James walked into the dimly lit bistro to the farthest table where a man was waiting for him. He was dressed in a thick brown coat, the recent shower evident on the material. The man looked up his long grey mustache twitching as James approached.

"Mr. Stewartson," James said in greeting, extending his hand.

"James Hardwing I presume," Mr. Stewartson replied as they shook hand. His thick Scottish accent did not give away he was a Londoner.

"Do you have the information I requested?" James asked, seating himself, as the waiter brought another tall mug of beer to the table. Mr. Stewartson gulped it down, while James declined the waiter's offer for a mug.

"'Course I did," Stewartson said, reaching out for his satchel pulling out several old yellow paper files. James took them and scanned their contents.

"Tis' an old case. What yer' up to, boy?" he asked as James read through the files.

"As a detective yourself Mr. Stewartson, you know what I'm up to," James replied. The middle-aged man turned grim.

"This here is only a part of what yer' looking for. Gotta head to London if yer' want more," he said. The man crossed his arms as he leaned back against his seat. James closed the files.

"Mr. Stewartson, I actually came here to talk to you personally," James said.

"You were the head investigator of this peculiar case. I want to know what exactly you saw, and who exactly were you after seven years ago," James continued, as he flipped open the file to a certain page.

Stewartson shifted uncomfortably, "The case is nothin' but bull crap. Got demoted cos' of it. Said I was seein' things," he said.

"Seeing things?" James repeated, trying to get the ex-detective to elaborate.

Stewartson stared at his beer mug, consumed in thought, "I saw 'im. No one believed me. A man... He made em' see things..." Stewartson himself seemed like he was having a hard time believing his own words. It was as if he was digging up memories long buried in the deep recesses of his mind.

"You couldn't find him in the end. He escaped?" James asked.

Stewartson narrowed his eyes, a frown marred his features, "Here's where it gets a lil' weird..." he said.

"I remember I was huntin' down a man. I was assigned the job by the head himself.... But, suddenly out of the blue... They changed the suspect," Stewartson said leaning in.

"Can yer' believe, they told me seventy-nine murders and uncountable thefts, were commited... By a kid?" He leaned back and left out a bark of laughter.

"Fools' were out of their minds... Or maybe I was... They found correspondin' evidence. I had nothin' to say..." he said with a heavy sigh.

"But they did not find the culprit. Even the kid escaped. Right?" James reconfirmed.

Stewartson nodded, "They closed the case. Demoted me cause' I was spouting nonsense," he said with a shrug.

James had a lot to think about. The case clicked very similarly to their current situation. There had to be more to this story. He probably had to take a trip to London.

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"I thought I told you not to follow me," Gwen said with an annoyed sigh as she walked out of the library, the killer on her tail.

"You expected me to listen?" he asked. Gwen shook her head and rolled her eyes. She walked up to her car, sparing a quick moment to relish the fine warm air that evening. She opened her car door and was just about to dump her things in the passenger seat when the obnoxious Peter Pan got into the car.

"What do you think you're doing!?" she hissed.

"What does it look like?" he replied with a shrug and stretched his arms and folding them to rest behind his head.

"Get out!" she barked.

"Nope. I'm hungry. We should get some doughnuts," he said ignoring her.

"I'm not moving the car till you get your butt out of it!" Gwen yelled back.

"Cool. We could stay here all night," he replied. Gwen grunted in frustration, then dumped her bag full of fat textbooks onto him. Starting up the car, she hit the gas.

"I'm gonna drive you straight to the police station," she said through gritted teeth. Peter Pan burst out laughing.

"Yeah do that," he said.

Gwen whipped her head toward him for a second before fixating her gaze on the road once again. "Why are you not afraid? I have proof against you!" she said gripping the steering wheel as she slammed on the brakes when the traffic light turned red. Inertia lurched them forward.

"You know if worse comes to worse, your driving would kill us both," he said, amused. Gwen tapped her fingers on the steering wheel in irritation.

How did he get away so easily? He was not afraid of the cops or any authority. As if he could wing his way out of anything.

"Hypnosis... That's what you do isn't it?" Gwen muttered.

Peter Pan arched a brow at her, "That's up to you to decide. Now then, I suggest you turn left to Billsbury's Cafe," he said, as the light turned green once again.

Gwen shook her head, "I am in no terms going to have coffee with you. I'm not even hung-" her stomach chose that exact moment to sing the symphony of dying whales.

"Ugh!" she grunted in annoyance. Things would not go her way. She parked in front of Billsbury's Cafe. She pulled the handbrake and switched off the car.

Crossing her arms against her chest she leaned back against the seat, "You are so infuriating, I would kill you if it would not get me arrested," she said through gritted teeth.

They both got out of the car and made their way into the warm cafe. Yellow lights illuminated the display of buns and cakes, making her stomach continue its horrendous melody. A sweet old man was standing at the counter, making her feel guilty all the more if she bought nothing.

"One peach danish please, and a chocolate frappe," Gwen requested politely.

"Make that two," said Peter Pan from behind her. Gwen's eye twitched.

"We're paying separately. I am in no means buying this idiot food or letting him buy me any," she said, regretting that she came off a little harsh towards the sweet old man.

She grabbed her danish, packed in a paper bag, and her drink as soon as he prepared them. Without sparing a second glance, she rushed into her car.

"These danishes are to die for," said someone from the passenger seat.

"How did you get in?! You were right there. H-how? Ugh!" She could not take it.

Just ignore him. You are not sitting next to a psychopath eating peach danishes. Her phone, as if saving her, rang out of the blue. She glanced at the caller ID and sighed inwardly.

Aunt Tilda.

"Hey, auntie," she said with a half-hearted voice.

"Gwen, dear. How are you? It's been a while. Just came to check on you," she said, her voice not too different from hers. Both of them knew their relationship was an obligation. After Anna's death, it became even more of a nuisance. The only reason she would call was to make sure Gwen did not throw herself off the building like her sister. Some guardian she would be if that happened.

They chatted for a while about basic, boring subjects, both wanting to end the call as soon as possible. And thank heavens it ended. Gwen put down the phone and sipped her frappe.

"Guardians," Peter Pan scoffed, "They don't give two damns about you," he said, drinking loudly from his straw.

"My parents were good till my mom suddenly became a witch and my dad..." Gwen trailed off. Her parents were loving people; something just did not work in their relationship; it destroyed both of them.

"Funny how the children become victims," he said, he let out a dry laugh.

Gwen glanced at him for a moment. "Looks like you're not a big fan of your parents," she said.

Peter Pan did not comment. He stopped sipping on his frappe, a dark look crossed his features. It was there for a second, then it vanished, replaced by his usual mischief.

"Well, nice having snacks with you, Wendy. See ya," he said, crushing the paper bag in his hands and stepping out of the car. He gave her a wave and vanished into the shadows of the street.

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A/N: Heyy did you guys enjoy this chapter? Hit that vote button!! <3