The Labyrinth: Chapter Sixteen
The boy seemed to be sleeping peacefully, his chest rising and falling in a rhythmic beat. Standing there, I expected to see a skeletal body of a person that was on the verge of death, not someone who looked like they would wake up at any second. From the look of him, he must have been round my age or older. He wasn't young, the sharpness of his cheeks with no fullness to them. His hair was dark and cut short. Colour perked his cheeks instead of a deathly pale. A gash jagged along his face, standing out against his olive skin.
Clint bent over the body, dropping water into the coma-boy a few drips at a time. A bowl rested on the bedside table holding the remains of his lunch – soup. It seemed that they were doing everything in their power to keep this boy alive.
"Clint," Newt said, grabbing the attention of the Med-jack. "He still alive?"
"Yeah," he answered. "He's doing fine, though he does talk in his sleep. We reckon he'll come out of it soon."
It felt strange talking about the boy possibly waking up and being fine. Talking to people around him. I would reckon everyone had forgotten about him over the few days since he turned up, I certainly had.
"Have you been writin' down every word?" Newt enquired. Clint nodded.
"Most of it's hard to understand. But yeah, we have."
Newt pointed at a notepad. "Give me an example."
"Well, he mutters the same thing he said when he was pulled out of the Box, about things changing. A few things about the Creators and how 'it all has to end'. And, uh …" Clint looked at Thomas, not wanting to continue unless he was out of the room.
"It's okay – they can hear whatever I hear," Newt assured him.
"It's him I'm not okay with," Clint mumbled, but continued anyway in a louder voice. "Well … it's hard to make out, but he uses their names a lot. More of Thomas's."
Thomas whitened at this, his face scrunching up in an act of displeasure. He didn't take it very well. There seemed to be countless references to him (I got a couple of mentions) that all ended in the same way. The look on his face gave away entirely what he was thinking. How did he know this boy?
My question: how did he know me?
"Thanks, Clint" Newt said in what sounded like a dismissal. "Get a full report of that, okay?"
"Will do." The Med-jack nodded at both of them and left the room.
"Pull up a chair," Newt said as he sat on the edge of the bed. Newt grabbed one for me whilst Thomas took the other one from the desk and placed it to where the boy's head lay. He leant in and studied his face.
"What's he doing?" I hissed at Newt who had placed himself behind me.
Newt shrugged his shoulders. "Anything ring a bell?" Newt asked him. "Anything at all?"
Thomas didn't response, instead he kept looking at the boy to trigger any sort of memory. It was hard to forget a face like his. I noticed the way Thomas looked at him, in a way a brothers look at each other (blood related or not). It lasted for only an instant before his memory wipe snatched it away.
I, on the other hand, had nothing. The only person that I admitted to even recognising was Thomas. And that was dreams. This guy. Nothing. Seeing both the coma-boy and Thomas in the same room spelled bad trouble for me. It didn't seem right seeing them there together.
"I do know him," Thomas whispered as he leant back on his chair.
"What? Who is he?" Newt snapped.
"No idea. But something clicked – I know him from somewhere." Thomas rubbed his eyes in frustration. "I'm trying, so shut up."
"I just don't–" Thomas jolted up from his chair, knocking it backwards, then spun in a circle as if he was searching for something.
"What's wrong?" I asked with a curious eye. "Did you remember somethin'?"
Thomas ignored me, continuing to look round the room in confusion, then back at the boy.
"I …" He picked up his chair and sat back down, leaning forward. "Clarke, did you just say something before I stood up?"
"No, why?"
"Oh. I just thought I heard something … maybe I'm imagining things." Thomas rubbed the back of his neck. "All this concentrating is making me hear things."
"Maybe it's another memory, keep thinking," Newt pushed him.
Thomas glanced at the boy. "It's making my head hurt–" He's eyes lit up and he stared straight at me. "You didn't talk."
I shot a look at Newt. "What's going on?" I asked him.
Thomas jumped in his chair. "Your mouth didn't move but I heard a voice."
"That's cause Newt was talking." I pointed to Newt.
"No, no," Thomas dismissed with a wave of his hands. "I heard him. There was another voice. I heard it better. And it wasn't yours."
"Why would you be hearing faces like mine?"
"Cause I heard a girl's voice in my head. And she told me his name is Aris."
Newt and I stared at each other then we burst out laughing. That was the craziest thing I had ever heard.
"It was … I swear I heard it. But in my mind, I can't explain." Suddenly, Thomas jumped from his chair and scrambled as far from the bed as he could, knocking over the lamp on the table. It landed with a crash and broken glass.
"What's bloody wrong with you?" Newt asked, crossing over to him.
"In my head. She keeps talking to me in my head. She just said my name!"
"What?"
"I swear!"
Thomas struggled to get up from floor, knocking the table with him. His eyes were wide with fear. He never quite focused on one thig in the room, looking at random spots.
"I'm hearing a voice, her voice in my head – or something … it's not really a voic–"
"Tom, just sit down. You're gettin' yourself all worked up over nothing," I asserted. He was stressed from the day. This was a mistake. Newt shouldn't have dragged us up here. "I think we should stop."
Newt agreed. "We'll pick this up another day. Go get some water from Frypan. You need some for your loopy head."
"You don't believe me," Thomas breathed. "You believed her story but you don't believe mine."
"I never said I believed Clarke's story," Newt remanded. "I listened to it and took it in. Like I am now."
"You don't believe me," I whispered. Newt glanced down seeing the hurt in my eyes.
"No … I didn't mean it like that," Newt stuttered. The room fell into silence, only the sound of 'Aris' breathing in and out. But that was soon disrupted with Thomas frantically searching again. He put his hands up to his ears, squeezed his eyes shut. Thomas backed up against the far wall, banging his head.
"Tommy, stop." Newt called. "Sit back down."
Thomas ignored him and all Newt's next questions that were fired at him. He stumbled to the door and yanked it open, stepping into the hallway and ran. We heard his faint steps run from the Homestead and into the Glade. Newt crossed the room to the window, watching wherever the boy kid had gone to.
Newt stood there for a few moments, clearly Thomas now gone from his view, and gave a long sigh. He rubbed his temple.
He doesn't believe you. He doesn't really care. If he cared he would believe you.
I steadily rose from my chair. The legs wobbling on the uneven floor boards.
Newt faced me, the same look in his face when Thomas left the room. "Where are you going?" he questioned me, that look never leaving.
"Elsewhere," I told him with no further explanation. The door wasn't far from me. It was an easy escape back to my bedroom. I leant one hand against the wall and hopped along until I reached the door.
"Where's elsewhere?"
"Just need some alone time." I twisted the door knob and pulled it open. The momentum of the door pushed me off-balance. I fell back until Newt grabbed a hold of my shoulders to steady me. I snatched my shoulders from him, falling into the wall with a grunt.
"Now that was silly of you," Newt scolded.
"Leave me alone," I hissed at him with a hard stare. I avoided his eyes and stared to the ground. I shuffled across the wall toward the exit.
"Wait," Newt stepped past me and shut the door, his hand firmly on the it. "You need to understand."
"What?" I hissed again. "What do I need to understand?"
"I didn't mean to say it."
He doesn't believe you. He doesn't believe you.
I stared at him, long and hard. "Then what did you mean?" He didn't reply, he only stared down at his feet. "Thought so," I grumbled. "Get off the door."
Newt listened. He moved himself away from the door and sheepishly backed off. He had opened it for me. I scowled at him, shuffled across the wall from the door down the corridor into my own room, and slammed the door behind me.
This was an emotion I couldn't explain. The trembling lip, upset stomach, clenching hands. Tears streaming down my face. What had gotten into me? Why did I feel so angry? Why was the emotion so draining?
I hopped to me bed, collapsing at the last minute onto the straw mattress. I buried my head into the pillow and softly I cried myself to sleep.
He doesn't care about you.
The next morning I woke with crusty eyes and a heavy feeling in my heart. The night I had spent tossing and turning wishing sleep would come, but my thoughts, and the fear of waking up in the Maze, plagued me. Moving even felt like an effort in itself. That was not fun last night. It really wasn't. How do I face him?
There was a rap on the door. I twisted my head from facing the wall to the door and saw golden-hair peek round the open part. I twisted back and faced the wall, not wanting to see him.
"Go away," I mumbled at him. I heard the click of the door. I drew myself in tighter and scrunched myself in a ball. It wasn't like he could command me to get up, there was nothing I could do but rest at the moment. And I certainly was not going to spend the day with him in the map room. Absolutely not.
"I'm sorry," came his quiet voice from the other side of the room. He hadn't left. "I thought on what I said and I knew I shouldn't have said it." There was a pause. "I do believe, I just didn't think it actually happened. And now that Tommy acted all weird yesterday, then I really think what I saw was true. I just thought it was the trick of the light. I didn't think that it was possible. Beetle Blades don't act like that. Not even when Stan stepped on one by accident."
I twisted myself enough that I could just see him. His face sullen and done trodden. It wasn't the face of someone trying to save grace. He really did look like he regretted saying that. "Then why did you say it?" I questioned him.
"I was still doubting myself," Newt confessed, he refrained from catching my eye. "I was a fool. When I saw your face, I knew I made the mistake. I knew that I was wrong. It's just hard sometime to think of the right thing to say. And I said it all wrong and made it worse."
He's lying.
I eyed him. There was a part of me that believed he was only saying these words because he had to and it was the only way he could get me not to be mad at him. The other part disagreed and saw the long face, the almost red eyes and dishevelled hair indicating that he may have not slept knowing how much he upset me. I sat up, my feet dangling over the edge. My next move would have to be careful as it could either ruin everything or bring some reason back. He had been so kind to me since I arrived. Did I really want to lose him over something that could be talked about?
Yes.
No. This was a fight that wouldn't end well. I needed people here. I needed to think beyond that everyone was out to get me. Who knows how long I would be here for? Making enemies as quickly as I made friends was not a path I really wanted to go down.
"Even if you don't believe me."
"But I do," Newt interrupted.
I put my hand up to him. "Even if you don't believe me," I repeated in a firmer tone. "Don't go admitting it to everyone. It doesn't help with anything and can make things worse. I see it happening. Just keep your thoughts on the topic to yourself. Be impartial in the situation. You are a leader. A leader must do that."
"I'm not the leader," Newt said.
"That's not the point," I told him. "You have a position of power, be wise in what you do with it."
I pushed myself off the bed and stood on one leg. I glanced around the room looking for my crutches. I swore I had them with me when I came back to my room last night.
"Are you looking for these?" Newt opened the door and, in his hand, he held the two crutches. That's where they went.
"No," I said. I crossed my arms. "I was looking for something else."
"Oh, I'll just put them back where I found them." Newt opened the door and made for the exit.
"Wait," I squealed. I jumped to him, keeping my balance. I grabbed hold of his arm and forced him back inside of the room. He shut the door.
"Careful," he told me. I ignored him and yanked the crutches from him as quickly as I could. I slotted one under my arm whilst keeping balance by holding on to Newt. I noticed a red tinge to his cheeks and a small smile. I smiled back, dipping my head to not let him see me blush. "I am sorry. You know that. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I don't want to lose you when I've only just got you."
I caught his eyes and I saw the acknowledgement in them. When I came to the Glade, 'trust no one' was written on me. That phrase was not going to help me. I would have to at least trust someone. Newt was that person. I bit me lip and went swallowed the nerves. I placed all my weight on my one crutch and lent up to kiss Newt on the cheek. I darted back down as quick as I did it and stepped back almost from embarrassment. "Just think before you talk next time," I whispered.
Newt lifted a finger to my chin and drew my head up until we made eye contact. Every nerve in my body shuddered. "For you," he whispered back. He lifted my chin up ever so slightly and bent his head until he was a hair's breath away from my lips. "I would do anything."
He brushed his thumb over my lips.
My heart swelled.
My legs threatened to give out on me.
The feeling.
His lips lightly brushed mine. The nerves sending themselves into a wild frenzy.
That feeling.
I lifted myself onto my toes to reach him, melting into his lips. His hand travelled from my face to the back of my head, burying his fingers into my hair. The other had snaked its way to the small crook in my back and softly drew my closer to him.
His heart. It pounded in his chest, just like mine did.
It was …
Ruined by the loudest grumble there ever could be heard.
Newt roared with laughter, his head titled backwards, his body shaking from the emotion. I knew I blushed. I felt the warmth on my cheeks underneath where his hand rested. The laughter, though, it was contiguous and before long I joined in too, finding the funny side to it.
"We better get you somethin' to eat," he said through his laughter. "Come, Frypan is serving the good stuff today."
He dropped his hand from my face and opened the door with it. He grabbed hold of the other crutch from me and helped guide me from the room. "Anyway you have a long day ahead of you. So better start it with a full stomach otherwise I don't expect seeing Thomas in the Slammer by the end of it."
I groaned. I forgot what I had to do today. Not like it was going to be any different to my days currently. Just the thought of it made me angry.
"Save it for later," Newt told me.
We shuffled (me) to the Kitchens in a slow manner.
"Did you find Tom last night?" I asked, the thought passing me as we headed down the line.
"Yeah, up by the Walls." Newt grabbed my plate and his from the shelf ready for Frypan. "I told them to let him sleep. He needed it, mind you, and so did you. After the events over the past two days I thought it best just to leave you lot in peace."
That was all I was told. Newt took my plate and led me to a picnic bench already occupied by Thomas and Chuck. The former looking as glum as I did. Newt placed the plate on the table, then informed us he had to do something and left.
I sat down beside Chuck and started to eat the steaming eggs on my plate. I peek up from the table, and I spotted a few Gladers staring at me. Not an uncommon thing for me, but it was how they looked at me. They were not pleasant. That was new.
"Hey Chuck," Thomas asked after taking a bite of eggs, trying to sound casual. "Did they ever find Gally?"
"No. I was gonna tell you – someone said they saw him run out into the Maze after he left the Gathering. Hasn't been seen since."
Thomas dropped his fork onto his plate. I stopped eating, not knowing what I'd expected or hoped for from that answer. Either way, the news stunned me.
"What? You're serious? He went into the Maze?"
"Yeah. Everyone knows he went nuts – some shank accused you of killing him when you ran out there yesterday."
"I can't believe …" Thomas stared at his plate.
"Don't worry about it, dude. No one liked him expect for his shuck cronies. They're the ones accusing you of stuff."
It was a surprise how casually Chuck spoke about this. "Ya know, the guy is probably dead. You're talking about him like he went on vacation."
A contemplative look came over Chuck. "I don't think he's dead."
"Huh? Then where is he? Aren't Clarke and I the only ones who've survived a night out there?"
"That's what I'm saying. I think his buddies are hiding him inside the Glade somewhere. Gally was an idiot, but he couldn't possibly be stupid enough to stay out in the Maze all night. Like you."
Thomas shook his head.
"Maybe that's exactly why he stayed out there. Wanted to prove he could do anything I can do. The guy hates me." A pause. "Hated me."
Both of us.
"Well, whatever." Chuck shrugged as if they were arguing over what to have for breakfast. "If he's dead, you guys'll probably find him eventually. If not, he'll get hungry and show up to eat. I don't care."
Thomas picked up his plate and left the table, leaving Chuck and me alone.
"How long do ya think he'll last?"
"Gally, not long. He's a pig." Chuck whispered, glancing around to see if anyone heard him.
"Rude, but funny." I laughed.
"What's funny?" said a voice behind me. I twisted my head to see Newt standing there, smiling, with Thomas moodily standing beside him a pillow in his arm. I groaned, knowing that full well why he turned back up. "Come on, Clarke. It's a chance to unwind, take it easy. A day to just sit and relax."
I groaned once more.
"And, Clint gave me these." Newt passed a few pills into my hands. I popped them into my mouth and swallowed them whole with a gulp of water.
"Time to go."
I rose from the table and followed them both towards a day of excitement.
The Slammer. Hidden in an obscure place between the Homestead and the north Glade wall, behind thorny, ragged bushes that looked like they hadn't been touched in a while. Newt took a key out and opened it up, then motioned for us to enter.
"There's only a chair in there, nothin' at all for ya to do."
"What about the pillow?" I pointed to it, squished beneath Thomas' arm.
"Clint's orders. A pillow to help the healing." Newt grabbed the pillow from Thomas and placed it in the inside of the room. "Have fun," Newt said before closing the door.
I shuffled over to grab my pillow, hearing the latch close and the lock click as I bent down. Newt's head appeared at the little glassless window, looking through the bars, a smirk on his face.
"Nice reward for ya both, breakin' the rules. But ya still need to learn–"
"Yeah, I think we got it. Order."
Newt smiled. "Good, at least you know what this is all about. Gotta keep things running properly, keep us buggers alive. Ya should think about it while ya sit here, stare at the walls if you need to. Enjoy."
And then he was gone.
The first hour passed with what I expected to happen, a lot of shuffling around the room and a lot of sighing. Boredom would be our new worst enemy in this place, it creeping in like a fog under the door. Thomas sat on that chair, his chin resting on one hand while the other tapped annoyingly against the leg of the chair, all while he stared at the door. I, however, had taken refuge in the far corner of the Slammer, both legs resting on the pillow, my back leant up to the wall.
By the second hour, Thomas and I still hadn't spoken. I hadn't moved from my spot, despite the pins and needles, but Thomas paced the room instead with a look of 'I could really bang my head against the wall and by the end of it I would still be bored.' As for me, I tried dozing. That lasted for all of ten minutes.
Two hours after that, silence was the new boredom. I don't how we were able to last that long without talking, yet we did. But soon I decided to strike up a conversation with Thomas, who had once again retaken his seat and clearly in deep thought with a scrunched-up nose.
"Why'd you go crazy yesterday?" I asked him out of complete boredom. Not like there was anything else we could talk about. We were the drama.
"I told you, she was talking to me," Thomas snapped, not turning to face me.
"Does she have a name?"
"Yeah."
"Then what is it?"
I waited for a reply. Thomas then faced me with full intent. "Teresa."
There was silence for a few minutes as the conversation died. I went back to picking my nails, blood seeming at the side of my nails when I ripped the skin.
"So," Thomas started. I glanced up. "You and Newt?"
My eyes widened. "Wha-no-mmm." I stumbled over my words. "What about us … him ... Newt?"
Thomas raised his eyebrows, a small smirk on his face. "I was gonna ask about you two, but it seems that you already answered it for me."
"Hold on," I went to rise but thankfully, Chuck interrupted the conversation before I could dig a hole that was starting to form. I swear, this kid timed himself perfectly. I did not want to speak more on the matter. I had a vague idea where this would lead and I didn't know the answers myself. Through the window, Chuck passed some chicken and water through the window, then took up his role of talking.
"Everything's getting back to normal," the boy announced. "The Runners are out in the Maze, everyone's working – maybe we'll survive after all. Still no sign of Gally – Newt told the Runners to come back lickety-splickety if they found his body. And, oh, yeah – Alby's up and around. Seems fine – and Newt's glad he doesn't have to be the big boss anymore."
Thomas sprung up from his food, no longer interested with his food. Chuck continued to talk, taking a complete unexpected turn. "Clarke, can I talk to you?"
"Now?"
"Please?"
I nodded and rose from the floor, leaving my crutches behind. Once by the door, I leaned up and listened to what Chuck whispered. "It's weird … to feel sad and homesick, but have no idea what it is you wish you could go back to, ya know?"
"Chuck, it's normal to feel homesick."
"Really, do you get it?"
The truth, even though my first thoughts were of a family, I never really missed them. Never thought about them. Never, much, gave a second thought if I had any. Did I have a family? No idea. I wish for one, yes, but not yearn for one. Deep down at the bottom of my heart, a flicker of hope ignited knowing that a family I loved was there in my heart. That was all. A feeling.
"Sometimes," I lied to Chuck. "Sometimes not. You see, what I do is I don't think about the now, I think about the future. We mustn't have long left in this place, focus on that. We must be close to seeing our families. The relive that they'll have when they see us. You. That's something worth waiting for. And best of all …" I wiggled my finger, speaking the next part in a hushed voice. "I bet your family loves you the most out of the entire Glade, and are missing you as much as you are them."
"Clarke, can I tell you something else?"
"Sure, kiddo," I chirped.
"I used to cry. Every night. Like a pants-wettin' baby. Almost till the day you got here. Then I just got used to it, I guess. This became home, even though we spend every day hoping to get out."
"You know, I've only cried a few times since I've been here." I admitted. "Most of it was in the Maze." I wasn't going to admit that it was also last night.
"I've only cried once since showing up, but that was after almost getting eaten alive. I'm probably just a shallow shuck-face," Thomas contributed between his mouthfuls of food.
"You cried?" Chuck said through the window. "Then?"
"Yeah. When the last one finally fell over the Cliff, I broke down and sobbed till my throat and chest hurt. Everything crushed in on me at once. Sure made me feel better—don't feel bad about crying. Ever."
"See, everyone does it. I bet Gally has as well," I giggled.
Chuck laughed, his eyes lighting up. "I would give everything I have to see that."
"I bet we all would," Thomas mumbled behind us, but soon enough he was laughing as well.
The laughter died down after a while and a few minutes passed in silence. No regards to Thomas, I was hoping Chuck wouldn't leave us here again, he was an absolute bore.
"Hey, Clarke?" Chuck asked.
"Yep."
"You really think I would have the best parents?"
I laughed, mostly to push away the sadness that lured behind that question. "You kiddin' Chuck, you have a family that loves you. They'll find you and you can be with them again."
"That's not what I meant," Chuck said, his voice completely devoid of cheer. It was low and bleak, almost a mumble. "Most of the guys who've gone through the Changing remember terrible things they won't even talk about, which makes me doubt I have anything good back home. So, I mean, you think it's really possible I have parents out in the world somewhere, missing me. Do you think they cry at night?"
"Chuck, listen up. Everyone cries. I cry, you cry, Tom unbelievably cries. I bet they do as well. It's human to do so." There and then, I reconsidered what I thought about the other Gladers. Life had been a whirl wind of a ride since I arrived, I never really thought about the boys as people with real families behind them. Heck, the consideration hadn't even past through me.
Chuck, was a kid that should have been in school, living in a nice neighbourhood, playing with kids that all lived there. Out of all of us, he deserved to go home at night to greet a family that loves him, who worried about him. It was disgusting that the Creators would put someone of his age through something like this. What right mind did they have to think that this was okay? I would make everything right just to replace the happiness that had been ripped from our lives.
Thomas rose from his chair and came to stand beside me, leaning against the wooden door. "Listen to me, Chuck." Thomas paused. "I'm sure you have parents. I know it. Sounds terrible, but I bet your mum is sitting in your room right now, holding your pillow, looking out at the world that stole you from her. And yeah, I bet she's crying. Hard. Puppy-eyed, snotty-nosed crying. The real deal."
Chuck didn't say anything, but I thought I heard the slightest of sniffles. "Don't give up, Chuck. We're gonna solve this thing, get out of here. I'm a Runner now— I promise on my life I'll get you back to that room of yours. Make your mum quit crying."
"Hope you're right," Chuck said with a shaky voice. If the door wasn't here, I would have grabbed that boy and hugged him till others were practically pulling me off him. He showed a thumbs-up sign in the window, then walked away.
Thomas walked away from the door to pace the room again, mumbling words to himself. "I swear, Chuck," he whispered to no one. "I swear I'll get you back home."
