Between Sleep And Wake

Wendy And Peter

What was there to do when one was tied up? What could help pass time?

Nothing.

Wendy was forced to listen to Dorothy speak barely without pause. She seemed very keen on avoiding silence, which was aggravating. It astounded Wendy that Dorothy didn't seem at all perturbed by keeping someone prisoner this way.

"I know you think that Peter is bad, but he isn't! He cares about you. He told me so. He said you liked books. Do you want me to read you one? Peter has a big collection of them! He reads too now. He said he began to read because of you!" Dorothy exclaimed. "Have you ever read the novel Journey to the Centre of the Earth?"

"No," Wendy replied.

"Would you like me to read it to you?" Dorothy asked, eyebrows raised.

"I wouldn't. I would rather read it myself. I could if you untie me." Wendy forced herself to smile.

"I already told you I can't do that."

Wendy took a deep breath. Yes, she needed to get Dorothy on her side, but how? If she had no way of helping Dorothy remember how long she'd been here, there was no way of determining the length of time it would take to reverse the brainwashing. 

The door of the hut then screeched open and Peter walked inside, in his possession an obviously dead, bloody boar and a bow with a bag of arrows over his shoulder. The bow itself looked like it was constructed of dense wood.

Wendy couldn't stop herself from instinctively letting out a scream at the sight of a slaughtered animal. Aghast and disgusted, she shut her eyes.

"Don't be afraid, Wendy. It's dead," she heard Peter say.

She opened her eyes, tears pouring down her cheeks. Her entire face and chest felt like they were on fire, flames of anxiety and fear smouldering within her. "I know it's dead!"

"I caught it for you. For dinner," he said. He dropped the bow and arrows on the ground by the entrance, and carefully placed the boar down. His skin and clothes, or lack thereof, were horribly bloodied.

She glared up at him. "You caught it for me? Did I ask you to do that? I'm not eating it!" she cried.

"You'll starve if you don't." His voice sounded ominously calm.

"Why does that concern you?" she asked. "You've let me starve before. I begged you for food and you said, Pretend! Pretend I've laid food on the table. You made me God knows how long without anything to eat! Now you've decided to worry about it? It does not undo how horrible you were to me! To those poor Lost Boys who looked up to you!"

"I realized what I did was wrong. I should not have done that. I'm sorry, Wendy. You were right about me. I was just a boy. I didn't know better," he spoke as he strolled closer to her. "But I am not a boy anymore. I've grown up."

"Being an adult does not necessarily mean one is grown up," Wendy argued, failing at recollecting herself. The tears continued to fall. "You may look like a man, but you're still a stupid, reckless, selfish boy." She knew she needed to control her emotions lest Peter attack her, but she couldn't. Her anger was percolating.

A part of her was also starting to think he might not physically cause her any harm. Might not kill her the way she'd first assumed. He was too obsessed with her. He'd even said he'd learned to read for her. He'd watched over her. What good would she be to him if she were dead? All that effort would be wasted.

"Why are you this intent on disagreeing with everything I say?" Peter questioned, lowering himself so his face was level with hers.

"Because everything you say is idiotic and full of nothing besides silly delusions of grandeur!" she yelled.

His eyes started to water at her reaction. "I understand that you hate me, but I promise I will make it up to you. You'll see, Wendy." He turned to look at Dorothy, who'd been oddly silent. "Can you help me cook this boar?"

Dorothy grinned, staring at Wendy. "Of course! I'd be happy to!"

For the next while Wendy had to sit and wait. And as she did, her mind began to wonder to the first time she'd been here. How utterly fascinated she was. Like any twelve year old, Wendy's behaviour had been driven mainly by young foolishness. She did not think anything of a boy who watched her at night while she slept. Who didn't have a normal upbringing. No parents to discipline him. No rules.

"Oh, Peter! You built this yourself?" she had asked, her blue eyes wide as she looked around his home. "How lovely!"

"I didn't build it. I found it and made it better. It has been my home since I was an infant," he'd explained, giving her a prideful smile.

He let her take a gander with him around the hut. And she had been awestruck, walking in an environment that was entirely different than the one she was brought up in. She was drawn to the simplicity of it.

The first night she was there she remembered staring out the window, the dark sky devoid of clouds yet full of large glistening stars. Neverland's moon was a colossal diamond constructed of ice and particles and dust, decking the surface in an array of cold colours -- blue, purple, green. She thought it was so beautiful and magical.

"I can stay here all night," she said, a grin on her face.

"You can," Peter whispered, standing right behind her. He leaned so close his lips were millimetres away from her ear, his breath tickling her skin. "You can stay here forever and watch the stars with me. You won't ever have to go back. Wouldn't you like that, Wendy?"

Wendy thought about it. What would it be like to live in Neverland forever? She didn't think about the jeopardy she was potentially putting herself or her brothers in. She didn't think that residing alongside a boy she didn't know at all was a silly idea.

"What about my parents?" she'd asked him, turning to stare into those trusting eyes.

"We can visit your parents if you miss them," he said, "but you won't. You will forget about them."

How could she possibly forget her own parents? She loved them. She couldn't ever forget them.

Yet, she had allowed herself to forget. She began to lose memory of her mother and father; she had trouble recalling their names. And even when she'd asked her brothers, they'd stared at her quizzically.

That would not happen this time. She was sure of that.