Chasing the Vanished

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. I lay awake, trying to remember what stars looked like, but all I got was lavender haze.

It wouldn’t be long until the skies were clear again. The vote was unanimous – there had been no sign of a threat for at least a decade. They were going to stop saturating the atmosphere with chemicals. In a few days, we would all breathe easier for the first time in thirty years.

Sounds great, right? It sounded great to all the voters too young to remember the vanishings. It sounded great to all the parents whose children had grown up in peace.

I still searched the sky for a glimpse of my sister, never able to escape the look on her small face when she was snatched out of our bedroom window and carried away into the sky.

Trying in vain to shake the haunting image from my mind, I wandered to my daughter’s room. Sleeping peacefully beneath her pink canopy, unaware of the ways in which the world was about to change, a graceful snore escaped her little pink lips. She feels that she's getting too old for her pink ruffled canopy, but I'm in no hurry for her to grow up quickly, eleven isn't so very old -- is it?

Today, she had come home excited to be playing a faerie in the primary school’s production of Sleeping Beauty. “They picked me because I’m one of the only kids who can fly!” Unaware of the weight of her innocent boasting, she pranced off to rehearse her lines, biscuit in hand.

No, not so old yet -- still my little princess, dreaming of faeries. I wanted to kiss her cheek, but wouldn’t risk waking her tonight.

Would we return to the days of midnight sirens, watchmen with nets woven of golden thread, sleepless nights guarding our children’s windows? Or would it be, as the prime minister claimed, clear skies without concerns?

“Our satellites have detected no evidence of a presence in over a decade. We do believe that the saturation of the atmosphere has done its work and eliminated or greatly reduced their numbers. As we move forward into a new era, I urge our citizens to be watchful, but not fearful. We have won this battle. We look to a future free of predators, and free of vanishings.”

“They aren’t gone. They’re just waiting.” I murmured to the leering sky. How could the government leaders be so blind? “They won’t ever give up, we’re a farm to them.”

My wife startled me by slipping her hands around my waist from behind. “Michael, come back to bed, darling.”

I drew in a deep breath and blew it out as if to blow away the purple clouds, and the chemical haze, and catch a glimpse of that second star to the right.

“I just don’t believe it, Kate. I don’t believe they're gone. I don’t believe they will ever give up. And Poppy is a special kid. I mean, what are the odds of her being born with flight? One in two hundred thousand, at least. Telepathy is far more common, and if she had that, they wouldn’t want her. They didn’t want me, only my sister.”

Poppy reminded me so much of my sister. They had the same dimple on the right cheek, the same wiry brown curls that seemed to have a mind of their own. They both loved to tell stories, and act them out.

I always made sure bedtime was a family affair for Poppy. Kate would play the mermaid, I was usually a pirate with a patch on my eye, and Poppy, of course, was a faerie princess.

I shuddered at the thought of her ever meeting real one. Faeries weren’t as they are in children’s stories – all light and airy, floating whimsically from flower to flower. They were carnivorous, cunning, and vicious creatures, I knew first hand, for I had met their king.

“Have you spoken to Jon? What does he think about stopping the spray?”

“You know Jon – always in denial. 'It was all in your head.' He claims Wendy was kidnapped and murdered when we were small, and because I was so young, mother and father told me that he .took her. But Kate, I can see his face as clearly as hers – Peter Pan’s face, dancing in and out of shadows, grinning with sharpened teeth. Only Wendy was born with flight. I know that was why he chose her.”

“Well, with faerie dust, it wouldn’t have mattered. You all could have flown. How do you know that's why?”

“Because I heard his thoughts, and he knew I heard. He didn’t want all three of us. He only wanted…a mother.”

"Then I suppose he'd take me instead of Poppy. Besides, the spraying isn’t set to stop until tomorrow. Look at all the purple in the sky. Nothing’s coming tonight. Better sleep while you still can.”

Nana was sprawled across our bed, shimmering horn on my pillow, hooves on Kate’s.

Kate did one of those adorable faces that had convinced me to let her get a minicorn -- “for Poppy.”

“Aww, poor Nana’s tired too!” She pounced on the bed and snuggled up to the fluffy, curly-maned, bane of my existence.

“Well, aren’t you going to move her so I can join you?”

Kate giggled, far too cheery for the day it was. “Come join us, Daddy, snuggle up, there’s room.”

“I don’t fancy a horn in my eye, thanks. I’ll take the sofa.”

“Babe—”

“What is it?”

“Try not to worry. It could turn out they’re right -- you know? The fae might be gone for good after the spraying.”

I tried to nod casually. “Good night.”

The leaders behind this fool’s plan to stop the spraying – the rich -- could sleep in peace with fae-safe locks and golden screens on their windows, so what did they care? Our humble flat would be their first stop, especially if they noticed a flyer lived here.

How would I tell Poppy that she couldn’t be in the school play she was so excited about? If she was seen flying, she would be the first to vanish.

The first in thirty years. A chill ran down my spine like the long fingernails of the faerie king. I looked over my shoulder in the dim hallway, half expecting to see him standing there, teeth bared, ready to finish what he’d started.

He’d stolen my childhood, and every choice I had made in life ever since had been marked by having witnessed his treachery. Marked by grief, fear, and anger, I sometimes wondered how different life would have been. Terror gripped my heart that my Poppy’s life could soon be marked by the same horror that still kept me awake at night. Awake with the purple clouds swirling overhead.

I wandered out to the dark sitting room and curled up on the couch. I’d already known tonight would be a poor one for rest, but I did have to work in the morning.

Work was another problem. I was heading up the London department of the National Center for Vanished Children, and leads were thinning. There were rumors that the search efforts would be called off with the end of the chemical saturation. The children were lost to the faeries, and now the fae were gone for good. I could sense the passion in the office waning, people were tired, and they saw the vanishings as a thing of the past.

My phone pinged. The glowing clock said 1:07AM. You have a new message from J.H.

I should have seen that coming, but it hit me like a bucket of burning fae spray right in the eyes. It had easily been ten or fifteen years since I’d heard from Jamie -- before Poppy was born, before Kate and I had even met. He couldn’t just swing in now and disrupt my happy, low-key, and mostly peaceful existence.

I opened the message: Ready to meet yet? I have something you’re going to want to protect that little flying princess of yours. And you have something I need, as you well know. I scratch your back, you scratch mine. One meeting, old friend. Then you can go back to pretending you never knew me.

My plan had been to hit delete. It really had been. Delete -- don’t get wrapped up with street pirates like Jamie and his crew again. I had long left lawlessness behind me. After all, the lawmakers had heard the survivors. They had created the fae sprays, done what they could. No need to act out --

unless they stop spraying, and you’ve got no money for gold window screens --

unless your only child is a flyer, and a good storyteller at that.

Another ping: When Peter Pan returns, you’re going to want backup. You know that better than anyone. Come on, mate. Just one little talk.

Jamie had been sleeping over that night, my seventh birthday, 1991: the day my world became all fight and no more flight. Jamie was taller, and truth be told, he was more red-blooded than Jon. He risked himself, holding Pan by the ankle, trying to free Wendy from his grasp. I launched myself -- all twenty kilos of me -- onto Jamie's back, somehow thinking that was helping. Pan bit off Jamie’s hand and tore Wendy away into the night.

Jamie was only eleven then, the same age as Jon. I think that's part of why Jon erases the memory and acknowledgment of that day from his mind: He froze in place. He didn't even try to save her.

Something shifted in all of us after that. Jon went quiet, seldom leaving his bed. Jamie started running with a gang -- the Hooks -- who gave him plenty of cred for how he lost his hand. I tagged along, trying to hide my terror beneath layers of imitated toughness. We spent our time smashing faeries, throwing rocks at flyers, yelling at them to come down and quit acting like stinking pigeons. I sprayed, “Justice for the vanished!” on every wall that stood in my path. It seemed to me that beat lolling around in bed with Jon -- until Jamie landed in jail, and I was sent to juvie.

I came out straightened up, or maybe just boxed in. Jamie came out angrier than ever, and we never spoke again.

Until tonight.

I didn't need to know how he’d acquired the gold, I reasoned, just had to help him with one negotiation. I was sure that was the favor he wanted. We'd made a great team at that -- me reading the opponent's thoughts and J doing the smooth talking – back in the wild and free days. He'd protected me then. I knew he was twice the fighter I'd ever be, and the crooks knew it, too.

Were we the criminals? Were we really? We called attention to an issue of national security. We made them all look to the skies, and I owed Jamie for that. Looking back, I thought he really loved her -- Wendy.

And I knew he loved me.

I bit my lip, then tapped: When and where?

Ping: Now. By the river.

The house was silent, I pulled on my coat and stepped out into the night. The purple clouds danced across the sky, blissfully unaware that their time left here was short.

Strolling atop the wall that banked the river, I still couldn’t make out the second star to the right, but I had a feeling that soon it would again become too visible to ignore.

“Oy, Mikey! You look like an old man.”

Jamie was tall and lanky. He wore his salt and peppered hair in a long braid that fell over his shoulder, and still had that same scruffy beard, looking like he’d shaved yesterday, but really that was as full as it ever was. Worn jeans, gray t-shirt, and long black trench coat, just like always. He’d filled in his tattoos to full sleeves – and one caught my attention: Wendy Ann Darling 1980-1991 Flying Free.

“Don’t you look all prim and proper! A husband. A faaaather. Proud master of a mini unicorn! Ladies and gents, it’s Michael Darling! Behold his square-shaped brilliance!”

“Alright, Jamie. What d’you want?”

“Not what I want – what you need!” With his faux-pretentious flourish, he produced a large section of golden window screen. “I passed by your place the other day. This looks like it would fit her window.”

Clutching the screen as if my life depended upon it, I nodded my gratitude and Jamie waved his hand dismissively.

“Look, about the thing you have that I need –”

“You want help with a meeting? Negotiation?”

He shook his head, stroking his barely-beard. “Something else…” he twisted over his shoulder and gave a sharp whistle. From the shadows behind emerged a boy. He looked as grubby as James, and about Poppy’s age or slightly older. He hurried to Jamie who placed his arm over his shoulder.

“This here is Nibs. Well, that’s what we call him. He ran from a group home after someone there beat him, but he was taken, Mikey.”

I studied the boy and absorbed what Jamie had said. “Taken? By Pan? How…”

Jamie shook his head. “By some sort of undercover agents. Men in black or something. They wanted him because he’s – well, he’s like Wendy.”

“A flyer?”

“He doesn’t speak any. Slight thinks it’s on account of trauma. He's the one who helped him get out, but there's others.”

“How is Slightly?”

“Well as can be expected, I s’pose. Misses the twins, but we all missin’ someone, ain’t we? Well, what do you say?”

“To what now?”

“Nibs needs a place to stay. He don’t talk any, but you could tell what happened if you…you know.”

The implications of taking in a child, a flying child, in times like these were overwhelming. Kate could love any little pitiful creature, one look at him and she’d be all in. We didn’t have much, but there was enough to share. Poppy was kind at heart. Those weren’t the things on my mind.

What made me hesitate was security. Who was after this child, and why? Would they follow him to my flat? Would they want Poppy as well?

“Mikey, we don’t have time. What do you say?”

I reached out a hand to the boy and he reluctantly slid toward me. Jamie knelt down and gave his hand a shake, offering a few encouraging words. “Michael and his family is good people, Nibs. You can trust him -- and I’ll come see you soon.”

Nibs made no reply.

“Better hurry on home then. Thanks, Jamie, really I can’t thank you enough.”

“Just look out for him until we figure out what these tossers want. I always said you can’t trust those people, Mikey – the ones who act so concerned about survivors and the fae. The folks who made the spray want it gone now, and who d’ya thinks gonna pay the most dearly for that? Watch your back, mate.”

“Right.”

“See you soon, Mikey boy.”

Jamie disappeared in his usual way. Walking home in the dewy light of the lamps and the glowing purple mist, I felt eerily like we were being watched or followed. “Come on then, Nibs. It’s not far, but we should be quick.”

Once Nibs was bedded down, I wandered to the bedroom where Kate was snuggled up with Nana, and began rehearsing what I would say to explain the kid on the couch. I decided it was as good a time as any to put up the gold screen. Stepping into Poppy’s room, I noticed a breeze blew the canopy and it rippled slightly. The window had been closed –

Rushing to the bed, the full terror of the situation struck. Poppy was gone. The window was open. The purple clouds still hung low in the fuchsia skyline, could Pan have managed it?

The boy! He must have taken her! A flyer could go out the window. I ran to the sitting room as if fleeing a hungry lion and shook him. Nibs popped up like the waking dead, eyes bulging, breath racing.

“Sorry mate, who took you? Who wants to take children now, before the spraying ends? It’s not Pan? That’s what Jamie said? Men in black?”

The boy’s eyes widened like saucers and I could hear his only thoughts were of whether or not I would harm him as so many had before.

Realizing my hands were on his shoulders, I quickly released him, trembling. “I’m sorry.” I gasped, sitting down beside him, face in hands. “I’m so sorry. They took my sister, and now my…”

Kate let out a scream from upstairs, my commotion must have roused her. She thundered into the sitting room, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You were right, Michael, he isn’t gone! Peter Pan isn’t gone…” she wailed, stumbling to the couch. “He's taken my Poppy! Where is she?”

Nibs’ eyes glistened at the sight of the distraught mother. “They have a plan,” came a raspy whisper.

“So you can speak.”

“Not a plan, but a…plot. They want flyers -- but it’s not Pan. It’s not the faeries at all. Just bad people.” The boy suddenly hunched his shoulders, flinching as if saying it aloud was physically painful. "They said if I told they would..."

“Why do they want flyers? Come on, you’ve spoken now, no turning back.”

The boy's eyes darted anxiously from Kate's panicked face to mine. “They say flyers never grow up. They want our blood to make medicine.” He rolled up his tattered sleeve revealing a series of scars on his right arm. “They said the medicine will make everyone fly.”

Kate had frozen at the sight of Nibs, but now she spoke, “Why would they want to make everyone fly?”

“The tall man said, ‘Vanishings will feel like nothing after this,’ but I dunno what he meant.”

I picked up my phone. “Jamie! Jamie, Poppy’s gone! Nibs says they’re experimenting on flyers, sounds like they're trying to create some sort of army –”

There was a snarl in Jamie’s voice, “I knew you’d come round. You can’t trust the system; I been saying it. We need to do this the old-school way.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean grab your sword. If we ain’t going to fight for what we want, we’ll deserve what we get.”

“They have my daughter, J -- I’ll fight.”

“That’s my boy.”

We stepped out into the early dawn, two lost boys, a mother bear ready to tear someone limb from limb (clutching my old sword), and a loyal mini-unicorn who, if I wasn’t mistaken, was growling. An unlikely crew, but the best often are.

The morning sun shone, chasing the haze from the sky. They can’t hide their true intentions behind purple clouds anymore. Clear skies are coming, bringing a wave of clear thinking in their light.

And there it was rising, just peeking out from behind the fading moon. The second star to the right, burning brightly as ever.

I won’t rest until I see it fall from the sky.