Panic

Interlude Two

Interlude Two

            Worlds away, Michael Darling woke up from a startlingly vivid dream about Wendy and a boy who had looked like Peter but older, and with pitch black eyes.  He looked at the ceiling and pondered it for a moment.  Ever since Wendy had gone missing, his dreams had become more and more troubled.

            A shadow moved on the ceiling and he blinked.  Nothing was there.

            Just a trick of the light, he said to himself, then he swung his feet out of bed.  There was no point in trying to fall back asleep when sleep was so obviously not going to come.

            He walked down the hallway, passing Wendy’s room.  On impulse, he opened the door to her bed chamber, looking inside at the delicate blue four poster bed decorations and white frothy lace curtains.  The rest of it was quite bare.  Her clothes had stayed at the finishing school; his father was confident that they would find Wendy in time for the new term, and there was no point in bringing her clothes back home.  The easy chair she’d once placed by the window had been removed when she left.  Her desk was now pushed up against the wall, and the wooden wardrobe had been moved to the guest bedroom.

            “Michael!” someone hissed.  He looked out into the hallway and saw John standing in the hallway in his white nightshirt, bearing a rather freakish resemblance to a ghost.

            “I’m sorry,” he whispered to his brother.  “I couldn’t sleep.”

            “Only Father can,” John said, walking over to Michael.  “He had to call a doctor over to give Mother a sleeping potion.”

            Michael felt his insides twist.  “It’s sick,” he said.  “How can he sleep when she could be anywhere, being forced to do anything?”

            “Michael, we have to believe that she’s alright,” John said.  “She’s never had any problems protecting herself.”

            Michael let out a strangled laugh.  “Remember when she destroyed Peter in that sword fight?” he asked.

            Something in John’s posture changed, but then he relaxed.  “Yes, I do,” he said.

            Silence followed.  “Michael,” John said, “something just doesn’t add up.”

            Michael looked at his brother.  “What do you mean?” he asked.

            “Well, Wendy sent us a letter saying she was staying at school, and she told her friends that she was going home,” John said. “I don’t think she was kidnapped, like the detectives think.  If I had to place a bet, I’d say she was trying to run away.”

            “That’s insane!” Michael said.  “Where on earth would she run away to?  And why?”

            “See, Michael,” John said, and then he stopped.  “I’ve been trying so hard to convince myself that this couldn’t possibly be the explanation.  It just can’t.”

            “John, what are you talking about?” Michael asked.

            “Before she went to school, I gave her a tube of pixie dust,” John said, looking at his brother.  “I thought it would help her remember that she was so much more than her proper exterior.  I wanted to remind her that she was special.”

            “She was the only girl who’d ever been to Neverland,” Michael mused.  “But John, you don’t think?”

            “I do,” John said.  “And the holiday would have been the perfect time to leave.  No one would be looking for her.”

            “But why?” Michael asked.  “She was perfectly fine with her life!  In fact, she was convincing herself to live here.  What happened?”

            “One of her classmates told me that Wendy and a Mr. Pan had formed a very close relationship during the term,” John said.

            Michael groaned.  “John!” he said.  “Why wouldn’t you tell me this?”

            “Because I convinced myself that Pan was a common name,” John said.

            “It’s not,” Michael exclaimed softly.  “Pan is one of the least common names in England!”

            “It may not be what we think,” John said.  “She might not have gone.”

            “Well, did you find the necklace in her things at school?” Michael asked.

            “I didn’t go through her things,” John said.  “Scotland Yard did!”

            “Well, maybe we ought to go back to Primrose’s and see if we can find it,” Michael suggested.  “If we can, then she was taken.  If we can’t, we need to find out why she left.”

            “That’s what I don’t understand,” John said.  “She’s usually so sensible!  I thought she’d finally found her place in this world.”

            “John, do you know who you are talking about?” Michael asked.  “You may have been wrapped up in your studies, but Wendy Darling does not have any motivation to find her place in this world.  The only thing she wants to do is have an adventure.”

            John stood still for a moment.  “Don’t blame this on me,” he said, his voice soft.

            “Of course not!” Michael said.  “I’m not blaming you.  I’m just saying you may not know Wendy as well as you thought you did.”

            Silence followed the statement for a while.  “You know her best,” John said.  “What do you propose we do?  If she’s really in Neverland, no Scotland Yard detective is going to be able to find her.”

            “Well, the first thing to do is find that necklace,” Michael said.  “And then we need to find this Mr. Pan and see what his role in all of this is.”