“I came as soon as they called me,” Mr. Darling said. “We were on the other side of the woods, looking for the kids—but you found them?” His words spilled over one another. “I told you to stay inside when your mother and I weren’t home!” he barked angrily, but Wendy could feel the way his hands trembled.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Wendy said.

“Mr. Darling.” Detective James stepped forward. “We—”

“I know where John and Michael are, Dad,” Wendy said quietly. All eyes swung to her.

Her father froze, and she rushed on before he could get his hopes too high.

“They’re buried under the big tree in the clearing,” Wendy told him. Maybe if she said it softly, it would hurt a little less.

Mr. Darling’s hands dropped to his sides. He stumbled back a step as if she had slapped him. His breaths sawed in and out.

She glanced at Detectives James. “I remembered,” she told him, “when I saw the tree.”

Detective James cut a look at Detective Rowan. Immediately, she called over two CSI agents and murmured an order. They headed for the clearing, but Detective Rowan stayed where she was.

Wendy’s words hung in the air for a moment. Everyone was quiet.

Mr. Darling was rattled, but not surprised. Maybe he already knew and had just been waiting five years for someone to confirm it. He opened his eyes again.

Mr. Darling turned to Detective James. His face tried to pinch into the angry expression Wendy had grown to know well, but his chin wobbled and his eyes glistened. “What happened to them? Who did it? Was it the man who took the other kids?” he demanded, his voice thick.

“It was Mr. Davies.”

All the eyes that had been glued to Wendy swung over to Mr. Davies.

Wendy braced herself, expecting him to immediately deny it, to argue and push back. Maybe he would even start shouting about his innocence.

Instead, Mr. Davies took on a sickly pallor. His eyes fell to the ground. He bent forward and buried his face in his hands.

“What?” Wendy’s father was the first to break the silence, his attention bouncing between Wendy and his friend. His face scrunched up, sharp lines of confusion digging into his brow.

“Are you sure?” Detective James asked carefully, stony and serious. Detective Rowan silently slipped behind Mr. Davies. Wendy nodded, her fingers twisting into the hem of her shirt. “How do you know that, Wendy?”

Her hand found the acorn tied around her neck. “I remembered.” The gunshots echoing through the snowy woods. Her brothers crumpling to the ground. Splotches of red on white snow. The glint of the rifle. Mr. Davies’s signature red plaid. They were seared into her memory now, not soon to be forgotten. Probably never. A new set of nightmares to relive over and over.

Wendy wished Peter were by her side.