Lost Boys of London [EN]

Chapter 5 - The Hunt

"And when they seem to be growing up,
which is against the rules,
Peter thins them out."

-Peter Pan, JM Barrie - 

Clutching at the collar of Constable Starkey's uniform, Hook's hand sprang forward in rage.
"Where did you get it?!" he snarled, almost shaking the man. "WHO GAVE IT TO YOU?!" His violet-blue eyes were full of cold flames that could have made even the devil tremble. Starkey pointed nervously among the gawkers- at a young boy, no older than twelve or thirteen.

Hook set his eyes on him like a hawk on its prey. The fellow seemed frozen in shock for a second as their glances met, then he wheeled around. The body of the lawman began to move in a jolt.
"Hold him!" his voice thundered, and the broad-shouldered man slammed himself between the people like a wedge. Anyone who should have quickly jumped to the side was roughly pushed aside.

The damn rat fled and ran as fast as he could. His jacket fluttered wildly behind him like a flag. Hook's breathing was ragged, pushing grey clouds into the air. His footsteps drummed in the stillness of the night. Puddles and mud smacked under his boots while walls and masonry blurred into shades on the edge of his vision.

The boy rushed through a narrow alley and ran past a pile of rubbish and junk, which he grabbed indiscriminately and hastily tugged at. Boxes, wood, and broken porcelain fell into the mud and waste, clattering and clanging loudly.
Hook was barely able to jump over it. From the momentum of the sprint, he almost fell and staggered, then caught himself again and made up ground. The captain reached out his fingers to the young lad and briefly scratched the rough fabric of the dirty coat.

Abruptly, the boy turned left. Hook skidded two steps on the damp ground, pushed himself off the wall, and sprinted into the alley. His lungs were burning, and every breath was as hot as fire, while his skin was wet with mist and sweat.
Then they passed another pile of stacked clutter. This time it was Hook who grabbed the first thing he could get his hands on and hurled it forward with all his strength.
With a dull glassy sound, the glass bottle hit the boy's legs, bringing him down in a jolt. He hit the ground hard, groaned, and lay there momentarily. Those were the seconds the captain had needed.
Hook just managed to suppress a delighted laugh as his fingers dug roughly into the rugged jacket and dragged the lad up into the air. "Up you go, chap!" he growled, pushing him back against a cold, dirty wall. "Where is he?" thundered Hook without wasting any more time.

"I don't know!" the boy stammered, trying to free himself from his grip.

Hook, however, smashed him against the wall so hard that the boy's head smacked dully and painfully against the masonry behind him.
"WHERE. IS. HE?" repeated the captain, slapping the lad across the face. "Talk, boy! Or I'll tell them you fell pretty hard and many times..." Hook was not known for his sensitivity towards the scum of society. Should God have mercy on them - but for he and the executioner would not. "WHERE is Pan?!"

"I have no idea!" the boy repeated. When Hook gripped him tighter again, he whimpered and raised his hands. "But SHE knows!"

"Who is SHE?!" hissed Captain Hook.

"Tinkerbell." He pressed out breathlessly, blood dripping from his chin. "She knows where Pan is hiding."