Wendy’s hazel eyes opened wide. “Peter, I can’t make myself love someone! I’m already spoken for! And we must go home, our parents . . .”
Peter snapped, “Your parents already think you’re dead. Everyone thinks you’re dead.” Clouds drifted lazily past them as Peter’s hand tightened on her wrist. “There is nothing for you to return to. And this Booth, well . . .” He shrugged. “He’s nothing compared to Peter Pan. Who could hold a candle to this?” He looked out over Neverland. “I have a kingdom.”
With that, he pulled her close to him, and Wendy let out a gasp as Peter pushed his lips over hers, but she was afraid to move. He breathed a sigh of disappointment as she stayed frozen. “So that’s how it will be, you stubborn girl. There’s something else.” He pulled her body against his, the smell of him now making her nauseated, the sharp notes of sweat infiltrating her nostrils against her will. He breathed once before whispering in her ear. “If you don’t learn to love me . . . I’ll kill your brothers. Slowly. And I’ll make you watch.”
He pulled back with a friendly smile. “Well, Wendy, what do you say?”
She stared at him, tears running down her face, her hands shaking. “Why are you doing this?”
Peter shrugged. “Love makes you do crazy things.”
Then he dropped her.
She felt the heat of Peter’s sweaty hand fall away from hers and the biting air that rushed into her palm, stretching through the veins to her fingertips. She dropped away from him. She saw the icy stare, the cruel hint of a smile as she dropped down to his chest, then his feet, reaching out, desperately, for any part of him. With death so close, she hurtled herself toward whatever could save her in that moment, even if it was Peter Pan. But she didn’t catch him, not an inch of his pant, the tip of his shoe. Instead she fell forward, grasping and clawing at the open air, nothing below her, the horror inside of her reaching outside her mouth in a terrified hysterical scream.
For a moment, all she could see were clouds, clouds rushing past her at an unthinkable speed; her hands tried to grab at them, but they filtered through her fingers, no more substantial than a dream. Her body twisted in the air, rolling in on itself, her legs thrashing as she fell, past the cloud bank now. The main island rushed into view, the fall more horrifying now that she could see the water below her; blue, green, and gray tumbled together as she spiraled in the air, her feet tumbling over her head, until she flipped headfirst, unable to see anything but the ocean below her, so far below her. She screamed again, and the realization that she was falling to her death finally came upon her.
The ocean was rushing up quickly now and Wendy commanded her brain to connect, to understand: she was going to die. She was going to die. The wind rushed around her, parting so fast underneath her that she felt like a ship breaking a wave. Wendy looked up, trying to take in her last view of sky and sun, the smell of the salty air, and yet there was only terror, her heart thundering in panic, feeling like it would explode out of her chest at any moment. Her hands flailed frantically for her neck, grasping for anything, anything to hold, anything to bring comfort, even her own skin. As she plunged downward, Wendy Darling closed her eyes, realizing that the violent gasps of ricocheting air that had been exploding in her ears were bursting out of her lungs, pathetic cries, desperate breaths. Her eyes closed out the blur of land and sky, the speed at which she was falling. She desperately searched her mind for images of comfort: Michael’s impossibly long eyelashes. Her mother’s tea. The gilded angels that hung above the altar at Mass. Booth, reading a book in a slant of sunlight. Her lips repeated prayers, ingrained so deep within her that even the fear of imminent death couldn’t erase them. She fell, faster and faster, her body soaring toward the water. “I’m sorry!” she screamed, “I’m sorry!” Sorry to her parents, sorry to Booth, sorry that she had come to this nightmarish, magical place.
The ocean was so close now that she could hear the rushing waves beneath her. Her body flipped in the air again, her side facing the sea. Wendy wondered if it would hurt, dying. Would her body simply disintegrate upon impact? Would she drown, trapped inside of broken bones? “Oh, God, Oh, God, no!” It was close now, the salt on her skin, the water that she knew would be as hard as rock. She opened her eyes for one more glance at the world, seeing only the sea rush up to meet her. She took her last panicked breath.
There was a rush underneath her and she felt a hand wrap hard around her wrist.