Between Sleep And Wake

Dorothy

She woke up bound to an old wooden chair.

And tied by ropes digging into her skin. She tried to struggle free from the restraints, but they pushed against her flesh more, and brought on an unpleasant pain that stung.

It took Wendy a moment to recall what happened. Peter had roughly smacked her in the face with a book, the impact knocking her unconscious. And her face still hurt; the aches radiated from her eyes and forehead and tore through her skull.

She was no longer standing by the window of her bedroom, yet her new surroundings felt eerily familiar. It was the inside of a hut that had walls made of thatch and lumber. The furniture was all haphazardly constructed. A table was located beside her and a bed rested in the far corner. The open window showed the night; but several gleaming lanterns were placed in various places within the hut.

The young woman sitting across from her, however, was a stranger.

"You're finally awake." The accent was foreign. American, most likely. She had large brown doe-eyes and long, wavy dark hair tied up with a pale blue ribbon. Her countenance was guileless.

"Who are you?" Wendy asked.

The woman smiled at her. "I'm Dorothy Gale. Peter has told me a lot about you."

"Why did you tie me up?" Wendy demanded.

"I didn't tie you up. Peter did. And he told me specifically not to untie you," Dorothy replied. The grin was still imprinted on her lips.

Wendy had no patience for this, or this strange woman, but she was too helpless to do anything. The ropes seemed to be getting tighter and tighter the more she tried to resist them, cutting off her circulation and now replacing the pain with numbness.

Did Peter really think she'd change her mind and willingly stay here after he held her prisoner like this? "Where is he?" she questioned, her voice angry and loud.

"He went to get some water," Dorothy responded. "He's kind that way." She had a dreamy look on her face, her eyes unfocused and staring up at nothing.

Wendy couldn't help herself from feeling resentment towards Dorothy, who kept her tied up for Peter's sake. The chair she was sitting on was also poorly constructed and the seat itself uncomfortably hard. Every time she moved, it made an ugly rickety sound. "Peter isn't here," she pointed out to Dorothy. "Untie me and let me go."

"I'm sorry. I can't do that. Peter will get mad at me!"

"What does it matter if he's angry with you or not?" Wendy asked.

"I don't want him to be mad at me."

This was useless. Her resentment was suddenly replaced with pity. Dorothy wasn't just smitten by Peter, she was also severely brainwashed by his boyish charm. Just a girl who wanted to devote every waking second to an unhinged man. It was difficult for Wendy to stay angry. She, too, had been that way once. The spell was smooth to cast and deadly for the victim.

"Don't you think Peter is handsome? I'm happy he's let me live with him here! I do all the cleaning and the cooking!" Dorothy said.

Wendy blinked. "I would rather not comment," she replied.

"If you think I'll be jealous if you say he's handsome, don't worry. I won't be!"

Wendy wasn't going to address the silly question, so she disregarded it. "How long have you been living here?"

"Oh . . . I don't know! I've lost track of time!"

Narrowing her eyes, Wendy said, "How interesting." She remembered how time blurred during her own imprisonment in this awful place. Hours. Months. Years. It all seemed to stand still while back home everything moved forward. She hadn't known how long she'd been gone until she'd escaped back to her parents, because in Neverland, always and never were interchangeable words. "And he allows you to use real ingredients?"

Dorothy looked confused. "Yes, why wouldn't he?"

"I remember when I was in Neverland . . . we only pretended to eat. Peter loved to pretend, even when we were ravenous . . . very, very famished."

"That doesn't sound like the Peter I know!" Dorothy gushed.

She obviously didn't know Peter very well if she believed he wouldn't easily let a helpless child starve. Wendy had gone days without any tangible meals; as a twelve year old this had been difficult to endure. Peter would tell her to pretend there was food on the table. She had found it foolish even then. Pretending could not stop one from dying of malnourishment.

"Now, I have baked some bread for you!" Dorothy said, jumping up from her chair and disappearing from view, returning with a plate moment later.

There was nothing on it. No trace of bread whatsoever. Not even a few small crumbs.

"Doesn't this look great?" Dorothy asked, seating herself down across from Wendy.

Wendy kept shifting her eyes between the plate and Dorothy's content expression. "It . . . looks delicious." She strained a smile.

"You must be very hungry. I wouldn't mind if you ate it all!"

"I couldn't. There wouldn't be enough for the baker herself. That would selfish."

"You're very sweet. It's no wonder Peter likes you!"

This time, her smile was meek. "Lucky me," she said, right before she heard what sounded like a ramshackle door opening. It made Dorothy gasp with odd delight, her big brown eyes glistening.

Wendy looked over her shoulder to see Peter step inside, a flask in hand.

"Hello, Wendy," he said, that recognized phrase sending chills through her body. He strolled around until he was standing in front of her, then got down on his knees. "I brought you water."

"Pretend water?" she asked.

He frowned at her. "No. Why would I give you pretend water?"

"You seem to have an affinity for pretend."

He removed the cap. "This is real water. Aren't you thirsty?"

She hesitated before responding. Truthfully, she was parched, but she refused to let him feed her water. "No."

"I'll leave this here if you change your mind."

"How am I to drink from a flask if my hands are tied?"

"Dorothy will help you with that."

Dorothy grinned broadly. "I would love to help!"

"I think I would rather you untie me," Wendy said, her heart beginning to beat rapidly again.

"If I do that, you would run away," Peter said. "I don't want you to leave. This is the only way I can keep you here." He stood back on his bare feet. "Dorothy, keep watching her."

"Where are you--" Dorothy began, but Peter intercepted. 

"I'll be back," he said told Dorothy. He then glanced at Wendy with seemingly apologetic look. "I'm sorry."

Wendy didn't care how apologetic he was. She was going to get out of here.

She needed to turn Dorothy against him.