Chapter 35. Trust.

Thomas marched through a corridor and down a staircase, following Alby's vague directions.

The lighting in the basement was better than that on the upper floor, making it seem more like the underground facility.

Rather than another maze of corridors, the basement was split into two uneven parts by a wall. The largest part narrowed slightly after a meter or so, where a wide door was pushed against the wall. He saw the Gladers and some of the girls from Group B moving around inside, heard the talk and laughter of casual conversation, though accompanied by some nervous voices here and there.

They hadn't seen him yet.

He was tempted to go explore in the other direction, through the tunnel with the doors at the end of it. He couldn't do that, though. He needed to talk to Ben, so he could apologize for the pain he had caused the other boy. Running away would be cowardly.

He got closer, stopping in the doorway. He had been seen by then. All eyes were on him as the whole group was stunned silent.

"Hey, Thomas," Zart said uncomfortably after a few seconds

"Hi," he responded. He was grateful for the icebreaker, but he didn't like how Zart's friendly smile was wavering and how he would not make eye contact.

He didn't understand why everyone was scared of him. What had they been told about him?

He pushed down his discomfort and smiled, trying to look non-threatening and friendly.

"Ben," he looked for a second before locating him, "can I speak with you for a moment?"
Ben looked stricken, eyes darting from Thomas to the Gladers to the floor. He finally nodded, mumbling something under his breath, and walked towards him.

"Um, could you..?" Thomas waved a hand at the door after Ben had stepped through. The eyes were still on them even as they had left the room.

"Of— of course," Ben mumbled, kicking away the box which held the door open. Ben looked even more nervous, fidgeting with his shirtsleeves and staring at the floor.

"Look, I'm not going to murder you or anything," Thomas said. It was a joke, though he was a bit frustrated. He knew he shouldn't be; he didn't know what Ben had been told about him, or what he remembered.

Ben laughed. It was a polite kind of laugh with no humor in it.

"Then what do you want?" He looked at Thomas' face for the first time, and he wasn't scared. He was… sad? "I— I wasn't in my right mind— I swear I wasn't. I didn't mean to attack you." Not sad either— he felt guilty.

"No. No," Thomas said hurriedly, seeing how Ben's eyes had gotten shiny. "I came here to apologize to you. I don't blame you for doing it. It was the Changing— not you." Ben had been controlled and confused by WICKED, just like Gally and Alby had been. While he'd felt scared at the time, he didn't see anything dangerous in him now.

Ben shook his head. "Honestly, I barely remember what I did, or why I did it, but I know it was my fault for not staying in the Homestead."

"You thought I was evil or something. You'd seen the Flare, and you saw me helping WICKED. Don't you remember any of that?"

"I think I came to my senses in the Slammer, when I realized that I didn't know what was going on. WICKED told me about what I'd done later, so I'm not sure if anything's actually returned to me or if it's just their story."

"How did you get out of the Maze?" Thomas asked. Then, seeing how Ben's face paled at the question, retracted. "I'm sorry. You don't have to tell me."

Ben sighed, looking tired. "The Grievers came for me, right after the door closed. There was nowhere to run, and they— they knew. They moved slowly, like they were taunting me. I was so scared I could've wet myself. I tried to fight but it was no use. One of them grabbed me with its pincers. I thought it was going to kill me then and there, but it didn't. It was taking me somewhere, but I couldn't see anything. They were all around me and I couldn't move. Then they were gone, and some people were there instead."

Thomas' stomach filled with ice. He didn't even want to imagine being in Ben's place. WICKED had gone too far on multiple occasions, and that was one of them. To have someone get taken by terrifying monsters, carried all the way to the exit. A weaker person would have had a heart attack.

But the one he blamed, second only to WICKED, was himself. Why did he have to wander off? If he'd been surrounded by other Gladers, Ben wouldn't have gotten close to him. Why hadn't he protested the Banishment? Everybody was always telling him how smart he was, so shouldn't he have been able to make a good argument?

"I'm sorry. I wish that hadn't happened," Thomas said.

"It's not your fault. Maybe it's not even mine. If WICKED wanted it to happen… maybe there was no way to stop it."

"It does sound like a variable," Thomas agreed.

"Yes. One designed by South-WICKED, anyway."

"South-WICKED?"

"From the other facility. Chancellor Paige, that creepy dude in the suit— I think he's called Janson."

"Do you mean Rat Man?"
"Rat Man?"

"If you've seen him, you'll understand. But please, tell me more."

"Most of the people there are just really cold and unnerving. I spent a few days with them— until I got sent here with the other Gladers— and I could tell that they were scheming behind my back."

"What about the people here?"

"They're much nicer. There are some things we can't know, but they're as honest as they can be. We can practically do whatever we want, even help with some of the research. We're more like guests than prisoners."

Thomas couldn't help but draw parallels to the Right Arm. The people in the second base had treated them better than the others had, put more trust in them. Maybe all the leaders were just crazy or evil, and that's why the people further away from them were nicer.

"Wow. Respect and humane treatment. I wonder when that became a privilege." Thomas remarked.

Ben shrugged. "They're trying to help us find our parents."

"Really? How's it going?"

"They know whose families were dead or infected by the time we got taken. As for the people who were alive... well they can't go looking, but they're trying to contact whoever they can that might know something."

"Did they find your parents?" Thomas asked. He knew it was a bad question— what if they were dead? But his curiosity won out. Thomas knew that his own parents were long gone— infected while he was still a child— but that just made him want to know more about the others' families.

"They're living in Denver, uninfected. Joan told me I couldn't contact them yet, but when the Cure is ready I can go live with them if I want to." Ben's eyes lit up with hope. Thomas added another point on his list of reasons to find the Cure.

"That's great, man. Can we go back to our previous conversation, though?" Thomas asked. "I'm glad that you don't hate me because of what happened, but there's something not right."

"Not right?"

"Between the other Gladers and me. It's like… I don't know. They stop talking when I enter the room and stare at me like I'm dangerous and unstable. I don't know what I did wrong." He felt stupid as he said it. Maybe he was reading into it too much. It hadn't been that bad. But Ben looked guilty when he heard.

"It's not anything you've done to them directly, it's the rumors." He hesitated before continuing, not sure whether to tell Thomas what was being said behind his back. "You seem like a good guy, but none of us had the time to actually get to know you before we came here. We've picked up small pieces of information— you're a popular topic among WICKED employees, you know. The doctors are mostly gushing about your brain patterns, and the rest are always making bets on stuff, but we've heard that you're the 'final candidate'. We know that you worked with them before the Maze— the memories I have from the Changing confirm it. If you add all that together, you start to sound like some kind of teacher's pet. You're still a lab rat, but you're the rat that reminds the teacher about the homework at the end of the lesson. Different people have different opinions. Some think you're a spy and that you work for WICKED. Others just think you were manipulated into working with them, or that you've changed your mind and switched sides. Nobody knows and you're not giving anything away."

"Oh. I see." It had seemed obvious that they didn't trust him, but hearing it made it worse; He would never remind the teacher of the homework. Under most circumstances. "And what do you think?

"I felt like I should hate you for the Banishment, but I didn't. There were some memories, but in the Glade, you were just a normal guy who had no idea what was going on. Then you came here and you weren't smug or snobbish like you'd expect WICKED's special pet to be. And you're friends with Newt. I didn't know him well, but I think I trust him."

"How'd you know I'm friends with Newt?" With everything that had happened recently, he didn't remember saying that they were friends, although he may have referred to him as such. He really didn't know.

"You talk about him like he's your friend. Some of the others think you're pretending to gain their trust, but it's obvious that you're not— it just takes one look at your face. Whenever he's mentioned, your eyes kind of soften. If he didn't like you, you definitely wouldn't like him."

That last bit was probably true. He remembered how dismissive Newt had been of Gally during the Gathering back in the Glade. However, he hadn't been aware of his eyes doing anything. How did one's eyes 'soften'?

Neither of them said anything for a while. They'd discussed what they wanted to discuss.

"So we're… What? Friends?" Ben asked finally.

"Yeah, that sounds good. Now I just have to convince everyone else that I'm not evil."

"I'm sure they'll change their minds about you soon enough. Maybe if they see you hanging out with Alby, or Newt, when he wakes up."

"Speaking of those two, I should probably go back to them now. I want to be there when Newt and Teresa wake up."

"Right. See you later, then." Ben backed towards the closed door. Thomas went up the staircase and back to the room his friends were in.

Everyone in the small room turned out to be asleep. Alby had dozed off in his chair and was snoring into the tablecloth. Thomas sat down against the wall, waiting for something to happen.

He yawned. He'd been asleep for hours not long ago, but that evidently hadn't been enough. He could see why Alby was taking a nap. If he counted correctly, it was early morning. Tired as he was, he wanted to be awake when Newt and Teresa arose from their slumber.

A twinge of pain made him look down at his hand. He had forgotten the bandages on his palms, and the wounds underneath. It was odd that it didn't hurt more than it did, and that the gashes on his palms hadn't bled through the thin layers of fabric. Curious, he unwrapped his right hand— the one that hurt less. There was a small bloodstain where the bandage had touched his skin directly, but it looked old, and not nearly large enough considering the wound. Looking at his palm, he found that it followed the pattern, but was nonetheless surprised. There was a line across his palm, partly covered by crusted blood, but the wound looked much older than it was. WICKED focused on the Flare, but they clearly weren't lacking in other areas of healing. He wondered how advanced their abilities were. Enough to speed up the recovery of wounded hands, but not enough to save a child from death, he thought bitterly. That was assuming they had tried to heal Chuck. They may have just let him die to spare him from life in the real world.

Thomas put the bandage back, wrapping it around his hand carefully. It gave him something to do while he waited. After that, he counted the books on the shelf, and after that the letters on each book. He didn't feel like getting up to take one of the books to read, instead choosing to look around the room for something else to count. Halfway through the search, he heard a change in the even breathing patterns of the other three. His gaze shifted to Alby, but he hadn't moved. Excited, he got to his feet to get a better look.

Newt was in the state between wakefulness and sleep, twisting and turning, breathing faster. His eyes flew open, wide and scared. Thomas backed away in surprise. Newt scrambled into a sitting position, back against the corner, kicking away the blanket.

"Hey, Newt. It's just me," Thomas said, stepping closer.

When Newt saw him, he relaxed, unclenching his fists. "Tommy," he said, smiling. "Miss me?"

"You were only gone a day. So yeah, I missed you."

Newt stood up and pulled Thomas into a brief hug. It was a nice hug; The other boy was warm, and the smells of forest and bonfire were oddly reassuring.

Newt looked around the room. "Is this WICKED's place? Where's the Right Arm?"

"Yeah, we're in WICKED's base. As for the Right Arm—"

"Newt!" Somebody interrupted. Alby. He'd woken up, and now he was pushing Thomas out of the way to reach his friend.

Thomas had expected Newt to smile, or cry, and be happy to see the friend he believed to be dead, but instead, he froze.

"You've no idea how good it is to see you again," Alby said, reaching his hands out for an embrace. Newt backed away quickly, not taking his eyes off of Alby, whose smile had dropped.

"Newt, it's me," Alby said. "I know what you saw, but—"

"Shut up!" Newt yelled, suddenly angry.

"What?" Alby held out his arm in a placating gesture, looking as confused as Thomas felt.

"I said shut your bloody mouth! And don't touch me!" He'd backed until he stood against the wall, and looked about ready to fight if pressed further.

That's when Thomas decided to step in. He placed himself between the two, figuring that if Newt had been happy to see him moments before, he wouldn't feel threatened by him.

"What is it?" He asked.

"Newt's eyes darted from Thomas to the boy behind him. "It's that… thing." He pointed.

"Alby?" Thomas asked.

"No! It's not Alby. It can't be. I—I saw him die!"

"I know, so did I, but it wasn't real," Thomas tried, though Newt clearly wasn't having it.

"No. Didn't you see what the Grievers did to him? There's no bloody way he survived!"

"It was an illusion," Alby said, "it didn't actually—"

"This is the illusion. Stop pretending!"

Newt turned to Thomas, pleading in his eyes. "Why don't you understand, Tommy? Alby's dead. WICKED sent this imposter to torture us."

"No, Newt. Just think about it. They need immunes, so doesn't it make more sense to keep Alby alive?"

Newt's face turned to stone, his eyes like cold steel. "You're part of it too, aren't you?"

"Part of what? No."

"You're working with WICKED again, or maybe you always did. Maybe you're not real either," Newt sounded more sad than angry. He pushed Thomas away from him. It was a weak shove, but it hurt all the same. Newt seemed to think he was a fake, a spy for WICKED. Did he think their friendship was all an act as well?

It couldn't have been more real, and any rational being would see that, but Newt wasn't being rational.

Thomas remembered hearing about crazy conspiracies and the overly paranoid people who believed in them. It had seemed like a big joke, stupidly entertaining. This was nothing like a joke- it was a knife twisted in his chest. Still, he knew that most people had the urge to doubt reality and reject facts. Hadn't he himself been questioning the reality of his situation only hours ago? He'd snapped out of it once Alby punched him. He didn't want to punch Newt, though. He doubted Alby would either, and that was just as well; Newt might think he was under attack and start a fight, and that would be bad for all parties involved.

Thomas felt helpless. How was he supposed to reason with somebody who wouldn't see reason?

Newt made up his mind for him. "Get out," he said in a low voice, head bent so it looked like he was addressing the floor rather than… Who was he referring to? Thomas, Alby, or both of them? What about Teresa? She was still asleep, and they couldn't very well drag her out of the room.

He heard Alby mutter angrily and walk away. The door opened and slammed shut. Thomas stayed where he was, stubbornly staring at what he could see of his friend's face. Back in the Maze, Newt had told him that he believed what he said, because he could see Thomas' honesty in his eyes. He would see it now, too, and then he would know that he was real— if only he would look at him.

"Get. Out." Newt was still scowling at the floor, but his voice carried. Thomas listened this time. It was a tactical retreat. he'd come back later when things were back to normal.

He stopped by Teresa's bed on his way out. Her sleep was probably light by then. He tried to say something telepathically, but quickly realized it wouldn't work. He shook her shoulder a few times until she sleepily slapped his hand.

"Teresa, get up," Thomas said. "We have to go."

Teresa got up, yawning. "So you figured it out," she said.

"What? Nevermind, let's go."

She glanced over at Newt and frowned, but followed Thomas out of the room.

"What's going on?" She asked after closing the door.

"Well, it's—" Thomas started.

"Alby? Is that— how are you alive?" Teresa stared at the Glader with wide eyes. He looked back at her sourly.

Teresa shook her head. "Okay, there is clearly a lot going on here. Tell me everything. Also, is there any food here?"

"Dinner should be soon," Alby said.

"Then I'll settle for the story." Teresa plopped down on the floor and sat there cross-legged, looking at Thomas imploringly.

And so they told her. Twenty minutes later, Teresa nodded gravely. "You'd think the Right Arm would be prepared for the same attack they just launched."

"We are here and they're in jail, so clearly not," Thomas said.

Teresa sighed. "Well, now I'm kind of embarrassed that we got captured by those morons in the first place."

"Speaking of them, what happened after they caught you?"

"Oh, they were livid. That Ethan character wanted to shoot us then and there. The others were angry, but they decided to retreat into the forest and set up camp. They had someone run back to get the others back at the base, and we waited. I was just glad you got away. I thought that John guy would catch you."

"He could've, but he let me go. I'm not sure why. Do you reckon he's a spy or something?"

"According to what you've told me, he's in a cell with the rest of them. Why don't you ask?"

"That's a terrible idea," Alby said. "Harriet and I would've put them in separate cells, but there weren't enough. There're four people sharing a room with that guy, and I don't think they would like rooming with a spy."

"I think I'll just leave this one to WICKED," Thomas said. "I'm exhausted."

"You don't even look tired," Teresa said.

"I'm tired on the inside. My soul wants to go into a five-year coma."

"Only five?" An amused voice asked. They spun around to see a middle-aged woman at the end of the corridor. Thomas thought he'd seen her near Joan earlier. "Dinner's ready. Or breakfast, depending on how you look at it. Brook cooked up something special for our guests of honor."

The kitchen was bustling with life. There wasn't much room to eat inside the kitchen, meaning most people left after receiving their food. Alby explained that the Big room served as a dining room, though people could eat almost wherever they wished. The line was drawn at labs with dangerous chemicals and the basement.

"Are you telling me you guys ended up making such a mess that you weren't allowed to eat in your room?" Thomas asked, waiting by the doorway as people pushed through it.

"You think I'd let them keep mountains of dirty dishes in the room I share with them? No, it's those shucking stairs. We had tomato soup one day, when Dave tripped at the top of the staircase and dropped his bowl. Somebody passed by and thought there'd been a terrible accident."

Thomas smiled as he pictured it.

As they got closer to the food, the aroma of tomatoes and herbs grew stronger. It was a pleasant, familiar smell. At the end of the long line, a man Alby referred to as 'Brook the cook' was serving steaming hot pasta with tomato sauce. Thomas thought about his time in the Glade, where the food had been prepared by Frypan. He wondered what the other Gladers were eating, if they were even fed by the Right Arm. The thought of them imprisoned gnawed at him, keeping him from relaxing fully. He wanted to rescue them immediately and see their happiness as they were reunited with lost friends. He wanted to hear Minho say something sarcastic, and Frypan marvel over the kitchen.

Soon, he told himself.

Teresa looked at him sceptically as he tried to balance two plates through the crowd.

"What if he doesn't want to talk to you?" She asked.

"Then I'll give him his plate and leave."

"And what if he throws the plate at you? He was pretty upset last we saw him," Alby said.

"Then I'll duck, but I'm sure he's had enough time to see reason."

"Don't count on it," Teresa said, looking worried. "The Flare is spreading much quicker than normal."

Thomas had known it already, but hearing her say it made it worse, like he hadn't been sure of it before.

They'd made it out of the kitchen and were about to part ways, but he and Teresa had stopped at the crossing.

Teresa continued. "After we got caught yesterday, he had a terrible headache, and he snapped at anyone who tried speaking to him."

"We can't just give up," Thomas said.

"Of course not. Just be careful, Tom, for both your sakes." She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze and followed Alby away.

Thomas had little choice but to kick at the door, seeing as his hands were full. His confidence faded as he waited pointlessly for the door to open. He thought about what Teresa said, about the Flare moving quickly. He knew that there would be a point of no return, and that would be a threat until they had the Cure. Newt had always snapped out of it before, but there'd come a time when he wouldn't, and what if it was this time?

No, it wouldn't be. Thomas wouldn't let it. He pressed down on the door-handle with his elbow and pushed at the door.

Inside, Newt stood facing the wall, almost perfectly still. The only movement was his ragged breathing, which was also the only sound.

"Hey, Newt. It's me," Thomas said. The only reaction was a sniffle, probably from disdain.

Thomas moved closer, putting the plates down on the table on his way. Newt had left a meter-wide gap between himself and the wall, and Thomas stepped into it. Newt's gaze had been fixed straight ahead, but moved down to meet Thomas'.

He hadn't been expecting tears, but they were shining in his friend's eyes, at odds with his blank expression.

"Are you..?" Thomas stopped. "Why are you not okay?" He asked instead.

"I don't know."

"Are you sure? You really have no idea?"
Newt's face twitched. "I told you I don't know. I don't know what I am, or you, or if we are at all."

"Oh, so you're questioning our existence." Thomas sighed. "I think that's part of being human, but all humans combined haven't found the answer. If it's impossible to find the answer, does it even matter?"

"Maybe not on the big scale, but what about WICKED's level? They can trick us with illusions and actors. You could be one of those for all I know." He looked sad, the almost-gone tears returning, and he looked down at the floor.

"I'm not. I swear." Thomas promised.

"I want to believe you, Tommy, more than anything. But what if I do, only to have you taken away from me?"

"Newt, look at me."

"I am."

"You're looking at the floor. Look in my eyes."

Newt did as instructed, albeit hesitantly.

"Do you remember the Glade, at the Gathering before our escape?"

Newt said nothing, waiting, and so he continued.

"I'd just told the Keepers what we needed to do to escape. It was a crazy, dangerous plan, but you convinced them anyway. Because you trusted me. Do you remember why?"

"You just don't have an ounce of lying in those eyes of yours," Newt remembered.

"Exactly. That's what you said. Now tell me, am I lying to you?"

"No," Newt said without hesitation.