The memories were so clear once, but now, when she needs them the most, she finds them dulled, slipping away the harder she tries to hold on. Voices raised in song ring in her head, paired with the musical tones of their names, sung to her from the water the first time she met them—Sea Bloom, Salt Rose, Coral Bramble.
In the lagoon’s depths, there are more skeletons. Dozens of them, some entangled, some alone, some seeming as though they simply dropped through the current as they swam. A gull screams, and Wendy jumps. The cut-out shape of the bird’s wings passes across the cloudless blue as she looks up, and she shudders to think what the curved tip of its beak has been feeding on.
Grief-fueled rage leaves her arms trembling, but she scoops up the first stone she can find and hurls it at the bird. The stone goes wide, arcing back into the water, breaking the still surface so wavelets lap the bones at her feet. A choked sob catches in Wendy’s throat as the bird glides on, oblivious.
She closes her eyes, breathing against the tightness in her chest. And now, when she no longer wants it, memory comes flooding back, conjuring the feel of fingers combing through her hair, the susurrus of gossip passing as flashing tails fan the water. The mermaids knew every inch of the secret underground tunnels lacing through the water beneath the island. They could cross it in a flash, carrying news from one shore to the other. There was a time when the birds were their allies, bringing scraps of news in a language Wendy couldn’t understand. Now Wendy imagines those tunnels clogged with more bones, death under her feet threaded through every part of the island.
It isn’t just the mermaids’ deaths; she selfishly mourns their knowledge, their news. She’s certain they could have told her where to find Jane.
She opens her eyes. The memory of a song hangs over the lagoon, the last note on a wind instrument, unplayed. Wendy brushes at her trousers ineffectively, only succeeding in smearing more mud on the fabric. She remembers sitting with Mary in the parlor window, planning alterations to the pattern, stitching everything by hand as Mary told Wendy her grand ideas for the bakery she would open one day. Another choked sound, half laughter, tasting of salt, and Wendy scrubs at her eyes.
What could kill so many, so quickly? And why didn’t Peter stop it?
She turns away from the water, irrationally angry at herself, at Peter, at the mermaids. She shouldn’t have delayed so long on the beach, and now she’s wasted more time. Neverland may not be big, but there are ever so many places for a clever boy to hide. On top of that, Peter could rearrange it all on a whim. Jane could be anywhere.
So, where next, then? The pirates or the Indians? Weariness and fear clamor inside her, and she pushes them both down. She’ll go inland, cut across the island toward the shipwreck. If she’d been thinking more clearly, she would have started there—the beach is the first place Peter brought her. Why wouldn’t he do the same for Jane?
She circles the lagoon, climbing up the other side of the caldera. There’s less joy in it this time. The rock still shapes itself for her grip, but her body aches from her earlier exertion and from the fall. She feels bruises forming, and on top of that, she isn’t a girl anymore. She’s too old to play queen-of-the-castle.
At the peak, Wendy pauses to push sweat-stuck hair from her face, scanning for the strange smoke she saw earlier. From this side of the lagoon, she can see over the tree tops. She’s about to start her descent, when all at once, a group of branches shiver with a violence that has nothing to do with the wind. The leaves ripple, marking the passage of something unseen. The motion jumps from tree to tree, bending them with an invisible weight.
Wendy’s pulse stutters. Whatever it is, it’s too big for a bird, or a squirrel, or even the little golden monkeys with white faces that Peter showed her how to look for on their hidden perches. It’s moving away from her, but that doesn’t stop the fear locking her in place.
Ghosts. The word comes unbidden. Neverland was never haunted before, but there was never death here either.
Another thought follows close on the first’s heels, closing like a fist around her heart. Not ghosts, monsters.
Running, with her hand in Peter’s hand, breathless and trying to keep up. I’ll show you a secret, Wendy, something I’ve never shown anyone.
There’s something terrible at the heart of the island. Something Peter showed her once. But when she reaches after it, it’s like a door slamming shut in her mind, so abruptly she stubs her fingers against it, leaving her blinking and dazed.
The shaking in the trees stops just as suddenly as it started. She was… There was something…
Wendy shakes her head, letting several heartbeats pass. Whatever it was can’t have been important. She scans the trees, trying to see what caused the motion, but there’s no sign of anything. The shaking doesn’t reoccur, but there’s no birdsong either. No gentle creak of branches in a regular wind.
Haunted. Neverland is haunted. The lagoon is full of skeletons in a place where nothing is supposed to die, and her daughter is out there somewhere. She has to find Jane. Wendy turns her back deliberately on the trees, and descends the rest of the way to the ground.
HIDE AND SEEK
All around her, boys sleep, their bellies full of more soup
