Chapter 25

Wendy buried her ice-cold hands deeper into her coat pockets. If only she had thought to bring her gloves; the night air was painfully chill on her bare skin. The boys were not faring much better, she knew... but, to their credit, none of them had complained; there was something far more important at stake than their personal comfort; the life of their friend.

"I think we should split up." Wendy announced.

She was met with looks of concern.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Wendy," ventured John, "It could be dangerous out here in the middle of the night."

"It's dangerous out here in the middle of the day!" pointed out Slightly. "I think we should go back."

His suggestion was met with murmurs of approval, but none would act without Wendy's blessing.

"We can't go back now. Peter needs help."

"And you think he'll get that from Hook?!" Curly could not help but scoff.

"No… He will get it from us. But Hook is… necessary."

"For what?"

"We need to get Peter home… to Neverland. And Captain Hook has the means to do that."

"He also has the means to gut us all," piped up Slightly.

"And the inclination," added John.

Wendy felt the hair on her neck bristle with annoyance as all the boys nodded in agreement.

"All right, then…" she declared, marching off ahead of them, "You all go back. I'll find Hook myself."

"Wendy… Don't be like that!"

"We're sorry!"

Trotting to catch up with the determined girl, Nibs grabbed Wendy by the hand, and she turned to him.

"Shouldn't we try at the hospital?" he suggested, "If Hook is here, he'll probably stay close to Peter."

Wendy paused to consider the boy before her; he certainly had a point. Why else would Captain Hook be in London, if not for Peter Pan. Why he had not shown himself, or attacked Peter, Wendy could not fathom… but surely he would keep closer to Peter than to anyone else.

"Very well," she conceded, "Let's go to the hospital, and search there first."

Turning in the direction of the main road, the children hurried onwards. None of them noticed the figure standing in the entrance of a nearby alley, or the light that illuminated his face as he lit a cigar… the same light that glinted and reflected in the iron hook that appeared where his right hand should have been.