AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is picking up where Kimberly Appelcline's "The
First Kiss" fanfic leaves off (you can find the fic on this very site),
somewhere halfway through the epilogue. Kimberly's story, in turn, is a
continuation of P.J. Hogan's movie Peter Pan, which is of course a version
of J.M. Barrie's novel Peter Pan, which is in itself a sequel (of sorts) to
Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens (also by Barrie - which can be read at
gutenberg.net). Confused yet? ;-)
**NOTE: There is some more R-RATED stuff in this chapter (although a lot more watered down), but since it is only a small portion and therefore not worth it to rate the entire chapter thus (or make the whole thing optional like 15), I will instead make note of the more risqué passages by placing them between two sets of three asterisks ('***'). It might look kinda messy, but it was all I could come up with! And after this, there will be no more R-rated stuff, so don't worry! ;-)
So, here's Chapter XVII......Comments, Comment!!! :-)
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XVII. REDEMPTION
The waves began to push gently upon the rocks of the Bluff, tossing an over- flung hand carelessly about. It was a lifeless hand, yet one that still vaguely pulsated with spirit. The mermaid thought it still rather warm whence she took hold of it. After bestowing a gentle and scaly caress upon the hand, she returned it quietly to the temporary safety of the rocky terrain.
The tide was rising. The giant moon was retreating. Time as they could fathom it was growing short.
The lone mermaid descended beneath the water's surface, and the Bluff once again fell silent.
* * * *
Captain Hook, in all his faux elegance, toiled endlessly in front of the mirror attempting to perfect the handles of his mustache. He simply must look his best for his new bride.
He had even managed, after quite some heated rummaging, to relocate a very fine white cotton gauze shirt within the hidden alcoves of a decaying bureau. Far back in his active buccaneering days, Hook had snatched this article off the back of a poet enjoying his wedding night with a fair maiden whilst raiding a small cog drifting along the North Sea. Hook vowed then to store it safely for his own wedding night, and so it remained for centuries locked away and forgotten until now. It was frightfully musty and laden with dust, as you can imagine, but a quick shakeout over the starboard side of the Jolly Roger and a light sprinkling of a good brandy promptly righted this.
Hook was surveying a rather unflattering wrinkle across the bridge of his nose – or was it a scar he had forgotten? – when he sensed the entrance to his cabin being breached. His eyes shifted slightly to the corner of his mirror where he saw the reflection of a lovely young woman darkening his doorway.
He turned to regard his new possession and was wholly relieved to see her exquisite face bereft of all the sorrow and distress in which he had last seen it. Presently taking its place was an air of peaceful reserve – one could even call it bliss. Her eyes were large and round and focused straight ahead, staring at something that did not quite seem to actually be there. But whatever it was, it made the corners of her mouth curve vaguely upwards, as if she thought it all simply divine. Her whole countenance seemed very hollow, and she rarely even blinked. But she was standing in his cabin under her own accord without a tinge of antipathy, and this was good enough for Hook.
He held his hook out to her, and quite in her trancelike state did she move forward to him and take it, her eyes never wavering from whence they were fixed. He led her to an unobtrusive nook in a darkened corner behind the mirror in his stateroom where a long tapestry hung from a short beam. Moving this aside, it revealed two narrow lattice doors, which Hook pushed open with an unpleasant creak due to inactivity.
Beyond the doors were the captain's sleeping quarters – a cramped, most bleak little room that contained only an overstuffed bed, a small table next to it, and a washstand. A small candelabra upon the table attempted to light the chamber but with little affect. The only access to the outside world was a minor porthole that looked out over the waters aft of the ship. Quite a dismal space it was, even for Captain Hook, and it was little wonder why he so often would prefer to take his slumber upon his chair in the stateroom. It was his great hope that The Wendy could breathe some much- needed gaiety into his lonely bedchamber.
Hook had given strict instructions to his crew to remain below decks in their bunks for the remainder of the night, and if the irritable captain were to hear so much as a running nose, the unfortunate perpetrator would promptly be introduced to his cat o' nine tails.
Thus the ship was eerily quiet as Hook closed the lattice doors behind him. This was to be a most glorious night. He would first make Wendy his once and for all, just as in his delicious dreams, and then at long last would she give him her precious Kiss.
And so shall he finally be renewed. Rejuvenated. Redeemed.
Wendy remained quite unaffected as Hook took her by the shoulders and set her down to sit on the edge of the bed. He crossed to the washstand and removed his white shirt, revealing a most hideous leather contraption in which he used to attach his clawed hand. He moved to unlatch the strap that connected the arm brace to his left shoulder when he quickly considered he might need to keep it on, lest Wendy unexpectedly awaken from her spell and try something cute. And so the torturous-looking apparatus stayed put.
Hook made his way next to Wendy and looked at her for a brief moment, as if wondering where he should start. It had been so very long – perhaps centuries even – since he had to wonder. His whole existence in Neverland had been spent with nary a woman's touch. He had never even taken advantage of a fair Indian maiden. (Though, in truth, this was solely because they were much too fast for him to catch. Alas, Hook would have gladly had his way with a mermaid or even a fairy if he thought it possible.)
Ultimately, Hook swung a leg behind and around Wendy and sat down himself upon the bed, straddling her between his legs. He put his hand about her waist and pulled her even closer against him. He removed the bow from her hair and combed out her long braid with both his fingers and hook. Then did his hand move from her hair to her shoulder, and he slid the short sleeve of her nightdress away from it, baring her flawless skin. He breathed in the intoxicating scent of her hair and moved his lips close to her ear.
"Will you have me, Wendy?" he whispered.
Thus Wendy spoke her first words to him: "Yes."
It sounded so mechanical, so vacant, but a yes was a yes for the degenerate captain, and he gleefully nudged Wendy's face towards his with his hook and kissed her lightly.
*** With most awkward eagerness did Hook then try to pull Wendy toward the front of his bed, she being of little help to his efforts. Once her head lay gently upon the pillows, her dull eyes rested upon Hook the way a child's doll may look vapidly upon its gleeful owner. And as the pirate then proceeded to commit any number of atrocities upon her person, she felt nothing.
All was still and nebulous through Wendy's eyes, and her body moved only as it was compelled by her pirate master. And Hook was quite determined to eradicate any trace of Peter Pan's touch upon her. She was *his* now. Thus every patch of skin Pan may have caressed, any tiny nook he may have kissed, Hook usurped it with his own. And when at last he finally took her, he claimed the very last fragments of purity Wendy had yet possessed. Like the merciless pirate he was, he stole her innocence as if it were nothing more than a gaudy trinket. ***
But still Wendy felt nothing. She was more or less numb throughout her entire body and mind. So it is of a bizarre wonder how her eyes were to become drawn to the porthole next to the bed. Perhaps it was because of the tiny dot of light bouncing about within, darting here and there and catching Wendy's distant attention as a ball of yarn might pique a cat.
*** Soon, Hook's hand slithering up over her chin diverted Wendy's notice back toward the ceiling and once again into her wistful state. He was fully upon her now, and he managed to prop himself upward slightly as he continued to push further onto and into her as if she may actually be affected. He stared down into her eyes, searching for some hint of recognition, of validation, but she never even blinked. Oh, if only she would just blink! This all was certainly not in the least what he had anticipated.
Becoming afraid he might be losing her, and therefore himself become flaccid before the deed was done, Hook cupped his hand about her face and asked in a staggered voice: "Is it...better...than Pan?"
With a most pleasant and somewhat rhetorical tone, Wendy replied, "No Pan. Only Hook."
Quite pleased with this response and his excitement triggered anew, Hook nuzzled his face close to her ear. "Then call out my name, Wendy."
"Hook," came the automatic and insincere reply.
"No, not Hook," he demanded. "James."
"James," Wendy acquiesced in the same monotonous manner.
"Yes." She was getting warmer, and so was he. He prepared to brace himself. "Louder."
With little else but a raise in volume: "James!"
It was starting to happen now, he could feel it. He dug his hook and fingertips into the mattress. "Louder!"
"James!"
"LOUDER!"
"Jaaaaaaaaaaames!"
Wendy's wail had all the musicality of a steamship's horn – that is to say, not very much. But it was enough to get Hook to his fierce zenith. And with one last mighty roar, the licentious ceremony came to its bittersweet finale. ***
* * * *
Some distance from the pirate ship and the unpleasantness occurring therein, a reassuring breeze fell over the mass of rock and hardened coral where a sad figure lay destitute and still. His half-closed eyes stared blankly up at the stars as they all ran together like a smudged painting. And every so often would those smudges seem to creep about, forming pictures of faces and places that seemed so very far away now. One picture currently manipulated by the stars was that of the most elegant female visage. He knew her instantly, and he would very much like to reach out and touch it but could not call upon his arms to do so. He wondered if they may still be attached to his body at all.
'Twas then that the lowly figure recalled the fate that led him to this conundrum. The pain of it was too great – even more so than the one presently occupying his torn open midsection. He wanted only for it to cease, and thus he shut his eyes tight, hoping for it to be but the last time.
And so he lay upon the calm of the night at the Bluff, melting into the rock as he sensed himself slipping deeper and deeper into an inner serenity. He felt as if he were falling down through a hole in the earth, but in a slow, graceful manner, like he was flying again as he did when he was a boy. And then, creeping upon his mind's eye, he saw a light. He rather assumed it must be that light of which he had heard so many speak that one encounters whence right before entering Heaven. He wanted to run to it, but he could not. He needn't to anyhow, for it crept closer and closer toward him until, at last, it leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. How marvelous, he thought.
He prepared his soul to be taken away forever by this most benevolent beam, but instead it stayed precisely put, as if it would rather sit and watch him for a while. And he thought he heard it begin to speak to him softly, but not in human words. No, this sounded more like a gentle clinking of jewelry perhaps. He could not understand what the light was saying, so he tried to fixate harder upon its words, but as he did, he felt himself at once being lifted quickly from out of the hole he had descended into. This was most alarming, and he tried to stop himself, but still he rose. His one consolation was that the light rose with him, and as it did so, its words became clearer. It almost seemed to be saying his name, and something else to the effect of: "It's all right, come back to me."
He could now see the surface of the hole, and he braced himself for what frightening sights he may behold outside of it. And once he breached the opening, he was stopped before a dark, blank canvas. He poked at it curiously, and somehow it made his eye twitch. Again he heard the light call out his name. Suddenly, he realized he was staring at the back his own eyelid.
"Peter. Come back, Peter."
The voice was clear as day now. But it was emanating from outside of himself. All at once he remembered where he was – at least where his damaged body lay. And there was someone next to him calling his name in a tiny, jingly voice. Slowly did his eyelids crawl open, and to his right side he could discern a great golden radiance shining upon him. With every last ounce of strength he could find, he turned his head toward it so that he may fix his gaze upon that which was calling for him.
What his eyes met with was almost too brilliant for them to bear, and he squinted harshly. Now he could see a vague outline of what appeared to be a tiny lady. And like the face in the stars, this one too was wholly familiar. Had he been in a less hazy state of mind, he may very well have jumped to his feet and crowed upon seeing this creature. But as such that he was, all he could manage was a feeble whisper:
"Tink."
He could see the sprite smile at him most kindly and then lean forward to bestow another tiny kiss upon his cheek. "Yes, Peter, it is I."
"Tink..." He wanted to embrace his old friend. "Tink, I shouldn't like for you to see me in this condition."
"It will all be okay, Peter, you can make it so." She seemed quite optimistic.
"No, Tink. I am dying."
Strangely, she nodded. "Yes, you are. And so too is Neverland."
Peter weakly shook his head. "Anthony shall take care of Neverland."
"No, Peter. Hook has him in his clutches. Don't you remember?"
He did indeed. "He will find a way out."
"No, not this time."
"Then Wendy shall find him and save him."
"No, Peter. Hook has her too."
The wound in Peter's gut burned anew. He shut his eyes tightly again. "She will get away. She will find something..."
"I am afraid not. Hook has poisoned her. I saw with my own eyes."
"And you did nothing?"
"There is nothing I can do, Peter. Fairies are forbidden to breach the Jolly Roger under Hook's laws."
"Then, the Indians...surely, they will come to their aid..."
"No, no, no, Peter. They will not respond to Anthony. Don't you see? Wendy, Anthony, and everything in Neverland are now completely at the whim of Hook's control. And if you yourself are not already dead by morning, then the sea shall make quick work of you."
Peter wanted badly to cry, but he had not the strength. "Why do you tell me all this, Tink?"
"Because there is a way, Peter." She was growing anxious. "A way for you to right every wrong."
"What could I possibly do?"
With a mischievous look in her eye, Tinker Bell leaned forward and began to whisper in Peter's ear. With every word, Peter grew more and more horrified, until finally he said, "No, I can't do that."
"But it's the only way..."
"No, I tell you, I can't!"
Tinker Bell became stern. "Then you would rather see your son become just another of Hook's minions? Your wife to become *his* wife? All of Neverland to deteriorate into a pit of despair? Is that what you want?"
Peter shut his eyes again. "No, no, no, no...I want none of that. But I cannot do what you ask of me. It is too big a price to pay."
The fairy folded her arms slyly. "For what, Peter? And for whom?"
Peter said nothing. He could not, for she was right. The fairy King and Queen had before advised him that there would always be a price to pay, sacrifices to be made, for the life he had chosen with Wendy.
Wendy. His beautiful Wendy. He would gladly die for her. And the thought of her in the arms of that scoundrel Hook was sickening. And there was no one to save her. Except...
"You need only wish it, Peter," Tinker Bell whispered into his ear.
It was all so very simple yet so completely overwhelming. But he would rather it be so than to have his family and this wonderful little island that he loved so dearly suffer any longer.
And so with a deep breath and a lone tear rolling down his cheek, he cast a rueful smile upon his fairy.
"Very well then. I wish it."
**NOTE: There is some more R-RATED stuff in this chapter (although a lot more watered down), but since it is only a small portion and therefore not worth it to rate the entire chapter thus (or make the whole thing optional like 15), I will instead make note of the more risqué passages by placing them between two sets of three asterisks ('***'). It might look kinda messy, but it was all I could come up with! And after this, there will be no more R-rated stuff, so don't worry! ;-)
So, here's Chapter XVII......Comments, Comment!!! :-)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------
XVII. REDEMPTION
The waves began to push gently upon the rocks of the Bluff, tossing an over- flung hand carelessly about. It was a lifeless hand, yet one that still vaguely pulsated with spirit. The mermaid thought it still rather warm whence she took hold of it. After bestowing a gentle and scaly caress upon the hand, she returned it quietly to the temporary safety of the rocky terrain.
The tide was rising. The giant moon was retreating. Time as they could fathom it was growing short.
The lone mermaid descended beneath the water's surface, and the Bluff once again fell silent.
* * * *
Captain Hook, in all his faux elegance, toiled endlessly in front of the mirror attempting to perfect the handles of his mustache. He simply must look his best for his new bride.
He had even managed, after quite some heated rummaging, to relocate a very fine white cotton gauze shirt within the hidden alcoves of a decaying bureau. Far back in his active buccaneering days, Hook had snatched this article off the back of a poet enjoying his wedding night with a fair maiden whilst raiding a small cog drifting along the North Sea. Hook vowed then to store it safely for his own wedding night, and so it remained for centuries locked away and forgotten until now. It was frightfully musty and laden with dust, as you can imagine, but a quick shakeout over the starboard side of the Jolly Roger and a light sprinkling of a good brandy promptly righted this.
Hook was surveying a rather unflattering wrinkle across the bridge of his nose – or was it a scar he had forgotten? – when he sensed the entrance to his cabin being breached. His eyes shifted slightly to the corner of his mirror where he saw the reflection of a lovely young woman darkening his doorway.
He turned to regard his new possession and was wholly relieved to see her exquisite face bereft of all the sorrow and distress in which he had last seen it. Presently taking its place was an air of peaceful reserve – one could even call it bliss. Her eyes were large and round and focused straight ahead, staring at something that did not quite seem to actually be there. But whatever it was, it made the corners of her mouth curve vaguely upwards, as if she thought it all simply divine. Her whole countenance seemed very hollow, and she rarely even blinked. But she was standing in his cabin under her own accord without a tinge of antipathy, and this was good enough for Hook.
He held his hook out to her, and quite in her trancelike state did she move forward to him and take it, her eyes never wavering from whence they were fixed. He led her to an unobtrusive nook in a darkened corner behind the mirror in his stateroom where a long tapestry hung from a short beam. Moving this aside, it revealed two narrow lattice doors, which Hook pushed open with an unpleasant creak due to inactivity.
Beyond the doors were the captain's sleeping quarters – a cramped, most bleak little room that contained only an overstuffed bed, a small table next to it, and a washstand. A small candelabra upon the table attempted to light the chamber but with little affect. The only access to the outside world was a minor porthole that looked out over the waters aft of the ship. Quite a dismal space it was, even for Captain Hook, and it was little wonder why he so often would prefer to take his slumber upon his chair in the stateroom. It was his great hope that The Wendy could breathe some much- needed gaiety into his lonely bedchamber.
Hook had given strict instructions to his crew to remain below decks in their bunks for the remainder of the night, and if the irritable captain were to hear so much as a running nose, the unfortunate perpetrator would promptly be introduced to his cat o' nine tails.
Thus the ship was eerily quiet as Hook closed the lattice doors behind him. This was to be a most glorious night. He would first make Wendy his once and for all, just as in his delicious dreams, and then at long last would she give him her precious Kiss.
And so shall he finally be renewed. Rejuvenated. Redeemed.
Wendy remained quite unaffected as Hook took her by the shoulders and set her down to sit on the edge of the bed. He crossed to the washstand and removed his white shirt, revealing a most hideous leather contraption in which he used to attach his clawed hand. He moved to unlatch the strap that connected the arm brace to his left shoulder when he quickly considered he might need to keep it on, lest Wendy unexpectedly awaken from her spell and try something cute. And so the torturous-looking apparatus stayed put.
Hook made his way next to Wendy and looked at her for a brief moment, as if wondering where he should start. It had been so very long – perhaps centuries even – since he had to wonder. His whole existence in Neverland had been spent with nary a woman's touch. He had never even taken advantage of a fair Indian maiden. (Though, in truth, this was solely because they were much too fast for him to catch. Alas, Hook would have gladly had his way with a mermaid or even a fairy if he thought it possible.)
Ultimately, Hook swung a leg behind and around Wendy and sat down himself upon the bed, straddling her between his legs. He put his hand about her waist and pulled her even closer against him. He removed the bow from her hair and combed out her long braid with both his fingers and hook. Then did his hand move from her hair to her shoulder, and he slid the short sleeve of her nightdress away from it, baring her flawless skin. He breathed in the intoxicating scent of her hair and moved his lips close to her ear.
"Will you have me, Wendy?" he whispered.
Thus Wendy spoke her first words to him: "Yes."
It sounded so mechanical, so vacant, but a yes was a yes for the degenerate captain, and he gleefully nudged Wendy's face towards his with his hook and kissed her lightly.
*** With most awkward eagerness did Hook then try to pull Wendy toward the front of his bed, she being of little help to his efforts. Once her head lay gently upon the pillows, her dull eyes rested upon Hook the way a child's doll may look vapidly upon its gleeful owner. And as the pirate then proceeded to commit any number of atrocities upon her person, she felt nothing.
All was still and nebulous through Wendy's eyes, and her body moved only as it was compelled by her pirate master. And Hook was quite determined to eradicate any trace of Peter Pan's touch upon her. She was *his* now. Thus every patch of skin Pan may have caressed, any tiny nook he may have kissed, Hook usurped it with his own. And when at last he finally took her, he claimed the very last fragments of purity Wendy had yet possessed. Like the merciless pirate he was, he stole her innocence as if it were nothing more than a gaudy trinket. ***
But still Wendy felt nothing. She was more or less numb throughout her entire body and mind. So it is of a bizarre wonder how her eyes were to become drawn to the porthole next to the bed. Perhaps it was because of the tiny dot of light bouncing about within, darting here and there and catching Wendy's distant attention as a ball of yarn might pique a cat.
*** Soon, Hook's hand slithering up over her chin diverted Wendy's notice back toward the ceiling and once again into her wistful state. He was fully upon her now, and he managed to prop himself upward slightly as he continued to push further onto and into her as if she may actually be affected. He stared down into her eyes, searching for some hint of recognition, of validation, but she never even blinked. Oh, if only she would just blink! This all was certainly not in the least what he had anticipated.
Becoming afraid he might be losing her, and therefore himself become flaccid before the deed was done, Hook cupped his hand about her face and asked in a staggered voice: "Is it...better...than Pan?"
With a most pleasant and somewhat rhetorical tone, Wendy replied, "No Pan. Only Hook."
Quite pleased with this response and his excitement triggered anew, Hook nuzzled his face close to her ear. "Then call out my name, Wendy."
"Hook," came the automatic and insincere reply.
"No, not Hook," he demanded. "James."
"James," Wendy acquiesced in the same monotonous manner.
"Yes." She was getting warmer, and so was he. He prepared to brace himself. "Louder."
With little else but a raise in volume: "James!"
It was starting to happen now, he could feel it. He dug his hook and fingertips into the mattress. "Louder!"
"James!"
"LOUDER!"
"Jaaaaaaaaaaames!"
Wendy's wail had all the musicality of a steamship's horn – that is to say, not very much. But it was enough to get Hook to his fierce zenith. And with one last mighty roar, the licentious ceremony came to its bittersweet finale. ***
* * * *
Some distance from the pirate ship and the unpleasantness occurring therein, a reassuring breeze fell over the mass of rock and hardened coral where a sad figure lay destitute and still. His half-closed eyes stared blankly up at the stars as they all ran together like a smudged painting. And every so often would those smudges seem to creep about, forming pictures of faces and places that seemed so very far away now. One picture currently manipulated by the stars was that of the most elegant female visage. He knew her instantly, and he would very much like to reach out and touch it but could not call upon his arms to do so. He wondered if they may still be attached to his body at all.
'Twas then that the lowly figure recalled the fate that led him to this conundrum. The pain of it was too great – even more so than the one presently occupying his torn open midsection. He wanted only for it to cease, and thus he shut his eyes tight, hoping for it to be but the last time.
And so he lay upon the calm of the night at the Bluff, melting into the rock as he sensed himself slipping deeper and deeper into an inner serenity. He felt as if he were falling down through a hole in the earth, but in a slow, graceful manner, like he was flying again as he did when he was a boy. And then, creeping upon his mind's eye, he saw a light. He rather assumed it must be that light of which he had heard so many speak that one encounters whence right before entering Heaven. He wanted to run to it, but he could not. He needn't to anyhow, for it crept closer and closer toward him until, at last, it leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. How marvelous, he thought.
He prepared his soul to be taken away forever by this most benevolent beam, but instead it stayed precisely put, as if it would rather sit and watch him for a while. And he thought he heard it begin to speak to him softly, but not in human words. No, this sounded more like a gentle clinking of jewelry perhaps. He could not understand what the light was saying, so he tried to fixate harder upon its words, but as he did, he felt himself at once being lifted quickly from out of the hole he had descended into. This was most alarming, and he tried to stop himself, but still he rose. His one consolation was that the light rose with him, and as it did so, its words became clearer. It almost seemed to be saying his name, and something else to the effect of: "It's all right, come back to me."
He could now see the surface of the hole, and he braced himself for what frightening sights he may behold outside of it. And once he breached the opening, he was stopped before a dark, blank canvas. He poked at it curiously, and somehow it made his eye twitch. Again he heard the light call out his name. Suddenly, he realized he was staring at the back his own eyelid.
"Peter. Come back, Peter."
The voice was clear as day now. But it was emanating from outside of himself. All at once he remembered where he was – at least where his damaged body lay. And there was someone next to him calling his name in a tiny, jingly voice. Slowly did his eyelids crawl open, and to his right side he could discern a great golden radiance shining upon him. With every last ounce of strength he could find, he turned his head toward it so that he may fix his gaze upon that which was calling for him.
What his eyes met with was almost too brilliant for them to bear, and he squinted harshly. Now he could see a vague outline of what appeared to be a tiny lady. And like the face in the stars, this one too was wholly familiar. Had he been in a less hazy state of mind, he may very well have jumped to his feet and crowed upon seeing this creature. But as such that he was, all he could manage was a feeble whisper:
"Tink."
He could see the sprite smile at him most kindly and then lean forward to bestow another tiny kiss upon his cheek. "Yes, Peter, it is I."
"Tink..." He wanted to embrace his old friend. "Tink, I shouldn't like for you to see me in this condition."
"It will all be okay, Peter, you can make it so." She seemed quite optimistic.
"No, Tink. I am dying."
Strangely, she nodded. "Yes, you are. And so too is Neverland."
Peter weakly shook his head. "Anthony shall take care of Neverland."
"No, Peter. Hook has him in his clutches. Don't you remember?"
He did indeed. "He will find a way out."
"No, not this time."
"Then Wendy shall find him and save him."
"No, Peter. Hook has her too."
The wound in Peter's gut burned anew. He shut his eyes tightly again. "She will get away. She will find something..."
"I am afraid not. Hook has poisoned her. I saw with my own eyes."
"And you did nothing?"
"There is nothing I can do, Peter. Fairies are forbidden to breach the Jolly Roger under Hook's laws."
"Then, the Indians...surely, they will come to their aid..."
"No, no, no, Peter. They will not respond to Anthony. Don't you see? Wendy, Anthony, and everything in Neverland are now completely at the whim of Hook's control. And if you yourself are not already dead by morning, then the sea shall make quick work of you."
Peter wanted badly to cry, but he had not the strength. "Why do you tell me all this, Tink?"
"Because there is a way, Peter." She was growing anxious. "A way for you to right every wrong."
"What could I possibly do?"
With a mischievous look in her eye, Tinker Bell leaned forward and began to whisper in Peter's ear. With every word, Peter grew more and more horrified, until finally he said, "No, I can't do that."
"But it's the only way..."
"No, I tell you, I can't!"
Tinker Bell became stern. "Then you would rather see your son become just another of Hook's minions? Your wife to become *his* wife? All of Neverland to deteriorate into a pit of despair? Is that what you want?"
Peter shut his eyes again. "No, no, no, no...I want none of that. But I cannot do what you ask of me. It is too big a price to pay."
The fairy folded her arms slyly. "For what, Peter? And for whom?"
Peter said nothing. He could not, for she was right. The fairy King and Queen had before advised him that there would always be a price to pay, sacrifices to be made, for the life he had chosen with Wendy.
Wendy. His beautiful Wendy. He would gladly die for her. And the thought of her in the arms of that scoundrel Hook was sickening. And there was no one to save her. Except...
"You need only wish it, Peter," Tinker Bell whispered into his ear.
It was all so very simple yet so completely overwhelming. But he would rather it be so than to have his family and this wonderful little island that he loved so dearly suffer any longer.
And so with a deep breath and a lone tear rolling down his cheek, he cast a rueful smile upon his fairy.
"Very well then. I wish it."