Page 9 of Freeing Hook

I snort. “Why would Simon do that?”

“Man, you really haven’t taken to us, have you?”

I shrug. It’s always been difficult for me to get close to others. Getting close to the Lost Boys has been at odds with keeping my siblings safe. No need to attempt something that’s both difficult and counterproductive. Sure, I’ve spent time with them since arriving in Neverland, but that doesn’t change that we’re more acquaintances than friends.

“You know what? That’s not important,” Victor says, one hand on his hip while he waves the other in front of him. “It’s not Simon killing him to save your life that seemed odd to me. Not even how shaken up he was. I’m sure anyone would be shaken up after killing their friend. It’s how he’s been acting around Peter.”

This piques my interest. “Simon’s always been Peter’s biggest fan.”

“Exactly.” Victor flicks a low-hanging tree branch. “And now he breaks into a sweat every time Peter enters the room.”

I stroke the bridge of my glasses. “You think Simon knows something about Peter? Something that frightens him?”

“That, or Peter knows something about Simon,” says Victor.

I tuck that thought away for the time being. “And what does that have to do with my sister?”

“Whatever it was that happened that night, your sister witnessed it. What if she was lying to us when she told us about Nettle? What if there was more to the story, and Peter told her to keep it quiet?”

My mouth goes dry. Something had spooked Wendy the night she tried to get us to run—something about Peter. Obviously, by the time she came back to the Den, her fears had been assuaged. I’d assumed it was because Nettle was found to be the killer.

“Simon was there the night we tried to run,” I say. “Wendy tried to get him to bring the rest of the Lost Boys to run with us. When he showed back up, he said the other Lost Boys refused to run away with us.” I grit my teeth, annoyed that I don’t remember anything after that, Nettle having dosed me with somnium oil.

Victor runs his hands through his hair. “Well, I can confirm that was a lie. Simon didn’t alert us that you were leaving.”

I frown. “Unless you were the only one he didn’t try to save.”

“Thanks,” says Victor, but he’s too self-aware of his standing with the other Lost Boys to dispute me.

“You’re probably right, though,” I say. “I doubt Simon told the rest of the boys about the escape attempt.”

“Yet Nettle somehow found where you were and attacked you,” says Victor. “Then Simon was conveniently there to save the day.”

“Leading us back to the beginning. That the only people who know what happened that night are Peter, Simon, and Wendy.” I have to admit, it’s all a bit suspicious. I don’t at all like where this train of thought is headed, though.

Apparently Victor doesn’t either, because he says, “You don’t think they would have killed her, right?” There’s desperation in his eyes. Strange. He’s the most cynical of all the Lost Boys after what happened to Thomas. But there’s still hope there. For Wendy. For my sister. “It’s just hard to imagine anyone wanting to hurt her, that’s all,” says Victor.

My head aches. “I suppose it’s possible that Peter has her tucked away somewhere. I agree with you; it seems more like him to make her disappear than to kill her.” I tell myself I’m being logical, that this has nothing to do with what I want the truth to be. “He stalked her for years. If it was all just to kill her in the end…”

I can’t finish that sentence, because I know it’s not intellectually honest. Stalkers murder their victims all the time. Especially when it becomes clear that the love they feel for their victims is unreciprocated.

And Wendy had just tried to escape the island. To escape Peter. The thought raps against my skull, refusing to let me ignore it.

“I know you have a brain where you should have a heart,” says Victor, “but I’m glad you’re here.”

“Why’s that?” I ask, unable to fathom a reason.

“Because,” says Victor, “you’re the only other person on this island who Peter doesn’t have in his pocket.”

Before I can respond, Michael starts humming. It’s a song our father used to sing to him before bed. Totally inappropriatefor a child, now that I understand the lyrics. It’s a song about a man who keeps his ex-lover’s ring-finger bone in his pocket after hunting her down when she refused to marry him.

I suppose Victor saying pocket was what made Michael think of it.

Or…

The rusted wheels in my head begin to crank. “You know, Victor, I don’t think that’s entirely true.”

CHAPTER 4

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