Author's Note: I'm pretty excited about the next few chapters, so I'll most likely be updating frequently. To kasmira36, hefalump, Zeldy, and kazemar-kaemi: Thanks for the reviews, they're very encouraging! Kasmira36, yes, my Wendy is quite sympathizing. She's a very sensitive girl! Lol…And although her brothers will show up in some of the chapters, it won't be too often because the focus is on Wendy and Peter. Okay, blah blah I'll stop babbling now. Hope you like this chapter.

Chapter 4: The Tragedy

Peter soon broke through from space into the earth's atmosphere. He struggled to make his way between the thick clouds of fog, and when he finally saw the lights of London, he quickened his pace. As he flew over the city's rooftops, rain continually beat down on his body, which caused a chill to run down his spine. But the strong-willed boy shook off the coldness, and even had that irresistible half-smile resting upon his lips. Finding the house was more difficult than Peter had remembered, but when he spotted the gray figure of a tall, Victorian house sitting at the corner of a dimly lit street, he knew he had reached his destination.

Peter tightened his grip around the "kiss" in his hand.

He lightly landed on a towering tree in front of the Darling house and cautiously climbed up a branch that grew close to the nursery window. His heart was racing as he clambered higher up, and though he was soaked to the bone in rain, his body was flushed with warmth. It was at this unexpected moment, only an instant before he would peek through the window and reunite with his Wendy, that Peter finally realized just how much he had missed her. But what was this? The stripes of shadows draping over the window? The gray swallowing whole the vibrant colors of the stained glass? The rain blurring his vision must have been playing games with Peter. He blinked once and narrowed his eyes at the window.

No, he was not being fooled. They were there to welcome him. The bars. The cold, iron bars. Peter let out a few gasps before looking further into the nursery. But this, regrettably, was not any more encouraging. No light, no children, no laughing voices filled the room. Only empty beds, abandoned toys, and a murky darkness.

It was apparent to Peter what had happened, and he struggled to fight off the knot that was beginning to grow in the pit of his stomach. They're gone, he thought to himself. They've forgotten me. He gazed from the empty beds in the room to the bars on the window, and was brought back to the one time he had ever been afraid…

He was flying over the Jolly Roger, and his arch enemy was floating before him with malevolence in his eyes.

"She was leaving you, Pan," Captain James Hook's voice echoed in Peter's mind. "Your Wendy…was leaving you."

Peter looked down at the deck of the ship and saw his precious Wendy waving her sword at the attacking pirates.

"Why should she stay?" Hook went on, seeing that Peter was unwillingly absorbing his malicious words. "What've you to offer? You are incomplete

Hook lunged forward, bringing his sword down on the boy.

Peter tried desperately to put the memory out of his mind, but it lingered.

"I'm afraid the window's barred," came Hook's voice once more.

"I'll call out her name!" Peter's own voice bellowed into his mind.

"She can't hear you."

"No!"

"She can't see you."

"Wendy!"

"She's forgotten all about you."

Suddenly, Peter lost his footing on the tree branch. He quickly tried to grab onto it, but the rain made it far too slippery, and his fingers fell away.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, and yet, Peter could not stop it. As he hurled towards the ground, he frantically tried to think of a happy thought, but it was no use. The bars, the empty beds, the darkness, the vanishing faces, the fading voices all weighed him down, and they sent him crashing into the cold, stone street below. The "kiss" rolled out of his hand.

A hummingbird was whispering in his ears. He could hear the erratic hum humming. First, it was faint, barely even audible. But it soon became louder, more distinct, with two contrasting pitches. The undertone of humming slowly turned from a muddle of whispers into words, and then from words into sentences. Slowly, they filled his ears, and still in a state of darkness, he listened closely.

"We must take him to the authorities. Certainly they would know what to do with him."

"He must be an orphan. Just look at the poor boy."

"Yes, and he has most likely run away from his orphanage. He should return as soon as possible before he causes any more worry."

"Must we return him to a place he has just run away from, and inferably dislikes?"

"What are you suggesting, Elizabeth?"

"Please, dear…at least…at least let him rest for a while longer. God only knows what he's been through."

The dim shade veiling his eyes gradually gave way to a temperate, hazy light. A blur of muted colors came together, and at first, he thought he was staring up at a cluster of stars in the sky. For a moment, he remained still, glaring at the soothing colors and watching as rays of blue, pink, and yellow flounced before him. When he rubbed the mistiness away from his eyes, however, he found himself merely looking at a chandelier hanging from a lofty ceiling. Not quite what he had thought, but a fine-looking chandelier, nonetheless. He shifted his hands slightly, and felt a pleasurable fuzz of velvet at his fingertips. Not to mention a snug cushion on his back. How relaxing. Yet before he could surrender to his drowsiness once more, it suddenly hit struck him: Where was he?

Quickly, and in a frantic, he sat up. He glanced across the room and spotted a man and woman sitting at a table, staring at him in alarm. He made a motion to stand up, but a sudden twinge in the side of his head nearly paralyzed him. He yelped and doubled over in pain as he felt the rest of his body begin to ache. Slowly, he lifted a trembling hand to his head, and his fingers were met by the cushion of a bandage. The broken boy groaned in distress.

"Oh, my dear child," the woman immediately arose from her seat at the table. She carelessly tugged at the skirt of her distended green dress, rushing to the boy lying helplessly on the chaise across the room. "Be still now," she ordered gently, kneeling down next to him.

Anxious, confused, and fretful, the boy cowered away from the woman, turning a cold shoulder and eyeing her suspiciously.

"Don't worry boy," the man at the table spoke as he unhurriedly arose from his seat. "We're trying to help you." He was unusually calm as he walked across the room, mindfully brushing the lint off the sleeves of his fashionable black coat.

"Are you alright?" the woman made another effort to speak to the nervous young boy.

The child was admittedly comforted by the lady's motherly voice and the empathetic concern in her calming hazel eyes, but still, he would not answer her.

"You must have taken a nasty fall there," the man stated from behind the woman, who was still kneeling next to the boy. "You're lucky we happened to by passing by in our carriage to spot you lying on the ground. What were you doing that could've given you such a vicious gash on your head?"

Once more, the boy touched the bandage on the side of his head. He rubbed it gently and furrowed his eyebrows in befuddlement, trying to hold back the tears swelling in his eyes.

"There, there child," the woman consoled the boy, taking his hand in her own. "Don't you worry. Everything will be alright." Tenderly, she wiped the tears that had just run from the corners of his eyes.

"He's just a bit dazed," the man assured, bending down next to the woman. He took a handkerchief from his coat pocket and brushed away more of the boy's tears. "Now then," he said seriously. It was as if he were a detective attempting to get down to the brass tacks of a mysterious crime. "Could you tell us what orphanage you came from?"

The boy did not answer the man. Instead, he continued whimpering softly, staring down through watery eyes at the cotton nightgown he just noticed he was wearing.

"Hmm," the man let out, watching the boy acutely. "Let's start with a simpler question, then. What's your name?"

Again, there was no answer. After a moment that was accompanied only by the sound of the child's quiet sobs, the woman finally spoke, lifting the boy's tear-drenched chin encouragingly.

"It's alright to tell us your name," she said kindly. "We won't harm you."

That's not it, the boy pouted in his head. That's not it.

"Speak to us so that we might help you, boy," the man asserted directly. "Tell us, where have you come from? Where is your home?"

The disturbed boy raised both of his hands to his head, wringing his ruffled hair in frustration. The shower of questions was sinking him further and further into a hole he could not escape. Can't they see? He asked himself the questions that were resting at the tip of his tongue. I have no answer. What am I supposed to say? What am I to say that will make them stop?

"Oh, precious," the woman took the boy's hands away from his head and held them once more in her own. "Please tell us."

Slowly, the boy lifted his gaze upon the woman, and the compassionate gleam he spotted in her eyes finally let him speak.

"I-I…" he said in between a hiccup, trying to sort out any distinguishable thoughts in his clouded mind." I d-don't know."

"Don't know what, dear?" the woman asked hurriedly, tightening her grip on the boy's hands.

"I don't kn-know," the boy said again. His weeping had calmed considerably, although the hiccups were causing some pain in his chest.

"Don't know…?" the woman repeated slower. She looked to the man, who was studying the boy carefully.

"What is your name?" the man offered the question once more. This time, he leaned closer to the boy, as if it would help him get an answer.

But no answer came from the boy's mouth. Only a hiccup or two.

"Do…Do you remember?" the man inquired with extreme caution in his voice.

The boy hesitated before looking down and shaking his head.

"Thomas?" the woman addressed the man, removing her hands from the boy's without taking her eyes off him. She raised her fingers to her mouth.

Without speaking, the man stood up and lightly touched the wound on the boy's head.

"Has he…" the woman said with no attempt to finish her sentence. She looked fearfully up at the man.

"Yes, I'm afraid so, my love," the man answered as he stared down at the boy who was now biting his lip nervously and staring into his lap.

To much relief, and with a good deal of convincing from the wife, the couple that had found the orphan came to adopt him. The boy himself, fretfully confused and clueless, seemed to accept their offer quite gratefully. The naïve child did not know just how lucky he was to have been discovered by this particular pair, for they were one of the wealthiest couples in all of London.

Thomas Locke was a prominent doctor, and one that every patient in London wanted to be treated by. Of course, this generated for him much money, but as a sharp intellectual, he handled his money with modesty. His wife, Elizabeth Locke, was a kind lady, but she did not know what to do with all the wealth her husband provided. She was always seen wearing the most elaborate jewels in her dark, curly hair, and when she wasn't off to another tea party, she busied herself by redecorating the countless rooms in the impressive Locke manor. The Lockes were a young, middle-aged couple, and with this came a sense of liberalism. This was perhaps one of the reasons why they had agreed to take in the orphan. They had no other children, and Mrs. Locke insisted that a son could be the perfect addition to the family.

It was not long before the boy noticed something a bit odd about the Lockes and their manor. Everything was always shining. Mr. Locke's slicked back hair, his teeth, Mrs. Locke's silky hair, the jewels laid precisely in her locks, the gold-trimmed chairs and tables, the marble floors—nearly everything. The only places where the boy did not see a shine were in his new parents' eyes. When he looked into them, he saw the outline of himself, but no shine.

And it would go on—the boy would become a Locke and, swimming in ignorant bliss, find a place in the elitist society.

An hour after the Lockes found the tattered boy, the Darling family returned home from dinner at Aunt Millicent's house. They filed into the front door, completely unaware of the tragedy that had recently befallen in front of their home.

In Neverland, a daisy in the forest slowly began to wilt.

Alright, that's all for now. Please R&R!