Captain James Hook and the Curse of Peter Pan (6 page)

The mast snapped in half and the damage to the hull listed the boat forward and to the left. The pitch of the floor was at twenty-three degrees and rising at the stern.
 
Mr. Stevenson, a man who was useless in life, was now invaluable to me in death as I wedged his body behind the cannon to prevent it from rolling.
 
I righted the upturned barrel and packed the cannon with powder.
 
The ball was heavy with potential.

Labette’s ship pulled away now.
 
I adjusted the angle of the cannon and lit the fuse. The cannon roared and kindling flew from Labette’s ship.

My fortune knew no limits as the gun next to me was already packed and loaded.
 
The crackle of the fuse was followed by another roar. I was not given time to fire the third cannon. Distant booms sent me against the hull of the ship and into the warm rising sea.
 
Exhausted, I fell to her willingly.

Morning

Chapter Ten

As storm clouds gather around the flagship and her captured brigantine, Admiral Charles Price records the life of Captain Hook in vivid detail, as it is recounted.
 
The story of Hook sinking into the sea went beyond the admiral’s patience and pierced his composure.

“Rubbish,” Admiral Price mutters into his tea.
 
Captain Hook stops mid-breath and turns sharply to meet the admiral’s eyes.

“I’ve learned to be more careful with that word, Admiral,” Hook cautions, “and the arrogance that goes along with it.”

The silent moments that pass between them are broken by the entrance of the older crewman carrying two lit candles.
 
In the fading light of the storm, the cell aboard the
Triumph
is nearly as black as pitch without their gentle flicker.

“This is hogwash,” the admiral stammers on.
 
“If what you say is true, you’d be dead at sea before even becoming a man.”

“Death is only one of many obstacles I have overcome,” Hooks sneers.

“If you are not going to take this seriously,” Admiral Price cautions, “then I should remind you that these foolish words are recorded as your last.”

“What’s wrong, Admiral?” Hook mocks.
 
“Have I not sufficiently entertained you in our time together?” He breaks his gaze for a moment to check the time.

“That watch,” Admiral Price nods. “How did you get it?” Captain Hook looks up and smiles.

“I’m getting there, Admiral,” Hook says.
 
“Are you in a rush?”

“Give it to me,” Admiral Price says. He holds his hand out just beyond the bars of the cell.

“Excuse me?” Hook asks after several stunned seconds.

“You check it too often for my taste.” He motions for the older crewman to unlock the door.
 
“Get it for me,” the admiral commands.
 
The crewman fumbles with the keys before sliding the gate across with a clang.
 
The crewman starts toward Captain Hook but pauses again and looks back at the admiral and the larger crewman.

“What are you waiting for?” the admiral scolds.

“Yes. What indeed?” Captain Hook snaps at the older crewman.
 
“Come and get what the admiral has asked for.” The older crewman storms into the cell and rams the butt of his sword into Hook’s ribs, doubling him over. The larger crewman lifts Hook up and holds him against the bars while the older one retrieves the watch from his pocket.
 
When finished with the assault, the crewman drops Captain Hook to the floor in a heap.

“Was that all necessary?” Hook says through a bloodied smile.

“You’ve had it coming,” the larger crewman responds with a smirk.

“Waiting to do that for some time now, have we?”

“Aye. Longer than you know, Captain,” the crewman says with a broad grin.

“Enough,” the admiral interrupts. “If this really is the watch of Jonathan Hoodkins, then you have no rights to it.”

“I have no rights to my father’s watch?” Hook asks.

“I challenge your claim to be his son as heartily as I challenge your ravings of meeting this Peter Pan, whatever he is.”

“Have you ever seen a shade, Admiral?” Hook asks. “One that passes just outside of sight, but when you look for it, it isn’t there? If so, then you, too, have seen Peter Pan.”

“Madness,” Admiral Price scoffs.

“Not one for fantasy, are you? Well, if you find it hard to believe what I have said so far,” Captain Hook leads, “wait until you hear of how I returned from death.”

The Tale of the Island

Chapter Eleven

My body was thrown into the current of time and space.
 
In it I rode waves of ethereal matter.
 
I kept my eyes closed to truly feel each movement.
 
The waves took me higher and I floated as if pulled by an unknown source.
 
Finally, I opened my eyes and saw an endless field of stars and streaks of colors so beautiful I began to tear.
 
Then I noticed, flying next to me, was a familiar imp in tattered green clothes.

“What is going on here, Peter?” I asked.
 
My frustration overran my sense of wonder. “Where am I and what are you doing?” The assault of questions staggered him. He paused for a small eternity before answering.

“I do this sometimes,” he said at last, “you know, travel with you. Most of the way, anyway.”

The answer was more confusing than the floating and limitless vision of stars and moons. I searched for a question to help me understand his meaning, but came up with only the most basic response, “Most of the way where?”

“Heaven,” he replied. “You died.”

The words hit me like cannon fire.
 
Cannon Fire! Then I remembered.
 
My mind flooded with memories of my final day.
 
I recalled the pirates, the damage, my father taken from me by that betraying Heath Ashley. I had been so drawn in by the feeling of death that I’d forgotten the cause.

“I don’t get to do this for everyone,” Pan continued, “but I never miss it when one of my friends dies.”

This statement brought my thoughts to a halt.
 
Once again, I found myself searching for a response. “How many of your friends died?”

Pan thought for a moment. “All of them.”

“All of them?” I gasped. “So you have no more friends.”

“No, I have plenty,” he smiled. “More are born every day.”

“So you just keep doing this?
 
Wait for new friends to crop up, have your fun, then escort them to hell?”

“Heaven,” Pan corrected as a shooting star sailed over our heads. “Most children are scared.”

“I’m not most children,” I lied.
 
I was terrified, but it would be poor form to show it.
 
I stared into the endless gaping darkness between the bright points of light and knew that this trip was not right for me.
 
Not yet, anyway.
 
My mother, William, and Emily needed me.

“Take me back,” I told him.
 
I took mild amusement in watching his face go pale at the suggestion.

“We can’t just go back,” Pan stammered.
 
He looked more confused than ever.
 
I pressed the advantage.

“Like hell you can’t. You fly, disappear, and cross the barrier between heaven and earth. You can surely take me home.” He looked completely dumbfounded now.
 
I feared that I might have reached the limit of his intelligence.
 
My only hope was that he didn’t completely shut down or worse, run off and leave me to float here for a thousand lifetimes.

“But that’s not where your body is,” he finally said.

He was right about that.
 
In fact, I had no idea where my body was aside from a coordinate on a map.

“Then put me back in my body,” I told him, “I’ll get myself home.”
 
His face twisted with indecision.
 
I decided to push him in the direction I wanted him to go.
 
“What’s the matter? Haven’t you ever taken someone back from heaven before?”

“Well, no,” Pan said, “I haven’t.”

“Oh, okay. If you don’t think you can do it…”

“I can do anything!” Pan shouted.
 
“But if you go back, you’ll grow up,” he said with a newfound sadness. “We wouldn’t be able to play anymore.”

“That’s not a priority for me right now, Peter,” I snapped.
 
“I have important things to do.”

Pan scowled. “You’re already sounding like a grown up.”

“I guess dying does that to you,” I told him.
 
And with that, we were on our way through the barrier between death and life.

Chapter Twelve

The pillow was coarse and I reached for covers that weren’t there. Waves crashed against my feet, telling me to move. My head throbbed as though it were on fire.
 
My hand felt around my shoulder and touched something rough, wet, and warm.
 
The wound was already scabbed over and caked with sand.

The cuts on my arms scraped against the sand as I rose to my feet.
 
I placed one foot in front of the other and began to explore my new home.
 
The beach was golden and still.
 
Beyond it, a row of trees guarded a thick forest.

Only the waves made noise as they gently lapped the shoreline.
 
I stumbled to it to wash my cuts.
 
The salt stung me and I saw what treasures the beach truly held.
 
A bloated uniformed body drifted on the water.
 
Its green skin and gaped expression mirrored my own shock.

Bodies of soldiers and pirates floated by me.
 
Some crashed onto the sand while others were gently placed.
 
The sea randomly decided which body got which treatment and there was no discrimination between the two.
 
It didn’t matter whether you lived a life of service to your country or to your own purse; the sea decided your fate and all men ended up face down in the sand eventually.

William. My wounds made me forget all about him and my promise to Emily.
 
The thought snapped me into action and I began turning bodies.
 
It didn’t occur to me to only turn the smaller ones.
 
In my frantic haste, I flipped everything that washed ashore: a crewman, a pirate, another pirate, Mr. Stevenson.

When I turned the body of my father, I expected the world to collapse around me but, strangely, it didn’t.
 
I took a moment to examine him. He was missing an arm and most of his rib cage, but the rest of his body held together.
 
I stared at him for untold minutes before I realized that I hadn’t shed a single tear.
 
I knew I should feel something.
 
Grief? No. Pain? No. Loss? Nothing.
 
I dragged him further up shore to tend to him later.

After an hour of searching, I found William up the shoreline.
 
I stalked to his motionless body.
 
He was laying on a piece of timber.
 
This was a good sign, but I didn’t let it get to me.
 
I had believed several of the men were lying on wood only to find that they had been impaled on the broken boards.
 
As I got closer, I noticed a slight rising and falling in his chest.
 
He was wet and the side of his body was purple and broken, but he was warm to the touch.

I allowed myself a quick sigh of relief.
 
I pulled William onto the dune to prevent him from being washed away and turned my attention to the next step: survival. Luck was with me, as three barrels of grain and preserved meats washed up on the shore soon after. By the time William woke, I had already gathered wood for a fire.

“What happened?” he asked after stirring for hours.
 
He saw me attempting to start our fire and couldn’t resist a comment. “You never did that right, James.”
 
He began to shift his weight to his side.

“Don’t move,” I told him.
 
He tried to stand anyway and howled in pain.
 
With each cough, blood spilled from his mouth.
 
Stubborn as anyone I ever knew, he managed to work his way over to me.

“Give me those,” he said.
 
Even injured, William could start and spread a fire faster than a child’s laughter. After seconds of agony, the fire was lit and he gathered his strength to ask me again, “What happened?”

“The ship broke up against rocks in the water,” I lied.
 
He would be better off forgetting the battle all together.
 
I’d be grateful for the chance to forget.

“That’s not what happened,” he said. His memories returned to him quickly, and with them the sights and sounds of battle. Tears welled up and soaked his already clammy and bruised cheeks.
 
I left him to cry so that I might bury my father in peace.

The search for a proper burial site within the forest began with a deep breath.
 
I dragged Father’s body away from the beach and onto more solid ground.
 
I didn’t know how long we were going to call this island home and the last thing I wanted was to have a storm unearth his grave.
 
The ground behind the thin line of trees was wet and dark.
 
The brush that scratched at my legs was so thick that my feet disappeared as they stepped down into it.

A tall palm tree caught my eye.
 
The markings on it were those of a Spaniard.
 
I memorized the words, but not the meaning:
Agua de Eterna Juventud
.
 
A pool of fresh water bubbled just fifty paces from the tree line. The cliff was framed with hanging vines, and at the end of a wide path leading to it was a dark cave.
 
From the mouth of the cave, all along the path, a stream of water trickled down to the spring. It was a truly beautiful sight, but that didn’t interest me at the moment.
 
Water is life and I thirsted for it. I knelt at the banks and drank deep mouthfuls. I brought William over to the spring and made sure he drank as well.