A/N: Update 21
My heart was pounding as Hook put just a bit more pressure on the knife. I gulped and said, "Okay, Hook, just listen." He lowered the knife, but still kept it pointed at me. I continued cautiously. "Forcing me up won't do any good. The pixies told me that if I'm going to give up my bond with the island, it has to completely be my own decision. The trade won't work unless I decide to break the bond." I cringed, waiting for the sharp pain of a knife plunging into my body.
Hook just stood there for a minute holding the knife. Finally, he sighed, "I'm tired of your foolish games, Pan." He tucked the knife in his belt and grabbed my arm and dragged me down a set of unfamiliar stairs. I didn't struggle; I was scared stiff. On the way however, I carefully took the knife off of Hook's belt. We got to a bedroom even smaller than the one I had been using. He threw me in there, closed and locked the door, and said through the thick wood, "When you decide to cooperate, you may come out."
I sat on the ground rubbing my arm, remembering that the bandage around it hadn't been changed all day. I felt the healing skin tear, slowly soaking the dirty bandage with blood. I looked around the tiny room realizing that it must be the stowaway chambers.
The room looked eerily similar to the bedroom that I had been using, except smaller. There was a small bed (this one had no blankets), and a nightstand. The door had a small cutout, probably for food. I suddenly realized that I was starving. I didn't really eat any dinner because I was too nervous. I regretted it now, assuming I wouldn't get food any time soon. My best option was to just wait.
I pulled the knife I took from Hook out of my pocket to examine it. It was a small dagger. It was a little dull, nothing major, but it could have used some sharpening. I wondered where Hook had gotten it from. I remembered my dagger that I had back when I lived in Neverland. I lost it many years ago, and was heartbroken. This knife was really similar. I flipped it over and saw what I had been looking for. It was really faded, but right where the blade met the handle, were the initials P.P. My initials. This was my knife. I smiled. So Hook had had it all along. I must have left it on the ship when I flew Wendy and her brothers back to London that night many years ago.
I tucked the knife back in my pocket, and lay down on the bed, hoping to get some sleep and get my mind off of my growling stomach. I couldn't sleep though. The bandage on my arm was getting wet and sticky with my blood. I took off my shirt and replaced the bandage with it. I lay back down. The room was extremely cold. I sat up and opened the drawer to the nightstand, hoping to find something; anything. Inside there was a thin, thread-bare blanket. Well, it was better than nothing. I pulled the blanket out, and a book tumbled out onto the floor. It was an old book. The corners were bent on the hardback cover, and the color was faded. The pages were yellowing and wavy, as if the book had been dropped in water. There was a title on the cover, but because of the fading and water damage, it was hard to make out. I opened the front cover and found written in pen: The Private Property of Wendy Moira Angela Darling. I didn't dare turn the page. Was this a diary? It was easy to figure out that it was hidden in the stowaway cabin so that Winnie wouldn't find it, but why did Hook bother to keep it at all, and why did he have it in the first place?
I put the book down. I shouldn't read it. Those were Wendy's own private thoughts. Private thoughts that she didn't remember. I shook the idea out of my head. I really shouldn't, but, no one has to know. I grabbed the book and opened to the first page. It was hard to read. The ink had run because of the water damage, but I was able to read mostly everything. It was dated May 21, 1905:
Dear Diary,
School was quite boring today. Sometimes I wish that I did not have to go to school. I wish I could fly around and have adventures like Peter Pan. Speaking of Peter Pan, I told John and Michael another story about him today. I told them about the time that Peter cut off Captain Hook's hand and fed it to the crocodile. The crocodile also ate a clock, and it ticks all the time, and that mean old Captain Hook is so scared of it! Michael and John thought that story was funny. I wonder what it would be like to have adventures like Peter Pan, or to have adventures with him. He truly is a fascinating person.
I smiled to myself. Wendy had had a crush on me since before she had even met me. I continued to read.
Father keeps threatening to move me out of the nursery. He says that because I am going to be turning twelve soon I should consider moving into my own room. He says I no longer need a nurse maid, let alone a dog nurse maid. Father seems to be making plans to create a new room for me that would be just off of the nursery. I do not want to move out of the nursery, and I do not want to grow up. Peter Pan never has to grow up, so why should I? Father continues to tell me to "stop filling the boys' minds with such foolish nonsense." He says Peter Pan is not real. I am now unsure. It does seem a bit far-fetched that there is a place called Neverland where a magical boy flies around and has adventures. What I really want is proof. If Peter Pan exists, I wish he would show me, so that I can truly believe.
Sincerely,
Wendy
I smiled again. It wasn't long after she wrote this entry that I showed up at her window looking for my shadow. I flipped to the next page which said pretty much the same thing. This journal was obviously a continuation of a previous one, since the writing seemed comfortable. I continued to read page after page until I got about a quarter of the way through that was dated July 22, 1905:
Dear Diary,
Peter Pan is in the nursery at this very second! He seems to be searching for something. Perhaps if I get him to stay, I can show him to father, and then father will not make me move out of the nursery. He seemed serious tonight about moving me out of the nursery, especially since he dragged Nana outside and tied her up. I am going to see if I can get Peter Pan to stay. Peter is crying. I will pretend to be asleep, and "wake up" to comfort him.
Sincerely,
Wendy
This entry was from the night that I took Wendy and her brothers to Neverland. Surprisingly, there were more entries (undated), but they jumped ahead several days, maybe even a month. The next entry was after she had returned from Neverland. She wrote about the adventures that we had, which only made me miss the real Wendy even more. Winnie is great and all, but I just wished that she would remember who she really is.
I set the journal down, and glanced down at my watch (thankfully I was wearing one. There were no windows in this tiny room). It was almost midnight. I had been reading for a long time, but still, I wasn't tired. I lay down on the bed and tried to fall asleep, but my stomach was growling, I was still freezing, and my thoughts were filled with Wendy. I shifted and gave out a small yelp. The knife had jabbed me in the thigh. I fished it out of my pocket and set it on the nightstand next to the journal.
Another hour passed and I could tell that no sleep would be coming to me, so I picked up the journal and began to read again. She seemed to have stopped writing for years, because the next entry was dated February 18, 1909:
Dear Diary,
Michael is sick again. He keeps getting worse. The doctors say that the bad air here in London triggers the breathing problems Michael has. I think the doctor called it as-ma (asthma). Michael has so many more problems. He coughs almost constantly, and is becoming very weak. I wish there was something I could do to help Michael. I keep telling father that I want to go to a college so that I can become a doctor. Father says I am being foolish. "Women are not doctors!" he says. I think he is wrong. Why can't a woman be a doctor?
I have been counting down the days until Spring Cleaning. It is almost here. I hope that Peter remembers to come this year. He has such an awful memory. He remembered last spring, but not the one previous. I am beginning to think that maybe I am getting too old for this nonsense with Peter. I will be sixteen years old soon, and Peter is still only a child of twelve years. This childhood crush of mine now seems silly. He is never going to grow up, and I will continue to grow up. It is the proper thing to do. Still, I do hope that he remembers to come for me in time for Spring Cleaning.
Sincerely,
Wendy
I hadn't remembered. The last time I came back for Wendy for Spring Cleaning, she was almost fifteen. And I hadn't seen her since then. But, if she found a way back to Neverland when she was sixteen, then I would have been there. I didn't leave to the Mainland until four Earth years ago. Why didn't I see her? I know that time on Neverland is extremely different, but it doesn't add up. She would have been in Neverland when I was still there. I needed to find out, but in order to do that, I needed Wendy to remember. But I was trapped in this tiny room.
I turned to the next page in the journal. Again, it had skipped ahead, this time by several months: June 30, 1909.
Dear Diary,
Michael is extremely sick again. He is completely bedridden. His breathing is raspy, and he keeps coughing up blood. The doctor says it is tuberculosis, and thinks that it is because of the poor air quality, but I think another cause is because father is constantly smoking his cigars. I wish I could take Michael to the United States. The air quality is better there, especially out west, at least that's what I have heard. I still hope to go to college to study to be a doctor. If I do not help Michael, then nobody will. His doctor does not seem to care. He says that Michael may or may not get over his sickness, and the doctor is not trying to help at all.
Just as I suspected, Peter Pan did not show up to take me back to Neverland for Spring Cleaning. I wish he would have, so I could get away from the sadness that has taken over my house. Maybe it is best that he did not come. Even though Michael is quarantined to the nursery, I was able to keep mother busy so that she would not worry too much about Michael.
Sincerely,
Wendy
The following entry was dated a few days later:
Dear Diary,
I cannot stand being here anymore. Michael's coughing keeps me up at night and all mother and father do is fight because Michael's hospital bills are expensive, and I fear that mother and father's marriage is not working anymore. Divorce is surely just around the corner. John hardly ever comes home to visit from his boarding school anymore. I seem to be the only one who cares about Michael's health now. Even mother is focused more on her arguments with father rather than Michael. I have to get out of here. I need to find someone to help me so that I can help Michael.
The only person I really want to help me is Peter Pan. Peter himself would not be of any help, but if I could just get Michael to Neverland, he could get better. Last time I was in Neverland, I saved a bit of the pixie dust that Peter gave me to help him clean the ceiling of the treehouse. It is old, but I hope it still has enough magic to get me to Neverland so that I may find Peter and convince him to save Michael. I am going to pack some things and leave tonight. Second star to the right and straight on until morning. I sure hope this works.
Sincerely,
Wendy
As I finished reading the entry, I heard the lock on the door click open. It was probably Hook, back to try and convince me to travel up to Mount Never. I decided to look nonchalant, so I pretended to be reading as I glanced over the top of the book. The door opened and Winnie was standing there. She looked at me, lingering on my bare chest, and then glanced around the room before entering. She stood beside the bed. I closed the journal and tucked it beside me in case she recognized it, but I didn't think she would.
"Peter," Winnie said firmly. I sat up a little straighter, giving her my full attention. She looked angry. "Tell me what's going on. Why are you really here?"