At some point during the night, I must have curled up next to Benj because I woke up to him at my back and one arm around my waist.
He whispered in my ear, "It's almost dawn."
Butterflies that had nothing to do with Benj erupted in my belly, and my mouth suddenly tasted sour. I sat up, my mind racing and panic setting in.
"Hey, hey, hey," Benj soothed, "It's okay. You're okay." He wrapped both arms tightly around me and pressed soft kisses to my shoulders. "We're okay."
But the coming of dawn meant that the game was almost over, and that meant that we had to leave the tunnels and go back to living in the world of Peter Pan and the Lost boys. And with the end of the game came the worst part.
The punishment.
I squeezed my eyes shut and leaned back into Benj, trying to focus on anything else.
There was a tug on my sleeve, and I opened my eyes to find the little red-headed boy gnawing on a piece of bread, drool covering his chin as he grinned at me.
Without thinking, I pulled him onto my lap, burying my nose in his dirty curls. He smelled of stale baby powder with the tiniest hint of sweat, but he grounded me in a way that I couldn't do for myself. The boy didn't fight it, and I was thankful.
"Holly…" Benj's voice sounded unsure, like he didn't want to say the thing he needed to say. "You know that he'll have to go back home."
I tightened my hold on the boy, and he protested, squirming until I loosened my grip on him.
"He doesn't have a home," I said, my voice almost pleading.
"We don't know that," he said into my hair, but he didn't sound convinced. "Besides, he can't come back to the castle with us. Peter will think you helped him or that I did and, either way, it doesn't end well for us. He'll feed him to the croc."
I tensed, anger flaring in my gut as I squirmed away from Benj.
"Don't you dare say that," I hissed.
My tone made the small boy and Benj both pause to look up at me with worried eyes.
"Holly—"
"Don't," I repeated, tears welling in my eyes. "Don't say that."
Benj nodded. "Alright. I won't."
My grip on the red-headed boy loosened enough that he crawled out of my arms and toddled to the place where he had discarded Hook's cloak. He plopped down and continued to gnaw on his piece of bread.
I stood on shaky legs, all of my muscles tight from having slept on the ground all night.
As Benj stood, Hook's voice floated up behind me. "I'll take him."
I turned to find Hook making his way towards us, his hair and clothes rumpled and disheveled. He reached down and ruffled the red-headed boy's hair.
My heart swelled with relief, and it felt like I could breathe again.
Hook gave me a small smile. "We'll just stay here. It should be warm enough. And we'll get food from the kitchens."
I nodded.
Benj wrapped an arm around my shoulders and asked Hook. "Are you sure you can handle a little one?"
It was a genuine question, but I didn't miss the hint of disdain in his voice.
I turned a disapproving glare his way, but he didn't look at me.
Hook squared his shoulders. "I won't mess this up."
He wasn't speaking to Benj. He was speaking to me.
Without a second thought, I took a few steps between Hook and I and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug.
"Thank you," I whispered, and his arms wrapped tightly around my waist, returning the hug with such force that it hurt to breathe too deeply.
His stubble scratched my cheek. "Anything for you, Love."
Heat prickled in my cheeks as I stepped away, and the small smirk on Hook's face let me know that he didn't miss it either. He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear and told me to get going before Pan noticed I still wasn't back.
When I turned back to Benj, he was looking at the ground, focussed on moving a rock around with the toe of his boot. He didn't look at me as we made our way out of one of the tunnels and up towards the streets.
"Benj?" I asked as he prepared to push back the grate that would put us back in the alleyway from the night before.
"Hmm?"
"Look at me."
He did so, though begrudgingly, and it made my chest ache the way he looked at me like I had betrayed him.
We stood like that, neither of us sure what to do.
Feeling deflated and suddenly exhausted despite the few hours of sleep I had gotten, I sighed. "We should go."
Benj nodded once and pushed the grate back without a word. He helped to hoist me up and into the alleyway before hoisting himself up. I offered my hand, but he didn't take it, and I pulled it back like he had burned me.
"We should go our separate ways here," Benj commented as he slid the grate back into place. "We don't want it to look—"
"I get it," I snapped and started to make my way out of the alleyway. "I'll see you in the square."
"Holly," he shouted after me, but I was already out of the alley and onto the street, the early morning sky pink above me.
###
My stomach dropped when the square came into view. There were more boys sitting huddled in the square than I had expected there to be. Even with all the boys that Harlan, Hook, and Benj had helped, there were still at least sixty boys that had been captured.
Most of them were young boys, probably no older than seven or eight. There were a few older boys, some of them with gashes or bruises on their faces. They had put up a good fight, but not good enough to get away.
The croc would enjoy them the most. Peter always said the ones with a fighting spirit made the best sacrifices.
I swallowed the bile that rose in my throat just as I heard someone shout my name.
I turned just as Peter swept me up into his arms and swung me around in a circle.
"That's my girl," he crowed, drawing the eyes of the boys in the square.
When he set me back down on my feet, I was dizzy. Holding on to the front of his shirt, I looked up at him, only to find him beaming down at me.
His face was covered in dry blood splatter.
Before I could do much else, Peter pulled me in for a heated kiss, one arm wrapped tightly around my waist and the other tangled in my hair. His tongue demanded entrance, and I had no way to deny him.
I tried my best to relax and just let it happen.
When he pulled away, we were both thoroughly breathless, both of our lips swollen.
The sparkle in his eyes made it look like they were dancing. "Where'd you hide, Sweetheart? I looked everywhere for you."
My skin prickled with his question, but I just smiled and cocked my head. "Wouldn't you like to know," I teased, walking my fingers up his chest.
He chuckled, capturing my hand in his and pressing his lips to my knuckles. "I would. Next time, perhaps I won't be a Seeker and we can spend some time hiding together." He winked at me, lust written plainly across his face.
I pulled him in for a kiss to cover the nervous, manic laughter that threatened to bubble up and expose me.
No one came to see who had been captured and who had not. They would know if their sons did not return home once the sun came up. And the boys that were captured were left to worry alone.
Peter and the Lost Boys practically buzzed with energy as they milled around comparing capture numbers with one another, waiting as the rays of sun finally began to peek over the water. Some only found one or two, while others like Peter and Lester found ten to fifteen. At one point, I heard Lester ask Benj his capture number, and he answered eight.
A lie. Had he actually been playing the game, he would have doubled Peter and Lester's numbers alone.
It made Lester arch a brow when he heard eight. "You must be getting older," he said with a smirk. "You're slowing down."
Benj said nothing, and Lester kept prodding.
"Don't worry, Old Man," he crowed, and many Lost Boys turned their heads to listen, "we all have rough games time and again. You just better hope we don't make you hide next time. You probably can't outrun anyone anymore with those old hips."
"Shut it, Lester," Benj hissed, giving him a slight shove.
Lester shoved him back. Hard.
Benj stumbled but caught himself. He bristled, pulling two knives from his belt. If looks could kill, Lester would have dropped dead.
Lester licked his lips hungrily and swung his club up to his shoulder, ready to fight.
I stepped forward, but Peter pulled me back.
"Slow your roll, Sweetheart. They can take care of themselves." But it would seem that even Peter wasn't in the mood to watch Lester and Benj scuffle because he shouted at them to get ready to herd the boys down to the beach for their punishment.
Hearing the word punishment made all the boys tuck into themselves, and it made the younger boys begin to cry, but Peter and the other boys showed no remorse. In fact, some of them seemed annoyed. The crying combined with the exhaustion of having been up and moving all night was taking its toll.
Peter did that on purpose.
It would make the punishment harder for the captured boys to endure.
The captured boys were rounded up as Peter had asked and we began to make our way down to the beach.
Normally, even in the early morning hours, Mystasia would be bustling. Merchants would be setting up their shops, and sailors would be getting ready to hoist anchor. Bakeries and pubs would be starting up their ovens and glass blowers and sword makers would be building their fires. The people would be tired, wiping sleep from their eyes.
As we marched down to the beach, not a soul stepped outside. Windows remained shut and doors locked. Not a soul dared to pull their curtains aside to watch.
All the captured were truly alone, already abandoned by their families and friends.
Sadness and anger swirled in my gut, but I couldn't blame them for their fear because it was a fear I myself knew too well.
Once everyone was crowded onto the beach, Peter stepped out front where we could see him. He announced the rules of the punishment: it would be endured or it wouldn't, and you better hope you endured it because what came after would be so much worse.
Boys huddled together, holding onto each other, their tears and cries beginning to all run together.
Peter motioned to one of the Lost Boys who stood off to the side with Lester. The boy approached Peter with a whip in his hand, and I cringed.
"The punishment is as follows," Peter shouted so that there was no question about whether or not he was heard, "One lash of the whip for every boy that was found."
I felt myself deflate. There wouldn't be a single boy who could withstand that many lashes, and Peter knew it.
But still, he continued. "If you beg for it to stop, it will, but then you must endure what comes after. If you cannot stay conscious, we will wait for you to wake up before you endure the next part."
Peter smirked, as did the other Lost Boys. None of the captured boys asked what they would have to endure if they did not last through the lashings. Either they didn't want to know or they simply didn't have the energy to ask, but that wouldn't do for Peter.
He wanted them to know what they were facing. He wanted them to be afraid.
"Ready to see what happens if you don't endure the lashes?" He asked.
No one answered him, but it only made Peter's smile grow. The shadow of darkness rippled across his features as he pulled his dagger from his belt and sliced it across his palm without a second thought. The captured boys watched in terrified awe as he let his blood pool in his palm and drip to the sand below.
Slowly, he began to step back towards the water, the tide licking at his ankles and then his knees before he finally stopped and tilted his palm and the blood fell into the water.
There was a beat of silence.
Two.
Three.
Then Peter began to chant the words.
Everyone stood frozen, watching and listening. Even those of us who had seen it a thousand times before stood frozen. Whether it was curiosity or fear, I didn't know, but I found myself frozen in place with the rest of them.
When the ticking started, my skin crawled and I had to dig my feet into the sand to keep myself from bolting.
It's eyes rose out of the water first, still the same sickly yellow as they had always been, the black slit moving back and forth, taking us all in. Then came the rest of it, and I swear it's body had grown since I'd last seen it. The green and black scales shimmered from the water, and as it crawled onto the beach, I swear it smirked at me.
All the captured boys had gone white as ghosts, and my heart ached for them. They realized they were staring at the monster that would take their life. Those that had doubted whether or not they could withstand the punishment before were now almost certain they would not.
Taking my dagger from its sheath, I cut a strip of cloth from my tunic and approached Peter on shaky legs, never taking my eyes off of the crocodile.
"It's alright, Sweetheart," he told me and held out his uninjured hand to me, "he won't hurt you."
Still, I flinched when it hissed, and it made Peter chuckle.
With shaking hands, I wrapped the piece of cloth around his wound, my heart slamming against my ribcage. The crocodile was too close. All it would have to do was turn its head and it would have me in its jaws.
Once Peter's wound was covered, he took my hands in his and kissed the back of my knuckles.
"Thank you, Sweetheart," he said and leaned in to kiss me.
My skin felt clammy, and my head was spinning. The sea was washing over my boots and filling them with water. Peter tasted of salt and sweat, and it made my mouth taste sour. The clicking and hissing noises from the crock finally made Peter pull away from me.
He held the whip high in the air for a moment before slowly bringing it down, leveling it at an older boy with long, dirty hair and torn clothes. "You're first."
The croc hissed in approval as the boy stepped forward, his shaking hands the only indicator that he was scared.
He came to stand in front of Peter and I and then turned to face the crowd, and while his face was like stone, his eyes brimmed with tears.
I joined the Lost Boys back on the beach, taking a spot beside Benj. Even though we hadn't spoken since going our separate ways, I found that he was the only one who gave me comfort. Our shoulders brushed, and when I glanced at him, I found he was already looking at me. We both looked away at the same time, no smiles or looks exchanged, but that was alright. We had forgiven each other at that moment, and there would hopefully be time for proper apologies later.
Even as I watched Peter raise the whip, I was not ready for the cracking sound that came down with it. I jumped and closed my eyes against the scrunched up face of the boy, the ripping sound of his clothes.
"One lash down," Peter announced as he raised the whip again. Over fifty more to go."
Crack!
This time, the boy cried out, his back arching away from Peter as he fell to his knees.
My stomach flipped as I watched the Croc inch closer. They were only two lashes in, and the Croc could sense his first meal already approaching.
Peter's pace began to increase, the whip relentless as it fell across the boy's shoulders and back over and over again. The more lashes the boy endured, the more animalistic his cries became, and the more the boy cried, the faster Peter lashed the whip.
The boy's shirt was ripped to shreds, hanging in ribbons around his arms, and blood spilled down his arms in rivulets, pooling in the sand.
He didn't make it to thirty lashes before his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed to the sand. Peter nudged him with his foot, but there was no response. He kicked him, but there was still no response.
"Looks like we have our first loser," Peter announced, and he stepped back to allow the crocodile access to the boy's body.
"Close your eyes," Benj whispered, much like he did the first time I ever saw the croc take his sacrifice.
As the croc's jaws closed over the boy, I did just that, but the snapping of his bones and the screams of the captured boys made me cover my ears. Fear threatened to climb up my throat and out of my mouth, but I couldn't tell if I wanted to scream or vomit.
Even still, I forced my hands down and my eyes open. Peter wouldn't like it if I didn't watch, and Peter was far more dangerous after receiving life force than he normally was. The croc still death rolled and crunched and shook the boy's corpse, spreading blood in the sand. The tide came up to try to clean the blood away, but all it did was turn the water red.
As the boy's life force drained between the croc's jaws, Peter's muscles tensed and he leaned his head back so his face was towards the sky. His arms were out wide, like was receiving a gift from above. The raw power that radiated from him gave me goosebumps.
When he opened his eyes again, they immediately found me, and it took everything in me not to flinch away.
His face split into an ugly grin as he held out the whip.
"You're up, Sweetheart."