Chapter 9 #2
“And no serial killer stories,” he repeated with a heavy sigh of a kid telling his mother that he’d be home before midnight.
They went back to eating in silence. Her mind was a million miles away, turning over everything that had happened. When dinner was over, other pirates came and cleaned up.
It was time for bed. Hook’s was an expensive, real bed by the wall, with heavy drapes that cut it off from the rest of the room.
Hers?
When she’d asked where it was, he’d gestured vaguely at a door. She figured it went to another smaller room. No. It went to a closet.
Mr. Smee slept in a closet.
Well, that was kind of normal for ships, she supposed. It was Hook’s arrangement that was overly lavish.
A bed took up the length of it, built into the closet at around thigh height.
A shelf was above it, and it looked like “her” things were stored above and below the bed, the pillow at the head of the sliding door that pocketed into the wall.
With a beleaguered sigh, she kicked out of her boots and socks, shrugged out of as much of her clothing as she felt comfortable with, and climbed into her goddamn closet.
Pulling the blanket up over her shoulder, she shut her eyes and let out a breath. It was a tiny little cot-sized thing. But at least the closeness of the walls meant she wasn’t going to fall out if a wave hit the boat and—
“Shut the door, Mr. Smee, don’t be a savage. But I’ll allow you to keep it cracked an inch for air.”
She opened her eyes, stared at the shelf above her, and fought the urge to scream. “You’re so kind.”
“I know.”
She knew she was an idiot for asking, but she had to. “Do you think they made it out okay?”
Hook chuckled. “How charming that you think I care.”
No. Screw this. Everything about this was shit.
Fuck flying.
Fuck the mermaids.
Fuck Neverland.
Sidney wanted to go home.
The tide was almost all the way in, and they were entirely out of rocks to climb on.
They had climbed all the way to the top of the rocks in the center, but now they were out of places to go.
She was wearing nothing but the blue nightgown, and Peter was still steadily bleeding out from the gash on his chest.
It was getting harder and harder to keep him awake.
And that nightmare of a crocodile was still circling them. She’d watched it eat a dead pirate.
The sound of crunching.
And the ripping of wet meat.
She knew that would be something that’d haunt her for the rest of her life—for however long that’d be. She hoped she made it home to tell her therapist about it, but the odds of that were starting to look slim.
“Peter, please—you have to fly us out of here. You have to.” He was the only hope of them getting out alive.
Vhmmmmmmm-SNAP!
“Love to, Wendy,” his words slurred together. He wasn’t really focusing on her when he talked. “But I don’t think I—I can.”
The mermaids were long gone, not like they’d be any help. One, because they’d probably sooner drown her than help her, and two, because of the thing in the water.
They wouldn’t make it until morning. And their last bit of safety was rapidly disappearing.
“To die will be an awfully big adventure.” Peter smiled dreamily, his eyes drifting shut.
“No, no, it will not be, I swear to fuck if you die on me, you little shit, I will fucking kill you!” She shook him by the shoulders.
Peter grunted, blinking his eyes open. “So—sorry—I—” He groaned. “How would you kill me if I was already…that doesn’t make any sense…”
“Shut up.” She glared at him. “And come up with a plan.”
“What’s that?” He pointed.
“If this is a ‘made you look’ prank, I swear to God.” Lowering her voice, she threatened him. “I’m going to throw you to the goddamn crocodile.”
“No, Wendy, look—” he insisted.
Turning her head, she couldn’t understand what she was seeing. It looked like a gigantic wicker basket? But like, the sloppiest one she’d ever seen. It was floating closer to them, having just squeaked in under the archway.
Wait. It wasn’t a basket.
It was a nest. Some six or seven feet in diameter. And there was a large white bird perched on the edge of it. About twice the size of a parrot, it squawked and flapped its wings, propelling the nest a little closer to shore.
“It’s the Never Bird.” Peter laughed.
“You just made that shit up.”
“I didn’t. I swear,” he muttered to her, his voice changing to Virtue’s. “This is in the book.”
“Deus-ex-bird’s-nest is in the book?” She arched an eyebrow at him.
“Yeah, and it’s weirder the way it’s written. There’s like…eggs and a…never mind. Just get in.” Peter reached out for the edge of the nest and grabbed it. As he did, the large bird flew off, soaring up into the night sky.
“At least there’s room for two of us in here, and we don’t have to Titanic door this shit.” She climbed in, glad to see that it was pretty stable for something made out of sticks and twigs.
Peter climbed in after her, and he quickly laid down, groaning in relief. Just as he did, the last of the rock platform disappeared under the water. Their fateful rescue had come just in time.
He let out a long, heavy breath.
She sat down next to him, looking up at the starry night sky.
It was a stunning sight without all of the city light pollution that she’d grown accustomed to all her life.
She wished she could really enjoy it. And that she wasn’t sitting next to a man who was critically injured while being stalked by a crocodile with an electrical generator wired in its chest.
“We don’t have any oars. How do we get home?”
“The tide’ll take us to safety.” As he rested his head against her shoulder, she could tell he was already falling asleep. Or dying.
One of the two.
But he was Peter Pan. He couldn’t die.
Right?