Hook stared in amazement at the new world in which he had been so unceremoniously dropped. It looked different than the earth he remembered. England had been a dirty, dank place that stank of sewage and horses and mud only to be changed occasionally with smells of rum and beer and hot muffins and meat pies.

This world was clean and fresh except for the stink of the moving boxes and the hot air blowing out of metal cages on the pavement. Hook looked down into the cages, trying to see where they lead to, but a man walked by and asked, "Lose something in the grate?"

"Where am I?" Hook asked, standing up straight. "And who might I have the pleasure of knowing?"

The man backed away with a wary eye. "There's a rehab center down this road. Get clean and stay off drugs, man."

As the man walked away, Hook reached for his sword to challenge the man to a duel for insulting him, but Hook found that his sword was gone. Instead, a leather pouch hung from his thick leather belt, a pouch that Hook had never seen before. He reached into it and drew out a thick folded card. He opened it to find the spidery script of a letter.

Dearest Jamie,

The path ahead of you will have many dangers and many rewards. It is your world, but it has changed. You, my love, are a man of great courage and strength, and you will learn to live in this new place.

I give you the last bit of my magic in this bag. Whatever you need you will find. Just think of me and reach inside it to find whatever you desire.

I leave you with one last request – take care of my baby. He has lost his world and he needs you more than ever.

In love forever,

Alivia.

Hook felt his throat catch as he read the letter, and then read it again. He could not believe that he had lost his Alivia, but he pushed that fear to the back of his mind as he looked around.

The houses were huge, great looming chunks of glass that went far up into the sky. People were all moving very fast and getting in and out of the boxes while talking to themselves. No one strolled along or exchanged pleasantries; no one was locked in stocks or getting whipped in the town square. He remembered ladies dressed in enormous gowns with their hair piled high under feathered hats with servant maids hurried beside them with umbrellas to shade their white faces from the sun. Here, all women were wearing men's trousers and seemed to be all colors of skin: white, tan, dark, blond hair, black hair, red hair – a few even had blue and pink.

And whereas men in Hook's time made way for ladies but expected servants to stay out of their way, here men walked by all women, ignoring them for the most part. A few people walked in groups, chatting to each other.

Though he felt extremely shocked and unnerved by all the changes, Hook pulled himself together to start walking. He looked different from everyone else. No one else wore fancy clothes with gold trim and brass buttons, no man had long hair or shoes with back heels, and no person spoke as he did.

He knew he had to get changed immediately. As long as he looked like the other people did, he stood a fair chance of blending in long enough to figure out a plan.

"A dressmaker," Hook whispered. "A dressmaker or even a tannery might have something I could wear."

Through tall glass windows, he spotted several bodies wearing clothes. For an awful second, he was sure that he looked upon white corpses with dead faces. But after a second look, he could see that the bodies were actually fake, not real even though they seemed very real. As Hook tried to ponder why anyone would ever put fake bodies up in a window, except maybe to frighten small children, one of the glass windows swung open to let a woman out. She was carrying several bags and talking to herself with one hand held up to her ear.

"I know, but I need these dresses. Tom spends all his time at the golf course and the kids are out of control, and if a few more clothes make me feel better about myself, then so be it."

She went off, still talking, but Hook grabbed the open window, which he realized was a door made of glass, and went into the building.

Clothes were in there – hanging from the walls and in bunches all over the floor and up on shelves, enough clothes for a whole village.

"Hi," a smiling woman came up to Hook, "Welcome to Gerry's Wear, clothes for the urban family. You look like you just came from a costume party."

Hook couldn't help glancing down to see that she wore black trousers, and he felt slightly unnerved that a woman would approach a man in such a forward manner.

"Um, yes," he gave her a polite nod, one meant for a lady of a much higher station. "Might I enquire about some clothing?"

She laughed. "Oh, this is too charming. Halloween's not for another week or two, but you're cute with the practice. I love British accents. What kind of clothes are you looking for? Casual? Business? Business casual? Sporting?"

"Whatever you think best," Hook smiled charmingly.

The woman lifted her eyebrows slightly. "What's your price range?"

Hook blinked again. He had no gold on him or any notes of wealth or promise. But he answered, "No range in price. Clothes enough for several days, perhaps even a week."

The woman smiled broadly. "My name is Maggie and I'll be glad to help you with whatever you need."

She took him back to a room and began bringing out garments for him to try on. The shirts were simple enough – most buttoned down the front and had buttons on the cuffs rather than cufflinks, and the collars were easier to manage. The trousers had an odd sliding thing that closed them up in the front, but Hook managed to tuck his shirt into the pants and fasten them up. He looked around for a cravat or embroidered collar to wear as the shirt looked very, very plain.

He had tied his long hair back with a strip of cloth from his coat, but he could tell that he would need to cut it off soon. In Neverland, it had grown out whether he cut it or not, but here on the earth it might stay cut.

"A few more items," Maggie stopped in the doorway. "My, don't you look handsome. Would you like to try on some ties?"

Hook looked at the narrow pieces of cloth she held. "Yes, indeed. Please assist me."

She came up close, close enough for him to see the flecks of green in her blue eyes. She pulled his collar up and looped a tie around his neck. Hook breathed softly as she twisted the tie into a knot and then folded down his collar.

"Quite nice," she smiled at their reflection in the mirror.

Hook barely recognized himself in the new clothes, but other than the long hair, he looked just like the man he had seen on the streets, all sharp lines of fabric that accented his arms, shoulders and chest while loose around his hips and legs.

"Beautiful," he gave her a nod of approval.

"Let me bring you some more," Maggie was grinning.

Much later, Hook stood at a counter while Maggie folded all the clothes and put them into bags. Hook had asked to wear the first clothes he tried on when he left, and she put his pirate clothes into a bag. Then she spent some time punching on an old shaped box that had green numbers which kept changing. Hook stared at the numbers, but they never seemed to be in a kind of order. 19.99, 12.99, 42.99, and so on.

"And with tax, that will be 1,278.56," Maggie told him. "How will you be paying, sir? Cash, check or charge?"

Hook froze, not knowing how to answer. He was holding the leather bag Alivia had left him, and he slipped his hand into it. "Help me, please," he asked silently.

He pulled out a small, hard card, about the size of a playing card but flat as a knife blade. It was a shiny green and blue with raised letters that spelled out James Matthew Hook.

"Oh, Visa? Thank you, Mr. Hook," Maggie took the card.

A few seconds later, she gave him a pen and told him to sign on narrow strips of paper. Hook took the pen and signed Jas Hook on the paper. She handed him back the card and he slipped it into his leather bag. He wondered if the card acted like an I Owe You that a gentleman might write to another if the first gentleman were a bit low on money.

"Thank you, sir. Come back and see us," she handed him the handles of the six bags.

Hook took the bags, but paused to ask, "Forget me for asking a question about such a personal matter, but is there anywhere near here I could get a haircut?"

"Up the street on the right. Philian's, cuts for the business man.

Hook lugged his bags up the walk, wishing he had Smee there to carry for him. A captain should never have to tote his own luggage, but without the heavy coat, bulky hat, awkward sword, and uncomfortable boots, Hook found that he could walk much faster in his new clothes and shoes.

He got to Philian's without any trouble, and upon requesting a haircut, the barber agreed readily. Hook put all his bags in a nearby chair and sat down upon the leather seat where the barber pointed. Once seated, Hook was wrapped in a large cloth and the seat began to rise up.

"Decided to go corporate, eh?" the barber said as he began removing tools from drawers. "You'll never find a job with all that hair. You want a clean cut, very new millennia style?"

"Yes, indeed," Hook agreed.

Twenty minutes later, he was given a mirror to look at himself. His hair was short all over, but slightly longer on top. Without the length, it wasn't curly, and it seemed blacker than ever.

"You should get a shave too," the barber advised. "No boss man wants to see an applicant with scruff or a moustache or a goatee."

"Shave it all off," Hook agreed.

The barber did so and then accepted the flat card as payment.

"What now, what now?" Hook looked around the street. He now looked like the rest of the people, but he feared every time he opened his mouth that he would give himself away.

On the other side of the street, a burst of noise sounded above the roar of the moving boxes.

Hook saw several boys in their teens pushing at something in the center.

"He's crazy!" one boy shouted. "Hey, boy, say it again."

"Listen to this, listen to this," another jeered.

A big, burly boy stepped back, and in the center of the throng was a smaller dirty boy in rags.

"It's true," the small boy said. "I can fly. I will take you all to Neverland. I will! You have to believe – just believe and think happy thoughts. Tinkerbell? Where are you? I want to take you all to Neverland."

The boys started laughing, but Hook stood frozen as he stared at Peter on the ground, begging and crying. Peter didn't seem to notice him now that Hook looked so different, but he tried to grab onto the boys to get them to believe.

"All right, what's going on?" a man in different clothes came up. Hook didn't recognize what he was wearing, but judging from the man's stern expression, he had to be some kind of guard or sheriff.

The boys ran off as soon as the guard came up, but Peter lay on the sidewalk, wailing and blathering on and on about Neverland.

"There were fairies and a crocodile with a clock in his stomach and I flew everywhere and we played in the moonlight. The pirates were going to get me, but I come here sometimes. Here children used to visit, but no one leaves the window open anymore. Where are the Lost Boys? Why can't I find them?"

"What drugs did they give you?' the guard asked. "Where are your parents? Do you have a name?"

"Help me, help me get back," Peter's face was covered in dirt and tears. "Where are the mothers to take care of me? Where is my bunny? Minty! Come back to me. Where is Hook? He did this. Find Hook."

Another guard ran up and spoke in a low voice to the first guard. They agreed about something, because a few moments later, they pulled Peter up to his feet and dragged him, kicking and screaming, to a moving box parked on the side of the road. They put him in the back, and Hook was horrified to see that the windows of the moving box had bars on them, just like a cage. What kind of world was this that put children in cages?

The box started to roll forward on its thick wheels, and Peter beat on the bars, but Hook did not move. He couldn't think of a way to explain to the guards who he was and who Peter was. A second later, Hook wondered if he could have lied and explained that Peter was his son and the poor boy had gotten a bit lost, but that would hardly explain why he himself wore nice, new clothes and Peter wore ragged pirate garb that was too big for him.

He took a few long steps after Peter, but those horseless carriages moved much faster than a man could walk or run, and then it turned a corner and Hook lost sight of it.

"Think, man, think," he growled under his breath. "What should I do? I lost my ship, I lost my crew, and now I may lose my mind."

"Are you lost?" another guard appeared, a different one than those that had taken Peter.

"Is there an inn about here?" Hook asked. He felt it was a safe question – even in new times and places, people still had to sleep somewhere.

"Ah, so British," the guard laughed. "We call them hotels here in America. Yeah, there's a Marriott about a fourth mile down the road."

"Thank you," Hook said.

Once he got into the building marked Marriott, he went inside and walked directly to the people behind the counters. Already he had learned that people behind counters knew what they were doing.

"A room for the night? Gladly, sir," a woman with her hair in a bun began hitting her fingers on another weird box. "Just one?"

"Yes."

"Any particular floor or view?"

"No," Hook felt like a small schoolboy with all his limited answers. The magic buying card worked again, and then a teenage boy came up to take Hook's bags.

Rather than take Hook to the stairs, the boy took him to metal doors that suddenly pulled open. An empty closet was inside, and the boy motioned for them both to get inside. The doors shut themselves, and the boy stood still, looking down at the ground as they both stood in the closet. Hook felt extremely awkward – did the boy expect him to say something or do something? Perhaps the boy knew his secrets and this was all a trick to get him to confess.

Hook thought he felt the floor move a little, but that was silly. Floors didn't move except on a ship, and there was no water anywhere.

The doors opened, but what was outside looked completely different from what he had seen going in. He had stepped from a huge room with lots of seats and hanging chandeliers to a long hallway lined with doors.

"Ah!" Hook shouted in fear.

The boy jumped back. "What's wrong?"

"Uh, um, nothing, my lad. I just – just thought that I saw something. Lead on."

They went to a door which the boy opened, and Hook found himself in a spacious room with a large bed, table and chairs, and a large window that overlooked the city. The room was so high up that Hook, who usually had a good head for heights, felt a thrill of terror rush up his spine.

"Here you go, sir. Can I get you anything else?"

"Um, no," Hook reached into his bag, silently wishing for some sort of money to tip the boy, just like he had done years ago in England. He thought about the card, but so far everyone who had used it had slid it through the weird boxes and he doubted the boy had a box. Hook's fingers closed over a piece of paper, and he pulled out a greenish rectangle with the number five on it and a man's face.

"Thank you, sir," the boy put his hand out for the tip and took the paper.

Once he left, Hook began to explore the room, keeping several feet away from the huge window. He found the small bathing room off the bedroom and as he twisted knobs, water ran out of different spots in the room, into a small basin and a big one and at the bottom of what Hook guessed to be a privy seat.

"Why didn't people think of this years ago?" Hook shook his head.

Such a convenient place. Water at different temperatures to fill the big basin – a perfect place to give a sulky brat a bath. The smaller basin – a place to wash his hands and face before bed. The mirror above the sink was wide and clear, unlike the ones on the ship that had twisted and turned green everyone's reflection.

Hook took a moment to stare at himself: black hair short and wearing a white shirt and blue tie under a dark gray coat, clean shaven with his blue eyes crystal clear. He was still devilishly handsome, dark and lustful even after years on the cursed island. Styles may have changed, but he was still a man to be desired.

"I do believe the captain has arrived," he smiled wickedly.

------

"Can you find nothing on him?" Ms. Brante, a young social worker stepped into the observation room.

"No," Officer Jones shook his head. "The kid isn't in any of the systems. I even ran his prints – nothing. He keeps insisting that he's Peter Pan, like in the fairytales."

"Oh, so sad," she gazed through the glass of the one-way mirror.

"He got so violent that we thought he might hurt himself. It killed us to put him in there, but we didn't want to start medicating him before the doctors had a chance to examine him."

"It just breaks your heart," Ms. Brante sighed. "All the abuse these poor kids have in a world where no one cares."

On the other side of the glass, in a padded room, a small boy with blond hair sat on a chair. He wore white pants and no shoes. His arms were wrapped tight around him in a straightjacket that tied behind his back.

Peter lifted his face up as a single tear rolled down. "Hook," his voice was barely more than a whisper, "where are you?"