Page 24 of Never Landing

Wait.

Peter...the boy who had replaced Peter, had worked his whole life to destigmatize mental health concerns in the area. So surely, there would be someone in Cider Landing who could help people. I just had to find a way to let him talk to them without them throwing him in an institution for saying he was a hundred and sixty-seven, and he’d spent most of those years playing in the forest with lost children.

Lost children.

It was even more sinister than I’d been thinking before. How many children, just like Peter, had been taken from their homes, their families, everything they knew and loved, to play in the woods forever? It wasn’t a children’s story; it was a fucking horror movie.

I pulled out my phone and searched for therapists in Cider Landing. I shouldn’t have been surprised at the first thing that popped up: The Peter Hawking Clinic. Jesus. I couldn’t take Peter there.

Still, their website was very nice. Professional and slick, someone with a lot of skill had done it, so they’d probably paid through the nose for it, which meant they were doing well. They had a heck of a list of specialties, from substance abuse counseling to a list of common ailments including PTSD and anxiety to...lost children.

Just that, all by itself, a bullet point on the list.

Normally, I’d have dismissed the notion because I assumed they meant it in the sense of grief counseling for losing children,but this was Cider Landing. And Peter had called his friends that more than once in the last few days, when he spoke of them.

On a whim, I clicked over to their staff page, and there at the top, was Doctor Liza Hawking. Holy fucking shit.

Her picture showed a young woman, maybe a handful of years older than me, with Peter’s elfin features, high cheekbones, and chestnut hair.

Before I had any idea what the hell I was doing, I had clicked on the button for their phone number, and my phone was dialing.

“Hawking Clinic, how can I help you?”

For a second, I froze like a deer in headlights. What the hell could I say? I couldn’t just make an appointment for Peter, that wasn’t up to me. He was my best friend and maybe...but not my child.

“Hello?”

Okay, I had to get myself together. Yes, it was scary, but I’d called them, and it was rude not to speak up. As always after how my parents raised me, the fear of being rude was what got me moving. “Sorry, I just...needed a second.”

“That’s okay, take all the time you need. Is there something we can do for you?”

I cleared my throat and took another second, then nodded, resolute. “Your website says—it says lost children. Is that...there are children. In...in the woods.”

When she spoke again, her voice was infinitely softer. “Given the way you said that, I suspect it’s exactly what you’re thinking.”

“You—you help them? Lost children? I’m not one. And I didn’t ask him before calling you. He went for a walk because this is...it’s so freaking much.” Fuck, I was crying again. Would it ever stop? “I just...I don’t even know where to start. There’s so much he needs and I don’t know how to help and I’m afraid I’m not enough.”

“We do help them, yes,” she said, voice still soft and so reassuring. I wished she was telling Peter this, and not just me. He was the one who needed them. Needed some path back to a life he could lead in the modern era, without family and identity and, hell, anything but me. “Do you think he wants our help?”

I considered for a moment. Peter hadn’t given me any indication he wasn’t willing to accept help. He was a little nervous about other people, but these people understood. They’d spoken to people in his exact situation before, and they knew what this was like. Better than I did, for sure.

You’re about to be out of a job, my brain reminded me.How are you going to pay for him to have therapy then?

And it only took me a second to realize that it didn’t matter. I’d sent my CV to a dozen companies over the last week, and even had a few somewhat interested emails. If I had to sell my soul to some random company—hell, if I had to go back to James Fucking Warren—Peter was worth that. He was worth a million times that.

I would do whatever it took to give him a life back, even if it wasn’t the one he’d been born to.

Finally, I thought back to Peter as he left, sad and overwhelmed and so disillusioned. “I do think he wants help. I have to wait for him to get home or...I might go looking for him if he doesn’t get back soon. I—It’s a lot, and he knows it. He’s overwhelmed right now, and so am I, but I know he can do this.”

“I’m sure he can,” she agreed, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “They’re a surprisingly resilient lot. Still with all that elasticity of a child’s mind, but enough life experience to be an adult. It takes some time to reconcile, but it works.”

She understood. She really did.

“If you want, both of you can come down and meet Doctor Hawking...tomorrow? She has an hour free at four. Could I get a name?”

I bit my lip, considering. “I’m Everett Bailey. He, um...” This was a little bit of a mess, wasn’t it? It wasn’t exactly private information, but it might be on the touchy side, considering.

“It’s okay if you only have a first name for him. We get that a lot. It won’t cause any problem at all.”

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