The Playwright
Chapter 16
Parting
A/N: Kris - So I can warn you before you need to take a pause to get them - get your tissues now. (see your review for ch. 15)
The memories are scenes you'll have to re-read from this story. (and one from the movie) I'd really like you to read them. It'll make you remember what's happened, and I know many of you have forgotten. You'll enjoy reading them, as I've chosen the highlights of the story.
This chapter is looong. Enjoy!
Inside: A flashback, many memories, an excerpt from Peter Pan, and two stories.
BARRIEQUOTE: "I made Peter by rubbing the five of you violently together, as savages with two sticks to produce a flame. That is all he is, the spark I got from you."
OoOoO
James went for a walk in the woods with Porthos the next morning. It was very peaceful outside, and it had warmed up considerably since the day before. The sun watched James and his dog through the otherwise heavy cloud covering and canopy of the forest, smiling at them the entire way. Somehow, James was already almost positive that this would be a very good day.
When he walked back through the door of the cottage, he found Emma on the couch, looking through the blue diary, which James had left on the coffee table the night before. She smiled at him when he entered.
"What is it?" he said, and took off his coat.
"I advise you to look to the very last entry, James, when you get a chance."
"I haven't looked there yet."
"You're almost there." Emma closed the book and stretched her arm out to set it back on the table. She looked more drained and exhausted than ever.
"Oh, I'm tired, James," she said, rubbing her face. It was so much different for someone who wasn't in Emma's condition to say that, but for her to was heart-wrenching.
"I know you are." He sat in his chair, and looked at her with mournful eyes. She had her own closed, but a grimace came over her face, and she opened only one of her eyes."I knew you were looking at me like that. Don't. You hear? I'm going to be just fine."
"Alright...well, I'll go make some breakfast, eh? The boys are still sleeping, I presume?"
"Yes. You make breakfast. I may doze off for a while, but I want you to wake me up when you're finished. you may talk to me from the kitchen if you'd like." James nodded and left the room. He went to the icebox, extracted a couple of eggs, and made his way over to the stove to start the fire in it. He heard Mrs. duMaurier sigh.
"So, how have rehearsals been?"
"Tiring. Everyone's been sharp lately. Although I'm not positive it was a good idea to start them such a long period of time before the performance. I'm afraid that they'll all be over-rehearsed, and they'll be able to say the lines without thinking, which is actually, bad, because they may forget a line. If that makes any sense at all."
"Mhm..." she sounded distant. Tired and bored.
"Charles wanted rehearsals to be three hours every day. He's worried that something will go wrong and we won't have enough rehearsal time. I wish he'd leave them to me, and work more with the budget. He knows more about that than I do. I'm better with words than I am with numbers." He paused from feeding a log into the stove. "I imagine I'm boring you."
"Not at all," Emma muttered quietly. She was falling asleep.
"I'll let you rest - you don't have to listen. It's nice to have someone else to talk to who understands what I'm saying. The boys aren't the best candidates, and Porthos doesn't answer back." he was rambling, and knew he needed to stop. He stayed quiet for a long time while he got out a pan, cracked the eggs, and dropped them carefully into the pan, tossing the shells into the wastepaper basket. While the eggs cooked, James went into the living room where Emma had, indeed, fallen sleep. Her chest rose and fell slowly, and she had a hint of a smile on her face, as she was listening to James's foolish lecture a few minutes before she drifted off.
James went over to her and sat in his comfortable chair. His eyes rolled to look out of the window at the snow, but when he looked back at Emma, something was strange. It had gone completely quiet in the room. He didn't hear her breathing anymore, and her body wasn't moving a centimeter. His heart skipped a beat, and he rushed to her wrist to find her pulse. Nothing. After a moment, he realized what he was holding wasn't Emma anymore. Emma's insults were Emma. Emma's presence was Emma. Emma's actions were Emma. This was not Emma. His hand grew sweaty and loose, and he dropped her wrist. It landed with a soft thud on the cushion of the old couch. It was like being poisoned. James's stomach felt like it was about to explode. His body had shut down with hers, and he felt nothing but sadness. He remembered feeling the same way after Sylvia died, though then, it was even more so.
James remembered the day Sylvia passed all too well. They'd gotten her into the hospital, finally, and James and the boys were sitting in the waiting room on the bench.
The boys were all crying against James's coat. He hadn't been able to take it off when he got into the hospital building. Now, there was absolutely no way he could. He couldn't move at all, and the world seemed to blur. He wasn't sure if it was because he was tired, or if it was because he was worried. He felt Michael blow his nose on the black coat, but didn't care at all. He put his hand on the back of Michael's head, and kissed his golden head.
"It'll be alright, Michael. Shh." James rubbed Peter's back with his other hand, and looked up toward the door of the hospital room. He wanted to make it move. Wanted to find out what was happening inside of there because he needed to know
Finally, a doctor came out, and James urged the four boys off of him. He stood up, and the doctor led him into a corner.
"What's wrong? She's alright, yes? She's doing better?"
"No, Mr. Barrie. She's not doing better." James panicked.
"No. She is. She actually - " he cleared his throat, "she actually was looking better when we left, she smiled, and she didn't look as pale - "
"Mr. Barrie. She's gone." James's heart banged against his organs for a while, then seemed to break loose and drop onto them.
"Are you sure?" It sounded foolish when the words came out of his mouth.
"Would you like to see?"
'No!' his mind said. "Yes, yes, I want to see." The doctor took James into the hospital room, and what James saw was horrific. Sylvia was lying there in the bed, one hand still on the bedside table, and the other still clasped around the sheets. Her face looked depressed and surprised, and she was staring at the ceiling. A nurse moved toward her to close her eyes. Emma duMaurier, who he had just noticed, was bawling into her handkerchief, but she looked up from it for a second with puffy red eyes to see James. He shook his head.
"No," he said. "No, this is - I'm dreaming, aren't I? I have these dreams all the time." he touched the doctor's arm. It felt warm and like...a doctor's arm. He wasn't dreaming."I'm sorry, Mr. Barrie."
"This is impossible," James said breathlessly, and looked from Emma to Sylvia again. "It's - it's impossible." He backed out of the room.
"James - " Emma choked, but James had already begun to leave the hospital. He didn't know where he was going, or what he was doing, for three hours of his life, but he walked around town, and walked out of town, then back into town on another street, all the while, shaking his head and thinking. It took him three hours to stop, and he sat on a bench. He buried his face in his hands and sat there until he was ready to go home. When he got there, he went to his room without supper, and began to write. Two days he'd went without food, or contact with another person. He wandered to his library to look things up once in a while, but he'd only find himself locked back in his room again, his hand clasped around his pen. Sarah and Emma avoided him, knowing that if they tried to talk to him, it would only make matters much, much worse. So he sat alone for two days, convincing himself that it must have been his fault. When he finally opened the door to his room, fully dressed, to see Sarah standing before him, he smiled.
"I'm going to the park now." And he left.
The denial of death is something all of us have gone through. Whether it is a pet, or, worse, a family member, all of us have denied their passing, even if only for a second. "It can't be true," we say to ourselves. We check their pulse and motion, hoping to God that it isn't true. Those seconds of waiting for the result are the longest of our entire lives.
When a person becomes attached to another person, so that when you see them, you're used to seeing them and expect them to be there for you, you think that there's no way that the person won't be there one day. Some may call it "taking advantage" of the person's presence, but it's much less harsh than that. One has their mind set so that they are convinced they'll always be with the person, and it's difficult to change one's own mind once circumstances change. The feeling is horrible.
James slowly took Emma's still hand in his again, attempted to swallow an enormous lump that had grown in his throat, and looked up at her face. The only thing now that belonged to Emma, was what was on her face, he realized. It still held her familiar mocking, playful smirk. That was all he needed.
OoOoO
"Why, Tink! How dare you drink my medicine?" But she did not answer. Already she was reeling in the air. "What is the matter with you?" cried Peter, suddenly afraid.
"It was poisoned, Peter," she told him softly, "and now I am going to be dead."
"Oh, Tink, did you drink it to save me?"
"Yes."
"But why, Tink?" Her wings could scarcely carry her now, but in reply she alighted on his shoulder and gave his nose a loving bite. She whispered in his ear "You silly ass," and then, tottering to her chamber, lay down on her bed. His head almost filled the fourth wall of her little room and he knelt near her in distress. Every moment her light was growing fainter, and he knew that if it went out she would be no more. She liked his tears so much that she put out her beautiful finger and let them run over it.
Her voice was so low that at first he could not make out what she said. Then he made it out. She was saying that she thought she could get well again if children believed in fairies...
It was completely quiet besides the distant drone of the priest, speaking slurred Latin from the right hand side of the grave. James and the boys stood at the foot of it, staring at the headstone, hoping, still, that what they were seeing wasn't really there, and it was some dream they had gone too deep into. Though try as they may, none of them could wake up.
James felt a hand on his shoulder and reached up to put his own on top of it. He looked over his shoulder, and Charles smiled. It was almost not there, as if he hadn't even meant to do the action. James looked away, to the head of the grave, where Mrs. Babcock was standing with her husband. Both smiled at him, and clasped hands. James smiled back, and looked over at the toothless girl from the orphanage, Gretchen. She smiled at James, and now four of her teeth were missing in front. James gave sort of a teary chuckle, and suddenly remembered who he hadn't yet aknowleged. He looked to Sylvia's grave, next to Emma's, smiled, and swore to himself she was smiling back at him.
He was experiencing a wonderful feeling then. He was so happy - happier than he had been in a long time. He was amazed too, that he could even be happy during such a horrible event. James knew exactly what he was being happy for, though. All these people here - Gerald duMaurier, Elisa Babcock and her husband, Charles, Peter, Michael, George, Jack, Gretchen, and Sylvia, were all here for Emma, and for him, and loved them, at times when love was most needed. They'd helped when help was most needed.
Charles, when James needed a companion to go to the hospital with before Emma's death, and for being there for rehearsal every day, and for cheering James up when it needed it most.
"Costumes. We'll call the tailor and order better costumes. You can't argue with me that costumes make a show better."
"If they're only there to make the show better, we don't need costumes either," James replied. Frohman froze, staring at his partner, then adjusted his coat, looking at the floor for a while.
"Okay, James," he said, and bit his lip. He looked back up, then spoke with a straight face. "Opening night." James nodded. "Okay? You got everything you wanted."
"Everything I wanted."
"Because you wrote the play."
"Because I wrote the play."
"Right. So it's opening night and inside the theater you've got over a dozen nude actors and actresses, in a completely empty room, in which the walls have been painted white, because, you know, there are no sets. And no costumes. Just like you wanted." James had to smile. "What else don't you want? The stage? The seats? Well we probably don't need the seats, because," Charles closed his fingers around the newspaper and smacked it on his hat. "We'll have no audience, James!"
Mrs. Babcock, for pounding him out of writer's block, giving him a powerful idea for Peter's play.
"My, my. I do say I've never met a man with words on his face before," she said, a kind of devilish smile coming to her own face.
"I must be one in a million," James said, smiling back. This even made Peter smile; maybe the first time he had done it in quite a few days.
"Well, Man With Words On His Face. I'm Elisa Babcock." She held out a gloved hand.
"J.M. Barrie." He took it in his hand and shook.
"Ah, J.M. Barrie. I've read many of your plays and novels. And not to mention seen countless. Peter Pan was my favorite, as I'm sure many have told you."
"Aye." James nodded.
"It's quite an honor to meet you in person, I must say."
"Well, thank you. It's an honor to meet you as well."
"Oh, well I can hardly say I'm one to be recognized anywhere," Elisa said, chuckling a bit.
"Meeting anyone new is an honor. No matter what their level of fame." The woman smiled.
"Interesting the way you look at it. Anyway. I must go - do you have the time?"
"Yes, yes - " James took out his pocket watch. "Quarter to eight."
"Thank you very much, Man With Words On His Face."
Peter, for giving James all of his inspiration for the best play he'd ever written.
"Did they leave already?" he asked after a few moments, resting his hand on the banister and his expression nothing but seriousness. This reminded James of a certain woman he used to know. He fixed his face in the same fashion, careful though, so it didn't look mocking.
"Yes, they did." Peter looked out the window next to the door, then said, "Where are we going? To the park?" James nodded.
"Aye."
"Why?"
"A few reasons."
"Name them." James raised his eyebrows. "I want to talk to you," he said.
"Is that all?"
"I want to write. I need to write something for a friend of mine...at the orphanage. She'll be losing a tooth soon." Peter nodded knowingly (after all, if James and his grandmother weren't taking care of him, he'd be at the orphanage himself) and began walking down the stairs.
"It's better than having to go to school," he muttered.
"You'll have to go tomorrow," James said. Peter spun around on his heel and looked up the few inches he was lacking to being the same height as his guardian. "You can't make me."
"I made you stay home."
"I wanted to stay home."
Gretchen, for making him feel welcome in the orphanage the day he came, and for giving him so much pleasure in writing. She was the definition of youth, the way we start out, and the way we live.
"Mister!" James looked down to see a girl wearing a jumper too big for her tugging on his jacket. She looked to be about six years old - Michael's age.
"Hello," he said, giving the small girl a smile. She smiled back, revealing the fact that she was missing both of her front teeth. James raised his eyebrows, the same playful smile plastered on his face.
"Well, look at that," he said, crouching down to her level and setting his bag on the floor.
"What?" she asked, a bit puzzled.
"Open your mouth again."
"Oh." She giggled, and obeyed, now realizing what this strange man wanted to see. James looked into her mouth and clicked his tongue a few times.
"And where did you put those teeth, young lady?" he asked critically, but soft enough as not to offend her.
"Sister Theresa took them." James's eyes grew exaggeratedly wide, and he covered his mouth with three fingers.
"What? What's wrong?" The girl asked, worried by his reaction.
"It's just that...ye' should've put 'em under your pillow."
"Why?"
"Well, haven't ye' ever heard of the Tooth Fairy?" The girl shook her head. James acted surprised, though in reality, he wasn't. This child was young, so she probably had grown up here. Many of the children here had, he knew. The nuns didn't speak to the children of such magic. There were too many, especially in this orphanage, for a nun to talk to a child directly.
"Well, see, when you lose a tooth, you put it under your pillow at night, an' the next morning, you'll find something special under your pillow. Some money, or some candy, or clothes. That's because the Tooth Fairy came to your house. She flies around each night to the houses of children who've lost teeth, and takes them back with her and leaves a present for you."
"What does she do with all the teeth?" James paused, now knowing what to tell her. He'd never thought about this before.
"Well...she puts them all in a big sack, and flies back to her hideout...and makes things with them."
"Makes things?"
"For the other fairies."
"There are other fairies?"
"Oh, sure! An' in fact - " James glanced around him, and noticed that a small queue of children had formed around he and his friend. He smiled, and continued. "In fact, for each child, a fairy's living somewhere." A gasp went around the group.
"Do I have a fairy?" This time, it wasn't from the first girl, but another girl, an older girl, standing next to a boy with playing cards in his hand. Clearly he and his friend had finished their game and decided to see what was going on.
"Of course you have a fairy! Everyone has a fairy"...
The remainder of the boys, for giving him so many memories that he held to the day. They reminded him of Sylvia, and every time one of them walked into the door, he smiled. They couldn't be ignored. Michael, at the age of full innocence; Jack, daring, arrogant, and mischievous; and George, a man already, at his age, caring, protective, and willing to do anything for his brothers.
Jack was the first of the three to see the display and tapped George for his attention. George looked upon Peter, his face turning pale. When all five boys reached the flagpole, Peter hurried to George's side, and one of the four that had been behind him looked at his brothers.
"Do you know him?" He asked Jack.
"Are these the lost boys, Peter?" Another said.
"Leave him alone," Jack said, frowning.
"What do you care what we do?" The first speaker said.
"We're his brothers," George said, "That's why." He noticed that all four of them were of his age and size, and found that it was easy to talk to them. He wasn't afraid anyway...more angry.
"That's funny, I thought Peter Pan was the only child in his family."
"No, these are the Davies orphans," a slightly smaller boy said.
"We're not orphans," George said heatedly. "We have a father."
"Oh, the playwright? James Barrie?" The shorter one laughed at this recognition. "You know what I've heard about JM Barrie and the four of you?"
"Whatever you heard, it's not true."
"I heard my father and my mother talking the other night about him." The shorter boy again. "I've heard he's - "
"It's not true," George was speaking through gritted teeth now and found himself smack in front of the largest one of the group, a boy with blonde hair. "He's good to us. He wouldn't dream of anything like that."
"Are you sure about that?" The blonde boy chuckled. "I heard that he took you in for other reasons. I heard that he argued with your grandmother so he could have the four of you all to himself."
"That's not true at all!" Jack yelled.
"Why do you live with him then?"
"We live with our grandmother." Michael said. The shorter one nodded mockingly. "And I suppose you're going to go and tell me fairies are real now," he said. George's stomach flipped uneasily, but he stood his ground and raised his chin defiantly.
"They are," he said.
"Are they?"
"That's right," Michael said.
"Shh," came Jack.
"Why don't you prove it then?" The blonde boy smiled after a moment, and spat at George's feet when he didn't answer. Then he turned to walk away, his three friends following. But this was enough for the oldest Davies boy. They insult his brother and his Uncle Jim? He clenched his fists, waiting until the blonde one was far enough away. And when he was, he ran at him. Leaping at him, pinning him to the ground. Michael jumped, and hugged Jack's waist, burying his face in his coat. Peter watched, his heart caught in his throat.
"RUN, PETER!" George managed to shout.
Sylvia, for her undying love and support to both her boys, and James.
"You can't go on just pretending," James said gently.
"Just pretending?" Sylvia paused. "You brought pretending into this family. You showed us we could change things by simply believing them to be different."
"A lot of things, but not everything - "
"But the things that matter. We've pretended for some time now that you're a part of this family, haven't we? You've come to mean so much to us all that now, it doesn't matter if it's true. And even if it isn't true, even if that can never be... I need to go on pretending. Until the end. With you."
"Can we go yet, Uncle Jim?" Michael said, looking up at James. He looked at the boy, then looked around. The priest had gone, and now everyone was lingering to mourn. Charles still had his hand on James's shoulder, though James had let go of it with his own a while ago.
"Yes...yes, we can go." He turned to Charles.
"Thank you," said James. Charles smiled and nodded, knowing full well what James was thanking him for.
"Will I see you at rehearsal tomorrow? If you don't want to go..."
"Yes, of course. I'll be there."
"Alright. Goodbye, James."
"Goodbye." James looked to Mrs. Babcock and her husband, who were approaching slowly.
"Hello, Mr. Barrie. This is my husband, Walter." Walter shook hands with James and gave him a friendly smile.
"I'm very sorry," he said. It was amusing to James that he was saying such a thing with a smile on his face, but he only smiled back, remembering what a fan the man was of his writing.
"Thank you, very much."
"Mr. Barrie!" James looked down at Gretchen, who smiled again. "See?"
"Oh, yes, look at that!"
"I lost another, but you didn't come that time. You did the time before, though."
"Oh, that wasn't me. It was the Tooth Fairy."
"You are the Tooth Fairy, Mr. Barrie!" Jack rolled his eyes, and Peter smiled. Michael's eyes and mouth opened wide.
"He's Santa Claus, too!"
"You're Father Christmas, Mr. Barrie?" Mrs. Babcock laughed.
"I guess I am," James said, smiling. He looked down at Gretchen, puzzled. "Mrs. Babcock," he said slowly, "The three of you - did you come here together?" She smiled.
"I adopted her. Just the other day. We came to the orphanage, my husband and I, and she ran up to us to show us her teeth. Then, she said that a Mr. James Matthew Barrie had given her a story in exchange for her tooth." James laughed.
"Well, well. You're in good hands, Gretchen, I'll tell you that." Mrs. Babcock chuckled. "Where's Gerald?" James said to himself, and looked around. He found who he was looking for easily, and he was sitting next to his mother's headstone.
"It was very nice to see you again, Mrs. Babcock, Mr. Babcock. And Gretchen, of course."
"It was a pleasure seeing you again, Mr. Barrie. Come along, Gretchen." The three left the graveyard, and James again looked at Gerald.
"George, will you take your brothers home? I need to see someone." George nodded, and led Peter, Jack, and Michael back to Emma's. James walked over to Gerald duMaurier slowly, and sat next to him.
"Hello, James," he said.
"Hello." There was a long pause, and neither man spoke. James didn't want to rush anything.
"I've never thanked you, James. You took in my sister's sons. You didn't have to, but you did. It means a lot to me, James."
"They're wonderful boys."
"I see bits of my sister in each of them. She'd do the most...insane things when we were growing up. She was a daredevil - I think that's safe to say. And other times, she'd be quiet and want to be alone. She believed everything she heard...every conspiracy, the gossip of the town. She was loyal, and there to make you laugh, or to comfort you when you were sad. I miss her. First, my father, then my sister, and now, my mother." James looked at the grass that they were sitting on. It was April, and the grass was as green as it could get. "My mother was critical and sarcastic, and protective, but there was another side to her. She was loving and caring. No matter what Sylvia and I did, she'd still love us, and always forgive us if one of us did something wrong. I miss her, James."
James nodded. "I understand. After living with her through December, I saw her differently than I had before. The three months between then and now, I've been feeling lonely. I've had to do work on the funeral, and have had to make sure that the Will was ready for the reading tomorrow. At those times, I couldn't think of anything but Sylvia and your mother. They were always there, and now they aren't."
"I understand," Gerald said, and a tear fell down his face. "I should have helped you with things. I'm very sorry. I feel guilty having someone who isn't a member of my family do all of the work, while I mope around trying not to think about anything."
James shook his head. "I'm happy to. You have a right to mope." They both smiled, and James looked at Gerald. He frowned. "And I casted you as Captain Hook."
A/N: A longer chapter, and a sadder chapter. I really hope you're still enjoying the story, even though it's a bit sad. There are only two more chapters left, and I recommend you stick around for the conclusion. Please be patient. It might take a while for me to come out with chapter 17 and my Epilogue, but I don't want any of you to stop reading or reviewing, because I need them to post chapters for people who want to see the ending. I will be generous and post if I only get four, but I really want your cooperation.
For now, I have some more unused ideas.
o I was thinking of having Emma burn half of James's manuscript for The Man With Music On His Face. This event would change the entire tone of the story, and maybe contribute even more to James's guilt upon Emma's death. I seriously considered this for a long time, until I dropped it, obtaining different plot ideas. I'm so mad about not being able to use this idea, but I honestly didn't want that much sadness or hatred between the two.
o The pond behind Emma's house was going to be very much more utilized when I created it. I wanted to have James and the boys watch and feed ducks on it, and have them swim in it during summer, but it would have made the story much longer, and I didn't want to skip so much to get to summer.
o James and the boys needed to climb a tree together. This was such a fun idea, but I ran out of time.
o This is another idea that would have completely changed the plot. It would have directed the plot more to the performance of Peter Pan, that it would have to Emma's death, and of course, made the story longer. I wanted Gerald duMaurier to break his leg and not be able to perform. I would have put James in Gerald's place as Captain Hook.
Review, guys, it can't hurt that much. I wanna finish this up soon!
REVIEW REPLIES FOR CHAPTER 15:
kris - I wish you had the imagination too. LOL I'm kidding. I'm glad you actually reviewed this - the reviews came slow for this chapter, I don't know why. I hope I get enough to post the end of the story. I don't want to post it all at once so that people don't get overwhelmed, and I don't want to post it too slow so that people lose track of the last chapter, or tear their hair out of their head waiting. (If I even have readers like that) I bet you used a whole BOX of tissues reading this chapter. Hah! Hope you liked it, nonetheless! Stick around for the conclusion!
Neverland's Sparrow - (smacks forehead) You drive me absolutely insane, do you know that? I might have to send the Nazis after you. Hahaha! Anywho, yes it was horrible. Thank you very much for everything else and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
H.M. Chandler - Unfortunately, James will not meet a girl. Haha. I'm glad school's out as well, and I'm very excited for summer. I'll read your chapter 17 if you read mine when it comes! Thank you so much!
XHeartofaDragonX - Now you know what happens. Hah - no, the girl I was thinking of would have probably had blonde hair. Thanx for readin/reviewin again, hun. luvya.
