Wendy and no Peter Pan

Hook straightened up again. "So come. Choose."

"No," she whispered, tears streaming down her face, but a spark of defiance blazed in her eyes. "I won't do it. I will not choose one of them for you."

Hook sighed, as if speaking to a stubborn child. "I was hoping you wouldn't say that. Your loyalty is admirable, though misguided." He walked to the door and opened it. "Smee!" he called.

The little mate appeared instantly. "Yes, Cap'n?"

"Forget the cane," Hook said casually. "Get the whip. And have the crew assemble on deck. There will be a punishment. Not one. All of the children."

Wendy froze. The last spark of defiance in her was extinguished, replaced by pure horror.

"Since you refuse to choose one to learn a lesson, I must make the lesson unforgettable for all of them," Hook explained, as if it were the simplest logic in the world. "All six will be punished for your inadequacy. On deck. In front of everyone. Naked. I think a dozen lashes each should be enough to make the importance of your duties clear to you."

He looked at her, and a triumphant glint was in his eyes. He had lured her into a trap from which there was no escape. She could either sacrifice one child or condemn all five to an even worse fate.

Wendy collapsed. The fight was over. She had lost.

"No," she breathed, so quietly he could barely hear it. "Not all of them. I... I'll choose."

"A wise decision," Hook said, his voice devoid of any warmth. He grabbed Wendy's arm and pulled her to her feet. His grip was like iron. "Come. It's time to make your choice."

He dragged her out of the cabin, down the stairs into the damp, cold darkness of the ship's hull. Smee trotted behind them, holding the polished cane like a sceptre of terror. The walk to the hold was a walk to the gallows. With every step, Wendy's heart hammered more painfully against her ribs.

Hook threw open the heavy wooden door. The smell of fear and unwashed bodies hit them. In the faint light of a single lantern, the children huddled in a corner. When they saw Wendy, a spark of hope mixed with their frightened expressions. Wendy, their mother, had come. The hope died when Hook shoved her into the room ahead of him.

"Choose," he commanded again, his voice echoing off the damp walls.

Wendy's gaze wandered from one face to another, and each was a new stab in her heart. There were the twins, clinging to each other. Birdie, the youngest, whimpering softly to herself. Tootles, who tried to look brave, but his trembling lower lip betrayed him. Her little brothers. And then there was Tiger Lily.

She was not cowering. She stood, her back against the ship's wall, her arms crossed. She was not crying. Her face was a mask of proud, unyielding contempt. In her dark eyes blazed a fire of hatred, but also of indomitable strength.

Wendy looked back at Hook, her eyes a silent, desperate plea. He just smiled. "Or all of them. On deck. With the whip. Your time is running out, Wendy."

Her gaze darted back to the children. To the tear-stained, frightened faces. And then back to Tiger Lily. She is the strongest, Wendy thought, a frantic, desperate logic taking hold. She will survive this. She will hate me for this until the end of her days, but she will endure this pain. The others... it would break them. It would destroy them forever. I can't choose one of them. I can't... Oh God, forgive me.

Her hand rose, trembling like a leaf in a storm. Her finger extended. Her voice was just a hoarse croak as she pointed to the figure against the wall. "...Her."

A collective, horrified gasp went through the group. The hope in their eyes gave way to incredulous horror and betrayal. Only Tiger Lily's expression did not change. The fire in her eyes became a cold, deadly ember. She had expected nothing less.

"An excellent choice," Hook said with satisfaction. "Strong. Resilient. She will convey the lesson well." He nodded to Smee. "Bring her to my cabin. And don't forget the cane."

Wendy sat on the settee in Hook's cabin, unable to move, unable to look away. Hook stood beside her, his hand on her shoulder, an unyielding anchor that bound her to this place.

Smee had bent Tiger Lily over a heavy sea chest. He hesitated for a moment, but a sharp look from Hook was enough. Smee lifted the girl's simple tunic, exposing her bare back and bottom. Tiger Lily gripped the edges of the chest, her knuckles turning white.

"Watch closely, Wendy," Hook whispered in her ear. "This is the price of your failure. Feel it."

The cane hissed through the air and struck the skin with a sharp, loud crack.

Tiger Lily did not scream. She only let out a sharp hiss through clenched teeth. Her body twitched involuntarily, but she fought against it. With each successive blow, the cruel ritual repeated itself. The hiss of the cane, the crack of the impact, the suppressed gasp. Wendy wept silently, tears streaming down her cheeks. Every blow Tiger Lily received was a lash on her own soul. Every red welt that bloomed on the dark skin was a monument to her betrayal, her weakness, her inability to protect those she loved. This wasn't punishment. This was torture. For both of them.

When the ordered twelve blows were over, Smee helped the trembling but still silent Tiger Lily to her feet. He straightened her tunic and led her out of the cabin without a word.

Hook turned to the sobbing Wendy. He knelt before her and wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. His touch was gentle, which only made the situation more grotesque. "You see," he said softly, his voice a poisonous balm. "You see now what happens when you disappoint me? Your pain is fleeting. Hers will remain. And it will teach you." He stood up and looked down at her. "The next time, Wendy, I no longer expect an actress in my bed. I expect a lover who will do anything to satisfy me. To protect the others. You will no longer play it. You will be it."

The days that followed were a silent, tense hell. Wendy moved through the ship like a ghost, her thoughts circling endlessly around Tiger Lily's silent, accusing eyes. Every laugh from a pirate, every creak of a plank made her flinch. She knew the next rendezvous was inevitable, and the anticipation was its own form of torture.

Then, one evening when the moon was hidden behind thick clouds, she once again found the blood-red velvet dress on her bed. This time there was no dinner, no feigned normality. When she entered the captain's cabin, he was sitting in a chair by the window, wearing only a shirt and trousers, staring into the darkness. A single candle cast long, dancing shadows.

He turned his head as she entered. His gaze was intense, probing. "Tonight, Wendy," he said quietly, "I don't want to see a shy virgin anymore. I don't want a submissive maid. Tonight, I want to see the woman I am going to make you."

He leaned back and laced his hands behind his head. His posture was an open invitation—and an unmistakable command. "I will not move. I will do nothing. You will seduce me. You will show me that you desire me. You will take control. And you will be convincing."

Control? she thought, panic rising in her throat. How can I take control when my every breath is commanded? Seduce? I don't even know what that means. I am a girl from London who tells bedtime stories. I have to do something. I have to make him believe... What do women in books do? They dance. They whisper. They touch. It's all just theatre. A play, and the children's lives are the price for a bad performance. Think of Tiger Lily. Think of the welts on her back. You must not fail. Not again.

She took a shaky breath and took a first, uncertain step toward him. She tried to sway her hips, a movement she had seen dancers make at a fair, but she felt stiff and ridiculous. She took the wine decanter from the table, her hands trembling so much that the wine sloshed softly against the glass. She knelt before his chair and poured him a glass. "You must be thirsty, Captain," she whispered, trying to give her voice a hoarse, seductive tone, but it only sounded brittle.

Hook watched her every move, a cold critic observing a clumsy amateur. Pathetic, he mused. She moves like a puppet whose strings are tangled. Every look, every word is rehearsed and false. She thinks seduction is a sequence of gestures. She doesn't understand that it is a fire, a power play that begins in the eyes. She is afraid. Her fear is so palpable I can almost taste it. But that is not what I want. Not tonight. Tonight, I want her to conquer her fear—or at least pretend to.

Wendy began to unbutton his shirt. Her fingers were clumsy and cold. She leaned in to kiss him, but it was the kiss of a child kissing a doll—without passion, without intent. She tried to pull the shirt from his shoulders, tugged at his trousers, trying to play the role of the dominant seductress he demanded of her.

When they were both naked in bed, again on the mercilessly white sheets, she tried to take the initiative. She sat on top of him, her movements clumsy and mechanical. She tried to take him inside her, but her awkwardness was so great that she nearly guided him wrongly, into an intimacy she could barely comprehend. Only his sharp hiss and a hard grip of his hand on her hip, correcting her, prevented the mistake. Humiliation burned hot in her cheeks. She tried to move as she had felt him move the night before, but without his lead, she was lost. Her gaze darted nervously, unable to meet his probing eyes.

He did nothing. He just lay there and let her continue, observing her pitiful performance with a cold, almost scientific curiosity. Her failure was louder than any word. Her feigned lust was such an obvious lie that it was almost an insult.

The next morning, the silence in the cabin was even icier than the last time. He ate breakfast alone again while she stood by the wall, unable to move or speak. When he was finished, he wiped his mouth and looked at her. His face was expressionless. "I am disappointed again, Wendy."

Her knees grew weak. "I tried..." she whispered.

"No," he interrupted sharply. "You acted out a role. Poorly. You imitated the motions, but you didn't understand the essence. A seductress enjoys her power. She revels in it. You only showed fear. Fear and incompetence. It was not enough." He stood up. The chair scraped loudly across the wooden floor. "The last lesson was obviously not sufficient. It seems you need a stronger motivation." He stepped in front of her, so close she could smell tea and contempt. "Go. Get dressed. And then go to the hold."

Her world collapsed again. "No... please..."

"Yes," he said, relentless. "You will choose again, Wendy. And this time, you should think very carefully about who among them is to learn another lesson for you. Perhaps you will understand this time."

The walk to the hold was a walk through hell, and Wendy was already a damned soul. Hook walked ahead, his steps calm and determined. Wendy followed him, an empty shadow, and behind her trotted Smee, whose presence hung in the air like a promise of pain to come.

Hook unlocked the heavy door to the hold. The creak of the lock was the only sound. Inside, the five girls clung to each other, their eyes widening in terror when they saw the captain. Then their gaze fell on Wendy, and in their faces was the desperate question that Wendy could not answer for herself: Why?

"Well, Wendy," Hook said quietly, but his voice penetrated every corner of the dark room. "Make your choice. Show us who will learn the lesson for you today."

Wendy's gaze wandered over the frightened faces. Tootles, John and Michael were not here, only the girls. They were strong; they had endured the terror of Neverland. But they were still children.

Her gaze rested on Tiger Lily. She stood slightly apart from the others, more upright, her face a mask of stony defiance. She had endured it before. She was the strongest of them. It was cruel, but it was a desperate, twisted form of logic. Better her, who already knew the pain, than a new, innocent victim.

"Her," Wendy whispered, raising a trembling hand to point at Tiger Lily. Her voice was little more than a hoarse croak. "Tiger Lily."

Hook laughed. It was not a loud, triumphant laugh, but a soft, contemptuous chuckle. "No," he said gently, as if explaining something to a stupid child. "Of course not. That would be too easy, don't you think? To make the same choice twice, just because you know she can bear it." He took a step closer to Wendy. "That is not the point of the lesson, my dear. You are not supposed to learn who is the most resilient. You are supposed to learn that your actions have consequences for everyone. The burden must be shared. The fear must be spread. You don't get the easy way out."

He made a sweeping gesture toward the other four girls, who pressed even closer together. "Choose again, Wendy. Choose someone new."

The world seemed to spin for Wendy. Her last desperate strategy had crumbled to dust. He had foreseen it. He had known her every thought. She had to look at them. Birdie, one of the twins, hiding behind her sister and crying softly. The other twin girl, trying to be strong but trembling all over. Another girl she barely knew, with large, dark eyes full of silent horror. Each of them was an impossibility. Each choice was a betrayal.

Hook lost his patience. "Choose!" he hissed, and this time there was steel in his voice. "Or I promise you, Smee will be working overtime today and will take care of all four."

That final push broke her completely. Her mind shut down. There was no more logic, no strategy, only the blind instinct to prevent the worst by submitting to the unthinkable. Her arm rose as if of its own accord, a foreign limb that did not obey her. Her finger pointed. It trembled in the air and landed on the smallest girl, Birdie, who was cowering behind her sister.

She couldn't speak the name. She could only nod, once, a barely perceptible movement.

A smile flickered across Hook's face. "An excellent choice." He turned to Smee. "You heard what to do. Take her to my cabin. Bring the cane."

Birdie let out a piercing scream as Smee approached her. Her sister tried to hold her back, but Smee roughly pushed her aside. He grabbed the crying, squirming girl by the arm and dragged her from the room.

"And you're coming with me," Hook hissed, grabbing Wendy's arm before she could react. He pulled her from the hold and slammed the door behind them, ignoring the cries of the other girls. He dragged her up the stairs to his cabin. Smee was already there. He had pressed Birdie face down over a stool, pushed up her little dress, and exposed her bare bottom. The girl was crying hysterically, her body trembling uncontrollably.

"You will watch," Hook commanded, pushing Wendy into a chair placed directly opposite the scene. "You will see every single blow. This is the price for your incompetence."

Smee raised the cane. The first crack of the wood on the delicate skin was a sound that was sharper and more cruel than anything she could have imagined. Birdie's scream was high and thin. Wendy wanted to close her eyes, to look away, but Hook's hand gripped her chin and forced her to watch. She saw the red welts that blossomed, saw the tears and saliva that dripped onto the wooden floor. She saw the pain she had caused, in all its raw, unadulterated brutality. And she knew that this image would never leave her.