Page 144 of Freeing Hook

It takes me blinking the tears away, limping closer to the body, before I can make out his features.

John’s face is sallow. His neck bruised with purple blotches that creep up around the noose.

I hear the cause of death matter-of-factly, in John’s voice. Like he’s standing next to me instead of dangling above me. “Victim’s neck must not have snapped. Bet he was too thin for his weight to do it for him. He probably struggled up there for a few minutes before he lost consciousness.”

I’m faintly aware of Peter’s approaching presence. I think he and Victor were arguing in the forest. They must have been because when they rustle out from the trees behind us, Peter snaps, “Ever get between me and Wendy again, and I’ll—”

I only turn to face them because I’m aware Michael was with Victor. It’s like there’s a checklist in my head of things that have to be done.

What to do when your brother is dead.

Number one. Make sure Michael doesn’t see.

But Michael has already seen. That’s why he was chanting earlier. Why his voice was high, strained. Why he sang the song that led me here. That way I could see it too, make it make sense to him.

But I can’t make it make sense to Michael.

Not when it doesn’t make sense to me.

Victor has tied a scrap piece of fabric over Michael’s eyes. A gamble, but Michael seems not to mind the darkness. I whisper to the shadows to watch after my brother for a while.

And then I look at Peter. He’s staring up at John’s body, pure shock on his expression.

So that’s what it looks like when Peter’s in pain. There’s none of the familiar indifference left. The cool apathy. Peter’s blue eyes have watered over, his breath going labored.

When he looks at me, he’s distraught. I think it might be on my behalf.

When Peter approaches me, I let myself melt into him, then have to remind myself that it wasn’t my choice to do so.

It feels easier to pretend it’s my choice. I don’t have the energy to resist any longer. Who cares if my life is tied to Peter? John is dead.

John is dead.

My brother is dead.

I open my mouth to ask…but then realize I don’t have a question in my mind. So Peter asks for me. “When did you find him?”

Victor pauses, Michael’s hums filling the space. Peter’s chest is warm against my cheek. It’s the only reason I’m still standing. “Only just now. I was taking Michael out for a stroll—he was getting antsy inside. I tried to shield his eyes, but…I think he saw.”

There’s another question there, but my mind can’t process it, my lips can’t form the words.

I cling tighter to Peter. My brother is dead. His spectacles are glass shards at the bottoms of my feet.

I think I understand now why Michael likes to step on sharp things sometimes.

“Get him down,” I whisper into Peter’s chest.

When Peter pauses, I snap, “GET MY BROTHER DOWN.”

Peter pulls away from me, a bit stunned. But he does as I say, wings batting as he flies up to the branch. For a moment, it seems as if he doesn’t know how to go about it—cut the rope or untie it.

In the end, he takes a dagger to the noose, then holds John’s body as it slumps in his arms. When he touches back down, he lays John in the grass.

“Who did this to him?” I ask, falling to my knees before my brother and wiping his hair from his forehead. It’s grown even longer since I last saw him. Our mother would have had a fit.

“Wendy Darling, why don’t we—”

My voice is calm. Like I’m the dangerous one here and I’m brokering a deal with an enemy turned business partner. “I want to find who did this.” I pivot to Victor, my voice sounding far off, even to my ears. “Victor, when was the last time you saw John?”

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