88. A star in the lake (part 2)

Once upon a time, a magpie named Peter Lake lay upon the waters of New York, carrying only a blanket and a promising label.

CITY OF JUSTICE. His destiny, his home. He was branded with golden iron. Birthmarks burned into his flesh. He was forced to belong there. The only alternative was to drown.

I took the City of Justice.

Tan, gentle hands cupped around him, and he felt happy between them. He felt sheltered. He missed being small, being so easily swathed. The baby blanket now gloved his arms up to his biceps. He couldn't sink into its folds and feel safe within them.

I flew over it and it became small.

The magpie's feathers were soggy with salt and mist. And soon enough, these nesting hands could no longer hold him. So he cowered into alleys, climbed onto rooftops, looked past the skylines. Crying out in raging bitterness.

And flight was not an option. He couldn't go to John. He couldn't escape the pebble-faced children on the patio or their shrieking commands.

Fly on down, Peter Pan.

He couldn't dive down into the cold morning fog and peck at their miserable eyes. He could only take the slow route, down the stairs. He could only be late, every single time.

It's late.

He had descended with Beverly in his arms. He had felt pain on his shoulder. And she had been on fire. And her eyes, her eyes had been open.

It's early.

No… No… No…

I got you, love.

He'd kept his arms around her. He'd tried to recreate the protective folds of Humpstone John's hands. Or maybe the baby blanket. He'd known the feeling of solitude she dreaded. He struggled to shatter it. Her isolation. Her silence. He bent his body, held her, formed a cave for her to curl herself into.

Don't disappear…

She'd snuggled against him, in the dark. She'd embraced him until she couldn't get any closer. She'd reveled in his heartbeat, counting the notes, calculating his rhythm. She'd whispered, 'Don't disappear.'

Don't disappear.

'Don't leave me in silence, Peter… Don't run away from me… Keep on living. Keep me alive.'

His life, her life. His life.

I won't disappear.

Blood. Stale, scalding, dripping down his chin. Thickening, swollen by the frostbite into mossy blacks and purples.

Leather on flesh. Bone on bone. A pain between his eyes. The hollow of his cheek. His jaw. His throat. Drops of scarlet floated against an empty white sky. And a fence clattered. And a body lost its warmth under his fingers.

Petes. Pete.

Peter.

Bloody little Peter. New York spinning in a frenzy. Athansor, gone. John, gone. Beverly, gone.

Pearly Soames's face was twisted by a fury that came off as oddly obligatory. Rehearsed, perhaps. His eyes were wide with effort. His jaw, clenched.

Thick black hair, greasy and sprayed with snow. Dark fingers waving before him. Blocking his vision. His magpie eyes. The eyes she had kissed.

Petes.

Explosions of pain. Before long, they ceased to surprise him. He stopped feeling the punches. And this only infuriated Pearly further.

Pete…

"You're smiling!"

Was he? Smiling? He didn't know… He had lost control of his muscles, his fingers. He was a sack of human tissue, a doll of cloth and hair. And Pearly was furious. To the point that the wolves that remained were skulking farther and farther away. Casting secretive, awkward glances. A few of them shuddered at the sound of each hit. Hair spiking, eyes widening.

And Peter Lake detected in them that familiar fear. That desire to run. Those men were runners. They were goners.

Maybe… Maybe that was why he smiled.

Peter.

Through the pain and the blood and the bruises. Past the breezing winter ashes. Past all the sorrows that had guided him here.

My name is Peter…

As he collapsed into the welcome arms of gravity. As the bridge stretched uncannily into the fogs of New York.

And water broke into jaws around his body. And he sank.

Peter Lake sank.

Author's Note: To anyone who is here today, thank you for reading.

(...)

It's been a long time since I've written a chapter this short... But... I feel like this chapter needs to be short and sharp, much like Pearly's beating. So, I made it like this. And I love how it turned out. I truly love it. Especially that part about Pearly's anger being "obligatory", oooooh I'm so proud of that XD Because, yes, I do believe it to be somewhat true. That Pearly, like Peter, is convinced that he is destined for one thing, but, unlike Peter, he is blinded to the possibility of it being a mistake. Of there being more paths to travel. I love it... I love it so much :3

So... yes. One more chapter left. Part 1 is coming to a close. And Peter is underwater.

I'll see you next time.