The one-handed man pushed through the door. The darkness of the bar contrasted the glaring sunshine he had come from, blinding him. The smell of cheap booze and unwashed bodies hung heavy in the cooler air of the bar, now so familiar, he was almost able to ignore it. Didn’t seem to matter where in this damned country he was, cheap, sleazy bars were all the same.

Although it was early afternoon, there were the usual tattooed covered thugs, a couple of whores out early trying to ply their trade, a beefy barman wiping the bar down and a collection of the usual losers and lost people hiding their heads in a glass.

This was him. One of the lost, a habitué of these dark places. They were either deathly thin or obnoxiously obese. The one-handed man was tall and wiry, dark, with black bushy eyebrows, a prominent nose flanked by ice cold, blue eyes, resting on a long, drooping moustache, over thin, cruel lips and a strong jaw.

Taking a seat at the bar, the man waved at the barman who examined this new customer, reaching for the bourbon bottle.

“Whiskey,” the one-handed man said, “Not that bourbon rubbish, I want real whiskey.” Noise in the bar dropped markedly.

Pouring a shot from a whiskey bottle, the barman said, “Limey, hey”

The one-handed man didn’t blink, “I’m an English gentleman, barkeep,” in a chilly tone reflected in his eyes, one that would freeze the nearby beer taps, the barman swallowed. This wasn’t someone to fuck around with, he knew. Placing the glass in front of the man, the barkeep swept up the proffered $20 note.

“Again,” came the order. The barman looked around and there was an empty glass on the bar. Pouring another drink, he watched the man lift the glass and saw the fluid in it disappear.

“Again,” the man ordered, and a third drink went down just as rapidly as the first two.

This time, the man put the glass on the bar, demanded another and after it was poured, he just looked at it. The barman turned away and put the $20 note into the register.

A shaft of light pieced the gloom of the bar as the door opened again. A young man walked in, well dressed, far too well dressed to be in a bar like this.

One of the hookers made a move towards the man at the bar, taking a seat next to him. “No, I don’t need company,” he said in a tone that made her cringe. She turned and went back to where she had been sitting, with an uncertain look on her face. Uncertain because she wasn’t sure if she had missed a golden egg or dodged a bullet. The one-handed man was an iceberg, someone clearly not to be trifled with.

The newcomer too made his way to the bar, asking for a rum in a rather refined accent. The barman was surprised, first a whiskey, then a rum? A second Limey? He had never seen a Limey- English gentleman, in his bar before, but two in one day? His senses peaked, thinking there was trouble brewing, trouble he didn’t want. The man lifted his drink, turned, looked the one-handed man over and took a step towards him.

“Good afternoon, sir” he said

The one-handed man looked at the young man and ignored him, lifting his glass.

“I’m sorry to bother you Captain,” the young man said, “But I simply must beg your time for a talk, sir!”

The one-handed man was surprised, being addressed as Captain. “There’s no captains here boy, just an old, one-handed man.”

“I beg to differ sir,” he said, “I’ve been looking for you for a long time, and I have to give to you a very important message.”

“What makes you think I’m the man you’re looking for?”

“The object of my search has a scar, on the back of his left hand, much like that one sir.”

“What makes you think I have an interest in receiving any message from a stranger,” the one-handed man growled.

“My name is Starkey, sir, Richard Starkey. A gentleman gave me the message to pass to you.”

“A gentleman you say, I doubt there are any gentlemen left in this world, Richard Starkey.” The young man had his attention though.

“Possibly not, sir, but I assure you, my father is most anxious for you to return home, sir.”

“A Gentleman Starkey, your father,” more of a statement than a question, “Yes, you do have his look- and his presumptuous manner.”

“He asked me to let you know that you are needed at home, sir.”

“I have no home, Starkey, not since-“ he stopped.

“I know the story sir. But I assure you, you are needed and do have a home to go to.”

“If you know the story, then you know I can’t return,” he said with all the bitterness of an ages old wound that hasn’t healed. He wasn’t hiding from the young man now; the lad obviously knew who he was.

“But you can sir, you must. We cannot go on without you.”

“What do you mean, you can’t go on without me. You’ve survived well enough until now!”

“No, sir, we haven’t,” Starkey said, “That is why we need you.”

“Hmph!” the one-handed man exclaimed, “Need ME? THEY DIDN’T NEED ME BEFORE!” he roared, attracting the attention of everyone in the bar.

“Because they didn’t understand your importance sir!” Starkey replied, anxiously now. He could see that the older man was seriously angry, hurt and lost.

“UNDERST-,” the older man started, then harshly said, “Oh, just go away!”

“I’m afraid I can’t sir. My instructions were to bring you home!”

“HOME! How can you bring me home boy? Can you fly?”

“No, sir, but I have a friend here, she can!” Starkey replied, earnestly and emphatically.
The older man stopped at that. “You mean- “

“Yes, sir,” Starkey cut him off, “She has been instructed to fly you home sir!”

“None of them would come here to this desert! Where is she then?”

“At the motel we are booked in to, sir. She is not reacting to the heat of this place all that well, sir. If you would like to meet with her this evening, I can introduce you-”

“To one of -.”

“Yes, sir,” again, cutting the older man off. “In fact, I believe you know her, sir.”

The one-handed man looked at Starkey, weighing his options. A gleam came into his eye, “I don’t believe in fairies, Starkey, nor fairy god-mothers.”

“Then would you accept a Gentleman’s word?”

“Perhaps, years ago, but now? I don’t know!”

“You have it sir,” Starkey stated, “Whether you want it or not. Whether you believe it or not. My instructions were to take you to see the pilot, she would provide you with more information.”

“Oh, good show, eh what!” The one-handed man said, injecting something of his former self into the conversation. “Sucker me in, then what?”

“Nothing, sir, I hope- we all hope, you will see reason and come home, sir.”

Starkey looked around the bar, noting that there was a rather more than attentive audience, something he had hoped to avoid. At least these hicks wouldn’t identify with either of them, one over the other. They may, if they were wont, and incredibly stupid, view them as invaders and attempt to eject the both of them. Starkey knew he was good enough for a barroom brawl, but with the one-handed man, these locals would be lucky to survive.

“Alright Mr Starkey,” he said, “You have one chance. Failure to convince me –“ he thought about it for a moment, “will bring its own rewards.”

“No doubt sir, but after meeting the pilot, I doubt you will need any further convincing.”

The one-handed man gulped his drink, looked at the barman and said, “Thank you, my good man. Perhaps I shall return, then we may see if these ponces have any real skills.”

A couple of the tattooed pool players shot dark looks at the pair, but refrained from taking action. The one-handed man returned a look that seemed to say he would relish them taking a swing at him. One-handed or not, the older man had a dangerous air about him, did not have the look of being easy meat, they went back to their game.

As they left the bar, Starkey said, “I’m not sure if you remember, sir, but she won’t see you until well after sunset here.”

“I remember,” the old man said sharply, “But I will not be at the beck and call of such as her.”

“No sir,” Starkey replied, “But if you would let me know where you are staying, I would be happy to come and pick you up at whatever time you nominate.”

“And if I chose not to?”

“Then a greater loss than you or I can imagine will occur to many people.”

“And what’s that to me?”

“I’m not sure, sir, but I know we will all be equally affected.”

The old man stopped, and for a moment, looked every day of his real age, Starkey thought. “I’m tired, Starkey, I’ve had enough of this barren world. I can’t do anything, the one-handed man whose pitiful life is wasted, always moving from one place to another to avoid attention. Waiting for someone to finally work up the courage to kill me.”

“I never thought suicide was in your makeup Captain,” he said, “But I can help return you to the one place you can make a real difference.”

“Poppycock! I can’t return. You know what will happen if I do!”

“The Island has changed, sir, I mean seriously changed. Without you- without – without the other one,” Starkey stopped. “Without either of you- Oh, I can’t explain it sir, but she can. I can assure you, you will remain free and at large if you come home!” The words seemed to strangle Starkey, even as he said them.

“That was said with a degree of disgust, Starkey, not very encouraging, what?”

“Sorry, sir, but you did once try to kill my mother.”

“I tried to kill a lot of mothers, Starkey, I’m sure I succeeded occasionally.”

“I’m sure you did too, sir, but this one, I have to take a little personally, if you’ll forgive me.”

“Hmph!” the old man snorted, “I may owe you a debt of gratitude, if what you’re saying is true. Otherwise, I might just cut your heart out.” And after a moment, “Her’s too”

“You can try, sir,” Starkey replied, unintimidated “But you know she can’t lie to you. Ask her.”

“I think I will,” the old man looked over Starkey’s shoulder. “Dark in about three hours, I will expect you before ten, this evening, the Burger King, North 19th.”

“You’ll be inside?”

“Good lord no! I respect my guts more than that. I’ll be out front, so be there, it closes at ten.”

“Yes Captain.”

“Oh, who was your mother?”

Starkey looked at him, turned and walked away without saying a word. The old man laughed a cruel laugh, “Yes,” he said, “I should have seen it, but you do look like your father.”

What was this all about then? The old man thought. Surely, they really didn’t want him back. The intriguing question though is why? He wasn’t joking, about cutting the boy’s heart out, her’s too if he was being misled in any way.

The night wasn’t cool at all, no typical desert chill in the air. Likely the temperature wouldn’t drop below 75 degrees, it hadn’t for almost the entire August since he arrived. Standing in shadows near the Burger King, the one-handed man waited. His internal clock was telling him it was getting close to 10pm. He didn’t have much use for time pieces, watches, even those ridiculous boxes everyone carried these days. A telep- no a cell phone, telephones were quickly being relegated to the past. His internal clock was considerably more accurate than any fancy time-piece, he considered.

A few minutes to go, the boy arrived, driving this white monstrosity. He was alone and didn’t know he was being observed. The old man didn’t want to be a target, so carefully watched the boy, watched for anything that didn’t ring true. When satisfied, he checked the filleting knife taped under his collar was still there. Only then did he make his way to the car.

“Good, I like punctuality” he said as he opened the door and got in.

Starkey didn’t say anything, but carefully made his way down N 19th then right turned on to N Bell, heading to Motel 6. Arriving at their destination, his passenger said, “That was nicely done Starkey, where did you learn to drive?”

“Started in England, then in Europe. Father told me I should be able to drive, even if there are no cars at home.”

“Mm, perhaps I have underestimated your father,” he said, “Well, wouldn’t be the first time.”

“No, it wouldn’t. She’s willing to talk to you and even provide you with a flight home, but try not to be too belligerent.”

“Me? Belligerent? I’m not Donald Trump, and while I’m not happy with my defeat, I am not a spoilt brat about it.”

“It is your nature sir. Try at least to be polite.”

“Hmmph!” Exiting the car, Starkey led his guest to his room, invited the older man in and quickly closed the door.

The old man looked around the generic, characterless and sparse room. Comfortable, he thought, better than most of the dives and trailer parks, benches and parks he was used to sleeping in.

There came a slight tinkling noise and the room was filled with a silver light. Damn, thought the old man, the boy was being honest! He turned and saw her, in front of her clock house, the same as she- no, not the same, different than she was. Darker, maybe, duller, certainly.

“Well, a genuine fairy,” he said, “Hello, Tinker Bell.” He was tempted to reach for his filleting knife, but withheld the impulse.

“Hello, Captain Hook,” came an unexpected reply,

“You learned to speak English?” He was surprised.

“We could always speak your language, but you only ever heard the bells. A bit of fairy magic and you can hear me properly.”

“Yes, the typical arrogance of fairy-kind,” he said coldly, he paused, then “Alright, you’ve got me here, what is that you want from me.”

“We want to take you back, Captain, back to Never-Neverland.”

“After you banished me? After the Pan made sure I would never hold a sword again? What rubbish is this?” He demanded angrily. He knew that Tinker Bell knew he was banished, not thrown to the crocodile as Barrie wrote, or escaped like that treacherous, unlamented Smee! She brought him here, wounded, but banished, on the Pan’s orders. That was the galling part, HIS orders.

“No rubbish, I assure you Captain,” the fairy replied, “But the utmost need of the Island, and it’s people.”

“What do you think I can do? Or rather, what makes you think I would even bother to help you?”

“You do sir,” answered Tinker Bell, the bells in her voice ringing, “You’ve felt it. It’s been over a hundred and twenty years since Peter defeated you and now you are aging. You are part of Never-Neverland, Captain, and it’s a part of you. You carry it with you which is why you didn’t age for a long time. But that’s changing now. As the spark of Never-Neverland dies within you, you will die of old age.”

“And all of Never-Neverland will rejoice I suppose?”

“No, Captain, they won’t. They will die with you.”

“WHAT ON ALL THAT’S PIRACY ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?” He roared.

Tinker Bell shrunk back, cringing at the sheer volume of his voice. “Please, Captain, control yourself,” came Starkey’s alarmed cry.

“Remember back, Captain,” a somehow smaller Tinker Bell said, “The strength and beauty of Never-Neverland, the wonders, but more importantly, the wellness of the Island, the waters around the islands and in the seas. That wellness came from the balance of the forces in the lands, the seas, and most especially the peoples. The Lost Boys, the Indians, the Mermaids, the fairies and,” she paused, “The pirates.”

“Together we formed a perfect harmony, a natural balance.”

“And what’s this got to do with me?

“You are one of the pillars of the wellness of Never-Neverland. You were one, Pan another, the peoples of the Island another. We made the magic of the Island and the Island rewarded us with good health and very, very long lives.”
Hook paused and took this in. He knew Tinker Bell wasn’t lying, while fairies may be a little mischievous, they were always honest. He felt the truth in her words.

“Right now, you’re dying. Your three hundred years are coming to an end, Captain.”

“Everything dies, by sword or time, we can’t prevent that,” his resentment of that simple fact coming through.

“No, Captain, we can’t prevent it, but we have always delayed it. That is why Peter never grew up and you never grew old.”

“And where is the Pan now? Still a boy?”

Tinker Bell looked at Richard, a sadness coming over her. “He was killed in London, during the Blitz, sir,” Starkey said, “Another unnamed casualty of humans obsession with war.”

This produced a large guffaw from Hook, “My old enemy? Brought down by his own people? Now, that is what I call irony!”

Tinker Bell was clearly angry at this, her shine turning red, “Maybe, Captain, but his death was your own as well, just delayed by a few decades.” She waited, her anger showing, “Don’t you see you fool? Your lives were so intertwined; you can’t continue to live without him and neither can Never-Neverland. Not without the balance of forces you each brought. I think Peter understood that, which is why he had me bring you here and didn’t throw you to the Crocodile!”

Hook ignored that, but argued. “You don’t need me, you have the Lost Boys, the Indians, the Mermaids and you fairies, what do you need me for?”

Starkey and Tinker Bell looked at each other. “Tell him,” she said, “I can’t!”

“After the last battle, sir, the Lost Boys just- well they left. They broke up. Some went with the Darlings and some went to the Mainland and one even went to the Eastern Islands. After the Pan was killed, the few who remained, went their separate ways. The Indians too seemed to decline, certainly in numbers. My mother married my father, he is a much better man now than he was before the final battle.”

“Tiger Lily,” Hook said, knowing it before Starkey nodded.

“Of your crew, only my Father, Gentleman Starkey, and Mr. Smee survived. Mr Smee ran afoul of some ruffians on the Western Islands and he hasn’t been seen since. The mermaids have always been capricious, yet they too are less than they once were.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Hook was intrigued now.

Tinker Bell said, “You carry a part of Never-Neverland inside you. It’s fading but it is still strong. It may last another seven or nine decades, but it will be exhausted. Great Big Little Panther believes that unless you return to Never-Neverland, you will die.”

“So what? I would have thought he wouldn’t want me back!”

“Then Never-Neverland will die too.” Tinker Bell said, sadly. “We have the Island in us, but we are part of the Island, just as the mermaids and Indians are.” Tinker Bell nodded, then continues, “With no Lost Boys, no pirates, no Hook and no Pan, half the power of Never-Neverland is lost. It is running out. We are all less than we once were. We need you to return, to rebuild your crew.”

“If the Pan is dead, the Lost Boys dispersed, what would be the point of my return?”

“The Jolly Roger has been repaired, Captain,” Starkey said, “With a skeleton crew, you could sail to the Western Islands and get a new crew.”

“It seems to me there is already a balance there. Even without the Pan and the Lost Boys, not a lot changes. Never-Neverland may continue to fade but it wouldn’t die altogether.”

“We were there before the Pan came, Captain,” Tinker Bell said, “Remember? We were much stronger at that time. We grew when Peter arrived, remember? We all grew with his belief in Never-Neverland. His belief, Captain, remember?”

Hook thought back, “Never seemed any different to me.”

“Great Big Little Panther knew. He started us thinking of how it was different when you and Peter were rivals, the energy that created, the energy that was fed into the Island, the sea, the sky by your rivalry.” He knew she wasn’t lying. “You may have been enemies, but the energy you both generated flowed into the Island, the seas and the air, invigorating us all.”

In that moment, Hook realized what it was he felt at that time when Pan was killed. He felt a change without knowing what it was, knowing it had changed. Since then, he felt himself slowly aging, knowing while he was still looking like he did decades ago, he was getting old, inside. He hated that feeling and he saw that, ironically, it was still the Pan that was to blame. Stupid boy, getting himself killed like that.

“So what? You want me to come back and set up rivalry with another Pan? Who? Do you have one?”

“Not yet Captain,” came the tinkling reply, “But Great Big Little Panther believes that if you return to Never-Neverland, the remaining strength in you will help reinvigorate the Island until one is found or the Island can begin to heal itself, to return to what it was before Peter Pan came.”

Hook glanced at Starkey, “Your grandfather is just a savage, what would he know?”

Starkey stiffened, “He may be an Indian Captain, but he is far better attuned to the Island than you or I will ever be.”

Hook smiled, looking straight at Starkey, “Good answer boy! Exactly. Good form lad!” He thought about it for a moment,
“Alright, I’ll come back with you. But I don’t want to be some do-gooder who is saving the Island. I want to be Captain Hook! The greatest Pirate to sail the Never Seas!”

“Is that your happy thought Captain?” Tinker Bell cried, throwing a ball of pixie dust over him.

“Yes! Yes, it is! By all that’s Piratical, that is my happiest thought! To be a Pirate again!” Hook saw the sparkling cloud spread over him.

“Then keep it in mind Captain. Concentrate on it!”

Hook did and he felt his body lift as the sparkle took hold of him. Alarmed, Starkey ran to the door and opened it. He looked around and only saw a young couple in the car park, engaged by each other’s company, ignoring him. Quickly, Starkey turned the lights off, just as the Captain drifted past him, with Tinker Bell right behind him. He saw her take the back of his collar, then let go.

“A knife, Captain?” came a tinkling question.

“Just in case, Miss Bell!” Hook replied, “But, not necessary!” Hook looked down at Starkey, “See you at home lad, perhaps you will replace your father at my side!”

“Not a chance, Captain!”

Hook laughed at the look of horror on Starkey’s face as he drifted past. Starkey knew Tink would be back for him, but not for a few days. She had to replenish her power, which may be a bit easier now with the Captain returning home. He heard the Captain cry, “Second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning, Miss Bell!” They were quickly out of sight and Starkey hoped with all his heart that Great Big Little Panther, Tiger Lilly and Gentleman Starkey were right.

Word of Captain Hook’s return spread through Never-Neverland quickly.

Starkey returned nearly a week later, sensing a new vibrancy in the Island, in Never-Neverland. Drooping flowers were regaining their strength, the old tree of the Lost Boys had a deeper colour that Starkey had not seen for decades. He saw minor improvements, subtle changes, but each indicated there was a new strength in the Island.

Years passed. Hook took up his old ways, occasionally raiding and pillaging with a new crew. He struck the Mainland, the Western and Eastern Islands, swinging past Never-Neverland for a quick raid. Word came that he had discovered islands to the north of Never-Neverland and the south west of the Mainland, but this wasn’t confirmed.

During this time the fairies found three boys, lost they were, and brought them to Never-Neverland. There was Jason, a burly boy with an endless appetite, Curly, who never knew his real name, but his curly hair gave him an identity and Damon, always full of so much energy, who never stopped, morning to night but who’s snores were often heard over the Island.

Tinker Bell’s cousin, Clinker, found a fourth lost boy and brought him to the Island. He introduced the newcomer as Peter. “A new Peter” they all exclaimed. A bit smaller than Curly, stringy, wiry, with more energy than Damon, he could even out eat Jason. Peter was the only one of them who could fly, soaring with just a tiny sprinkle of pixie dust. Peter could out think, out fight, out eat and out fart the Lost Boys. A new energy gripped the Island, the seas flowed around, spreading a renewed vigour over all the Never Seas

Great Big Little Panther welcomed the new Pan, presenting him with the sword that his predecessor had worn, grateful that a new Pan was found, but dreading the return of the Jolly Roger and James Hook.

Accepting the sword, the recipient said, “My name is Peta and I’m a girl!”