Chapter Eleven

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As I lay in my tent that night, my head felt like a cage, captivating untamed thoughts, racing in all different directions.

My hands underneath my head as it rested on the flat pillow and I shifted all different ways trying to find comfort in the firm mattress with no prevail.

My sleepless nights were more frequent than the nights I could drift off into the dreams of my subconscious mind. Though Neverland itself was like a figment of my subconscious mind, overpowering reality and swallowing it whole.

On this night in particular, I was catching up with the chaos of the past few days and accepting it's authenticity.

I was unsure what to think of Chase. At first he had seemed pessimistic and bitter without reason, but slowly as the pieces were glued together by whispering secrets, he, like Peter, was very much broken hearted.

I started to see things as he did and even I, felt some sort of hatred toward Peter.

After Peter had seen the kiss that Owen and I shared, he did not appear troubled or surprised, instead he simply ignored it as though it never happened. Perhaps he was embarrassed or maybe he hadn't seen it all.

Owen had left, cheeks tinted pink with mortification and I had been left alone with Peter. No words were said between us, only glances and a gesture now and then when he wanted something, like his tea or crackers or he got cold and needed help slipping underneath his cloth comforter.

Though Chase had been the one that poisoned Peter, I still felt the desire to care for him. I assumed it was the motherly nature that came with being female, or maybe I felt the need to show Peter that we could be pleasant together without his desire to control me.

After Peter had fallen asleep, I put out the kerosene lamps and left his tent to return to my own. Owen had made sure that I got there safely and then placed a simple kiss on the top of my head before saying goodnight.

The wind was stronger tonight, beating at the side of my tent and making a sound like rain, though no rain fell.

Peter did not play his pipe tonight and Owen did not knock on my door to rescue me from the confinement of another nightmare.

The thought of Owen made me smile involuntarily. He was like a kiss among beatings, drawing me into his safe embrace and sharing tender glances of complete and utter adoration. Owen was my haven, the breath that I needed to survive the clutches of Neverland.

As I turned over in my bed, a small object pressed against my thigh. Suddenly, I remembered that I had slipped the black key from Peter's dresser into my pocket.

With two fingers, I drew it out and held it in my palm, feeling it's ridges and delicate pattern on the head of the thin metal rod.

I pulled the blanket off of me and swung my legs over the side of the bed, getting up and feeling around on the floor for my kerosene lamp. After lighting it, I crouched at the foot of my bed, without a sound, and put the key into the keyhole of the chest, praying it was the right key.

Slowly I turned it and a brisk click shot through the dead silence of the cold tent. Shivers raced down my spine like a pack of fleeting wolves and I was hesitant to lift the lid of the chest. What if Hope's body was kept in this chest? The thought was silly. Surely I would've smelled something.

Curiosity got the better of me and I opened the chest with a small creaking sound.

Clothing, drawings and an paper envelope were the only things that scattered the oversized chest, too large for its bearings. This must've been where Peter got my clothes.

Caged • Robbie Kay/Peter Pan •Where stories live. Discover now