Page 57 of The Last Lost Girl

Which means it will happen to me. I wonder how soon.

“Your name is Hudson, huh?”

He rolls his dark sleeves back to his elbow and holds his forearm out so the inside faces the star and moonlight. In thin, silver scars the letters H-U-D-S-O-N rise from his flesh. I raise my hand to touch them and then look to him for permission, which he gives by pushing his arm closer. My fingertips drift over each letter, slowly memorizing them. Because I don’t want to forget his name and I wonder if feeling it will make the memory stay with me longer.

“We carved our homes into our skin because we forgot our names quicker than anything else. I was taken from a home in Hudson, New York.”

My stomach pitches. “Do you know how old you were?”

He rolls his shoulders as if he needs to ease the tension in them. “I can’t remember for certain off hand. If I were to guess, I’d say nine, but I’d have to check my journals to be sure.”

My heart aches for him. “What about when you escaped Pan?”

“I’m not sure.” He tugs his sleeve back down and covers the letters again.

My heart bleeds when I imagine him, just a kid, cutting the only thing he could remember about his life into his skin. Clinging to a home he might never see again, to people and the love he felt from them that his mind had already forgotten but his heart never would.

I wonder if he’s really from Hudson, if any of these young men are from the cities and towns scratched into their skin, or if they each created a home in their minds and clung to it like a life preserver so they didn’t sink.

Just then, Kenya, Seoul, and Rio sprint across the nearest bridge and meet Hudson on the dock, their breaths sawing in and out.

“Cap – Cairo!” Kenya rushes, his chest heaving.

Hudson mutters a curse and turns to me, pointing a finger at the ship. “In my quarters and lock the doors.”

I nod and watch them flood back into the town’s watery heart.

Behind a grid of warped glass, I pace the floor for what feels like an eternity, consumed with worry and wondering what happened and whether Cairo is okay. A feeling of dread settles into the pit of my stomach. I wrap my arms around my middle and stop in front of the map hanging on the wall behind Hudson’s desk. The one with his writing peppered across its topography.

It details where Pan and the Lost Boys live deep in the heart of the Neverwood, places that should be avoided, and even where one can find fresh water. Slipping my phone from my pocket, I power it on and snap a picture before turning it off again. Then I study everything Hook noted on it, trying to memorize as many words, warnings, and landmarks as I can.

It keeps my mind busy, even though it still tugs toward Cairo, toward Belle… toward Hudson.

It’s far into the night when Hudson returns with his crew. I unlock the door to his chamber and step onto the ship’s deck, scanning every face for Cairo’s. My entire body stiffens when I see Smee and Kenya carrying his lifeless body up the ramp.

Clamping my hands over my mouth, I stifle a cry.

Paris moves out of their way and comes to stand beside me. His eyes are rimmed in red and filled with sorrow. He wipes the moisture from their corners and clears his throat. I put a hand on his back and hug him to my side.

Juneau rushes below deck and returns with his arms full of linen. It dawns on me that the linen is to create a makeshift shroud when Smee and Kenya lay Cairo’s body down on the weathered planks that have been his home, the ones that sheltered him and the only family he remembered until tonight.

Kauai’s knees hit the deck beside his fallen friend. Surat and Kingston quietly kneel across from him and the three work together to cover Cairo’s body. Smee stands next to Hudson at Cairo’s feet. The rest of the crew lingers nearby, all of them mourning.

The linen covering Cairo glows an eerie shade of blue under the moon and starlight.

What happened to him?

I can’t help but think of the last time I saw him and how distraught he was. He rocked back and forth, confused and inconsolable, just like Belle did after she tried to burn the books the night the fire alarm blared.

I was so upset with her when I should’ve been angry at myself.

Since she brought me here, I’ve thought the worst of my own sister.

I thought she betrayed me by not telling me all her secrets, but the truth is that she did tell me and I let her down. I never listened when she told me she was leaving and where she was going, declaring she had no choice. She had told me all along – who and what she was, where she was from, and that one day she would have to return despite the risk to her life.

Each and every book on the shelves lining our walls was Belle’s attempt to tell me the truth about who she was.

Every single time Cairo rocked and said he wasn’t okay, we should have listened. He was being honest.

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