Page 108 of Lost in the Never Woods

“What?” Wendy’s father was the first to break the silence, his attention bouncing between Wendy and his friend. His face scrunched up, sharp lines of confusion digging into his brow.

“Are you sure?” Detective James asked carefully, stony and serious. Detective Rowan silently slipped behind Mr. Davies. Wendy nodded, her fingers twisting into the hem of her shirt. “How do you know that, Wendy?”

Her hand found the acorn tied around her neck. “I remembered.” The gunshots echoing through the snowy woods. Her brothers crumpling to the ground. Splotches of red on white snow. The glint of the rifle. Mr. Davies’s signature red plaid. They were seared into her memory now, not soon to be forgotten. Probably never. A new set of nightmares to relive over and over.

Wendy wished Peter were by her side.

“She’s telling the truth,” Mr. Davies almost moaned, dropping his hands from his face. His eyebrows gathered in, his mouth twisted and miserable. “It was me.” His eyes darted nervously among Mr. Darling, Wendy, and Detective James.

Wendy saw Detective James’s hand go to his waist. Her father didn’t move a muscle.

Mr. Davies swallowed hard. “I did it—it-it was an accident,” he stammered. “I was hunting out of season—I had been drinking—I thought they were deer!” He spoke so fast Wendy could barely keep up. Mr. Davies buried his hands in his hair. “I panicked! I got a shovel from my truck and I—I—” He let out a groan like a wounded animal. “I wanted to confess,” he said pleadingly to Mr. Darling. Wendy’s father continued to stare. Deep red blotches bloomed on his cheeks. “But I had my two little boys at home, and my wife—”

Wendy felt no sympathy for Mr. Davies. She wasn’t fooled by his words. He had thought only of himself. By not coming clean, he’d let her family suffer for years. Because he kept his secret to save his own skin, she and her parents had gone through years of mourning with no closure. He hadn’t just taken John and Michael, he’d tortured her family. He’d let it happen. He’d watched as they’d borne the weight of losing John and Michael, and fell apart under it.

Saliva flooded Wendy’s mouth like she was about to vomit.

Detective James stepped forward. “Did you kidnap Wendy and the rest of those kids?” he asked. His eyes were sharp, his expression severe.

“No! No, that wasn’t me!” Mr. Davies said. Panic rose steadily in his voice. “I never laid a hand on Wendy or those kids! When she went missing, I didn’t know what to think! I started second guessing myself. I thought maybe I had killed her, too, but I hadn’t seen her body,” he tried to explain.

Wendy flinched. The way he said it was so cavalier.

“I thought the police would find them for sure, that it was just a matter of time before they figured out it was me—but they didn’t. Then those kids started going missing, and Joel and Matthew were taken—” Mr. Davies shook his head roughly. “I killed your sons, but I didn’t touch those kids, you have to believe me,” he begged Mr. Darling. Frantically, he turned to Wendy and took a step forward, his hands clasped together. “I’m so sorry, Wendy—I—”

Wendy recoiled.

Mr. Darling snapped out of his daze.

“Don’t you DARE come anywhere near my daughter!” Mr. Darling snarled, his lips pulling back, baring his teeth. “Youkilled my boys!” It was a guttural roar. Spittle collected at the corners of his mustache. “I swear to God, I’ll—”

Wendy’s father surged forward, nostrils flaring, the tendons in his neck corded. Mr. Davies shrank back and his arms shot up to shield himself. Around them, police officers converged on Mr. Davies and blocked her father’s path to him.

Wendy leapt forward and grabbed her dad’s arm, trying to pull him back. “Dad, don’t!”

Mr. Darling froze, but he didn’t take his eyes off the cowering man in front of him. His barrel chest heaved up and down. Wendy held on to her father as tightly as she could, but it was like a child holding back a charging bull. “He’s telling the truth. Mr. Davies didn’t take the kids,” Wendy said to Detective James.

“How do you know that?” Detective James asked, keeping his attention on Wendy’s dad and Mr. Davies.

“The man who took me was the same person who was keeping the kids hostage in the woods,” she said. She didn’t know why she was coming to the aid of Mr. Davies, but it was true: He hadn’t done it. Wendy was determined to be the bigger person. There was enough pain and hurt to go around for one night. “When I followed the man earlier tonight and saw his face, I remembered him,” she lied. “It was the same man that had taken me from the woods.”

“You know what the kidnapper looks like?” Detective James asked.

Wendy nodded.

He turned to Mr. Davies. “Donald Davies, turn around slowly and put your hands on your head,” he told him. Mr. Davies gave Wendy one last mournful look before he did as he was told. Detective Rowan put him in handcuffs and dragged him to one of the cop cars.

Wendy knew she would have to give a description of some man she would have to make up. Give more statements, answer more questions. But, right now, she just wanted to get out of the woods.

Mr. Darling didn’t move. He remained glaring at Mr. Davies’s retreating back.

“Dad,” Wendy said gently, tugging on his arm.

He turned to her, and Wendy could see pain, loss, and rage warring in his face. It glistened in his eyes.

“Can we go home now?” she asked in a small voice. “Please?”

Mr. Darling rubbed his nose on the back of his fist. With a stiff nod, he hooked his arm over her shoulders, holding her close to his side as they walked to his car down the road.