The plot thickens.
I hope everyone is liking this! Please leave me reviews. Also I'm going to need a character pretty soon, so if you're interested in being in my story PM me!
Peter Pan is technically in the United States public database, so I don't even need a disclaimer anymore!
Song for this particular chapter: Lior - Daniel
Britney searched through the archives, clearly on a mission and blatantly ignoring the angry look from the beady-eyed librarian. "Ah! Here it is!" Britney pulled out laminated paper and held it triumphantly in front of Gwen. "Here is your family legacy in print."
"What is it?"
"Sad, that's what it is," Britney frowned. "And just so you know, I only know about this because I went through a weird phase in secondary school and did some research about this particular case."
"Case? Phase? What are you talking about?" Guinevere asked, worried and confused. The feeling of dread was returning and her stomach began to flutter with nerves (which was unfounded, of course).
"I was a little morbid in 11th year and I researched a lot of unfinished police cases and this one happened to come up. Just read it," Britney thrust the paper into Gwen's hand. Gwen scanned the newspaper, which was dated October 17th 1942.
"World War II news?" Gwen asked, the tank on the front page greeting her with a seemingly obvious answer.
"No, look at the back of the third page; I know the stories were a little wonky at the time because of the war, but it's just weird to me…they never actually solved her case, you know. No one figured out what happened," Britney rambled. She wasn't making any sense to Guinevere, so she scanned the back of the third page as instructed.
Gwen found what her friend had been talking about, her eyes growing wider and more horrified as she read.
Wendy Calahan, age 43, was found on the morning of Saturday, October 17th 1942. Her body was found just inside Kensington Gardens. The gates were closed and locked the night before, with no reports of entrances or exits made by anyone (according to the guards and 24 hour watch). According to the autopsy, her spine and neck were broken in three different places, common results of a deadly fall, though the body was not found near any walls or buildings tall enough to cause such damage. Police are speculating, and Scotland Yard has launched a full investigation under the risk that it may be murder. Wendy is survived by husband, Edward Calahan, age 45 and daughter, Jane Calahan, age 17.
Gwen returned the paper to the shelf with a shaky hand, her eyes misting over. "No wonder my Mom never talked about her grandmother," Gwen muttered, "She never even knew her."
"They never found the supposed killer," Britney shrugged. "Scotland Yard just kind of…stopped. Reports of the investigation stop in mid-December of the same year, not even two full months after it happened."
"Thanks for the info, Britney," Guinevere shook off the upsetting feeling and smiled. "This is great for my project! With something like this, I could totally get an A. Maybe I can even find some of the original case files and use those, too."
"No problem and bloody brilliant idea," Britney smiled. She looked down at her sparkly blue watch and back up at Gwen, "Everyone should be meeting outside right about now, ready to get out of this joint?"
"Yeah," Gwen nodded. They gathered their stuff and hurried from the library out onto the green, immediately locating their friends. Gwen took her usual seat between Peter and Kevin, while Britney went straight for Finn's lap.
"Hey gorgeous," Finn beamed, kissing Britney on the nose. Britney winked at Gwen before kissing Finn on the forehead in return.
"Handsome," she returned. They kissed for several seconds and the group sat in silence, waiting for the ritual greeting to end.
"Well that was disgusting," Kevin declared, clapping his hands together when they pulled apart for air. "Shall we proceed to the homework?"
"Gwen and I were working in the library and we found something freaky about her family," Britney declared, her voice low and mysterious for dramatic effect. Several heads perked up to listen.
"What did you find out?" Peter asked, looking up from his archaeology textbook.
"My great-grandmother was possibly murdered and they never found the killer," Gwen said with a noncommittal shrug, hoping to drop the matter and think about something else. It was the beginning of the weekend, and the morbid topic on a Friday night was not her ideal conversation.
"Oh, no big deal then," Kevin sarcastically remarked, rolling his eyes for emphasis. "That's so cool!"
"Yeah, murder in the family is always a really nice sentiment," Guinevere snapped. She pulled her notes from her bag and started to organize them, the beginning of what she knew would be a horrible headache coming on. A little less than half an hour later, she lethargically shoved all her stuff into her messenger bag and looked over her group of friends. "I think I'm getting sick, I'm going to head back to my room."
"I'll make sure you make it there alright," Peter offered, cramming his books into his over-stuffed red backpack. Kevin caught Gwen's eye and winked at her. Gwen returned it with dopey slowness and much effort.
"Don't get distracted or wander into any dark corners," Bryce teased. Peter turned a violent shade of fuchsia and Gwen giggled as much as her pounding migraine would allow. Tonight would not be a night for doing homework. She was going to shower and hit the hay. Maybe she was just short on sleep, though a tugging at the corner of her mind made her suspicious of a yet undetected cause.
Peter heaved his bookbag over his shoulder and started off with Gwen at his side. She leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked, trying not to groan from the intense pain. "You okay?" Peter asked.
"No, it feels like tiny dwarves are mining jewels out of the inner walls of my skull," Guinevere replied.
"That doesn't sound like fun," Peter muttered, quietly slipping his arm around Gwen's shoulders to support her as she staggered almost drunkenly at his side. He was going to get so much hell about this from the guys later, but it was totally worth it. Anything to win him some serious points from Gwen, who was practically stumbling by the time they made it up the stairs and to her dorm room door. She pulled the key from her bag and tried to fit it into the lock, but whimpered when the key slipped from her clumsy fingers and hit the floor. It hurt too much to focus. Peter stooped and grabbed it, quickly unlocking the door and guiding her inside.
"Sit," she whispered, her tone demanding. She pointed to the bed he assumed was hers and he sat on the edge, watching her. She grabbed her pajamas from a cupboard and slumped into the bathroom. Her head peeked out of the door again a moment later, her eyes barely able to focus. "Be right back, okay? Don't leave."
"Okay," Peter promised. "I won't."
A few moments after she closed the door, he heard the water running. He was going to stay anyway, in case she fell in the shower in her childish state of pain and confusion. Gwen had never been sick before and his best-friend instincts (and maybe a little bit of protectiveness over his crush) to take care of her were kicking in.
He looked around her dorm while he waited for her return, taking in the little details he'd never been privy to before. Her bedding was plain; a purple down comforter over silky purple sheets. At the head of the bed rested two pillows with covers matching her sheets and one different pillow adorned with a hand-embroidered covering that read "Thou speakest a right, I am that merry wanderer of the night!" – Robin Goodfellow (Puck). Peter wondered if she'd embroidered it herself. Her desk was cluttered with snippets of newspapers, her textbooks were lined up on the shelf above (in the order of her class schedule, not that he knew it) and several poetry books and Walden were sitting at the back corner of the desk, spines facing out for easy perusal. Peter noticed, with some amusement, that a collection of Poe's works was among them.
The shower stopped and some rustling could be heard, followed by a low groan. Guinevere exited moments later, her eyes looking glassy and distracted. She seemed almost surprised when her gaze landed on Peter. "You're still here?"
"You asked me to stay," he shrugged, smiling.
"You stayed."
"I said I would, do you doubt me?" he asked. She fell onto the bed on top of the covers and rolled onto her back, looking up at him.
"Not anymore," the rushed whisper, so full of confidence and pain-diluted happiness made his heart leap. Her eyes fluttered drowsily. "Ughhh."
"Alright, Lady Gwen, let's settle you in," Peter quietly declared. He lifted her up slightly and pulled the covers out from underneath her. "Cor, you're warm."
"Mhm," she mumbled, burying her face in his shoulder as he pushed her legs under the covers. He laid her down and started covering her up when she tugged at his arm. "No. Stay."
"Okay," he sat on the edge of the bed again, confused when she started pouting.
"Lay," she demanded sleepily. She was more like a petulant child than a functioning adult at this point, so he figured he'd amuse her. He lay down beside her, letting her burrow against him. Eventually her breathing slowed and changed and he recognized the pattern of deep healing sleep. He went to stand when her hand clamped down on his upper arm, stopping him as she pulled him close again.
"Alright," he sighed, "Maybe not."
Sooner than later, he fell asleep.
Gwen, in her deep sleep, was dreaming.
She was running quickly. Wherever she was, it was dark and the air was heavy with fog. "Peter?" she called, feeling lost, upset, confused, sad, and determined all at once, "Peter!?"
It wasn't Peter Gardner she was calling for. No, she wasn't Gwen anymore. She was…she was…the name wouldn't come to her. Neither would his last name. Only, "Peter?" which flew from her lips over and over in an attempt to find him. There were dim lights ahead, seemingly coming up from the ground on little stems. Flowers with lights in them? It didn't make sense, but she kept running anyway, still calling his name.
But the fog…she couldn't see anything in the fog…where was she?
She stopped abruptly, seemingly without reason, before the mystery person whose body she was in looked down. There, at her feet, was the body of a young man. He wasn't much older than sixteen and he looked misshapen. Broken. "Peter!"
And then the ground was gone from beneath her and the lights were so much closer, coming up to meet her…
"Guinevere!" someone was shaking her. She opened her eyes and saw Peter's worried face looming above. What is he doing in my dorm?! She panicked, mortified.
"Peter! Jeez! Sorry! Did I miss class!?" she asked, looking over at her alarm clock. It was nearly two in the morning. Natalee hadn't returned, which wasn't unusual, and she was grateful that her vampiric dorm mate had chosen this night for one of her strange outings.
"No, you had a headache, remember? I walked you back to the dorm and you showered and you asked me to lie next to you so you could fall asleep…then I kind of fell asleep," he explained rather sheepishly. "Sorry about that."
"No, I prefer sleeping with someone else near me when I'm sick," she said, quickly and clearly embarrassed about sharing that piece of information. "I'm sorry I did that. At the time I probably didn't even realize what was happening."
"You were pretty whacked out there, Lady Gwen," Peter smiled, "But that doesn't explain why you kept calling for me in your sleep."
"I…what?"
"You kept muttering my name and you looked really upset," Peter explained. "I tried to wake you up a couple of times but it didn't work."
"I don't even remember what I was dreaming about," she lied. "Sorry."
"It's no problem," Peter chuckled. "You're rather cute when you're asleep. You curl up 'round the nearest thing you can grab, like a cat."
"Yeah," she half-laughed, embarrassed, "I guess so. Usually it's a pillow and not my stand partner."
"Speaking of that, uhm, Lady Gwen," Peter began, his voice low and nervous, "You know I fancy you, right?"
"Well only if you understand that I like you, too," Gwen retorted.
"So you wouldn't be absolutely gobsmacked if I asked you on a proper date that doesn't involve violin practice or studying of any kind?" Peter asked. "And that wasn't me asking you on a date, I'll do it more officially when it's not two o'clock in the morning."
"I'd be ecstatic," Gwen winked. Peter kissed her on the cheek.
"You'd best get back to sleep, we have class tomorrow!" Peter announced.
"Peter, love," Gwen teased, "Tomorrow is Saturday. No, we don't."'
"Oh, well then, back to bed with you anyway!" Peter said, heading for the door. "It was lovely getting to chat with you."
"Thanks for taking such good care of me," Guinevere laughed, standing and giving him a playful curtsey.
"My pleasure, dearest Lady Guinevere," he bowed before exiting. Gwen settled back into her sheets, wondering about the strange dream and its potential meanings and why the entire curtsey/bow exchange felt so familiar, as if she and Peter had gone through it before. She laughed at herself. We've probably done it before and I've forgotten. Worried over the meaning of a dream? Really? It's probably just because I was so sick and I had my great-grandmother's murder on the brain. It's no big deal, go back to sleep. But in some part of her brain, things were beginning to unlock and come back. Things she'd forgotten. Things from a lifetime ago…
Peter, meanwhile, bumped into Britney in the hallway. "What are you doing out so late?" he asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow.
"Night walks are my favorite walks," Britney replied, crossing her arms. "It's none of your business anyway, seeing as you were sleeping in my best friend's room."
"Not anymore, as you can see," Peter said, gesturing to himself. "Anyway, how did you know that?"
"She gave me a key and I stopped by to make sure she made it back alright. You two were pretty cozy when I bopped in," Britney shrugged. Her Cheshire Cat smile revealed that she had stayed for several minutes and watched them cuddle.
"We should be getting to bed, anyway," Peter huffed.
"Prolly. G'night," Britney saluted, passing him and wandering down the hall. Peter wondered, as Britney walked away, if her ears had always been that pointy and he'd just never noticed. He shook his head and headed up the flight of stairs, gratefully changing into pajamas and falling into his own bed, a wide smile on his face.