Six Points of Light:Hook's Origin

by Kalynn Bayron

  James charged forward. As he ran, he saw that the shadows were fading away, receding into the cover of the forest. The sun was rising, and daylight was fast approaching. He stumbled into the hollow and saw that the shadowy figure had turned over all of the furniture. Books and papers hung in the air for a brief moment before being flung violently at James. He shielded his face with his hand and forearm. He was struck several times by something hard and pointy. And then it was silent.

  Michael came charging through the doorway and ran right into James’s back, nearly toppling him.

  “Where is it?” he huffed as he tried to catch his breath.

  James looked around. Sunlight was now streaming through the branches at the top of the tree. The shadow was gone. Michael collapsed into a heap on the dirt floor.

  “Oh, James,” Michael cried. “How can we hope to rescue Wendy now? She'll be his prisoner forever.”

  Wendy, my love, thought James. It seemed hopeless.

  Something caught James's eye. From the tree tops, something was floating downwards. It looked like a tattered piece of paper. It floated down and landed in James's outstretched hand. James read it and smiled.

  “Pick yourself up, Michael,” he said.

  “Why? What's the point?” Michael was defeated.

  “We are going to get our Wendy back.” He helped Michael to his feet and mussed his hair then slipped the piece of paper into Michael's hand. Michael smoothed it out and read it aloud.

  “‘Borelli Brothers' Traveling Circus.’” He looked confused.

  “Michael, this was the circus that came to St. Catherine's the night I lost my... well—” James looked down at his scarred wrist. “There was a man traveling with the circus. His name was O'Malley, and he knew about Neverland. I'm sure he'd been there himself. He can help us. And if my hunch is correct, I think our shadowy friend will be on its way to see him.”

  “Why would Peter's shadow want to find him?” asked Michael.

  James thought back to that night ten years prior, the night he'd lost his hand, the night Peter had betrayed him. O'Malley had shown him the contents of one of what he was sure were at least fifty lighted jars. Looking back on it, James was horrified. O’Malley had seemed embarrassed, ashamed even, of keeping the fairies locked up, but he had been determined to find a way back to that magical place and hadn’t cared if he’d had to do some unscrupulous things to get there.

  “He has access to fairies, Michael. He keeps them in jars whose glass has been painted over. One of them escaped and tried to help me the night I was attacked.”

  “In jars?”

  “Yes. It’s terrible, I know, to keep such beautiful creatures locked up like specimens.”

  Michael stood quietly. He appeared to be thinking quite hard about something. “James, was Peter with you when you went to see this O'Malley fellow?”

  “No,” answered James. “I hadn’t had the opportunity to tell Peter everything O'Malley told me.”

  “You're sure?” asked Michael.

  James thought for a moment. Peter had admitted to letting the circus animals out of their enclosures. He had also admitted to being outside of the tent when James was attacked, but Peter never said he had been in the tent, or that he knew what was in the jars that O'Malley kept there.

  “Michael, I'm not sure. I know Peter was there that night, but he's a liar. He has never been truthful, at least not one hundred percent.”

  “James,” Michael was hesitant, “this O'Malley, is he a bad man? Do you get the feeling that he is a bad man?”

  James thought the question was rather odd. “No. I don’t think he is a bad man. Keeping the fairies locked up is a terrible thing, absolutely, but maybe he didn’t understand them. He seemed desperate to get back to Neverland.”

  “Right,” said Michael. “I just think it’s strange that Peter keeps every fairy he can get his hands on locked in small glass jars on shelves in his room.”

  James stared blankly. Peter kept fairies the same way O'Malley kept fairies?

  “James, I know Peter wronged you. I know you were close to him, but I am telling you now that I think you have no idea how deep his hatred of you runs.”

  A dizzying array of thoughts clouded James’s mind. Had Peter seen O’Malley before he had? No. Surely O'Malley would have told James about another boy inquiring about Neverland. The only other explanation was that Peter had been in O'Malley's tent without his knowledge.

  “We need to find O'Malley, if he's even still living. The man was ancient the last time I laid eyes on him,” said James.

  “How do we find him? The circus could be anywhere,” said Michael.

  “We will go into town and ask around. Maybe check the paper. If the circus is anywhere within a hundred miles of here, we'll find it.”

  James patted Michael on the back, and the two of them left the hollow. The sun was bright and blazing. They walked through the forest with James leading the way back to St. Catherine's.

  “James,” said Michael.

  “Yes?”

  “Your arm... Does it bother you much?”

  No one had asked him about his injury. Most people seemed frightened by it. He often kept it stuffed in the pocket of his jacket but realized that at that moment he was swinging it freely at his side as he walked.

  “No, not much. Sometimes I feel as if it’s still there. I can almost feel my fingers. It’s a strange feeling. It hasn't slowed me down, though. I still manage.”

  “You know in Neverland there's a man who puts those kinds of things right,” said Michael.

  “What do you mean, puts it right?”

  “Oh, James, I don't mean to offend you, I just—”

  “No, no, I'm not offended. But do you mean to tell me there is a way for me to have my hand back?”

  “Well, not exactly,” said Michael, looking down at his feet. “He can give you something to replace it. Like a man who loses a leg and has a peg in its place.”

  James laughed. “A peg leg? Well, Michael, in case you hadn't realized, it’s my hand that’s missing, not my leg.”

  “Right, I know. Peg is the wrong word. A peg is wooden. No, that’s not what he does. He doesn't make peg legs.” Michael smiled.

  “What does he make then?”

  “Well, he specializes in metal fittings.”

  “Metal fittings? To replace my hand?” James was still laughing. “Shall I walk around with a knife affixed to my wrist? Or a sword, perhaps?”

  Michael looked at James uneasily. “No, that would be silly. Smee specializes in hooks.”

  CHAPTER 15

  GOODBYE

  James and Michael emerged from the forest. A few wispy, white clouds dotted the sky but there would be no rain for the next few hours at the very least, and James was thankful for that. It was a long walk into town, and he wanted to leave right away.

  “Are you all right to walk? The town is quite a ways away,” James said to Michael.

  “I'm fine.” Michael seemed hopeful. James was hopeful, too.

  “I need to do something before we leave.”

  Michael looked hesitant. James wasn't asking permission but he understood how Michael might be feeling. He wanted to find O’Malley, and so did James, but he could not leave until this particular deed was done.

  “Don't worry. I won't be long. You can wait for me over by those rocks.” James waved his hand toward the outcropping of rocks behind St. Catherine's where he had spent countless hours reading and watching the storm clouds gather.

  Michael made his way to the rocks. When he was settled there, James turned and headed off to the kitchen.

  Sister Angelica was inside rolling dough and humming a familiar tune as she pressed out biscuits for breakfast. Flour was smeared across her right cheek, and her flowery apron was tied tightly around her waist. The sweet smell of honey and freshly-baked loaves of bread wafted through the air.

  “Good morning, James,” she said. She saw his bag flung over his shoulder. “Whe
re are you off to this morning?”

  James approached her and placed his hand over hers. She looked up into his face. Her smile was sorrowful. She still grieved for Sister Maddie, and she still grieved for the loss of Wendy and the others, too. The lines around her eyes and mouth were deep, and her skin was as pale as he had ever seen it.

  Sister Angelica had been hard on him when he was a child, but she loved him as she loved all children. She and Sister Maddie had been the same in that way, although they were different in most others.

  “Maddie loved you the most,” she said. “The way a mother loves a child. That is the way she loved you. I'm so thankful that you were such a good boy. If you hadn't been, you would have had the run of the place, because you could do no wrong in her eyes.”

  Sister Angelica laughed as James drew his mouth into a tight smile. He fought to keep the tears at bay. Sister Angelica didn't try to stem the flow of her own tears. She simply batted them away with the back of her hand.

  “So tell me, young man,” she continued, “where are you off to?”

  “I'm going into town. I don't know when I will be back.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. “I know you've had a hard time, James. Just know that you will always have a home here.” More tears.

  “Sister Angelica, do you have fresh flowers?” James asked quietly.

  She motioned to the window sill. A small green vase filled with freshly-cut daisies sat in the sun.

  “They were her favorite,” Sister Angelica said.

  “I know.”

  “You can take them to her.”

  James smiled warmly at her. He took the vase from the window sill, cradling it carefully in the crook of his right arm. He gave Sister Angelica's hand a quick squeeze and then walked out of the kitchen and into the main hallway.

  He walked through the giant double doors of the front entrance and around the building, following a stone pathway that was in dire need of maintenance. Weeds had infiltrated every crack and crevice, and James stepped carefully so that he would not stumble and fall.

  He approached a small wrought iron gate and lifted its rusty handle. The gate swung open noisily. The graveyard at St. Catherine's was filled with small, simple headstones. There were no sweeping bends or sculpted angels, no great monuments to the dead, only rows of flagstones each carved with a name. He found the one he was looking for.

  “Hello, Maddie,” he said aloud. He knelt and removed the daisies from their vase, placing them on the headstone. “I have to go away for a while. I don't know when I will be back.” He allowed the tears to stream down his cheeks. “I miss you, and I can't understand why things had to be this way. I've had everything taken from me, and I am so angry I could burst.” He sat down in the grass and held his head in his hand. “I have to make this right. I have to try. I know some things can never be undone. Nothing I do will bring you back. I know that. But Wendy is out there, and I have to try to find her. I have to make sure she's safe. And Peter...” James clenched his jaw as he said his name. “Peter is out there, as well, and I will make him pay for what he has done.”

  James felt ashamed. He knew that revenge was wrong, but he no longer cared. He wanted to hurt Peter the way Peter had hurt him.

  “I know you would have me forgive him. I know you would have me put all of this behind me, but I cannot. Maybe someday I will, but I cannot do that right now. I love you. I hope you can forgive me.” He kissed the tips of his fingers and placed his open hand on Sister Maddie's gravestone.

  “James?” Michael's small voice broke the silence. He was standing just outside the gate. “I had no idea. I'm so sorry.”

  James stood up and wiped his eyes. “How could you have known?” He patted Michael's shoulder as he walked past him. “We should get moving.”

  James turned to see that Michael had slipped past the gate and into the graveyard. He watched as Michael knelt and placed a small metal object on Maddie's headstone. He bowed his head and murmured something before running to rejoin James on the pathway.

  “What was that you put on her headstone?”

  “It’s a thimble. Wendy gave it to me. She told me that Peter didn't like it when she gave me a hug or a kiss, so she gave me a little token. Something to show me that she loves me no matter what.”

  James smiled. He thought it was very kind of him to leave his precious token for Maddie. It occurred to him that Michael was quite easy to get along with. He couldn't help but compare Michael's easy going manner with that of Peter’s.

  Peter had been difficult and unpredictable. James had come to accept him for who he was, even when everyone else seemed to be at their wits end with him. He’d always given him another chance to explain himself or to apologize. James regretted all of the time he’d wasted trying to show Peter that he wasn't alone in the world, and at the same time he felt it could not have all been for nothing. Was there any humanity left in him? James was wholly unsure about that, but he thought that there was a chance that Peter might feel some remorse for all of the suffering he had caused.

  As he and Michael walked down the winding country road that led away from St. Catherine's, he thought about the times that he had seen behind Peter's rough exterior. There were occasions when he was sure he had seen the real Peter. Not the smiling carefree little boy he pretended to be. No, he had seen the wounded animal that Peter truly was. Scared and lost and guarded by walls a mile high. Those glimpses had been rare, but James knew there was something there, and it scared him.

  “Where should we stop first?” asked Michael.

  James refocused on the task at hand.

  “We should stop at the library and check the local newspaper. If the circus is nearby, it will be in the paper.”

  James had ventured into town many times, most recently to visit the library. The town's library was much larger than the one at St. Catherine's. He’d spent hours poring over its titles and wandering its dusty stacks. The woman who worked at the front desk had helped James obtain a little slip of paper that allowed him to take books back to St. Catherine's and return them when he was finished reading them. He took this responsibility very seriously and made sure that all of his borrowed books were returned in proper order.

  The sun was now directly overhead and its rays beat down on the back of James's neck. He was relieved when they came to the fork in the road that signaled to him that they were only a mile or so away from town.

  The countryside was picturesque. Its rolling hills and small outcroppings of trees, all green and lush, were a magnificent sight. James had learned every curve of the landscape and every bend in the road. He had a keen sense of navigation, aided by his studies of the movement of the sun and moon. He had taken to walking to town in the dead of night, all the while studying the stars above.

  He thought of Wendy and how she might have enjoyed that walk to town. She would have held his hand, and they would have talked about her favorite books, and he would have shared with her the names of the constellations. He imagined her long hair pulled away from her lovely face.

  “Does she speak of me often?” James asked. He had to know if she was thinking of him even in that far off place.

  “No,” said Michael. James felt his heart sputter, but Michael quickly explained, “Peter has forbidden it. No one is allowed to say your name, unless of course they are speaking of, well...”

  “Well what? What do they say?” asked James.

  “Well, Pan seems to enjoy stories, and when the other boys tell him stories about you, even if they are completely untrue, he loves it. The stranger and more unbelievable the story, the better.”

  James scowled. So they were making fun of me? Laughing at me?

  “Do they talk about this?” James held up his mangled wrist.

  Michael immediately lowered his eyes.

  “Yes,” he said. “It’s despicable. It makes my stomach turn.”

  James pictured Peter and his lot sitting around, laughing at his misfortune.

>   “Peter says you screamed like a child when the beast took your hand. He said he had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing,” said Michael.

  James looked down at him. A ringing filled his ears, and his cheeks flushed red with anger. Of all the emotions that James had cycled through on that particular day, disgust was dominant in that moment. Peter had gone off and left James's world in shambles, and now he was spending his days mocking the pain James had endured. Something stirred deep inside, and James wondered if he would be able to control himself if he got the opportunity to confront Peter. The feeling subsided, but it did not disappear. It simply lay down in its cage like a wild animal, biding its time, waiting for the right moment to break free.

  “We are here,” said Michael. They had come to the town's outer limits.

  The town of Hollindale was small and looked like the villages often described in fairy tales. The town itself was four hundred years old, and it looked every year of its age.

  Built around the landscape of a crumbling eleventh-century castle, the hamlet was crowded with small stone buildings and narrow cobbled streets. Ruts from centuries of wagon-wheel processions had left permanent indentations in the road itself, some of which were deep enough to lose a shoe in.

  The locals had converted the crumbling castle into a church; a brilliant green dome had been erected atop one of its turrets. James led Michael into the heart of the village.

  “The library is this way,” said James.

  People were milling about, and no one seemed to take notice of the pair as they wound their way through the little town. James approached the library and pulled hard on the handle, but it didn't budge. He pulled the wooden handle again. It was locked.

  “Is it closed?” asked Michael.

  “It shouldn't be,” answered James. He walked to the window and peered inside. It was dark, and there was no one at the front desk. “That's odd. It’s always open this time of day.”