Author's Note: Blame homework, papers, illness and writer's block for the severe lateness of this chapter. I know I said that I wouldn't take as long as I did last time but it's hard to do that when I'm already writing two other fanfics and I haven't had the 'spark' to write this fanfic in awhile. But thanks to the late and encouraging reviews from stilldeadwithlove, BigBooksRock and Leigh A. Sumpter, I sat down and wrote this chapter that tells of Peter's past. Hope you enjoy (as much as you can that is) and please review!

Also, a big thank you to I Love This Story whose review was so sweet and made me feel so appreicated!

Chapter 12

A Dark and Tragic Past

London, 1896

The rain slithered to the cobblestone streets in an icy sheet, causing James Barrie to hurry as fast as he could from his carriage and to the front door of St. Norbert's Home for Wayward Boys. The orphanage was the largest one in the notorious Whitechapel district and subsequently appeared just as dreary as the weather, if not more so.

The only thing that kept Jamie from calling his cab back was the promise that he had made to the young matron of the orphanage. They had met during the premiere of one of his plays and she had informed him of her place of employment and how the boys under her care would love to hear some of his plays read aloud as the orphanage did not have enough funds to send them to theater…or anywhere else for that matter.

He knocked sharply on the door and shivered as he waited for a reply. When the door finally opened, it was not the young woman as he had expected but an old and rather severe looking woman who scowled at the sight of him.

"Yes? What do you want?" she inquired, rather rudely.

"Good evening," said Jamie politely. "My name is James Barrie and I was invited here by a young woman who I believe works here and—"

"Christine!" the woman shouting, interrupting Jamie. "There's a gentleman here to see you!"

"There's no need to shout, Aunt, I was expecting him," said Christine, as she appeared in the doorway. "Good evening, Mr. Barrie. I'm so happy that you came despite this awful weather! Please, come in or you'll catch cold!"

"Thank you," said Jamie gratefully as he stepped out of the wind and rain and into the rather dimly lit foyer. A timid servant girl relieved him of his coat, hat and cane and then Christine led the way down a long corridor, saying, "The boys are very eager to meet you, Mr. Barrie, they don't get many visitors, you see and adoptions are rare, I'm sorry to tell you."

"It's just as well," snapped Christine's aunt from behind Jamie, "who would want the dirty little mongrels when their parents can't even take care of them."

"Hush, Aunt," Christine chastised as they stopped at the door to what Jamie supposed was a parlor. "Why don't you go fix us some tea?"

The old woman grumbled something incoherent but thankfully, stalked off. When she was gone, Christine smiled at Jamie and said, "Now, I'll introduce you to the boys." And she flung open the door and the two of them entered the spacious room.

Unlike the hall outside, the room was brightly lit with a cheerful fire burning the grate, around which sat a group of ten or so boys ranging in age from six to sixteen. Although their faces had been scrubbed clean (no doubt for his visit) the clothes that they wore were extremely dirty and ill fitting. There was a single moth eaten armchair which was placed to one side of the fireplace, which Jamie supposed was meant for him.

He was correct as Christine led him to this very chair and once he was seated, she announced, "Boys, this is Mr. James Barrie, the playwright who I told you about, the one I met the theater. Since I find him to be a most excellent story teller, I asked him if he might come see us and tell us some stories to pass the night away."

"What sort of stories do you tell, Mr. Barrie?" asked one little boy of about seven who wearing nothing but a dirty flannel shirt.

"All kinds," Jamie replied, "well, actually that's not entirely true. You see, I only tell stories that have happy endings, they are the best kinds after all." And he was pleased when many of the boys nodded in agreement. Smiling, he clapped his hands and said, "Well, let's get started, shall we? I'm going to start telling you a story but whenever you get to some part that you don't like, just shout out something that you would like to happen instead and I'll change it, how does that sound?"

"You mean you want us to interrupt you?" asked one boy.

"Yes, exactly."

They all looked very pleased at this and so Jamie began a story of a boy who was taken aboard a pirate ship that was captained by a fearsome pirate known as Long John Silver. The story was not truly his own story but that of his friend's, Robert Louis Stevenson. The story which was formally called Treasure Island, but with all the changes that the boys called out to him, it became an entirely different story completely.

They were just describing a particularly marvelous battle scene when they heard the old matron shout from down the hall. "What are you doing up here?! Get back! You wretched child! GET BACK!"

At her shouts, Christine leapt to her feet and ran out of the room and Jamie, his curiosity quirked, followed.

Outside in the hall, a few feet away from the parlor but still within earshot, a little boy of about eight cowered against the wall while the old woman brandished a wooden spoon at him as if to protect herself against him. He was dressed in the same manner as the other boys: completely in rags but his, if it were possible seemed even filthier than the others'. To make his appearance worse, a dirty burlap sack had been placed over his head so that the only thing that could be seen of his features were two bright blue eyes that were now filled with fear.

"I knew he would wander up here once my back was turned!" she shouted at her niece. "I knew we should've chained up down there! Serves him right, the little devil!"

"He's done nothing wrong, Aunt Cynthia," said Christine as gently as she could, although Jamie noted that she did not look at the boy as she spoke. "He no doubt just wanted to hear Mr. Barrie's story, where's the harm in that?"

"Harm?!" cried her aunt. "He's dangerous, Christine! That's the harm! He could kill us all at any moment!"

"Forgive me, madam," Jamie cut in smoothly, "but it seems as if you will kill him before he does any harm to you. Pray tell, what is so wrong with him that you must hide him away?"

But his question was ignored as it appeared that he had been talking the boy had taken the opportunity to try and sneak into the parlor but Christine's aunt had spotted him in the act and immediately brought the wooden spoon cracking down on his back. The boy cried out in pain and feel to the floor only to be subjected to more merciless blows. Jamie watched in horror at his mistreatment and turned to the young woman beside him. "What you doing?! Why don't you stop her?!" he yelled at her.

"I—I can't, Mr. Barrie, I'm sorry, but he…he must learn his lesson to not…not leave the cellar," she cried.

Finally, Christine's aunt lowered the spoon and glared down at the whimpering boy. "That should teach to not disobey orders. Now, get back to the cellar where you belong!" she ordered, smacking him once more with the spoon. Crying, the boy dragged himself to his feet, covering his head with his arms in a weak attempt to fend off any more assaults but none came and he shuffled down the hall and disappeared through an open door near the end.

When he was gone, Jamie turned to the women and said coldly. "I demand an explanation as to your treatment of that boy."

"His parents died of consumption several weeks ago during one of the outbreaks in this district," Cynthia explained, "he, somehow was still alive when the men came to collect the bodies. So, of course they feared that he was infected or if not, was possessed by some force that allowed him to remain alive. They did not want to find out and neither did anyone else, so they brought him here. No one was safe from the consumption, Mr. Barrie, except that despicable creature so in order to not spread the disease further, we locked him up in the cellar."

"But why keep his face hidden?" Jamie asked.

"Well, to survive the consumption like he did, the boys feared that to so much as look at him, they would be stricken. Even the people in his neighborhood feared him and I as have already explained, no one wanted him. Darkness is his only true friend, Mr. Barrie," Cynthia explained.

"Well," said Jamie with as much calm as he could muster. "I shall soon change that, I want you to entrust the boy to me."

The two women stared at him until Christine breathed, "Mr. Barrie, are you sure?"

"Completely, it is obvious that he cannot stay another night in this orphanage as he is not wanted at all," he replied and he looked that them so severely, something that was very uncharacteristic of him that the two women gave in to his request.

And so, five minutes later, Jamie climbed into the carriage with the shaking wide eyed boy sitting across from him with his knees drawn up under his chin as if to further shield him from the world.

"Where to, sir?" the driver asked from above them.

"Montague Street," Jamie answered, "and be quick about it!"

"Yes, sir!"


"Jamie, is that you?" mumbled the sleep filled voice of the man who answered Jamie's frantic knocking.

"Yes, Arthur, it's me," said Jamie. "I must speak with you, it's an emergency."

Do you have idea what time it is?" Arthur grumbled.

"It's a medical emergency, Arthur!"

At that, the man's eyes widened in surprise and his fatigue vanished. "Well, by all means, come in then." And he opened the door wider to admit him. Jamie climbed the few stairs and stepped over the threshold and then looked behind him to see that the boy had followed, albeit timidly.

"Don't fret," he assured him kindly. "Arthur is a dear friend of mine and a doctor, he will help you and so will I. You'll never be going back to that orphanage, I promise you."

He couldn't tell what the boy was thinking because of the bag over his head but he followed him the rest of the way into Arthur's house.

It was only when they were inside that Arthur noticed. "My God!" he exclaimed at the sight of him. "Jamie, where on earth—?"

"This is the emergency that I was referring to," Jamie cut in. "I was just at one of the orphanages in Whitechapel where I witnessed this boy being severely mistreated. The matron informed me that his parents had died of the consumption that had swept through the area and that they had been keeping the boy in the cellar since his arrival. I would like you to examine him."

"Certainly, this way," said Arthur with a nod. He showed them to a small examination room and then left only to return a few minutes later with his black medical bag. During his absence, Jamie had managed to coax the boy sit on the high table so Arthur could better examine him.

"Well, first things first," said Arthur, "What's your name, lad? My name is Dr. Conan Doyle."

The boy was quiet for several seconds before he said in a very small voice. "Peter."

"Excellent! Well, as Jamie said, I am going to give you a general examination and after we shall see about getting you some supper, how does that sound?"

"Good," was the whispered reply.

And so Arthur began his exam. Jamie had to applaud him for how gentle he was with the traumatized boy with as little of his situation that he had told him. Peter sat stock still as Arthur poked and prodded him as gently as he could. He had Peter lie down on his stomach and then on his back and Jamie distinctly heard him cluck his tongue disapprovingly. It was until he had checked him all over and made to take off the bag on his head that Peter flinched away from him, gripping the edges tighter to his head.

"Peter, I'm not going to hurt you, I just want to see if the reason why they have forced you to hide your face is a medical one," Arthur explained.

"They…they said I had a demon face because I survived the disease that killed my parents," Peter replied in that same soft voice as before. "They said that I must hide at all times because the other boys were scared of me and they thought they would get sick."

"You certainly won't scare me, Peter, as a doctor I've seen many things that would make your hair curl! But if it helps, I can ask Jamie to step out of the room for a moment."

"Yes. I'm sorry, sir," he added in Jamie's direction.

"No need to apologize, lad," said Jamie as he got to his feet. "I'll go see about getting you something to eat, shall I?"

Peter nodded vigorously at this and the shadow of a smile crossed his face.

Arthur and Peter (with his face covered again) entered the dining room where Jamie had made some tea and sandwiches for them. At sight of the food, Peter grabbed two of them and stuffed them whole into his mouth. The two men could only grab one each before the boy ate the rest of them in record speed. Once he was finished, he looked longingly at the plate that now contained only crumbs. "I think those sandwiches will keep you full until breakfast at least," said Arthur with a slight chuckle. "Now, I suggest you go off to bed, Peter. You've had a big night and you deserve a rest."

"Yes, sir," said Peter, "but where shall I sleep?"

"Well, since you are a guest of mine. You shall have the guest bedroom. It's already made up since I rarely have guests, so just follow me, please." And he led the boy out of the room while Jamie sipped his tea, anxious for his friend to return so he could hear about Peter.

And so when Arthur returned, he promptly asked. "Well, how is he?"

"Despite his obvious malnutrition, I found several bruises and cuts, evidence of the abuse he severed there. Although they seemed to have healed and the attack that he received tonight will of course cause more bruising and let me tell you, Jamie, I'm so glad you got him out of there when you did. No child should have to live in such a vile place."

"I agree," said Jamie, "can you tell me about his face?"

Here, Arthur shook his head. "No, he said he would show you in his own time but he took the bag off just like he said he would and he is certainly no demon."

"I never thought that he was anyway," said Jamie. "He is merely a child who was horribly misunderstood and shown the true evil of the world at far too young an age."

"Yes, indeed, but now what shall you do with him? You're not going to take him to another orphanage, are you?"

"Certainly not, I believe I shall take to the theater tomorrow and show him where I work as well as tour of the more happier sides of the city," Jamie answered.

"A splendid idea," his friend agreed with a smile. "Some happiness will work wonders on him."


"And that is exactly what happened," said Slightly, back in the present in his room in the Duke of York's Opera House. "Jamie took him on a tour of London but when they reached opera house, Peter didn't want to leave, no matter how much Jamie tried to make him. He told him that as much as he enjoyed the day, he felt that he was not meant for the outside world and went about making himself a home within the theater itself."

"And then he started the whole phantom persona," James filled in quietly.

"Yes, so it would seem," said Slightly.

"Oh, poor Peter!" cried Wendy. "Oh, I had no idea! What an awful life to be so mistreated like that!"

"Yes, but he's happy here, Wendy. He wouldn't want it any other way," Slightly told her. "After all he went through, it makes sense for him to want to hide away from the world since he was forced to hide away from the beginning."

"Yes, but it's all so sad!" she cried. "Those women are absolutely horrid for treating him like they did and telling him that he was a demon and a devil!" Here, she paused to dab at her eyes with her handkerchief and then continued. "Peter is certainly no devil, he is an angel! The angel of the opera, I'd say."

"To Wendy, but to us, he is nothing but trouble," said James gruffly, "and it is clear that the trauma that he faced so early in life has lead him into madness!"

"Madness!" cried Wendy. "Peter is not mad, James! Troubled, yes but not mad!"

"I agree with Wendy," said Slightly. "I have grown to know Peter very well over the years and he is certainly not mad."

"But he can't continue to harass the managers like he does!" countered James.

"Yes, he can," said Slightly seriously, "and he will, until they give into his demands and if they continue to defy him…well, I can imagine what he would do to them or the theater then."

None of them spoke as each pondered what Peter could possibly do to seek ultimate revenge on the managers until Wendy said, "Well, Slightly, thank you for telling us the story of Peter's past. It has certainly been enlightening as well as heart wrenching to hear but now I think I should retire for the night, since I'm sure it is very later by now."

"Yes, indeed," Slightly agreed, "but Wendy, you won't tell Peter that I told about his past, will you?"

"Of course not, Slightly, I wouldn't dream of it," Wendy promised as she got to her feet. Declining James's offer to escort her to her room, she bade Slightly good night and then left the room.

Outside, the hall lights were all but extinguished but Wendy knew the way back to her dormitory by heart and she spent the walk pondering Peter's dark past and how it had shaped him into both the friend that she knew and loved and the mysterious phantom guise that he fashioned for himself all those years ago.

Author's Note: You probably recognize the name Arthur Conan Doyle as the creator of the great detective Sherlock Holmes and yes, he and Barrie were friends and they even wrote a comic opera together. So just a bit of literary history there! Hope you liked the chapter despite the sadness of it with Peter past. Again sorry for the lateness of this chapter and please review! I will update when I can!