Lost Boy, Stolen Memories

Chapter 10

Erin's POV

There is one blissful moment, right when I wake up, when I think that the whole thing was a dream. But as I regain my senses that were dulled by sleep, I realize it was no such thing. My hands and feet are still bound together, though the gag and blindfold have been removed, so there's a start.

I realize that I'm on a ship. And I'm in the cabin. And that there is someone standing in the shadows, so that I can't make out his features.

I begin to say, "What the fu-" but the figure steps into the lamp light and I stop short.

Peter, my Peter, standing before me, smirking a smirk that I no longer find cute. All it is now is cruel. His eyes have lost any softness they had contained, they are now hard as steel. I had thought that his past might be bad, but that was nothing compared to what I'm seeing now.

"I-unh-wha-NO!" I try fruitlessly to form a coherant thought and I end up dissolving into hiccups and sobs. the more I try to stop the tears, more come flooding in. I've never been so worked up before in my life, not over anything. There is a yawning gap where my heart should be. I feel so sick. Before long I'm emptying the contents of my stomach on the ship's floor.

The whole time Peter just stands there, looking bemused, doing nothing to quench the flood of tears streaming down my face. Eventually I graduate to silent tears, my throat raw and my eyes puffy.

"If you're quite finished I'll explain a couple of things to you," Peter says coldly.

I try to give him an intimidating stare, but I probably only succeed in looking pitiful, considering the state I'm in.

"You see, Erin, fairy tales are anything but stories. And it doesn't help that in your world, they're all told wrong. Peter Pan isn't some nice little boy. He's me. I traded my son and my shadow for eternal youth and a place all of my own. I made an army of abandoned boys and turned them into savages. I'm evil, plain and simple," he tells me.

"You said you weren't going to kill me yet, why?"

"Because there's no fun in slaughtering someone without an audience," he answers immediately.

I look at him, trying not to show the shock I feel on my face, I croak out, "But- but you loved me."

He throws his head back and laughs darkly, "That wasn't me. That was a clueless, dumb little boy. I'm thousands of years old. I haven't loved anyone. Not even my own son. You think I'm capable a loving an insignificant girl like yourself?"

"I felt it, whenever we kissed. Don't act like you didn't feel it to," I say, more silent tears tumbling down my cheeks.

"Let me explain something to you," Peter says, "any curse, no matter how strong, can be broken by true loves kiss. My son put me under a curse to make me lose my memories. If I truly loved you, you would've broken it."

"I don't care," I say boldly, "that lost boy is in there somewhere. I know it."

All of a sudden Peter darts towards me, swiftly and nimbly, dagger in hand. He presses the blade against the skin on my neck, "That boy no longer exists. He is only a memory, and one I prefer to forget. How's that for irony?"

He releases me and heads for the door to exit.

"Wait," I call, and he pauses, but doesn't turn to face me, "where are you taking me?"

He sighs, and says, "Neverland, where else?"

"Why?"

Peter finally turns to meet my expectant gaze, "You know that pipe I have?"