The shadows were converging, forgetting about the trapped kids in order to rain horrors—terrible memories and the cries of John and Michael—down on Wendy. She watched as the kids tugged on the bars. Matthew had nearly gotten himself through, closely followed by Joel.
Good—if the shadows were distracted enough by her, then maybe the kids could run away. The thought gave her a small swell of determination. Wendy’s body shook violently, she was hardly able to stay on her feet. She could feel the shadows closing in now. Could feel them pooling at her feet and winding around her legs. Could feel them filling the gaping void in her chest.
“Give up, Wendy.” The words echoed through her mind. The shadows clawed at the base of her throat.
Wendy tried to reach out for more happy memories as bad thoughts struck her in a barrage. She thought of the waterfall and the lagoon. She thought of Peter’s dimpled smile, the drip of water hanging from the tip of his nose.
She made herself think of breakfasts when she was little. Of her and her brothers plunging their fingers into a bowl of pancake batter as her mother laughed in front of the stove. Of her father chasing them around the backyard on cool autumn days.
The ground quaked beneath her feet. The wind slapped her cheeks and pulled her hair. Wendy curled against it. Terrible screams filled her ears. The shadows vibrated against her skin. They were unrelenting. Through the swarm of darkness, she could see the last remnants of the cage fall away, could just make out the children being freed before everything plunged into darkness.
The images of her murdered brothers cascaded over Wendy. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks. The voices in her head roared.
Gone. Dead. Murdered. Your fault. Your fault. YOUR FAULT.
Wendy tried to hold on to the memory of her brothers lying on their backs—not on the cold snowy ground, but in their backyard on prickly grass as they stared up at the stars on a clear summer night. She held on to the memory of her parents sitting on lawn chairs and drinking lemonade as she and her brothers ran through the sprinklers.
Wendy remembered Michael careening into her chest. She stumbled back a step. She could practically feel it, his tiny body running into hers, his small arms wrapping around her middle. Wendy felt another thump, this time against her back. John, joining in the embrace.
A sob bucked in Wendy’s chest. She could remember it. She could practically feel them holding on tight. John’s face tucked against her shoulder. Michael’s downy hair under her fingertips. The sensations were so real.
Too real.
Wendy opened her eyes.
The shadows continued to swirl and screech, but—
She looked down. Wendy’s fingers laced through soft brown curls. A jolt shot through her. Michael? His arms were locked tightly around her, his head tucked against her side.
Tears swelled in Wendy’s eyes, blurring her vision as her hand cradled the top of his head. From behind, arms encircled her waist, holding on tight.
John? Blindly, Wendy reached back, trying to grip his side.
Electricity ran through her body as she tried to hold on to them, to drag them closer even though their grip on her was so tight, she could hardly take a full breath.
Wendy’s hands scrambled for a tighter hold. They were alive. Her fingers caught the back of Michael’s thick hoodie—
She froze.
His … hoodie?
Wendy looked down, squinting against the battering wind.
A blue hoodie that nearly swallowed him whole.
She realized there were more than two of them. Wendy stood surrounded by quaking bodies, encircled by desperate hands and arms. Benjamin, Ashley, and Matthew huddled against Wendy, their backs to the howling shadows.
Joel, not John, braced himself against her back.
It wasn’t Michael hugging her, but Alex, terrified and trembling.
The cage had weakened, and they had broken out. They’d escaped, and, instead of running away, they’d run to Wendy. They were trying to protect her.
They were trying to keep her safe.
Before her, the shadow contorted and howled. It swelled and grew.
Wendy was afraid, but she wasn’t giving up. Peter had said that in order to stop the shadow, she needed to reattach it to him.
The tree shook as the cruel version of Peter morphed into a mass of twisting shadows and claws.
She’d done it before, she’d do it again.
The shadow sprang forward. A gaping mouth formed at its center, revealing sharp white teeth as long as fingers, protruding in jagged angles.