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It was my second night in Darrow and I still wasn't sure what I was supposed to be doing.
The first night I had shown up so late at night that the staff at the care home had bombarded me with information before bringing me up to a bedroom that was already occupied by another boy. That was nothing strange to me, I was used to sleeping in the same space with at least ten other boys, most of them piled up on animal skins, half sprawled on top of one another. But the boy was sleeping in a bed and I was expected to do the same.
The staff had asked me not to wake him and so I had quietly laid down on top of the blankets, put my head on the pillow, and proceeded to stare at the ceiling until the sun began to creep over the horizon.
When the other boy began to stir, I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. It was unfair of me, but I hadn't wanted to talk to him just yet. The night before had been strange and awful and every time I thought about Charlie and Sal I wanted to weep. I was afraid if I tried to talk to another boy just then, I would end up crying and would be unable to stop.
I slipped out during the day and looked for a way back to the island. I had longed to go back to the Other Place so I could finally grow up, but it was something I had wanted to do with Sally. She and I were supposed to grow up together and we would have taken Charlie back to his mother and he would have been happy and with his family again. But Sal was dead and I had no idea if Charlie was, too, so I searched and searched for a way back to Peter's island so I could be sure Charlie was safe and end Peter once and for all.
I didn't find anything.
When I came back to the home, no one really tried to talk to me. Some of the staff made sure I ate something for dinner and one of them told me on Monday I would have to start going to school, but I just shrugged and picked up a book and pretended to read. One of the volunteers joked around with me a bit, but he seemed distracted and he didn't even tell me to go to bed when all the other kids went upstairs. I hung around the common room for a little while longer, hoping the other boy would be asleep when I went upstairs.
I stood at the foot of my new bed for a long time before making a decision.
Working quietly, trying not to wake the other boy, I dragged all the blankets off the mattress. I left the pillow where it was, then moved toward a corner of the room and began to make a nest on the floor. The mattresses were so soft, they were impossible for me to sleep on, and even though the blankets would never been deerskin and the wood floor would never be the dirt floor of our Tree, I knew it would be better for me than the bed.
I tried to be as quiet as possible, but I soon realized the other boy had been awake all along.
The first night I had shown up so late at night that the staff at the care home had bombarded me with information before bringing me up to a bedroom that was already occupied by another boy. That was nothing strange to me, I was used to sleeping in the same space with at least ten other boys, most of them piled up on animal skins, half sprawled on top of one another. But the boy was sleeping in a bed and I was expected to do the same.
The staff had asked me not to wake him and so I had quietly laid down on top of the blankets, put my head on the pillow, and proceeded to stare at the ceiling until the sun began to creep over the horizon.
When the other boy began to stir, I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. It was unfair of me, but I hadn't wanted to talk to him just yet. The night before had been strange and awful and every time I thought about Charlie and Sal I wanted to weep. I was afraid if I tried to talk to another boy just then, I would end up crying and would be unable to stop.
I slipped out during the day and looked for a way back to the island. I had longed to go back to the Other Place so I could finally grow up, but it was something I had wanted to do with Sally. She and I were supposed to grow up together and we would have taken Charlie back to his mother and he would have been happy and with his family again. But Sal was dead and I had no idea if Charlie was, too, so I searched and searched for a way back to Peter's island so I could be sure Charlie was safe and end Peter once and for all.
I didn't find anything.
When I came back to the home, no one really tried to talk to me. Some of the staff made sure I ate something for dinner and one of them told me on Monday I would have to start going to school, but I just shrugged and picked up a book and pretended to read. One of the volunteers joked around with me a bit, but he seemed distracted and he didn't even tell me to go to bed when all the other kids went upstairs. I hung around the common room for a little while longer, hoping the other boy would be asleep when I went upstairs.
I stood at the foot of my new bed for a long time before making a decision.
Working quietly, trying not to wake the other boy, I dragged all the blankets off the mattress. I left the pillow where it was, then moved toward a corner of the room and began to make a nest on the floor. The mattresses were so soft, they were impossible for me to sleep on, and even though the blankets would never been deerskin and the wood floor would never be the dirt floor of our Tree, I knew it would be better for me than the bed.
I tried to be as quiet as possible, but I soon realized the other boy had been awake all along.
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He thought of all the warnings his mother had given him about kidnappers and murderers and pedophiles, and more and more often lately, he'd been convinced she was just full of shit, but maybe she was right. At least some of the time, there were people out there who wanted to steal you away and hurt you.
And make you wear deerskin pants.
Then something in his head clicked. An island, a boy named Peter. Holy shit.
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Or it would have. If not for the fact that I was once again thinking of my mother.
"He was terrible," I said, even though it felt like an understatement. And it felt like a lie. I had been like Peter in some ways, too, and I wished I could say I wasn't, but I knew better. "He hurt a lot of people. Other boys, too."
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What the hell story had he been told as a child, anyway? Wasn't Peter just mischievous? A little scamp in tights who could fly? Since when did he murder people. He had to be wrong about this. There was no way this was the same story.
"My dad's dead," he blurted, "I mean, it was just cancer, nobody killed him, but, um. It sucks. I mean, I know it's... You know."
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I liked how that sounded.
"I'm sorry, too," I said. I knew fathers could be good men, men who loved their sons and their wives, who provided for their families. I had seen them in Darrow already, even after only two days, I had seen them in the park throwing balls and pushing swings and walking dogs. Mine hadn't been anything like that, but maybe Eddie's had. I hoped he had been.
"And now you're stuck here with an odd roommate," I said with a small smile.
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Eddie shrugged. He wasn't all that bothered by Jamie's oddness, or the strangeness of his story. Weird kids had to stick together. It was as true in Darrow as it had been in Derry.
"At least it's not just me, now," he said, gesturing around the otherwise empty room. "If we're stuck here, at least we're not alone."
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"I think it'd be weird if I were alone. It wouldn't feel... it wouldn't feel right," I agreed. We were sitting on the floor in the nest I'd made and I leaned back against one of the pillow, letting myself recline. I smiled at Eddie. "And I promise I don't even snore."