My lungs burn without him. Without the air I need to survive. The ocean pulls me under, succeeds in severing all spells as it wrenches us apart and takes him away from me forever. I suck in water as I try to push my way to the top. My lungs feel heavy. A fire slowly starts to suffocate me as my body grows dangerously weak. My mind screams it can’t go on, as I fight my way back to life. Back to Peter. Back to the air I need to survive.

A dizzy feeling takes over.

A dense fog settles, creeping quickly through my brain.

I stop fighting.

I close my eyes.

I think happy thoughts.

And one more time.

I believe in the magic I once saw in the lost boy’s eyes.

Suddenly, I feel my body become weightless. My chest burns from the inside out and the darkness finally wins.

My last thought is my favorite happy thought.

Of the boy with magic in his eyes and danger in his soul.

Peter Pan.

Chapter 28

Wendy

“You know that part between sleep and awake? That place where you still remember dreaming? That’s where I’ll always love you. That’s where I’ll be waiting.”

Hook

- James V. Hart

A soothing, rhythmic, humming noise nudges me from my dreams. I smile knowing, feeling, understanding the shift in the room before I even open my eyes. The music is gentle, low enough for only me to hear and not wake anyone else up in the house.

I sit for a moment, a blush creeping across my cheeks, my body awakening in a different kind of way for the boy who I sense sitting on the edge of my bed at my feet.

When I still don’t move, his foot gently rubs against mine and my smile grows. The bed shifts with his weight as he sits down on the comforter. My head lulls from side to side with the rhythm of the music he plays. But it only lasts a few more moments before he stops.

“Keep playing, Peter,” I whisper before I can stop myself. My mind urges me to listen. To understand things my heart’s denying.

I’ve been here before. Said this before.

More than once, I’m guessing.

“You’re almost at my favorite part,” I breathe as I open my eyes.

“What part is that, Wendy?” The lost boy stares back at me with a mischievous smile. Before I can answer he says, “Want to know my favorite part, Wendy Moira Angela Darling?”

Breathless, I stare at his mouth and whisper, “Part of what, Peter?”

“Of you,” he smiles, inching closer and brushing my hair out of my eyes. “Everything,” he whispers, and I sigh. “Everything about you is my favorite part, Wendy. Part of living for, part of breathing for, part of dying for.”