Author's note ~ Hope you enjoy.
Lifting Wes's head by the hair, he placed the tip of his knife against one of his tear ducts and jabbed quickly, piercing the boy's brain and instantly ending his suffering.
Wes's debt of pain had been paid, in full.
The sounds of shovels breaking through hard earth grated on the ears in the sleepy peace of the night forest. The four surviving members of Wes's gang worked slowly, painfully, as they dug a grave for their compatriot. After Wes had been executed, Alby had left Adrian to watch the prisoners while himself ran back to the center of the glade, hurrying back with digging tools – and a large canvas sack – to clean up the results of the gruesome event. Adrian had decreed that as part of their punishment the four were to bury the body themselves. Alby had added his own weight to the decision, cautioning them that if anyone tried to run or avoid their duty, they'd face banishment in the morning. The sturdy, dark skinned leader and the taller pale man stood just outside the ring of light thrown by a hastily made torch, supervising the distasteful activity. The body, hastily shrouded in rough cloth, cast a hauntingly alien shadow in the dark.
As the night dragged on towards day and the grave got deeper and deeper, Alby's conscience began to override his righteous anger and thirst for vengeance. The later it got, the longer he thought about it, the more his own passive participation in the abhorrent act repulsed and unsettled him.
"I don't know if I can live with this." Alby confessed miserably, guilt wracking him. "By rights, I should banish you for what you did – and myself right along with you. What you did, what I let you do..."
"I know." Adrian said simply, his voice amazingly placid after the atrocities he'd committed. "You're not wrong in believing that I should pay for tonight. You can decide what to do with me in the morning; I won't fight you either way. Perhaps banishing me into the maze would be the gentlest – and most merciful – penalty you could choose for me." He mused.
"It's not a joke!" Alby snapped as the toxic stew of conflicting emotions boiled inside him, stretching him to the limit of his control. "Banishment is a death sentence. Surely you've heard of Grievers by now? Anyone exiled outside those walls at night faces an excruciating death by those hideous beasts. Maybe I should let them have you!"
Adrian laughed mirthlessly, sparking a cigarette to life. The orange glow of the ember flickering across his face made him look almost demonic in the deep blackness of the woods.
"Sorry, do you think that scares me? Should it? What do you think waits for me when I leave here?" Adrian said grimly, exhaling smoke with a deep, heavy sigh. "Five course meals and a spa day? D'you think that they'll call me back, we'll have a nice chat, then they'll send me home to my family? Of course not." He snorted, shaking his head. "Whatever you decide, I've already received my death sentence, Alby; I got it the day they sent me up here. Anything you do to me, anything the Grievers could, even what I did to that evil little pissant tonight, they're barely paper-cuts compared to what's in store for me when your 'creators' get their hands on me again."
"You're full of klunk. What would be the point? There's no way one person could take that much pain."
"You'd be surprised," Adrian admonished darkly, puffing on his smoke. "There's an infinite array of tech out there, and one whole branch of it is designed specifically to keep people alive through the most unspeakable, heinous, soul crushing pain you can imagine. Hearts, lungs, important internal organs, they give up and go in to shock, shutting down for good after a person's hit their individual pain threshold. With access to the wonders of technology, a determined individual can keep their victim alive far, far past the point when their bodies would have given in and failed. If I'm lucky, I'll find a way to die before they get me back. If not...I can look forward to days, weeks, or even months of excruciating, all consuming pain before they eventually let me die. I had a small, small taste of it before I came up. You'll forgive me if the thought of a quicker, easier death actually sounds appealing to me."
"Is that why you – did what you did to We– to him tonight? So that I'd banish you and get it over with?"
"No." Adrian said firmly. "There is actually a purpose, a reason behind why I chose that particular form of punishment for him. I could have slit his throat, or tied a noose and hanged him." Adrian explained with a kind of detached patience. "I could have let you shoot him with your bow. I could have said 'go ahead and banish him'. But. None of those kind, gentle by comparison deaths address the seriousness of his crimes; for the immense suffering he caused, for the lingering trauma that his victim will have to live with, all his life, for the life of another boy driven to kill himself instead of facing the sexual abuse of someone he should have been able to rely on, he earned the pain I gave him. True justice dictates the punishment be equal to the crime; believe it or not, what I chose to do was actually the quickest – and possibly most merciful – of the various forms of redress I considered. And the most fitting, for a gutless coward like him."
Alby shuddered, bringing his arms up and pressing the heels of his hands to his aching eyes.
"I can't believe I gave you permission to take over. I've never felt such rage, such a desire to make someone suffer like that before. I was drowning in it. I don't know what the shuck I was thinking. But I'm the leader. I'm the leader. Even if he deserved death, even if I admit he deserved to suffer, I shouldn't have let you take over. It's my responsibility. It's my job to keep the peace, to maintain order, and punish any guilty parties. I should have..."
"What?" Adrian asked, courteously. "You should have what? Done something so utterly against your nature that you'd suffer, for the rest of your life, just because you're the leader? There are many, many different kinds of people, Alby; those who will begrudgingly and uncomfortably cause pain only if and when completely unavoidable, and those who will wade in and righteously get their hands dirty to spare another the task. There are people who can live with the consequences of inflicting violence on others, and others who would drown in guilt. If our positions had been reversed tonight, if it was your hand on the knife, you wouldn't survive it. Because of who you are, you just wouldn't. I can. I will. It won't eat at me the way it would you."
"One of these days," Alby said levelly, "We're going to sit down, and you're going to have to tell me your history.."
"One of these days," Adrian agreed grudgingly, after a moment of thought, "And with enough alcohol, it might be a relief to do just that."
They fell silent again, watching the four figures working. The body was in the ground, the hole almost filled.
"What am I going to tell the others?" Alby whispered.
"The truth." Adrian replied flatly. "Or rather, a mildly edited version of the truth. Wes committed the ultimate crime; he harmed, even killed another glader. He paid the ultimate price. You make it clear that this kind of thing is unforgivable, and a horrible end awaits any who would choose to act as he did. The boys will gossip, speculate, come to their own conclusions. After a while, they'll make up their own ghastly version of what happened, and it'll get so well circulated that in the end they'll believe it as fact. And no one will ever consider forcing someone again, out of utter fear of the consequences."
"What about these shanks? They'll spread the real story like fire in kindling; I doubt it'll even take a full day for everyone to know exactly what you did. And once they do, they'll scream for your banishment. I guarantee it."
"Oh, I doubt that very much." Adrian stated confidently, turning away and easily snapping a long thin branch from tree he'd been leaning against. Handing the stick to Alby, he waited until the last shovel full of dirt was firmly packed in place.
"It's been a long night, boys. We're all tired, and I think we can agree that we're all ready for this nightmare to be over. I need to address two more quick things, then you can go your separate ways."
The four reprehended boys waited numbly to be told their fate, none really knowing what to expecting.
"First, you will speak of this night to no one. Not your friends, not the guys you work with, not even each other. You never talk about tonight, and the events that transpired here. If anyone asks you, you tell them you don't know, and don't want to know. If I hear so much as a whisper, get the faintest inkling that you've been nattering about this, you best hope that Alby here has time to lock your idiot asses outside those walls before I find you. Do you understand?"
They all nodded rapidly, frantically, gratefully. They were ready to accept any conditions, do anything asked of them to avoid facing a repeat of Wes's gory demise.
"Good." Adrian said curtly. "Then we're almost done here. One last little thing; you've inflicted pain on others, forcing yourself on those who did not want you. To make absolutely sure you understand the gravity of what you've done, and to give you a taste of the damage you so readily visited upon others, you will each be beaten. This is the final piece of your restitution. You will stand and take it, you will seek no help from the med hut or Jeff, dealing with the pain on your own until you're healed. And we will consider this whole ugly event closed and over, fully dealt with."
Each of the four hung their heads, shuddering in an odd mix of shame over their actions, trepidation at the coming pain and a crushing relief that their penance didn't involve death – or the loss of an essential body part. Adrian turned back to look at the leader, eyebrows quirked questioningly.
"Alby?"
Understanding, grateful, Alby walked over with the switch in his hand. This was something he could do. It actually made him feel more confident, more sure of his leadership to take an active part in the punishment of the guilty. Seeing the intent in the boy's eyes, Adrian moved out of the way, and listened as the switch whistled through the air.
While Adrian couldn't fault Alby's enthusiasm or technique he did feel that the leader let the boys off easy, only striking each a dozen times before moving on to the next. After all had received the same treatment, Adrian nodded to them, waving a hand in a shooing gesture.
"You're paid in full. As long as you keep your mouths shut and your hands to yourselves, I have no further business with you. Now, get the hell out of here."
Needing no further invitation the boys high tailed it away in a limping sprint, scattering like sand thrown into the wind. Adrian heaved a great gusty sigh of fatigue, giving in to his hammering headache and pressing his thumbs into his burning eyes. He felt rather than heard Alby step up behind him.
"You should go home, take a few hours down. You look like utter klunk." Alby stated, confidence once again ringing in his voice.
"I'll take the time, but I'm not ready to head back yet. I need some time to unwind first."
"Understandable."
"Do me one more favor, will you?" Adrian asked, his voice drained, continuing at Alby's affirmative shrug. "Go to my place in the morning and collect Newt? I know he'll panic if someone doesn't show up, and I flat out don't have the energy to handle him right now."
"Yeah, right. Sure. Speaking of Newt." Alby spat in a suddenly bitter voice. "You knew, didn't you? You HAD to know. Why the shuck didn't you tell me?"
Adrian shook his head at the leader's naivety, offering a brief morose smile before turning and vanishing into the dark woods.
"It wasn't mine to tell."
The sun had barely brightened the sky with morning when Newt woke, still curled into a tight ball in Adrian's bed. Part of him, a larger part than he'd care to admit, wanted nothing more than to close his eyes again and ignore the new day. He was warm, comfortable. Safe. He could just stay here, tucked away, until Adrian came back.
Adrian.
Thoughts of the man and how he'd rescued him the night before flooded Newt's thoughts. He shoved the blanket off, rolling until he sat on the edge of the bed. Looking around, it was painfully obvious the man hadn't yet returned.
Adrian.
Where was Adrian?
He gripped his head with both hands, fighting against a growing urge to panic. His chest grew tight, and his breath came in fearful little gasps. It was the pitiful, helpless sounds coming from his own mouth that finally forced him back to the present moment – and forced him to take a good, hard look at how he was handling the whole messy situation.
Not well, he concluded. Not well at all.
Steeling himself, he straightened out of his hunch, balling his hands into fists on his thighs to stop them from trembling. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, bullying it back to a more normal rate. Once he was reasonably calm, he put a conscientious effort into examining his actions during, and reactions to the events of last twelve hours. With the quiet time, he was able to see himself with distressing clarity.
He was appalled by exactly how weak, how helpless he'd been.
Worse, far worse, he realized that he'd chosen to be weak and helpless. Instead of standing and fighting, he'd run, scrambled off like an obedient child sent to bed early. True, he'd fled out of fear and shock, so blind with the combination that he was lucky he didn't end up wandering in circles, lost in the woods until morning. He could forgive himself for instinctively running away, fleeing to safety. He could even forgive himself for having a mini breakdown when he got back to the house, when the understanding that he was safe completely overwhelmed him.
But staying here, nestling into the bed and hiding from the world, leaving his friend in the company of those...beasts? That was cowardice. Sniveling under the covers and expecting someone else to deal with his demons? That was selfish. And refusing to go back out there, to stand with Adrian, to have his friend's back? That made him unreliable, a rotten cherry on top of his own shameful little cake.
He'd been a whining, quivering coward. A wilting flower, begging for a hero. A spineless milksop.
And that was unforgivable.
Never again. Newt told himself firmly, hardening his resolve. Never again will I run off like a gormless shank while someone fights my battles for me. Never again will I let a case of the collywobbles stop me from standing with my friends. And I will never, NEVER leave a friend behind again.
Intent on living up to his resolutions, he shoved his feet into his shoes and had just stood up when a no-nonsense rap-rap-rap sounded at the door. Without thinking Newt quickly strode over and removed the bar, yanking the door open, determined to show Adrian a new, stronger Newt.
"Add – Alby." Newt amended, surprised, looking around his friend for the man. "What are you doing here? Where's Adrian?"
Alby grunted and shrugged, stepping past Newt and into the house.
"Shuck if I know. He...how did he phrase it...needed some time to unwind. He asked me to come get you. How're you doing?"
Perfect, Newt thought, filled with loathing for himself. I'm such a thumb-sucking sissy that someone has to come check up on me. A little kid, needing a babysitter. Not anymore.
"I'm fine, just bloody peachy. Why wouldn't I be?"
Alby watched him, an unfathomable expression on his face.
"Jim came to me in a panic last night." Alby said conversationally, intentionally ignoring the way Newt tensed up at the name. "He dragged me off into the woods, gibbering nonsense about how Adrian had taken Wes and his crew hostage, how he was going to kill them. When we got to them, Adrian had things well in hand. And everything came out. All the dirty little details." Alby let him absorb that for a minute.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Tell you what?" Newt said angrily, instantly defensive, his face flushed with temper. "That they liked to get handsy? That I apparently look so much like a bloody girl that they made me their favorite? That I'm so weak, so helpless that I couldn't fend them off? What shucking good would that have done?!"
"They've been dealt with." Alby said brusquely, cutting off Newt's tirade. "They've been punished for what they've done. And you can bet your ass they won't be playing their sick little games with you, or anyone else, ever again. "
"What did you do?" Newt demanded, shocked. "You and Adrian, what did you do?"
"What needed to be done." Alby asserted firmly, starting to really believe it himself. "Now, better get your ass to breakfast. I want all hands on deck this morning."
Newt nodded, both curious and concerned by the order. Alby paused in the doorway before he left, his back to his old friend. His voice was wounded, and tinged with an unexpected sadness.
"You should have told me, Newt. You should have trusted me."
He walked away without looking back.
There was a frisson of nerves in the air as breakfast wound down; the gladers weren't used to morning meetings. Even the runners had been asked to wait, delaying the start of their daily run. Speculations ran high, and everyone was gossiping with their neighbors about what the hot topic could be. Silence fell instantly when Alby stood at the front of the group, and he began without preamble.
"Yesterday it came to my attention that one among us had broken our cardinal rule. Never harm another glader. Wes of the slicers, when faced with no way out, confessed to the habitual rape of one of our lost boys. His victim, Eric, killed himself rather than face the misery being forced on him. Afterwards, Wes continued his sadistic little hobby, choosing and using others in Eric's place."
You could have heard a fly pass, the gladers were so quiet. Alby's voice shook with vexation as he spoke, keeping all attention breathlessly focused on him. Scanning the crowd he caught sight of Newt sitting with his other runner friends. His gaze hardened, and he nodded once, keeping his eyes locked on Newt's.
"Judgment was passed, and Wes paid dearly for his crimes. Last night, he faced a screaming, brutal, fitting death."
Most of the boys gasped, shocked at the announcement, but Alby wasn't through.
"He was a psycho, a monster, and a threat to everyone here. He deserved what he got. And let it be known, here and now." He was almost shouting, his teeth bared in disgust and an undisguised threat. "If anyone, ANYONE is stupid enough to try and get physical with someone who's not interested, if any one of you shanks refuses to take no for an answer, retribution will be swift – and irreversible." He used his hand to make a cutting gesture in the vicinity of his groin, and every watching face instantly drained of blood. "That is, before I toss the ugly slinthead into the maze for the Grievers to chew on. So either find a willing party, or keep your shucking hands to yourselves! That's it." Alby turned and walked away, letting the news settle in.
Stunned muttering broke out as the boys tried to digest the unnerving new proclamation, and the horrible consequences. As everyone, predictably, began to guess at how Wes had died, Doug and Ric huddled together with with their other two friends, exchanged scared and uncomfortable looks before staring down at their empty plates. Without a word they got up, one by one, scattering to their own areas for the day's work and trying not to wince from the bruises they carried.
The problem with having an eidetic memory is that it was literally impossible to forget something. At the far side of the glade, carefully concealed on a wide tree branch a dozen feet off the ground, Adrian wished for nothing so much as a way to turn his brain off. Cursing the lack of his music player, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the trunk of the tree, muttering poetry under his breath in an attempt to drown everything else out. Mindlessly going through the entire works of his favorite poet, one passage stood out enough to break his concentration.
By the grey woods,—by the swamp
Where the toad and the newt encamp,—
By the dismal tarns and pools
Where dwell the Ghouls,—
By each spot the most unholy—
In each nook most melancholy,—
There the traveller meets, aghast,
Sheeted Memories of the Past—
Shrouded forms that start and sigh
As they pass the wanderer by—
White-robed forms of friends long given,
In agony –
Unable to finish it, tired to the bone, Adrian dropped the poem mid line. Struggling not to sink into depression, he ignored the angry grumbling of his stomach and blanked his mind as best he could. He focused on the softly muted sounds of the forest around him, trying to muffle the memories that insisted on swimming in his head and praying desolately for some semblance of peace.
Author's note~ The poem featured in this chapter is Dream-Land, by none other than Edgar Allen Poe.
See you next chapter.