Lost in the Never Woods(9)

Everyone was staring at her. The nurses, the doctors, the officers, her mom.

“WENDY!”

Her head spun. All other sound became muffled and garbled, except for his piercing yells.

This felt like a nightmare. Her chest heaved up and down and her hands curled into fists. She walked toward the curtained bed.

“Wendy.” This time it was her mother, lightly placing a hand on her shoulder, but Wendy shrugged it off. She passed nurses who openly stared at her and moved out of her way.

“WENDY!”

She was close enough now to reach out and grab the cotton drape. She hesitated, noticing how hard her hand was shaking. Wendy yanked it back.

Nurses darted around. Men in blue scrubs on either side of the boy tried to grab hold of his arms. His legs thrashed under the waffle-knit blanket. There was a doctor with a needle and a small glass bottle.

But then everything stopped and it was Wendy looking at him, and him looking back. She could see now that his hair was a dark auburn, glints of red showing even in the dull hospital light. The color of late-autumn leaves. He was dressed in a blue hospital gown. They’d apparently cut him out of what he had been wearing.

“Wendy?” He wasn’t yelling anymore. His head tipped to the side as he squinted at her with those brilliant blue eyes.

Wendy couldn’t find her voice. She had no idea what to say. Her mouth was open, but nothing came out.

A wide smile cut across his face, revealing a small chip in his front tooth, and deep dimples. Those starry eyes of his lit up—the ones she’d never been able to capture in her dozens of drawings. But that wasn’t possible …

“I found you,” he said triumphantly. He continued to struggle against the two men holding him back, the smile never leaving his face. That look made heat bloom in Wendy’s cheeks and sent her stomach flipping.

The doctor stuck the needle into his arm and depressed the plunger.

“No, don’t!” The words flew from her mouth, but it was too late. The boy flinched but couldn’t pull away. Almost immediately, those brilliant eyes went glassy.

His head swayed, and he sank back into the hospital bed. “I knew I’d find you.” His speech was slurred and his eyes began to wander around the room in a daze, but he was so happy—so relieved.

Wendy slipped past a nurse and stood next to him. “Who are you?” she asked, gripping the bed rail.

The boy frowned and his eyebrows pulled upward, trying to stay awake. “You forgot about me?” His eyes swept back and forth in search of her face.

Wendy’s heart raced. She didn’t know what to do, and she was acutely aware of everyone watching. She had so many questions, but the sedative was quickly pulling him under. “What’s your name?” she asked urgently.

His drowsy eyes finally found hers. “Peter.” He blinked slowly and his head dropped back onto the pillows. He let out a small, drunk-sounding laugh. “You’re so old…” His eyes slid shut and he went still, except for the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Peter.

The movement around her started again. People were asking her questions, but she couldn’t hear them. She was swept up by people in scrubs, gently pulled away from Peter’s side. Wendy suddenly felt like she was going to vomit. Saliva pooled in her mouth as the room swayed around her.

You forgot about me?

Wendy buried her face in her hands. Her heart pounded. She could still smell the soil and wet grass of his skin. She squeezed her eyes shut and images of trees and twilight between leaves flashed through her vision.

Hands rubbed her back and guided her into a seat where she put her head between her knees, clasped her hands behind her sweaty neck, and pressed her forearms against her ears.

How did he know her? Why had he been looking for her? And who was he? He couldn’t be Peter Pan, her Peter. He wasn’t real, he was just a made-up story. Wasn’t he?

You forgot about me?

There was so much that she had forgotten—huge gaps of time just missing from her memory. What if he was one of them? What if he knew what happened?

Suddenly, the thought of him waking up terrified her.

All of the bodies around her backed away and she felt the light pressure of what could only be her mother’s touch on the crown of her head. Wendy looked up at her mom from between her arms.

“I’m going to take you home, okay?” The nurses behind Mrs. Darling were still staring, but Mrs. Darling was looking at Wendy’s hair, looping a finger around a lock of it and gently pulling it through.

Wendy nodded.

“Mrs. Darling.” Smith was still there. “We have more questions we need to ask your daughter.” The suspicion he had shown earlier was now replaced with a look of wary apprehension as he peered down at Wendy.

Mrs. Darling crossed her arms. “None of that will be happening tonight. My daughter has been through quite enough already, but we’ll be happy to speak with you tomorrow.”

Officer Cecco stood back and spoke quickly into his radio.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but—”

Wendy stopped listening.

She leaned her cheek against her knee and looked back at Peter’s bed.

The spilled tray had been picked up, and she could just make out one of his hands, the wrist bound in a padded leather cuff. They’d shackled him to the bed.

She remembered what those cuffs had felt like around her own wrists after they found her in the woods on her thirteenth birthday.