Page 143 of Losing Wendy

I bite my lip. “They never said. But I have my suspicions.” I consider the pieces of the puzzle that never quite fit—the carving of the fox into Freckles’s cheek, the singeing of his hair. The way someone removed Joel’s pinkie.

Clearly, someone was trying, not only to tell us the murders were connected, but to warn us of the next victim. Freckles’s hairwas singed, the scent reminiscent of Joel’s from how he used to coax rats into the fire. And Joel’s pinkie—that was clearly meant to indicate John as the next victim.

Like one of the killers wanted to be caught.

It would explain why there was nothing on Thomas’s body predicting Freckles’s death if Simon didn’t know about Nettle’s schemes until after Thomas’s corpse was discovered. But did he participate in the murders, or did he leave his clues on the victims’ bodies afterward?

We both stare at Simon for a while, contemplating.

“What are you going to do to him?” I ask, softly, walking my fingers through the grass and interlacing them with Peter’s. It’s a plea, really. One on Simon’s behalf.

Peter doesn’t answer me. He just stares straight ahead, a blankness on his face.

“Peter.” It’s not as much of a question as it is a plea.

“None of this would have happened if I hadn’t insisted the Sister let us bring Thomas with us,” he says. “Originally, she offered to let me take the other boys, but she wanted Thomas for herself. Said he was destined to cause bloodshed, no matter where he ended up.”

I squeeze Peter’s hand. “She was wrong. You see that, right?”

Peter turns and looks at me, face blank. “All I see is a pool of blood. An abundance of death, following these boys wherever they go.”

I shake my head. “But none of it by Thomas’s hands. You gave that back to Thomas. His innocence. You took him out of that wretched place, and he became something different. You set him free.”

“And now he’s dead. And so are Freckles and Joel and Nettle. And Simon—”

“You don’t have to hurt him, Peter,” I say. “He was manipulated. Nettle tricked him into believing he was a murderer, until he was. I know you meant well, but it’s not good for them—not remembering. You only wanted to shield them from pain, but they still feel it, every last one of them. I’ve seen the shadows beneath their eyes, theway some of them cry without knowing why. Their past is affecting them, whether they remember it or not. The Lost Boys need the truth, difficult as it is to bear.”

Peter turns to me. “And the truth about Simon? That he killed some of them? How do you think they’re going to handle that? You didn’t see them, Wendy. You didn’t see the murder in their eyes back at the orphanage. You think you see the shadows now, but the hate that festered in their souls… If you want to tell them the truth, it won’t protect Simon.”

“So what are you going to do, then?” I ask.

Peter doesn’t answer.

“What are you going to do with him?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Panic whirls in me. “I know you’re supposed to dispose of them. I know…” I sigh, slipping my hand into my pocket and removing the journal. I’ve already told him that I read it, but there’s something about showing it to him that feels even more invasive. Peter stares down at it, and where I expect to see anger, I find nothing.

“How much of it did you read?”

“Enough to know that the Sister will expect you to kill Simon for what he did. Enough to know that’s why she gifted you with your shadow magic. So you could do what needs to be done.”

Peter glances down at the ground and fiddles with a blade of grass.

“You don’t have to obey her, you know,” I say.

“She’s my master. You know that as well as anyone. You’ve seen what she can do to me. How she can make me kneel.”

“But you defied her already.”

His brow raises. “Did I?”

“You didn’t kill Thomas.”

Peter sighs. “Thomas wasn’t showing signs of murder when he died. He died because of what Nettle remembered from his past. I wasn’t required to end Thomas.”

I bite my lip. “Joel—surely you knew what he was capable of. You’d seen him torturing the animals. You didn’t kill him, though.”

---