CHAPTER 31

Just after Dib heard the grind and rumble of stone against stone announce the closing of the Doors for the day, Letter M showed up to release him, which was a huge surprise. The metal of key and lock jingled; then the door to the cell swung wide open.

"Ain't dead, are ya, shank?" Letter M asked. He looked so much better than the day before, Dib couldn't help staring at him. His skin was back to full color, his eyes no longer crisscrossed with red veins; he seemed to have gained fifteen pounds in twenty-four hours.

Letter M noticed him goggling. "Shuck it, boy, what you lookin' at?" Dib shook his head slightly, feeling like he'd been in a trance. His mind was racing, wondering what Letter M remembered, what he knew, what he might say about him. "Wha—Nothing. Just seems crazy you healed so quickly. You're fine now?"

Letter M flexed his right bicep. "Ain't never been better—come on out." Dib did, hoping his eyes weren't flickering, making his concern obvious. Letter M closed the Slammer door and locked it, then turned to face him. "Actually, nothin' but a lie. I feel like a piece of klunk twice crapped by a Griever."

"Yeah, you looked it yesterday." When Letter M glared, Dib hoped it was in jest and quickly clarified. "But today you look brand-new. I swear."

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

Dib's heart pounded. He had no idea what to expect from Letter M at that point. "Uh ... yeah, I remember."

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

The scene from the day before flashed in Dib's mind. Letter M thrashing, trying to strangle himself— Dib wouldn't have believed it had happened if he hadn't seen it himself. Despite fearing an answer, he knew he had to ask the next question. "What was it about me—you kept saying you saw me. What was I doing?"

Letter M stared at an 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."

Dib felt like someone had just rammed their fist in his abdomen. Helping them? He couldn't form the words to ask what that meant.

Letter M 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.

Dib was confused, but pressed on. "Can't you tell me what you saw about me?" Letter M 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." Dib half meant it. "Greenie, you ain't evil. You might be a shuck-faced slinthead, but you ain't evil." Letter M showed the

slightest hint of a smile, a bare crack in his usually hard face. "What you did—riskin' your butt to save me and Zita—that ain't no evil I've ever heard of. Nah, just makes me think the Grief Serum and the Changing got somethin' fishy about 'em. For your sake and mine, I hope so."

Dib was so relieved that Letter M thought he was okay, he only heard about half of what the older boy had just said. "How bad was it? Your memories that came back."

"I remembered things from growin' up, where I lived, that sort of stuff. And if God himself came down right now and told me I could go back home ..." Letter M looked to the ground and shook his head again. "If it was real, Greenie, I swear I'd go shack up with the Grievers before goin' back."

Dib was surprised to hear it was so bad—he wished Letter M would give details, describe something, anything. But he knew the choking was still too fresh in Letter M's mind for him to budge. "Well, maybe they're not real, Letter M. Maybe the Grief Serum is some kind of psycho drug that gives you hallucinations." Dib knew he was grasping at straws.

Letter M thought for a minute. "A drug ... hallucinations ..." Then he shook his head. "Doubt it." It had been worth a try. "We still have to escape this place." "Yeah, thanks, Greenie," Letter M said sarcastically. "Don't know what we'd do without your pep talks." Again, the almost-smile.

Letter M's change of mood broke Dib out of his gloom. "Quit calling me Greenie. The Irken's the Greenie now."

"Okay, Greenie." Letter M sighed, clearly done with the conversation. "Go find some dinner—your terrible prison sentence of one day is over."

"One was plenty." Despite wanting answers, Dib was ready to get away from the Slammer. Plus, he was starving. He grinned at Letter M, then headed straight for the kitchen and food.

Dinner was awesome.

Spuddy had known Dib would be coming late, so he'd left a plate full of roast beef and potatoes; a note announced there were cookies in the cupboard. The Cook seemed fully intent on backing up the support he'd shown for Dib in the Gathering. Zita joined Dib as he ate, prepping him a little before his first big day of Runner training, giving him a few stats and interesting facts. Things for him to think about as he went to sleep that night.

When they were finished, Dib headed back to the secluded place where he'd slept the night before, in the corner behind the Deadheads. He thought about his conversation with Keef, wondered how it would feel to have parents say good night to you.

Several kids milled about the Glade that night, but for the most part it was quiet, like everyone just wanted to go to sleep, end the day and be done with it. Dib didn't complain—that was exactly what he needed.

The blankets someone had left for him the night before still lay there. He picked them up and settled in, snuggling up against the comforting corner where the stone walls met in a mass of soft ivy. The mixed smells of the forest greeted him as he took his first deep breath, trying to relax. The air felt perfect, and it made him wonder again about the weather of the place. Never rained, never snowed, never got too hot or too cold. If it weren't for the little fact they were torn apart from friends and families and trapped in a Maze with a bunch of monsters, it could be paradise.

Some things here were too perfect. He knew that, but had no explanation. His thoughts drifted to what Zita had told him at dinner about the size and scale of the Maze. He

believed it—he'd realized the massive scale when he'd been to the Cliff. But he just couldn't fathom how such a structure could have been built. The Maze stretched for miles and miles. The Runners had to be in almost superhuman shape to do what they did every day.

And yet they'd never found an exit. And despite that, despite the utter hopelessness of the situation, they still hadn't given up.

At dinner Zita had told him an old story—one of the bizarre and random things she remembered from before—about a woman trapped in a maze. She escaped by never taking her right hand off the walls of the maze, sliding it along as she walked. In doing so, she was forced to turn right at every turn, and the simple laws of physics and geometry ensured that eventually she found the exit. It made sense.

But not here. Here, all paths led back to the Glade. They had to be missing something. Tomorrow, his training would begin. Tomorrow, he could start helping them find that missing something. Right then Dib made a decision. Forget all the weird stuff. Forget all the bad things. Forget it all. He wouldn't quit until he'd solved the puzzle and found a way home.

Tomorrow. The word floated in his mind until he finally fell asleep.