Chapter 3

From the journal of Captain James Hook:

June 16th, or sometime close to that.  I have no idea why I bother trying to keep up with the date anymore. 

Two days since we last saw Neverland.

I find myself unexpectedly in the possession of ten children, nine boys and one girl.  I have no idea of what to do with them.  Things were so much simpler in Neverland:  my sole purpose was to kill Peter Pan to exact my revenge on the boy.  If the other brats got in the way, I had no compunction against killing them, but other than that they could rot for all I cared.

I have killed Peter Pan.  Whether or not the child that draws breath in his body is still Peter Pan is in doubt.  Neverland has utterly vanished, along with all trace it ever existed.  Many of the supplies I recently brought aboard have vanished, and only those things that have resided on my ship for a length of time survived whatever happened.  The Lost Boys lost a good portion of their clothing, including those strange hats they affected to wear.  Fortunately, Smee has been able to alter some things to augment their remaining garments.  But of all the things that disappeared, the piece of Neverland I regret losing the most is the pixie, Tinker Bell.  She was trapped in my quarters, but when I returned to them the jar was empty.  She did not escape, the lid was still closed tightly.  Not a speck of pixie dust residue remained within the jar.  With her is gone any answers I might have gotten from her.  And I need answers.  Why do I have my hand back?  How did the boy come back to life and what in the blazes is wrong with him?  Where is the island?  Where in the Hell are we now?

I and my men would be ecstatic right now – I have my hand and we're free of that wretched island – except for these children.  If I and my men were our proper, sensible selves, I'd just heave every last one of the mudlarks overboard and be done with it once and for all!  My proper self would happily murder Pan again.  But I can't stand the looks in their eyes, and neither can a single man among my crew.  No one's even suggested that I harm any of the children.

Wendy, Nibs and Slightly seem to be the only ones not incapacitated by their trauma, and that seems to be because they have turned their attentions elsewhere, to avoid remembering.  Wendy has immersed herself in caring for the boys, a task that keeps her fully occupied.  Nibs is now the de facto leader and helps Wendy keep the younger children occupied.  The only times those two allow themselves to show signs of their distress is at night, when the smaller ones are asleep and quiet. 

Slightly and Billy Jukes are taking solace in one another.  Apparently, the two of them were friends before – a treason I haven't the stomach to punish right now.  I don't know why, but the loss the children feel is also evident in Jukes, and he is nearly as depressed as the rest of the boys.  They talk to one another, and I've released Slightly from the brig so that he can stay close to Jukes.  The two of them share duties now.  Slightly is deeply depressed and subdued, but he is in control of his faculties and aware of reality.

The "twins" only speak to one another, and they do that communication in a strange language no one on the ship understands.  They keep apart from everyone else, but will obey Wendy or Nibs.  At the best, they ignore the other boys and my men.  If a crewman presses them, they become violent. 

Curly and John, on the other hand, have quit speaking altogether.  They appear much like Pan in this respect.  They will comply with whatever Wendy or Nibs tell them to do, but they have made themselves mute, even to one another.  They are still capable of speech, Curly gave a cry when he tripped and skinned his knee, and I've heard John mutter in his dreams.

Michael and Tootles will not be separated from Wendy.  Michael wouldn't even let go of his sister's skirt for the entire first day.  Now if she isn't in sight they become hysterical.  Both boys have taken to sucking their thumbs. 

Peter… Peter is quite another story.  He does not speak.  Instead, he makes incoherent noises – grunts and moans mostly.  With no provocation he'll begin screaming, and he only responds to Smee.  He'll let me touch him, but if I hold on for too long the terrors take him.  Odd things catch his fancy.  I watched him spend an hour today staring at the light reflecting in a bucket of water.  He doesn't seem to understand anything said to him, sometimes he seems to be completely unaware of anything around him.  He does respond to tones of voice.  If I have the slightest edge to my voice, he goes into hysterics.  Today I played my harpsichord, and he laughed in the purest expression of delight I have ever seen in another human being.  He has a strong compulsion to stay clean and will become very agitated if his hands become dirty.  He will obsessively wipe them until they are clean again. 

Currently, Peter lodges with me.  He sleeps on a pallet near my bed.  He rests soundly enough, but he had walked in his sleep for both nights he's been aboard.  I keep him in leg irons during the day, he's too oblivious to be trusted to not fall over the railing.  Since the first time he wandered in the middle of the night, I've decreed that the irons remain on him at all times.  At night, his shackles are tethered to a bolt in the floor.  I did try to keep him in the brig that first night, but the other children became more upset at seeing him and Wendy asked that I take him elsewhere.  His present state keeps them agitated, so I deemed it prudent to comply with her request.  The crew won't let him sleep with them, they're afraid of him.

It is my fervent wish that Peter returns to his senses soon.  I find it hard to bear seeing my former nemesis reduced to this.  I am no fool, I know that whatever force has healed Peter Pan and revived him is also responsible for the restoration of my hand.  Caring for the boy and his friends is a small price to pay for this unhoped-for miracle.  I also can't help hoping that Peter holds the answers I am searching for.

June 23 (I suppose)

I'm usually better about keeping my journals than this.  Peter and the others are quite a handful, and I'm usually too tired to write at the end of the day.

It's been a week, and finally I've noticed progress in the nine.  Wendy was able to leave Tootles alone for nearly an hour, and he's stopped sucking his thumb as much.  I saw both John and Curly smile briefly, and I've been able to cajole John into writing.  I caught him scribbling a short poem, and it was quite good.  Perhaps writing will give him an outlet.  Slightly has been sleeping on a pallet with Jukes, and Mullins informed me that last night both boys slept in separate hammocks, though they were close together.  Given time, I am confident Slightly will fully recover.

As I've suspected, it's more than the trauma of seeing me kill Peter that's driven them to this state, else Jukes would not be affected.  Nibs and Slightly have both described a "hollowness" inside them, as if when Neverland disappeared, a piece of their hearts went with it.  Wendy only says that she feels sad all the time and that little things frighten her.  Perhaps it is the same with Peter.  I can imagine the trauma of dying would unbalance him, but perhaps the loss of Neverland was too much for him to bear.  I seem to recall Tinker Bell often moaned that if Peter died, Neverland would die too.  Perhaps that is what happened… so what would happen if Neverland died yet Peter lived?

All of this information is second-hand.  None of the children will even look at me, and break into wails if I speak to them directly.  I think Wendy would talk to me, if I could get her away from Michael. 

Tomorrow I am going to apprentice all of them to my men.  I've left the brig unlocked and open for several days now, but only Slightly will remain outside for long.  They need tasks to distract them.  I'm dividing them like this:

Cookson with Wendy and, by default, Tootles and Michael.  The kitchen is the only place I can in good conscience work a young girl.  Perhaps she'll take over and our food quality will improve. 

Mason with Twins.  They'd best be suited with Jukes, but given their unwillingness to communicate, I hesitate to saddle a child with that responsibility.  Mason's work should intrigue them enough to make them cooperative.

Starkey with John.  John is perhaps the most deeply depressed of all the boys, and Starkey's mild enough to not frighten him.

Jukes with Slightly.  Of course.

Mullins with Nibs and Curly.  Nibs is capable, and not likely to need much supervision once someone shows him the ropes.  Curly is only a little better than John, but Mullins has experience with children, despite his gruff manner he really does care. 

Smee with Peter.  Peter only consistently responds to Smee, and the bosun is the only one with the patience to deal with him.  He's no use on deck, but he has to be constantly watched.  He's too unpredictable and he can't look out for himself right now. 

I hope this helps.  I don't know what else to do for them.