Gwen smiled and nodded along, delighted to listen as her young friend regaled her with tales of elementary recesses, school friends, and weekend trips to the ocean with her parents. Barbara either did not know or did not care that she had been adopted by a family after half a century or more away from her own. She gushed about every aspect of her pre-adolescent life. She tried to ask questions too, but she seemed confused on the mechanics of Gwen's life, existence, and previous friendship with her. Neverland had ebbed away for her, out of sight and into a barely believable past. She had forgotten that paradise, and now rejoiced in the joys of family, growth, and learning which Neverland had held her back from.
After a while, the therapist returned and escorted Bard out. Gwen missed her company as soon as she stepped out. The cell became unbearably quiet in the absence of any conversation.
Gwen felt ready to go home. She knew how much was waiting for her, and at last she was beginning to look forward to it. When the therapist checked in on her next, she informed the doctor of this decision, but also gave her sole caveat: she would not leave without seeing Peter. The Anomalous Activity officers remained resolute—that was not possible.
Gwen waited another day, and another. She did not mind passing time for the sake of loyalty to a friend. She would not abandon Peter in this research facility. Piper had grown bitter and unpleasant in these circumstances, and Peter was every bit as contrary. She didn't know what would become of Peter, but she would not leave without him. Or, if Peter's own temper eliminated that option, she would at least not leave without saying goodbye.
Then, on the eighth day, they sent in Miss Sweet.
Chapter 42
Gwen paced her room in an idle attempt to fend off the stir-crazy feeling beginning to settle in her. When her cell door opened, neither a lawyer, therapist, black coat, nor white coat greeted her. A dark-haired woman in a simple green dress entered. Her friendly expression seemed natural on her face—something Gwen could not say for any of the other adults who had come in to speak with her. For a moment, Gwen wondered if this woman knew where she was.
“Hello,” she announced. “You must be Gwendolyn—I'm Alison Sweet.”
Miss Sweet did not smile, yet her eyes held no negativity. Gwen could tell Alison Sweet was a happy person. She seemed a tad nervous, and stood clutching her tiny purse even as it hung securely on her shoulder.
“Call me Gwen,” she told the woman.
Miss Sweet nodded. “Call me Alison.”
Gwen looked at her a moment more—the woman hardly looked thirty, and carried herself with an air that seemed to belong to an even younger woman. “You're not one of them, are you?” Gwen asked.
Miss Sweet cracked a smile. “No—I'm not with the department.” She looked around the drab cell and explained. “They've been trying to get me on board with their shenanigans for years… I've never had any dealings with magic, though, so they couldn't twist my arm about it.”
Gwen sat down on the edge of her bed and crossed her legs. “How come you know about magic if you haven't had any dealings with it?”
Miss Sweet's smile strengthened. “Because I believe,” she answered, “A little too much, perhaps, in all the stories I'm told, and all their happy endings.”
While Gwen was wary of any adult in this secret research facility, Miss Sweet did not give her the shivers that all the other joy-sterile adults did. She could believe this woman still had ties to her childhood, and all the tiny euphorias that entailed. She did not seem like an enemy; she did not even seem like an antagonist.
“Why are you here, Alison?”
“It's a bit of a long story,” she answered. “I'm going to go tell it to Peter though, and I would like you to come with me, if you'd be willing. I have an awful lot to tell him, and I think it might help if he had a friend beside him when he heard it. They've processed everyone else and sent them home—it's just the two of you left in here now.”
“I can see Peter?” Gwen asked.
“Yes, if you come with me.”
Gwen had been pleading for over a week to see Peter, she had refused to sign their papers until she saw Peter, and all to no avail. Who was this woman, she wondered, who could waltz in and take her to him, who had never touched magic, yet all but radiated it?
She agreed to go with Alison, and saw the respect this young woman commanded of the older adults in the facility. No one objected to her leading Gwen out of her cell, and through the row of cells in the facility's basement. As they approached a cell on the far end, Gwen heard pounding and thumping, as if someone was repeatedly jumping and falling hard on the ground. Alison placed her key card in the slot, and wrenched open the heavy door as soon as it unlocked.
“Peter!” Gwen cried, rushing to him.
He sat on the floor, against the far concrete wall, with his legs hunched up until his head in his hands. Gwen had never seen him look so defeated. He lifted his head to face her as she hurried over, and she saw the tears striping his face. She dropped down beside him and pulled him into a hug. He didn't hug her back. He didn't move at all, but his head slumped down and rested against her shoulder.
“I can't do it anymore,” Peter croaked, still crying. His voice cracked as he told her, “I can't fly.”
Gwen pulled him tighter. All she could do was hold him; she had nothing to say.
Miss Sweet didn't interrupt their silence.
