“Come back with me to Neverland,” Peter insisted. “You’ll never be happy here; they’ll never believe you. Even this doctor will try to explain this all away; you know he will, Wendy.”
Wendy gazed into Peter’s emerald eyes. They were the color of Neverland’s trees and grass. They were the color of boyhood and freedom. In that instant, somewhat uncomfortably, Wendy realized that Peter had become a singularly attractive young man.
She swallowed and told herself not to follow through with the furious blush that she could feel rising to her cheeks. “No, Peter,” she shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Not again. How can you do this to me again?” With strength she didn’t know she possessed, Wendy jerked away from him.
She began pacing back and forth in front of the fire place, her hands gesturing wildly, the bottle of pills rattling like a snake. “Five years go by and I hear not a word from you and now you’re back and you want to whisk me off to Neverland like nothing happened?” She whirled to point a finger at him, her gaze narrowing dangerously. “You’re the reason they all think I’m crazy!”
She looked down at the pills in her hand and then back up at him. “You’re the reason they gave me these in the first place!” In an act that was the culmination and release of all of the pent-up fury that had been building within her over the past five years, Wendy threw the bottle of pills at Peter Pan.
Though it would have been easy for him to do so, Peter did not dodge the bottle. Instead, he looked down and simply watched as it neared. He had to admit that Wendy had excellent aim. It was going to hit him square in the chest, between the zippers of his leather jacket, and with quite a bit of force.
To everyone’s surprise, however, including Peter’s, the bottle began to shimmer as it arced through the air. Suddenly, it slowed, tipping end over end like a leisurely floating football. It flashed in and out of existence a few times, and then, inches from impacting with Peter’s chest, the bottle completely disappeared with a strange suction-like popping sound.
“Wow. . . ” whispered Michael.
“What happened?” asked John, eyes wide.
“I don’t know,” Peter answered, honestly.
Wendy threw up her hands in frustration. “Well, you really didn’t like those pills, did you, Peter?”
Peter looked back up at Wendy and shrugged.
Wendy blew out a sigh and ran a hand through her long brown hair. It shimmered enticingly around her face and Peter watched the firelight play against the long, silken strands.
“I wonder which one of you is real,” she muttered then, glancing from where the pills had disappeared to Peter’s handsome face.
Then Peter’s jaw set with determination. “Wendy, please,” he moved toward her again. “Think about it, will you? You don’t belong here.” He shook his head and gestured to the house around them, but Wendy knew that he was really gesturing at the entire world beyond. “They won’t even let you write, for crying out loud! You’re the story teller! How can you possibly stay here where they won’t let you tell your stories?”
Wendy was silent for a moment. She regarded Peter with an unreadable expression. He waited for her to answer. But when she didn’t, he swallowed audibly and straightened. Wendy cocked her head to one side as if contemplating something.
Then she walked over to the coat rack beside the door. “Stories, Peter,” she began softly as she pulled down her wool overcoat, “are dangerous sometimes. One can get lost in them.” She turned to face him as she slid her arms into each sleeve. “And never find their way out again.”
“Where are you going?” Asked John.
“Out.”
“Where?” Asked Peter.
“None of your business,” Wendy answered, grasping the knob of the front door.
Something dangerous flashed in Peter’s green eyes and he rushed forward. “It is too my business,” he said as he grabbed Wendy’s arm by the wrist and opened the door himself. “And I told you, we don’t have time for this!” He pulled her after him onto the front porch and then whirled to face her, pulling her close and lowering his head so that his words hissed across her lips. “You’re coming to Neverland,” he told her through clenched teeth, “because you belong there, with me, and I want to go home!”
With that, Peter Pan pushed off of the front porch and took to the dark skies. Wendy screamed as she was lifted from the ground along with him. Her shoulder wrenched painfully. Fear clouded her vision, turning it a grayish red. She tried to call his name, but her voice was hoarse with terror. “Peter,” she croaked. “Peter, please!”