Finding Neverland

The death of Granny Wendy had come as no surprise to the fortunate souls who had known her, and even less of a shock to her immediate family. She had lived a very full life indeed; to the age of 102, to be exact, spending the majority of her life caring for her children. Now despite her mother's wishes, Wendy Moira Angela Darling had never married, dismissing the idea of belonging to a man as "old fashioned" and too "grown up." She instead opened her home to any lost man, woman, or child in need. They, regardless of age, became her children. Intrigued by her fantastic stories of daring sword-fights, Indians, mermaids, and a faraway land, Wendy's beloved children were cared for in a house where imagination was encouraged and growing up was optional.

But, as most fairy tales do, Wendy's story had come to an end.

It was a very sad day indeed for all to hear of her passing, to say the least, especially for Wendy's only biological daughter, Annie. Now Annie's existence was undeniably a very curious one. Stunning doctors and specialists alike, Wendy had announced, at the age of 83, that she was with child. Now Wendy had never looked, spoke, or acted her age, not even at her death, but there was no denying the obvious danger of an 83-year-old woman delivering a child. Nevertheless, Annabelle Josephine Darling was born months later. Who the father was is still unknown, to even Annie herself.

"He was a lovely man," was all Wendy had said upon her deathbed. "But I wouldn't try finding him. He's been lost for years."

___

As Annabelle Josephine Darling stood outside her mother's empty house, she couldn't suppress a shudder that overtook her thin frame. The winter air was unforgiving, but it was more so the appearance of the lot that made her shake. The windows, ones that had always been welcoming and full of light, were dark. Curtains had been drawn, as well as the locks. The windows had never been locked before.

"I'm very sorry for your loss, Miss Annie," the taxi driver called from behind her through the still open door. "Granny Wendy was an amazing woman."

"Yes," Annie replied distantly. "She was."

After politely thanking the driver and bidding him farewell, Annie drew a sharp breath of air and climbed the stairs to the front door. Neither a soul nor any other sign of life remained within the Darling house. All of Wendy's adoptive children had moved on without her, the oldest taking in some of the younger ones as their own, living separately probably throughout all of England by now. Annie was the only one left, as the house now belonged to her. Even though she had lived in the two-story town house all of her eighteen years, it didn't feel like home anymore. Not without Wendy.

Annie's plan had been to stay in the house for just a few days, just enough time for her to collect her things and arrange for it to be sold. Her plans ended there. Not that she didn't have dreams, oh no, Annie had plenty. Her mother had seen to that. Annie just didn't know where to start. Would she travel the world? See the Eiffel Tower of Paris? Or how about the coast of Greece?
Somehow none of them seemed good enough.
This, Annie thought, was because of Neverland.

Her mother's fabled paradise and home to her favorite characters; Neverland was the place of dreams. Where swimming with mermaids was an afternoon activity, and dueling a crafty pirate was done for sport. How she'd longed to go there as a child, to be with the lost child like Tootles or Nibs, or maybe a fairy like Tinkerbell.
But, she remembered, Neverland would only exist in Wendy's stories.

Lost in her thoughts, Annie hadn't noticed she'd already ascended the stairs and made her way into the nursery until she'd stopped at the large window. Wendy's favorite spot to tell stories. She sat, opposite to the place where her mother used to, and gazed longingly out. People below hurried in small groups around the street, and some poor fellow was battling the wind with his big black umbrella. A large gust even took his top hat clean off, sending it soaring upwards into the night.

There was a storm coming. Annie could feel it. The wind was growing stronger, forcing branches of the trees outside to beat against the sides of the house. Suddenly a loud clap of thunder resounded outside and streak of lightning lit the sky. Annie fell back in surprise and landed with a loud thud on the floor. It was a good thing, too. Had she not she would have surely been struck by one of the large windowpanes as they blew open.

"Oh no!" Annie cried, looking up to see the doors banging against the walls from the gusts of wind. Hurriedly getting to her feet, she pulled the right pane and then the left, pushing with all her might until they finally conceded and clicked shut.
Just as she was putting down the latch to hold them closed, a loud voice spoke from behind her.

"You're not Wendy."

Annie gasped in surprise and whirled around. But when she did, she was met with a sight that led her to question her sanity. It was a boy. A boy looking no older than she, standing before her in a proud stance with his hands on his hips. Other than the initial surprise of suddenly having a boy present in her room, Annie was also shocked to notice that this boy was hardly dressed.

His trousers, or what was left of them, were an olive green color, and ripped in several places. It would seem that he had tried to mend them himself using strands of ivy. A few even stretched across his bare chest. He had blonde hair, or what would have been blonde had it not been so dirty. It was tousled like it had been styled by the wind. His eyes, a piercing blue, scanned her face like he was trying to remember something, or figure her out.

Annie tried not to stare, but failed miserably. There was something about him that reminded her of someone, someone she'd once known. No...she'd never met him before, that was for sure, but still there was that feeling of familiarity. This boy standing before her, why, she felt she'd known him all her life.

"Peter?"

The boy's eyes narrowed and he took a step back.
"How do you know my name? Who are you? Where's the Wendy lady?"

Annie could feel her knees starting to wobble; just the thought of her mother's favorite character actually being real was sending her into shock. When she spoke again, her voice cracked and came out in broken sentences. "Gone...she's gone...dead...you...you're Peter Pan!"

"Dead?" Peter repeated the word but maintained his defensive stance. "No, that's not true! I saw her, I was here and she was alive! Standing where you are right now! Tell me what you've done with her!"

Taken aback by his harsh tone and accusations, Annie stumbled backwards into the seat below the window. "N-n-nothing," she stammered. "I would never hurt her...she was my mother!"

"Wendy Darling is seventeen years old, same as me!" Peter shouted angrily. "She doesn't have a daughter! When I left she was perfectly fine, didn't need medicine or anything!"

Realization dawned on Annie and her expression swiftly changed. "Peter..." she began warily. "How long have you been gone?"

Peter's face softened into a puzzled frown and his eyes stared off. He didn't speak for a moment but when he did it came out slowly. "Well...I...maybe I was gone for a little while...she said she would wait for me here...she said she'd never grow up. She promised."

"She never grew up," Annie cut in before he could say any more.

"But her body did," Peter replied harshly. "I knew this would hapen. I should have never let her come back here."

Annie gave him a sympathetic look and stood up. "She left me too, you know," she told him quietly. "This house...her stories...you...they're all I have left."

Peter stared hard at the ground, fighting back emotions and refusing to look up at her. She wasn't Wendy, but boy did she ever look like her. Had he really been gone that long? He remembered being here as if it were only yesterday. But looking around the room he realized things really had changed. The paint on the walls had faded, furniture had been replaced. But on the end table nearest him there was an old book in brown leather binding. He'd recognized it from the last time he was here, only it was much newer then and the golden print on the cover had been fresh and clean. It belonged to Wendy. This was the book she'd written her stories in. He ran his fingers over the cover slowly, feeling the ridges and then he finally looked up at Annie.

"She told you the stories?"

Wendy looked up at the question and slowly nodded.

"So you know who I am..." he trailed off.

Once again Annie nodded. "You're Peter Pan. The boy who never grew up. You live in Neverland with the other Lost Boys, Captain Hook, and Tinker--wait a minute," she cut herself off and clapped a hand to her forehead. "What am I saying!" she shouted exasperatedly. "You're not real! Neverland doesn't even exist! You're just a story! I'm just hallucinating, that's it."

Peter eyed her in bewilderment but didn't interrupt. She was running her thin fingers through her hair now, and pacing the floor in front of the window.

"This is a complex hallucination spawned from the death of my mother," Annie went on at top speed. Peter smirked at her conclusion and folded his arms over his chest proudly. Yet still he did not interrupt. "My mind is creating its own reality to cope," she went on frantically. "I'm just going to close my eyes, count to ten, and when I open them again you won't be here. I've accepted my mother's death, I know her stories are just fairy tales, and I definitely know that Peter Pan is not standing in my bedroom!"

And with that, Annie jammed her eyes shut, covered her ears, and sat back down in the seat beneath the window in a huff. Peter watched her with an amused smile while she began to count. By the time she reached ten, Peter had floated up to the ceiling and sat himself Indian-style upside-down.

"Ten..." Annie said the last number slowly, and peeked out at her bedroom from one scrunched eye. Seeing that there was no one in sight, Annie exhaled in relief and smiled. "There you go," she told herself. "No more thoughts of Neverland, the Lost Boys, and especially not Peter Pan."

"Guess again!"

The voice and the resounding sound of hearty laughter nearly made Annie jump out of her skin. She screamed out in surprise and fell back against the window. Peter somersaulted in the air and flew back down until he was a mere inches from her face.

"You're not at all like Wendy," he laughed. "She never acted as crazy as you."

Stunned by his accusation and obvious lack of respect for personal space, Annie blushed and was rendered speechless. Bemused by her reaction to him, Peter tilted his head to the side and reached out a hand to softly touch the side of her face.
"Oh..." he trailed off slowly. "...there she is. What is your name, daughter of Wendy?"

"A-A-Annie," she stammered, her face turning even pinker. "My name is Annie."

"Annie..." Peter repeated slowly. "Annie the Angel. I like it."

He leaned forward even more and for one fleeting moment Annie thought her heart might stop. But just as he was leaning in, the latch on the window was suddenly lifted and it swung open, sending Annie toppling backwards though the now open window. Annie's stomach plummeted almost as fast as she was falling. The cold air whipped at her hair and clothes, but she didn't even have time to cry out before a warm, strong hand caught hers. She looked up in shock to see Peter floating above her with a laughing smile on his face.

"Boy," he laughed and feigned wiping sweat from his brow. "That was a close one, eh?"

Stunned that she was even still alive, Annie frantically grasped at Peter's hand with her other as her legs flailed helplessly below her.

"Thank God it's just you this time," Peter smirked as he flew a little higher. With one jerk of his arm, he tossed her up and caught her in his arms with ease. "That was a lot harder to do when John and Michael were hanging onto the Wendy lady."

Speechless, Annie could only stare into his eyes, still in disbelief that she was being held in the arms of a boy that could fly. He smiled down at her and looked in the still open window at a small ball of light, that was glowing a faint pink color. "Tink! You came early! I told you I was coming right back!"

Tinkerbell's light grew to an even more vibrant color of pink and she appeared to be stamping her foot in thin air, sending bits of glittering dust to the windowsill. "Well come over here and use a bit of that on her, would you? I can't carry her all the way back?"

"Back?" Annie questioned distantly, watching in wonder as Tinkerbell flew over her head and shook more glittering dust from her dress onto her. "Back where?"

Peter laughed, as if this were an obvious question. "Why, to Neverland of course! You said you were told the stories, right? Do you know where Neverland is?"

"Second star to the right..." Annie trailed off, still in a dreamlike tone.

"And straight on 'till morning," Peter finished for her and slowly let her down on the edge of the windowsill. "Come away with me. Come on, Annie."

Annie looked behind her into her mother's nursery, and then to Peter. Could this be real? Could he, Peter Pan, really be flying there with his outstretched hand waiting for her? She touched his hand, felt his warmth, and it was then that she knew.
With a smile on her face and a newfound belief in fairy tales, Annabelle Josephine Darling flew away to Neverland.