“Kicking things won’t solve anything,” Tink chastised Peter as he kicked the tire on the car in the hospital visitor lot, just outside her room.

“No, but it makes me feel better.” He let out a frustrated breath and ran his hands through his hair. “I should have forced her to come back with me to Neverwood,” Peter said, looking up at the hospital window.

As soon as he’d shaken the police in Wendy’s driveway, having slipped out of the car, he’d called Slightly. Apparently, they had found Dr. Mee. She wasn’t happy about hearing from him. She was one of the few that had been able to retain memories after escaping Neverland, but she had completely isolated herself from the boys and Barrie. She’d made Peter swear never to contact her again. He’d had no choice but to break that promise.

The kiss they had shared in her living room was burned into his heart. He was happy again that they were growing closer—possibly, she was having feelings for him again. But then, everything fell apart in the space of a few hours.

Thankfully, Curly had been able to persuade the police that Dr. Mee was a child advocate and she’d managed to inject Wendy with a mental stimulant at the police station, which should have meant that her memories would return, but it hadn’t worked. She needed a stronger dose. He was trying to get a recap from Dr. Mee when Wendy and her family left the station. He found them just as their car was careening over the edge. He would carry the weight of her parents’ death for a lifetime, and she would blame him for just as long. Even if she regained her memories, he didn’t think she would ever forgive him.

“Yeah, you should have,” Tink admitted.

“I know. I just feel so guilty.”

“Peter, don’t. It’s not your fault. But I have to tell you . . . it’s time. Time to come back to us. You’ve done all you can for her. I’ve let you shirk your duties for weeks now. Slightly and I have been trying to pick up the slack, but you have a greater responsibility than her. You have Neverwood.”

“I can’t abandon her again,” he fumed. “Not now. She’s an orphan.”

“We all are, Peter,” Tink whispered. “You’ve done all you can. Let Dr. Mee help Wendy remember; it’s no longer upon your shoulders. If she wants to come back to us, she can, but until then, Peter, you can’t abandon us.” Tink was crying real tears.

It shook him. Tink never cried and had hardly ever shown any emotion other than irritation or contempt. He almost didn’t think it was possible for his best friend to cry. No one at Neverwood cried. They had all endured too much to even remember how to. But seeing the sheen of tears glistening down her cheeks was like a slap in the face, a sudden awakening. Somewhere inside of her, perhaps inside of all of them, was a heart that could break.

“You can’t abandon me. The boys need you. We need you. I need you,” she hiccupped and tried to wipe her nose on her sleeve, and his heart broke.

“Come here.” Peter grabbed her jacket and pulled her into a hug. He’d been a horrible friend, taking advantage of her friendship and forgetting that she had lost just as much as he had, and even more, watching her father slip into dementia. She had thrown herself into helping with the running of Neverwood in his place, but it wasn’t healthy. She had lost her father, and in many ways, she was losing him.

Tink was everything to him. When he’d lost Wendy, it was Tink who’d saved him, who’d helped him recover, been there by his side. “I won’t abandon you. I’ll come back to Neverwood. I’ll pick up the pieces again. I won’t fail this time. I promise.”

---

Wendy must have dozed off because when she awoke, John was gone, though she wasn’t alone in the hospital room. The same woman from the police station was sitting in John’s chair.

“I know you. You’re from the police station, right?” Wendy studied her face a little closer. The woman stood taller, less hunched. Gone was the blue jacket, and she looked more put-together.

“Yes, I am.”

“You’re here to take us to a home, aren’t you?”

She shook her head, setting a purse on the bed next to Wendy’s leg. Then, she pulled out a syringe. “No, Wendy, I’m here to help you.”

Wendy eyed the syringe warily. “Help me? How?”

“By helping you remember. I panicked at the police station and tried to inject you there. But you need a higher dose than what I gave you. Just don’t speak of that place. When you remember, you’ll understand.”

She didn’t reach for her arm but injected the syringe into the drip bag’s injector port by Wendy’s head. “There now . . . it will all come back. Just think happy thoughts, my child.”

Dr. Mee slipped out the door as Wendy fell asleep.

Fire.

Screaming.

Falling.

Flying.

Drowning.

Dying.

Wendy awoke with a gasp, clawing at the air in fright, before she was able to calm down enough to survey her room. A female nurse came in with a tray of food.

“Where is she?”

“Who?”

“The woman. The child services rep. She was just here.”

“No one has been in or out of this room in hours, other than your brother and me.”

“Hours?”

“Yeah, I came into the room, and you were thrashing about on the bed. I called the doctor, and you’ve been under heavy sedation. Try and eat. Your brother will be back in a few minutes.”

Wendy scanned the room. Flowers and cards lined a shelf. Fewer than she’d expected. Pushing the button on the remote, she turned on every light in the room, leaving no room for shadows.

Climbing out of bed, she crept to the hospital window and searched the darkness, looking to the sky for a glimpse of him.

“I remember,” she whispered, trying to keep the tears in check, “everything.”