A tremor of fear ran through Wendy as she realized the implications of his warning. John’s hand tightened within her own.
“Now, I’ll ask you once more—are you ready for an adventure?” Intoxicated by the power of flight, all the children screamed their consent, and Peter launched them up off the windowsill and into the London night sky, leaving Nana howling and pacing back in the nursery.
Had they waited five more minutes, they would have seen their parents returning and breaking down the nursery door, convinced by some divine intuition that their children were not safe; they would have heard their frantic cries as they pulled back their bed sheets one by one, and they would have seen their panicked movements as they searched under every bed and inside every wardrobe, desperate to be angry with their children for worrying them so. Alas, it was not meant to be, for since the children were flying away through the night, they would never see their father fall to his knees in front of the window or hear their mother screaming at Liza. Adventure had beckoned, but in the same way, an unfathomable grief had arrived for the Darling parents.
CHAPTER FIVE
AS WENDY LEFT THE CONFINES OF HER NURSERY, she felt the humid London air whipping around her face and felt the incredible power coming down through Peter’s hand, clutched so tightly around her own that it gave the semblance of safety, though they were hundreds of feet in the air. She was afraid to look down at her own dangling feet, so instead she kept her eyes on the brilliant city that unfolded itself underneath her like a lover. To the east she could see the slums, their dark, wet corridors sending a shiver of terror down her spine. From here, the mangled streets looked like twisted roots, each one playing into each other, winding and leaping around dilapidated buildings, which she had heard were filled with hungry orphans and serpentine men of the night. The Isle of Dogs was sparsely lit, but even in the darkness, Wendy could make out its famous lawns and ancient trees. Peter squeezed her hand even harder.
“Incredible, isn’t it?”
Michael was screaming with delight below, while John had been shocked into an awed silence. Wendy’s heart felt like it might burst with the joy of it all. Peter led them east, crossing over the great expanse of Buckingham Palace, past dark gardens that appeared now as a black spot from above. In the distance, Wendy could make out the upward spires of Westminster Abbey; below her feet was Victoria Station, bustling even now. Peter took them lower toward the House of Parliament¸ nodding down at her briefly before she gave a gasp of delight at the appearance of the massive River Thames, so thick it appeared like an enormous snake curling its way through London, wanting to devour everything in its path. The National Gallery came into view, and Peter gave a burst of speed, pulling them along behind him.
“Wanna do something fun?” he whispered. Then they were diving, Wendy trying her best to hold John’s and Peter’s hands as the air pushed hard around them, whipping them behind Peter like a ribbon in the wind. Peter pulled them down, farther and farther, until Wendy was sure they were going to hit the ground at an incredible speed.
“Say, Peter, I dare say that we should pull up!” John yelled cautiously. His tone betrayed that while he had spoken politely, he was absolutely terrified.
“Nonsense!” Peter shouted back. “Trust me!”
They sank lower, until they were level with some ancient three-story buildings, their peaked windows and gargoyles growing closer every second. Peter turned his body, rotating his arm slowly so that Wendy might turn as well and so on down the line. He banked a hard right, the children following him into a wide alley. The flying boy gave a yell and increased his speed, and the lights around them became a blur. Wendy felt a smile erupt upon her face as they soared between the buildings, up and down with the rolling cobblestone pavement, one time even sinking so low that John almost tangled himself in some hanging laundry. Their pace slowed, and Wendy turned her head to peer into the lighted windows around her, seeing glimpses of life that she never dreamed of: a small Indian child staring out the window, his eyes lighting up when he saw Peter, as his parents danced and laughed in the background; a couple screaming at each other while playing cards; a group of dock workers standing around drinking; a man who simply sat in a chair and stared at a wall while mumbling to himself, puppets on both his hands; a woman with impossibly dark eyes reading on a dangerous ledge, a thin blanket wrapped around her shoulders. As she flew past them, Wendy was struck by how small and insignificant her own life was; everyone was trying to get by, and even if she had never met them, they existed to her now.
Peter was pulling them lower now, so that they could smell the life in the streets below them: the day-old fish sitting out, the warm bread from the bakery, the stench of waste and liquor. Someone yelled out from an alley, and Wendy saw two forms converge, saw a knife flash in the light. Then they were climbing upward again, up and out of the city, and flying over the Thames, taking a moment to circle over the golden glowing House of Parliament, passing the stern face of Big Ben, so close that Wendy could see the tiny russet sparrows nesting in its golden etchings. Diving low, they flew upward on the river, Peter heading toward Tower Bridge, a beacon of light in the dark night. The children dipped down low, so close to the water that Wendy could see her own shadow in the inky liquid. She heard giggling behind her, and when she looked back at Michael, he was trailing his foot in the river, laughing as water splashed up his thigh.
Wendy let out a laugh of pure happiness, followed by a hysterical one. She had never felt so free or light. This was what being alive felt like! For too long she had been trapped in drawing rooms and stuffy classrooms. Here, in the air, with this strange boy, she was free, even if only for a moment. She grinned and looked straight up the river to Tower Bridge, which grew impossibly large, a behemoth of beams and light climbing its way out of the water, pointing its ridges straight to the sky. Wendy had only seen the bridge from a distance while riding in a carriage, tuning out as her father had rambled on about the bascules, the hydraulics, and the glory of architects. Now, soaring below it, she marveled at its steel beams and crisp lines of wires, at its sheer impassive glimpse into the future.
Peter looked down at Wendy, and again she was taken aback by the allure of his charm: the hard line of his jaw, the way his bright red hair blew in the wind, his boyish cheeks on a man’s face. The joy that radiated from his eyes as he flew was contagious. He saw her looking his way and gave a happy grin.
“I bet your parents have never shown you anything like this!”
Wendy felt light-headed as she shook her head. No, no, of course not, how could they? Peter looked back at the boys, who were giggling together as they rounded out the bottom of the bridge and began climbing upward, their bodies dangerously close to one of the massive pillars. John was pointing out the various features of the bridge to Michael as they flew.
“Look there, Michael, do you see how the suspension wires anchor to the pillars? Father told me that this is the first bascule bridge of its kind!” Of course, their father had told John about the bridge as well. Wendy gave a smile. Well, she knew that the Prince and Princess of Wales had been at the naming of the bridge and that was very exciting. Peter pulled them through the middle of the bridge, and then up the side of one of the piers, circling around the gray stonework.
“This is Cornish granite and concrete!” John yelled to Michael, who was just helplessly laughing, so delighted he was beyond himself.
“John, be quiet,” he shrieked. John shook his head, obviously disappointed.
Peter looked back at John. “I find it very interesting, John; Cornish granite, do you say?” John flushed with happiness as they made their final lap around the gothic buttresses that topped the east tower. Wendy could see inside the walkways of the Tower, could see the faint outlines of women of the night—as her mother called them—sad creatures who trolled for lustful men, theirs a marriage of desperation.
“Children, are you ready?” The children looked up toward Peter as he trailed them up and aw
ay from the bridge. “Shall we pay Neverland a little visit? Shall we see what fantastic adventures await us?”
The boys erupted in loud cheers, and Wendy gave a girlish tilt of her head to show her approval. Michael smiled up at Wendy with a toothy grin and then looked down at his bear.
“Shall we go, Giles? Shall we go to Neverland?”
Then Michael reached down with his other hand to pat his teddy bear’s head.
“Michael, NO!” John yelled as his little brother fell from his hand. Michael let out a piercing scream as he tumbled down into the darkness. Wendy began screaming his name. With a jerk, Peter’s hand left her own and then she and John were also falling, so quickly that she didn’t even understand what was happening. Peter was gone in a flash of light, and then there was just the sky above her and the dark water below. Her body turned as she fell, her hands out in front of her, as if she could break her fall, John tumbling beside her, calling “Papa!” as he fell. Falling was even faster than flying, Wendy thought with horror, as they plummeted down toward the Thames. Suddenly Peter was above her and then beside her, Michael’s body up over his shoulder.
“Take my hand,” Peter shouted to Wendy, his hand reaching for hers. She flailed her arms, hoping to catch his hand. Finally, their fingers connected, and her fall simply stopped, as if the momentum of falling just failed to exist, and then she was moving with intent, with Peter, toward John’s tumbling form, twisting as it fell. The note from Booth fluttered out of her pocket and lazily flapped down towards the Thames. Wendy’s heart twisted at the sight of it, but her focus, for the moment, was on saving her brother.
“Grab him!” Peter shouted.
Wendy lunged for John’s leg and wrapped her hand firmly around his ankle, and then they were motionless in the air, a family hovering. John’s sobs faded quickly, and he turned to hide his face from Peter.
“I’m sorry,” Peter breathed heavily. “I couldn’t catch Michael and still hold you both. Better to catch him first and then grab you on my way up.”
John wrenched himself upward and traded his foot for his hand, finally righted. Michael was sobbing.
“I’m sorry, John! I forgot! I wanted to touch Giles.”
“It’s all right, Michael. It was an accident,” Wendy soothed him.
“It is certainly NOT all right!” John yelled. “Michael, you could have killed us all! Do you understand? What were you thinking? What is wrong with you?”
“John, leave him be! You’re being quite terrible!” Wendy admonished.
“No! He needs to understand. You could have killed us because you were worried about your stupid teddy bear.” John reached out and grabbed Giles out of Michael’s hand.
“John, stop it, right now!” Michael wailed.
“No. You need to learn. You aren’t a baby anymore.” With that, John dropped Giles. The teddy bear fell swiftly and silently into the dark night.
“Giles! NO!” Michael turned his body into Peter’s chest.
“John!” Wendy turned her hazel eyes on him, righteous anger curling up her chest. “I know you are scared, but try not to take out your anger on Michael. He is five.”
“He needs to grow up,” John snapped. “We’re going somewhere to have adventures, not play with stuffed toys.”
Peter silently watched the family bicker before clearing his throat. Gently, he uncurled Michael from his arm and took his hand in his own. Michael and Wendy were now on either side of Peter, with John at the end of the line. Peter tucked in his chin and peered into Michael’s tear-streaked face.
“John is right, Michael. You shouldn’t have let go of John’s hand. That was very dangerous.” But then he grinned, his eyes lighting up with delight. “But how would you like to go to a place where you don’t need to grow up—ever? Where you can have all the teddy bears you want?”
Michael nodded. Peter then circled around until he was face to face with John. “And John, how would you like to go somewhere where you aren’t in charge of a five-year-old boy, but an army?”
John looked intrigued. “Yes, sir.”
“Yes, Peter.”
“Yes, Peter,” John corrected himself.
Finally, Peter leveled his gaze on Wendy. “And you?” Wendy was lost for a moment, looking back the way they had come. What was Booth doing right now? Was he still waiting for her? Did it even matter? If Peter was telling the truth, then Booth wouldn’t even notice her absence, and yet . . . Then Peter was in front of her, his green eyes looking into hers with a ferocious intensity, and her thoughts about Booth disappeared. “Do you want to go somewhere where your parents’ opinions and rules don’t matter?” He leaned in toward her and then brought his lips to her ear, so close they brushed her cheek. “Do you want to go somewhere where you can have anything you desire?”
Peter’s warm breath washed over her, smelling like leaves and honey, and then she was gone, caught up in him, caught up in the night, in the wind that whistled around them.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Take us there.”
“I will.” Peter raised his face to the night, to where the passage had climbed earlier, now a small white light twinkling in the last corner of the sky. “Open,” he whispered quietly.
He began pulling the children upward, upward, until they were flying through cold and wet clouds, upward as a hard rain pelted their faces, upward through thick fog, so thick that if it weren’t for Peter’s warm hand and John’s cold one, Wendy would have been drifting alone in a sea of gray. Upward they climbed, past the cloud cover and the strange, thin air around it, crackling with energy and a strangely magnetic current that made Wendy’s arm hair stand on edge. The temperature began steadily dropping. Frost formed on her lips and eyelashes. Higher and higher they climbed, until the air was too thin to breathe and there was nothing to fill her lungs with, nothing at all, and then her chest began painfully seizing as she struggled for air. She heard John gasping below her and tried to yell to Peter that he couldn’t breathe, that she couldn’t breathe, but there was no voice, no air, only the burning in her lungs.
“Almost there!” Peter yelled.
Wendy felt her throat close up, and her lungs felt like they were bursting against her chest, beating against her ribs, desperate to breathe. She felt John jerking his hand violently in hers, choosing between breathing and falling. Black stars exploded in her vision, and she tried to pull her hand out of Peter’s to grab at her throat, to grab anything that would make her breathe; even if she fell, it would be better than this because she would have air . . . and then it was over. The night sky exploded into a thousand fractured lights before them, bursting open like a doorway. The protective sky itself curled and tucked around the children, as lavender and blue light began leaking out of the hole in the stars. It reflected upon itself like a puddle of glass that then began to swirl clockwise, a whirling star made up of hazy colors. Out of the star poured air, sweet, glorious warm and wet air, delicious and life-giving, and Wendy gulped it into her lungs greedily, each breath making her feel more alive. John and Michael were doing the same.
“You made it!” Peter grinned. “It’s difficult the first time. The air gets thin when you’re this high. It can be unpleasant. ”
Wendy looked up at him accusingly, her politeness worn away by the lack of air. “Unpleasant? We have almost died twice tonight! Are you sure that this is safe?”
His eyes narrowed before he gave a scoff. “You have never been in any real danger. I would never put you in harm’s way, Wendy Darling. Neverland is the safest place in the world. No one ever wants to leave Neverland!” He shook his head with a laugh. “You beautiful, proper girl! You’ll understand when we get there.”
Wendy flushed at his compliment, ducking her head. Peter turned now to the doorway opening up before them, the buzzing spiral in the sky that churned and winked its treasures. Looking through the doorway was like looking into a cosmic hallway. Inside the room were three other wavy windows, shuddering and changing shape in the drifting l
ight: one window was a world where the stars moved and shifted, one featured a pink and orange sky that radiated with light and life, and the last one had two bright moons that blazed like the sun. Peter pulled them up to the last window: a world with a faultless blue sky, a blue that burned the eyes.
“Open,” Peter whispered, for the second time. The window with the blue sky blinked and grew larger. The center of swirling light expanded and swallowed Peter’s window, the light reaching outward, growing into the same tunnel formation that Wendy had seen in the nursery. There was a moment of silence as the Darling children looked down the tunnel into another world, into this Neverland.
“Well,” John muttered, “we’ve come this far. We might as well go on.”
Peter let out a delightfully deep laugh and flew into the tunnel, pulling the Darling children with him. Wendy gave one momentary glance back, taking in the gray cloudy skies of London, but soon the window faded and all she could see were swirling lights. She faced forward, tumbling through a vortex, tumbling down, Peter’s hand strongly wrapped around her own, and before she knew it, it was daytime and all three children were floating in a cloudless blue sky, bright and clean as pool water. A thousand feet below them, a gigantic green island rose out of the water. The warm, wet air of the island enveloped them. A question pressed against her heart at the sight of it. What is . . . Peter let himself explode into a greedy and consuming laughter.
“Welcome! Welcome to Neverland, Darling family!” He pulled Wendy closer to him as they lazily drifted down into a bright new world. London faded from her mind like the minute details of a discombobulated dream.
CHAPTER SIX
NEVERLAND SPILLED OUT UNDERNEATH THEM, a gigantic garden isle drenched with emerald valleys, jagged white cliffs, and a towering mountain spire that watched over the island like an impassive guardian. An unnaturally turquoise sea battered at the coasts. It was such an enchanting sight that it made Wendy’s chest ache. She took a deep breath of air that was very different than London’s thin, smoke-clogged offerings; here the air was heavy and warm, like the draping of a blanket. The smells of sweet flowers, a salty sea, and honey overtook her nostrils. Neverland smelled like life. Flying must be easier in this atmosphere, she thought, noticing that the wind wasn’t pushing up against her body the way it had before.
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