Captain Chapter II

II

The party dies down a bit before midnight. As usual, Peter has a knack for timing, no matter the situation.

Epiphany is long gone, off to chatter with her pixie friends, and I am wing-womanless.

Discreetly, I shuffle to the frayed ends of the lingering crowd. I plan to make my way to the boat docks, sure I can nab a small vessel that nobody is sure to miss until morning. Whatever will do the job. My head is already filling with abstract fantasies about what tonight will bring. I’m lost in the possibilities. I feel a girlish part of me wonder if Peter and I will be together after tonight. The surprise could be anything, I mean… I float through mental images of stolen kisses and meaningful embraces. Imagine!

A hand grabs my arm as I’m floating away, grounding me. Suddenly, my rationality is taking over once again.

I whirl around, cheeks heating at the foolishness of my thoughts. Get a hold of yourself, Kat.

“Katherine!”

I gasp, really taking in who is standing before me. A boy, scrawny and surely no older than sixteen is exclaiming my name. He wears dirty brown trousers and a loose, flowing white shirt that is unbuttoned at the neck, exposing his chest. His normally cropped blond hair is getting long and unruly, like he hasn’t had the proper time to cut it. It curls around his ears, framing his glacier blue eyes in a hint of mischief that’s almost ironic. This boy is the biggest rule-follower I know.

“Esme!” I run into his arms, embracing him. “I could hardly believe my eyes. You’re really back?”

“Hopefully for a good, long time,” he says in my ear. He releases me. “I missed you.”

I smile at him, taking in his appearance for the thousandth time. He looks like he just got out of a fist-fight. I notice the small tears in his shirt and the dirt smeared across his cheeks. His knuckles are bruised and bleeding. At least it looks like he won.

“I missed you too, so much.” However, I can’t imagine Esme winning in any sort of fight. He’s too scrawny, too… in love with books? I feel a snag of worry in my mind. “Are you okay?” I ask.

“I’m fine.” He says it with all the ease of dismissing a nagging fly.

I frown.

“Listen, Kat…” Esme trails off, voice lowering to almost a whisper. “Things have gotten worse, over by the bay. The people there… they’re barbarians. They rushed us, Kat. It was so bad, even the bookies like me had to get pushed to the front lines.”

“What?” I stare at him, in his rugged, exhausted uniform. “You could’ve died, Smee.” My childhood nickname for him slips out uncensored.

Esme winces, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I didn't. Everything’s fine now. Don’t worry.”

I feel something bubbling up inside my chest. Either sadness, fear, or, maybe, anger. I’m not sure which. Some dangerous mixture of the three, perhaps. Esme, he was one of the closest friends I had. The thought of losing him…

“Who authorized that decision?” I ask crisply. “To let the inexperienced onto the front lines of a battlefield?”

“Kat, our weapons and techniques are far more advanced than theirs, so I don’t think it really-”

“It matters, Esme.” I take a breath to gather myself. “Someone sent my best friend off to get slaughtered.” I almost choke on the word. I whisper, “I could have lost you.”

Esme fidgets with the frayed sleeves on his shirt. “You didn’t, Katherine. I’m right here.” His cool blue eyes radiate peace, but I know better. He’s just trying to calm me down.

But I don’t want to calm down.

“I’ll talk to them, make sure it never happens again, okay? I promise.” I try to control the waver in my voice. A small part of me acknowledges that I’m most likely overreacting. Esme has a point, after all. He is here, alive, with hardly a scratch on him. That’s enough, right?

No, of course it isn’t, because no matter what I do, the clanging phrase of what if clamors around in my head like the tumbling of pots and pans.

Esme sighs to himself, but the edges around his eyes soften. “I’ll tell you who, but I don’t want to ruin your big night.”

I blink. “What?”

“Rumor has it that you’re meeting Peter tonight.”

I search his eyes for some glimmer of playfulness, suddenly self-conscious. He’s going to tease me. I just know it. I brace myself, sorting through his expression. I don’t find anything, to my amazement. His eyes are hard and clear, yet I can’t see anything through them. “Yes, I am,” I finally say.

He gives me a small smile, but his words are solemn. “After your little get together, I’ll tell you.” He pauses. “If you really want me to.”

I heave a small breath. “Fine, deal.” I grin at him.

Esme smiles back. “I’ll take you over there. It’s dark, and no one really knows what happens on the waters at night, you know.” His eyebrows are raised in all-knowing mysteriousness.

I laugh. “You would know. Crescentia has been talking about you…”

His cheeks flush in the sparse light at the mention of his mermaid fling last summer. “Let’s not,” he says evenly. He gently takes my elbow and guides me toward the docks, into the night.

***

“You don’t think he’ll mind, do you?” I ask as I cautiously stand in our boat, careful not to tip the small thing over.

The waters are calm tonight, still but for a few reflecting ripples we send out on our journey. Our vessel is nothing but a small sailboat, with thin white sheets for sails. I have memories of Esme and the other Lost Boys building it together when I was little, imagining a great ship fit for a king. Luckily the sea is so gentle, because this is more like a peasant’s dinghy. A small lantern is hooked onto each side, casting light and shadows all around us. Everything is quiet but for the chirping of insects and rustling leaves. Our boat scrapes against the sandy shores of Skull Rock, almost sending me tumbling backward into Esme’s arms.

He reaches out a hand to steady me, standing as well. “He said midnight. Maybe we should wait?”

I turn to face him. His tone is overly cautious. “I can’t be more than ten minutes early, tops,” I say.

We step out of the boat and Esme tethers it to the shore with a small pike and rope so it doesn’t float away. “You know Peter,” he says, voice tight with an emotion I can’t quite read. His back is turned to me as he loops the rope around the pike. “He’s… sensitive about these things. Time, I mean.” He turns to face me. “You do know better than me, though,” he adds with a half smile. Despite the smile, he is stoic, his face carefully molded into a mask of calm.

Suspicion nags me, but I blame Esme’s weird attitude on the barbarians he just came back from fighting. The side-effects of war, perhaps. I nod. “You’re right.” I turn to look at the rock behind me. The eyes and gaping mouth of the skull are windows into the cave within. A dim, flickering of torchlight shines from its depths. Suddenly, I can’t keep the smile off my face.

“Looks like he’s already here,” announces Esme heavily.

I pull him into a quick hug. “Thanks for the ride, Smee.”

He stiffens at his nickname, then slowly relaxes. “Of course.” He places a hand on my shoulder, eyes soft and wide. “Be careful in there, okay?” His voice is ridden with worry. “I’ll stay outside to wait for you.”

A tiny part of me bristles with the supervision, but I shove the complaints down. It doesn’t matter. He’s just trying to be a good friend. I thank him and then briskly walk toward the skull’s looming mouth, veins buzzing with excitement.

A surprise from Peter could be anything. Peter was ruler over Neverland. He had access to magic like no one else on the entire island. The possibilities were endless.

My imagination is hyperactive with the mystery of it all, like a child reading a new book. I’m so preoccupied that I almost walk right into the congregation of pixies hovering just beside the cave’s opening. They titter to themselves in quiet excitement as they peer secretly into the opening, wings fluttering softly. They’re just a big, multi-hued cloud of rumors, no doubt. If Epiphany’s personality is anything like the others, I imagine they are here to gossip about Peter and I.

I shake my head, sidestepping the cloud. Then, I step into the opening.

And I stop.

***

The shouting registers first, like the cave’s mouth had been swallowing up all sound before. Curses spat in rage, bellows of uncontrollable anger. Then, I hear the groaning. Shadows dance around the cavern, the sparse torches hanging on the wall flickering in time. The sand beneath my feet turns ice cold. There are two dim figures in the cavern, other than myself. The shouting one, seemingly hovering nearly three feet off the ground. The groaning one, strung up against the wall like a prisoner.

The figure of rage reels back and slams his fist into the prisoner’s jaw with a sickening crack.

I gasp, then stumble backward, tripping on the hem of my dress.

The hovering figure turns around, fists clenched at his sides.

I nearly choke on the air I’m breathing. “P-Peter?” I stammer.

As Peter comes into the light I can see his features, twisted and marred as the anger festers inside of him, turning him rotten inside and out.

I feel sick.

Peter’s face softens, as if he just recognized who I was. He lands on the ground lightly before me, shaking his head ruefully. The torchlight gives his hair a violent red glow. “I told you midnight.” His voice is velvet soft, deadly as a cobra gently coiled around its prey.

He gestures at the shadows, and I can do nothing but watch as they seethe forward. They are one ever-shifting mass of darkness, boiling over itself, roiling forward like the tipped contents of a cauldron. It unwinds, ropes of shadow separating and slithering across the ground like oily snakes. Gripping cold freezes me as individual strands wrap around my wrists and ankles, dragging me to my feet and pinning me against the stone wall.

I don’t recognize this man before me. Only one thought can be heard distinctly in my tumultuous mind. This isn’t my Peter. This is not the Peter I know.

***

Although my heart is slamming against my ribcage I concentrate enough to speak. “Peter,” I say, wavering. “What’s going on?”

He steps closer to me, so close I can feel his breath on my lips. A small smile alights on his mouth like he enjoys my torment. “Business matters,” he tells me. “You wouldn’t understand. It takes steel to maintain control.”

I steal a glance at the guy pinned to the wall like I am, arms and legs spread out so far apart that it couldn’t be comfortable. I can barely make out his features, but I see enough. Two purpling black eyes, blood trickling from his nose. Already, his jaw is swollen and distorted, a bright bluish purple where Peter’s fist had connected. His head hangs down, but he is watching us. He’s attentive, eyes gleaming. Defeated, but not quite.

I look away. “There are other ways to maintain control, Peter.” Shockingly enough, I don’t feel scared. At least, not at the moment. I feel a bolster of courage swell within me as I make eye contact with Peter again. “You’ve saved everyone on this island. The Lost Boys. The pixies.” I pause. “Even me. You don’t need more steel. You have enough strength, compassion, kindness to make up for that. Don’t you see it?”

Instead of answering, Peter raises a slow hand to cup my cheek. He strokes my jaw, like I’m an animal in submission, trails his hands down my neck, hips, and stops there. He holds me like I’m his and I can feel my blood boil. “Who is he, Peter?” I ask tightly. “Who have you been hurting, and what have they done to deserve it?”

“There are punishments for those who disobey, Katherine,” he replies in a low voice. “There always have been. Just because you’ve never had to be the one giving out these consequences doesn’t mean they don’t exist.” He breathes a brusque laugh. “You’ve been so sheltered.”

I can’t bare to have him touch me anymore. Where his hands trailed, my skin now crawls in disgust. “Get your hands off of me,” I snap.

Peter chuckles and reluctantly takes a step back. “There’s the Kat I know. Maybe you can watch the rest of this play out and shed that ridiculous naivete you’re so fond of, yeah?”

I growl, ready to spew fiery curses at his face, but he spins on his heel and makes his way toward the prisoner. I can’t even struggle in my shadow restraints, their vices seem to be draining my energy, seeping me in cold.

“This,” Peter begins, gripping the prisoner’s swollen jaw tightly, “is supposed to be Neverland’s pride and salvation. A soldier from the Lost Boys. Drafted, of course. The first ever soldier drafted to refuse service.” In a blink, he slaps the guy so hard his head snaps back against the cavern walls. The sound echoes around us.

The prisoner spits blood in Peter’s face.

Peter laughs cruelly, wiping his cheek. “You’ll pay for that,” he hisses. He wraps his hands around the prisoner’s throat and begins to squeeze.

I shift in my restraints, the most struggling I can do with my sapped energy. “No,” I gasp, the shadows burning cold against my skin. “Stop!”

The prisoner turns red, then purple, as he struggles to breathe. His eyes pop and his veins begin to burst from his skin. All the while Peter’s face is transfixed in a smirk, like this is all some joke to him.

I swallow bile. It’s disgusting. It’s inhumane. I want to scream. He’s going to kill him. I need to scream. I force my lungs to work properly. I can’t just stand by anymore. I can’t. “Peter! Don’t do this!” I shout. Spots dance across my vision, waltzing with the shadows across the cavern floor. I clench my fists against the pain from the shadow restraints. I wouldn’t be surprised if I had frostbite after all this.

The prisoner goes limp. Peter lets go, shaking out his hands. “Oh, relax, Katherine!” He strides toward me, annoyed. “He’s only unconscious. You thought I’d kill him, didn’t you? Please, even I know better than to waste my resources. I’m not quite done with him yet.”

I feel a cold hand on my cheek, but I refuse to meet his eyes. “I’m not a complete monster,” Peter says.

“Well, you’re definitely not the Peter I knew, either,” I snarl.

“It’s about time you knew, I suppose,” he says languidly. “You are going to be ruling by my side, very soon. There will be a coronation, a grand one, just for you.” His grin is sharp as a dagger. “You will know power, Katherine. You will be my equal in every way. The people of Neverland will bow at your feet.”

“I will never rule by your side,” I growl. “I do not support you.”

“I support you. I know what’s best for you.” He pauses, as if remembering something. “As long as you live in my land, you will do as I tell you.”

Scorching rage pours through my veins, spreading like wildfire, and I seethe. But of course, deep, deep down I feel it. The pain. Excruciating pain. I am nothing but a pawn in Peter’s little game. I am nothing to him. I can’t help it as tear after tear traces down my cheek.

“Don’t fret, Kat,” Peter says. “It’s hard at first. I understand. Your conscience will rip you apart from the inside out.” His voice is soft, and I’m shocked to see he is genuine. “But after a while, it is so worth it. You get used to it. It’s what you’re entitled to, and there’s nothing wrong with that. The lashes, the kills. It is my right to punish the traitors.”

I am numb now, but I can feel my mind whirring. I can’t stay here. I have to get out. My heart pounds against my chest like a caged animal. I can’t imagine staying in Neverland while a monster roams the land. I can’t imagine living in fear for the rest of my life. “Then I’ll leave,” I blurt out.

Peter freezes. His shoulders tense and suddenly he’s a living statue.

“I don’t belong here anyway. Somewhere out there, I have a home. I’ll live there instead.”

“You have no way of leaving,” he says, as if to convince himself.

My mind is whirring, frantically trying to find a way to leave. The mere thought of staying here feels like a hand clenched around my throat. “I’ve… heard the legends.”

Peter scoffs. “Who believes the legends anymore?”

“You and I both know that the impossible is likely.”

He shudders a breath. “Leave, Katherine. They won’t accept you. You belong here, with me.”

“Anywhere is better than with you.”

Peter slams a fist into the wall, mere inches from my head. I flinch. The shadows slither away from my wrists and ankles, taking all of my energy with it. I fall to the floor, scraping up my hands and elbows. He looms above me, sneering, so I scramble to my feet. My legs shake, like they can barely hold their own weight.

“Leave,” whispers Peter.

I freeze, mind spinning. I really should have thought this through. What did the legend say, anyway? Something important. A sacrifice. But I had nothing left to lose.

“Leave, now!” he screamed. He drew his dagger with deadly precision. “I can be merciful.” In a single motion, Peter swung the dagger.

And cut off my hand.