Chapter 9 – New Arrivals
“Ship, I see a ship!” came Peter’s call from the lookout.
“I believe the proper term is ‘Ship ho’, Mr. Pan,” Hook admonished. “Where is it?”
“Um….three points off the starboard bow! I think,” he called back down. Hook looked up and saw Peter’s arm pointing in the indicated direction.
“What the devil is he talking about? There’s no ship in sight!” growled Mullins as he peered in the indicated direction.
Hook agreed, but he began scanning that area with his telescope. “I’ll be damned! That boy has exceptional eyesight. Ship, three points to starboard. It’s barely visible on the horizon, just a speck. I can’t even tell for sure it’s a ship. Smee! Take us to her. Mullins, I think Peter should pull more duty in the nest. He seems to enjoy it and with his eyes, we’ll never miss sight of anything.”
“Ay, Cap’n,” Mullins said brightly, but then he added in a lower voice. “I still don’t know if we should have him up there, what with what he tried to do and all. His blood-stains are all over the place up there!”
“I know that, but he still doesn’t remember what happened. It obviously doesn’t bother him, and we need him up there. If he hadn’t been there now, we would have completely missed this ship. Who knows how many islands we’ve passed that Peter might have seen? We need supplies, and hopefully that ship will have some. Make us ready to attack if she doesn’t surrender.”
Peter, however, was having a ball. He loved being up here. It was the closest thing to flying he could get, and it got him in the fresh air away from the dank, musty odors of the ship. He glanced down for the hundredth time at the dark stains in the floor of the nest, and wondered again why he’d done it. And for the hundredth time, no answer presented itself, so he went back to watching the horizon. He looked to see if there were any other ships, or land, but only the single ship he had already spotted was to be seen.
While he watched he began to hum. Soon, his hum turned to a song, and he sang whatever came to mind. The men below heard him, and Mullins frowned.
“Damn it. Why does he always sing those songs?” the man complained. “No mortal should speak words like that. It’s unnatural!”
“There’s nothing natural about Peter, Mullins. You should know that by now,” Jukes said with a smile. He poked the man in the ribs, and dodged the playful swipe that came in return.
“Silence! I want to listen,” Hook growled, and the men shut up. Peter had begun singing several days ago, and Hook took that as a positive sign. The boy wouldn’t do it if he knew someone was nearby, but if the child was becoming light-hearted enough to sing, even in private, then surely he was doing better. Most of the boy’s songs were in fey, but some were in English. Once he swore he heard the boy singing in Latin, but Peter wouldn’t repeat his songs when he was asked, and Hook knew better than to try to threaten the boy into singing for him. He listened now to the Fey-song, and understood the words that his crew could not. Peter sang of flying, and how much he missed Neverland.
Peter’s voice trailed off, the last note hanging in the air, heavy with sadness and loss. Hook shook himself, and discovered that a tear had escaped and was running down his face. He hastily wiped it away, but no one noticed. Everyone had been affected, for it is the power of fey music to convey the emotion of the one who makes it. They all felt Peter’s loss, and though they did not understand the words, the crew understood the meaning of his song.
“Ahoy, down there!” Peter’s cry came, snapping them out of their reverie. “The ship doesn’t look right. It’s not sitting on the water like it should. Something’s wrong!”
They could all now see the dot on the horizon, and if they squinted they could tell it was a boat shape. Hook raised his scope and stared for awhile. “She’s low in the water. I do believe she’s sinking.”
And so, Peter continued to relay the details as he could discern them, and always, by the time the crew could make out one detail, Peter was telling them of the next. The ship they were approaching ran out the white flag, and put up all the indications that she was a ship in distress and surrendering to any hostiles. As they approached, they found that the ship was heavily damaged, and was, indeed, slowly sinking.
Later, the two ships were side-by-side. Hook, Mullins, and Mason boarded the new ship to meet with the small assemblage of men waiting there. Peter was ordered to stay in the nest on lookout and out of the way. Five men stood on the deck. They were a bedraggled lot, and a couple of them were injured. All had a look of intense relief in their eyes. One of them, a tall blonde, stepped forward and greeted them.
“Welcome aboard. I am Michael Little, and what passes for the captain of the ‘Blood Rose’. These men are Mr. Davis, Mr. Leery, Mr. McNary, and Mr. Corzone. I have ten others below who are sick and injured.”
“I am James Hook, captain of the Jolly Roger. Do you need assistance? Your ship appears to be in a bad way.”
“Ay, that’s an understatement if ever I heard one. We are privateers, but we ran afoul of a ship of the Spanish Navy. There was a battle, and heavy losses on both sides. A sudden storm came upon us, and broke us away from our enemy. Good thing too, else both ships would have been destroyed. As it was, we barely survived, but lost most of our crew. Others died of their wounds later. Our captain put a few more to death for mutiny before he himself succumbed to infection. We lost Jeffreys this morning. We have plenty of supplies, having not been long out of port, but it does us little good, as we cannot sail and we’re sinking.”
Hook nodded and thought a moment. “I could use more crew. Swear loyalty to me, and I’ll take you aboard. We’ll take what’s useful from your ship and scuttle the rest.”
“Ay, we figured that would be the best case when we saw your colors. Most of us expected you’d just kill us and loot the ship. We’ll join you, and gladly swear loyalty to our savior. We also have some treasure, though not much, and that we will share. Gold does nothing for a man staring death in the face. But you must treat us as equal crewmen, and we’ll swear you our only captain.”
“You speak well for your crew. I believe we can come to an arrangement acceptable to everyone,” Hook replied, and they shook hands on it. This man is well spoken. Perhaps he’ll be useful to me.
Soon, Hook’s crew complement increased from eight (himself and Peter included) to twenty-three. They emptied the ‘Blood Rose’ of anything that might be useful. Food and water was the first to be taken over, followed by the treasure, whiskey, rum, extra sails and rope, and most everything in the former captain’s quarters. When they were done, and the ship was nothing more that an empty hulk, they left it to sink with a few more holes in her bottom.
That night, there was a small party on the Jolly Roger. It was kicked off by the swearing in, and then the food and drink were broken out. The Roger crew was ecstatic to learn that Mr. Corzone knew how to cook, and swore to put him to the test when his arm was healed up. They spent the evening getting to know one another, and swapped stories about themselves and their adventures. Mr. Leery had a fiddle, and played a few tunes for the men to dance to.
Peter hung back and stayed quiet. Jukes was in the midst of the excitement, eager to get to know his new shipmates, but Peter wasn’t sure what to make of the new men. Without his friend to talk to, Peter felt uncomfortable and out of place (as if he ever felt in place before). He had just gotten used to the way thing were, and now they were going to change again. While he was hanging on the fringe, unsure what to do, Mullins and Starkey began telling tales of Neverland. Peter quickly walked to the aft of the ship, away from the painful memories. He leaned on the railing, staring at the stars and watching a moon rise.
“I thought you liked stories, boy,” Hook said close behind him.
Peter jumped, completely caught off guard. Hook frowned as he realized that the boy must be really upset if he had been able to approach him without notice.
Peter turned and faced the man with a wry smile. “I do, but I don’t like remembering. It hurts too much to remember home. And hearing they way they tell it…” Peter took a deep breath, “it’s too much. I’d rather forget if I can’t go back.”
“We heard your song today, while you were in the lookout. It was beautiful. You have a wonderful talent for music. Did you learn it, or did you make it up?”
Peter shrugged, “I don’t remember. I think I made it up. I just sang whatever I felt, and it rhymed well enough.”
“I heard you say a word that sounded a lot like Neverland, but it meant ‘Land of the Eternal Child’, what was the word, and did you mean Neverland?”
Peter pulled back and looked at Hook suspiciously, “You understood? I was singing in fey. How could you understand me?”
Hook smiled and patted the boy on the head. “Ever since I put the spell on you, I have been able to understand fey. I don’t know why, but it hasn’t come up much, since you rarely speak it.”
Peter nodded his head, looking thoughtful. “That’s interesting. Could be fun, if I can speak it to you, and only you can understand me. Can you speak it too?”
Hook shook his head no, and Peter sighed. “Too bad. Maybe I could teach you… but I don’t know. Anyway, ‘N’avalaran’ means ‘Land of the Eternal Child’: ‘N’a’ is short for ‘Nara’, which means ‘child’; ‘vala’ means ‘eternally young’; ‘ran’ is ‘land’. I asked Tink about it once, and she said that when I was little, I had a hard time saying some of the fey words right, so I would say Neverland instead of N’avalaran. It stuck as a name, and it became the English way to say it.”
“What did you mean, that Neverland was a prison? And that you loved and hated it?”
Peter thought back, considering what he had said. “I don’t know. Neverland was my home, it’s the only place I ever knew. But, I also knew that it was the only place I would ever know. They would never let me leave. I didn’t want to, but if I had ever changed my mind, they would have made me stay.” He cocked his head to the side as a thought struck him, “They made me forget everything once. What if that’s what happened? What if I tried to leave and they made me forget so I would stay?”
“No, that’s not what happened,” Hook said reassuringly.
“How do you know?”
“A fey told me. I know a lot about you that you don’t. You were hurt, in body and spirit. There were others in Neverland, and they were all killed by the monster you dream of. You were the only one that lived, and you didn’t want to. You did try to kill yourself then, and the fairies made you forget so that you could be happy again.”
“My mother… she was killed… sometimes I can remember things, and then they’re gone. Who told you about that? Who betrayed me?” Peter asked, intensely curious.
“I may tell you one day, but certainly not while we are still within the fey realm. Let’s go back to the merry-making, and stop with the brooding. Do you have your pipes with you?” When Peter nodded, he continued, “I haven’t heard you play since you came above. I often see you looking at them, and once or twice I thought I heard a few notes. You played well on the island. I meant what I said, you have a remarkable ability with music. Why don’t you go back and play for the men. It’s a great ice-breaker, and sailors always appreciate music. They reserve much respect for one that can play. You and Mr. Leery could make good music together.”
“I don’t know if I still can. I’m afraid to try – what if I can’t play them like I can’t fly.”
“You can still fight…”
“And you beat me.”
“That was because you were injured and because you were too used to flying while you fought. You were too dependant on flight. You could still fight, if I trusted you with a weapon. Remember when you tried to escape? You got the best of me then. You can still do anything that didn’t require pixie dust. Try it.” When Peter didn’t reply, he added, “That’s an order, Pan.”
Peter turned and walked back to the pirates grouped around the fire, Hook close behind him. The Captain cleared his throat and announced, “This is Mr. Peter Pan, if you haven’t been introduced. He is my cabin-boy. He also plays an instrument, and I have asked him to play for us. Bear in mind, he has been a part of my crew for less than two months, and he has had a very difficult time adjusting. He hasn’t played in all that time, not having the mood for it. Maybe tonight that will change.” Hook sat and everyone grew quiet and waited expectantly.
Peter pulled out his pipes and fidgeted with them a moment. He took a deep breath and began to play. At first the notes rambled, as he played whatever came to mind. Soon he found a tune and slipped into it seamlessly. It was a melody he had always been fond of, simple but cheerful. Soon, Mr. Leery joined in, having picked out the tune, and some of the men began to dance. Hook nodded his head to the music and smiled appreciatively.
When Peter finished that one, he slipped into another. His eyes drifted closed, as he surrendered himself to the song and lost himself to the music. Soon, his music became fey, and Mr. Leery couldn’t keep up.
While he played, he remembered. He remembered all the happy times and adventures. He remembered the joy and laughter. He remembered his friends, and how they had loved him and he loved them. He remembered Tinker Bell, his best friend, his oldest friend. He could almost hear her laugh. As he remembered, his music quickened. The men felt the joy through his music, and his love and happiness. They danced and cheered, so caught up in the spell they thought their hearts would burst. But through the joy, Peter remembered that it was all gone, that his home and his friends were forever lost to him. He remembered what had been done to him. He remembered the pain and the loneliness.
Peter despaired, and fell into sadness. His music slowed and followed his mood. The pirates stopped their dance and sat quietly. They listened, and most of the men were moved to tears. Hook was doubly affected, both by the music, and through the link he shared. Finally, the music faded, Peter’s heart too heavy to find the notes any longer. He stood there quietly and stared at the flames. Slowly, he came back to himself, and saw the men sitting quietly around him. He moaned, cast his pipes into the fire, and ran to his bed.
“Hey!” Jukes cried and pulled the instrument from the flames. It was a little singed, but mostly unharmed. His hand was a bit worse off, but after the incident with the cannon, he didn’t mind a little scorch so much.
“Thank you, Mr. Jukes,” Hook said quietly. “That was the most beautiful music I have heard in my entire life. It would be a shame for him to throw it away like that. Keep them safe for now, I’m sure he’ll want them again later. Alright, everyone back to the fun! Mr. Leery, a happy tune if you please.” It took a few minutes, but eventually spirits rose and the men went back to the party. Hook gave Peter a little time before he went to check on him. In his melancholy mood, and his history of suicide attempts, it would not be prudent to leave him alone for too long.
Once Peter got away from the men and was alone in the cabin, he was able to get himself under control. He no longer felt like crying, but he did still feel sad and homesick. If I could think of this ship as home, then I wouldn’t be homesick anymore. But it’s not my home…. He stood in the middle of the room and looked around. This place had become so familiar, and, yes, even comfortable that it made him a bit uneasy. He had even started thinking of it as his room, and the cot as his bed. This isn’t my room. It’s Hook’s room. I only sleep here because he makes me. He closed his eyes and thought back to his underground home. He could almost see the hearth, Tink’s house, and even the big bed he had shared with his Lost Boys. He thought that maybe that’s why he slept badly – because he had been used to sleeping with the other boys for so long, he couldn’t sleep without them. And that could explain why he slept better in Hook’s arms – it was like sleeping next to Nibs or Slightly. Maybe… I don’t know, Hook confuses me so much it makes my head hurt to think about it.
He wandered over to the desk and sat down, deciding if he was going to stay in here until bed-time, he should find something to occupy himself with. I wish I could read already, I’d pull out a book. But I can only get the little words that Hook writes on the slate. I can’t do big sentences yet. Idly, he flipped through Hook’s logbook, looking curiously at the flowing script. Cursive, you learn that after print… it looks a bit like Fey script, with all the loops. Hook had put sketches in his book and made notes around them. There were maps and drawings of places, a few sketches of him and some of the Lost Boys, and a really good one of Tinker Bell. He stared at them for a long time, realizing that his own memory of how his friends looked was becoming fuzzy. He kept turning the pages and found a diagram of his earring, and sketches of two women. One was Human, the other looked to be a Tuatha Elf. They both look familiar. Who are they and how does Hook know them? There are no grown women, human or elf, in Neverland. They both gave him curious feelings, though. He felt drawn to the human woman, while the elf repulsed him.
After a few more pages, he found a loose sheet of paper that had been inserted between the pages. Curiously, he picked it up and stared at it. He remembered this, it was from about two weeks ago (days blurred together here and he didn’t even bother keeping up). Hook generally made him write on a slate, paper being a scarce resource, but every once in a while, he let Peter have a piece of paper to practice holding a quill and writing in ink. This one had ‘PETER’ written on it in large, blocky print. Beneath that, he had also written ‘HOOK’. He had been practicing writing his name when the captain had given him the paper, so he had decided to write his own name on something that wouldn’t be erased. On an impulse, he had asked the pirate to show him what ‘Hook’ looked like in letters, and had copied it down, too. Hook had laughed and ruffled his hair (a habit the man had gotten into, which Peter absolutely hated), saying it looked like the boy had written the name ‘Peter Hook’. Disgusted, Peter had crumpled the paper up and tossed it aside.
“Is there a reason you are going through my personal logs, Peter?” Hook called from the doorway.
Peter didn’t look up, not surprised at the captain’s silent entry. “Just bored, Captain. Don’t worry, I can’t read your handwriting. Why did you keep this?” Peter replied, holding up the piece of paper.
“A memento. I’m proud of my teaching ability. Who would have ever thought that I would have the patience and stamina to teach Peter Pan to write?” Hook replied. Unbidden and unexpected, the thought arose, Because I liked that you wrote Peter Hook, and I wish it were your name. Hook shook his head at the strange notion, and sat in the other chair at the desk.
Peter nodded his head and put the paper back in the book. “Would you read this to me? I like the pictures.”
“No. This is my personal log, with my private thoughts in them. I write things here I don’t want other people to know.”
“Then why write it down? Sounds like the silly pirate habit of hiding your treasure, drawing a map, and leaving it where people will find it,” Peter mused, a bewildered look on his face.
“It’s a way to express yourself, your thoughts and feelings, to get them out so they don’t build up inside. And it’s a record for things that happen that I think are important.”
“Who are they, Captain?” Peter said suddenly, flipping back to the sketches of the two women.
Hook smiled, and closed the book. “I told you, this is private. When I’m dead and you can read, you’re welcome to do with these as you please. Until then, you are not to open it again. Do I make myself clear?”
Peter wanted to protest, to tell Hook that these women were familiar and he needed to know, but he saw a dangerous glint in the Captain’s eye, and nodded instead.
He’s learned when not to press me, and sometimes he remembers to apply his lessons. I will not explain tonight why I have a picture of his mother in my log, or who Shimi is. He put the book out of sight, and turned back to Peter, who was looking around for something else to get into.
“You played beautifully tonight. Why did you throw you pipes into the flames?” Hook asked him.
Peter’s face drew up into a pained expression. He wished he hadn’t done that, and he felt that he had lost yet another piece of himself tonight, another piece of Neverland. “I don’t know, sir. It hurt so much to play them, but at the same time it felt wonderful. I guess the hurt won, and I threw them away. They were all I had left, and now they’re gone.”
“No, Billy fished them out of the coals, and got a bit burned for his thoughtfulness. They got no worse than a slight singe,” Hook answered, and saw the intense relief and gratefulness the boy felt. “Did you make them? How did you learn to play?”
“Someone gave them to me, sir. I had them for as long as I remember. I do know that they are made from different trees that are only found in Neverland. The carvings on them are strange, not quite elvish, but definitely a kind of fey. Tink said I wasn’t allowed to read them because they say who I am. The one who gave them to me taught me to play. I can remember learning, but when I try to see the man teaching me, it’s all shadows. I remember that I liked him a lot.”
“Your father?”
Peter recoiled as if slapped. “No, sir, I don’t remember my mother, but I know I had her. I never had a father.”
“I was just curious. One day when you have gotten the hang of reading books, I will teach you to read music, and you can write your songs down.”
“Read and write music? How do you do that, sir?” Peter asked, an eager look in his eyes.
“Learn your current lessons first, and then we can move on to ones that are more interesting,” Hook admonished.
“Like what?”
“Well,” Hook thought, liking the interest Peter was showing, “Music, both the playing and reading of music, history, navigation and charting, astronomy, alchemy theory, philosophy, lots of things. I have an extensive collection of books, and if we ever get out of this damned fairy realm, I can get more books, on any subject you’d like to learn.”
I don’t want your lessons, Codfish. Your head on a plate might be nice, a voice in Peter’s head said softly. Shut up. He’s being nice and trying to cheer me up. And I do want to learn, I want the stories for myself. Peter smiled, and ran to the bookshelf to get their current book down. “Read me some more of this… and I’d like to watch as you say the words so I can see how they look on paper. Please, Captain?”
Hook laughed, took the book, and with Peter sitting next to him, began reading while he used his hook to point out the words.
Late in the night, Hook was awakened by Peter calling out. He sighed and waited a bit to see if the boy would work it out on his own, as he did occasionally. But after a few minutes, the dream seemed to be intensifying, so Hook sat up and lit the lamp. It annoyed him a bit sometimes to be awakened, but he saw it as another one of his duties. He had asked for Peter and received him. Now he had to deal with the boy and the responsibilities that came with him. Some of Peter’s habits and quirks could be changed. Others he just had to accept. It’s a good thing I never needed much sleep anyway. He put one of his books on the nightstand, picked Peter up and sat back on his bed, arranging the pillows so he could be comfortable. Sometimes this took about ten minutes, sometimes an hour, so Hook always assumed the worst and settled in for a long spell. He read as he held the boy, occasionally reading a passage out loud. Tonight was a medium night, and in about fifteen or twenty minutes, Peter was calm. Hook was immersed in the chapter, and decided to finish it before putting the boy back. He was nearly done when suddenly Peter gave a cry and woke with a start.
“Shimi!” he yelled, looking around wildly. He saw where he was and the startled look on Hook’s face, and suddenly threw his arms around the man’s neck, holding on tight.
“Peter,” Hook said, confused and a little lost. “Are you alright?”
“I had a memory,” he said, voice muffled where his head was buried under Hook’s chin.
“A nightmare?”
“No, a memory. The were-hag, Shimi. I saw her. That’s the elf in your book, when she was young. Make the monster go away. You always make them go away. Don’t let me go,” Peter babbled, approaching hysterics.
A bit at a loss, Hook gingerly hugged the child back. “She’s not here. Like you said, she’s just a memory. Memories can’t hurt you unless you let them.”
Peter relaxed a bit, and after a few moments withdrew his arms. Hook let him go and Peter climbed out of the man’s lap and sat at the end of the bed. His face was a bit flushed and he wouldn’t look at the captain. “Thank you,” he muttered.
Hook picked up his book and set it back on the nightstand. He could tell Peter was upset and embarrassed; he himself didn’t quite know how to relieve the awkward tension. “So? What was the memory?” he asked, deciding to act as if this was normal (well, this IS normal, even if Peter doesn’t know it).
Peter looked mildly relieved and faced the captain. He drew his legs up and rested his elbows on his knees. “I remembered a lot. I remember lots of things, but I usually forget them again, so I might forget this later, too. Maybe you can remember for me.” He began fidgeting, his fingers clasping together, curling around each other, then breaking apart to tap on his legs or each other, then finding their way back together again.
He’s nervous. I’ve never seen him nervous. I’ve seen him fidget when he was restless or bored, but he’s shaking. “Tell me what it was. If it’s bothering you, get it out or it will build up inside and get worse. Since you can’t write it down like I can, you should tell me.”
Peter sighed shakily and began. “Long time ago, when I was smaller, there was a Tuatha Elf that lived in the were-forest. Except then it wasn’t the were-forest, it was a beautiful wood, I forget what we called it. The trees were huge, and lots of them had good fruit that grew nowhere else in Neverland. The elf was named Shimi, and she was really nice and pretty. We were always welcome in her wood, and lots of times at her house, too. She even had a special tree in her yard that was magical, and if the moons were right, it would bear fruit that tasted like cakes and candies. We would come then and have a festival, with music and dancing, and make ourselves sick eating the candy-fruits. I liked her a lot, and she was always extra nice to me. She told me to call her Aunt Shimi, because her and my mommy was good friends and she helped me to be born.
“One day, everyone had to go do something important, and I got left behind. All of the others were bigger than me… I was smaller than Tootles, but this was before Tootles came. I wasn’t supposed to be left alone, even though I could take care of myself. For some reason, bad things always tried to happen to me. If someone found a poisonous snake, it would slither straight for me and bite me. If we were swimming and a shark came, it would come for me even if I was in the shallows and it had to beach itself to reach me. Kaylee said someone was causing these things to happen, but she didn’t know who or why, so someone always had to be with me. It was usually Tink, but she was still really young, so she had to be in Tintagel a lot to learn how to use her magic. So this time I got left with Shimi, but I didn’t mind.
“I had never been completely alone with her before. But I trusted her, so I didn’t think about it. She made me some cookies and some chocolate to drink – I had never had chocolate before. I ate a lot of the cookies, and drank the whole cup of chocolate. Then I got sick. My stomach hurt and I got dizzy, then I felt like I was on fire. I cried a lot and asked her to help me, but she just sat and watched. It got worse and worse, and it seemed to go on forever. It must have been a really long time, because Shimi got angry and started yelling at me to stop crying and hurry up and die. I think that hurt me worse – I thought she loved me… I loved her… I trusted her, and she wanted me to die. But I couldn’t die, and it kept getting worse and I begged her to make it stop.
“Then it did stop; suddenly the pain was gone and I felt like I was floating. I couldn’t move or talk, and I was so tired… Shimi was crying. She said she didn’t want me to suffer, she just wanted me gone. She had used magic poison that she thought would kill a human quickly and without pain. As it turned out, it should have, but because of the fairy magic in me, something she didn’t foresee happened. My magic and the poison’s magic fought, and it was the battle that made me hurt and nearly killed me. Shimi finally used the antidote spell to stop the poison, or else I would have suffered all day, and maybe all night before I died.
“She tried to make me better, but it had gone on too long and I was too weak. She finally left me in our tree-village, in my own bed. Mommy found me the next day. I was sick for a long time and couldn’t talk, but they knew that Shimi had done something.
“The fey talked to me when I was better and I told them what had happened. They punished her – took away most of her magic. She became old and never again left her forest. The trees themselves became mean and would try to catch you, and they no longer made fruit that you could eat. We weren’t allowed in the forest anymore and Shimi was shunned. I never knew why she hated me. She’s the first being that wanted to kill me, and I never even knew what I had done to deserve it.”
Peter finished his story and took a deep breath. He cocked his head to the side and smiled, “You’re right. I do feel better.”
“Good. Maybe now we can go back to sleep.”
“Why did you draw pictures of Kaylee and Shimi?”
Hook glared at Peter, annoyed. Peter returned the stare, waiting for an answer. “Go to bed. Now,” Hook snapped, feeling his patience slip. When Peter didn’t move fast enough, he waved his hook threateningly and Peter jumped out of the way. He climbed onto his cot and lay down. Hook extinguished his lamp and settled down to sleep.
“Why won’t you tell me?” Peter said suddenly, ignoring Hook’s warning growl. “You obviously saw Shimi and my mother. How can you have seen them when Shimi is old now and Kaylee is dead?”
Hook said nothing, choosing to let his silence speak for itself. If he let the boy goad him, he’d end up doing something rash and painful. Peter apparently took the hint, and did not press the issue further.
It didn’t seem that he had been asleep long when Peter awoke him again with his moans.
“Twice in one night? I sincerely hope this isn’t the start of something new, Peter,” Hook muttered as he got up again. It took a bit longer to calm the boy this time, but eventually he was sleeping soundly. Hook was gathering Peter up to put him in bed, when he saw the boy was awake.
“Why do you do this?” Peter asked quietly.
“It’s the only thing that I know to do to calm you when you have a nightmare. If I let you keep having it, the next one is worse and you are difficult in the morning.”
“Like when I was keeping everyone awake… but you did it before then too,” Peter said, nodding. “I knew you were doing it, I’ve woken up before. I hear your heartbeat in my dreams, and the bad things go away. I sometimes wake up after that, knowing I had the dream but I can’t remember it, and you are holding me.” Peter sighed and pushed on, “I feel safe… even though you’ve hurt me so much, I feel safe. Isn’t that odd?”
“No, not odd. We can sense each other. You know inside that I won’t hurt you when you need me like this. And I won’t let anyone else hurt you, so if I am here with you, I will protect you against the monsters that haunt you. You are mine, Peter. I own you, you are my prize. No one but me is allowed to hurt you, and I’ll kill anyone that tries.”
Hook’s words resonated inside Peter’s mind, and he thought about them for awhile. He felt a bit sad and disappointed by Hook referring to him as merely a prize, but he also felt relieved and encouraged that the man had promised to keep the monsters away. But once again, his feeling towards Hook, and the sense of Hook’s feelings confused and frightened him, so he pushed them aside and sat up. He felt the room spin and lay back down, groaning softly.
“What’s wrong?”
“Dizzy. I’ve had two nightmares that I woke from… I don’t want another one. I’m tired and you need sleep, too.”
Hook thought for a moment, and then helped Peter to his cot. He went to his desk and pulled out a flask of whiskey. “I’m going to give you some of this. It might make you sleep more deeply, and carry you beyond dreaming. We’ll see how it works.” He poured some – about two shots worth – into a cup and gave it to Peter.
Peter recognized the smell and grimaced. But, he remembered how it had relaxed him and made the pain go away before, so he quickly downed the contents. It worked on him fast and soon he drifted off to dreamless slumber. And to Hook’s relief, neither one of them awoke till morning.
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