Neverland (10 page)

Angel was a tough girl when I met her this afternoon. Tonight, I broke her.

She swallows a few times then tries speaking again without success.

“Let me support you,” I cut her off, noticing that the front of her shirt is shredded and bare skin flashes between the many gaps.

“No!” Frantically, she shakes her head, tears streaming down her dirt-smudged cheeks.

Until this very day, I never had to deal with tears in my life. They sort of scare me. “You’re under shock and not capable of standing on your own legs. Let. Me. Support. You.”

I cup her elbows, which she thanks me for with a look full of loathing and a weak punch against my shoulder. “Le’ go.” Twisting out of my hold, the silly girl staggers a couple of steps away then tips lifelessly to the side.

I dart forward and catch her, sweeping her up in my arms. The cinnamon smell of her hair creeps into my nostrils. She weighs nothing, probably only had that one stupid apple to eat all day. She must have been starving by the time I made her walk to the jungle with us.
Well done, James.
But then I never said I was good at taking care of things. I shouldn’t have brought her on board the Jolly Roger. That’s why pirate ships are run by men. Girls mean trouble. They are so…dependent.

Whirling around, I face the small part of the crew that came with me tonight. They all look at me like I’m marked with scabies. “What?” I bark.

Smee narrows his eyes. “What are you going to do with her?”

Yeah, that is a quality question. I shrug because I have no freakin’ idea.

Chapter 7

MY HEAD HURTS and hunger has my stomach in a rebelling twist. Nausea creeps up my throat from a strange swaying sensation. Am I on the pirate ship again? I can hear quiet murmurs around me, but I feel too weak to open my eyes and find out where I am. Strong arms tighten around me and I realize I’m not on a ship. Somebody is carrying me. Hopefully, it’s Peter flying me far away from Hook and his men.

I roll my head to the side, leaning my cheek against a warm chest. A familiar scent clings to it.

Tangerine and seawater.

No, no, no, not him!
He’s the enemy. I don’t want to be here. I think of my happy place, my home back in London, and wait until sleep pulls me under once again.

A whispered conversation wakes me some time later, but I’m still too exhausted to fully come to.

“You want to take her to your quarters?”

“Well, she has to sleep
somewhere
, and the bilge is hardly the right place to put her, is it? But we can take her to
your
quarters, if that’s a better idea.”

“
No!
Your cabin is fine.”

I’m placed on something soft. Blinking a few times, I can only make out the flickering light of a candle flame. Figures move like shadows in the room. My shoes come off and a blanket is draped over my body. The shivering fades from my bones. I curl into the soft pillow and reach out for my sisters in the dream that I haven’t fully abandoned yet. Paulina laughs and flings her tiny arms around my neck. She kisses my cheek and tells me to come home. Closing my eyes, I do.

*

Something caresses my left cheek. It feels wonderfully soft. After a deep sigh of pleasure, I open my eyes and tilt my head to see what it is. The bright light of the morning sun flows through three wide windows and covers half the room with a blanket of warmth. Long white curtains are dreamily drawn apart and tied to either side of the windows. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I woke up in a palace.

Of course, I know where I truly am—held captive in a cabin on the ship of the meanest man in the world.

As I sit up in a sea of white sheets, every single bone in my body hurts, reminding me of the worst day of my life. I wince and rub my temples. The last thing I remember is trying to run away from Hook after he pulled me out of that hole. Why he did it is a puzzle to me. A random guess: he needs me for another gruesome plan of his. But how much value could I still have to him? After last night it must be obvious to everyone that Peter Pan doesn’t care what becomes of me. Honestly, who can blame him? He must think of me as the worst traitor ever, even if it wasn’t my intention or my fault that I led the pirates to his hideout. I feel bad for Peter and the Lost Boys.

Wondering if it’s a good idea to get out of bed at all, I let my glance move through the room. The bed I lie on, the shelves on the wall, and the huge antique wardrobe, everything is made of the same chocolaty colored wood—even the small desk set against the wall adjacent to the windows.

There are three doors on three different walls. One is right next to the desk, one in the wall opposite the windows where the wardrobe also stands, and one is leading to a room behind me. Curiosity makes me climb out of the cozy bed eventually, but I don’t get to explore any further, because a tray on the desk with a delicious-smelling breakfast pulls me in like a pile of presents under a Christmas tree.

There’s a pot with warm milk, slices of roasted pork and cheese, buns, and a bowl of fruit. Sliding into the swivel chair that’s made of the same wood as the rest of the furniture, I tuck in like a ravenous dog and within minutes inhale all the food, down to the last juicy red apple from the bowl. Who knows when I’ll get to eat again in this place?

Thoroughly full, I rise and walk to the door opposite the windows where the shouts of men and bustling on deck drifts to me. A handwritten note sticks on the wood at eye level, which I didn’t notice before.

Look left before you walk through this door.

Turning my head left, I find myself standing in front of a mirror that’s as tall as I am.
Oh my God!
Instinctively, I cover my upper body with my arms because my t-shirt is torn to shreds. It must have happened in the jungle last night—when I slid down that dangerous slope. It would be a stupid idea to face the crew with my body exposed like this. On a second look, bright colors behind me catch my attention. I swirl around. Three dresses hang on the side of the wardrobe, each of them breathtakingly beautiful.

One is blood-red, made of velvet, with a tight corsage and a fussy skirt. It has long sleeves that end in a flowing soft cone. The second is pink, sleeveless, and like the first it’s so long, I would step on the hem if I wore it without high heels. I pull the third dress from the hanger and hold it in front of my body, turning back to the mirror. The light blue dress barely reaches my ankles and has tight sleeves that end just above the elbows. The cut is a simple baby-doll style with a satin bow beneath the chest. It’s gorgeous. And the best thing about it is, wherever I go in Neverland, I won’t attract attention wearing it.

Carefully placing the dress on the bed, I pull off my torn shirt. There I spot from the corner of my eye another note, this one on the door next to the bed. It reads:

Bathroom

Cautiously, I open the door and peek inside. A toilet is at the back of the room and—Wow! There’s no roof! Two buckets filled with water hang over an open space, a string attached to both of them. Interesting shower. I wonder if it’s all right to use it. Discarding the rest of my dirty, torn clothes on the floor, I slip into the bathroom and step under the first bucket, pulling its string.

A curse escapes me through clenched teeth. The water gushing over me is arse-cold. Of course it would be; it’s seawater. There’s a bar of soap in a little basket attached to the wall. I rub it over my wet body. Foam builds and the smell of tangerine drifts to my nose. It dawns on me that when I’m done in here, I’ll smell like the captain of this ship. Well, nothing can change that now. Pulling the second string, I wash the foam off and watch the suds run together in a narrow gutter in the floor. The drain leads through a small hole in the wall and out of the ship, down into the sea.

There’s nothing to towel myself dry with, so I pull the dress on over my wet body, which is difficult, but I manage. My shirt and jeans aren’t good to wear anymore, so I stuff them into the bin under the desk, but not before I peel my travelcard out of the pocket. The paper card suffered a great deal when I jumped overboard yesterday. The dates are blurred, the corners creased, but the word
London
is still legible.

Tracing it with my finger, I let go of a heavy sigh. Mom and Dad will be worried sick about me. They’ve probably gone to the police by now and reported me missing. I wish I could tell them where to look for me. I wish I could let them know I’m still alive.

Good heavens, I wish I could remember their faces!

Startled, I sink onto the mattress. How can one not remember their parents? This is impossible. They’ve been there my entire life. We walked in and out of the same house for nearly eighteen years. How could I forget?

But the more I try to recall their faces from my memory, the clearer it becomes that this isn’t all that has gotten lost. I don’t remember their names, their voices, or even one single moment in my life we spent together. It’s like they haven’t existed at all.

What scares me most about it is that I don’t even feel sorrow about their loss. I’m sure I should miss them, grieve because I’m so far away from them. But I don’t. The words
mom
and
dad
have become empty shells in my mind.

Panic squeezes my chest. How long until I forget everything about my past? How many more days can I treasure the memory of Paulina and Brittney Renae? How long until I completely forget where I come from, what our house looks like, and who I really am?

This must not happen!

I’ll do anything to leave Neverland. If there’s a way home, I’m going to find it. I press the tiny card to my heart and promise myself that I won’t give up. I will fight for whatever memory I can save and I
will
find a way back to my sisters.

Filled with a new surge of hope and determination, I rise from the bed and tuck the travelcard into a side-pocket I discovered in the dress. It’s time to find out where we are—if the ship is still close to the shore and another attempt of escape makes sense, or if we’re far out again, surrounded by a school of sharks.

My tennis shoes don’t match the babydoll dress and they don’t fit into this epoch either. The floorboards are warm enough, so it should be all right to walk out barefoot. The doorknob already in my hand, however, I hesitate as another note attached to the third door to my left catches my eye. This one is fixed with a dagger.

Do not enter!

No sound comes from behind this door. I wonder what’s in there. Another treasure? Weapons? Someone else’s bedroom? Tapping my fingers gently on the wood, I wait for an answer. Nothing. Not even when I knock louder. If there are swords or even pistols behind that door, it would aid in my chances of getting off the ship. Nothing makes a point like a gun in your hand.

Carefully, I turn the knob and open the door just a crack. After the first glimpse, my heart sinks. This is not a weapon stash. It’s a boring study. I step farther into the room and look around. The odor of rum hangs heavily in the air. There’s a huge desk in front of the continuing row of windows, a map of Neverland on the wall, and another door opposite the windows, probably leading out on deck. I’m just about to turn on my heel when this door opens and sharp blue eyes meet mine.

I must have startled Hook as much as he startled me, because he freezes in the doorway for a moment. Then he runs his hand through his windblown hair and comes striding across the room.

My first impulse is to scream and flee, jump out a window, but panic keeps me rooted to the spot. Hook brushes past me and peeks around the door as though he’s checking for something. Right…if the dagger has fallen off and the note went missing.

I know it’s still there, so I chew on my bottom lip until he stands in front of me again, arms folded. The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up to his elbows and I can see the angry twitch of his biceps underneath. Only the bottom half of the shirt is buttoned. For the first time I can see the tiny golden key on a chain around his neck.

“I assume you can read?” he snarls into my face and I look up. Swallowing hard, I nod. “Then which part
exactly
didn’t you understand?”

He’s trying to intimidate me. And he’s doing an excellent job. My heart drums a panicky rhythm. Last night, I saw what this man is capable of. What’s the punishment for disobedience on the Jolly Roger? Certainly something painful.

“Are you going to whip me in front of the crew now?” I whisper.

“What?
No!
” He pauses and his eyebrows draw even deeper than the scowl he directed at me just a moment ago. “Why do you think I’d do that?”

Fear has clogged my throat. “Because you’re a mean person…with an ugly soul.” And telling him this just might have doubled the number of lashes I’ll receive.

James Hook

THE FEAR IN Angel’s eyes almost chokes me. I thought I had done some good for her by rescuing her from the trap, carrying her back when she was too exhausted to even open her eyes, and giving her the captain’s cabin for the night. Obviously it wasn’t enough.

“I’m not going to punish you,” I say with some force in my voice to make her believe me.

Angel lowers her gaze to her naked feet. “Well, thank you then.”

Thank you?
What bullshit is that? I’m a pirate but God knows I never tortured a woman. “Listen, I know I went hard on you yesterday. Won’t happen again. You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

Her eyes find mine. There’s a layer of confusion in her gaze and also a flash of hope. She clasps her hands in front of her stomach. “Am I still your prisoner?”

Theoretically she is, but I want her to feel comfortable, too. “You’re my guest.”

“Am I free to leave the ship?”

“Um…no.”

“Then I
am
your prisoner.” Sadness gives way to anger in her eyes as she walks past me back into my bedroom and closes the door. A click sounds from the lock when she turns the key.