Disclaimer: Please just go to the first chapter, because it still holds true.

Warning for this chapter: A lot of OOC-ness for some characters (won't give it away). Hope no one minds, and if someone does, well—sorry, but I feel it would be better this way.

Chapter 7: The Return

His hard blue eyes scanned the scene occurring below him, from his position on the cave. As Belle fell to the ground in a limp heap, blood leaked from, and pooled around the back of her head, where he had hit her. His hands clenched into tiny fists, and his eyes blazed with fury as that man ran away from the scene, his head swishing from side to side, as if to make sure that no one saw him.

Little did he know that he had been seen.

After all, ghosts are the best witnesses to a crime.

But then again, did it really matter?

The ghost snorted to himself bitterly, feeling guilt coil in his stomach. If he would—and you can be certain that he would—the ghost would reveal all of the man's crimes to the police, even if he had to freak them out by writing on the chalkboard. (They wouldn't see him doing it; they'd just see a floating piece of chalk.)

No—an even better temptation; he could kill the man himself, then drag him down to the Underworld and leave him to suffer.

The ghost's eyes tinged red as a twisted grin marred his innocent looking face. Yes, it was tempting; he wasn't afraid to admit it. To be frank, he'd been getting sick of waiting for his vengeance. When that day came, there would be a dark flood of "Monstro's" blood. He would make sure of that.

He would do all that, but he couldn't.

He sobered himself, bringing himself back to the bitter reality. His eyes returned to their lovely shade of blue as he silently reprimanded himself. Yes, the temptation was too great sometimes, but he had trained himself to resist it over the last couple of years.

Because, as much as he wanted to defy them, there were rules.

And he respected the Blue Fairy too much to lose himself to his bloodlust and lust for revenge.

As he got himself back together, he looked down at Belle again, and his eyes softened, his guilt renewed. It shouldn't have begun like this. Belle should have stayed home, where it was safe. She shouldn't have gotten hurt, especially when she didn't deserve it.

Unfortunately, he knew that it would just get harder for her.

…If she decided to help them, that is.

He lifted off the cave and floated down to where Belle lay, landing soundlessly. Since he was no longer of the Living World, yet also not completely gone from it, he was no longer solid, so the laws of physics didn't apply to him anymore.

No one should have been able to see him, let alone touch him.

Until now, that is…

But that wasn't important right now. He had to get her out of here, to someplace safe and easy for the police to find her. Carrying her there wouldn't be a problem, since most things of the Living World were weightless anyway.

As he lifted her onto his shoulder, he found himself looking in the direction "Monstro" had run off in. His eyes suddenly looked cold as ice, yet looked like they could burn anything if they stared hard enough. Suddenly, he started chuckling darkly as a wide smirk, one full of dark promise, spread across his face.

"Go ahead, you bastard. Run off and act like you have everyone in this town fooled," Pinocchio said coldly, his voice, no longer innocent and childish. Its pitch was still like that of a prepubescent boy, but it was harder and more adult-like.*

"You'll be ours one day—you can be sure of that."

Medical examiner Dr. James P. Hook* was not one of Fantasia's most well liked men. In fact, people made it their job to avoid him at all costs. His face was too pale, his nose too crooked, his odd black mustache too intimidating and his forget-me-not eyes were too cold for any normal human.

But that was fine. Hook much preferred the dead to the living. He wouldn't be who he was if he didn't. When one talked to a corpse lying on a steel table, one could pretend that it answered back.

There were certain corpses, however, that even the stone cold Dr. Hook hesitated to examine, let alone have a one-sided conversation.

As he looked down at his beloved steel table, not for the first time, Hook started to consider retirement. Lying there was the dead white, bruised corpse of a neighborhood boy who gave him nothing but grief when he had been alive. Despite that however, Hook had been inwardly shaken when he heard that the impudent child's body had been discovered—in the same damn spot, no less.

A pair of green eyes opened slowly, blinking once and then staring up into Hook's own eyes. The eyes were dull and empty, lacking the life and innocence they once had, yet the boy greeted the man with his trademark smirk.

"Well, well, well," said Peter Pan, or what was once Peter Pan, with a quirked eyebrow. "If it isn't the old codfish himself. Come to slice me up like your other 'customers'?"

Hook didn't show any shock or surprise on his face. So, stoically he answered, "Yes, I have."

The dead boy's laugh was hollow, yet loud since it bounced off the chrome walls of the morgue. "I bet you never expected to see me on here, didya Hook?"

"Not in this lifetime."

Peter laughed a couple more times, all with no humor, and then it slowly died down as he frowned. He stared up at the ceiling, blinking a few times. Then with a miserable twist of his mouth, he shut his eyes.

"Go ahead, gloat!" he hissed. "I know you want to."

Hook suddenly found the hook that replaced his left hand interesting. It was the result of a war injury many years ago, one where he had been attacked while attending to some patients. He had long forgotten what war it was and what the battle had been about, and he didn't care to remember. Why bring up bad (no, not bad—useless, he would reassure himself) memories? He started twisting it around, as if tuning a guitar.

"There would be no point, boy," he replied softly, still fiddling with his silver hook.

Green eyes blazed up at him with fury.

"Why not? I was too naïve, too trusting! I made a stupid mistake—come on, say it!"

"We all mistakes, Pan."

"Yeah, well last I checked, a mistake could be fixed...This one can't fixed, Hook, we both know that," the dead boy laughed suddenly, his eyes widening in a sudden realization—the expression was one of someone who was completely broken and mentally lost. It was almost enough to make Hook cringe.

What the boy said, no—more like sang—next did make Hook's eye twitch though.

"I'm dead, Hook. Dead, dead, dead…and I won't be coming back."

Hook twisted his hook around. "I know."

Peter's face went back to a neutral expression, though there seemed to be a flicker of sadness and doubt in his dead eyes. "…Do you think…people will miss me?"

The man snorted, smirking slightly. "Do you even have to ask? You're leaving a lot of people behind, boy. Those girls who love you, your friends, your family…I've no doubt in my mind that your funeral will be flooded with tears."

Peter hummed. "My family," he said softly, as if the term was unfamiliar.

"You already know your sister is devastated, but I don't think you ever stopped to realize how much your parents love you," he said solemnly, recalling how the Pan family had reacted when they came to identify the youngest of their family the previous night.

The boy seemed to read his mind, his face twisted up in bemusement. "…I don't think I've ever seen my mom cry that much—never, in fact. Even Dad looked upset…"

Hook frowned down at the corpse. "Well, what did you expect, boy? You might have thought that they were overbearing at times, but that was only to protect you. Imagine how they feel now, and how they felt last night, when they realized that their efforts were for naught? Your parents love you and your sister to death. If they had lost both of you, I am inclined to believe that they would have both gone mad."

"But…why?"

Hook sighed, "Because a parent's worst nightmare is to see their child buried and dead before they are."

Peter Pan's eyes widened slightly, flickering with something akin to regret and guilt. He turned his head to the side, his eyes drooping solemnly. Hook could only guess what was going through the dead child's mind—if there was anything going through it at all. Perhaps the child felt guilty of causing so much grief…?

"Hey, codfish…thanks for this," the boy nodded towards the sheet that covered his body, from the neck and shoulders, to his legs.

Hook's listless eyes glanced at the sheet, and shrugged. "I remember how proud you were, more proud than any thirteen year old boy should be. I feel that you wouldn't want anyone to see your body in such a state."

That was partially the reason. The truth was that Hook was afraid. The man felt an uneasy twist in the bowels of his stomach at the thought of what lay beneath those sheets, even though he already had a good idea. He knew what bruises would be in certain places, what wounds would be there, and where the cause of death would most likely be. Hook had already seen similar wounds on numerous dead children ten years ago, and that should have been enough for his lifetime. One's sanity could only take so much.

Once again, that retirement condo on the beach was looking pretty good right now.

Peter snorted. "That's kind of pointless, Hook. You're going to see everything anyway, so my privacy will still be exposed." His eyes, not looking directly at the man, softened however. "Thanks again, though."

"…You're welcome."

The boy turned his head to the other side, not facing Hook, and most of his expression hidden by his red locks. Hook noticed that his arms twitched as the boy clenched his fist in what seemed like anger. A shuddering breath escaped and Peter's body started trembling as the boy spoke in a choked, broken voice.

"I…tried to fight him…I swear I did. But…"

"I know, Peter…I know."

"...He will pay...That bastard will pay for this...For all of this," Peter said—no, stated. In Hook's ears, it wasn't some childish threat. It was a cold, hard fact.

He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, especially for the murderer, but he nodded his agreement anyway. He wanted whoever did this to Peter to go through hell and back.

Because how many more child corpses will be placed before Hook before he finally cracks?

The two of them stared at each other for what felt like hours, but Hook knew that it was only for a few moments. The man and the boy, who never saw eye to eye, who would find some way to antagonize each other, no matter how childish it all was. When alive, Peter had never really respected Hook, and vice versa, yet when he was dead, the two of them seemed to reach some kind of understanding. It was strange, at least in Hook's mind. He couldn't really speak for his new "client".

Finally, after a silent moment of sizing each other up, Peter actually smiled up at Hook with lidded eyes.

"Tell Smee that I said hi."

"Will do."

With that, Peter closed his eyes and became a silent corpse once more.

Hook stared down at the corpse for a few more moments. He almost felt like he was waiting for something. He wasn't sure if it was for the corpse to speak again, or not. He felt as if there was more that should have been said. Such as the identification of the killer, for instance. That would probably set the man's mind at ease.

But Hook knew that would be useless. No corpse ever told who the killer was.

That job belonged to homicide investigators.

His job was to find the cause of death, and to profile the killer. Hook was good at that. He had to be, since he had spent almost the last quarter of his life with this job. He couldn't say that he was happy with his job, but Hook felt satisfied, and that was good enough for him.

Still, perhaps he really was ready to let it go…?

"Sir?"

A meek voice called softly from behind Hook.

He turned around to see his assistant and old friend, Smee. He didn't feel the need to be embarrassed at all that the shorter man had seen and heard him involved in a one-sided conversation with the dead boy. Smee had done that before, and had never called him out on it. He knew Hook well enough to respect him, no matter what idiosyncrasies he had. It was the look on his superior's face that stunned Smee.

It looked so…

Dead. That was the best word Smee could use to describe Hook. It unnerved him, to say the least. The man always had looked so sure of himself when he was working. It was one of many personality traits that Smee admired about Hook. The only time he had ever seen him like that was about twenty odd years ago.

As he cast a glance at the corpse on the table, Smee's mood visibly dampened more. He suddenly understood.

"Mr. Smee, get your scrubs on, and bring out your tools," Hook softly commanded with a nod of his head towards the back of the room.

Smee firmly nodded, already walking there. "Yes sir."

While Smee was back there, Hook hand turned back to stare down at Peter Pan's corpse. He removed his silver hook and inserting a sharp scalpel in its place. He lifted his hand in the air, to which Smee had put on a latex glove, since Hook couldn't do it one-handed. Then Smee handed him a plastic helmet to put over his head, while grasping his.

As he put on the helmet, Hook took a few calming breaths and resolved himself as he lifted off the sheet from the body.

It was time to get to work.

The first thing Belle sensed was the smell. She had only smelled that particular smell once before, when her father had a heart attack a few years ago. That was the last time that she allowed her father to be that close to that place of death and uncertainty.

A hospital.

She moaned softly, not opening her eyes. She cringed softly as she unintentionally inhaled that medicine-like smell, but didn't move anymore. As Belle felt her head get a little clearer, she heard faint beeping beside her, most likely from a heart monitor. She was also aware of the sharp pain at the back of her head.

There was also some soft talking of two women from either inside or outside the room. Her ears had gotten their hearing strength back, so she was able to catch what the women were saying.

"This is her? The girl the police want to talk to?"

"Mm-hm."

"…What happened?"

That was a good question, Belle thought to herself, but she didn't voice it. She didn't even open her eyes. Last night was a bit of a blur, with only a few images in mind. Something about a boy, a cave, and a…

She froze, her eyes snapping wide open.

"No! She's the one who found Peter?"

"That's right."

"Oh, that poor boy—and his family, also! They must be going insane right about now…What was she doing in Skull anyway?"

"That's probably what the police want to find out."

"…Merryweather?"

"…Yes, Fauna?"

"Y-you don't think…I-it couldn't be possible that…"

"Don't be ridiculous. He was caught years ago, everyone knows that. This is just another tragic death of a child, that's all. For all we know, it was probably an accident."

"Oh dear…I hope, for the children's sake, that that is all…"

Belle played the part of the sleeping patient until the gossipy nurses walked away from her room, probably to tend to some other patient. When she was certain no one was going to enter, she sat up and stared down at her lap as her thoughts wandered. As her eyes started watering, she bit her lip.

It hadn't been a nightmare. A boy really died, and ironies of ironies, Belle had been the one to find him. Before her emotions got the best of her, she started to wipe her eyes, but then she froze, confusion filling her.

But what about Pinocchio?

Belle thought about this for a second. Neither of those women mentioned an extra body being found in the cave, just the other boy's, (a.k.a. "Peter"). What did that mean? Could Pinocchio have escaped from that monster's grasp?

…Or—could he have been hidden in another spot?

She shivered, resolving to hugging herself and rubbing her shoulders. Somehow that didn't help.

"Miss Belle?"

Belle jumped slightly and whipped her head to look at the doorway, where the source of the voice came from. Standing there was an Asian American woman in a white blouse and brown slacks, which had an empty holster connected to it like a belt. She smiled kindly at Belle as she ran a hand through her chin length dark hair.

"Sorry if I woke you, but I am Officer Mulan Fa," she said. "My partner and I just want to ask you a few questions about last night."

Belle bit her lip nervously. "What kind of questions?"

"We just basically need you to repeat what you told me last night." At Belle's confused look, she added, "Over the phone."

"Oh, that was you," Belle said softly, recalling her conversation with the police the night before.

Mulan nodded. "That's right. You see, last night we sent two officers to Skull, but they found you first, lying unconscious on the side of the road, not too far from the cave. Do you remember who hit you on the head?"

She blinked, and then closed her eyes, straining to remember. Belle recalled hearing heavy footsteps on the grass, coming up from behind her, but she did not recall seeing the assaulter's face at all. She just remembered the sharp pain at the back of her head, and losing all consciousness.

So, she shook her head. "No." Belle's eyes widened when she remembered something. "But I know that I was in front of the cave when I was hit, not on a side of the road."

Mulan hummed thoughtfully at that. "It could be that you were moved once you were out cold. Probably by the culprit." She smiled a little. "It's probably a good thing too. Apparently, according to the doctors' diagnosis, that hadn't been the first time you were hit in the head. Do you recall the first time you hit your head?"

"Yeah, it had been when I fell in the cave."

"Well, the culprit's hit, along with your previous fall, left you with torn skin on the back of your head, and a nearly cracked skull." At Belle's look, Mulan waved at her, reassuringly. "Don't worry. You may have lost a lot of blood, but there was luckily no brain damage. The doctor's gave you a few butterfly stitches last night to hold the torn skin together. Just don't move around too much, leave it alone and it will eventually feel like they aren't even there."

Well, that certainly explained the harsh pain on the back of her head, but Belle thought that the whole thing was a little odd. Why would the culprit put her somewhere for her to be found sooner? Wouldn't it have been smarter to just leave her where she was, so she could bleed to death? Why keep her alive?

A fuzzy memory flashed through her mind. It was dark and hazy, indicating that her eyes must not have been open all the way, but her senses were potent enough to recall that someone had carried her…

…Someone small.

"Belle?" Mulan called softly. "You all right?"

Belle blinked, being brought back to reality, and then she nodded, hesitantly. "Yes, I'm fine…Are there anymore questions?"

"Actually, yes. How long have you been in Fantasia?"

"As of today, I'd say a day and a half."

"So, it's safe to say you did not know of Skull?"

Belle shook her head. "No."

"Can you please tell me again how you came to be there?"

"I was led there by a little boy. He had been in my house for a bit, and at eleven he went out to the forest to meet with his friend."

Mulan looked up from her notebook, where she was writing her notes. "Did you see this friend?"

"No," Belle sighed. "But I do know that the little boy kept referring to him as 'Lampy'."

This caused Mulan to pause and narrow her eyes as her mind raced. Lampwick was involved…?

"Please continue," she commanded politely.

Belle bit her lip. "This is where everything might start to get a little…weird."

"I can listen to weird." It wouldn't be the first time, Mulan added mentally.

Belle took a deep breath, and released it. "Okay, well—when the little boy went outside, I didn't see the friend he was waiting for. He waved at me goodbye and started for the forest—alone. I didn't feel right letting him go off alone, so I followed him…"

"All right…go on."

"…Eventually, I caught up with him in the forest. He was still alone; no one else was with him, except for me. But when I made my presence known, he acted as if I wasn't there. Despite that though, I continued to follow him, because I just didn't…" Belle struggled with the words slightly.

"Feel right with leaving him alone?" Mulan finished politely.

She nodded, and then continued at Mulan's gesture. "Suddenly we both heard a noise, and we followed it to in front of Skull. We both saw a man dragging something into the cave."

"Did you see what the man looked like?"

"No, it was too dark. I couldn't see what he was carrying either. But the little boy apparently did. I think he saw one of his friends being carried off by the man. He called her Alice."

Mulan's hand froze as she finished her note, and her almond eyes widened. No, it couldn't be…it's such a common name. Just a coincidence.

Oblivious to Mulan's reaction, Belle continued her story. She talked about how she and Pinocchio (she hadn't named him in her statement) had found Alice's corpse at the center of the cave. She told about how Pinocchio got attacked by the man, who was still unrecognizable, and how she had tried to help him, but was knocked down, hit her head on the wall, and falling unconscious.

Belle didn't tell Mulan about how she had phased through the man and hit her head, because a) it sounded too crazy, and b) Belle still wasn't sure if that was what really happened. It could have just felt like she went through the man's body, when in reality, the man could have easily hit her or step out of her way.

Mulan took it all in stride, only asking a few questions here and there. So far, after the "Alice" reference, she didn't find anything odd about Belle's story….At least, not until near the end.

"So, soon after you woke up, you tried to find an exit?"

"Yes," Belle answered softly.

"And that was when you found the body?"

"…Yes."

"In case you are concerned, we did find the body last night, though it was no easy feat. There are a lot of tunnels down in Skull, it's practically a maze. It took us a couple of hours, until about five in the morning, but we found a young boy floating in a reservoir deep down in the cave. Was he the boy who led you to the cave?"

"No." Belle shook her head. "That boy was different from Pinocchio."

Once again, Mulan stiffened at another oh-so-familiar name, only this time she was shaking slightly. She took a few deep breaths and released them, trying to calm herself down. In her shock, she almost didn't catch Belle's question.

"…You guys didn't find another boy down there?"

Mulan shook her head solemnly. "No, just Peter Pan….Would you mind describing the little boy, please?"

Belle nodded. "Pinocchio is about yea big, about up to my hips. He is white, and has black hair and blue eyes. And when I saw him he was wearing a white shirt, denim overalls and brown boots."

Though she nodded to Belle, internally, Mulan was freaking out. This stranger shouldn't know these kinds of things; Belle hadn't even been in Fantasia for a week. And even so, she shouldn't have known such details about Pinocchio, right down to his clothing. It wasn't possible, not possible…

"You're lying."

The ice cold voice made both women jump with shock. Recognizing the voice, Mulan turned her head around and saw her partner, Mael standing at the door. His shoulders were raised, like the hackles of a threatened wolf, and his eyes looked as furious as a storm. His mouth was twisted into a scowl and his nostrils were flared, showing Mulan how angry he was.

Oh boy.

Bemused, Belle blinked at the man who was glaring at her. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Mael replied. "You, Miss Belle, are lying."

Belle glared back at the man. How dare he call her a liar? He didn't even know her.

"I'm not lying," she ground out. "It all happened."

"Uh-huh, sure," he chuckled condescendingly. "Now why don't you tell us what really happened, and what you were really doing down at Skull."

"I did!" she yelled. "And I wasn't doing anything in Skull, except making sure a kid was safe."

"Then you must have been delusional. You had been drinking, correct?"

Belle gaped at him, appalled, and then she glared harder at him, her eyes matching the fury of his.

"Yes, I had been drinking," she hissed. "But I did not imagine last night. I know that Pinocchio was real, and I know he was the one that led me to Skull."

Mael's smirk disappeared and was replaced with a bestial snarl. "That is not only a lie, but it is also impossible, Miss Belle."

That made Belle quirk an eyebrow. "Oh? And what does that mean?"

Before Mael could retort, Mulan answered first, her words more gentle than anything that was about to come out of her partner's mouth.

"I'm sorry, Belle, but he's right. Pinocchio couldn't have been the one to help you last night," she paused, trying to find an easier way to say this. Unfortunately, there was no way to sugarcoat it.

"Because Pinocchio died ten years ago. He had been a victim of the Fantasia child murders—the last victim."

Belle froze, her mouth going slack, and she stared at both Mulan and Mael for a good few minutes. Then she started laughing, a sound that was the result of frazzled nerves, one that a person made when they were ready to be in denial over whatever shocking thing was said. When she saw how serious both Mulan and Mael's faces were, she stopped laughing, and lips started trembling.

"You must be joking, right?" she stammered, sounding almost desperate. "Please tell me you aren't serious."

But their faces were answers enough.

Strangely enough, Belle felt close to crying again. Her breathing got harsh, making her chest heave. She could hear the erratic beeping of her heart monitor, but nothing was louder than the drumming in her ears as her blood flow quickened with her heart beat.

It…had to be a lie, right?

She recalled Pinocchio's face, how normal he looked. He didn't look dead, he didn't even look like a revived zombie, like in those horror movies. What Mulan and Mael said had to be a joke, or something…right?

But then she recalled her conversation with Jim Dandy, and that one little detail he mentioned when he talked about Geppetto. A detail she had forsaken as unimportant. The one that had disappeared under the effects of alcohol and the desperate need to go to sleep…

"…And thirteen years ago, he finally earned enough to adopt a child—a five year old by the name of Pinocchio…"

There. That was the detail—the one detail that revealed it all to be true.

But still…

Her voice quaked as she spoke again.

"Then…who was that boy from last night?"

Belle's dream that night wasn't happy, not that she expected it to be. She was alone, in a hospital room, inside a silent building. In her dark room, she thought she something move, sort of wave at her. She even felt that someone was watching her, and that was enough to delay her much needed sleep.

That and the fact that she couldn't figure out who Pinocchio really was last night. That kept her brain working in the late hours of the night, as she tried to find a logical explanation behind the previous night. It could have been that the child really had played a prank on her. Or perhaps Pinocchio was his real name. It was probably pretty common…

Then again, how many boys has she met who are named "Pinocchio"?

Eventually, despite her paranoia, Belle closed her eyes and fell asleep.

And then, her nightmare began…

The first thing she noticed was that she was standing in the attic again, where she had met Pinocchio for the first time. It was exactly like the previous night, only Lady wasn't there at her side. And, when she directed her gaze at Pinocchio, just like she had in the previous night, Belle realized that he was different.

Much different.

The little boy smirked up at her evilly; his eyes both having slit black pupils surrounded blue ice, giving him a face that resembled a demon, rather than a child.

"Hello, Belle. How wonderful to see you again."

Belle's eyes widened and she found herself backing up slightly. When she saw the demonic looking boy tilt his head in mock innocence, Belle harshly swallowed the spit that had gathered in her mouth. She did not like this Pinocchio, not one bit.

"What's wrong, Belle?" Pinocchio asked, his voice deceitfully light. "You aren't scared…are you?"

He took a few slow steps forward, making Belle take a few steps back. He didn't look deterred however; Belle, on the other hand, was freaking out. Her eyes were as wide as plates, and her mouth was twisted into a terrified grimace.

"I'm not going to bite." He grinned at her psychotically, revealing two rows of razor sharp white teeth. "Much."

That was enough for Belle to gasp, and then turn around and run out the door…

If the door existed, of course.

She found her lips trembling as she surveyed the room. Surprisingly, despite the moonlight coming in and flooding the room, there was no window, or any other possible exit. She started running around the room, banging on the walls and screaming in frustration. All the while, she could feel her erratic pulse drum through her ears, as well as her breathing become near wheezing. She felt like a trapped little animal longing for escape, but never receiving its wishes. That only made her panic feel worse.

By the time she dared to look at him again, Pinocchio's eyes had widened, as well as his toothy grin. He giggled, a light sound that was anything but innocent.

"Come on, Belle. There is no escape, so don't waste your time trying to find one."

Despite her fear, Belle glared at dream Pinocchio. "Let me out, and leave me alone!"

For a brief second, his face was blank. Then Pinocchio closed his eyes, threw his head back, and burst out into loud laughter.

Belle cringed and backed away from him until she hit a wall, and slid down until she was sitting on the floor. That was not the light hearted laugh of a happy child. It was a twisted mockery of it, laced with lost sanity and lost innocence, and the indifference of other people's feelings but their own. It was more chilling than anything a cartoon villain could ever do, and twice as terrifying.

As his laughter continued, becoming sporadic enough to cause tears to leak from his eyes, Belle's thoughts raced. First they were of how she was going to get out of here, but then they wandered down another area, as she examined Pinocchio more closely.

There wasn't anything different about his appearance (except the obvious), but Belle found that there was something about him that was missing. She tried to strain her memory to when she had met Pinocchio, when his smile was like that of a child, and tried to see if she had seen it when they had been standing in the attic. Her eyes widened as she realized that she hadn't seen it, during either the first time, or at this moment. And she hadn't even noticed the lack of it the first time because she had been too focused on Pinocchio to notice, or care.

His shadow.

She looked at him again, trying to make sure her eyes and her memories hadn't played any tricks on her.

Pinocchio…doesn't cast a shadow.

Despite the mysterious illumination that was on him at the moment, like a stage's spotlight, Pinocchio had no shadow.

But…how can that be? All things cast a shadow…

"That's true, Belle," Pinocchio said, as if he had read her mind. His eyes narrowed cruelly, suddenly glowing blood red.

"All living things cast a shadow."

With that said, something started to happen to Pinocchio's body, right in front of Belle's eyes. Her eyes widened, tearing suddenly. She immediately put her hand on her closed mouth, not only to stifle her frightened whimpers and moans, but to keep the bile that threatened to rise within her mouth. She wanted to shut her eyes, but she found she couldn't look away.

First, it looked as if the skin on the left half of Pinocchio's face was drooping like how a Bloodhound's muzzle would. The same thing happened to the skin around his elbows and neck.

Second, the skin started to turn black, almost as if it had been burned. Belle was suddenly attacked with a rank odor not unlike rotten eggs, or brimstone.

Third, the skin started to tear on its own, revealing decaying muscle and some hints of bone beneath it. The skin immediately went dry like beef jerky, only it smelled extremely bad.

Half of Pinocchio's face was void of skin and some flesh. The other half, while not completely gone, was deathly gaunt, nearly coal black, and his skin had been poked with holes. Some of his hair had even fallen out as it lost its luster and seemed to be covered with dust and dirt. Everything on Pinocchio's body started to wither and dry. The stench that Belle had smelled became worse, nearly suffocating. His clothes were torn. His shirt collar was ripped, stretching the shirt out, revealing one decaying shoulder. The left shoulder buckle of his overalls was unclipped, and his pants ripped, revealing hints of nearly fleshless legs. His boots were no longer on his feet, revealing decaying feet and toes.

Soon, there were bugs crawling all over him, flies buzzing around his head, and worms crawling through his flesh...

He was no longer a child in Belle's eyes. He was now a rotting corpse.

Suddenly, Belle began to scream. The high pitched sound bounced off the walls, echoing even in her ears. Sobbing, she twisted her body and started clawing at the wall with her fingernails.

She had to get out.

She had to get out of there!

As she clawed sporadically, Belle didn't dare turn around to look at the monstrosity that she could hear stepping toward her. She even kept her eyes closed, as a precaution.

"Ha-ha-ha-ha, seems you've finally figured it out. And all I had to do was show my true form to you. Stupid little girl."

Sadly, that still didn't mean she couldn't hear what it said. It sounded so close now; Belle could practically smell its rank, decaying breath. Its voice was hoarse, almost like a wheezing cough.

Because a rotting corpse lacks the moisture in its throat to speak in a proper tone.

"Leave me alone!" she screeched through her tears.

She kept moving her hands against the wall, dragging her nails against the wood, until a hand grasped her body and stopped all of her movements.

…Actually, a couple of hands.

Belle opened her eyes wide and cried out, frightened of what she saw.

About four pale hands were phasing out of the wall and grabbing her body. They were all deathly pale, with dark veins under their skin that made them look like marble. Then ten, no, twenty tiny hands reached and grasped her arms, legs, shoulders, hips—everything! She saw that many of them didn't have flesh on their hands. Some were even covered in black, moldy spots. Some had been all skeleton hands, yet their grip was so tight that it was painful. Some even had insects crawling on them, digging at the remnants of their flesh…

Belle struggled harshly, grunting loudly, but it didn't matter. Her capturer's weren't going to let her go. Even though she knew that, she still struggled harder, especially when she felt the many hands (she had lost count at fifty) started to pull her into the wall. She just about lost it then as she started to kick, scream, even dig her nails into her fleshy chains.

Meanwhile, Pinocchio was taking joy in her struggles, if the wheezing laugh from the creature was any indication. Belle could just picture him grinning evilly, half of his face almost normal, while the other half was all decay and bones.

"Just give in, Belle. You might just like the dark side, you know. We have cookies!"

At the last sentence, the creature burst out into sporadic laughter, similar to how it had done previously. Only this time, he was joined by what sounded like hundred other forms of laughter, all of them twisted and childlike…

…Coming from the other side of the wall.

"No!" Belle cried as her leg disappeared into the wall. Then next, her arm and her other leg. Her eyes snapped shut. "NO!"

"NO!"

When Belle opened her eyes she was lying on her hospital bed, inside her dark hospital room. She could hear the loud "beeps" of her erratic heartbeat and she could feel her chest caving in and out with each harsh breath. Sweat had blanketed on her brow, and on various other parts of her body, underneath her hospital gown.

She passed an arm over her eyes, closing them, and tried to get herself calm and relaxed. It was very difficult however; for she finally realized what Pinocchio really was, and it terrified her.

Though she was a writer, and often a citizen of her own little world, Belle was still dependent on logic, just like any other human being. Her conclusion, though she was certain she was right, shocked and scared her as much as her dream.

Because ghosts aren't supposed to exist.

Belle took in a shuddering breath and turned her body to face the right side of her bed. Then she closed her eyes and was pulled into a dreamless, and nightmare-less, sleep. She mentally decided how she was going to deal with this in the morning, and in the days to come.

For the second time, Belle wished that she had never gone to Fantasia.

Once Belle was asleep, she didn't notice the two figures that came in her room. They had both phased through the window, and then floated down at her side to observe her sleeping face. The taller figure put its hands on its hips and glared down at her.

"I can't believe she actually dreamed of us like that."

The shorter one beside him snorted.

"Speak for yourself. I'm the one who gets the bad rep over here," he shrugged. "But I don't blame her, not after everything's that's happened."

"Yeah, I guess…Still, that nightmare of hers was so…cliché. I mean seriously, killer ghost children?"

"At least she got the glowing eyes part right…. Still, personally, I blame all the recent horror movies. You know, like The Ring, or The Omen, or perhaps The Children of the Corn..."

"Ooh, ooh, I love that movie!" The taller figure looked like he was jumping up and down in glee. "Me and Tink used to watch it when it came on every Halloween."

The shorter chuckled. "Yeah, you two would love that movie….Speaking of which, how are they?"

A pause.

"…They're kind of…out of it right now. My mom actually made me breakfast this morning. My favorite too—chocolate chip pancakes."

The shorter hissed in a breath sympathetically. "That's rough, Peter."

"Yeah…"

"…You know that only means she loved you with all her heart, right?"

Sigh. "Yeah, I know. Hook gave me the same lecture earlier."

"Oh, well that's—wait a minute," the shorter gaped up at him. "You visited Hook?"

"Yeah. So what?" Peter Pan said defensively.

"So…nothing." His voice became sly. "I'm just worried if it's already 2012, that's all. That's when the world is supposed to end you know, at least according to the Ancient Mayans."

"Oh, shut up, Pinocchio!" Peter shoved him, though not too hard.

Pinocchio chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

There was a silence between the two ghost boys as they stared down at Belle. Both of them had serious faces, but they kept their thoughts hidden from one another, at least until Peter decided to break the silence. He couldn't stand being quiet for too long; it unnerved him in life, and it still unnerved him in death.

"Do you really think she can help us?"

Pinocchio was silent before answering, "I'm pretty sure she can…if she decides to that is. I'm not going to force her into anything she doesn't want to do, especially considering her circumstances."

Peter quirked an eyebrow. "That doesn't really sound productive, Pinoke."

He sighed. "I know Pete, and I don't want to wait any longer, but I won't force Belle to do this. I'll just try to persuade her the best I can. I'm afraid that that is all I can do."

At Peter's look, Pinocchio calmly nodded at the window. Though it was impossible for a ghost to be tired, he looked wearier than an adult. That face basically meant that right here and now was not where and when they should talk about these things. Peter didn't want to obey, but he felt like he owed Pinocchio, so he didn't feel like being rebellious (not that there was any reason to be rebellious now).

And so, as quickly as they had arrived, Pinocchio and Peter Pan vanished out the window, flying over the town they had once called home.

Okay, now this chapter is my longest. Please disregard what I said (typed, whatever :P) in the previous chapter.

Now, onto the Author Notes (warning: it's a long one):

*Why isn't Hook a "villain" and a stoic seeming, boring medical examiner that has a hook for a hand? I don't know, it just seemed like the perfect role to put him in. Personally, I kind of feel sorry for him sometimes. I think if he gets enough therapy he can get over his whole wanting-to-kill-Peter Pan-for-revenge-thing. But hey, this is just me. So, with this being said, I should say a little something about the villains we all know, hate, and sometimes love.

The fact is, they aren't all going to be inherently evil, at least not the ones that show up here (not including "Monstro" whose identity is only known by me, muwahaha). Instead they are just going to be either misunderstood, or they are going to have made stupid mistakes based on their actions, like how all humans in society do.

Oh my god, don't ever watch Higurashi no Naku Koro Ni at night. It will give you the most disturbing nightmares, especially if you watch it during the summer.

And to all of you who don't know what I'm talking about, Higurashi is a horror/mystery/psychological Japanese anime that is probably the scariest I've ever seen yet. It is also the anime that helps inspire me for the horror scenes in "Nothing Sacred".

You know the part where Pinocchio laughs insanely in Belle's nightmare? That was an element borrowed from Higurashi. If you want you could go on YouTube and type in Higurashi+laughs. For whatever you get, just picture Pinocchio doing the laughing, if that helps your imagination a little bit.

BTW: *Another element from Higurashi. There is a character on the show who is practically the only person who has a clue about what's going on with the other characters. She looks young, acts childish, but when she is serious, her voice drops a tenor, making her sound more mature and older than her age suggests (you'll learn why if you watch the second season). I basically incarnate some of her personality onto Pinocchio, since his role is important in this story.

But hey, don't let me spoil it for you. If any of you are anime lovers, as well as Disney lovers, then I recommend Higurashi to you, especially if you are horror fans. You'll get addicted, trust me. (Just don't watch it at night.) To those who are skeevy around gore and scare, then it's probably not for you.

Now, the really important note: My next update might take a little while, because I'm going to start my first year of college in a few weeks (Yay me!). Until the thirty-first, I'm going to be shopping for books, bags, notebooks, recorders and many more. Also, once I start college, I'm going to be smothered in workload, so I most likely won't have time for fanfiction in general. Sorry, but think of it this way—I left you with an extra long chapter to keep you entertained until I get back to you.