Page 120 of The Last Lost Girl

I shrug. “He just asked how I was feeling after yesterday.”

“And?” she says, now smiling.

“I feel rested,” I lie.

The shadows form wings on her back, but they’re so thin now I can’t help but stare.

“Are you ready?” she asks.

I nod. “Ready when you are.”

thirty-eight

Hudson leads me and Belle halfway down a long stretch of homes, the last of which abuts the sea. As we make our way from one house to the next, I return the shadows to their rightful owners, taking more of the shadowy burden off my sister.

If this process of taking and giving felt like raking my fingers through glass shards before, it now feels like I’m chewing and swallowing the splinters. I feel every slice, rip, and tear they carve as they pass through me.

Hudson’s cautious eyes rake over me as he knocks on the next door. A broad young man with beautiful brown skin and hair, and eyes the color of wet sand answers the door.

“Captain,” he nods. “Ladies.” He jerks his thumb toward a room just inside the door. Two woven bags sit on his kitchen table. “I couldn’t sleep at all last night. I’ve been packing what I might need on the way or when I get there.” He presses a hand to his forehead and blows out a nervous breath.

“Bring whatever food you have. You’ll eat what will spoil first, and save what will keep for later,” Hudson advises.

“Of course.” The young man dips his head.

The guy asks Hudson questions about the ship and about sailing in general, clearly terrified of the open sea, but more than willing to cross it.

Beyond their large forms, a few people cross bridges or stroll along walkways… including a woman holding the hand of a toddling boy. Everyone I see casts a shadow.

No one here looks like they’re over the age of thirty, which couldn’t be right if Pan compelled Barrie to write his story in 1904. Unless Pan didn’t kidnap children and steal their shadows until far more recently. I make a mental note to ask Belle or Hudson later.

I wonder what will happen when all these people sail home and arrive together on an ancient-looking pirate ship – hundreds of people who’d gone missing at various times from all over the world.

Does Hudson have a plan for where he’ll take them first? Will they disembark together, or will he ferry them from sea to sea, country to country, slowly letting them trickle home?

Will the families built here remember what drew them together, or will they be torn apart when the whole world spreads out before them? Will they remember each other at all? None of them had their shadows when they forged relationships, families, and friendships.

If he’s discussed a plan, I don’t remember it. Like so many things...

I think Hudson’s crew has kept their vows not to reveal their real names. Without Paris, they’re not yet whole.

I wondered how having their shadows might affect their memories, but what was recent enough for them to remember without their shadows’ help seems to have stuck. They haven’t forgotten their imprisoned friend…or so they say.

They seemed content to spend the morning thinking about everything but how to get Paris off the island. I remember how they played games, fished, read; seemingly bored and passing the time until they could leave. Would they go home without him and keep their names to themselves forever?

I want to believe they’ve developed a deep-seated loyalty to one another after all they’ve survived. After growing up together. I want to believe without a shred of doubt that they’ll fight to set him free, but I’m not sure some won’t see the freedom that’s so close and abandon anything – and anyone – that might get in the way of them reaching it.

Having their shadows back is all they wanted.

Having their shadows back will tear them apart.

Belle’s eyes wait on mine. “Are you okay?”

I hate what I’m about to say, because Belle will immediately know that my memory is developing cavernous holes, but it’s better to ask her quietly than to alert Hudson and this stranger to the fact that I’m floundering. I lean in to speak into her ear. “I can’t remember how to do this with someone I don’t know.”

Her gaze is sharp when I pull back, but she whispers, “You touch their skin and act as a bridge.”

I pretend to shake the cobwebs from my head. “That’s right.”

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