Page 114 of Caging Darling

My body feels too small to hold the love that swells within me at that thought.

I keep flipping until another letter catches my eye.

Wendy,

So…funny thing. There’ve been rumors circulating about a strange series of murders occurring all over the continent. That’s not the funny part. The funny part is that…wait for it…all the male victims are missing their left hands.

You’re sick. You know that, right?

I probably shouldn’t be praising you for this behavior, but first of all, you should have seen the color drain from Captain’s face when he heard. Nicely done.

Thanks for reaching out to us. I still wonder sometimes if we’re doing the right thing by searching for you. I miss you so badly, I fear it’s clouded my judgment. You went with Peter willingly, after all. I can’t blame you after Captain’s betrayal. Sometimes I start to doubt. Start to wonder if maybe I’m fretting over you for nothing. If maybe you and Peter are living happily in Neverland. If coming to get you would disturb your peace.

It gets pretty grim, thinking that way. Mostly because it makes me think I’ll never see you again. And then I feel guilty—being sad about the idea that you’re out there happy somewhere.

These are complicated emotions, and it would be nice if you could be here to help me sort through them.

Anyway, given the severed hands ordeal, I’m feeling more confident now that you’re not all that happy with Peter.

So that makes me feel better.

Miss you.

Charlie

I can’t help it.I chuckle.

Friend,

I know this is utterly ridiculous for me to be writing you about when you have much bigger problems. But I’m selfish, and I need my best friend right now.

I hate Maddox.

I mean, I love him. That much is likely obvious to everyone. How mortifying. But I’ve been doing MUCH MUCH better NOT loving him as of late.

Yesterday, I went all day and only thought of him twice (we’re not counting the times when he was directly within my line of vision).

Impressive, I know.

I think an alarm must have gone off in his head. A “Charlie only thought of me twice” alarm. Because today I was minding my own business, working on my portable cannon, when he SEARCHED ME OUT to tell me that Cook was making pheasant for dinner. Granted, Maddox knows that I love pheasant, but I would hardly consider that news worthy of traversing two sets of stairs and an entire deck to convey to a person.

Oh, but it gets worse.

It wasn’t enough to just pop his head in and inform me of the forthcoming pheasant. No, Maddox just had to get a look at what I was working on. Now, any normal person would peer from a reasonable distance. But, alas, no. Not Maddox. He had to come up behind my chair, press his chest to the back of my head, and straddle me from behind while placing his palms on the table to look at a mechanism he could have seen just as well without having to touch me at all.

I’m ashamed to say that today, I have much exceeded my “thought of Maddox” count from yesterday.

But it’s his fault.

Please advise.

Charlie

At this letter,I groan several times, my exasperation with the male population growing with each word. I’m going to have to have a talk with Maddox.

I rest my back against the headboard, closing the notebook and hugging it to my chest. I trace the edges of the pages with my finger, finding that my touch lingers on the pages at the beginning of the book, where Charlie likely chronicled Astor’s sickness. I shouldn’t look. Won’t look. Not when it will only cause me pain. Not when it will only get my hopes up for something I can never have.

But I don’t have to look to be tortured by Astor’s reaction to my leaving, not when Charlie’s words from earlier ring in my head, driving me mad.

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