Page 2 of The First Lost Boy (The Shadows of Neverland Duet #2)

Ava

A soaking rain steadily pounds the metal roof covering the narrow room I’m in. I don’t know where I am. Don’t recognize the feel of this threadbare blanket on my lap or the masculine, woodsy scent clinging to it. And the incessant, droning sound… I just wish it would stop.

I squeeze my throbbing head.

My spine peels from the wall as I curl forward on the bed into the darkness to try to quell the pounding. It’s worse at the temples and the base of my skull. The muscles on either side of my neck are tender to the touch. The ache is like nothing I’ve felt before or ever want to again.

“You’re in pain.”

I tense at the sound and fear washes over me at the sight of a young man sitting in a chair in a dark corner of the room. “You scared me.” The rusted words scrape from my throat.

“I’ve been sitting with you all evening,” he casually offers, propping an ankle over a knee. I’m about to ask who the hell he is when he volunteers, “I’m Peter, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Peter? I don’t know anyone named Peter.

In the light tossed by a single taper’s wick, I comb over his features. But like this room, Peter is a stranger.

His hair is light brown streaked with lighter pieces that gleam like gold, as if the sun deigned to run her light-filled fingers through each strand. His youthful, toned skin is bronze. But if the sun favors him, why do his bright green eyes feel cold?

The tops of his ears are pointed. I reach up and feel mine to see if they’re the same, but mine are round.

He smiles enigmatically and watches me. The motion causes his lips to bow gently, and I notice the top is thinner than the bottom. His nose is straight and his jaw strong. He is lithe muscle and confident smirk. If there is a flaw, or even the tiniest of scars on his flesh, the candlelight doesn’t reveal it.

“Where am I?”

“Home,” he simply provides.

“ Your home?”

His lip twitches at the corner. “Ours.”

“I don’t understand.” I rub my temples, fighting back tears at the pain ripping through my head.

“You were injured earlier today while swimming. A swell took you under and rolled you into a sea stack. You hit your head.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to focus on what he said. “Sea stack?”

“At the southern shore, towering rocks rise from the water. We call them sea stacks. A wave sent you into its base.”

I don’t remember any towering rock formations. Or being at the beach… or him. I start to panic, my breaths becoming shallower, my chest tighter. The heel of my palm presses against my sternum, trying to stop the out of control feeling spiraling through me.

“Everything’s going to be okay. You’ll be fine soon enough. You’ll remember me and everything soon, I promise.” Peter scoots forward to sit on the edge of his chair and leans his forearms on his thighs.

As he watches me, my lips part at the realization that no matter how hard I try, I can’t remember my own name.

I just want to go home, but I don’t know where that is.

I know this isn’t it. This place is not where I need or want to be.

No matter what he says, I know I don’t belong here.

Tears of frustration and fear build in my eyes until they spill.

“Are you crying because you’re in pain?” He tilts his head preternaturally, like he’s wondering what it would be like – feel like – to cry. Or maybe it’s pain that he’s curious about. I read about a condition that prevents people from feeling it. Maybe he suffers from it, or maybe what afflicts him is far worse. Some people are depraved, craving the pain they can inflict on others.

“Where am I? What is this place?” I ask. Maybe I’ve already asked. I can’t recall.

He threads his fingers together in front of him, bridging the space between his thighs as his green eyes narrow. “ This place is your home.”

I shake my head and start to sob, then press the heel of my palm to one of my temples. It feels like my skull is going to split and whatever makes me, me is going to spill out onto this unfamiliar floor.

“You’ll remember it soon enough. You’ll remember me. I’ll help you.”

My tears won’t stop.

Peter repeats himself like I didn’t hear him, or didn’t grasp what he said. And maybe he’s right, to a point. I understand that he thinks this is my home and that I should know him, but I don’t.

And not only that, I don’t want to remember him. I don’t want to be here.

The stranger goes unnaturally still and swivels his head when he hears movement just outside the door.

“Peter?” a male voice gently interrupts.

Another young man peers into the room, but I can’t seem to focus on him. My head swims every time I try. There are three of him, then two, then a blurred single form that divides into two again, then three.

“Get out, Bones!” Peter snaps.

Bones obeys and slinks back into the shadows just outside the door like a coward.

“You should sleep,” Peter says impatiently, standing up to leave. “You’ll feel better when you wake up. You’ll be calmer. More reasonable.”

Reasonable? He can absolutely get fucked.

“I don’t want to sleep!” I shout, standing and swaying as my vision swims. “I want you to tell me the truth.” My teeth chatter as goosebumps violently erupt over the skin on my arms.

“I already did,” he slowly informs, watching me like a wolf would a fawn who’s never faced one and seen its sharp teeth.

And then a flash of a memory emerges. A female with golden eyes crinkled with laughter, her pale arm slung around my shoulder. The tinkling sound of her voice. Who is she?

I gasp and press my hand against a tender place on my stomach. Looking down and peeling my fingers up and away from my skin, I find a scar. It’s a few inches long and perfectly straight.

I don’t know how I got this mark, but the laughing girl with golden eyes didn’t put it there. And then I remember who she is to me. In my heart, I know her name even as I struggle to recall mine.

Belle. My sister.

“What do you remember?” Peter demands. He steps toward me with his arms outstretched like he’ll catch me if I fall.

I look away, silently begging Bones for help. He’s still there, and I can see him more clearly, wincing as he grits his teeth. He shakes his head at me like he’s imploring me not to reveal anything to Peter. So, I lie.

“Nothing.”

“Who, then?” Peter asks.

“I don’t remember anyone or anything.”

Another memory emerges of Belle, bright and beaming, primly shouting a second name in aggravation: Hudson. Who is Hudson? The name sends a shiver up my spine. My eyes refocus on Peter when he gives a dark laugh.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

I tip my chin up. “I’m not feeling well. My stomach hurts.”

Peter grips my biceps when I sway. Then he leans in and puts his lips next to my ear, drawling, “How many times will I have to kill you to make you finally forget?”

“What?” I jerk my arms out of his grasp, teetering as I back away. Sharp stabs of pain lance through my neck and temples again.

There’s nowhere to go. Peter stands between me and the door.

There’s a window a few feet to my left, but all I see out of it are tree trunks, branches, and bright green leaves. I think this is some kind of treehouse and I don’t know how high up we are.

“Bones!” I cry, hoping he’ll do something.

He keeps to the shadows, remaining firmly under Peter’s thumb.

Peter starts toward me. I retreat until my shoulder blades strike the wall.

A cruel smile slowly curves across his flawless face as he plants a hand on the wall beside me and drags his free knuckle down my cheek. “Tell you what. Let’s make a game of it. This will be the second time I’ve killed you in as many days. How many times do you think you’ll have to die before you forget everything but me?”

I push at his chest, then beg and blubber for Bones to fucking help me. To do something . Anything. Then I shriek for help from anyone who might be outside.

Bones does nothing.

No one comes to help me.

Maybe there’s no one else around.

Tears slide down my face because he’s going to kill me. Because I believe him when he says he’s done it once before, even though that makes no logical sense whatsoever.

Fast as a striking snake, Peter clasps my head and presses his thumbs into my temples. “Tinkerbell isn’t coming to help you.”

A whimper claws from my throat as I dig my nails into the skin of his merciless hands. They squeeze and squeeze until my head feels like a watermelon that will crack and spill from the pressure.

“She thinks you’re dead. And soon, she’ll be a stranger to you, and I will be the one you trust. It’ll drive her mad.” He seems pleased at the thought, like he’s imagining all the ways my sister might react to what he’s about to do.

“Let me go!” I grit, peeling his flesh with my nails.

He doesn’t even seem to notice. Doesn’t appear to feel the pain. He just smiles wildly. “Maybe the third time you die is the charm. What do you think? Do you want to guess?”

I scream for Bones to help until my vocal cords shred, but Peter just keeps grinning.

“If you won’t play along, we’ll just have to see if I’m right.”

A sharp twist of his hands.

A loud, sickening crack that I hear from within.

A powerful shove to my chest sends me flying.

Moonlit leaves rattle above me as if waving goodbye as my eyes fix on the star-strewn sky.

And something deep and dark within me surges, too late.

Before I die, I swear the stars blur. I can’t tell if they are weeping, or I am.