(Down, down, down. Would the fall never come to an end!)
(Down, down, down. There was nothing else to do—)
Newt and Minho were stood opposite Thomas, the distance between them feeling too much like a divide. An invisible line that should never be between them.
And Thomas had put it there.
(No, I'll look first—)
(and see if it's marked "poison" or not)
He'd been asleep: having a nightmare. That wasn't the problem though. Nightmares were all too common among the former Gladers, but his screams had echoed loudly enough to rise everyone else. Everyone else as in, Minho and Newt.
They'd woken up quickly, startling like they'd been hit by a force no one could see. Before shaking away the fog of sleep and locating Thomas.
(I can't remember things as I used – and I don't keep the same size for ten minutes at a time!)
He was thrashing but held himself stiff as if he was being restrained by the same invisible force that had hit Minho and Newt. His head was tilted back as far as he could strain it and his back was held in a painful arch. His face was screwed like crumbled paper and he was crying. Tears falling in thick stripes down his cheeks faster with every second he remained trapped in his nightmare.
Newt and Minho barely shared a look before Thomas screamed again. They shot into action, both moving to restrain Thomas. Newt spoke from where he was knelt next to Thomas' head, but it could barely be heard over the screams.
(I wish I could shut up like a telescope! I think I could if only I knew how to begin.)
"Thomas!" Newt mouth opened again but this time his voice was loud as a lion's roar. Thomas had stopped screaming but his thrashing didn't lessen. Minho was struggling to hold down his legs, so he couldn't kick out and accidently hurt himself or them. Newt tried again, "Tommy! Wake up! Tommy, you have to wake up! It's just a dream!"
(Can't remember what things?)
Newt continued to hold Thomas' shoulders firmly, leaning forward so his weight could hold him down. But, before Newt could speak again Thomas' eyes shot open. He sucked in a breath then in one rapid movement pushed Newt and Minho away and put as much distance between them as he could.
(Would you tell me please, which way I ought to go from here?)
His eyes were darting around the room, searching, assessing, as Minho and Newt got up carefully from the floor. They seemed afraid to startle Thomas.
(That depends a great deal on where you want to get to—)
(The Cat's head began fading away—)
Their fear as warranted for as soon as they moved his gaze had locked onto them.
(What a curious feeling!)
(I must be shutting up like a telescope.)
He looked like a caged animal, tense and unseeing as he watched them. Minho and Newt both gazed at him silently before the silence broke. This time it was Minho who did the honours.
"Thomas? Can you hear me?"
No response.
(— fancy what the flame of a candle is like after the candle is blown out—)
"Thomas?" Minho's voice was steady, but his eyes crinkled to show the strain he felt when Thomas didn't acknowledge them. Minho tilted his head towards Newt, obviously looking to him for help.
(I don't much care where—)
(Then it doesn't much matter which way you go—)
Newt took a slow and cautious step towards where Thomas stood. "Tommy?" Still no response. "Tommy, it's just Newt. Your okay." He tried to sooth as he took another measured step forward. "Just Newt and Minho. Your okay, Tommy, your safe. We're not going to hurt you," he continued gently.
Thomas looked at Newt finally.
(Well, what are you?)
He looked at Newt, but his eyes were uncomfortably blank. He was watching them as a stranger. His eyes holding no recognition.
(I wonder if I've changed in the night?)
The air was uneasy as Minho and Newt waited but, when he didn't do anything Newt spoke again, "Tommy?"
And that's when they noticed that he hadn't stopped crying. Tears cascading down his face like he was still trapped in a nightmare.
(—the poor little thing sat down and cried.)
They were not gentle tears. They spilled out of his eyes like lava would, flaring with heat and bringing pain to his skin. These tears were born of hurt, and they settled as an ache.
These tears were born of terror.
Whatever he was seeing had his eyes lit and wide with fear.
(—you might knock, and I could let you out, you know.)
Though he was only gazing at Newt.
(—If I'm not the same then the question is, Who am I?)
Not like before either, his eyes weren't just posed towards Newt in parody of sight, he was looking and seeing. Seeing long blonde hair and brown eyes, tired and worried and scared.
(Who are you?)
Because Thomas looked like he was afraid of Newt, and that scared Newt like nothing else ever would. He wanted to run away. He wanted to go back to sleep and pretend this was a dream. He needed to look just over his shoulder at Minho and find an easy smile but, couldn't bring himself to.
(I hardly know, sir, just at the present – at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I've changed several times since then.)
Lucky, because Minho looked just as scared watching them.
It felt to Newt, as if nothing could ever be right again. Everything was so wrong.
Thomas was afraid of him. Thomas was afraid of Newt.
(I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir—)
Thomas was watching them like he was still in his nightmare and that nightmare was them.
And that was terrifying.
(—drowned in my own tears!)
So, they stood to afraid to move with a clear divide between them. Minho was motionless as playful puppies weren't, held stiff yet crumbling. He looked for all the world like he wanted nothing more than to approach them, but he didn't. Like he needed to help but he couldn't.
So, their posture showed both immobility and fear. Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
Nobody dared.
And then Thomas did.
(— because I am not myself, you see.)
He took a large step backwards; further away from them. Though from the way Newt and Minho flinched and hitched their breath respectively you'd think he'd torn their stomachs opened only to reach in and squeeze their vital organs.
(You don't know much—)
But, he hadn't. He'd just taken a step away from them.
(—so long as I get somewhere—)
(Oh, you're sure to do that—)
How something so simple could cause such pain.
(—and that's a fact.)
However, it was only the beginning because then he spoke. Thomas spoke, and it echoed around the room with an eerie chill not even his screams had managed.
(Who are you?)
It was the feeling of paranoia and anxiety and grief personified like a ghost, moving around the room like a winter chill.
(—if you only walk long enough.)
"I don't know who you are."
(Down, down, down. Would the fall never come to an end!)
(Down, down, down. There was nothing else—)
Thomas couldn't remember them.
He couldn't remember a thing.