with bright light, it looked tiny and unassuming compared to when she had seen it in person. Men and women in police uniforms carried out items in small plastic bags. Some of them examined something on the ground, others were dusting the doorframe for fingerprints.
The volume was off, but a marquee scrolled the story of what she could already tell was happening:
… HASN’T BEEN IN ACTIVE USE FOR 6 MONTHS. CLOTHES, FOOD, AND TRACES OF RECENT INHABITANTS. WOOD-BURNING STOVE HAS BEEN RECENTLY USED. TWO SETS OF FOOTPRINTS INSIDE HUNTING SHACK AND AROUND EXTERIOR. POLICE TRYING TO FIND FINGERPRINTS OR DNA EVIDENCE. CURRENTLY, NO SIGN OF MISSING CHILDREN …
Wendy wondered if her dad had been part of the search party to discover the shack. She and Peter were lucky they had gotten out of there when they did.
Frustration worked its way through her. The police were getting distracted from the real culprit. They were losing valuable time tracing Peter’s path when they should be on the hunt for the shadow. But how could they even do that? She and Peter were having a hard enough time tracking it down, and at least they knew what they were up against.
Quietly, Wendy crossed the kitchen to the back door.
Peter was there, waiting patiently.
She unlocked the sliding glass door and slowly pulled it open, just wide enough for him to squeeze through. Wendy pressed her finger to her lips. She didn’t want to risk making any noise that would wake her mom.
Peter’s face was screwed up tight, his brow furrowed. He pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. It struck Wendy how much he looked like Michael when he wanted to come inside after stomping in puddles, but knew he would get in trouble for tracking mud on the floor.
Wendy had to pluck impatiently at his sleeve before he finally slunk inside.
She pointed to the living room. “Try to be quiet, my mom is asleep on the couch,” she whispered to him. He nodded in reply. His blue eyes were wide and alert. “Look,” she said, nodding in the direction of the TV. “They found your hideout…”
Peter quietly stepped into the living room for a closer look. He squinted as his eyes scanned, reading the information scrolling by on the bottom of the screen. He sighed.
“Good timing on our part, I guess,” he said, keeping his voice low. His eyes slid over to Mrs. Darling asleep on the couch. She had a pillow propped under her head. Her glasses were askew. Deep frown lines scrunched her brow and pulled down at the corners of her mouth.
Peter’s shoulders sank.
Wendy gestured for him to come back and pointed toward the hallway that led to the stairs.
His eyes slid back to Mrs. Darling. He lingered for a moment before retreating. Peter had just entered the kitchen when Wendy pushed the sliding glass door shut. It let out a high-pitched squeal of rubber against glass.
Mrs. Darling stirred on the couch.
Wendy grabbed a bewildered Peter and shoved him into the hallway and out of sight.
“Wendy?” Mrs. Darling’s voice, thick from sleep, mumbled from the living room.
“Yeah, Mom, it’s me!” Wendy called back. “I just got home from the hospital.”
Peter pressed his back against the wall, cringing.
Mrs. Darling sat up and readjusted her glasses on her face. “Just now?” She looked down at the plastic watch on her wrist and frowned.
“It was a really crazy day,” Wendy said, nodding vigorously. “They needed all the help they could get! But I’m really exhausted, so I’m going to head up to bed.”
“Oh … all right.” Mrs. Darling sat back on the couch and gave Wendy a tired smile. “Sleep well, sweetheart.”
The only thing that saved Wendy from her poorly constructed lies was the fact that she’d never lied to her parents before, so they had no real reason to doubt or question her. Especially about things like sneaking around with mysterious boys. Or any boys.
“You too, Mom.”
Peter was waiting for Wendy in the hallway with his hands clasped behind his back. He looked like a child inside a museum who had been scolded not to touch anything. She tried not to smile.
Wendy pointed up the stairs and poked the middle of his back, urging him forward. Peter led the way up and, when they got to the second floor landing, he made to open the door to her and her brothers’ old room.
“Not that one,” Wendy said quietly, gently catching his elbow. She nodded her head to the right. “My