Detective Inspector Coorina Ayers had been on the job far too long. At least, that's what she told herself as she pulled up to the Darling House almost exactly six years after the first time she had met them. She remembered the details in painful clarity; she had lived and breathed that case for over four months. When she had received the call to head over to the unusually chaotic corner house in Bloomsbury, her stomach had coiled with dread. The first call had been the unfortunate news of Wendy Darling's suicide, D.I Ayers was disheartened by the discovery, but, by no means, had she been shocked. Wendy Darling had been the most disturbed upon arriving home after The Ordeal, as her parents had taken to calling it.
The memories her suicide dredged up were an unpleasant reminder of the atrocities that Wendy had lived through, suffered through really. She had seen the videos, watched in disgust at the things Wendy and Michael had been forced to do by their captors. Four months. They had been missing for four months and the entire time Wendy had concocted a tale, a beautiful romantic tale, about Pirates, Faeries, and Flying Boys. The truth, however, was a dark twisted story, involving the people Wendy's caricatures had so comically depicted.
James "Hook" Cook; a tall brooding ring leader, who had lost his hand in Afghanistan during his "Alternative Sentencing."
Stanly Mae; an older man whom was homeless and a vagabond before Cook offered him a "Personal Assistant" job.
Wilhelm Starkey; a middle aged undercover police officer from Moscow, he often used a supposed language barrier to get offenders to speak loudly and clearly into a hidden tape recorder.
Peter Payan; A French boy, about thirteen that Wendy had appeared in numerous films with. It had seemed that "Hook" had taken a particular liking to the boy. He was never found.
The most painful part was that all the police officers knew, had seen the videos, had heard the accounts from other children, but Wendy refused to hear any other story than her own. She had been sent to more than one psychiatric hospital, six actually, to see if anyone could make her actually remember. It was decided she was better off not knowing,
Then, six years later, they had found her journal. A plain red moleskin journal, with Wendy's enchanting hand-writing scrawling out demented, horrifying, ugly truths about the four months she had been missing. The girl, or women, had known, probably, all along. She detailed every video, every man who came and went, and she described in vivid detail, the night Peter Payan escaped.
Now, after all that, after just losing Wendy, D.I Ayers was being called back to Bloomsbury for another suicide. Michael Darling.
/
Peter made his way back to Wendy, the little float he could manage looking disappointed.
"Couldn't find the sound." He informed her, sitting next to her in the sand.
"It was probably some sort of animal, if you couldn't find it." She assured him, not wanting him to feel as if he was bad at tracking.
"Would you like me to go out again and look for the sobbing animal, it sound like it was in great pain." Peter wondered aloud, casting a glance at Wendy to see if she was impressed by his humanitarian efforts.
She wasn't, or at least, Peter couldn't tell whether she was or not. She wasn't looking at him, and he watched an unexplainable pain flash across her face. "He must have been in horrible pain." She choked out, as in her mind's eye she could see exactly who had come upon them.
"What's wrong Wendy Girl?" He asked, coming close to her face and experimentally brushing her cheek with his lips, bringing color to the porcelain mounds.
"We should go back to the tree house."
"Maybe catch a bit of sleep. W-would you mind…" Peter trailed off, and Wendy could finally see that this was her Peter, with his flashing green eyes and quick smile. "We could share my big bed; it's much more… comfortable." His courage faltered at the end of his offer.
"Oh, Peter." Wendy sighed, looking away from the boy. "I don't… with the boys, I don't think they would take to it." She traced a pattern in the sand.
"I'll tell them to, I'm their leader, fearless leader." Peter smiled brightly, floating over to look at her in the eyes. When they were finally looking at each other Peter began to wiggle his eyebrows obnoxiously.
"Oh, stop it, Peter." She couldn't help the laugh that escaped her rose lips.
"I assure you it's more comfortable than sand." He whispered, and he had lost every ounce of her Peter, but his words still sent a shiver up her spine.
Wendy shifted towards his lips slightly, and in the final seconds grasped his mouth with hers. She waited for him to respond, and couldn't help the fuzzy warmth that spread in the pit of her stomach as he pushed his mouth back against hers.
"C'mon, let's have an adventure!" Peter crowed into the air, his trademark grin taking up residence on his lips.
"Okay… let's just stay away from the Pirates…"
"Where's the fun in that?" Peter chuckled, shooting himself a few feet higher I the air, his hands connected to Wendy's so she would come with him.
"What fun is there in going, they almost killed you?" She exclaimed, remembering many other times she had tried to talk him out of stupid things.
"Almost." He repeated, winking and pulling them further into the air.
"I don't want you to get hurt Peter, I- I love you…"