His eyes twinkle. “See? Youdoknow me.”
“You aren’t real.”
“Harsh.” He smirks. “But then again, Neverland is full of things that aren’t real until they are.”
The beast roars again, and somehow—I don’t know how—butsomehow,I know it’s closer than it was before.
“When the moon reaches the top of the sky, everything here wakes up.” He steps closer. “And those things are hungry, Moira.” His gaze slides down my body, then back up. “And you’d make a tasty treat for any of them.”
I want to tell him he’s lying, or this is a dream, or maybe I’m dead and this is purgatory like that shitty TV show ‘Lost’, but when the monster screams its hungry cry through the night again, I step toward him.
“The cave is safe?” I ask.
“Perfectly. No pirates. No hungry beasts.” He smiles disarmingly, wrinkles gathering at the corners of his eyes, and offers his hand. “Come with us.”
“Come with us, Moira,” the other men at the top of the ridge echo his words.
I know I shouldn’t. I know I should run and scream for help or look for some safe harbor, but when I look back at the forest, I see glowing orbs. No, not orbs—eyes. Dozens of eyes, some slitted and shining in that ethereal way of predators.
There’s nowhere to run. I glance at the water again, at the ship that sits in the distance.
“Captain Hook can’t hurt you if you’re with me, Moira. You’ll be safe. Please come.” Peter moves closer, his body blocking the ocean breeze sweeping down the beach.
I turn back to him and make a decision. It’s my only choice. I take his hand.
“Good.” He grins, that boyish charm flowing off him like rain off a roof. “Let’s go.”
When my feet leave the ground, I scream high and loud. It carries, and I see the glowing orbs moving. A giant paw, the claws black and jagged, leaves the shadows of the jungle just as we fly over it.
“That was close.” Peter smiles over at me as we fly above the treetops.
I scream again and hold onto his arm, then try to wrap myself around him. “Stop!”
He puts his arm behind my back, letting me hang onto him like a monkey as we soar up toward those laughing stars and the crescent moon that watches it all with a disinterested eye. “Stop? You want to land in the forest? That’s a bad idea, Moira.”
“No.” I shake my head and twine my hands around his neck. “Don’t let go.”
“I wouldn’t.” He laughs, the rumble passing from his chest to mine. “We’re almost there. Don’t worry.”
I clench my eyes shut against the glorious view, because if I don’t, I know I’ll be sick. I’m flying. I’m wrapped around Peter Pan like a lover as we fly over Neverland. I need to wake up. I need to hear my alarm blare and get up to finish my creativewriting project. Instead, all I hear is the wind. All I smell is Peter’s earthy, woodsy scent as I cling to him.
“Not real, not real, not real.” I whisper the litany, doing my best to hang onto the fraying threads of my sanity. I can’t let them go, because if I do, I know what will happen. I’ll be locked up just likeher, left to waste away in an institution.
“It’s real, Moira.” He speaks softly, and I feel our bodies shift.
I peep out and see that we’re back in the grove of trees. “You said the forest isn’t safe.” I’m embarrassed to be holding onto him like this, but I can’t seem to pry my hands away. Fear has finally overcome disbelief.
“It isn’t.” He strides through the trees as if I weigh nothing. “But we’re home.” He heads right for the center tree.
“Where are we go—” My scream cuts off my question as he steps into the darkness. We fall straight down, and I wait for the impact, for the crunch of bones and implosion of organs.
Instead, I feel him walking again.
“Home. See?” He strides out of the cavern and down the hallway. Before I can even get my thoughts together, he deposits me at the kitchen table.
The other men crowd the kitchen, still pretending to make a meal as if they weren’t all standing on the beach only moments ago. My emotions roil and rise, fear warring with disbelief. Trapped in a cave with half a dozen strange men—not good. But they’ve done nothing to hurt me. At least not yet. If anything, they seem more concerned with their imaginary dinner than anything else. That shouldn’t be a relief, but it is. They aren’t chaining me to a wall or threatening me with hot pokers.
“Needs more salt.” One of them licks the end of a wooden spoon. “Definitely more salt.”
