Chapter 7: What Child Is This?

SMASH!

CRASH!

PUNCH!

"Get him sonnnn! Dock and sock him sonny boy!"

Wendy ducked. A chair splintered over her head. A man followed. Shaking his head and cracking his neck, the man charged back into the fight. Punches were exchanged. Noses were broken. The onlookers cheered. Then the men passed a round of beers and hooted at the sports channel.

A bar. The Benbow Inn was a bar.

"I said OUT!"

Wendy jumped. A woman was marching through the crowd. She dragged a man three times her size by the ear. Wendy scuttled from the doorway as the woman approached.

"Out of my inn! OUT! I have been sleep-deprived, robbed, and cheated all in the past three days. DO NOT PUSH ME! So when I say HANDS OFF – " the woman flung open the door and threw the man out. "— I mean HANDS OFF!"

Someone grabbed her wrist as the door slammed.

"Come on." The boy said, appearing at her side. Bowing his head, he pulled Wendy through the bar. Quickly he maneuvered, elbowing past the drunks.

"Ignore them." he said, leading Wendy behind the counter. "Head down."

Wendy obeyed. Silently, she followed the boy up narrow stairs. They passed two doors before stopping at the top.

"In." said the boy, opening the door.

Wendy paused, apprehensive. Rolling his eyes, the boy pulled her inside.

It was a small room, cut in half by a slanted ceiling, and very dark. Nautical charts lined the walls and star charts plastered the ceiling. Watery light bled over a mattress without a frame, and a heap of model planes and spaceships littered the floor. Wendy knelt. The models were broken. Smashed.

"This is…your room?" she asked, turning a broken wing over her hands. Her heart was pattering. She knew it was dangerous to enter a stranger's house and spoke just to keep calm. "Do you live here? Is this your home? Do your parents work here? Are you – "

The boy knelt. Taking the broken model, he stood and snapped the wing in half.

Wendy flinched. Remembering the attack, she took a small step back.

The boy dropped the broken wing on the bed. "Gotta name?"

Wendy stiffened. "Yes." she said, a little tartly. "I do."

The boy remained stoic. "What is it?"

Wendy gripped her skirt, trying to be brave. "What's yours?"

The boy stepped forward. "I asked first."

"You pushed me in the snow."

"You punched me in the eye."

"You were crying!"

"Yeah?" the boy stepped right into her. Wendy bit her lip. Though they were similar ages, he was easily a head taller.

Angrily, he spoke. "Well you weren't."

Wendy cringed. Guilt clenched inside her as she looked away from the boy.

"Wendy." she answered. "Wendy Moria Angela Darling."

The boy raised an eyebrow. "Long."

Wendy bristled. "No." she informed him. "It's the perfect length."

He glared. Glaring back, she crossed her arms. "What is your name?"

"Jim."

Wendy waited. "Jim…?" she prompted. "Jim what else?"

"That's it."

It was Wendy's turn to raise a brow. "That can't be it. You have to have a proper name."

The boy frowned. He rounded her like a predator. "It's Jim!"

Turning with him Wendy stood on her tiptoes, not to be subdued. "Gentlemen have proper names!"

"I told you ITS JIM!"

"James Pleiades Hawkins!"

Wendy enjoyed a fleeting triumphant moment before a woman opened the door. As Jim side stepped in front of her, Wendy recognized the woman that had thrown out the customer downstairs. Without the bar-room chaos, she suddenly noticed the resemblance between the woman and Jim.

It's his mother Wendy realized as the woman entered.

"James Pleiades Hawkins!" Mrs. Hawkins scolded, pointing a finger. "What in the world is going on up here? Honey you know that too much movement disrupts the television frequen…oh."

Mrs. Hawkins stopped short. Leaning around Jim, she stared at the little girl cowering behind him.

"Jim. Who is this?"

Jim glanced back. "Wen." he said.

Wendy fumed. "It's Wendy." she corrected. She stood beside Jim, just to make sure he heard. "Wendy Moria Ang – "

"—It's Wen." Jim glared. "Her name is Wen."

` "Jim." Mrs. Hawkins frowned disprovingly at her son. After casting a weary glance down the stairs, she turned to Wendy.

"Wendy what?"

"Wendy Mor – "

"—Just the last name, Honey." Mrs. Hawkins said, kindly but very much in the fashion of her son. Again she glanced down the stairs. Customers were roaring. Crowds were bickering. Orders were waiting. "Wendy what?"

Demurely, Wendy lowered her head. "Darling."

Mrs. Hawkins stopped. Slowly she shut the door. "Wendy Darling? You're…Mary's…?"

"— Mom."

Jim took Wendy's hand. Warningly he shook his head at his mother.

Unnoticed, Mrs. Hawkins stared at Wendy as if she'd seen a ghost. "I'm sorry…sorry, Honey. I…I heard…Mary…Mary was…"

Mrs. Hawkins stopped, suddenly aware of Wendy's downcast eyes and Jim's death glare. Sympathetically she rubbed her chest. "…have you two eaten? I think there's some –"

"No." Squeezing Wendy's hand, Jim pushed past his mother. "We're going out back. Come on Wen."