Trigger Warning: Mention of burns. Death. Grief.
Author's Note:
Happy Thanksgiving! I am so thankful for each and every one of you that reads my stories and leaves reviews. You'll be happy to know that I have been speaking to a publishing house, and it looks like we may be moving forward with publishing this series! Of course, there will be a lot of editing before then, but it is because of all of you that I have pursued this! It's a dream come true! Thank you! 3
The dining hall was quiet. I sat alone at the long table pushing food around my plate, occasionally forcing myself to take a bite of something. I would need my energy come tomorrow.
I brought a forkful of eggs to my lips and chewed slowly, trying to focus on the soft, salty fluffiness instead of the persistent throbbing in my wrist.
Benj had changed the bandage that covered the brand this morning after he cleaned away the dead, burnt skin that still made me gag from the smell. Cleaning it had left it red and raw, and the bandage felt like sandpaper, but at least it wasn't infected. There were others who hadn't been so lucky.
A few of the youngest Lost Boys, those that didn't understand the importance of keeping the wound cleaned and covered had gotten an infection, leaving their arms swollen, red, and hot to the touch, angry red lines climbing farther and farther up their arm until they caught a fever. I heard Peter and Benj speaking of at least one boy who hadn't woken up.
It made me wonder how many boys in the city had caught the infection or if their families knew well enough to clean it and keep it covered.
How ironic that the brand would kill them long before the crocodile did…
I swallowed the eggs, my mouth suddenly dry. I chugged a goblet full of water and pushed my plate away.
Peter, Benj, and the other Lost Boys were out and about in the city doing one last check for brands. Benj had tried to convince Peter they had been thorough over the last fortnight, but Peter wanted to make absolutely sure they hadn't missed anyone.
"I don't trust them," he had said, speaking of the people of Mystasia when the boys had returned for the third day in a row without news of a boy missing the brand or a family hiding a child without a brand.
He couldn't accept that he had scared them all enough to follow orders, but I could.
If they were truly checking every home, every boy, every brand, then they would be gone for most of the day. It felt like a rare treat, but as I sat there and looked out the windows that lined the one wall of the dining hall at the promising sunshine, I couldn't help but wish that Benj was there.
Ever since the night in the gazebo, I frequently caught Benj staring at me and smiling. Not as much when Peter and the other boys were around because that would be too dangerous. But, when we were alone, he didn't try to hide it. I found it hard not to smile back, my heart fluttering slightly when he shot me a wink.
Most nights, Peter, Benj, and the other boys were up late making plans for the game of Hide and Seek, discussing possible hiding places that would be used or families that were labeled as potential rule breakers. This left me alone in my own room with no threat of Peter making his way in or asking me to return to our bed chamber. On the few nights where Peter had insisted on coming to bed, Benj had been able to slip him the sleeping powder.
He never seemed to notice that, no matter how much he had had to drink, that he was blacking out until the morning. He always assumed he had too much to drink.
It kept me safe and Peter clueless, for which I was grateful.
And after dropping Peter off in his room, we would return to mine and lay together, talking and laughing and enjoying the company. I would rest my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat while I played with the fraying thread of his tunic, and he would play with my hair trace patterns along the bare skin of my arm.
Kissing him, while more natural now, still gave me butterflies.
"Holly."
I jumped at the sound of my name, my face flushing in embarrassment. I looked up to find Harlan standing next to me, out of breath, sweat glistening at his temples, plastering his curls to the side of his head.
He looked scared, and it made my stomach drop.
"Harlan?" I asked. "What is it?"
"It's your father. You need to come quick."
I didn't hesitate. I tossed my napkin onto my plate and stood, following Harlan out of the dining hall and towards the dungeons. We didn't speak as we ran, and all the worst thoughts raced right along with us.
With all of the Lost Boys out in the city, there was no one posted at the stairs that led down to the dungeons. Instead, the keys were left hanging on a nail protruding from the wall.
Harlan grabbed the keys and descended the stairs.
I paused, unable to convince myself to move. "Harlan."
He turned to look at me. "What is it?"
"I need to know… Before I go down there…" The words weren't coming, and my brain wouldn't slow down long enough for me to gather them and string them together in a coherent sentence. "Is he…?"
Harlan ranHarlan ranHarlan ran his fingers through his hair. He shook his head, and I felt a wave of relief.
"No, but…" he took a shuddering breath, and I could see that his eyes were misty with tears. "I think it might be time."
I was stunned, frozen.
Harlan came back up the few stairs that separated us and took my hand in his. "Come on," he said gently, his voice thick with the threat of tears.
Together, we descended into the cold, damp dungeons, the smell of mildew and mold as pungent as ever. We passed all the empty cells until we reached my father's.
Harlan saw him first, his hand stopping midair with the key to his cell dangling from his. He tried to put out a hand to stop me, but it was too late.
My hand flew to my mouth and I gasped, unable to look away from the nightmare in front of me.
My father laid on the make-shift bed that was in all of the cells, nothing more than one thin blanket on a slab of wood. It would have been easier if it looked like he was sleeping, but that wasn't the case. Instead, his eyes were wide open, his once blue eyes foggy and empty of life. His mouth hung open, too, making it look as though he had been screaming when he died. Dried spittle ran from his cheek to his neck and disappeared into what was left of his stringy grey hair.
Harlan swore under his breath before reaching for me, but I took a step back.
"Open the door," I pleaded, tears running down my face. "Please, just open the door." Harlan opened his mouth, and I had a feeling he was going to protest because he wouldn't meet my eyes. "Dammit, Harlan," I screamed, "Just opened the goddamn door!"
Reluctantly, he did what I asked, and I rushed to my father's side, dropping to my knees and taking his face in my hand.
He wasn't yet cold, but the heat in his face was already starting to fade. I carefully closed his mouth and ran my fingers over his eyes so that they would close. In a strange way, one could almost convince themselves he was sleeping, but there was something about him that wasn't quite right. Maybe it was the cold or the stillness or the mottled coloring that was already beginning to bloom over his skin.
Sobs ripped through me, and I didn't try to hide them.
Harlan stood back and let me mourn the death of my father, but I could also hear his sniffles and soft sobs behind me.
It could have been minutes before my tears subsided. It could have been hours. All I know is that, when I finally stopped, my knees ached from kneeling on the stone. Harlan fell silent long before I did, but I could feel him at my back, standing exactly where he had been when we arrived.
When Harlan said my name, his voice thick, I knew what he was going to say next.
"We should g—"
"I won't leave him here," I said, the tears that I thought had dried up returning with a vengeance. I held onto my father's paper-thin clothes with all I had. He would have to pry me off of him. "He doesn't deserve to be left here. It was bad enough that he had to die alone."
"We aren't supposed to be here," Harlan stated, and I laughed, the sound too high pitched, too hollow.
Harlan didn't push. Instead, he came to kneel next to me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and pulling me to him. I dissolved into tears again and leaned heavily into him until we were both on the dungeon floor.
"I should have gotten him out of here," I said in between sobs, and Harlan's arms held me tighter. "I should have gotten him to the tunnels and away from here."
"Oh, Holly…"
The way he said it… it wasn't right. There was something he wasn't saying. I wiggled loose from his grip and looked up at him.
"What? What aren't you telling me?"
Harlan shook his head, refusing to look me in the eyes.
"Tell me," I hissed. "Tell me!"
He tried to pull me to him again, but I hit him in the chest instead. "Holly, please," he started to say, and I could see that it pained him to know whatever it was that he did. He didn't want to tell me because he knew it would hurt me.
"I need to know, Harlan. Please." Digging my nails into his arm, I willed him to look at me.
He winced, but he didn't look at me. Instead, he pulled me to him and squeezed me tight. Despite my struggling, he held on, unable to look me in the face as he finally told me what was bothering him.
"He had a way out," he said, his voice shaky as he tried to hold back tears. "That grate in the corner? It leads down to the tunnels. He could have left whenever he wanted. But he wouldn't. He said he wasn't going to leave you here with Pan. He wouldn't leave you to fight him alone and that if it meant he would die in this dungeon, then so be it."
A wave of ice rushed through me, and the storm that was raging inside me went quiet for a moment. I turned to look at my father over my shoulder as Harlan's words sunk in.
And then I saw the crate in the corner that led to the tunnels and felt the storm grow. What had started as a thunderstorm escalated to a typhoon, and the fire in my heart and lungs exploded into an inferno.
The only thing I could do was scream.
And scream and scream and scream.
###
Benj was the first to return from checking the brands in his quadrant, and Harlan wasted no time retrieving him when he returned and bringing him to me.
I hadn't moved from my bed since Harlan and I returned from the dungeons. I laid under my covers, my face buried in my tear-stained pillow. Every time I thought about my father's body laying in the dungeons, fresh, hot tears spilled down my cheeks and it felt like every fiber in my being was unwinding.
"Holly?" It was Benj's voice, but I didn't turn to look at him. I couldn't. There was something about the gentleness in his voice, like he was scared he was going to break me with his words that made me curl up on myself.
"I'll keep watch," came Harlan's voice. Benj thanked him, and then the door closed with a soft click.
The bed sank under his weight, and then he was pulling me back against him, one arm wrapped tightly around my waist.
"He's gone." The words were mine, but I sounded like a stranger in my own ears. My voice sounded empty.
Benj kissed the back of my shoulder. "I know. I'm so sorry."
He didn't try to comfort me or try to tell me that it was better that way or that my father was no longer suffering and that was the best I could have hoped for. And it was because he didn't try to convince me it was better that way that I came undone again, turning into him and burying my head into his chest.
We laid that way for a while, just holding each other and, eventually, the tears subsided.
Benj traced circles on my back while he rested his chin on the top of my head.
"He could have left," I said, my voice hoarse. "He could have left any time he wanted to."
"He didn't want to leave you here alone," Benj replied, his lips moving to kiss my forehead.
I buried my face deeper into his chest, and his arms tightened around me. "He didn't deserve it. Any of it."
"No," he agreed, "he did not." He tilted my chin up so that we were face to face. "And neither do you."
"And neither do you," I echoed before leaning in to press my lips to his.
And yet, here we all were, in this web of a nightmare that Peter Pan had spun. None of us deserving, and yet we were all trapped within it.
I hoped that we could all get out.