There’s a crack, a fissure running all the way through her and it widens every day. There are times she wants to give in to John and Dr. Harrington. Would it be so bad to play make-believe, pretend to be a girl who never flew, never left home?

But why should she be asked to forget, to pretend to be something she is not? She’d learned to lie to her parents, but she’s grown up now, twenty-five years old. Shouldn’t she be the one to make the rules? Why should she let others define her reality?

Wendy concentrates, willing her body to lift from the bed. Fly. It used to be so easy. Even a fraction of space between herself and the bed would be enough. It would lessen the ache; it would make all the rage, all the suffering, worthwhile. But even without her hair, she’s too heavy. Everything in St. Bernadette’s holds her down.

When she’d tried as a child, leaping from atop the wardrobe, she’d let doubt cloud her mind. She’d been sick, weak, finding herself disbelieved, seeing her brothers already forgetting. If she refuses to let that doubt in again now, fills up every space inside her with thoughts of Neverland, surely she cannot fail again.

Wendy bites her lip, digging her shortened nails into her palm. She reaches for the sensation of Peter taking her hand, for the moment her toes lifted from the nursery floor, the dizzy fall through the window and up into the sky, all elation and breathlessness. Everything was bright and wonderful, the stars shining in so many more colors than she’d ever imagined possible. She remembers laughing, the light catching in her teeth and tasting of plums and honey. And…

Smoke. Raw meat. Wet fur.

Wendy falls. Her stomach drops and even though the bed in St. Bernadette’s still holds her, she plummets into endless dark. Peter’s hand is still on hers, but his grip is unshakable. Rather than holding her up, he pulls her along faster and faster, running until her feet burn.

It’s a secret, Wendy. The best secret I know. I’ve never told anyone before.

It’s a feeling she imagines akin to being struck by lightning. Hollow, tingling, numb. A pain that isn’t quite pain. There’s a hole inside her. A place where something has been torn away.

Wendy slams a door over the empty space, a primal reaction. On the other side of the wood, something breathes. On the other side of the wood is a raw wound, and she draws away.

Her eyes fly open, her breath coming fast and hard. There’s something there. Something in Neverland she’s forgotten, something terrible. There’s a bit of darkness lodged inside her like a splinter, digging and digging, infecting her blood.