Daughter of Neverland

Chapter 12

We are forcefully taken away, kicking and screaming in protest, unwilling to leave without a fight.

Well . . . I do most of the kicking, satisfied only after my captor cries out in pain and hands me off to another who I kick till he passes me to another.

Pan is furiously hurling insults and curses at all the men present, but his main target is Father. The venom in his words is palpable. It reflects his intense anger and resentment towards all the men.

Blood falls off of him from his head to his bare feet. It looks like half a nightmare come true. In fairness, I too am covered in blood but not nearly as much, plus my clothes still remain fully intact.

My current strategy is to kick the shins of my current captor until they bleed. Then he passes me to the next and I do it again.

Soon, they will have no choice but to give me to the last man, Pan's captor. At the moment of their switching, Pan and I will seize the opportunity to make our escape. It'll work, it has to work. I am sure of it. I just have to hope Pan's on the same page.

"How are they still fighting us?!" Groans the man who I've placed to be Kidd as I kick him hard.

"They are teenagers. It's in their blood to fight adults." Says a man in a blue in white striped shirt and a red beanie. Mr. Smee. Father's dearest friend and a man who used to be like an uncle to me. "I do wish we could harm them."

"Why not?" Says Jones, "What if we simply leave another cut on their skins."

He raises his dagger to my Pan's forehead.

"I object." Crap! Why'd I just say that?! The man turns to look at me.

"I second the objection." No. Why is he trying to help me? If we make it out of this Pan is gonna wish he died.

"Zip it you two." My current captor, Teach, tightens his grip around my waist and I swear I hear a pop.

"Easy there. If we so much as leave a scratch on them Hook will hang us." Says Smee.

"Yes, he will." I back him up.

"Can we at least harm the boy? I know hurting the captain's daughter is a death sentence but the boy—"

"Is your captain's greatest enemy." says Pan with a smile, "Hurting me is like hurting her."

Jones sets me against a tree on a dry patch of earth and binds my ankles together. I roll my eyes. Now my escape just became harder. Pan is six feet away from me leaning against a different tree also on dry ground.

"You can fight me if you give me back my weapon." I have a new plan and I just need my blades back, "Come on. It would be a fair fight."

"Ari. Be quiet." Pan warns.

"Please." I beg, "I've always wanted to fight one of my father's least favorite friends."

"We are not his least favorite." Read and Davis say at the same time. They both bare their teeth and narrow their blue eyes.

"Then why are you babysitting instead of destroying the island?" I need to keep them talking while I cut the rope.

The men's expressions turn blank as they contemplate my words, devoid of emotion. They understand the validity of my argument. They are merely the individuals Father no longer requires. I silently urge them to ponder a bit longer while I work to free the remaining binds on my wrist. As the rope falls to the ground, a surge of triumph courses through me. Yes!

"Why don't you talk it out over there?" I nod my head towards a faraway tree beside a tent, "Otherwise I might tell my father what you've said and you'll find yourselves hanging by dawn."

The men scurry off into the tent without even a glance in my direction. Idiots. Did they really believe my threat? I was just bluffing. Then again if I have that much power over them . . . maybe I should use it to my advantage.

I lean forward, feeling the rough texture of the rope as I carefully undo the loosely done binds on my ankles. With each tug, I sense a growing anticipation as steps one, two, and three of my plan are completed. Glancing over at Pan, I notice the determination in his eyes as he too manages to free himself from his binds. With a sense of cautious excitement, I begin to inch my way over to him, each movement bringing me closer to our shared goal.

"I had a plan, Ari."

"You might have but mine was already in action."

A soft chuckle escapes him as he skillfully loosens the final piece of rope that had bound his ankles together. With a sense of urgency, I quickly rise to my feet and retrieve both our weapons. Two swords and two daggers, four ways to kill. Though the blood from the mark Father left on Pan has stopped he needs something to cover the wound or it is sure to get infected. I snatch a coat and shirt, carelessly discarded by the pirates.

"For you." I hand Pan his weapons and the clothes.

He replaces his weapons and slips on the clothing, "Is this a part of your plan?"

"Of course."

"You are terribly smart for a girl." He runs his fingers through his hair.

"You've forgotten what year it is."

I laugh, and in response, he gives me a perplexed look, as if I've just sprouted three heads. He calls me odd before reaching out to take my hand in his. As he holds my hand, his thumb begins to create meandering patterns on the back of my hand. I wonder what the reason is for his unexpected gesture —Why does it feel intimate? Like there's a hidden meaning that he wants me to decipher. It's as if he keeps forgetting that we are supposed to be enemies. Admittedly, it's not by choice but by force, yet still . . . There's a loud clatter, followed by angry shouts echoing through the air.

"They've escaped!"

"Catch them!"

"Don't move an inch." That's a very American phrase.

"Oh, no."

This is not how I planned on things going. The atmosphere crackles with tension and I feel my grip tighten on Pan's hand. Confusion and self-doubt swirl within me and I question my own actions. Why did I just do that? What was wrong with me? I don't want to give him the wrong message.

Why is my heart so conflicted?

I reluctantly pull my hand away. I shouldn't be encouraging his uncharacteristic behavior. Despite my inner turmoil, an inexplicable longing to reach for his hand again tugs at my senses. I have to resist. He is the embodiment of evil, a true villain, while I remain steadfastly on the side of good. We do mix.

"Is this a part of your plan, Ari?" He asks oddly calm.

"No," the men charge at us and panic courses through my veins, "Run!"