CHAPTER 5: PAN
5 minutes earlier
"Are you the boogeyman?"
"No, no, little one. I'm Peter Pan, come to see if you are good enough to join the Lost Boys and I in Neverland."
I already know he'll jump. They all jump.
Just like her.
I can't find a moment of freedom from her. She's a scourge upon my thoughts; a fire in my veins. The only relief is watching the light leave their little eyes when the truth sinks in, that visceral realization that they are not flying at all.
"What's Peter Pan? Are you like the Sandman? Will you bring me good dreams?"
He can't be more than six, his droopy eyes full of wonder as he sizes me up in his closet doorway.
"I am not at all like the Sandman, little one. I am from a world far from your own, a world called Neverland. There, children are free to run and play and fight whenever they'd like to, eating whatever they want to, staying up all night if they'd like. I am the gatekeeper to this world, and the King of it all. I choose who may come to my world, and I am here to see if you would like to join us."
His eyes widen, and he rubs a line of drying drool from the corner of his mouth with his filthy shirtsleeve. The house is ancient, and visually seems to crumble at the edges. The room reeks of spoiled milk and tobacco.
"Are there...are there baby sisters in Neverland?"
My stomach tightens, and I step closer to his bedside, my face illuminated by the moon. I work my expression into that of amusement, though this question has knocked the wind out of me.
"Neverland has only young boys like yourself. There are no girls allowed in Neverland."
I can still see her holding my father, his rosy cheeks covered in bright lines of tears as she rocked him and sang softly. Only she could calm him, but he was simply not cut out for fatherhood. At first, it amused her how little he took to me. But as the days dragged on, she grew cold: not only to me, but to him as well.
"Will I be able to come home and see my Mom?"
I am prepared for this question.
"No, little one. You'll never see your Mother again. But you will have your new brothers, and you will have me. I will protect you, feed you, and I promise you adventure every single moment for the rest of eternity. That is what it means to be a Lost Boy."
He climbs out of bed slowly, approaching me.
"Are you their Dad? The Lost Boys?"
"No, child. I am their friend and King. There are no mother or fathers in Neverland."
He ponders, looking up at me. My face is boyish and soft. I am of below average height, with a thin build. Dressed as a child, he cannot distinguish me from a man.
"I want to go with you, but I'm scared."
Another thing I'm all too prepared to hear.
Was she scared, I wonder to myself.
I must drive out the thoughts of her. They infect the very air I breathe, until I am left gasping in agony. Still, I see her. Silhouetted in the window, her eyes fixed on the stars as she stepped, so surely, into the blackness...
"Will it help if I hold your hand the whole way there?"
My voice is tender, as I bend down and lock eyes with the child. He smiles warmly.
"I have a little sister now, and I hate her. She eats up all the food and she cries all the time. I want to go away and never come back."
"Then let us be on our way, child."
He takes my hand, and we step quickly to the window. It is still open from my original entrance, the air still and stagnant.
The boy looks up at me, confused.
"I can't climb down, it's too far. Does that mean I can't come?"
"Child, we will not climb to Neverland. We will fly!"
I breathe excitement into the word, smiling like a fool, gripping his hand tightly.
His reaction is that of so many before him. He furrows his brow, and then immediately smiles in joy, his mouth bursting open as if to silently shout in delight.
Outside, it begins to rain, and my face is met by the sharp water as I tug the curtains aside. I recoil, sickened by the feeling.
"What's wrong Peter?" His face is lost. He does not yet believe.
"The water reminds me of my arch enemy, Captain Hook! We go on many adventures to fight him and his dastardly crew back in Neverland. Don't worry, my new friend. We are ready to fly."
I'm an excellent liar. The water does frighten me, but only because of what she'd done. What's she'd done to him, because I could not help him. Because I could not make him stop drinking. She was not sleeping, she'd had no rest in days. She had only wanted to calm him down, let him rest in the cool water. It had all been my doing.
"If you want to fly with me to Neverland, there are only two things you need," I whisper, regaining my composure, shoving the image of his tiny, still corpse from my mind. "You must first think of the happiest, most wondrous things you can imagine. Go on, try that."
He closes his little eyes and intensifies his expression, as if every ounce of him is thinking. His little fists are balled up in tense joy, and his mouth curls up slowly into a smile.
"Wonderful, wonderful job my friend. Keep your eyes shut tight, you understand?"
"Yes," he shrieks quietly in delight.
"Have the thoughts completely filled you up?"
He nods his tiny head.
"Alright, open your eyes."
In my outstretched hand, he sees a glowing powder, and his expression dances.
"What is it?"
"This is pixie dust, my friend. It is the second thing you need to fly."
He believes this lie just as easily, leaning close to my palm to inspect the magical dust. In truth, it's angel dust, or PCP. It has never once failed me.
I hold out a pinch, and I place it in my mouth. I then sprinkle another pinch on top of my head. He watches in amazement, comforted by the fact that I have gone first. When I put my hand out to him, I know this is his last chance to resist me. But so far, none have.
He pinches out some dust, consumes it, and I sprinkle a pinch atop his head. He is nearly ready to meet the sky.
"Now, I want you to think again of all the joyous things in the world. Feel the dust begin to lift you up, making you light as a feather right where you stand."
The hallucinogenic properties of the drug are beginning to kick in - he is swaying side to side, and when he looks up at me, his pupils have dilated into enormous black discs.
"I...I f-feel it, Peter," he manages, his mouth in an unnatural smile. He takes my outstretched hand as I guide him up to the window sill.
He is ready to fly.
I see her, against my will, stepping from our own sill and sinking into the dark, the guilt or perhaps just her sickness, ripping her from me. She had said nothing, left me with no parting affection to hold on to. And in that lonely hour, I felt rage for the first time in my short life. I knew true pain.
The boy looked at me, his body beginning to crumple from the heavy influence of the drugs.
"Are you ready to fly?"
"Yes, yes. Let me fly."
He stepped from the ledge gingerly at first, gripping the frame of his window. And then, all at once, he let go.
And there he went, into the night sky, as I leaned out the window to watch his soul escape his body to meet her in heaven. His large, vacant eyes became hollow, and his mouth parted to scream just as his small, fragile body met the sturdy and immovable earth. Pan smiled.