Narrator:
Chapter 3 = Vincent Frost… The year is 1925 A.D., Nornland, Scotland, Greater Germania…
John Darling sits resting his head against the window of the train. He stares out; the world exists only as a passing blur of landscape as his mind drifts back to the day that changed his life forever. He wishes he had stopped his sister from going; he wishes they had not listened to Peadar, but they were just children and Peadar was the boy in the window offering to set them free. The time they spent with Peadar from that first leap out of the nursery window to the night they returned home, flying through a sea of stars from a land of dreams, had been so filled with wonder and excitement. However, for all the joyful memories of adventure it had given them, it could never have been worth the toll it would have on their lives and their family after they returned home.
The happiness and euphoria that was so present upon the night of their return soon turned to destructive anger and fear. That first night after they came back, their parents were just happy to have them home again and did not force the question of where they had gone or how they vanished from the nursery the night they left the world behind. Mr. Darling had even been willing to take in the Lost Boys, but it was not long before their parents wanted answers and it was quickly apparent the truth would serve only to bring damnation to all of them.
They knew their parents would never believe a truth so much stranger and more wonderful than any fiction. Wendy did her best to tell their parents a story she thought they could believe. At first, the story seemed to work. Wendy did her best to shield her siblings and the Lost Boys from most of the questioning, but the holes in their story became bigger and more numerous as their parents' questions continued to flow. In the absence of the truth, their parents settled on the idea that what really happened must have been so horrible that their children were too afraid to accept it. That was when he came and changed everything.
*******
Narrator:
The year is 1913 A.D., London, England…
Bitter cold blankets London in a shimmering layer of white. Mr. Darling exits the bank exhausted. His day was uncommonly difficult at work, but it is finally over. He trudges toward home. Everything feels heavy: his overcoat, his briefcase… even his heart. His mind sinks further under the heavy burden of the same crushing questions.
Mr. Darling:
Where had they really gone? Who are these jungle wildlings that accompanied them home? Why is Wendy lying to me? She never used to lie, especially to me… never to me. Oh, what the devil is going on with her?
Narrator:
The stress of the day and the mounting feelings of betrayal from his daughter make the bitter pain in his chest feel even worse. A chilling gust of wind hits Mr. Darling from behind, pushing his slicked-back hair forward into his eyes. He smooths his hair back into place as he stumbles off the curb and slips into the deep slush of the gutter, soaking his pant leg. Cursing privately, he shakes his foot.
He has not been thinking clearly all day, distracted by the simmering anger boiling in the background of his mind, but tonight he will finally have his answers.
Mr. Darling:
Oh, she will talk tonight. By God, she will talk.
Narrator:
He stomps across the street, determined to make it home in record time, but then it happens. Suddenly, all the street lamps flicker and go dark.
The winter wind vanishes. In its place comes an unnerving feeling of absolute stillness, as if the world has stopped spinning. Silence takes over, stretching the moment taut. An icy hand of fear takes hold of Mr. Darling's heart, causing him to yelp as he spins towards the sound of soft, crunching footsteps approaching from behind. His heart races.
Mr. Darling:
Just stay calm, old boy! You're a man after all. No giving in to fear.
Narrator:
Summoning up all his strength, he stands his ground as the approaching outline of a stranger emerges from the nearby shadows.
Mr. Darling:
"Ho… How abo… about this Wea… Weather, eh, chap? Ra… Rather dreary wo… wouldn't you say?" [Stuttering from fear while trying to hide the fear and maintain composure]
Narrator:
Mr. Darling blurts out, trying to hide his fear as the stranger comes into view, stopping just in front of him. The stranger is a smiling, pale-skinned man dressed in black slacks and a long black coat lined with silver buttons. The man's deep piercing eyes make Mr. Darling feel as if all the heat of the world has been sucked away into the smile of the stranger causing him to shiver violently against the intensifying winter chill. The man just stares at him, not blinking, not moving, while Mr. Darling crumbles in on himself as the frigid night air builds to near-blizzard levels of unimaginable cold, unlike any he has ever experienced. The air gets colder and colder until he can't stand it anymore, until suddenly
The man jabs the ground hard with the end of his silver walking stick, causing the fearsome arctic front to suddenly vanish without a trace. Mr. Darling stumbles backwards, taken aback by the rapidly changing temperature.
Vincent Frost:
"Hello, Mr. Darling, my name is Frost… Vincent, Frost and I am here to help you."
Narrator:
Vincent smiles warmly as he extends his hand to Mr. Darling, who hesitates for a moment before cautiously giving Vincent a rather limper handshake than intended.
Mr. Darling:
"You startled me, sir, I'm embarrassed to say. To be honest, I thought a mugging was on the menu," [end with nervous laughter]
Narrator:
Vincent chuckles as Mr. Darling hugs his coat closer to his chest as the street lamps flare back to life, igniting the queer unearthly glow of Vincent's seeming luminescent golden hair and moon-colored eyes.
Mr. Darling:
"Not to be rude, um, Vincent, yes Vincent, but what exactly do you want?"
Narrator:
Vincent slides in close before Mr. Darling can even mentally process that he moved and puts a brotherly arm around his shoulders, guiding him further along his route home. Mr. Darling shivers at Vincent's Icy touch, but not just from the cold; there is something deeper. He isn't sure what.
Vincent Frost:
"I want what you want: the truth. The truth about what happened to your children that night. Where did they go? And most mysterious of all, why did they go?"
Narrator:
Mr. Darling stiffens at the mention of his children; he turns on Vincent, shoving him away violently as his protective paternal rage flares inside him. He pins Vincent against a nearby alleyway wall with his hands at the pale man's throat.
Mr. Darling:
"HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT? WERE YOU INVOLVED? TRYING TO COVER UP YOUR MISTAKES NOW? COME CLEAN OR I'LL…" [trying to sound as menacing and dangerous as he can]
Vincent Frost:
"Or you'll what? My dear, Darling" [not threatening but rather amused and impressed]
Narrator:
Interrupts Vincent with an almost jovial smile as a massive rush of pure-cold flows through Mr. Darling's hands as if the blood in his veins has suddenly flash-frozen, rendering his hands completely useless. Vincent effortlessly steps out of Mr. Darling's now non-existent grip.
Mr. Darling:
"UGH! What did you do? How did you? Ugh"
Narrator:
Mr. Darling blurts out, frantically rubbing his hands together, desperate to restore any semblance of heat to them as he falls backward, scrabbling across the ground in fear as Vincent turns and approaches him once more, causing Mr. Darling to backpedal defensively.
Vincent Frost:
"How did I what?" [coyly]
Mr. Darling:
"No… please, jus… just sta… stay back, leave me al… alone."
Narrator:
He wants to run… he wants to escape, but Vincent locks eyes with him and he knows it is pointless… He has never seen such eyes… eyes that grip his soul and leave him gutless.
Vincent Frost:
"Really, George… May I call you George? You are in such a foul state. All this excitement will do nothing to help your already immense stress, especially with your family's history of heart problems. However, I must admit, I'm impressed. To be honest, I didn't think you had it in you." [smooth and concerned at the beginning but brimming with approval at the end]
Narrator:
Vincent fixes his collar. And then reaches down his hand and helps Mr. Darling to his feet, pulling him so close that for the briefest of moments, their lips almost touch. His breath is so cold like the kiss of winter itself, yet somehow strangely inviting, making Mr. Darling more than a little uncomfortable at his own feelings. Suddenly, it is snowing, not everywhere, just somehow, right above them.
Vincent Frost:
"Oh sorry, about the powder, I guess I got a little excited, I always was a sucker for a paper man in glasses. [amused laugh at himself]"
Narrator:
Vincent snaps his finger, bringing an end to their own personal snowfall.
Vincent Frost:
"There, that's better, right? But in full truth, I'm really only here to help, and the organisation I represent is far more capable of helping you in a special situation like this than London's Finest…. I fear this matter may be more than a little…. Well, shall we say?… outside of the jurisdiction of the good and noble constabulary," [Musing tone bordering on oddly playful]
Narrator:
Once he is back on his feet, Mr. Darling trudges up all the inner courage he can muster, yanking himself free of Vincent's grip
and taking off at full speed towards his home.
Vincent Frost:
"THERE IS MORE TO THIS THAN YOU COULD EVER IMAGINE! WE WILL SPEAK AGAIN SOON!"
Narrator:
For a moment, Vincent watches the quickly fading outline of Mr. Darling before shrugging to himself. Vincent turns his gaze to the night sky. The cold, clear blackness of the night emboldens the glistening shine of stars like the radiant speckles of a robin's egg.
Vincent Frost:
"Another beautiful night, little brother. It's good to feel so close to you again. Till we meet again someday, I love you."
Narrator:
Vincent smiles and, with a flourish of his wrist, he flurries into a cloud of gently dancing snowflakes on the chill winter wind.
Narrator:
Mr. Darling opens his front door with an exhausted sigh as he steps briskly through the threshold. The heat from the hearth envelopes him, ushering the frigid night air back out the door. He hopes either the heat from the crackling fire or his wife's radiant warmth will thaw the chill growing inside him ever since Vincent had placed his arm around his shoulders. He doffs his top hat and coat, hanging them on the rack by the door before making his way over to the piano and kissing his wife's cheek.
Mrs. Darling:
"Welcome home, dear. Hard day?"
Nana:
Barking… Barking… Barking
Mrs. Darling:
"Nana has been trying to get some of the boys into the bath for the past half hour."
Narrator:
Mrs. Darling stops playing and looks towards her husband with a half-hearted smile… the only kind she can seem to offer these days. Mr. Darling cannot help but notice just how pedestrian the moment feels, as if he can almost let himself believe meeting Vincent had somehow been a mere dream, an exercise of his overworked mind. But then he thinks of Wendy, and the hope recedes as he leans in and kisses his wife's cheek.
Mr. Darling:
"How were the children today?"
Narrator:
Mr. Darling pulls a small cloth out of his vest pocket and wipes his glasses as Mrs. Darling tenderly strokes his thigh for a moment.
Mrs. Darling:
"Fine. They miss you when you're gone at work, but the day was mostly uneventful. John and Michael have been playing with the rest of the boys upstairs most of the day, though Michael was upset earlier. It seems he has misplaced his bear, Mr. Teddels. Liza has already prepared dinner and gone home for the evening, but will be back tomorrow at her usual time."
Mr. Darling:
"And where is Wendy?" asks Mr. Darling, casting his eyes toward the stairs.
Mrs. Darling:
"Where else…" [flatly],
Narrator:
She averts her attention back to the piano, picking up the piece where she left off.
Narrator:
Mr. Darling breathes deep in an effort to push out the creeping dread rising in him as he turns and makes his way upstairs.
He gently pushes open the nursery room door to find his beloved Wendy staring transfixed out the open window, just as she has been every night since their return. Loving lips meet soft brown hair as he leans in and places a fatherly kiss on Wendy's head. She spasms ever so slightly at his touch as she is snapped from her trance. Wendy turns and hugs her father's waist as if to say, 'See Father, I'm okay, I'm still here'.
Mr. Darling:
"Wendy… Wendy… my precious Wendy. Why do you sit and pine for the stars every night?" [softly, almost pleading for truth]
Wendy:
"It is not the stars, Father, it is what lies beyond them," [Tone of dismay and longing]
Narrator:
When he had told his colleagues at the bank about his children's return, some had joked they had been taken by Martians. He would always pretend to be busy to shut out their jibes, deciding to never confide in any of them again. The humiliation from their teasing and the slowly growing anger from Wendy's constant refusal to tell him the truth about what happened that night merge and ignite, setting fire to the inferno that is his anger.
Mr. Darling:
"WENDY, PLEASE!.... Your mother and I love you. We only want to help you. I beg you… tell me the truth,"
Wendy:
"I'm sorry, Father, but you seek something I cannot give you,"
Narrator:
She pushes away from him.
Mr. Darling:
"CAN NOT OR WILL NOT?" [Tone of anger and frustration]
Wendy:
"Pick one," [Tone of exasperation.]
Narrator:
A loud crack echoes throughout the room as Mr. Darling's hand connects with Wendy's face, sending her crashing hard to the floor, one of her palms coming to her bruised cheek to soothe the stinging, as her heart pounds in her ears.
Mr. Darling:
"It appears I will have to take more aggressive methods to find out the truth."
Narrator:
He slicks back his hair, trying to regain his composure before striding out of the nursery, shutting the door behind him as regret grips his heart.
He leaves Wendy sobbing on the floor. And his self-respect with her.
Mr. Darling:
"I tried again with Wendy tonight,"
Narrator:
Starts Mr. Darling as he buttons up his pyjamas. He lays his watch and glasses on his nightstand and climbs into bed next to his wife.
He snuffs the last candle beside the bed and stares at the dark ceiling. Gradually, his hands and feet warm beneath their winter quilt, but the frigid shard of cold in his chest remains… he is not sure if it is leftover from his encounter with Vincent or his own shame at his actions in the nursery. Mrs. Darling shifts sleepily towards him,
Mrs. Darling:
How did it go?
Mr. Darling:
Same as before, except this time I… I...
Mrs. Darling:
You what?
Narrator:
Her face is vague in the gloom, but Mr. Darling knows the expression it has.
Mr. Darling:
I hit her… For the first time in her life, I hit her. I have never raised a hand against any of our kids before, but I was just so…
Mrs. Darling:
Afraid?
Narrator:
Mrs. Darling places a soothing hand on her husband's cheek.
Mr. Darling:
"Yes… afraid. We're losing her, I can feel it getting worse every day. All she does is stare out that window every night, searching the heavens for who knows what. She hardly eats, and she hardly speaks to us. I know you feel it too."
Narrator:
Mrs. Darling lays back, not answering for a time.
Mrs. Darling:
"I have felt a kind of distance between us since their return. It was small, but it's growing. Even when we are sewing, which used to be our special 'just us' time… What can we do?"
Mr. Darling:
"I don't know..."
Narrator:
The sentence dissipates into the quietness of the room. The moment passes, and they both retreat inward. Mrs. Darling thinks of the chores she will have to do tomorrow and which boy she will have help with each task. Mr. Darling thinks of Vincent and other worlds, and a crying Wendy holding her cheek on the nursery floor. His heart weeps silently as he searches for sleep in the darkness.