Hello there fellow Gladers,

I hope you are having a good weekend. Here is another chapter to lighten up your day. Only a short message this time!

Comments very much appericated!

See ya next time,

queenofthetear x

Chapter Thirty-Three

Never be afraid to sit awhile and think. ~ Lorraine Hansberry

Just after I heard the grind and rumble of the stone walls closing of the Doors for the day, Alby showed up looking happy and well. From what I had heard, his recovery seemed miraculous, compared to what Ben went through. The metal of key and lock jingled; then the door to the cell swung wide open.

"Ain't dead, are we?" Alby asked. From the stories I overheard, looking at Alby you wouldn't have thought that he was a paler colour then he was, his eyes crisscrossed with red veins, his skin sticking to his bones. Thomas lied to me.

Alby noticed us goggling him. "Shuck it, what you both lookin' at?"

Thomas shook his head slightly, bashing a hand against it. "What – Nothing. Just seem crazy you healed so quickly. You're fine now, right?"

Alby fled his right bicep. I rolled my eyes. "Ain't never been better – come on out."

Thomas helped me up from the floor, passed my crutches and placed the pillow under his arm. I hobbled out of the Slammer, the sun faded behind the walls. Thomas came behind me, squinting from the amount of sunlight – which wasn't that much.

Alby closed the Slammer door and locked it, then turned to face us "Actually, nothin' but a lie. I feel like a piece of klunk twice crapped by a Griever."

"Yeah, you looked it yesterday," Thomas said. Alby glared at him, and he quickly added. "But today you look brand new, I swear."

"Smooth," I mumbled.

Alby put the keys in his trouser pocket and leaned back against the Slammer's door. "So, quite the little talk we had yesterday."

At this point, it would have been best if I faded out of the picture, but my goddamn curiosity got the better of me. I stayed quiet and listened, visible but not visible.

"Uh … yeah, I remember."

"I saw what I saw, Greenie. It's kinds fadin', but I ain't never gonna forget. It was terrible. Tried to talk about it, somethin' starts choking me. Now the images are gone, like that same somethin' don't like me remembering."

There was a moment of silence, words being determined in Thomas's mind. Or was it fear? "What was it about me – you kept saying you saw me. What was I doing?"

Alby stared into empty space in the distance for a while before answering. "You were with the … Creators. Helping them. But that ain't what got me shook up."

My jaw dropped. Helping them? Why would Thomas help them? A sudden headache erupted in my head and closed my eyes to subdue it. And it did, with a brief memory.

I stood in a long hallway, the lights flickering above me. Everything around was painted white, the walls, the ceiling, the floor. Shiny and white. A heavy weight slung from shoulder, knocking against the side of my hip. I looked down to see my bag, firmly closed, my hand pushing the top down. What really caught my eye, however, was the knife squeezed within my palm. A doppelgänger of the same knife that I found stuffed in my bag covered in blood. This one was not covered in blood – it shone from the light above.

"You can't run forever!" a mocking voice echoed from behind me. I stole a glance behind me before I took off in the opposite direction. My shoes stamping against the cold, shiny ground, running to escape the voice.

"We'll find you, Space-girl!"

I turned the corner of the corridor, into another long one. Fortunately, this time there were doors littered along the walls on either side. Not stopping, I jumped to every door, twisting the knobs until I found one that would unlock.

Result. The fifth door I tried was a success and I snuck in, closing as silently as I could behind me.

I spun to face the room I found myself in, a small green light illuminating as much as it could. There was no time to wait for my eyes to readjust. I placed my hands out in front of me, tracing along (what must have been) workbenches, until I picked the right one. I followed the line of benches down, then ducked under one just before the door swung open and the lights flicked on.

I sucked in a gulp of air, then covered my hand over my face to minimize the noise of me breathing.

"I'll check this one, Tess. You check that one," said the voice that had been mocking me. He (it was a male voice) closed the door behind him, then laughed. "I know you're in here, girl. You're not that smart."

He chuckled again. I heard his steps around the room as he scoured under the tables to find me. How was I going to get out of this one? There was no exit, apart from the one I came in. Oh, why does this always happen to me.

"Gotcha," came from over the table as a hand shot from above and grabbed my hair. He yanked it up, my head smashing against the under of the table. I yelped from the surprise attack, trying to wriggle free from his grip.

"Let go," I hissed. I stabbed him in the hand with the knife, the blade piercing his skin like paper. He screamed in agony and released my hair, a few strands falling to the ground. I took my chance and leapt from my under the table, racing for the door way. The boy didn't stop, he dived for me once again, but this time I was ready. I swung my arm round and struck the boy in the face, a deep scar jagging its way from eye to chin. He roared in pain, collapsing to the ground cradling his injured arm and face.

I raced away from the boy, leaving him to bleed on the ground. My hand clutch to the door knob, ready to open when something heavy collided with the back of my skull.

I fell to the ground with a heavy thud, clutching my head and groaning. Blood littered my hand. A hand jerked me back up again, dragging me out of the room and into the bright corridor. I winced from the light, still clutching my head. I stole a glance to see the one who had pursued me, and was greeted with bright-burning green eyes.

Sense still within me, I wriggled as much as I could, trying to force myself from his grip. But, it only tightened.

"You're not getting away again, Space-girl," the look-a-like taunted, his face twisted into a sneer. We walked back around into the corridor, I had found myself in, towards a figure stood near the end, his back faced away from us. Somehow, I recognised that dark brown hair. Beside him stood a tall, pale girl with raven coloured hair and icy blue eyes. Both seemed to be in a tense argument, her hand movement's sharp and facial expression stern.

"Found the girl." The girl stopped talking, her eyes falling on me. Whatever I had done must have really pissed a few people off. "What do you want to do with her? Back in the cell?"

The boy waved a hand towards the girl, she turned to protest. The action was futile, he only waved his hand again. The girl huffed in response, before she stalked away down the other end of the corridor. He turned on his heel to face us, a disturbing smirk on his familiar face. "No, not yet. Let us have some fun."

I opened them again. Blinked once. Then twice.

I expected both Thomas and Alby to be eyeing me carefully, judging looks on their faces. But, both seemed to not have seen my little episode, probably because there wasn't anything to see. Instead, Alby had continued.

"I hope the Changing doesn't give us real memories – just plants fake ones. Some suspect it – I can only hope. If the world's the way I saw it …" He trailed off, leaving an ominous silence. I was starting to believe Alby.

I took a step away from Thomas, making sure that there was a good distance between us. There was a reason why I found him familiar. And boy 'o' boy, I wasn't going anywhere near him no more. Neither Aris.

"Can't you tell me what you saw about me?" I can surely tell you what I saw.

Alby shook his head. "No way, shank. Ain't gonna risk stranglin' myself again. Might be something they got in our brains to control us—just like the memory wipe."

"Well, if I'm evil, maybe you should leave me locked up."

"Yes," I said without thinking. Both sets of eyes fell on me, one confused, one betrayed. "Do it. He's evil I tell you."

Alby looked and Thomas, then burst into laughter, clutching his sides. "Oh, Clarke. One day and you already actin' insane."

"Ha-ha," I laughed nervously, pretending to join in with the hysterics. "Of course, silly me. My mind is already loopy. I betta go then, before you all catch it."

I didn't wait for the reply, I swiftly turned on my heel and hobbled as fast as I could away from them both. I heard Alby whisper "What's up with her?" but not the reply. With no destination in mind, I headed straight for the kitchen, hoping to relieve the hunger pains I had since the second I finished lunch. My appetite hadn't vanished, surprisingly.

I leant one of the crutches on the side of the Homestead, intent on helping myself. I hobbled to the shelves of plates and reached up for mine. Why was it placed on the top shelf? After a few attempts, I still couldn't reach it. I wasn't going to give in yet.

"You need help?" Frankie from the Kitchens asked. He was a tall lad with fiery red hair cut just short of his head. I had seen him around the Glade whenever I was close to the Kitchens, but hadn't said a word to him. I lowered myself down from trying to reach the plate, gripping the remaining crutch as best as I could.

"Erm … just my plate." I pointed to the grey metal plate that I claimed as my own. "Some idiot put it on the top shelf."

Frankie didn't reply, but crossed over and grabbed the plate that I pointed from the top shelf. Being this close, I didn't realize how tall he actually was until he came over and towered over me. How short am I?

"Thanks," I said taking the plate from him. I hobbled away from Frankie, making my way towards the front of the Kitchen.

"Hey, Clarke," Frankie called behind me. "Frypan's got stuff for ya in the Kitchen."

I nodded and followed him through. As I passed him, Frankie took the plate from me, taking the lead. Once inside, he placed a plate full of roast beef and potatoes. I licked my lips and greedily took the plate from him. I gave a very grateful reply, but was stopped before I could leave.

"You gonna leave without the cookies." My head snapped where Frankie stood, a plate of cookies in his hands. My eyes went wide. Never before had I since so many sweet things in one place. I grumbling sound erupted from my stomach, it ached for the food in on my plate and on that plate.

"Are they mine?"

"Yes, no, not all of them."

"Oh, why not?"

"You have to share."

"Share!" I acted surprised. "Not when it comes to sweet things, give them to me."

"What's this about sharing?" Thomas said behind me, making me jump out of my skins (I saved the food). I turned to see him standing in the doorway with his empty plate. "I came for the food, and whatever we are sharing."

"You know what," I said to Frankie, "keep the cookies. I'm gonna … go."

I shoved past Thomas and made for a table as close as I could get to with one crutch. The plate clattered to the table and I slid in. I ate silently by myself, savouring the taste of the beef as much as I could. It burnt my tongue, but it tasted so good.

"What's wrong with you?" Thomas said as he slid in beside me. I ignored him, and carried on with eating. "Hey, you ignoring me?"

This would have been the perfect opportunity to add a sarcastic comment, but it would have contradicted the idea of me no longer speaking. I decided to carry on eating.

"Did I do something wrong?" Thomas pestered me once more. "Look, I'm sorry for whatever I did, but please stop ignoring me."

My mouth opened to reply, but I was cut off with the arrival of Minho joining us at the table. His plate clattered on the table work, the same contents of food steaming of it.

"What's up jailbirds?" Minho said between bites. When no one replied, he looked up from his food with a questioning eye. "Have I just entered into somethin' awkward?"

"No shit," I mumbled.

"Okay, well, I'm just gonna have to change that. Thomas how you feelin' for tomorrow?"

And the subject changed from there; Minho prepping Thomas about his big day of Runner training, giving him a few stats and 'interesting' facts. It was fascinating to learn about the Runners, no matter how small the information was. They were a peculiar group, in the sense that there wasn't much said about what they did in the Maze. Not unless you asked the right questions at the right time.

The brief information that I did pick up on seemed to make the task of map reading all a less daunting. I only had to discover a way out through reading lines, they were running those lines. Every day, for two years. And yet, they still couldn't find an exit.

When we were finished, I decided not to head back to my room, but instead seek out someone to talk too. I found the person I was looking for, stretched out behind a tree, his head resting against the bark.

"Clint?" I called. The boy opened his eyes and stared into me, puzzlement at first but then it relaxed into a friendly smile. "Can I talk to you?"

"Sure," he said, as he helped me to sit down. "About what? Is it your ankle? Do you need any medicine?"

"I'm fine, stop worrying. It's about somethin' else, more like someone else." I paused. "What do you make of Thomas?"

"What do you mean?" Clint asked, his face showing confusion.

"I mean, in the sense of, do you think he could be different?"

Clint didn't reply straight away, he pondered for the right words to say. "Well, after hearing the stuff that Ben was sayin' when he was whacked and Alby, I reckon he could. But, not now. Not with no memories to stir him in that direction. Why you askin'?"

"No reason," I say as I watch my hands fumble with each other. "I just was curious to see what other people thought of him then the usually suspects."

"Speak of the devil, here's one." Clint murmured, pointing with his chin the he direction behind us. I twisted my body to see Newt making his towards us, drifting in out of a few sleeping bodies.

"Hey there, Clarke, Clint didn't see you there." Clint nodded in return. "I'm gonna have to steal Clarke away from ya. Need to sort out some circle business. Come on."

No questions asked, Newt helped me up from the floor, allowing me to place most of my weight onto his body. Once up, I motioned for him to start walking, and followed behind as best as I could. Just before I got out of reach, Clint mumbled something behind me, my ears only picking parts of it. "Be careful round Thomas, though."

I looked over my shoulder to question why he would say that, but Clint had moved from his spot beside the tree. It was pointless me to go after him and question why he would say that, so instead I followed Newt towards my room.

Inside, he closed the door and led me to my bed. Taking the crutches away once I had settled myself down. He joined me be my side and rested an arm round my shoulder. I took this invite to lean my head against his shoulder. A few sobs escaped me, no longer was I able to keep up the barrier anymore, the memory still very much raw and shaking.

"Don't cry, Clarke," Newt said as he tried to comfort me. "Tell me what's wrong. Did somethin' happen?"

"Yes, no, sorta," was all I could reply. "Remember when I told you about the nightmares I kept havin–"

"They comin' back," Newt jumped in.

I grabbed the pillow from my bed and smashed it across his face. I pushed him down, smothering him with the pillow.

"Will you let me finish before interruptin'," I tried to say as sternly as I could, but my voice cracked at the wrong moments and made myself sound like an idiot. Newt grabbed my arms and shoved me from him. I yelped in pain and retracted back to my original position. I grabbed the end of the sleeping bag and wiped away the trails of tears that marked my face. I wasn't going to cry every time something bad happened.

Newt threw the pillow off his face and stuffed back into its position on my bed. "You gonna attack me, you're gonna get hurt, shank."

I rolled my eyes and playfully punched him in his arm. "I ain't done yet."

"Go on then."

I carried on with my story, explaining the reason why I recognised Thomas and Aris and the reason why I didn't feel comfortable around them, even when I didn't show it myself or forgot entirely. I told him the way I was being chased through the corridors, the fear of being trapped in the unknown and worst of all, not knowing what happened after it finished. "There is one thing I'm certain of."

"What's that?"

"That was the last thing I did before I sent myself up. Either way, whatever happened, I got out and found a good escape."

"Not good enough," Newt added.

"I disagree, they don't remember why they were against me and I don't remember what I did, so we're all in a win-win situation. Well, I'm hoping Aris doesn't remember." I paused, and mumbled the last part. "And I got to meet you."

I leant back, shifting my body so that my head rested on his chest. I felt him stiffen for a second, then relax in the sudden human impact. His arm rested beside my body, the fingertips tapping against my hips.

"Yeah, at least there was one good thing out of this," he mumbled back.

"Newt."

"Yeah."

"You still like Thomas, right?"

"Debatable."

"But, we can't just judge him on one thing I remembered. I never saw the rest, so who knows what he actually meant."

Suddenly, I thought came to me. I sat straight, my mouth wide open in shock. The room felt brighter, all of a sudden, as if the lightbulb above lit up the room better than the one already in here.

"What?" Newt asked, him sitting on his elbows. "What? What is it?"

"I had a total bonkers idea." I turned to face him. "I think half of what I see aren't nightmares at all. You get me." Newt shook his head. "Okay, well, I believe the first 'nightmare' I had was an actually nightmare, but the rest aren't. I think I've been dreaming them, and only now they've manifested into when I'm awake. Newt, I think I'm remembering small pieces of what I did before all this."

"Wait, you mean the darkness and the hairy monster were real? And the boat?"

"Totally. And, I also have a theory why I can recall snapshots. You remember the first time I arrived, and I ran until I passed out?"

"Yeah, you screamed you're head off."

I raised my eyebrow to Newt, then carried on. "Anyway, I think WICKED hadn't had the chance to block everythin' yet."

"What do you mean everythin'?"

"Think about it Newt," I urged. I cupped the sides of his face and bought it closer to me. "Magic can't have stopped us from not remembering ourselves, because it doesn't exist. Somehow, their messin' with our minds with some sort of technology. I think that whatever is stuck in our heads is malfunctioning in mine. And stuff is leaking back in. That's why I can recall stuff and you lot can't. That's why I freaked you all out on the first day."

Newt stayed silent for a long time, his mind racing with the theory I devised out of the spur of the moment. I leant back onto the bed, his eyes staring up to the ceiling. After several moments, he tapped his chin, then his eyes found mine.

"Quite a theory, Clarke," he finally said. "And in some ways, I can see how it would work. Ludicrous, but understandable."

"Well," I flicked the end of my hair, flattered that I was starting to get some recognition in the things that I did. Start small, then aim big.

"Yet." Here we go. "We betta not tell the others."

I nodded in agreement.

"Don't want to a mini riot on our hands. There are already problems and we don't want to add any more fuel to them."

"I understand." I murmured, needn't not be told what he expected me to do. Keep silent, keep secrets. So much for the perfect order, when everything is built on secrets.

"Clarke."

"Hmm."

"Why did you call them WICKED?" Newt questioned.

Damn it. "I-I don't know."

"We've called them the Creators. How do you know to call them WICKED?"

"I saw it written in the Maze, and the beetle blades." Nice save. "Why?"

"Nothing." Newt rose from the bed, taking his cue to leave. "I'm gonna go. Night, Clarke."

He opened the door to leave, but something switched inside me and I called his name just as he was about to step through. He turned back to face me, his eyes searching into mine for why I had called him.

I took a deep breath. "Can you … erm … stay?" I asked, biting my lower lip. I couldn't meet his gaze, so ducked my head down instead.

"Sure," he replied, not asking any questions. "But we gotta be up at early to start on them Maps tomorrow."

I grinned in delight. In these moments of time, I was glad that there were people here that at least liked me, not shunned me or turned me away. I, at least, had somehow gained some happiness here, in the most unusual of circumstances. And I, for one, was going to make it last until WICKED screwed it all up again.