[ WP ] Peter Pan is a serial killer who uses pixie dust to cause little children to jump off windows in the hopes of being able to fly .

I can feel the dread weighing heavy on my chest as I aproach the crime scene. This is the fifth child in two months, and it's starting to get hard to be objective staring at the bodies of young kids, mutilated from their falls from high rise apartments. 
 
 My anxiety turns to sadness as I come into view of this new boy's face - well, what's left of it, that is. 
 
 `` Captain! Over here, quick!'' Detective Smee waves me over to the body. 
 
 I pull my captains hat down to block the streetlights from illuminating my face. I ca n't let my subordinates see that this affects me. 
 `` What is it, Smee?'' I shout, as I march hastily toward the group of CSI agents examinating the boy. Everyone looks up nervously. I must have sounded more irritated than I meant to. 
 Good. 
 
 16 hour days in this case, for weeks, and we do n't have so much as a fingerprint. Just a collection of business cards with the word `` Pan'' in Times New Roman. I'm guessing he wants to make a name for himself. I refuse to let this lunatic become successful in his search for infamous glory. 
 
 News reports and social media are trying to call this a `` suicide trend''. Without a lead on the case, I ca n't correct them. 
 
 I lean over to see Smee pulling something out of the boys hand, with tweasers. 
 `` What is it?'' My tone softens. 
 
 `` It apears to be... a feather. A red feather.'' He slips it into an evidence bag and hands it to me. I hold it up, and even in this poorly lit street, I can make out that it's a very real red feather. Peculiar. 
 
 `` Send this to forensics, immediately.'' I hand the bag to Smee. 
 `` Yes Captain Hook!'' 
 Smee complies and scurries off. 
 For aging old man, he's as sharp and obediant as ever. 
 
 My eyes scale up the building to see police on a balcony on the forth floor. My ears finally tune in to the wails of another mother crying in agony as she accepts the loss of her child. Always the mother, never the father. I fight back tears. 
 
 I take one last look at the deceased. I scan the gathering crowd of shocked faces. I look up at the moon. It's a cold night. 
 `` I'll get you, Pan'' I whisper to myself. 
 

