“I get glimpses of it now and then,” Peter continued to explain as if Wendy weren’t about to have an existential crisis. “In corners, under beds.” He glanced at the cot and his shoulders crept up to his ears. “But I haven’t been able to catch it. The longer it’s gone, the worse it gets.” The firelight caught the worry lines on his forehead. He looked so tired. “I figured since you helped me find it before, you would be able to help me find it again.” Peter chewed on his bottom lip, his eyes large and hopeful.

Wendy pushed back. “What do you mean, ‘before’?” she asked, feeling all the more frustrated. “We’d never met before last night!”

Peter frowned as he inched a step closer. “Do you really not remember?”

She felt the urge to shout at him. To tell him no, there was no way she could remember him, because this was all impossible and Peter Pan wasn’t real. But then, he was standing in front of her, as if he’d leapt from the pages and pages of drawings hidden in her truck. A few years older than she’d imagined, but still. He was flesh and bone, and he didn’t have a shadow.

When she didn’t respond, Peter pressed on. “I used to visit and listen to you tell stories about me, just outside your window.” Wendy’s eyes bulged and Peter was quick to continue. “I know, I know! That sounds weird, but—” He shrugged his shoulders, sheepish and at a loss for words and unable explain himself. “We didn’t officially meet until one night, when I’d come to listen, but you guys were asleep already.” Peter twisted his fingers together. “But before I could take off, somehow my shadow got loose in your room, and I had to chase it around—”

The slightest spark of a memory flickered in Wendy’s mind.

“You woke me up,” she heard herself say before she could stop herself. It felt more like a dream than a memory, but Wendy could perfectly picture it—waking up in her bed to a strange sound and finding Peter Pan, the young boy, probably about eleven years old, just like her, wrestling on the floor with something dark but translucent.

Peter looked just as surprised, but his face, instead of echoing the dread that Wendy felt, lit up with excitement. “Yes! I caught it, but I couldn’t get it to stick back on—”

“So I sewed it…” she murmured to herself. Like with most dreams, she couldn’t remember the details, just faded, splotchy images.

The large smile splitting Peter’s face did little to make her feel better. “That’s right! You helped me get it back on!” A relieved laugh shook his shoulders. “John and Michael slept right through it somehow—”

A sharp pang struck Wendy. She sucked in a breath.