“Did that hurt?”
“Yes,” she said, struggling to stay calm, putting a hand to her neck to make sure she wasn’t bleeding. The fugue state she’d been moving through for what felt like months receded, leaving her completely and shockingly wide-awake. “Yes. It did hurt when you bit me. Very much.”
“Oh.” He reached out and she flinched, but he simply traced the mark on her neck with his finger. “Did you like it?”
“No,” she said firmly. “Not at all.” And then, as the thought occurred to her: “Did you?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. He kissed her again, but this time she kept her eyes open.
* * *
The third and final time Peter visited, Holly almost shut the window. She was bruised from the night before, which was how she knew it was not a dream. That and the startling clarity she had, as if she were awake for the first time in ages. He’d made it impossible for her to be anywhere but present. Each time she tried to slip off in her head to Robert, she’d found herself yanked back by a pinch, a too-hard squeeze, a kiss that took all her oxygen, and not in the good way. Nothing lasted more than a second, and nothing left a lasting scar. It was as if he was testing, pushing her limits, trying to see how far he could go.
It was disturbing, and at the same time oddly thrilling: To have a secret, something that was hers alone, that pulled her from the edge of the abyss she’d been teetering on and kept her centered here. To have something to think about besides the past, the painful present, the terrifying future. All the same, she’d made up her mind that if he visited this evening, there would be ground rules.
But he came through the window so suddenly there was no time to speak. He’d barely latched it closed before he was grabbing her and swinging her onto the bed, bending her over it. She tried to say something, to call his name, to tell him stop, but he pushed her face firmly into the pillow and held her there. He was so much stronger than she’d thought. Her bad leg wouldn’t bear her weight, was collapsing beneath her. She couldn’t push off enough to claw at him without falling deeper into the bed. He was biting her neck, as if to hold her in place while he finished. She couldn’t breathe. The blackness behind her eyelids was darker than the room, and tiny crackles of light shot across her vision.
And then the pressure was gone. She turned her head, took in a gasping breath. And another. A third. Pushed herself up.
He’d thrown himself next to her on the bed and was watching.
“We’ve been doing it wrong,” he said conversationally, as if nothing had happened. “I watched the animals today at the zoo. It’s not supposed to be face-to-face.”
“Get out,” Holly whispered. Even though she hadn’t screamed, her throat felt bruised. She tried to stand, but couldn’t get her leg to hold her. She moved as far away from him on the bed as she could. “Get out now.”
“We’re married now, aren’t we? That’s what all the married ones do. That’s what it takes. I’ve seen them, looking in the windows. Most of them did it wrong too.”
“Get out,” she said again, louder. She wanted to shout, to throw things at him, but she had no breath, no way to stand. And there was no one to hear her if she did. Her mother was not home. And Holly hadn’t told her about Peter. She hadn’t wanted to share him.
She had wanted him all to herself.
“We’re married now,” he repeated cheerfully. “You have to come with me.” His tone reminded her of the twins, before the car crash, when they’d done something wrong and were pretending they hadn’t. A determined, studied innocence. He looked at her leg, nudged it with his foot. She recoiled.
“I can fix that for you,” he said temptingly. “If you come with me. There’s no pain in Neverland. Nobody’s broken there.”
She looked around the room for a weapon. There was a silver frame on the bedside table, a charcoal sketch of Wendy, John, and Michael. She grabbed for it, afraid he’d stop her. And then thought: Jack.
I can fix that, he’d said. Could he fix Jack too? She took a deep breath, tried to steady her shaking hands. He was watching her carefully, those too-bright blue eyes taking in her every move.
“You could run again,” he said. “You could even fly.”
“How?” Her voice came but was wobbly, and she cleared her throat, tried again. “How could you fix my leg?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know, do I? It’s in the air, maybe. Or the water.” He grinned, showing bright white teeth. “Or maybe it’s just me. You’ll have to come and see.”
If she went with him, if she brought Jack, there was a chance he could have a normal life. That he could come back healed. Not in a wheelchair, body broken. A chance he could run. She weighed the chance against what had just happened. It didn’t take long for her to make a decision.
“I’ll come,” she said, and Peter’s face lit up. She made her voice honey sweet, put all thought of what he’d done out of her mind. “But I want to bring someone.”
Would it matter to Peter that she was a mother? Would it make him more likely to take her, or to change his mind? “Another boy for you,” she said at last. She thought about how he’d sounded when he’d talked about the zoo, his idea of marriage. A child’s view. “Someone to play with, to be a friend.”
“No more boys,” he said immediately. “I’ve got enough boys. What I want is a girl. What I want is you.”
She took a breath. “But you see, it’s my boy. I can’t come without him. I can’t leave him.”
“Why not?” he scoffed. He stood up, paced away from her. “I’ve seen that one. He spends all his time lying in hospital. He’s too broken to make the journey. Besides, I told you. I’m tired of boys.”
She didn’t let herself think about the fact that he knew where her son was, that he’d been watching. “But you could fix him,” she cajoled. “Couldn’t you?”
He laughed, a crowing sound. “I’m Peter Pan. I can do anything.”
“Well then, won’t you show me? Won’t you fix Jack? Then we could all go together.”
He scuffed at the carpet. “It’s work,” he said darkly. “Too much of it.”
The picture frame was still in her lap, and he pointed to it. “I tried it once, for her.”
“For Wendy?”
“She wouldn’t stay. So I took her home. But she missed Neverland. Found out she liked it better there after all.” He shrugged. “I heard her calling me, so I came back. But that one made a fuss. He didn’t want her to go.” He glowered at the Michael of the portrait, round-cheeked and innocent.
“Great-Uncle Michael?” Holly felt a prickling at the back of her neck, a warning. She wanted to know, but didn’t. The question left her before she could stop herself. “What do you mean?”
“He clung to her skirt as she was climbing out the window, bawling like a baby. Stupid git.” That shrug again. “He was dragging her down. So I made him let go. I sliced through her skirt and . . .” He made a tumbling motion with his hand.
“He fell? From the nursery window?” Holly shuddered, glanced at the window. A three-story drop.
“Wasn’t my fault,” Peter said defensively. “He should have let go when I told him to. And Wendy was crying and carrying on. So I tried. I did my best. But it was no use. His head was too staved in, you see. I could heal the wounds, but his brain was still scrambled.”
The family story had always been that Michael had an accident, unexpected and unfortunate, and was never the same. Grandmother Wendy never spoke of it, and now Holly knew why.