And then there was Peter.
Was it just an odd coincidence that a boy had turned up next to the woods, unconscious in the middle of the road? Was this somehow all related? Had he been kidnapped? Had he escaped someone just before she found him?
Tilting her head back, she gazed at the small lights. When she was little, her mother had always told her that fairy lights watched over children as they slept and kept them safe. It seemed like a ridiculous idea now as she rolled onto her side, still fiddling with the acorn.
Yet she still slept with the string of lights on every night. She wouldn’t sleep with the lights off—or rather she couldn’t. Jordan had tried inviting her to a sleepover once, a few months after she was released from the hospital, but when it was time to turn off the lights, Wendy had such a bad panic attack, it scarred both of them enough that they never tried again.
Wendy nuzzled her cheek into her pillows and curled her legs up under her night shirt. Maybe she would go back to the hospital and try to talk to Peter again. Maybe after a good night’s rest, her head would be clearer and she’d be able to see that he was just a random, run-of-the-mill boy. She held the acorn between her thumb and forefinger.
Where did you come from? she wondered. Wendy placed it on her bedside table and stared at it for a moment longer before finally drifting off to sleep.
* * *
The next morning, Wendy put the acorn back in its hiding place, washed her hands, brushed her hair, and went downstairs. Her mother was in the kitchen, sitting at the small dining table. Her hands were cupped around a white mug filled with hot water, lemon, and honey. It sat on top of the green placemat hiding the carved lines. Her mom’s head was lowered and her eyes were shut. It reminded Wendy of the quiet, huddled bodies of people in waiting rooms.
“Morning,” Wendy said, the tile of the kitchen floor cool against her bare feet.
Mrs. Darling sighed and lifted her head. “Good morning.” She gently stirred the contents of her mug with a teaspoon.
Wendy leaned on the kitchen counter. “Did you just get home?”
“Yes.” Her mother pinched the bridge of her nose.
Wendy wanted to ask her about Peter, if he had woken up, if he had said anything, but Mrs. Darling didn’t need prompting.
“They lost the boy,” she said.
The world dropped right out from under her. “He’s dead?!” Wendy spluttered.
“No! He disappeared,” Mrs. Darling quickly corrected. “He must’ve run away during the night.” She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “Nobody knows how he managed it. One moment he was there, and the next—” She rolled her wrist, fingers curling through the air.
Run away. Disappeared. Lost.
Wendy found herself dismayed, almost panicked at this information. But a part of her, a very cowardly part, was relieved.
“Had he been kidnapped? Was that why he was in the middle of the road? Are we sure someone didn’t take him from the hospital?” Wendy asked, the words spilling from her lips. Various horrifying scenarios cycled through her head.
“No, no, nothing like that,” her mother said gently. “The strange part is no one saw anyone go in or out. They even checked the surveillance tapes, but there was nothing. It’s like he just vanished.” She frowned at her cup.
That was odd. The hospital didn’t have the most high-tech setup, but at least one of the cameras should’ve showed him leaving. “Did—did he say anything?” Wendy ventured, bracing herself for the answer.
“He woke up a couple of hours after he got the sedative,” her mom explained as she squeezed another wedge of lemon into her mug. “I never saw him, but the other nurses kept saying he was talking gibberish, maybe an aftereffect of the sedative … He kept talking about a shadow?” She frowned in a way that made her look much older than she was. “I don’t know. Maybe he was just lost in the logging roads and dehydrated, delirious … They had a social worker there but she couldn’t get anything clearer out of him, either.”
She was quiet for a moment before she finally looked up at Wendy. Those keen brown eyes bore into Wendy’s with inquisitive intensity. “He also kept asking for you.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” she said, because it didn’t. Wendy crossed her arms, uncrossed them, and then crossed them again.
Mrs. Darling ran the tip of her finger over her bottom lip as she watched Wendy for a quiet moment. “Do you know him?” she finally asked.
“No, of course not!” she said, a little too forcefully. Frustration started to crawl under her skin. This mystery boy was making it look like they knew each other when they didn’t, but more importantly, he was making her look like a liar. Now she even felt like a liar, like she was hiding something, but how could she when she’d never seen him before?