Page 123 of Freeing Hook

“Then why…” Nolan’s hands are shaking at his sides now. He fists them. It’s clear he’s trying to keep his composure, conceal how terrified he is, but his mask is fracturing. “Why did you make me do that?” he yells, throwing the desk chair out of his way.

“This punishment wasn’t for him,” says the warden, unfazed by Nolan’s outburst. “You like to hurt other children, boy? Well,here you’ll learn that the punishment is more effective when it fits the crime. Now bend.”

When Nolan doesn’t move, the warden sighs. “Bend, or I’ll call little Peter back in here.”

Trembling, little Nolan does.

When the warden takes the poker to Nolan’s shoulder blade, he doesn’t cry. When he tells Nolan to spin around to face him and places another upon Nolan’s chest, the child doesn’t flinch.

“You’re mine now,” the warden whispers to Nolan. “You belong to me. Do you understand that? No matter where you go, I’ll always be here with you. You think your will cannot be broken. You think this”—he lets his fingers trail Nolan’s bare chest, then traces the curve of Nolan’s arm—“is yours. You could not be more wrong.”

The warden sends Nolan away, shirt still fisted in his tiny hand. I follow him out. Once in the hall, Nolan wipes his nose and buttons his shirt. I watch his fingers twitch at his sides, like he isn’t sure what to do next. Like he isn’t sure if there will be a next.

Then I watch him flee to the nearest alcove, fall on his knees, and weep.

I sit with him there, waiting with him as he cries, wishing I could reach out to him, touch him, comfort him. But for some reason, I can’t seem to reach this particular wraith.

He’s still shaking when another wraith approaches. Peter, I realize, by the way he’s bouncing.

“You don’t have to cry,” says Peter.

Nolan’s back goes rigid, and he shoots straight up. “I’m not crying,” he says, wiping his cheeks with his hands, as if he can banish the evidence.

“Yes, you are,” says Peter, though not unkindly. “But you don’t have to worry about that. I’ll teach you how not to.”

“Why would you do that?” asks Nolan. “I just tortured you.”

Peter flicks his hand to the side. “Oh, that? That was nothing. I’ve forgotten about it already.”

“You can’t just forget something like that,” says Nolan.

“Sure you can. Just don’t think about the bad things, and they can’t hurt you. I can teach you, if you want. You’ll need it if you’re going to stick around.”

Nolan clears his throat, like he’s imitating what a grown man could do. He stands, wiping his hands on his pants. “Thanks, but if that’s the worst of it, I can handle it.”

“Did he mark you?” Peter asks. “Tell you that you belonged to him?”

Nolan flinches.

“Like I said, you’re going to want my help,” says Peter, holding out his hand.

Nolan takes it.

CHAPTER 47

JOHN

There are echoes of my sister everywhere.

Wraiths are supposed to be made by acute events. Ones where the pain is so substantial, it’s potent enough for the shadows to lick them up, drink the pain until it fills them with life.

But as I wind down the trail on the back end of the cliffside and toward the beaches, I hear Wendy everywhere.

It’s as if she created wraiths wherever she went.

I had no idea my sister hurt so badly. To that extent.

Then again, the onions didn’t seem to work on her, so maybe it’s just that the shadows are more sensitive to my sister than they are to others.

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