Free Captain James Hook and the Curse of Peter Pan by Jeremiah Kleckner, Jeremy Marshall Page B

childhood.”
    “It’s an eternal servitude,” I called out to him.   Peter did another loop in the air to the boys’ delight. I turned to Donald and grabbed his wrist. “Come, I’ll get you home.”
    Seeing this, Peter stopped his show and swooped down between us.   He landed on the mushroom cap, drew his short sword, and raised it to the sky.          
    “Lost Boys! Fall in!” he commanded. Like an obedient dog, Curly left my side and took his place in the formation.   They stood at attention and awaited their next order.
    “You’re all fools!” I shouted at them. “Without your memories, you are truly lost.” I turned back to the waterfall and Peter flew around to block the way.
    “Why don’t you stay with us?” His voice was soft and kind again.   “Aren't you lost, too?”   Something ancient and unnatural stared back at me from behind his eyes. I didn’t know what he truly was, but Peter Pan was no mere boy.
    “I am not lost, Peter. I’m stranded. There's a difference,” I told him.   I moved again to the cave and he again moved in my way. The temperature dropped suddenly. Clouds rolled in and the sky became dark.
    “Why are you doing this?” I asked him.   “With a thought, you could send William and me back to our homes.   I have to get back and if you are not going to help me then I will have to do it myself.” With inhuman speed, he placed a hand on my shoulder and leaned in close.
    “You won’t survive as you are,” he said.   “If it isn’t the croc, it’ll be something else.” Whether this was a threat, a warning, or a trick, I knew he was right. Our stores of food were running low and William and I risked starving within weeks.   One look back to the Lost Boys gave me all the answers I needed.
    “I’d rather die as I am now than live for centuries like them.” With a deep breath, I pushed past him and into the cave, leaving Neverland behind.

Chapter Eighteen

    The storm passed, causing little damage.   Its wake, however, devastated us.
    When the skies finally cleared, we emerged from the cave to downed trees and upturned beaches.   Paths we had walked for months no longer existed and in their place, new paths were carved.   I used these new paths to check on my father’s grave site.
    William set up the fire in the mouth of the cave to keep burning while we were out.   As large as it was, this croc was not as bold as to attack while we were together.   Still, we made our way with caution.
    The tree with the carved words was split in half down the middle.   Nothing of the old Spaniard’s words remained.   Thirty paces east, my fears were abated as we found my father’s grave undisturbed.   The breath I released carried with it more worry than I would have thought.   My shoulders slumped and I allowed myself a second breath of respite.
    “James!” William called out from behind the brush.   My heart leapt again into my throat and my pulse pounded with the fear of what might be.   Pistol drawn, I pounced on William’s position.
    I approached William who was hurriedly digging a mound in the dirt. He called out to me again and began to bang at something hard. Wood splintered and creaked as he tore the lid off of an old chest, revealing gold as bright as the sun and speckled with gems like the night’s sky.
    “James!” he cried. “We’re rich!” His face broadened with a grin brighter than all the treasure in the royal court.   Bile churned in my stomach and I lost the battle to compose my temper.
    “We are wealthy men,” I bit. “With that kind of money, maybe we can charter a ship home?” His eyes dimmed as his folly was laid bare.   He got up and kicked the chest over in a rage against his own foolishness.
    Three weeks passed and every day was a struggle.   William and I carried on by dodging the croc and fishing when we could.   Both of us were needed to stay alive and we became quite good at knowing what the other was thinking.
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