Page 57 of Caging Darling

She nods.

“Well, to be fair, John didn’t have much time to get a message to me.” It’s possible that John was relying on a wraith being formed in the case of his death, a better way to communicate with me than the tile. He must have not realized he’d already formed a wraith in the cave, otherwise he would have told it his plan.

I don’t know what to think about the fact that hearing about what our parents did to me caused John more pain than being strangled.

My cheeks go clammy. Thankfully, Tink’s still making light of John’s clue-giving skills. She shrugs, like she’s not impressed.

I laugh again, and it’s not altogether feigned. I appreciate Tink’s humor, how she hasn’t lost it amid her suffering. “You gave him a hard time, didn’t you?”

She flashes me a mouthful of teeth that says everything I needed to know. Then she pads over to Michael and takes his other train, sliding tiles at him as she plays. He doesn’t pay any attention to her or the tiles, but it warms my heart even so.

I haven’t stopped plotting, trying to figure out a way to get off this island. I haven’t given up. But if I can’t get myself out, I’ll get Tink out. I’ll get my brother out.

“I’m going to get you out of here.” My statement echoes off the cave walls.

Tink turns to me and frowns. Then, plucking a tile from her bag, she hands it to me.

It says, “US.”

Michael wantsto go to the beach on the way back to the Den. I can tell, because he starts to hum a sea chanty. Yet another song I have no idea where he heard. He probably heard it once, then held onto it forever. My brother has his struggles, but I often find myself proud of and the tiniest bit envious of his strengths. I feel as if the details of my life are pebbles, and I’m trying to contain them in a fishnet, half of the pebbles slipping through the gaps with no way for me to catch them.

Not that I tried to catch them for a long while. Some of my memories are erased from my own doing.

I don’t particularly want to go to the beach today. Especially not the one that’s closest. There’s a memory it holds that I’d rather slip through the fishnet, though I know better. This one will linger with me forever, clinging to me like wet linen.

But I’m done letting my sadness seep into Michael’s life, keeping him from living the fullest I can offer.

So Michael pads through the forest toward the sound of the ocean, and I let him lead, his little hand in mine.

As we reach the beach, the wind picks up, bringing in a spray from the ocean. The waters are always more hectic on this side of the ocean, but Michael is more concerned with scouring the sand for perfectly round pebbles than he is with swimming. I watch him closely, pulling my coat tighter around my torso as the wind whips at my hair and threatens to chap my cheeks.

I try not to think about what happened here. I try not to look out at the massive boulder jutting out of the water.

Trying has never done me much good, unfortunately.

The memories assault me—a man climbing up that boulder. Peter, perched on top, unaware of the stranger’s presence. Me screaming, my voice carried away by the wind. The two menwrestling, Peter taking them both to the air. The man slicing his wing, sending them plummeting to the beach. The stranger holding a blade over Peter’s back.

Me getting to the stranger first.

No amount of wind, no amount of time passing, rids the crunching sound from my memories. The feel of the resistance of the man’s flesh against my blade.

I hadn’t known who he was. Hadn’t realized I’d killed off the hero, come to rescue the kidnapped children from the villain, led here by his aching for his sons and the pull of a precious sketch.

My heart stops beating in my chest.

It’s not as though we haven’t considered these gaps in Neverland as a means of escape. But Tink has searched all over Neverland and never found one. Peter once claimed that the gaps are one-way, that they allow entrance, but not a way out.

But as not a word that comes out of Peter’s mouth can be believed, I doubt that.

Still, it’s been no use knowing they’re out there if we can’t find them.

But what if…

“Michael, hold onto my hand.”

My brother, transfixed by a glossy black stone, ignores me. I crouch beside him and take his hand—the one not holding the rock, because I’m not that stupid. He follows me as I trudge across the beach, closer to the spot I’d expected to avoid the rest of my life.

The sound of crunching in my ears grows louder as we draw near, but I drown it out with hope.

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