Pan: The Untold Adventure

Chapter7: A Shaky Foundation

It had not stopped raining. Actually, it had intensified, creating a womb of grey in place of the young lady's room. Wendy was curled in a chrysalis of quilts, recapping the evening in her mind. Her parents were less than pleased with their children, Wendy more so for being the oldest. Aunt Millicent had made no appearance from the kitchen after the Darling's arrived home. Mrs. Darling said no words of anger, of disapproval, said no words at all. Her taught expression of worry was all she gave her children. Mr. Darling, however, lectured Wendy & John for quite some time before the night reached it's impending climax.

"Wendy, you know Michael is ill. Very irresponsible. Beyond irresponsible! Do you think of no one but yourself?!"

"But, Father-"

"Your mother asked that you stay out, do you want to cause everyone else to fall ill? Or do you prefer to take a chance in causing Michael's illness to grow?!"

Mr. Darling's voice boomed throughout the house, echoing off any surface it came in contact with.

"It wasn't my intention, I only wanted-"

Her words were cut short. By the strike of seven on the grandfather clock, a hand struck her, violently tossing her to the cold floor beneath her. Like his thunderous voice resonating from room to room, so did the sound of his hand making a connection with her cheek.

"Selfish girl," Mr. Darling mumbled as he straightened the cuff of his suit.
Wendy did not move, she lied limp across the ground. Shock slowly turned to debased numbness, wracking to her very bones. She began to quiver.

"George!" Mary cried, making her way to Wendy.

"She will learn her place when speaking to a man, especially her very own father! How will we marry her with this sort of behavior? The last few days she's acted as a child, not a young woman!"

The words cut through Wendy like a jagged blade. Her eyes pooled with unwanted tears, blurring her sight of the cool brown of the hardwood floor. All the voices flowing around her became distant static. Wendy closed her eyes, trying with no avail to enter a state of calm, a state of repose, but she couldn't find it.

The floor... It's so cold. It feels good on my skin...

"Wendy?" Wendy heard her mother's voice, caressing her from the stillness that she unintentionally discovered. She opened her eyes to the chain around her neck splayed delicately on the floor before her. The acorn had small, bright green leaves surrounding the base where it hung from the thread of silver. Wendy locked her eyes onto the tiny little piece of the forgotten past.

"You lost consciousness, my dear," Mrs. Darling spoke softly, wiping the hair away from the girl's face. Wendy noted that her father must have left the scene, nowhere to be found near his physical shame. Fingertips distracted her, swirling lightly through warm waves of honey; Wendy caught a lump in her throat.

"Do not speak, my darling child." Mary's whisper softened Wendy's muscles & she shuddered, her breathing became more unsteady. Her eyes had not moved from the acorn, she was almost entranced by it, an artifact from a moment that time unfortunately left behind. Without warning, she felt arms begin to lift her. Turning her head, she found John, whose eyes were tracing the mark on her face. She saw anger build within him, an anger that was never before ignited.

"Can you stand?" John asked quietly, speaking each word with caution. Wendy was frozen, relying entirely on John's balance to keep her from falling. Saying nothing, Wendy began staring blankly forward. She didn't see the surroundings in her home. She didn't see her mother, or her brother. She didn't see the stairs, the paintings, the photos. She didn't see the large mahogany door that Michael resided behind. She didn't notice when her brother sat her on the toilet beside the large porcelain tub, nor did she notice when he left, his head hung with silent tears. She didn't notice her mother stripping her down & helping her step into the hot water. When she was fully submerged in the bath water did she finally fall into fits of heavy breathing, strange broken noises resembling a wounded animal. She coughed, struggling to catch air within her lungs. She screamed, she cried, she was merely a wound, gaping open for all to see. Wendy felt a cold heat rise, a feverish unforgiving. She gripped to the necklace, to the acorn, to the small piece of herself that had not yet succumbed to the torpid world of necessary pattern. Her mother stayed silent, allowing Wendy to just.. Feel. Mrs. Darling washed her hair, sponged her clean. Wendy finally found a steady breathing rhythm & her mother helped her stand. Mrs. Darling dried her, slipped her into a night gown & lead her to her bedroom.

"Wendy, do you need anything?"

She did not reply to her mother's question. Without reasoning, Wendy stepped languidly to her window.

I need it open. It has to be open.

There was no sound but the music of the rain, the barricade of wood & glass sliding upward. When it was in place, Wendy took a deep breath of the cold air, chilling the walls of her lungs, medicating her, healing her from the inside out. There was a sheen of mist that covered her face. A thought crossed her mind.

If I could fly... I could be freed of the cage. If I could fly..

She took a step back. Wendy felt weak, dizzy. She needed to lie down.

"Wendy, I am so sorry," Mrs. Darling wept while her daughter melted into her bedding. With a deliberate slowness, Mrs. Darling took her leave, & the doorknob clicked into place.

Wendy continued playing the night over & over & over, each replay causing tears to make themselves noticed. Her father had become rather brash with her after she convinced her brothers to run away with her. He never forgave her for leaving, & she never forgave him for coercing her into growing up.

"But why did I run away?" She cried, squeezing her eyes shut, internally begging for it all to stop, for this world to not crush her. She still didn't know why, it made no sense for her to leave. No understanding, no grace of unknown knowledge came, though she beckoned it come. This weight she carried within her had become too heavy; she could no longer keep her grip. She felt a feathery wind, then warm, wet hands pulling her wrists.

Blue eyes shot forth like bullets into green daggers.