A/N: this story is available on Wattpad too. My username is #TMR. Thank you for all your support!
Thomas stared at the sky. Paradise. The name was apt. Ever since the Glade, he had never felt so at home. Sure, the sun was a little too bright, but after the Scorch, it was nothing. The grass was greener than that in the Glade, and the temperature was impeccable. There was a cliff, beautiful, that extended downwards. From there, he could see the seemingly endless expanse of the sea, something that he had not seen since the maze and the trials. Sometimes, Thomas would sit there with his friends and dangle his legs over the side of the cliff. Once, Minho had thrown a few stones down into the water, the scene reminiscent of them testing for the Griever Hole.
The order in Paradise was perfect, with the Group A and B members, as well as the other Immunes getting along surprisingly well. They lived in the building provided by WICKED, a twenty-storey structure of red bricks and concrete. It was simple, yet convenient and homely. With the males' strength and the females' dexterity, furniture had been 'mass produced'. Thomas didn't understand why they were not provided with furniture, but he decided that he wouldn't complain. Occasionally, he and the other Gladers would sleep outdoors, reliving their 'good old days'.
Thomas had found a small clearing in the forest located directly opposite the cliff. It provided him with a good place to think and relax. You know, some things just never change.
Thomas was walking towards the usual 'hiding spot'. For no apparent reason, the scene of himself entering the woods in the Glade flashed in his mind. Now, he had nothing to worry about.
He was lost in his own memories and thoughts when he felt someone nudge his shoulder. Instinctively, he turned his head immediately. Standing in the shadows was a girl, approximately fourteen or fifteen years of age. Her shoulder-length blond hair was bunched up into a ponytail and she donned a grey long-sleeved shirt coupled with light blue denims and brown leather work boots, laced up tight. Although it was late afternoon, the shadows prevented Thomas from seeing her facial features clearly. She was not very tall-five feet four inches, Thomas assumed.
"Who...what..?" Thomas was momentarily taken aback.
" Woah, what are you doing here?" She asked back, her accent strangely familiar.
She stepped out of the shadows. Her brown eyes shone clearly and beautifully on her porcelain-clear skin. Her features looked familiar too, and the feeling Thomas had when he first saw Teresa tugged at him once again, urging him to recall.
"Who are you, then?" Thomas effectively dodged the question by posing another. He decided that he would ask instead of making assumptions blindly. After all, the Trials has given him enough chances to 'think hard'.
"Well, my name's Joan, though my original name was Kayla, but the WICKED people gave me that name so I guess I had gotten used to it. What's yours?"
"My name's Thomas, nice to meet you, " he extended his hand. Surprisingly, the girl shook it without hesitation.
"By any chance, do you know of a boy about your age named Kay? I've been looking for him for the past two weeks." Childlike hope suddenly lit up in her eyes, reminiscent of Newt's expression when Thomas and Minho came back from the maze on the day Teresa had triggered the Ending.
"Umm...nope. How does he look like, then?"
" Wait, wait. How about someone named...Newt?" She asked.
" Newt? Why are you looking for him? I was his friend until..."
"You know him? You do?" Joan's chocolate-brown eyes widened further, staring straight into Thomas'.
"Why?"
But before she could answer, Thomas made the connection. That's why her eyes and her accent seemed so familiar, he thought.
"Newt...Newt's my elder brother."
"You know him, don't you? Where is he? Where is he? Tell me!" Joan's voice rose in an octave.
"Wait wait wait, hear me explain, okay?" Thomas half-pleaded, startled at the sudden change in emotions of the girl.
"You know where he is! Stop hiding things from me! Did he tell you not to inform me of his whereabouts?"
Thomas put both his hands up in a 'surrender pose', trying to calm Joan down. He himself was unable to get in terms with Newt's death, but what other choice did he have?
"Come with me. We need to talk." Thomas grabbed Joan's arm resolutely and pulled her along.
Thomas' room was not a big one, with simple, handmade furniture which looked less than stable. Nonetheless, that was the best thing he could get.
He sat Joan down on a chair next to his table. She looked like she was about to protest, but she seemed to have figured out something and kept quiet instead.
Thomas reached into his pocket for the key. He dragged a metal box over, slid the key into the lock and turned. The lock clicked and gave way. Thomas had the habit of doing this every night, when everyone was asleep and thee only sounds that could be heard were the gentle crashing of waves against the rocks.
He slowly lifted the lid of the box up, suddenly doubtful if he should tell the full story to Joan. Would she be overly affected by the revelation? But before he could do anything, Joan leaned forward to take a look. Thomas shut the box immediately.
"Okay, the box will be later. You know about the Flare and the Immunes, right?"
She nodded solemnly.
"And do you remember who were not immune?" Thomas tried his best to stop himself from breaking down while recounting the events which led to Newt's death. He would not allow himself to shed a tear in front of a girl he had barely known, despite the fact that she was Newt's sister.
"Newt...Newt wasn't. But that was a variable, wasn't it? Just a trick the Creators came up with. He's alive. He's immune. I know it. I just know." The blonde replied.
"I...I...you know, sometimes you can't just depend on feelings."
"What do you mean? He's not alive? How is that possible?"
Thomas was silently relieved that she had said the thing that he did not have the courage to say, but he still had a lot of explaining to do.
"Yes, and I have to tell you how it happened...from the start."
Thomas patiently recounted to Joan about how Newt's behaviour had gradually changed, and the results of that. Even recalling Newt slowly losing his former calm, rational self hurt his heart immensely, and it took all his willpower not to let it show.
"And then...he gave me this," Thomas said as he lifted up the lid of the box." Your brother told me to read this when the time had come."
Joan stayed silent throughout. It was apparent that this news was hard for her to accept,and it was obvious that the most part of her was still doubtful of his statements.
"He told me to..." Thomas couldn't get the words out. He had never told anyone about it ever since Newt's death. He had the habit of looking at the note every night. Whenever it came into sight, Thomas could almost feel the cold metal of the pistol in his hands, feel himself pulling the trigger, feel the impact of the bullet on flesh and bone. He was unable to keep track of the countless sleepless nights he had, wallowing in sorrow, regret, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of anger. At himself, or at Newt, he didn't know.
He pushed the note over to Joan, unable to explain the rest on his own.
Thomas stared at Joan as she read the note, silently, with the slightest hint of disbelief in her eyes.
"It's...it's him,"she whispered."His handwriting...it hadn't changed."
Thomas, in halting sentences, related to Joan about how her brother got taken to what they called the Crank Palace, and how they unexpectedly 'met up' again, a few days later.
"He...he was screaming at me, things that...that he...as himself, as Newt, wouldn't say. He told me that...that he hated me. That he hated every second of his life because of me. And...and...he told me to..." Thomas couldn't continue...it was simply too much for him to take. He blinked back the tears that were moistening his eyes; he felt Joan's heart break.
It was too much, just too much. The reopened wound stung too much. Thomas allowed his will to crumble just as he allowed his tears to slip.
Thomas sobbed long and hard, releasing all the grief, all the guilt that had encased his heart ever since he had pulled the trigger, that metal lever that had ended his best friend's painful, bitter life. He heard Joan doing the same too.
Could he...could he be in a better place now? Is he happier now, freed from the clutches of insanity? But will he be happier where he is now than where I am? Thomas wondered long and hard.
Newt was a good leader, one who could reach the perfect balance of informality and order. He was a great friend, one who would stand up for him, who would vouch for him among doubts of the other Gladers. He was Thomas' pillar, the one whom Thomas counted on to confide in. But he was gone now. His absence was not for a day, not for a month, not for a year. Newt was gone, forever.
He lifted his head, met the familiar eyes of Joan.
"Can you...forgive me?"
"You gave him...what he wanted. That was his choice, his life. You did what Kay wanted. Thanks, Thomas. On behalf of Newt. you know, he doesn't want me to cry over his choice, that'll make him even more guilty. He had gone through enough to know. I'm sure it was a tough choice for him to pass that note to you, even to pen down that pleading note. The last thing he wants is for his closest friend to be guilty over what he had done to him."
That evening, Thomas took a solitary walk by the cliff, accompanied by only his shadow. He thought about what Newt would tell him if he saw him in this state.
"Get up, Tommy, get up. Stop sittin' round on your butt, gettin' lazy and sad. Keep your head up, yes, that's the way."
Impulsively, not knowing why he did it, Thomas reached into his pocket and pulled out the object. Then, with a swift motion, a quick flick of his wrist, he flung it into the air, watching in awe and shock at what he had just did. He stared as the key spiraled through the air and fell into the water, sinking into oblivion. The waves, ever so eager, covered up its transient ripples. Then, it was as if nothing had happened at all. No trace, nothing.
The sun had begun to set, lighting up the sky in a splendid display of gold and orange. Thomas looked into the sky, and for a moment, he could almost, just almost, see Newt's calm, steady smile in the bright, brilliant sunset.