I close my mind, willing it to drain again, willing the darkness to settle in and take the reins. It will make this easier.

I turn the corner and the house comes into view –devoured by ivy, same as the last autumn night my eyes gazed upon it.

It was once, as I remember thinking as a 12 year-old girl, the quaintest row of homes in all of London. Grand stone and brick three-stories lined the groomed cobblestone lane, which was ripe with rich shrubs. Iron lampposts bookended the corners, flooding the street with warm, cozy light.

It's a different sight tonight. The cobblestones are uneven beneath my feet and the overgrown bushes are inflated with an air of neglect. Stale yellow light pours from only one of the cracked lampposts.

It feels as though a hundred years have passed, but I know it's the same, and that my memory is just addled by time passed.

My eyes scan the street, noticing all the windows are sealed shut, curtains tightly drawn. Scant light flickers through first-level windows, bespeckling the dark street with patches of yellow.

Most of the light comes from the clear sky above me, replete with shimmering stars. Without meaning to, I find my eyes searching for the second brightest star on the right. I suddenly feel frozen and find myself wishing Rat were here to keep me company. My feet carry me to the front door. I can tell by the tarnished golden lion knocker that it hasn't been touched in many years.

I feel the guilt again.

A drape of ivy hangs from the second-story terrace. My neck cranes backward and I take in the double window. I close my eyes and I can see Peter Pan prancing along the railing, blowing into his bamboo flute. I can hear the faint melody now, haunting like always.

I imagine the smells of my childhood bedroom, the soft comforter on my bed, and the welcoming bark of Nana. I'm tempted to break in –to steal a moment of solace.

The ivy sways in a gust of wind. I look up just in time. Hovering just above the very top window on the third-story, I see a dark shadow floating in the empty night.

His shadow.

After six long years of waiting, of hoping, Rat was right. Tonight's the night. My bones prickle with anticipation.

Peter Pan's shadow rustles the ivy tower as it swoops low above me. It remains there, hanging in the air like some lingering haunt. There's no face, no forest green tunic or lime green cap. There're no feathers peeking from inside his boots.

It is a black specter, neither solid nor gas. I cannot stare into Pan's timeless eyes, but I swear he is looking into mine. I feel him searching my soul, recognizing the once 12 year-old girl he met long ago.

Do souls change I wonder? Are they changed by something as fundamental as time?

Here I am, six years older, six years wiser, and six years grown (in more ways than one). It's more than six years that separates me from this spritely shadow of Peter Pan.

It's anger and resentment and a fervent desire to destroy him.

Somewhere down the lane a window swings open and Shadow Pan takes flight.

"No!" I shout.

My feet hammer the pavement as I run at top speed. I race down the cobblestones and cross two streets over, desperate to keep it in my sight. I cannot let him slip away, not after so long.

The phantom stays in the shadows, careful to avoid all the lampposts and lights flooding from the row homes.

Blood is pulsing in my head, my chest heaving as my heart works overtime to carry my legs across these London streets.

I don't keep track of how far I've been running. I stumble over my legs and the uneven ground beneath me –not paying attention to where I'm going. Instead, I look to the sky, not taking my eyes off Shadow Pan.

As I round another bend, my cheek collides with something hard and moving. We both fall to the ground, entangled.

"Rat!" I gasp. "Rat, thank goodness!"

"You alrigh'? Whatchu all bothered for, Darlin'?" Rat asks, peering at me from the curb. She's breathing heavy and half amused, half started.

"Rat, I've found it! The shadow –it's back!" My eyes scan the rooftops as desperation fills my lungs.

"Found it? Your shadow thingy?" Rat asks, impressed.

"Yes, yes. Look up. Look!" I exclaim, pointing.

The shadow hangs in midair above our heads.

"So it is real, Darlin'. It really is." Rat looks up, head tilted far back, a grin spreading across her cheeks. "All this time I thought you were havin' a go."

"Yes, it's real," I pant, exhaling loudly.

"And really flies too." Rat's voice seeps with awe.

"Yes, yes. It flies!" I say. "Now help me trap it."

"Trap it? You trap a shadow, then?" Rat scratches her matted hair.

"Course," I say, almost rolling my eyes.

"How then?"

"We have to lure it into the dark. Lure it up to a window," I explain at once. I've had a lot of time to ponder my capture of Pan's shadow, should I ever have crossed it again.

"Lure it up a window, sure, sure." Rat makes a clicking sound with her tongue.

I run to the end of the street, chasing the shadow as it weaves in and out blotches of yellow light. A porch lamp blazes to life and the shadow takes a hard left down a side alleyway.

"Come on, Rat! Keep up!" I whisper, harried.

"Oi, I'm righ' behind ya!" Rat catches up to me as I turn into the dark alley.

My first impression is that I could not have cornered Pan in a better spot. The total tapered lane is devoid of all light. There are no first story windows, but my heart leaps when I find a second-story opening that leads to a small terrace. The brick wall is entirely bare, apart from a shabby trellis that's been swallowed by wild flowers.

"I'm climbing up, Rat! When I say so, run out into the street again and stir some noise. It ought to distract the shadow," I say, watching Rat.

"Noise. Gotcha." Rat nods.

My foot finds the bottom rung of the trellis and I pull my self up. I scramble hastily upward, careful to plaster myself flat against the wall. I catch a mouthful of dirty leaves as I navigate upward. An earthy floral scent clings to my blouse.

"Almost. Get ready!" I whisper down to Rat.

I'm almost to the window. Rat is eying me from her spot on the ground.

"Now!" I shout. My voice is alive with glee.

Rat starts drumming the opposite brick wall with pieces of tin she picked up from the alley. The metal scrapping is not very loud, but it does the trick. Shadow Pan turns momentarily away from the wall and looks at Rat, standing firmly in the patch of light on the street corner.

My arm loops through the railing and I hoist myself up. I am level now –mere feet away from Pan's shadow. I rummage in the pocket on my trousers, my fingers searching for the cool glass of a phial. Finding it, I uncork the top and dump it upside down while breathing in the sweet sugary dust. My heart leaps at the memory.

With all the strength I can muster, I push off from the wall. The glass phial smashes on the stones beneath me, and I feel a pang in my heart when I hear the shards, but I know it's worked. The last remnants of pixie dust extend my jump until I am suspended in midair. My fingers find the velvety smooth shadow, which feels like cool liquid beneath my fingertips. I wrap my hand around Shadow Pan's ankle.

In the split second it took to realize what was happening, I've already latched on. It hovers in the sticky air, but it is unable to shake me.

The shadow takes flight.

It's been years since I've felt this flying sensation. My whole body feels delightfully weightless –no doubt in large thanks to the pixie dust.

We are flying up –up –up.

"Wow, Darlin', you're flyin'!" Rat's singsong goodbye floats behind me. "Bye Darlin'!"

"Bye, Rat!" I shout, but my farewell dissipates in the night wind.

I watch as Rat becomes smaller and smaller below me, sinking into nothing.