I knocked upon the large lion doorknob as the streets of 1935 London bustled behind me.

The door opened as I saw my old butler, David.

"May I help you sir," asked David as I took off my hat.

"You may David," I smiled as I nervously fiddled with my cane.

"James," asked the old man as he took a step closer, "James Hook?"

"That's Captain James Hook now," as my smiled broadened.

"Oh Lord," laughed the butler as he spread his frail arms out for a hug. I pulled him in for an embrace, "I thought that the Heavens would come for me before I'd see you again!"

"Nay David," I said, "That saying goes for my parents."

"I am deeply sorry for your loss Master James," he bowed as I patted his back.

"It was a loss for everyone," I replied as he grabbed my bag and I entered into my childhood home.

I looked around. Nothing had changed.

The entrance was greeted by paintings of the Hook family, up until my great great grandfather; Fitzwilliam Hook. The remarkable carvings on the wood that held this great manor up.

"David," asked a familiar feminine voice as I turned to my right, seeing my old nanny, "James?"

"How do you do Mrs. Pots," I grinned as she cried out in joy.

"Oh James," she said as she embraced me firmly, "I have missed you so!"

"As did I," I replied.

"When did you return from India? You did not warn us of your coming," she scolded.

"I received a very disturbing telegram three months ago," I said painfully, "Once I had it, I packed my bags that very evening and sailed off."

"We were not expecting it," teared up Mrs. Pots, "To think that they died in a car crash. I say stick to the ol' horse and carriage, I don't trust the new technology."

"Come now, not every invention is bad," I said as I walked into the den

"I'll put on a spot of tea," said Mrs. Pots as I sat down in my father's favorite chair

I sat there and remembered my childhood. My father had been very hard on me. Never letting me be who I wanted to become; an artist. Art was my life, I lived for it. My perfect younger brother was the son my father was most proud of. I on the other hand was the child he wanted to hide from the world. My passions were too feminine, my tastes weren't good enough, nothing I did was ever good enough for him. Until I was 18 I dedicated myself to please my father. But whatever I did, my brother Bernard did it better. There was nothing I could do that would let my father be proud of me. When I turned 18, my father washed his hands of me and sent me into the military. I thought if I made captain, my father would finally be proud. When my brother married the niece of the King, I knew that I was lost. Now my father only said he had one son and forgot me. I moved to India and made many accomplishments there. I was honored by the commander of her royal majesty for preforming an excellent job. Now being a man of 27, it is time for me to settle down and find a bride. I had been courting but I had to leave. The telegram informed that also my brother was planning on selling the Hook Manor. This was my home and my inheritance; I needed to come back before rash decisions were made.

"Is it true Master James," asked Mrs. Pots as she made me jump out of my thoughts, "That Master Bernard is going to sell Hook Manor?"

"No," I replied through my teeth, "This house is my inheritance."

"But sir, your father left everything to your brothers possession," she said as my heart sunk. Somewhere deep inside of me, I had hoped that he would have remembered my existence.

"That is not the point," I said, "I am the oldest and if my brother does not care for this house, then I would like to have it."

"It would displease me so if this house was sold."

"Mrs. Pots, would you kindly call my brother and set up a Rendezvous for tonight at Chez Emilio's," I asked, naming a friend of the family's high class restaurant, "Tell him I shall meet him there at 7 PM sharp."

She scurried off as David came in. I softened my attitude and asked the old man how his family was.

"My son has sailed with his family to America," he said almost sadly, "And my daughter moved to Newcastle with her family."

"I wish good luck to your son," I said, "He'll do greatly over there. Soon he'll make a fortune and send for you."

"Oh no," cried David, "I am far too old to cross the sea and make it. no I shall be the last to die in the country of my forefathers."

"Master James," said Mrs. Pots as she came back in, "Master Bernard says he will not meet with you tonight… or ever." I hissed through my teeth. "He says that father didn't entrust you with anything and Hook Manor is his to do as he pleases."

I bit my tongue to harness any curse I wanted to free.

"But the servant did say before he passed me to the Master that he was attending the Williams annual ball," continued Mrs. Pots.

The anger that overfilled me suddenly disappeared at this news. I would be able to meet him there and since he would never risk his reputation in public, he'll give me whatever I want.

So I went. I dressed. I ate. David rode me over in the carriage and I entered. They were already waiting for Hook, they just forgot to precise which one. I scanned the ballroom. There were many people, as usual. The Williams hosted a grand ball every year and I have been going to this ball since I was the age of 12. My brother had not yet arrived, so I contented myself with a glass of wine.

A fit of giggling girls was the last thing I heard before someone had pushed my arm and made my wine spill on my jacket.

I turned to see the culprit. It was a man … no a boy, no older than 20. He was extremely handsome, his brown hair glinting red in the candlelight. His brown eyes playful and yet coy. His crooked grin made my stomach tighten.

"I'm dreadfully sorry," he said as he regained his balance and put his hand on my shoulder apologetically, "I was only playing with the girls. I didn't realize it get out of hand."

I skimmed behind me, seeing the desperate girls to get their courter back. I gave him a wave of my hand and went to go and dry myself up. I muttered curses as my white shirt was now stained red.

"I really am sorry," said a voice behind me, I turned, that boy again, "But if you soak it in water now it wont have a stain."

"I wouldn't think it wise for me to dance around undressed," I said as I patted down the wetness.

"Nobody said that would be a bad thing," he said and before I could ask what he meant he introduced himself, "The name is Peter Pan."

"I'm-,"

"A Hook," Peter said as I looked at him curiously, "I studied art in university. I'm sure you know about the Hook library donated a long time ago and there was also 5 donated portraits of the Hook family. You all have the same hook like nose."

"Well I'm at a loss at words then," I replied.

"I thought there was only one Hook left, Bernard Hook."

"I'm his brother," I answered through my teeth, "But no one ever mentions me."

"Why," asked Pan with an intriguing smile on his face.

"Because I'm a captain in India, I'm far too far away to be remembered."

"I didn't catch the impression that you were easy to forget… captain," mocked Peter saluting me.

I looked around the room again but my brother was still not here.

"I'm guessing you haven't heard of me then," continued the boy, I was wondering why he was continuing to make any conversation at all, "Other than being famous for being devilishly handsome, I am also a great painter. I still do portraits for those few classic families that wish to get it done. I also do sketches of my own, I have my own art gallery."

"Very interesting," I said deciding to actually join the conversation, "I am myself a secret artist."

"Are you," he asked his eyes glowing in a dark coyness.

"I'm a great collector," I told him, "But the pieces must inspire or else I don't even look at them."

"Naturally."

That's when my eye caught my brother walking in. He was of course lavishly dressed as was his wife. Fury came through me as I started to march up to him. I excused myself from the presence of Peter before I went up to my brother.

"Bernard," I exclaimed joyfully as my brother paled, "How are you my brother?"

He managed to cough out a smile, "James. It's good to see you."

"Darling, I thought you didn't have a brother," asked his wife.

"He means it jokingly darling, we were in the navy together," he lied.

"Oh I think we're much tighter than military brothers," I smiled, "I dare say, you haven't heard our late parents talk of me?"

"James, may I have a word with you? Darling forgive the abandonment but I haven't seen him in quite some while," Bernard said as he brought me by the arm to an empty balcony.

"No trouble," said the wife as his grip tightened on my arm.

"I know what you're doing here," he hissed as he shut the doors behind us, muffling the music, "Its not going to work."

"Give me Hook manor, it's rightfully mine," I said as calmly as I could.

"Father didn't mention your name in the will, it all goes to me."

"Why do you want it? Your house is 3 sizes the times of that. You have absolutely no use for our family manor and why cant you give it to me?"

"Because you are not a Hook, you're nothing," Bernard spat.

"As long as this blood runs through my veins I am more of a Hook than you are," I shouted, "I am the eldest, it is in my rights!"

"No it is not. You are a bastard," he shouted back as my world froze, "You are nothing more than the son of a servant! You don't deserve anything and I forbid you to talk about it anymore! Now, you are to leave back to your hellhole in India and never come back. Is that understood?"

I could barely move, could I really be a bastard? That would explain why my father hated me so. Was this the truth? Was my childhood nothing but a lie?

"You're lying," I said, squinting my eyes in thought.

"Why do you think that father always hated you?"

"Because I loved art."

"Because you weren't his you idiot," he shouted, "He never loved you. You were a disgrace to him."

"I am not a bastard!"

"Oh but you are. You see, mother told me herself before she died," he said as I was taken aback.

"It's not possible, they died together," I recalled from the telegram.

"Ah but alas our mother had managed to survive but very shortly. By the time I had reached the hospital she was half dead. But what she stayed alive for was to tell someone her dark secret. I was there so she told me to tell you. Are you going to say that the last words of a dying woman were lies?"

I couldn't think straight, it couldn't be true. I couldn't find my breath but I managed to say, "Not her words, your words."

"Dammit James whether you believe it or not, I know the truth and you shall leave this place at once and never show your face to me again," he stormed, "And mark my words the next time I see you it shall be the last."

With that he opened the doors and walked back into the ball. I stood there motionless in the dark.

"Captain," asked a voice as it came in front of me, Peter Pan, "Are you alright?"

"I-I," I said as I blinked hard trying to regain focus and control of what was happening.

"Lets get out of here," announced Pan as he linked his arm through mine, "I know just the place to go."

"Another round," I ordered sluggishly.

"Captain," said Peter coyly, "You're very funny when you're drunk."

"I'm not drunk," I shouted, "You are. And he's going to walk off the port and die."

"Who is," asked amused Pan as he leaned his head on his hand.

"Bernard, the asshole won't even give me my house. He said I was a bastard and I didn't deserve anything."

"Are you?"

"I don't know. My father hated me. My brother was the special one. His favorite," I said in distaste, "If I was a bashtard it make sense."

"Why did he hate you?"

"Because I liked art," I groaned, my head spinning, "I wanted… artist but that was bad." Then I leaned forward and held onto the table for balance, "Want to know the real reason?"

"Tell me," he said with a gleam in his eye.

"It was because I was caught drawing my mother… naked," I slurred as Pan's eyes widened, "I asked her why paintings... naked and she said to me; its nature. She said that she wanted to be nature and I wanted to draw nature. But then." I froze as the memories came flooding back.

"Then?"

"He beat me," I whispered, "Broke my hand so I could never draw right again."

Silence grew as I remembered the pain that he gave me. He had got a fire poker and smashed my hand, now I can't even hold a pen straight.

"I'm sorry my friend," said Pan as he put his hand on my shoulder.

"Don't feel sorry for me Roger," I waved him off, "You know I hate it."

"Who's Roger?"

"My best friend in the whole world," I smiled giddily.

"Is he in India?"

"No, he's dead," I said abruptly, "I never got to say goodbye. I was so mad at him."

"Why?"

"I liked a nurse. She very pretty. He got angry at me. Jealous. I think he liked her as well. He wouldn't talk to me, said that I was so stupid for not understanding, but I didn't have a clue to what he was talking about," I explained, "He died as well as she. They invaded our camp while I was out on the battlefield. I never got to say that I was sorry."

Tears escaped from my eyes and shockingly landed on my hand. I was dazed at the wet spots.

"Roger seemed like a nice fellow," Peter said, "But he couldn't have been your only friend."

"Shh," I said playfully, putting a finger to my lips, "I'm not talking to him right now."

"Not talking to who," he asked, once again amused.

"Charles. He was an arrogant son of," I swallowed down another drink and let it burn my throat, "He married the woman I was courting. He was jealous again too. Just like Roger. I never understood. But he took Jane away from me so I'm not talking to him."

"I see," said Pan as I sprung up, then to trip over my own feet, "Easy there."

"I'm going to ask Charles why," I shouted as I tried walking out the door, but Peter had to hold me.

"I don't think that's possible," announced Peter as he opened the door and put my arm around his shoulder, "At least not tonight."

"But I liked her so much," I shrilled as I stumbled, "Charles didn't want me to marry her… but he didn't like her. He didn't like girls, he was afraid of them he said."

"Interesting," affirmed Pan.

"It hurt so much when he did that," I wailed, "Its like he broke my heart."

That's when my dinner came flying out my mouth. I retched like I wanted to spit my intestines out. Unfortunately I couldn't.

"Don't move," ordered Pan as I held myself against the wall, where beggars and thieves a like stood a muck in the street. I spit out the acid taste in my mouth and when my vision couldn't quite be placed, I got scared. I knew no one here, I didn't know how to get home. I managed to get off the wall and I started walking. People talking to me, whispering, but I understood nothing.

"Hey," shouted a voice as they grabbed my shoulder, nearly making me fall, Peter Pan, "I thought I told you not to move."

"I don't take orders from you," I said sluggishly as he helped me along the path and into my carriage where David was waiting.

"Well lets try not to make a habit of it," he replied as he pushed me inside and sat next to me.

I turned my head to look inside the dark carriage, I put my hand on what I thought was his leg, "Did you know that I can manage to take a chicken leg and suck off all the meat in one mouthful."

"Interesting," said Pan and I didn't have to see him to tell that he was amused, "Perhaps you come to my house and my meaty chicken leg,"

"Just one?"

"Oh Captain, you are coquettish aren't you," he replied almost seductively as I took away my hand.