. “No. I didn’t. The only dream I had was … I just wanted—”

  Wendy interrupted him. “I know.”

  Peter glanced out of the alley into the street. A single car drove down the road, passing them and flooding the alley with bright light for a split second. Peter put his hands on his hips and matched Wendy’s gaze for a long and excruciating moment. He rolled one shoulder, the shoulder that wore the jacket sleeve that she had been sewn earlier in the night. Wendy heard an echo of his words: I’ve had this jacket for a very long time. It used to belong to a friend of mine—the very first friend I ever had.

  Peter took a deep breath and let it out in a long, shaky sigh. “You can have anything in life if you will sacrifice everything else for it,” he said into the quiet of the night. He raked his hand through his auburn hair, then stretched his arms up and behind his head to crack his back. Then Peter smirked. He reached inside his jacket and took out a switchblade comb and began putting himself to rights.

  “The first time was an accident,” he said, and Wendy didn’t believe him for a second. “But it gets easier after that.”

  Wendy swallowed and kept herself from looking at Tinkerbelle. After a night of gazing at the other girl for reassurance, it was harder than she thought. “Do you do it for fun?” she asked, leaning casually against the brick. “I’d do it for fun.”

  “No.” Peter’s response was quick and agonized. The wind blew hard into the alley, and the light of another passing car illuminated his silhouette as he blocked the only way out of the alley. “I forget them afterward.” He clenched his hands into fists. “When you grow up, you become not yourself in so many ways. I couldn’t bear it if I passed one of them on the street completely grown and completely unlike himself. No interest in anything but work, incapable of having adventures, tired, like all the light has been sucked out of him. This is easier in many ways.”

  That was an unexpected response. Wendy didn’t quite know what to say to that. She’d have to switch tactics. “You told us James left without saying goodbye,” she said. “If he’d already left, then what was the problem?”

  Peter laughed mirthlessly and rubbed his eyes with both hands. Wendy took this second of relief from being pinned under Peter’s surveillance to quickly shoot a reassuring expression at Tinkerbelle.

  Tinkerbelle’s shoulders dropped a fraction.

  “James left a year early,” Peter said, letting his arms fall to his sides so hard in exasperation that they hit the sides of his thighs. “He robbed us of a full 391 days of being with him, 390 mornings of being together to make breakfast, 391 nights of listening to him read out loud. Everyone who leaves gets a chance to say goodbye—even the ones who don’t leave voluntarily. But James fled in the middle of the night and he … he broke Curly’s heart.”

  Tinkerbelle sprang to action and took control of the direction that this was going. She rubbed the sides of Peter’s arms as his eyes got red again.

  “What is it with you?” he said to Wendy, choked up. “You’ve made me cry three times tonight.”

  �
��I’m sorry. I think you just needed to; it’s been a long time for you, hasn’t it?” Wendy asked softly. “I’m sorry for trivializing what you do. I didn’t understand why you did it, I didn’t know…”

  Tinkerbelle allowed Peter to rest his head on her shoulder. She curled an arm around his back and held him tight as he sniffled into the side of her neck. She rocked him back and forth and made soft hushing noises. Peter let her move him gently until she had rocked him almost ninety degrees in a semicircle, until Peter’s wet, accusatory eyes were no longer facing Wendy.

  Tinkerbelle hushed gently at him for a second more, then looked directly at Wendy over Peter’s head and nodded. Wendy nodded back and gave Tinkerbelle a quick thumbs up. Tinkerbelle nuzzled into the side of Peter’s head in faux reassurance and rolled her eyes.

  “It’s different for Wendy,” Tinkerbelle explained, gentle like she was talking to a child. “You have to put yourself in her shoes, Peter. She’s waited so long to see you—you’re practically a celebrity to her. There was no way she could have had the right context for our lives and there’s no way she would have known how much this means to you. It’s not fair to stay angry at her if she didn’t do any of it on purpose. Right?”

  Peter nodded into the curve of Tinkerbelle’s neck, but didn’t lift his head.

  “I’m sure a smart, kind girl like Wendy would be willing to try, though?” Tinkerbelle asked. “You remember how happy Slightly was that she liked his soup and Curly was when she loved his bread?”

  “I remember,” Peter said, his words muffled by Tinkerbelle’s skin.

  “The boys like her so much. If anyone would understand, it’s Wendy, but you have to give her a chance to try.”

  Peter sobbed into Tinkerbelle’s shoulder and said something hysterically that Wendy couldn’t make out.

  Tinkerbelle hushed him again sweetly and held him tighter. “I know, Peter, I know. But sometimes people don’t mean to hurt people. Wendy already apologized to me, and I accepted her apology. It was a mistake. You make mistakes sometimes, too. How would you feel if someone didn’t accept your apology?”