Chapter Eight

Heart hammering, I duck behind the trunk of the tree, hidden from the soft glow of the moon. My ears are alert, listening intently for the slightest of sounds, and my breaths are shallow as I press my stomach against the jagged bark, watching, waiting. My hair, freshly cut, gets caught in the wood, and as I tug at it, I see a flash of silver out of the corner of my eye: gun. My thin, slender fingers wrap around the weapon nestled in my pocket without hesitation, ready. A branch breaks behind me, sending an ominous crack spiralling through the deserted forest like a clap of thunder, and also sending me running in the opposite direction with a piercing pain in my chest.

"Freeze!" a voice calls, loud, demanding, forcing a jolt of panic up my spine like an electric current as I whip around to face my attacker. Dropping my gun with a clank, I stop moving and throw my hands in the air, tears streaming down my cheeks, trembling…

With laughter, of course.

Tobias drops the plastic gun and tackles me, pinning my hands to the ground. Our laughs mingle, ringing out into the indigo sky, and I cry out for mercy. "Okay, okay!"

"Say it!" he demands, leaning closer. His nose brushes mine, and I giggle, scrunching mine up defiantly.

"Never! Not for a thousand cherry tomatoes!"

"Admit it!" Toby cries. I smirk and place a tiny kiss on his nose, causing a rose-coloured blush to spread across his cheeks, joining the flush of exercise. He stutters, "A-admit it!"

"Fine," I drawl, rolling my eyes. "But only because I'm sick of your whining. Ahem… Tobias Eaton, soon-to-be Dauntless prodigy — in three to four years, pending — is better than me at throwing knives."

A look of satisfaction joins the blush and the flush, and he smiles proudly; suddenly, I don't feel bad about compromising my dignity. "And…?" he eggs on, still holding me down.

"And he gets to have my dessert tonight." What a shame — I love cherry tomatoes. Alas, I should not have taken him on. "Now get off me. You're getting dirt in my hair, and Christina will actually kill me, since I can't tell her it was your fault."

"About that…" He rolls off me and helps me sit up, picking a stray leaf out of my hair and playfully presenting it to me like a rose. Rolling my eyes, I swat his hand away. He grins, continuing. "Has Mama said anything to you? You know, about me… telling people where I am?"

"She said she's working on Marcus, but it's not safe yet." I sigh, caressing his cheek. "I know it sucks, but we can't risk it."

Toby shrugs. "Hey, Zeke and Uri aren't such bad company."

"Shut up. You love them."

Today, it has been three years since the incident with Peter. Christina took me into her arms the second I walked through the infirmary's swinging double doors, going on and on about how sorry she was for doubting my friendship, how grateful she was for me standing up for her. After a period of prank-free punishment, Uriah joined us by anonymously trashing Peter's locker: the perfect comeback. Now, her and Uri are my closest friends — apart from Tobias, of course. Zeke and Toby hit it of like I knew they would when we finally introduced them, properly.

Uriah and Zeke are the only two people whom we trusted with knowing about Tobias; even Christina has never met him, nor does she know that he is still alive. Everyone in the city knows of him — posters line every street corner with his name accompanied by the words, 'missing child.' Mama says that if anyone found out that we've been hiding him, she could get charged with kidnapping.

For some reason or another, Andrew still hasn't turned Tobias in. Now that I am older, I understand more. I understand that Andrew's change was as sudden as life and death, and it happened that night… the night that Mama cut my hair. The night that I asked about Tobias for the first time. The night that Marcus came over for dinner.

The brothers have been helping Mama train us — she says that we are too young to decide which faction we will choose now, and we haven't taken the Aptitude Test yet, but she is training us in both self-defence and combat so that we have the option of choosing Dauntless when the time comes. I think the self-defence is for more than that.

Zeke sometimes smuggles us knives — well, he doesn't smuggle them. It turns out that Hana, their mother, was Mama's best friend when they were in Dauntless. She even got us a small handgun, but Mama says we aren't allowed to use it until we are thirteen. That means that Tobias only has another year before he can use it, but I still have three. We don't know where she keeps the gun, or if it's even loaded, but she lets us use these plastic guns to practice our stances. Tonight, Toby decided to challenge me to a duel to see which of us could corner the other — check mate.

Caleb just sticks to normal chess. He's been tutoring Tobias when we get home from school; it's an excuse for him to study higher level material. Sometimes, I sit and listen — it's helpful for me, too. At this point, Caleb and I are at the top of our grade, although we try to tone it down to lower suspicion. If anyone finds out that Mama is letting us break Abnegation rules, she says it could be bad.

Andrew has been staying with Marcus and, in the time he's been there, he has been promoted to Vice Leader of Abnegation. Honestly, he is the last person to deserve that; he is the most selfish person I know.

Vice (noun): immoral or wicked behaviour. Caleb's dictionary sits under my bed, hidden away, but I look through it when I don't know what a word means. Mama told me that Vice means something else in this context, but I still think it describes Andrew. Immoral for all the times he's come around our house, flat out drunk, screaming obscenities and threats at Mama. Wicked for the time we weren't home, and he found Tobias, alone…

Since that day, all of us keep a throwing knife under our pillows. Although just the thought of stabbing someone shakes me to my core, I know I would do it to protect my brother, Mama, or Toby. I am Dauntless; I am brave.

"You got me there," Tobias admits, hauling me to my feet. "I do love them. And Caleb, and Mama…" He trails off, and I feel a pang in my chest when he leaves my name out. I understand — there is no reason he should love me. Plain, grey, selfish me.

Weakly, I smile at him and turn away, trudging through the mud, plastic gun in a loose grip, dangling from my fingers. I know I love Tobias; I have since I saw him, beaten and broken, leaning against that brick wall in Thomas' arms. It's a different kind of love than Caleb's, or Mama's, or even Uriah's… but that doesn't mean that I know what kind it is. He confuses me, that boy with the blue eyes.

He jogs, catching up to me, and when I look up at him, his irises are the colour of the ten o'clock sky. The lighter patches are less prominent in the dark, but as we are struck by the moonlight, they shimmer like the waterfall a few miles north — it's not so much a waterfall as a fountain of nature, but beautiful nonetheless. We walk towards it, listening for the familiar trickle of running water against black rocks, coals almost, and the sizzle of the cool liquid hitting the scorching pavement.

As we enter the hidden cavern, I kneel by the black rocks, picking one up and tossing it in my hands. The smoothness of the stone reminds me of the one in my pocket, the Dauntless stone that Tobias gave to me three years ago. I run the warm stone under the freezing water, revelling in the imbalanced oppositeness, when it hits me.

"This is where you found it," I say, and he nods. I rise to my feet and drop the newer rock, the rock with no memories, in the river. Plop. Taking my old stone from my pocket, the special one that he gave me before I left for school, I hold it, noticing how it is matte in some places where I rubbed the sheen off. I like the feel of those places more, because they are worn with love. "How did you find this place? When did you go? Mama was with you the whole time…"

Here, the moonlight only hits half his face, reflecting off the glimmering water like a crystal, sending bursts of blue light across the cavern. The shadows bounce off the other side of his face, giving and taking, a perfect harmony of light and dark. I notice how handsome he is now that he has grown into himself. He's lost his childish cheeks and replaced them with slender features; his ears are slightly pointed, nose broad and strong, and his lips have grown full and wide. Mama has cut his hair so it is no longer halfway down his neck, and now it nicely frames his face. I think twelve suits him even better than nine.

"I had it with me before I met you," he explains, pulling me down with him so we are sitting on the rocks. Sprays of white-blue river caress my cheeks, and the rush of water is soothing, as is the way he strokes my hair; I let only him see me with my hair down. "I found it the night before you came and saved me from a living nightmare." If only he didn't still have sleeping nightmares…

I close my eyes, humming quietly as he runs his fingers through my golden locks. "Why did you give it to me? It's obviously special to you."

"So are you," he replies without hesitation, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "That's why I gave it to you. Because I love you."

He loves me.

"I love you too," I say, and I realize that I didn't even have to think about it. It seems that he didn't, either. There was no nervousness, no jitters, no hesitation between us. And once he said those words, I believed him. He didn't need to convince me, just to tell me. "But, Tobias, I need you to know that I don't understand this, yet."

"Me neither," he agrees. "All I know is that I love you. Not like I love Caleb or Mama, but like I love you."

The silence that follows is comforting, like the sounds of the waterfall, and I remember a word from Caleb's dictionary: serene. His arms around me are warm despite the returning winter chill, and both of us can feel the shift around us, like everything has just changed, and yet feels the same: cozy, comfortable, close… the same, but with the knowledge of a shared love, almost too good to be true.

This is the first time of soon-to-be many that I destroy something too good to be true: the silence. It's just like me to ease into complete and utter destruction.

"We should go home," I say, standing up and brushing dust from my knees. My robe is soiled from the soot on the ground, but I can't bring myself to care. I will wash it with Tobias' slacks later. "It's way past sunset, and I don't want to make Mama worry."

He gestures to a bag, still filled to the brim with food. "We forgot to distribute."

"Right," I groan, pulling him up. "Do you think they'll be asleep yet?"

He shakes his head. "When I was part-time factionless, I wasn't asleep until midnight. We have a solid hour or two."

"Alright then," I say, pocketing my Dauntless stone. "Let's get started."

It takes us a half hour to work across the sector. Finally, we reach Althea's spot, the girl who wore my coat. She's grown out of it by now, but I managed to find her a new one. Her mother, Anna, smiles at us as we near, but her daughter is nowhere to be found.

"Anna!" I call, excitedly, as we haven't spoken in a while. "Where's Thea?" As she is my age — well, a year younger — Althea and I have grown close over the past few years. The bag slung over Tobias' shoulder has her favourite hidden at the bottom: chicken noodle, cold. I might have felt bad making him hold it if it weren't for his growing muscles.

"She's out on a scavenger hunt," Anna replies, taking one loaf of bread graciously. "Give the rest to someone else, please. We've been doing so well, lately, ever since I got my bus driving job."

Anna drives the school bus every morning, one of the best opportunities for a factionless person. Her parents must have gotten her the job — she was from Abnegation, the daughter of a government official, and had just finished initiation when it was found out that she was pregnant with Althea out of wedlock. Although abstinence is a tacit law, taught by families instead of schools, Marcus had her thrown out, days after becoming an independent. What happened of the father, I don't know.

I smile at her, and Tobias goes to give the rest of the bread to a man a few feet down. I see him pause for a second, as if in conversation, and I immediately know that he is asking about Thomas. So far, no one has seen him, spoken to him, or even heard of him. It's like he doesn't exist. Dejectedly, Tobias returns, just as an energetic bundle of warm winter coat charges towards us.

"Tris!" she cries out as she lunges at me, wrapping her arms around my waist. Althea is small for her age — nine, a year younger than me — because of her malnutrition, but Toby and I have tried to get her back on track. Her startling blue eyes shine up at me, the colour of an ocean, and her hair, black like Anna's, is knotted and unkempt.

Anna grabs her off of me and smiles apologetically, but I wave her off, unfazed. This is just Althea's affectionate way of greeting me. "Hey, Thea! What's happening?" Something is always happening.

She holds her fists out, and I see that she is holding something underneath. Then she sees that bag that Toby is holding, and her eyes widen. "Is there…?"

I nod, and she squeals, hugging Tobias as I grab her soup. He stiffens, but only for a moment. He's gotten much better at touch, and I can tell that he holds affection for the little girl. "Here, Angel. For you," he says holding out the can. Anna takes the soup, as Althea's hands are full…

"It's a gift. For Tobias. But," she giggles and opens her palms to reveal… nothing, "it's not in here. Hold on." Althea ruffles through a pile of clothes against the wall, a unique bounce in her step. "Here it is. Take it!"

It's stunning, a circle weaved with taut strings drawn to the center and beaded feathers hanging from the edges. The plumes are grey and white, hints of brown ombré fading from the tips. The thing sways in the ever-present wind like a bird learning to fly, bracing itself to be carried by the gale, clasped from a delicate spiral in Althea's fingers.

"A dreamcatcher," she tells Tobias as he takes it gently from her grasp. "For your nightmares. May they never return." His nightmares have come every night for three years. Every night. If they never returned, we would owe this girl our lives.

Startled, Tobias gasps. "How did you know?"

"I saw you," she whispers, staring at the ground. "Back when that older man took care of you. When you lived here, like I do, but only at night… I saw the red on your shirt, and I figured you'd been through so much. So, I made you this for the nightmares that you must have."

"You saw Thomas?" I ask, as I was beginning to think he was a ghost. "Have you seen him since?"

She nods, the first in a long line. "I saw him just now, camped out by the forest. He was on the floor, but he was awake, and he was watching two people… I couldn't see their faces, but they looked about your age."

"Althea!" Anna scolds. "What were you doing in the forest?"

"Looking for some feather-plumes, Mama!"

I tuned out the rest of their exchange, lost in my own thoughts. Thomas was in the forest? Was he… watching us? But why… Tobias catches my eye — he's been silent for a while. I look up at him, and his eyes are shining with tears.

"Toby?" I whisper. Althea, confused, watches as Tobias kneels in front of her and takes her hand.

"Thank you, Angel," he says, holding up the dreamcatcher. "For the gift." She smiles, and I realize that it's the first time he's touched someone willingly. My heart swells with a wave of affection for the girl as Toby stands up, bidding them farewell. She seems so small, so young, despite being only a year younger than me.

"Visit more," Anna says, waving us off, her chocolate brown eyes shimmering with appreciation. "Maybe one of these days, I'll make you dinner."

"One day," I echo with a grin, following Tobias down the cemented road. We walk in step, in perfect sync, our joined hands swinging between us to the beat of our hearts. Thomas is forgotten, and with the dreamcatcher dangling from Tobias' slender fingers, maybe the nightmares of the past can be forgotten as well.

What I don't realize, however, is that nightmares are a figment of the mind, and the mind does not forget what it creates, what it is proud of, and continues to haunt us in that inescapable manner that not even strings and beads and feathers can take away.

We walk, arms swinging, innocent smiles plastered to our faces.

"Mama?" I call out, closing the door gently behind me. Tobias walks ahead, twiddling with the soft plumes between his fingers. As the door clicks, I notice that Mama's shoes are not neatly placed on the rack, but rather strewn carelessly about, and the welcome mat is tucked in at the sides in a way that drives her crazy.

The hallway is eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that makes a symphony of everyday sounds; the chime of the curtains as they clink against windows become the bells, the whistle of the wind is the melody, and the battering of my heart against my ribs becomes the bass. We trudge on through familiar halls, Tobias's hand snaking into mine, and there is a pulsing in his palm that is unintentionally unnerving.

"Mama?" he shouts, voice bouncing off the walls like in the cavern. When we pass the kitchen, I catch a glimpse of metal, tugging Tobias to a stop: a knife, freshly sharpened, edges gleaming maliciously like a killer's smile. I sigh in relief when I see a cutting board beside it, loaded with freshly diced onions, and run a hand through my hair. In seconds, I tie it up with the elastic around my wrist, immediately missing the slight pressure of the tresses against the small of my back; it is replaced by Tobias' hand, warm, comforting.

"What's going on?" I cry as he leads me through the house, holding me behind him like a shield. I know he would rather me stay somewhere safer, but he would not leave me, not now. "Where is Mama?"

"I don't know, Bea, but keep your voice down," he scolds in a hushed whisper, the edge of his voice sharp as the knife on the kitchen counter. A creak sounds from the floorboards beneath the fraying carpeting, and he presses me into the wall, covering my body with his back. Long, silver scars peek from his shirt collar, making me shiver with fright as I remember just how unsafe a person can be in their own home.

Another creek echoes, and a figure darts across the room. Tobias' tenses, and a cry falls from my lips as I slip out from behind him, a sort-of war cry; if there is danger coming, I will not stand idle and let him die for me. That is not who I am.

The figure is Mama, I realize as she pulls us into her arms. "Thank God, you are both okay." Her sobs fill the air, raking through her body, and her arms shake around us.

"Mama," Tobias soothes, rubbing her shoulder gently. "What happened?" Her sobs grow louder, strangled, and an unintelligible word, like a rush of air, is pushed through her lips.

"Le… Le…"

I grasp her arms, making her look me in the eyes, which I am sure are shining with worry. Hysteria pours off her like sweat, and her eyes are bloodshot, red as the fiery sun draping over the mountains. "What? Mama…"

"Ca.. Cale—"

My heart stops in that moment… or maybe it is beating so fast that I can't even feel it anymore. The pain in my ribs is excruciating, so unimaginable that I don't even realize that it's in my head. It's real pain, physical pain, like I've been stabbed, and one word repeats itself in my mind:

Caleb, Caleb, Caleb, Caleb, Caleb….

When I take off running, I notice how black spots cover my vision, how the ground sways beneath my feet, how my lungs have shrivelled up into raisons like a smoker's, but I keep going, each slap of my bare feet against the floor louder than the last, longer than the last, slower than the last. A dark liquid seeps from the carpet as I reach the top of the stairs, staining my feet with red, squishing between my toes, and as my hands break through the door and its wood splinters my palms, I fall to my knees. A sight befalls me, one that will forever be etched under my eyelids, one that will haunt me whenever I close my eyes.

My brother lays on the ground of his own bedroom, jaw unhinged, tongue hanging limp over the side of his mouth like a dead cow, and he is drenched in blood, a deep crimson like cherry tomatoes.