Pan: The Untold Adventure

Chapter6: The Sacred Answer

Neither Wendy nor John attended school the next morning. For a long time, they sat in the common room with the company of the rain's sonata. Aunt Millicent was in the kitchen making lunch & tea. John was reading one of his father's banking books, determined to follow in his footsteps. But the young man would become distracted, weary, constantly glancing toward the stairway. Wendy was practicing knitting in the chair beside the window. She watched droplets of water trickle & stream down the glass, a constant, repetitive race. She imagined flowing across cool glass, trickling away; just a tiny droplet. She listened, tilting her ear toward the stairway. Every tiny cough that sounded, Wendy would tremble with worry. Mrs. Darling left early that morning with Mr. Darling to run a few errands. She asked her children to stay out as much as possible so Michael could rest & so the fever wouldn' t spread to them, but Wendy felt guilt grip her shoulders tightly. She wanted to comfort her brother, but what comfort could she possibly give? He was almost incoherent from what she understood. Still, she wanted nothing more than to be near him.

"W-Wendy?"

John had broken the silent reverie in her mind. It shocked her, because they hadn't spoke much in the last few years.

"Yes?"

"About last night.. I'm sorry I wasn't there to escort you. I just-" John stopped to remove his glasses & wipe the back of his hand across his eyes.

"John, it's alright. Hush, now," she said, firmly keeping the tears at bay. As she wrapped her arms around him, she whispered, "It's alright."

They embraced for a while. Wendy had forgotten how warm her brother was, or maybe she had slowly frozen into a state of change. He was taller now; his shoulders had broadened. Thunder boomed distantly & the rain grew in sound. The tea Aunt Millicent was brewing caused the teapot to shriek, but the cough from upstairs cut through all the noise. After a few more moments of hugging John, Wendy spoke up.

"I'm going to see Michael."

"What? But Wendy, Mother said-"

"I know what Mother said."

& with that, she ventured up the flight of stairs quietly.

"Wendy!" John whispered, beckoning her to stay put. But she was stubborn & wanted to see her baby brother. Each step, she passed by photographs, grainy & not too focused. She passed by paintings her mother requested of them; they were lovely oil paints. The quality was so lifelike, but each look closer, one could see the paints & how they melded together to create a bigger picture. That's often how Wendy thought of her memories, made up of colors & shapes, all making a picture of organized chaos. That's how she felt as of late. Organized chaos.

She soon found herself in front of the old door, dark & heavy. With small hesitation, she twisted the brass knob & opened the door. She stepped into the old nursery, the only thing she really wanted to name the room. This place not only belonged to John & Michael, but Wendy had been a part of this room most of her life. It would never be just another bedroom to her.

John made his appearance as soon as Wendy sat in the chair next to Michael's bed.

"Wendy."

She turned her head at the sound of her name.

"We shouldn't wake him."

"I'm not waking him, John." While it was true Wendy wanted nothing more than to wake him, she held back. She didn't touch him, or attempt to hold his hand. She doubted he would wake up, anyway.

The outline of his body beneath the thick quilt looked small & frail. He was heavily shielded from any cold that could attempt to permeate his skin, which appeared pale & thin on his face. The veins that lay just under the surface of were blue, almost violet. He was very still & quiet. The only sound that made a dent in the silence around them were Michael's small wheezes & his coughs.