25.

"I taught you to fight and to fly. What more could there be?" – J. M. Barrie

Dahlia stared over at Callenback. She refused to call him John. John was the sweet, intelligent boy from the original book. Not the lying lunatic lounging before her—yes, this was the time to use alliteration. She shook her head in disgust.

It had been two hours since Dahlia had had the "kill me" conversation with Pan. In those two hours, Pan had relayed his plan to lure Smith to Skull Rock—not getting into the fact that he wanted to sacrifice himself—and, soon after, all the boys had left to set the traps, leaving Dahlia behind to watch Callenback. At least she knew that this meant Pan trusted her enough to leave her alone with their prisoner, though he certainly hadn't said anything to her since their talk in the darkness.

It felt strange: the idea of killing Pan. Even though he was just a fictional character, the idea of destroying his heart didn't seem ethical. To her, he had become a real person. And yet, since her run-in with his shadow, she was beginning to wonder if none of this would be over until the shadow was destroyed. However, there must be another way to destroy him than by killing Pan.

And yet, how could she formulate a plan when she knew so little about Pan's shadow? What were his weaknesses, for example? Was he afraid of water, like the Wicked Witch of the West? Knowing anything might be helpful.

She turned to look at Callenback, still tied to the chair. "Why did you lie to me?"

Callenback, whose head had been hanging down with his eyes closed, awakened and looked up at her. It looked like he had a black eye forming. Dahlia didn't doubt he'd sustained it in his struggle with the Lost Boys earlier.

He defiantly held her gaze. "You don't believe me when I say this island is dangerous, so why should I tell you the truth?"

Dahlia crossed her arms. "Bullshit. Just because I don't do what you say doesn't mean I don't believe you. I know this island is dangerous. As you recall, we were both chased by bloodthirsty Native Americans just a couple weeks ago. I'm talking about you telling me you were Nicholas Callenback. Why didn't you tell me you were John Darling to begin with?"

"How could I trust you?"

"You trusted Smith!"

"Just because he was the only person who could get me to Neverland. There was no other way. Besides, he's not all that bad."

"Not all the bad?" Dahlia stared at him in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? He's insane! He attempted to wipe out the tribe on this island. He didn't care if all his men died. He tried to kill me more than once. And he's doing all this destruction just in pursuit of immortality. I have met pretty despicable characters in my time, but he trumps them all. How can you still think he's not that bad?"

Callenback griped the armrests tightly. "Bloody hell, Dahlia. You think anyone is different? When I met you, you would do anything to get off this island. And Pan, he just wants to get his heart back. He doesn't care who he hurts. He never has."

"Never has?" Dahlia realized something then that she had been an idiot not to think of before. Callenback had been there. When Pan's heart was stolen, when Patrick betrayed Neverland. Everything. This could be her chance to learn the true story. "Nick…actually, John, what really happened back then?"

"I thought you knew everything?"

"I have pieces. Pieces of an intricate puzzle. The problem is, some of the pieces are missing and without those pieces, I can't hope to have a full picture. Can you tell me what you remember?"

Callenback shook his head. "I was eight. It's not as if I remember all the details. I was a child that was entranced with the idea of staying young forever. When Peter brought us to the island, it was like a dream. We fought pirates and flew up in the clouds. But then…Tinker Bell was killed and the fairy tree burned. Luckily, Patrick got a bag of pixy dust, enough to take us home."

"Who burned the tree? Tiger Lily said it was Patrick."

"Patrick would never do anything like that! But I wasn't there, so I don't know who did it. I just remember seeing fire. Whoever did it burned everything…the fairy tree, Wendy's house—"

"Wendy's house?" Dahlia interrupted him. "Why would anyone burn her house? Was there something inside it?"

Callenback shrugged. "I don't know."

"What about Pan's heart? Why did Patrick steal Pan's heart?"

"Actually, I never really understood why. I asked him that question too, a few years later before he went off to the war. His response was a bit critic. I still don't understand it."

"What did he say?" She leaned forward, listening intently.

"He turned to me and said, 'So that Peter Pan's story can't be told again.' "

Dahlia froze. That sounded like something someone from her world would say. In fact, it was something that only someone from her world would say. Who else would refer to Peter Pan as a story? That meant…that meant that Patrick was from her world.

"No way," she said more to herself than to Callenback. What kind of madness was this world? She'd gone into a book, just to find that Smith was from her world and possibly Patrick, who had started this. What was going on? Patrick had lived and died in this world, so how had he gotten here?

"John, did Patrick ever talk about where he came from?" Dahlia questioned.

"He'd always say he came from a different world. A world where cars went faster and life was more complex. I once asked him if he ever wanted to go back here, but his only response was that he couldn't leave Wendy…he loved her too much."

Dahlia bit her lip. This was all so strange. It felt as if she was missing the big picture. The biggest question she had about this story was: why was everything so different when she came here? Why had it changed from the original novel? Was Patrick the reason?

A sharp crash came from above them.

Callenback and Dahlia glanced up in unison.

Another bang followed. Dahlia tried to figure out where the sound was coming from. It didn't take her long to realize it was coming from up the stairs in the direction of the tree door.

Dahlia jumped up. Splintering of wood sounded from up the stairs and, before she could react, footsteps sounded from the top of the stairs. Who was it? If they broke down the door, it wasn't the Lost Boys. Pirates? Smith's men? If so, how had they found the camp that the boys seemed confident no one knew about?

To her complete amazement, a figure exited the stairs with a long cane in his hand and took off his hat.

The man before her was Elat Yriaf.