“Sometimes the story is different entirely. Sometimes the creature wasn’t a monster, but a sadness, cursed with the ability to see the future. The creature saw that one day it would do a terrible thing, an unforgiveable thing, so it tore itself in two to prevent this fate from ever happening. It buried all the dark parts of itself deep underground and hid the rest of itself in a body it stole. It hid so well, it didn’t even know itself anymore, and it forgot it had ever been anything other than what it chose to become.”
Tiger Lily shivers slightly, like a cold breeze passing over her skin. Wendy feels it too, but at the same time she still feels a strange heat on her skin, like something breathing against her, and sweat prickles her skin. The light dims in Tiger Lily’s eyes, leaving them pained. Wendy has seen the same expression in Michael’s eyes, a simultaneous longing to remember and to forget.
“I don’t remember anything else.” Tiger Lily lifts her head and meets Wendy’s gaze.
“It’s all r—” Wendy starts, and her words lodge in her throat, thorn-like and tearing. She remembers. She shouldn’t remember, can’t possibly remember, but she does. A terrible creature, separated from itself, locking away all its darkness, like a skin shed. No, not a skin—a shadow.
Wendy puts her hands to her head, digging trimmed-short nails into her scalp beneath the weight of her hair as if she could pull the information out by force. The door in her mind rattles. The wood creaks, a weight leaning on it from the other side. She listens. Something breathes, a terrible wheezing sound like bellows.
Wendy draws a ragged breath, doubling over at the waist. Her head aches, a simultaneous weight at the door, demanding to be released, and her own fear pressed heavy against it from the opposite side, holding it shut. Tiger Lily touches Wendy’s shoulder, concern in her voice lost in the roar of blood filling Wendy’s ears. Wendy shakes her head, the barest of motions, and even that sends pain spiking through her skull. There’s more pain waiting for her if she opens the door, but she can’t keep it closed.
Whatever lies on the other side might be the missing piece that helps her protect Jane, that lets her stop Peter once and for all. She straightens, as much as the sloped ceiling allows, and offers Tiger Lily a strained smile.
“It’s all right.” But her voice is as husked as Tiger Lily’s.
Inside St. Bernadette’s, there was no lock she and Mary couldn’t open, no space barred to them within the walls. There were consequences for their sneaking and stealing, but they never let those consequences stop them. They never let fear stop them. And they never let something as simple as a door stand in their way.
The truth has been hidden from Wendy for years, but suddenly it seems so simple. This lock, this door, is like any other. With everything that’s been taken away from her, everything she’s fought to reclaim, she will not be denied her own memories. She will steal this piece of herself back. Peter has held it for too long.
She feels Tiger Lily watching her, but Wendy focuses her attention on the drawing on the cave wall, the creature of horns and claws. This time, when the door rises to block her, when instinct tells her to draw back, she throws her weight against it instead. She isn’t the child who left Neverland, or the frightened girl waiting for Peter to save her. She’s grown; she’s faced terrors Peter could never imagine. She is strong enough to face this too.
Wendy throws the full force of her will against the door. The wood shudders. It cracks. It splinters, unable to hold her back, and Wendy tumbles through.
NEVERLAND – 27 YEARS AGO
“Come on, Wendy, keep up!” Peter pulls her so fast along the forest path it’s like flying.
“Why won’t you tell me where we’re going?” Wendy’s voice is breathless as she struggles to keep from falling. She wants to be annoyed with Peter, but her excitement betrays her. He’s taking her somewhere special, somewhere just for her, where John and Michael don’t get to go. It almost makes up for not being able to join in the war.
“I told you. It’s a secret.” Peter glances over his shoulder, flashing a grin.
Shadows flicker over his skin as they run. Feathers, falling leaves. They change the shape of his face, making it into the muzzle of a fox, the beak of a bird. Wendy’s breath catches on wonder, then the underbrush grows denser, and she has to concentrate on her feet again so she doesn’t trip.
“Up here.” Peter lets go of her hand, jumping to grab a twist of root protruding from the side of a cliff there before them so suddenly it may well have dropped out of the sky.
He looks back at her once, then without waiting, he leaps again—nimble as a mountain goat—catching stunted trees and hidden handholds. Wendy watches him climb. The cliff face looks very high.
“Come on!” Instead of flying, Peter shows off a new skill, his feet always landing exactly where he means them to, his hands never failing to find a hold.
“Wait for me.” Wendy reaches for a thick, jutting branch, testing it against her weight.
Climbing trees is one thing, but this is something else altogether. She cranes her neck, but she can’t see Peter anymore. She focuses on the cliff, pulling herself up and
