But ifsheknew how it all went, certainlyhedid, too.
“Mr. Smee.” Hook turned to her, lifting his chin, a faint smile that promised nothing good on his face. “Pick.”
This was definitely nothing good. “Pick what?”
He gestured at the line of tied-up teenagers. “Who dies first, of course!”
“Um.” She stared at him blankly. “I’m sorry. What?”
“You really must get your hearing checked. Come here, Mr. Smee.” He chuckled as if it were all just a harmless misunderstanding. “So I needn’t shout.” He waved her over with his hook. “Miss Wendy will not leap overboard in your absence, I am sure.”
Letting out a quiet groan, she let go of Sidney’s hand and walked up to Hook, feeling like she was walking up to the school principal after showing up late to detention.
“My dear Mr. Smee.” He placed the agonizingly sharp point of his hook against the underside of her chin, lifting it so that she was forced to make eye contact with him. “My boon companion.” He lowered his voice to a deep, dusky growl as he pressed his hook just a little harder against her skin, causing her to wince in pain. “You really must get with the program.”
When he finally relented, lowering the hook from her chin, she was shaking.
“Y—yeah. S—sorry.” It wasn’t a vague threat. It was a very clear one.Start playing along. Or else.“They’re not real.” Squeezing her eyes shut, she muttered the words to herself. “They’re just—just extras in a movie. They’re not real. NPCs in a video game.”
“Whatever you say, dear.” He patted her on the shoulder and walked away. “Pick, Mr. Smee.”
Eyes still shut, she pointed at random toward where she knew the crowd of Lost Boys was tied up. She didn’t want to know.
“Hah! What an evil choice. Let them watch the youngest die first.” Hook laughed. “You always had a cruel streak in you, Mr. Smee.”
“What?”She whirled. Sure enough, she had pointed at achild.The kid had to be no more than seven. He was cowering, wide-eyed, staring at her with a doe-eyedhow could youlook that made her want to crumble.
But she’d put money down that no matter where she’d pointed, that’d be who she would have wound up pointing at. Because she might have picked the cup, but he was the one controlling where the ball was.
She shut her eyes again. It didn’t matter. The kid wasn’t real.Just a character on a page. Just a personality written down in a novel by a dead man a century prior. If that. She wasn’t even sure. Maybe she’d just made him up on the spot—she had no clue.
The pirates were shouting and laughing, jeering at the child. When someone grabbed her by the upper arm and yanked her forward, forcing her to open her eyes, she wasn’t shocked to see it was Hook.
He pulled her forward and spun her to watch as the pirates marched the small child toward the plank.
The boy was crying. Weeping. “I want my mommy?—”
“I want my mommy!”One of the pirates cried back at him in a high pitched voice, cackling in laughter.
“Stop this.” She glared up at Hook. “Let him go. Stop this. Please.”
“Get used to this, dear. It’s nothing compared to what’s waiting for you.” He settled his hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Believe it or not, I’m doing this to be kind to you.”
That earned him a laugh. “Fuck you.”
“I said ‘or not.’” He sighed. “Would you prefer I dropped you into a war between men and orcs with no guide, no warning, no explanation of how any of this worked?” He gestured with his hook to the scene in front of them. “No breaking character? Let you watch the slaughter of entire villages as we setourarmies forth through the countryside? You’re new to this game of villainy. I am not. I’m trying to ease you into this. I am trying my best to be mindful of your emotions.”
She stared at the young boy as one of the pirates walked onto the plank behind him. He had nowhere to go. Nowhere to escape to. If Peter Pan didn’t save him now, there was no chance of survival.
The pirate drew his sword from his belt.
Peter Pan would save him.
Peter Panhadto save him.
That was how these stories worked.
Wasn’t it?
