Chasing Neverland

Peter slipped into the main room of the hideout, where Willow lay upon the mattress with her eyes closed in a soft, slumbering way. He paused at the foot of her bed, debating on whether to wake her. However, she slid her eyes open casually, and he realized she hadn't been asleep at all.

“Willow?” Peter whispered her name cautiously.

She didn't speak for a few moments, just watching as the young mam shifted from foot to foot in a nervous fashion. Finally, she asked, “Why am I here?”

“I need you,” he told her.

“For what!”

Peter moved over to her bedside, his feet barely touching the ground. With his eyes never leaving her face, Peter lifted his legs to a crossed fashion that struck up memories from nursery school for Willow. Immediately, her brain registered his position as “Crisscross Applesauce”. Peter placed the palms of his hands on his knees, floating in midair. He tilted his head softly, and smiled at her.

“Every time I go back to the non-believers' world,” he explained, “I grow older.”

“So, that's why you're not fourteen like in all the stories..”

“Stories?” Peter perked up, grinning. “You know stories?”

“Of course I know stories.”

He lowered himself closer to the ground, his eyes almost level with hers. Willow thought it strange that he could hover like that, and she wondered how he had come to have that ability.

“Peter,” Willow whispered, “why do you need me here?”

“Well,” Peter patted his palms on his knees. “If I continue to leave Neverland, I'll be too old to find my way back. That's the way things work here, and that's why it's easier to bring younger children here. The older they are, the harder it is to lead them here.”

“Then, how did I get here?” she asked, confused.

He smiled at her. “You were unconscious, so it wasn't impossible.”

“You still haven't explained why you brought me here.”

“I need a companion for the rest of my days.”

Willow's jaw dropped. “You brought me here to make me your girlfriend!?”

“Girl.. friend?”

She massaged her brow, frustrated. “Like, someone you kiss and stuff.”

“Oh, like a mother?”

“Except not quite that far.”

Peter's face wasn't one of understanding. He said, “Well, we need a mother.”

“I don't really think you need a mother, Peter.”

He shrugged. “That's what you think.”

The shouting of children could be heard from above ground. Willow shuddered, imagining this the feeling of being in a tomb. Eventually, she struck up the courage to ask a difficult question.

“Why did you STEAL these children, Peter?”

He stared at her. “You make it sound like a crime!”

“It IS,” she insisted.

“No,” he shook his head, but wouldn't meet her gaze, “they wanted to come.”

She pulled her knees up and wrested her forearms across them. “Are you sure you just didn't long for a companion, Peter? How would you know what they really, truly wanted?”

“Because,” he fumbled for a response, “because..”

“Because you were a child, too?” Willow guessed.

He unfolded his legs and his thick eyebrows came down in an aggressive facial expression. “They didn't want to grow up! They wanted the best life, and I rescued them!”

Willow sighed and began to twirl a strand of hair around her finger. “Do you even remember their names?”

“They all have names,” he growled at her, suddenly furious.

“Made-up names that you gave them or they adopted themselves! Not like you and me, Peter. We have real names; theirs are just made-up ones.”

He fell to the ground with a thunk, his fists balled and his eyes filling with angered tears. She had clearly upset him, but Willow couldn't quite understand. After all, he did steal these young boys. When he ran from the room, though, she immediately regretted it. He had been living this way for decades upon decades, and she had come in and completely turned his ideals to rubbish.

“What have I done?” Willow whispered pathetically, her head falling to her arms and her thoughts wandering to whether she would ever see daylight again.