->-{ PAN }->-

by Punko McMac

Because of the violence, language, and sexual content in this story, as well
as the fact that it is so damn long, any younger Peter Pan fans or impatiant
people out there should turn around right about...

NOW



last warning...




You have been forwarned.




->>>-][->>>-


The sound of gunfire rings out in the cold night.

Blood spills on the cracked pavement.

A teenager in a red and white hockey jersey and baggy jeans walks over to
the writhing man on the sidewalk, who is gasping to get air into his
preforated lungs.

"What I tell you b'fore, you bloody pillock? Don't come in'a my hood again `til
you payed what'choo owe me. I ain't seen a bit, not a red cent. And did you
listen?" asks the semi-automatic weilding seventeen year old. The man
gurgles a plea of mercy, and the boy nudges him with his sneaker. "No, you
did not. You got the money on you? Huh!?"

"J...joh..." gasps the poor soul. He fumbles for his watch, trying to unlatch it.
Perhaps this boy will accept a cracked timex as payment. His fingers slip
over the latch of the watch, slick with dark blood. He looks to the boy he
owes money, pleading eyes wide.

"Yeah, thought not," snapped the boy as he swings the barrel of his gun to
the bloodied man's collarbone. The boy clucks his tongue, and empties the
clip into the gasping man. The body spasms, then lies still, dead.

John Hildered reaches down to the dead man and pulles out his wallet. Empty.
He spits on the corpse, angry. "Cheap old codger," he says. He pulles the
Timex from the limp wrist, and kicks the body as he sprints off the scene,
sirens in the distance.

Suddenly, he stops. He turns around, curiously looking at a small something
that had just registered his attention. He quickly speeds over to the body
and pulles a piece of old, yellowed paper from the man's coat. He looks at it,
and his eyes widen...


->>>-


"Come on, luv, eat up," said Wendy. She held a spoonfull of apple sauce to
her brother's mouth. He lazily looked around and let out a clicking noise.
Wendy was alone tonight, taking care of her younger brother, Michael. Her
parents were out at some party, and would likely return home drunk and
fumbling over each other's clothes. Her older brother, John, was out
`working', as he put it. Probably roughing up some bag-lady, she thought.

Wendy Hildered was a 17-year old girl with blondish hair and a fair build, and a
spirit on the verge of breaking. Her parents were never around and when
they were, they were useless. Her younger brother was severely retarded,
possibly autistic. And her older brother? The favorite son of the family was a
hood, he hung out all day and partied all night with his gang friends,
occasionally pushing drugs on the street or doing something dreadful. They all
lived in a run down appartment in the bowels of London, paying to a sweaty
fat man who's accent was uncannily thick, even in to fellow Brits like the
Hildered family. Life was not kind to these people.

"Wehhhdee," said Michael, and he spit up on himself. Wendy let out an
exhasperated sigh, and grabbed the dishtowel she carried with her when she
was in charge of the house. It was never out of use with her little brother.
She wiped his mouth and let out another sigh.

Faintly, the sound of sirens far away floated from the window. She shook her
head. "This isn't a neighbour hood for you, Mike. We deserve better," she
said quietly, and tried to feed him again. He took the spoon into his mouth,
and weakly moved his jaws around the spoon. "No, don't chew it... Swallow,
luv."

Michael swallowed the apple sauce and coughed. He slowly turned his head
towards the door, and his eyes widened for a second. Then, he lolled back to
reality and decided it was time to sleep. He got up off the beaten couch and
took a step forward, falling straight onto his face.

Wendy rushed over. Their parents had wanted to put the poor boy into an
orphanage, to be someone else's problem. Wendy had demanded they take
responsibility for him, so her parents simply said `you want `im, you got him,
child. Don't bother us with his problems though." As such, Wendy had become
a the single mother and official burden of the broken home family. Still, she
tried her best to help Michael; she tried to teach him how to speak and how
to walk, but he was still having troubles.

Wendy helped Michael to his feet, and lead him towards his room. On her way,
she heard heavy footsteps running down the hallway outside the cramped
appartment. Her brother, John, was most likely returning from getting drunk
or high with friends. She let out a deep breath. Don't breath in any air when
you're right next to him and you'll do fine, she thought to herself.

"Wendy! You 'ave gotta see this, you won' fuckin' believe it!!" shouted John as
he blasted through the door, half out of breath. She turned around and gave
him a glaring look, as she helped Michael into his room. John stood huffing by
the door as she laid her brother down in his bed and tucked him in.

"Guhhh, guhhh naaaah," mumbled Michael. He weakly brushed Wendy's arm
with a limp hand and beemed dozily. She smiled.

"Good night, Michael," she said, in return. She turned off his blue lamp and
closed the door. She turned to her other brother, John, the hoodlum. "So
where have you been all night?" she said with a slight snap, then shook her
head. "Okay, stupid question. Here's a better one, what have you been
smoking all night?"

"Oh, I ain't up on nothing, so sod off," he chuckled breathlessly, and moved
to the trashed living room of the appartment. He slid magazines and dishes
off the table, onto the floor. Wendy shook her head angrily and began to snap
something at him when he raised his hand, "shush! Lookit what I found!!"

He slapped a yellowed, ancient looking piece of paper down on the table. A
map. He looked at it, then at Wendy, and back at the old paper. "It's a map!"

"I know it's a map, Johnny," she sighed and shook her head. She could see
blood faintly on his pant leg, still drying. "Where did you get it, I'm afraid to
ask..."

"Look at it, dammit! It's a map of London, but with all these other streets or
somethin', see? These aren't in London, but they're there on that map!!" he
fingered a red line on the map leading to a large bridge that ran over a river.
"See? It says there's a road going from that bridge straight out to the river,
to an X!! X marks the goddamn spot, sis! Could be treasure. Could be rich!!"

"Could be drowned like a rat in that river, stupid. Where did you get this?"
she asked exhasperatedly. He shook his head and gave her a look she'd seen
before, a look of almost-but-not-quite-shame. "Goddammit, Johnathan!! What
did you do!? You shoot somebody? You KILL somebody??"

"Jesus H., Wendy, crawl out of my arse, will ye? I got a map that leads to
something great, that's all `at matters!! We can be outta this shit-can and
out bling-blingin' it... if we follow it!!"

"Oh, right, Mr. Adventure. And how do you know it's any kind of riches or
bank or bling or whatever-the-hell you call it!? It's prol'ly bullshit!!!"

"I...can just.... I feel it, in my bones. Just... Trust me on this, sis. You, and
me, and Michael, and mum and dad can be GONE from this life in a matter of a
day if this is what I feel it is. Something special. Something..."

"Yeah," muttered Wendy. She turned around and looked out the window at
nothing in particular. "Something."


->>>-


"It's ten thirty, Tink. The boat leaves soon."

`we wait. the bones said they will come tonight, so we wait.'


->>>-