Chapter 2

Peter watched soberly as the feet of the grownups crossed the floor on either side of him. He felt constricted in the confined space, and suppressed the urge to move and find a more comfortable position.

A pang of horror stabbed at him as he heard the window close, the sound punctuated with the click of the lock sliding into place.

Peter flew up, forgetting where he was for a split-second; but that was all it took, and he stifled a cry as his head connected solidly with Wendy's bed.

Wendy almost shrieked as she heard the bump, her eyes widening in concern. To her dismay, the noise had not escaped the ears of her parents, and in a pathetic attempt to conceal her friend's presence, she sneezed.

His attention drawn towards his daughter, his eye caught another movement... from under the bed. A foot was just visible, and George Darling leapt at it.

Sudden panic consumed Peter as he felt the angry grasp around his ankle. Throwing caution to the wind, he kicked blindly, screaming from shock.

Mr Darling was resolute, and would not let go of the wriggling leg. In a passionate effort, he tugged the boy from his hiding-place, ignoring the kicks, hits, and hisses, and dragged him to his feet.

Man and boy stared at each other for a moment. Peter broke the gaze first, bolting for the window. He froze in horror when he saw the way was barred, the window closed. Mr Darling was already upon him, and in a fit of range, grabbed the boy roughly by his matted hair. Peter screamed in pain, and Mrs Darling's heart broke.

Wendy, John, and Michael joined their mother as she ran to Peter's aid, placing a firm hand on her husband's shoulder.

"George!" Her concerned tone was tainted with anger and fear. "George! What's come over you? Let go of him at once!"

Mr Darling faltered as he looked into the appalled eyes of his wife. The softening of his grip was all Peter needed; he pulled the man's hand from his head, and thrust his knee into George's stomach with all his might, before fleeing to the opposite side of the room.

Mary and her sons gasped and Wendy screamed as the blow was struck and George Darling buckled forward in agony. Grasping his throbbing gut with one arm, he shot up his head to see Peter several feet away, smiling. Fury filled him, and he raced towards the boy.

Peter was surprised by the man's speed, but inched from his grip and bolted; jumping over beds and knocking over furniture, Peter did his best to avoid the wrathful adult, even throwing books and toys when he could, but George was determined. Ignoring the shouts and pleas of his family, he continued to chase the youth about the nursery, his outrage and intent growing with every step.

Peter pulled his attention back to the window; his escape. He sped towards it, and desperately tried to pry it open. Without his consent, his distress culminated with tears that blurred his eyes, but he continued to flail, scratch, and kick at the window frame with determined desperation.

Within moments he felt the fierce hold of Mr Darling tighten painfully around his waist. He was hoisted off his feet and swung around to face the apprehensive faces of Mrs Darling and her children.

Mary stared, perplexed, at her husband. He seemed like a man possessed; never had she seen him act so violently or roughly, especially to a child.

Peter refused to be beaten, and continued to struggle, kicking and screaming, biting and scratching, anything to wriggle from the man's grasp. But George held firm, tightening his hold until Peter felt his chest heave for air, and his ribs scream in pain.

"Mary, call the police!"

"The police? George, what's come over you?"

"Just do it!" Mr Darling's eyes blazed, and even he was shocked with the harsh tone of his voice. Mary's face smoothed into a resolute gaze, and she stood her ground.

"Fine, then. I'll do it!" he spat, and carried Peter to the nursery door.

Wendy and her brothers continued to beg and cry as they followed Mr Darling along the corridor and down the stairs. Peter found his feet again, and tried in vain to pull from Mr Darling's solid grasp. His feet scraped the floor as he tried to resist, and he kept losing his footing on the stairs, falling beneath Mr Darling's heavy steps.

Mr Darling finally managed to wrestle Peter to the ground floor, and the telephone. He picked up the earpiece, and realised he had no hands free to dial the numbers. Clamping the panicked child to his side with one arm, he succeeded in dialling for the operator.

"George, you are being unreasonable! You don't even know who this boy is!" Mary stood as close to her husband as possible, forcing him to take notice of her.

Mr Darling gaped at her, disbelievingly. "What does it matter who he is? He's in my house!" George shook the infuriating child, trying to still his unending struggles, but Peter was just panicked further, and began wailing and biting at George's arm.

"Father, please!" Wendy chocked back her sobs, but could not gain control of her tears. "Father, you're hurting him!" She tugged at Mr Darling, but he took no notice.

He heard the call connect. "Be quiet, all of you!" the fray did lessen, all but Peter, ceasing to shout, and Mr Darling managed to stifle the boy's growls with a hand to his mouth.

"Yes, I'd like to report an intruder. Yes... I found a boy in my house."

"George, please." Mary gently placed a beseeching hand on his arm.

"I have him now... yes... Could you send someone as quickly as possible? Thank you. No... No, I'll be sure to keep hold of him until you arrive. Good." Silence cut through George as he replaced the receiver. The eyes of his family were all fixed on him, holding expressions of disbelief and even contempt.

Peter continued his fight for freedom, but panicked still more as he found himself thrust into a lightless cupboard, the door slamming shut, the sound of a key turning in the lock. Now free from physical restraint, Peter released all his efforts in an attempt to open the door; He thumped on it with bruising fists, and kicked at it until he felt pain shoot through his toes. And all the while he screamed at the top of his voice, shouting every insult he could conjure, until his throat stung and his voice croaked.

For Peter it seemed like an eternity, locked in the small, pitch-black room. He had just resorted to using his head to break through the door, when he once again heard the key in the lock, and all at once, harsh light stabbed at his eyes.