“Now that you’ve got your wings back, John, it’s time to go.” Peter turned and dove through the air, looking for all the world like a vampire on the prowl over the city.
John blinked after him until Tinkerbell pushed off from his shoulder and spun around his head in circles, motioning for him to follow. John smiled, downed the remainder of the magic wine in the bottle, and tossed the bottle at the cliff rocks with all of his might. As it shattered into a thousand shards of glass, John laughed again, dove after Peter, and let loose a howl of sheer delight.
Wherever they were going, it didn’t matter. He was warm and he was flying and the world had never – ever – been so beautiful.
“Where are we going, Peter?” John called across the wind.
From just ahead and to the right, Peter shot him a mischievous glance and smiled. “You’ll see!”
Then Peter dove once more, cutting through the night sky like a knife through butter. John tried his best to keep up, but it wasn’t until Peter had already landed once more and was waiting patiently that John managed to re-join him, landing somewhat awkwardly beside Pan on yet another overlook.
He looked at Peter questioningly, but Peter simply pointed toward a house down below. John looked at the house. It was dark, but smoke curled lazily from the chimney.
It seemed familiar somehow, though he’d never seen it from this view before. And then it struck him. “That’s Dr. Coffer’s house – Wendy’s psychiatrist.”
“So I’m told,” Peter replied darkly. His gaze was steady on the house, his eyes narrowed. “Did you bring it, Tink?” he then asked, calling to the fairy over his shoulder, even as his eyes remained on the house below.
Tinkerbell didn’t reply, but John turned to look upward and could just make out the shimmer of a dull light drawing nearer. Beside the tiny shimmering light was a dark, hulking form. The two of them slowly dropped toward an empty space close by. John unconsciously took a step back as the huge dark form hit the ground with a thump and a whoosh of dust. Tinkerbell flew through the dust to land on Peter’s shoulder, smiling proudly.
When the dust settled a few seconds later, John could see that it was Peter’s motorcycle that had landed a few feet away.
“Your motorbike? Whatever for?” John asked, more than a little confused.
“It’s time to make things right,” Peter told him as he turned and brushed past him, pulling on his gloves once more. “You turned your back on Neverland, John.” His tone lowered. “And on your sister.” He got on the bike. “And that man down there made it all possible.” Peter leaned forward and turned the bike on. The engine roared to life.
John frowned. “What are you going to do?” He called over the raucous.
“Like I said, Johnny Boy,” Peter called back. “I’m gonna make things right.”
At that, Tinkerbell swirled madly around the bike, dropping pixie dust over every inch of its black surface. The motorcycle began to glow with the same sparkling light that had been in the bottle of wine.
Peter flashed a grin and then twisted the throttle and let off the clutch. The bike rocketed forward. John leapt out of the way as the motorcycle sped past him in a shimmering blur and then sailed off of the cliff.
*****
Michael Darling sighed in the darkness of his sister’s room. Then he pushed away from the wall where he had been leaning and approached Wendy’s bed. The stillness about her was unnerving. He didn’t like it. She’d been lying like this, on her back, above the covers, since just after his parents had left earlier that afternoon.
She had told him that she was just tired.
Michael noticed that she had been tired ever since Dr. Coffer had prescribed those little white pills.
She had told Michael that she was going to lay down; that when she was rested in a little while, she would play a game with him. He’d been hoping for a story, of course. But she hadn’t mentioned the stories – or Neverland – in some time now. Not since those pills. So, he’d gotten the Scrabble box out instead. She was terribly good at words and he knew she would win in no time at all. Still, he had chosen the game on purpose because he was hoping that playing with words would cheer Wendy up.
But that had been more than an hour ago. And now. . . . Well, now he wasn’t so sure she was going to wake up in time to play with him. Now things didn’t feel right. In fact, they felt very wrong, indeed.
“Wendy?” Michael called softly in the darkness. He slowly moved closer to the bed. Wendy didn’t stir. The sound of her gentle breathing was barely perceptible.
“Wendy, will you wake up?” he whispered. When she still did not move, he quietly added, “Please?”