Shaking, Wendy rises and creeps to the door. Despite the nurse’s punishment and her shorn head, it is unlocked. Perhaps the nurse forgot, or perhaps she expects Wendy to be broken and properly cowed, subdued without any need to lock her in. She eases the door open and peers down the hallway in either directions. No attendants or nurses in sight.

Wendy’s pulse trips. Her back teeth ache, unspecified dread filling her. Whatever she saw… No. It must be a lie… Neverland was a beautiful adventure. Peter was and is her friend. Nothing terrible happened, and there are no monsters. If she could only taste the sweet air once more to remind herself, if she could just see Peter’s smile one more time, then she could endure an entire lifetime in St. Bernadette’s and never lose faith.

She hurries down the hall, almost running, her bare feet slapping lightly at the tile. She can fly. She just needs to see the sky; she just needs a little height to get her started.

As she approaches the common areas, Wendy lowers her head and slows her pace. Luck is on her side; three women emerge from the large common room as she passes. Wendy falls in behind them as they climb to the second floor where the rooms are nicer, larger, more elaborately furnished. It’s where patients who have committed themselves voluntarily, or patients whose families have more money than sense, are housed.

Wendy snuck up there with Mary once. They’d spent hours exploring and spying on the “patients” there who had their own dedicated staff and were treated more like hotel guests. They were so sure they’d be caught, laughing behind their hands the whole time and sneaking tea cakes and sandwiches from an unattended tray left behind. They’d never been discovered, slipping in and out like ghosts. Wendy will be a ghost again now.

At the landing, she turns away from the women. There are windows overlooking the lawn at the opposite end of the hall, and she makes for those. Through the glass, Wendy can see false balconies just deep enough for a single person to stand. The windows are locked, but unlike the windows downstairs, they don’t have bars.

From one of the many pockets secreted in her clothing, the ones Mary taught her to sew, Wendy pulls a set of hairpins stolen from one of the nurses. The lock is easily picked. She pushes the window open and climbs onto the tiny balcony. A fresh breeze greets her and she spreads her arms, almost weeping with relief. She’s so close. Neverland is just on the other side of the painfully blue sky.