Neverland
Ch 3.
Christmas Games For Non-Believers
A/N Thank you all for your wonderful reviews. I'm sorry, I reallyhaven't had enough time to update. Well I hope you enjoy this new chapter.
"Why do I have to wear a tie? And why are we having this stupid party?" George Davies demanded, while pouting under the fact that he was being forced to dress up for an occasion that would only require him to smile politely, perhaps shake a few hands, and talk to people that would say, 'Oh, I remember when you were this tall,' and would proceed to measure his height with an excited hand, and would stare at him, as if expecting him to remember them.
"Because your grandmother said so. And don't use that ugly word, think of something of more intelligence." James reprimanded as he straightened George's tailcoat so that it wasn't tucked unnoticed in his breeches.
"The reason we're havin' this ridiculous party, as I'm sure you intended to say," he continued, his eyes twinkling at his pointed caustic remark, "is because your grandmother thinks it will prepare ya for when you get older." James winced slightly, but hid it as he ducked his head and got up.
He knew completely that this party was just so Mrs. Du Murir could torment him and proceed to try and transform him into a more fatherly figure. One that enjoyed talking about grueling politics over a glass of straight brandy. One that had his mind on the task ahead and was never distracted by those intended purposes in his life, like his lovable children. Not the kind that played with children in the back yard when the first snow of the season erupted in full bloom, and ruined his work suits as he created snow angels and saints and made snowman that could never be unhappy and almost seemed lifelike. Not the kind that sat at his desk, and wrote plays and stories that were introduced to the veiled world with skepticism, but ended up being loved and greeted with derestricted arms. One that didn't constantly believe that life was more than it appeared to be. More than what anyone saw. More than what she saw. Not one that appeared to be a man and contain a man's intelligence, but really had a child's heart.
And certainly not one that believed in fairies.
He remembered vividly the conversation(well more like a civilized brawl) that had been apparent just a few days before between Mrs. Du Muerir and himself.
Flashback
"Mr. Barrie?" Julie the maid asked his employer after proceeding to fill his tea cup and fill a plate with scones for his mid-afternoon break.
"Yes Julie?" he asked with a small smile. He liked Julie. She had a child's face, and she was one of those adults who, hidden by a workers mask, was truly a pleasure of company and was always good for a laugh. He always thought she had a bubbly personality.
"I've just remembered. Mrs. Du Maurir asked me to tell you, if you would please, when your finished of course, if you would please go down to the library where she would like to talk to you about a few things.
I'm in trouble, he thought childishly to himself. He knew if he ever had to be called to the formidable grandmother's presence, then he did something that was against he approval. Oh well, what else was new.
"Of course. Julie, tell her that I would be delighted to meet her in..." he glanced at the chime clock on his wall, which read five minutes to four, "five minutes."
"Will do sir." and she left as briskly as she had come.
When she had closed the door, she took an a sharp intake of breath, as she had been denying herself the natural task of breathing, and said in a sighing voice.
"Oo. Cute." and proceeded to make her way back down to the kitchens (I took that from Secret Window from that girl in the post office. I couldn't help it, someone had to voice it.)
Finishing his scone and downing his now lukewarm tea, being a man of his word and knowing that she would have more reason to scold him if he was not prompt, he walked briskly through the refurnished burgundy carpets and pearl walls, and reached the brass handle just as another hand clasped over his.
"Oh, Mr. Barrie. Please excuse me, I didn't notice your hand there." Mrs. Du Murier said apologetically whilst removing her hand.
Liar. He didn't see her, but he knew she saw him before she came to the door. She just wanted to be there first.
"It's quite all right Mrs. Du Muerir." he said with a forced smile and opened the door. With a sweeping bow he indicated for her to go in, just as he was always taught to do. Ladies first.
Without even glancing at him, she brushed passed, leaving that awful smelling formaldehyde, which she claimed was perfume, but he knew better, and he knew that all she was doing, to his disappointment, was trying to keep herself alive for as long as she could. Now don't get him wrong. He didn't wish that she would keel over as soon as she took another step, he just wished she was in someone else's hair for once, not his.
"Mr. Barrie. I think you realize that I have called you hear to talk to you."
If 'old crone' had another name to it, it would Mrs. Du Muerir, he thought with a slight scowl behind her back but quickly and skillfully changed it to an expression of mild interest, so she wouldn't be any the wiser.
"Well I'm all ears..."
Unfortunately.
"Well, Mr. Barrie, as you well know, my daughter and I used to have an annual Christmas party at my mansion."
His throat double-clutched on him when heard mention of Sylvia, but whisked the problem away by stating, "Yes I remember, me and Mary attended a few of them." He thoughts now traveled toward another woman who was no longer present in his life, but it was to his relief of this fact.
Mary Barrie. Well, Mary Shoemaker to be exact. He laughed inwardly at the name. Shoemaker. The least she could do would be to pock a man with a name that didn't coincide with a shoe and the ground that you walked on.
She had left him after she blatantly accused him of having fornications with Mrs. Davies, which had absolutely not happened. She was the one having the fornications, and not just one, he guessed. She had been around the cobblestones a couple of times, and he always thought she had some nerve to accuse him of being unfaithful. Oh well, their marriage was over and done with, and he could ignore her letters and move on to more enjoyable things in his life.
This statement, of course, does not satisfy the new situation involving a Christmas party.
"Well, Mr. Barrie," she continued, as if she didn't know that she was throughly annoying him," Since Sylvia, is, um, no longer... alive, I need your help in seeing that the party goes smoothly."
"Ah", he realized, " I see."
"Yes, so I've already arranged for a tailor to come and get the boys and your measurements..."
"The boys?" he said, suddenly turning to her with full attention.
"Y-Yes," she stuttered slightly at his unexpected reaction, "they are attending as well."
"Why?"
"Because they always have, and we shouldn't deprive them of a vital lesson of society that they will need for when they get older. As a matter of fact, George is almost near the age of courting."
He remembered that time. That was when he met Mary.
He hated it.
"But Mrs. Du Maurier, this is completely pointless. They will learn nothing but boredom. Parties, our types of parties, are extremely overated and funless for children." he argued, moving his hands animatedly to try and convey his point.
"Then they shall learn to have fun, Mr. Barrie." she snapped at him which stopped him of his arguing and leaving his hands hanging limply at his sides.
"Not all life is fun and games. Not all life is pretend and make believe. Someday those children will grow up. You can't stop it. They need to realize what they are meant to become. Upstanding, civilized gentlemen."
"And you think that skipping a party is deprivation?" he chuckled mockingly, "You speak as if nothing else in the world matters except the standards of society. Well Ms. Du Maurier, once you take away their childhood, they'll have nothing left. They will know that the end is coming for them, and then nothing else will matter. Nothing else will exist to them. Not society, not rumors, not courting, not parties, and, God forbid, not even you." he paused to let the sarcasm sink in and enjoy the outraged look on the once hawk-like woman into a vicious hungry vulture, who looked ready to bite his hot head off, before he continued. She was speechless.
"A party is a mere trifle compared to the deprivation that you are inflicting upon these poor, innocent, children. All they have now is their dreams... their hopes... their beliefs. If you take that away from them, they wont believe in anything anymore. They'll suffer from our malady that will only lead to our destruction. Understanding. If you want to be responsible for that destruction, then place the burden on your own shoulders...not mine."
"Mr. Barrie," recovering from her lack of speech, " I am merely preparing these children for their lives. I want what is best for them. What is right for them. And they do not need your dumbfounding assumptions about the world and your ridiculous notions on this made up fantasy that does not exist. Because it doesn't exist, Mr. Barrie, it's all in that maze that you clarify as your brain."
She walked passed him them, put paused, turned back to him and continued quietly.
"Sometimes I sit at the table and see you talking to the children and think to myself, 'I don't have three grandchildren and respectable, distinguished, guardian. I have three grandchildren and a strange child over to play. Well play time is over, Mr. Barrie. You've all had your fun. It's time to get serious. Time to get real. I intend to show them reality, not the crap you write and make up for a living."
She placed a trembling hand on the fought over doorknob.
"They need to grow up Mr. Barrie. And apparently...so do you."
And with that she slammed the door, ending the verbal assault, and leaving a vengeful man behind her.
James walked stiffly to a leather armchair near the nightly lit fire. He placed his head in his hands and muttered quietly to himself.
"You were right Sylvia..."
He smiled astutely and said,
"She is a bitch."
End of Flashback
So, basically, with no real decision that would rival that of the cynical grandmother's determination, James was forced to go on with a plastic smile and watch as their grandmother destroyed his loving boys.
They complained to him, he said there was nothing he could do.
Their faces were turned into grotesque faces of the severely disgusted; faces unfit for children.
He could only watch with fake contentment, while really, his heart was aching out for them.
He was shaken out of his morose thoughts, and found his gaze resting awkwardly facing the opposite wall. It seemed he had momentarily gone deaf, for when he realized where he was staring, sound reverberated and echoed loudly in his ears and he quickly clamped his hands over them to stop the slight ringing that had occurred as a detested effect.
He turned wildly searching for the cause of the din, and his eyes met with the usual scene of topsyturviness. George, Jack, and Peter were tearing frantically after Porthos, James' dog, who apparently had stolen something again and tried, but was unsuccessful, in his attempts to filch away with the 'borrowed' new chew toy. Michael, who had given up on his stubby and unhelpful legs two minutes previous, was sitting on the foot stool by the fireplace's hearth and watched animatedly at the scene that was evolving around him and James' shocked eyes.
James, who before, suffered from being mute, recovered from his symptoms and found himself, surprisingly, aggravated.
"ENOUGH!!" He bellowed, causing, if you could imagine it, a sort of car crash, as every single being in the room became motionless as they stared, including the sly bulky dog, flabbergasted at their usually calmed guardian, who at the moment, resembled a raging volcanic eruption.
Successfully draining the abrupt flaming rouge that had appeared instinctively onto his cheeks and regaining his composure, James eyed the children and stated in a chilling voice that was unfamiliar to his own, "Explain yourselves." And before they could answer, he added "One at a time."
Well being that Michael was unreliable to retain information for more than three seconds, and Peter was nursing a slightly bloody lip after crashing in to the sturdy desk facing the window in the nursery, and Jack was too shocked by his father's reaction, George decided that he was best fit to relay what happened.
As if sensing he was about to speak, James gestured a impatient hand at George and said, "Well?"
George gulped, his voice feeling cumbrous in his throat at the sight of his beloved guardian. He had never seen him so fuming before. His grandmother, yes, but he knew how to handle her. This sudden change was too abrupt and so unplanned, that George was as flustered as the others were as they stared at him.
"I'll ask once more. What happened? If you do not answer, I will bring your grandmother in, and believe me, she is not in the mood for this, and it could get even uglier than my face right now. So stop staring at it and tell me, what happened."
"Well... Porthos went into your room... and, uh, we tried to stop him, but, he uh...went in your closet and stole your um..." George glanced nervously at his feet.
James noticed the hesitation in his voice, and said, more calmly and with less brass, "Wha'? What did Porthos take o'mine?"
"Your, uh..." he looked up to meet James' persistent but gentle gaze and sighed briefly before adding reluctantly,
"Shoes..." he said in a meek voice and turned back to face his own shoes once more.
James looked down to mimic George's movement at his own feet, but, all he saw, was stocking feet. His gaze then turned to his disobedient dog and glared at him.
"Porthos. Come here." he commanded in a menacing tone.
When the dog glanced uncomfortably at the boys, James repeated what he said in a louder voice, and the dog tramped gloomily to bow his head near his master's feet, his shoes personifying the same saturnine gloom of the dog's disposition.
"Porthos... drop 'em."
The dog looked up into his masters eyes which dared the dog to defy him. Knowing better than to be insubordinate at his raging master, he dropped the shoes with a somber plop, realizing the game was over.
"Good boy." James said, reaching a hand toward his black leather, drooled on shoes.
Maybe not.
Just before James could clasp his hand over the wet leather, Porthos snatched the shoes away, and made a break through James' legs. James, reaching wildly for the dog, caused himself to be flipped over onto his back and cursed slightly as he watched his snake-like dog, make away with his treasure. Well not really treasure, they were just shoes, but...
"Hey boys, let's play a little game." James called from the floor, a roguish smile thawing his once iced disposition.
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Peter walked stealthily along the corridors, eyes peeled for any signs of movement apparent under the brim of his wide cowboy hat.
He saw him, he had almost ran into him.
"I got ya now, Sheriff Dog, and I'm gonna teach ya a lesson. Put him up and draw. If yer not yella?" He said in a drawling southern accent, tinted with bits of British, as he pointed both his pair of forefingers and thumbs in the mock- resemblance of a gun at the cowering dog still trying to continue with his robbery of his master's shoes.
Turning abruptly, the dog jetted, and Peter bellowed, "He's barreling down the stairs."
James, who was hiding in the laundry closet at the time, came jetting out on a mop, pretending it was molasses pinto, and racing after the dog, down the stairs. Pretending, as it's like in movies, he sprung off the mop and landed ungracefully on the floor, taking Porthos with him. They rolled the remaining way down and were sent sprawled onto the floor, Porthos on James' chest, breathing shallowly, as James was clutching his shoes, breathlessly laughing hysterically.
The boys, following suit, appeared riding down the stairs on their own matching steads; ones with manes that had cleaned up numerous amounts of accidental mishaps. They started cheering gayly at the sight of their father's shoes safely returned to his ownership, and danced and sang tuneless tunes as James' got up from his sprawled position and joined them.
They had forgotten that anyone else existed at that moment in time, as they hopped to and fro, dancing wildly. This was a party to them. Full of dancing and laughter and gay chatter, not gloomy plastic faces, fancy vestments and boring talk over glasses of champagne.
Their celebration was stopped in full circle as an astonished voice rang through the room, almost as if someone was clearing their throat in aggravation.
" Ah-hm!"
The dancing stopped.
The laughter ended.
The smiles faded as they all turned to face a disgruntled old women with eyes as wide as saucers and her hands placed firmly on her hip.
"Well I never.... What have you got to say for yourselves this time?" Emma Du Maurir growled as glared down each and ever soul in the room.
What a picture this would make, James thought as he watched the boys glance down at the floor, ashamed of their actions. He could easily see it all in his mind. Four, no, five, boys standing in a military line. Their faces sweaty with fresh perspiration, their once elegantly groomed hair, now clinging to the sweat and covering their eyes with a sticky shade in tangled masses that resembled a mass of clustered tree leaves and branches. A military sergeant staring haughtily down at them, and looking ready to force them to do pushups until they collapse from exhaustion, or their arms bleed.
Four boys staring down guiltily.
One boy, unashamed.
"Well, don't even think of coming up with an excuse this time. After the party, you receive your punishment, for right now, go upstairs, and Julie will attend to you."
"Yes ma'am" the boys grumbled lightly, as they turned and stomped back up the stairs.
James brushing his hair back from his eyes, opened his mouth to speak, to argue, but she held up a hand to stop him.
"Don't James. It is my turn to talk and it is your turn to listen. I only asked of you, one, simple, thing. To just go along with this party and get the boys ready. And you can't even do that," he winched at the fury in her voice, and remained quiet, for although he would never admit it, she was right. It let things get out of hand.
"Now, I suggest, you march yourself upstairs this instant and get ready. The guests are already starting to arrive.
"Yes mother." He muttered disdainfully, as he turned to march up the stairs.
"What did you say?"
He turned back toward her.
She was slightly unnerved at the fact that she saw a hatred she had never knew possible; a torched fire, looking back at her through his frequently warm eyes.
"Yes. Emma."
He turned once more and ran up of the stairs, slamming his room door, like a petulant child, behind him.
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The party was a grand affair.
From those who's view was clouded by rumors and gossip.
Anyone who was anyone who was there, and they were all laughing and talking gayly to one another. But to James it seemed as if he were trapped in hell with a bunch of satins devilish followers. He'd wager that underneath all their wigs and tailcoats, that there were horns and scorching pitchforks.
Being a maître d'hotel, it was his obligation, to meet everyone and see that they were enjoying themselves. Well they were. It was just that there wasn't another maitre d'hotel that would make sure that he and the boys were enjoying themselves.
Speaking of the boys...
George...Jack...Michael...
George was carrying a platter of appetizers. Jack was mingling among some of the noble women's innocent daughters. That rogue He thought, smiling as he saw Michael chatting animatedly with some chaps drinking brandy who were staring skeptically at the rather bold five year old.
But...where was Peter.
A loud crowing was the answer to his thoughts, but was not the intended one.
He heard gasps spring out instinctively as he noticed thousands of faces, in shocked emotion, stare at the source of the emphatic crowing.
He turned and met with wide eyes and an agape mouth, as if he had loss control of its movement completely, Peter was sitting on a diamond chandelier, twenty feet up, staring at everyone in the ballroom with haughty eyes.
James steered his expression to Mrs. Du Maurir, who, unsurprisingly looked at if she needed a good dose of smelling salts to keep herself from fainting.
Peter crowed again.
"Where is Peter Pan? I must speak with him. Where is he?"
James didn't know what to do. On the one hand, he could pretend he was Peter Pan, on which he had done on numerous occasions before, and cause attention to himself and Peter. Or he could be civilized and yell at Peter to get down and stop this foolishness.
But he didn't want to be civilized. He didn't want to admit that he was a grown up. He wasn't going to go into that stereotype. He wanted to remain as young as he could for as long as he possibly could. He didn't care what these people thought of him. He was Peter Pan. And Peter Pan, never cared what other's thought, and he wasn't going to start now.
Peter crowed for a third time.
James answered it with his own.
The whole congregation turned to face him, but James wasn't paying attention. He was too busy holding his hands to his hips and smiling emphatically to the seated figure 20 feet above him.
"Peter Pan?"
"Yes. It is I."
"I wish to speak to you."
"What troubles you my great friend?"
"This party," Peter spat out the word as he stretched out his hands and gestured to the assembly with revolted hands.
"I know. A bunch of over dressed snobs, eh?" James said, smiling even wider, as one of the woman in the congregation fainted.
"Too true, too true." Peter said, nodding vigorously in agreement.
"Peter."
"Yes, lost boy."
"I need your help."
"With what?"
"I've forgotten how to fly."
James gasp sounded like a thousand screams as it echoed in the enervating room of a thousand people. Not a sound. Only that of a breath full gasp.
Well, they wanted entertainment. They got it. Time for the final act, Peter, my boy.
"I can't believe what I'm hearing. Did you say that you don't remember how to fly?" he said, cupping his hand to his ear, dramatically looking astonished, as if what he was hearing was utter nonsense.
"I did."
Another sharp gasp and quick dismayed shake of his head, brought James to say,"Well this will not do. Don't you remember the four essential things to flyin'? Oh well, I shall tell ya again." he said throwing his hands up in pretend impatience.
"Number One, think of a wonderful thought. A happy thought. A glorious thought that shall give you the energy you need to fly."
"The next three are in one simple phrase. 'Faith, Hope, and Pixie Dust. Now where is Tinkerbell?"
"I remembered the Pixie dust part, sir." Peter said, bringing out a mini-brown suede pouch and shook it. It sounded like bells.
His mother's ornaments bells to be exact.
"Very good, now, pour some of the dust on yourself, and thinking of your happy thought, spread your wings out and...fly."
"Ok. Will do Peter." And with that Peter stood up on the violently shaking chandelier, and putting all his faith and hope in 'Peter Pan', he jumped....
Screams filled the once soliloquy appropriate room, as he fell towards the ballroom floor. Women turned into their husbands collars, and the daughters cried on Jack's worried shoulder. Men screamed suicide, George was holding his grandmother because she had done what was predicted. She fainted.
In the middle of the room, however, stood a man. A man who was truly Peter Pan at heart. Cocky. Insubordinate. Despicable. Kind. Generous... Perfect. A man who thought of this, not as a life or death situation, but as a game. The object of the game was to catch the flying, not falling boy. Because he was flying. It didn't matter if he looked like he was falling, and if the people below were stepping away, believing the worst. The boy wasn't believing the worst. He had his arms spread wide and a smile gracing his angelic face. He looked like an angel. A flying angel. His angel.
James, Peter Pan. Whatever name you like, stood with the same identical smile on his face as Peter's, and caught him securely in his arms, cradling him like a new born baby.
Applause.
They commended James with his superb catch, which saved Peter's life.
Revival.
George had finally gotten his grandmother to awake, and when she finally could stand straight on her own, she spotted James and walked quickly to him and her grandson.
Dad.
Nothing phased James' and Peter's minds as James' placed Peter onto his feet. The crowd could be booing, throwing tomatoes at them, jeering at them and calling them ignorant and foolish for their foolhardy actions. Peter's grandmother could be yelling and screaming until her head exploded causing her overinflated ego to splinter and shoot out in all different directions. Hell, Jack could be making out with one of the debutantes at the party. It didn't matter. What mattered was that James and Peter had secured a trust between them. A test of faith, in which they had both passed. Nothing else mattered, and nothing ever would. Because as long as the faith and hope and need was still there, the physical attributes, like the people, referred to as pixie dust, wasn't needed; wasn't required.
"Nice catch."
"Nice stunt work. You gave everyone a bit of a scare."
"You too?"
James smiled fondly at his worried inquisition.
"No, I knew I would catch you."
"I knew it too. I believed I could fly you know."
"An' ye did."
"I know."
They smiled at each other for a long time; Peter's grandmother was edging closer.
Finally Peter said, "I'll always believe in you Peter Pan." And as James kneeled down, Peter wrapped his arms around his neck and hugged him tightly and passionately.
This was life, James concluded. This was why people live. This was why people grow; to watch their children grow. To experience those moments of true relief and love towards someone they really cared about. To feel loved in return. The games would never be over for him and Peter, as they shouldn't. Because as long as he had Peter, and the rest of the boys, he realized he didn't need anything else. That was all he needed, and that was all he wanted. He needed them for his survival, and he realized, after that fateful test, they needed him too.
"I love you... Dad." Peter whispered those four words that James had been wishing to the stars to hear someday.
Tears sprung from their native spring in his eyes, as James pulled Peter from their embrace and looked into Peter's hazel eyes. They were red and tear filled too. But not with remorse, or sadness. Filled with something sweeter than an enchanting smile. Warmth and Love. And James smiled and was answered with a powerful one from Peter too. James opened his mouth....
Smack!
His face burned with a heat of upmost fury as he clutched his assaulted cheek from his spot on the floor to control the sting.
Challenge.
Mrs. Du Maurier's iced glazed marine eyes challenged James' acrimonious darkened to black ones.
He struggled to his feet and faced the rouge-cheeked banshee that had just dared to put her bony, revolting hand on him.
Battling with herself to remain calm, she faced Peter and said evenly, "Peter, go up to your room. No arguments. Now."
Peter turned to walk away but James grasped his arm and held him there.
"No. Stay." he retorted, his eyes never leaving hers.
"How dare you defy me."
"No, how dare you."
She sputtered slightly, "E-Excuse me?"
"No, excuse me. 'It is my turn to talk and your turn to listen.'"
He finally tore his eyes away from hers and said clear enough so everyone could hear him.
"Tis just a game to all you isn't it? To gossip and rant and rave about things that is of no concern and no justification to anyone. You all sit in your huge manors, commanding, whining and simpering over little things that if you think about it, are more childish than even a baby's incomprehensible speech. You all think that your money and your position and how much gossip you consume and retaliate, makes you better than everyone else. Like everyone gives a shit what you think."
"You talk about reality, Mrs. Du Maurir, and how our boys, should be just like you all. Sitting around all day, doing nothing. Never thinking for yourselves, paying people with your wealth to flaunt your supposed 'intelligence'. Reflecting on it all now, I really wish I could have stayed a child forever. There lives are so simple, but enchanting all the same. Children's lives, to me, seem to be more appealing than this entire party's lives put together."
"You all think I crazy. Nuts. Should be locked up before I can do harm to myself or to others. Your entitled to that. Because of your ignorance. You all are so blinded by trying to do everything right, that you miss the mark completely, and do everything wrong. You all think that children are the ignorant ones. Sometimes, But they're entitled. They're innocent. You all, on the other hand, no matter what you think, are the ignorant ones. The helpless...the pathetic. I know what you're probably thinking, I shouldn't toot my own horn, because I'm just like you. But, I not.
"Unlike you, I can tell the difference between my ass and my head. Unlike you, I know what is wrong and what is right. And I know that what you're trying to do to these children, is wrong. You may not think so. But I know so.
"But then again I'm crazy right. I wasn't a child once. I didn't have to go to these stupid parties, and deal with stupid, ignorant people, who thought they knew everything about me, where as, they didn't even know my name.
"Your right. I am the crazy one. And your all stuck in your perfect worlds, in your perfect circle. But you all know that what you do inside your circle, affects the unwanted...the children...the crazy."
"Mrs. Du Maurier," he said turning sharply back at her, amused slightly by her unnerved position.
"Yes, you do have some nerve. You have the nerve to expect me, a crazy person, to listen to an ignorant one, while said person blatantly fills my children's heads with notions of a reality so far-fetched, they'd say Peter Pan made it up as a sick game. You truly are a sick woman, and even better, and this one, will really cause your hair to recede.
He stared at her with a cocky smile, filled with amusement, that scared her as she waited on bated breath for him to shock her anymore than he already had.
"Your even more of a bitch than my dog."
And briskly walking passed her, with his head held defiantly high, he marched with an air of regalness up the stairs toward his bedroom door.
He changed his course to walk over the balcony, stare at the abashed faces that watched his exit, and smile wryly while saying,
"I hope you had a nice time. Come back soon."
The silence still held in the room like a funeral service as the door's echo slammed through the ears of all who was there.
Peter was the only one smiling.
A/N I hope you enjoyed it. R&R please. oh, by the way could someone please tell me the spelling of the grandmother's name. I think I must of spelt at least 12 different ways
Special Thanks to:
Culumacilinte: Thanks a long pen name. I really glad that you understand where I was going with his longings. I hope you enjoy this new chapter.
PirateWench5309: I don't know. I trying to escape writers block and make this full-fledged story, but we'll see how it goes. Oh, and I'm glad you caught on to the whole Captain Jack Sparrow analogy. Thanks, I'm glad I impressed you.
JohnnyDEPPmaniac: Thanks. Glad you love it.
kay43: Here is your new update. Enjoy.
krystie jamison: I hope you went to the see the movie, it really is as fabulous as the critics claim. And the negative claimers, well screw them. Anyway, thank you for the compliment.
katesparrow: I hope the amount of time I spent on this was suspenseful enough for you.lol. Thank you for the complement. I glad that I know I at least portryed him well.
Chantela: Those are really great questions. For the first one yes, I did do some backround reading and am going to still be refering back to the "Peter and Wendy" story. After all it is a primary source. For your second question, I'm not really sure yet. I'll think about it. Thank you for comment.
JenAdri: Thank you. I try to make the reader actuallyimagine what they are reading. Enjoy.
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EvilDuckieof theBlackLagoon: I read some of your stories and they are really good, I just haven't gotten around to reviewing for them. I'm glad your enjoying the story so far.
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chef13: I'm glad you liked the joke. I hope this is as good as you hope it can be.
Dawnie-7: I hope you had enoughKlenex. lol. Thank you
Gee Nay Pig: I'm soo sorry if I made you cry. I hope you enjoy this new chap.