A/N: Hello everyone! Sorry for disappearing on a long hiatus for this story. I posted Chapter 8 today as it had been sitting on my computer for awhile as a work in progress. So, as for continuing the story, I will do my best. But, knowing me, I might disappear for a while. Marching band has been absolutely crazy this year and I have to work on my college applications along with starting school and all of my AP classes. With all of that in mind, for the next couple of months I don't think I'll have much time to update. However, with the time that I have now and the recent inspiration I've found again, I'll do my best to put forth the time to continue this story. I hope you guys understand. Thanks for being patient, and please enjoy Chapter 9!
#2: So that's what I wrote when I first started writing this chapter. I have spent the past couple of days associating myself with the story once again. This was a bit of a difficult one to write, as I originally had it going in one direction of the story, but ultimately, I decided to have things progress differently. This on the shorter end of what I would have liked to publish, but I felt that this chapter didn't need to be very long. So, without further ado, here's chapter 9.
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Margaret paced Hangman's Tree anxiously as she waited for Peter to arrive back from his meeting. She prayed that the fairies would be generous. Her situation was desperate. If she couldn't leave, she needed to make certain her grandmother was ok.
Margaret felt her breathing become labored as flashbacks blasted through her mind. Margaret blinked, looking up to see her grandmother standing in front of her, bustling about the kitchen with her hair not as gray as it is now, and her face less wrinkled. A phone rang…
"Stopitstopitstopitstopitstopit," Margaret pleaded with herself as she squeezed her eyes shut, bending over. Tears pooled in her eyes as she opened them. She fearfully looked over to the side. Wendy was gone. The flashback was gone.
"Margaret?" A voice asked. Margaret shot up, whipping around to see Peter standing in the doorway. He considered her briefly, before continuing, a slight triumphant smile dominating his features. He held up a pouch.
"They gave it to you!" Margaret gasped as she ran up to Peter.
"Yep, you're quite observant," he joked. Margaret rolled her eyes as he handed her the pouch. "They also told me how to use the dust. You'll need to wait until the moon reaches its peak before you pour it into the pond. You also can't be accompanied by anyone, or else the ritual won't work. Once you pour it in you have to think about the loved one you want to see and, in the pond, you should then see what they're up to."
"Thank you so much Peter!" Margaret exclaimed in gratitude. "I'm truly indebted to you."
Peter shook his head firmly. "It wasn't much trouble at all. I get along well with the fairies."
"Well, thank you again. I guess I'll just have to wait till nighttime then," Margaret said, peaking out of Hangman's Tree to stare at the sky longingly.
"It'll be night soon enough. I'll be certain to tell the Lost Boys to not bother or go out tonight."
"That will be very helpful," Margaret stated as she began to take down the curtains that were used in the hideout. They were absolutely filthy and required a good washing. Peter lingered for a brief while before leaving the tree silently to go back to his duties.
Margaret spent the rest of the day washing and repairing any tears in the curtains. Time seemed to pass all too slowly as she tried her best to busy herself, but eventually the sun began to set in the sky, and Margaret carried the newly repaired and cleaned curtains back inside. She immediately began to gather together the various ingredients left in the hideout for dinner, as Peter had told her that he did not plan on hunting that night.
The Lost Boys filed in, in a similar fashion to the night before. Peter did not show up until mid-way through the meal, where he apologized profusely for being late. Margaret good-naturedly eased his worries. No one spoke at dinner, though the awkwardness from Margaret's rudeness upon arriving had long passed.
After dinner Margaret hurriedly washed the dishes. The Lost Boys were ordered to bed by Peter, who also retired to his own hammock at the other end of the room for the evening. When the Lost Boys fell asleep Margaret quietly stole out of the hideout with the pouch in hand. She knelt down beside the pond, gathering a careful glance at the moon, which appeared to be close enough to its peak. She took a deep breath, untying the knot that kept the pouch closed. And, after another moment's hesitation, she hastily poured it into the pond.
The dust swirled in the water, glimmering majestically. Margaret focused on her grandmother as best she could, and soon enough, an image began to appear in the water. Margaret saw her grandmother from behind as she cooked dinner calmly in the kitchen. Margaret felt her rapidly beating heart relax upon seeing her grandmother alright. However, her relief was short lived as she noticed her grandmother's body shaking. Nana turned around, showing that she was crying profusely. Margaret felt her heart stop as she watched her Nana collapse onto the ground. Then, the image disappeared.
Margaret brought her hands to her mouth as she let out a muffled scream. Tears immediately pounded into her eyes, flowing down her cheeks in a waterfall. Her hands shook rapidly as she jumped up from the ground in distress.
"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," she cried out into the darkness. Her entire body was trembling now as adrenaline shot through her veins. Her grandma was dead. She was dead. She was dying.
Margaret let out another scream, this time allowing it to pierce through the open air. She collapsed onto the ground in a fit of tears, burying her face in her hands as she grew desperate. Through the blur of her tears, Margaret could make out a stir from the tree. A figure ran toward her.
"Margaret?" Peter asked her. He dropped to his knees, searching her features as she cried. Margaret could barely lift up her finger to point toward the pond. Peter glanced toward it.
"She's dying. She collapsed. I knew it she was going to die. It's my fault!" Margaret sobbed. The Lost Boys peaked out from the tree as Peter tried to calm Margaret down. Without warning, she burst from the ground, starting to sprint toward the overgrowth. Peter grabbed her arm, though, before she could cover a significant distance. Margaret fought against his grip desperately as more tears flooded her cheeks. "Please, I need to go. Please! PLEASE JUST LET ME GO!"
Peter grabbed Margaret's other shoulder and brought her to face him. "Margaret, listen to me. Wendy is going to alright. She's not dying. I'll make sure she's alright, ok? I won't let anything happen to her."
Margaret just shook her head and clamped her eyes shut, shutting down all of Peter's words. "My parents died due to my own actions, and now my grandmother. And I'm forced to just sit on my laurels and witness it," Margaret whispered in the middle of her tears. She weakly shrugged away from Peter's grip as she rushed back into the tree, throwing herself onto her bed. The last thing Margaret remembered before sleeping was her tears dripping onto the sheets.