Page 3 of The First Lost Boy (The Shadows of Neverland Duet #2)

Devin

Ava’s neighbor’s goddamn cat rakes its claws down my calves as I shoulder her door open. There was no key under the worn mat, no hide-a-key on the door frame. No other way in. The door finally buckles and at the sound, Garfield launches himself onto the backs of my thighs, his claws tearing at my jeans and skin as he tries to climb higher. I shake the demon loose and stomp once, chasing the bastard back to its home.

The trails he raked into my skin burn as I slip inside and search the wall for the light switch, finally illuminating the book-choked room.

My heart is pounding.

I’ve never been attacked by an animal – or committed a crime. But breaking and entering is way easier than I expected it to be. If the old hag across the hall calls the cops, I hope Ripley comes to investigate. The cop seemed to be sweet on Ava. He’ll understand why I’m here.

The police searched this apartment, but I didn’t. I know Ava better than anyone. If she’s hiding something, I’ll find it.

Someone knocks on the door behind me. “Who’s in there?”

I groan. It’s Mrs. Jennings. Proud owner of Garfield, the feline that just shredded my skin and jeans.

I turn and crack the door open so she can see me. “It’s just me, Mrs. Jennings.”

Her beady eyes narrow. She purses her lips and the motion, combined with the force of thirty pink hair curlers, pulls the skin of her forehead taut. “Are you trespassing?”

“Of course not,” I quickly reply. “Ava has one of the only keys to the Aquatic Center’s main door, and our boss sent me to look for it in case she left it behind.”

She folds her arms over her flannel housecoat. “So you still think she just waltzed out of here to find greener pastures?”

I rake a hand through my hair. “I just need the key. Then I’ll be out of your…” I look at the curlers again, “hair.”

The woman’s wrinkled lips purse even further, deepening the lines. “Well, you should know that the police searched the apartment again and took a few things out of here in a cardboard box. They might have her keys if you can’t find them. She didn’t have her bag or anything with her when she left.”

My head ticks back in surprise. “When did the cops come back?”

She glances to the side. “They were here yesterday. Spent quite a while inside the apartment.”

That’s odd.

What were they looking for and what did they find that would be of interest? “Did you see or ask any of the officers what they took?”

“What do you take me for – some busybody?” she huffs.

I’m about to quirk a brow when Garfield hisses and tries to muscle his way inside. I quickly slam the door. “I’ll just be a few minutes. Thanks, Mrs. Jennings.”

“The box they used had a lid, so I couldn’t see inside, even though I tried,” she says, raising her voice to be heard through the closed door.

I twist the lock and yell, “Okay, thank you!”

She grumbles from the other side and tries the door handle. “Did you lock the door?”

“It’s probably stuck. Maybe the police broke it when they came to search the place. I’ll be out in a few.”

“Not if you can’t open the door!” she yells sourly.

“True. I’ll let you know if I need help.”

“I’ve got better things to do with my time than wait out here for you,” she grumbles.

I highly doubt that.

Garfield rakes his claws on the door. It’s his favorite scratching post, judging by the sheer volume of prior damage he’s caused to the lower half of Ava’s door.

I turn and wonder where to even start. Thousands of copies of the story of Peter Pan stare back at me in the small main room. I consider searching Ava’s bedroom, but when I think about what everyone has said, I think she left with Belle and because of her.

So, I pass Ava’s room and head straight for Belle’s…where I find even more walls lined with Neverland.

Her bed is made with a fuzzy green blanket on top. The closet is open, and it doesn’t look like any clothes are missing. The shelves are largely bare, holding only a few folded sweaters. There are a few pairs of worn shoes on the floor and a single coat hanging next to some sweatshirts, tees, and a few nicer blouses and pants. Tucked into the corner is an empty duffel bag.

I don’t see anything out of place or particularly helpful, but then I notice the nightstand’s drawer is cracked.

A few blue pills litter the wooden bottom, scattered among various rocks and a few dried leaves and feathers. Weird.

I push it shut.

There’s no other furniture in the room.

I start at one end and start sliding out the editions of Peter Pan to see if she’s hidden anything behind them. Though it takes forever, there’s nothing but walls, shelves, and bound volumes here.

Under her bed are two mis-matched socks, a herd of dust bunnies, and a rolled-up beach mat. I feel around it to see if something’s hiding in the shadows where I can’t see, but I come up empty. My hand nudges the mat and a broad section of it unfolds, revealing a thin book.

For the love of all that’s holy, do not be Peter Pan. I never want to see another copy in my life.

The binding looks like supple leaves and the paper inside’s been made to look aged. I saw a video once about using tea to stain paper to make it look like this. I tried it and it worked. I used it to invite Ava over to my house for dinner.

She forgot about the invitation and didn’t show up that night.

I’d made her favorite – spaghetti and meatballs.

The next day, I brought two containers of leftovers for lunch – one for me and one for her. We ate it together and she loved it.

I didn’t tell her she forgot about dinner. She always forgets. That’s what stress does to a person.

I open the book’s cover.

The sheets of paper are bumpy and uneven, like they were hand-made. The slanted handwriting is sharp and dramatic. And when I start scanning over the words, I realize it’s Belle’s journal.

I shut the book for a fraction of a moment. It’s not right to read someone’s personal writing uninvited, but then I decide that Belle left me no choice and open the book again.

She wrote about being betrothed to a boy named Peter. I glance up at all the books surrounding me and wonder if her hoarding is due to trauma this guy somehow caused her and then I realize what I read.

She was betrothed ?

Who even says that anymore?