Get Lost (13 page)

“Now, Peyton…”

“You lied to me, too, didn’t you? This isn’t about saving my world from some great danger, is it?” I whimper.

Peter tries again. “Now, Peyton—”

“I’m done.” I toss my hands in the air as Justin manages to drag himself over to me. “I’m done!”

“Wait!” Justin attempts to stop me. “Peyton!” My hand stops on the doorknob. I toss my head back as he reaches to me with something in his hand. “It won’t answer all your questions, but it’ll answer some.”

My eyes glance down at the key that I assume opens my father’s always locked office. With a heavy sigh, I snatch it, turn the knob, and storm out of the building just in time to catch a downpour.

After a long walk in the much needed rain, I drag my soaking body into the penthouse with my mind swarming full of the lies and deceit I was conned into believing. I bounce my head on the doorframe, wondering if any of it was real. Or, was everything a distraction? Moping through my living room, I head for my bedroom. One step in, I turn around and stare at my father’s door. Up until this point in my  life, the door and what lay beyond has never bothered me. Up until this point in my life, I never imagined my father would be keeping secrets from me. And up until this point in my life, never has anyone said something was because I’m a

“Darling.” What did that mean? Why does it matter? Why is that the reason they need me? The key twirls around my fingertips; I’m anxious to know what’s on the other side. I approach cautiously, knowing curiosity is what got me here in the first place. My mind spends a few minutes going back and forth about the trust my father has in me and the trust I used to have in myself. I have to know what’s got everyone so wound up. Quickly, knowing I don’t want to waste any time, I dry off and change into dry clothes, wanting no evidence of my presence in the office.

I approach the door again, key still in hand, anxiety still in my throat, and let out a soft sigh.

Be aware that the answers are often just skeleton keys to doors of questions that may not have the information you want to believe on the other side. The sound of Justin’s voice seems to whisper in my ear.

I shove the key in the lock and open it to view a small office that doesn’t look special. My hand searches for the light switch on the wall, which is when I realize that there isn’t one. I nervously tiptoe around the area. It seems as if nothing has been touched. I approach the bookcase, my fingertips slowly stroking the different titles, which seem to be historical books about ancient paintings, sculptures, and artifacts. My eyes continue scanning the shelves until I reach the empty shelf above the floor. Perplexed, I lower my body, slide the shelf off, and notice that there’s a lock in the wood.

Shoving the key in the lock, I turn it and open the safety box concealed there, pulling out a stack of old papers. As I begin to thumb through them, I realize several aren’t in English. Frustrated, I toss them back in the box, lock it, put it back in place, and replace the shelf. With a heavy sigh, I prepare to rise when I notice what appears to be a scrapbook under the desk.

I drag the book over to me and place it in my lap, opening it up in the middle. My eyes scan over faded article clippings about a woman named Wendy Darling and photos of her. Letting my fingers flip pages backward, I notice several clippings with the words “Precious Society” in large print.

Precious society, fact or fiction? There was another attempt at the Le Fawn museum to steal the beloved Sous Clef. The Painting, which had recently been moved from a gallery in London, was reLocated here only days before its attempted theft. The priceless piece of artwork is slated for another relocation due to the incident. The place and date of this event is kept under lock and key. Sous Clef is said to be one of the precious pieces the mythical society is sworn to protect.

My hand tosses a few pages, passing more pictures of Wendy, a few gentlemen with the last name Darling as well, and a couple more articles about the painting that look more recent. Closer to the end of the book, I find a fancy invitation covered partially by the envelope it came in. I attempt to open the covering, to slide the invitation out, which is when I realize it has been sealed. Doing my best, I manage to make out only a few words. These words are: “year of birth, Peyton Elaine Darling, banquet, and inaugurated.”

What is this? Can’t anyone tell me the truth? Can’t anyone trust me? Does anyone have faith in me? Does anyone believe that I can do what is right? Geez, I might not be eighteen, but I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t need everyone to hold my hand or shelter me!

Suddenly, my cell phone begins to go off in my pocket. Without checking the call, I answer it distractedly, “Hello.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” my father’s voice drags my attention back to reality.

“Hey, Dad.” I try to sound cheerful. “What’s up?”

“Just wondering if you’re home. We’re headed that way, and I wanted to talk to you about that visit to your grandparents’ house as it’s coming up,” he begins slowly. “About what?” I stare at the invitation, still  curious as to what the other half reads.

“Well, just making sure you haven’t changed your mind about going. I know how close you and Justin have gotten, and I was just checking to make sure he had hadn’t changed your mind.”

Holding back my pain, I sigh. “Why would he?”

“Sometimes, love can make you do some crazy things.” The words come slowly out of his mouth.

“It’s not like I’d be gone that long, Dad.”

“You never know.” He drifts off before he follows it with, “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Just sketching.”

“Well, we’re just a few minutes away. I was calling to make sure you were home. I’ll see you in a sec, okay?”

“Okay,” I respond and hang up the phone.

My hands slam the scrapbook closed and push it back into place. Quickly, I rush out and lock the door shut. Grabbing my sketchbook from between my mattress and box spring, I toss it open, grab drawing utensils, and spread them out to appear as if I’ve been here the entire time. The minute I hear the door, I slide the key into one of my pillowcases and arm my hand with a black sketch pencil.

Knock. Knock.

“Come in,” I call, realizing I am on a blank page like I was going to start something instead of like I was finishing  something.

“Hey, princess.” My dad slides in, shutting the door quietly behind me. “Your mother is headed straight to bed. She’s exhausted. Thank God we don’t have to travel again for a couple of days.”

“Not until the night of the museum’s big thing, right?”

“Right.” He nods, sitting on the edge of my bed. “I’m starting to think I shouldn’t go.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It just feels like I should be here. You know, it’s the day before your birthday.” He loosens his yellow tie. “I was thinking, since you’re going to see your grandparents the next day, maybe I should go with you. Spend some birthday time with you, you know?”

“Dad, you and I both know you and Mom have to travel that day,” I nervously giggle, twiddling my pencil around, unsure that I want to betray the Lost Boys or even risk possibly putting my parents in this mixed up situation. “It’ll be fine. Besides, you’ve spent plenty of birthdays with me, and when I get back from meeting my grandparents, we can continue the celebration.”

Chuckling, he nods slowly. “You’re right. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

A silence settles between us, which is when I muster up the courage to pursue the questions that have been swarming around in my mind since this afternoon. “Dad, do you know something about Justin that I don’t?”

Suddenly uncomfortable, he clears his  throat. “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” my shoulders shrug, “like something about his parents? Or where he’s originally from?”

“Nope.” The answer is obviously a lie by the way he lowers his eyes and scratches his nose. “All I know is that he’s lost…”

My jaw bobs up and down for a moment before I chuckle out. “A Lost Boy?”

His eyes meet mine, desperate to give me answers, yet instead he nods. “Almost sounds like a fairy tale. Throw in a couple of secrets, a couple of villains mistaken as heroes, an unsuspecting victim, and I’d say you’d probably have a different version of that story.”

“Peter Pan?”

The name causes my father’s whole body to shake. “That’d be the one.” He rises to his feet. “I think I’m going to head off to bed too.”

“Hey, Dad, one more question.” I slide my sketchbook to the side.

“Shoot.”

“I was down at the museum the other day and overheard some people mention something called the Precious Society. Do you have any idea what that is?” The question freezes him more uncomfortably than the Peter  question did.

After a long moment, he swallows, adjusts his tie once more, and takes a deep breath.

“No.”

Surprised my own father would lie to me so blatantly and to my face I nod. “Night,   Dad.”

Once he closes the door, I rest my head on top of my pillows. How can I live in a world where everyone wants to lie to me? My boyfriend cons me and for what, really? My father has been hiding secrets from me since I was born and lies to me about them as well? It seems like everyone in my life is hiding something from me, and I’m the only one trying to do things the honest way. Am I not supposed to be living an honest life? I don’t know what frightens me more: that all the people I care about seem to have something they aren’t sharing with me or that I have a feeling these things are connected and I can’t figure out how.

It doesn’t matter anymore. Somewhere between the sheets of lies and truths, I got lost. I’m sick of trying to be who Justin wants me to be, who my parents want me to be, who Peter needs me to be! I’m sick of it all. It’s my life, and if I don’t get a hold of it now, I might not ever. I’m stealing that painting, not for Justin, not to get back at my dad, but for me. Everyone has had the power in my life; it’s about time I take it back. My way.

Chapter Ten

The day of the heist, I’m sitting at my desk with my sketchbook open to that first picture of Justin. After a day of isolation, I told my parents I thought I was getting the flu. I returned to school with my mind clear about one thing. I tap the side of my desk, thankful that it’s been an easy day to avoid everyone. Finally looking up, my attention turns to the dry erase board at the front of the room, where there are words that weren’t there before.

Turn around.

Annoyed, I snap without turning around. “Wouldn’t it just be easier to tap me on the shoulder like a normal person?”

“I would’ve, but this is more natural to me.”

“Conning a girl into doing everything you want?”

The words roll right off my tongue as I shove my sketchbook into my backpack and stand up.

“Peyton, I can explain.”

“That lying is like breathing to you? Yeah, I don’t really need an explanation for that.” I start to storm off toward the door when the Lost Boy crew begins multiplying.

“There you are,” Aiden huffs breathlessly.

“Really?” I toss my head over my shoulder to look at him. “You couldn’t do your dirty work yourself? You had to have help? Geez, you’re so pathetic that…”

“I didn’t send him here.” Justin hops over the desk. “What is it?”

Between pants,  Aiden manages to say,  “We’ve got trouble.”

Aiden moves out of the way just in time for a flood of Dark Watchers to march themselves in as I move my body backward toward Justin. Before I realize it, we’re completely surrounded with an all too familiar face staring at me.

“Well, hello again.” Lola hums, this time in a pair of ridiculously tight leather pants and a matching black leather top.

“Seriously?” My head turns to Justin. “Would it kill you people to use a phone?”

“Hi, Justin,” she coos sweetly while fiddling with something in her pocket.

He gives her a wave and asks, “What can we do for you today?”

“I was just asking your friend Aiden over there for the painting.”

“I told you we don’t have it.” His voice shakes, drawing my attention to the bruises on his body.

“Yes, that’s the lie you keep telling me,” she snaps at him before turning to us. “Now, I know you may think that because I’m a girl, I’m stupid.”

“That’s not why I think you’re stupid,” my voice interrupts as my backpack lands on the ground.

“Excuse me?” She takes a step closer to me. “Um, Peyton,” Aiden whispers.

“Aside from wearing what looks like a Catwoman costume, I think you’re stupid for continuing to chase us. If we had the painting, do you think we would still be here?” I find myself strolling toward her. “If we had the painting, dearest, you’d be eating our dust on our way to Neverland. Now, you and the watchers need to get out of my face before I do something about it.”

Aiden croaks, “Is she feeling okay?”

“Yeah,I don’t think so,”Justin says,slightly distraught. “Like what, princess?” The words roll off her mouth. “Dagger.” My hand extends toward Justin who tosses me one without hesitation.

“Oh, the little girl wants to play.” She nods condescendingly at me, backing up slowly. “Well, before I break a nail putting you in your place, let’s see what you’ve got.” Her hand makes a tornado motion, and the Dark Watchers  attack us.

The first Dark Watcher that goes after me receives a quick fist to the face and slash across the neck. Following that, I shove the dagger into several rib cages, causing repeated puffs of smoke. Once, I’m grabbed from behind, and I twist the knife and stab it directly backward, causing the Dark Watcher involved to disappear. “Practice much?” Aiden asks. Turning to Justin, he asks, “How pissed off at you is she?”

Impressed and more than a little surprised that I’ve held my own, I toss my hands, “You ready to dance, sweetheart?”

With a crooked smile, once again, her hand swirls in the tornado motion, and the Dark Watchers hold off on attacking. “Another day and another time. I want that painting.”

“Well, thanks to you and your friends, that painting is on its way up north. Hello, Canada.” I toss the dagger back to Justin. “Had you waited, you might have had a chance at it.”

“Canada?” she gasps. “When did it leave?”

“At 10:00 a.m., bright and sharp, on an armored truck.” I walk backward, grab a large envelope from my backpack, and toss it at her. “There’s your chance to catch it before it gets out of reach. They’re going to make a stop for gas at that station. It’s what they’re routed for.”

“Peyton,” Aiden calls out to me.

“What? I may not like her, but at least she’s been honest about the whole thing from the beginning.” My words cause Justin to clasp his head in his hands.

“Like I said, we don’t have the painting. I suggest you take that information and show Alex how you have one up on the infamous Lost Boys.” My shoulders shrug, and Lola fans herself with the envelope.

“How do I know you’re not lying? How do I know you’re not still working with them?”

“I slipped you a little extra present in there.” The grin on my face grows wide. “Directions to their ship. Hopefully, you can hinder them from catching up. Enjoy.”

With a proud smile, she tilts her head at us. “Thanks. Hey, Justin, now would be a good time to follow in your girl’s footsteps and switch sides.”

“You know,” Justin tosses a hand in the air, “I’m kind of a loyal guy. Once I commit to someone, I do everything in my power to stay that way.”

I mumble under my breath, “That’s new.”

“Chump.” Lola shrugs and saunters out of the building with the Dark Watchers at her side.

Once they’re out of sight, Aiden shrieks, “Peyton, how could you!”

“How could I what?” I grab my backpack off the ground.

“Just give her that information,” he squeaks.

I raise my eyebrows at him. “Aw, honey, you think that was real? She’s about to try to hit a federal bank truck, so that’ll keep them busy for quite a while.”

“Wow.” Aiden is taken back for a second. “And the ship?”

“Jimmy called a couple of days ago. Your new ship is ready. I overheard Eiden on the phone the day of the carnival.” My hands innocently toss in the air.

“So all that was…”

“A distraction.”

“That was good.”

“I learned from the best.” My eyes meet Justin’s, who looks as if those words have broken his heart.

Sensing this isn’t a group moment, Aiden pipes in, “Hey, I’m going to head to the apartment to get ready.” Justin gives him a slight nod and stares at me as Aiden   exits.  Once   we’re alone, he says,  “Peyton, I

can explain.”

“I’m sure you can. I’m sure it’s great. I’m sure it’s the best sob story you cooked up this decade, but I really don’t care.” My head nods slowly.

“You don’t care?”

“I don’t care about you or this stupid crime that could get me killed or thrown in jail or…”

“You don’t care?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Then, why’d you do that?”

“What?”

“With Lola, just now? The decoy? Why?” My shoulders shrug, and he snaps, “Peyton, that’s your problem. You run from things you care about.”

“How would you know?”

“I…”

Aggravated, I toss my backpack on the ground. “You wouldn’t!  Besides, even if I were, you have no   room to talk!”

“I didn’t care about anything!” he  yells  in  return. “My parents were gone. My life as I knew it was gone! So yeah, I made some poor choices while I was grieving. In order to hide the pain, I did what I thought felt good, and then something clicked in my brain. I didn’t want to be who I was anymore, so I reinvented myself as the con artist.”

“And?”

“It was fun. It was exciting, and to be honest, I am damn good at it, but I got in too deep. I hit a point where my only option other than a lifetime jail sentence was escaping to Neverland. I thanked my lucky stars I was given the offer. But Peyton, it feels like just another jail sentence with a different warden. It didn’t seem like that mattered until I met you.”

“Aw, the Tin Man wanted heart?” The lack of sympathy in my voice surprises him.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Before you, there was no reason to need to think twice, and all of sudden, I met this wonderful girl who viewed the world in a different light. You saw the world through pure eyes. You saw the beauty in it the same way you practice your art. It was refreshing and intriguing. Then, here I am trying to follow instructions from Peter and falling in love with you. All of a sudden, I’m questioning my own loyalty.”

“But…”

“Then, you throw it in my face: I’m not a normal boyfriend, and it burns because you’re right. I’m not. And I’ll never be. I gave up on myself before I had the chance to realize there are people like you in this world. Peyton, if I had known you existed sooner, I would’ve passed on being a Lost Boy.”

“Likely story,” I mumble.

“You don’t believe me?”

“No! I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know if you were telling the truth about how I made you feel or conning me to keep me close.”

“Drug me.”

In total aggravation, I snap, “What?”

Justin pulls out a small, dark purple, velvet bag from his jacket pocket and tosses it at me. “Drug me. Test me. Pour it into my drink the same way Peter did. Then, ask me if I was lying when I said you were beautiful. Ask me if I was lying when I told you that you were funny, that I thought your paintings were amazing.”

Twirling the packet around, I continue to listen. “Ask me if I was lying about my father, my grandfather, and my mother. Ask me whether I was lying about the secrets I shared with you and about my personality. Ask me whether I was lying about my past. Ask me if I was lying about how I care for you. Do it! It doesn’t matter to me because I have nothing to hide anymore.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Why do you want the painting?”

“I don’t. Peter does.”

“Why?”

Shrugging, he sighs. “There are secrets in this world that you only find out if you aren’t in it any more yourself.”

My lips press together. “Justin, do you know anything about the Precious Society?”

With a slow nod, he sighs. “Each Lost Boy can only tell his own story.”

“Peter.” The name rolls off my tongue.

“Look, Peyton, I completely understand if…”

“No.” I cut him off more, determined more than ever to steal the painting. “I’m in. Pick me up at seven.” I grab my bag, which landed next to his feet, stumble on my way up, and fall right into his arms. “You, okay?” he asks.

With a soft smile, I sigh. “You’re always there to catch me when I fall.”

“As long as you let me.” The answer is followed by him leaning his forehead against mine. “Peyton, I…”

“Don’t.” My head shakes slowly from side to side, fighting the tears that were my best friend the day before. “Don’t.”

His hand gently lifts my chin up; his eyes are magnets to mine. “I’d give it all up for you if I could. I love you.”

My bottom lip quivers as I slip my body away from him. “See you tonight.”

Quickly, I move out of the room and make a beeline straight for my apartment. The moment I open the door, I notice my father sitting on the couch, tying his shoelaces. He looks up and proudly yells, “There’s the birthday  girl!”

“Not until 12:05, Dad,” I correct him.

“Close enough.” The response feels suspicious. “Are you all packed? You know your flight is first thing tomorrow morning 6:00 a.m.”

“I know.” My bag drops by the stool I’ve placed myself on. “Dad, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, love.”

“Do you ever wonder what life would be like if you weren’t an artist?”

“No.” He leans against the back of the couch. Baffled by the question, he continues, “It’s in our blood. Art is what we do, Peyton. We were meant to be artists.”

“Does a person always have to do what she’s expected to?”

His head tilts to the side as he debates, “If it’s her duty.”

“How would someone know that unless she was told? And what kind of duty are you forced to have without signing up for it?”

“Sometimes, there are bigger things at play than us. Who are we to destroy those things that were lifetimes in the making?”

Realizing my father is really listening, I play back. “What’s wrong with change?”

“Unnecessary change can be destructive, Peyton.”

“Whose to declare if it’s unnecessary, Dad?”

“Is there something you want to tell me?”

My mother strolls out of their bedroom gripping her clutch and smiling proudly, “Hey, sweetie, you ready for the museum tonight?”

“I am. You look radiant, by the way.” My compliment makes her giggle.

“Oh, stop it.” She snuggles beside my father. “I’m so glad this trip is only a few cities over, you know? No ridiculously long car rides. I’m ready to take a break from traveling after all this is said and done.”