Newt isn't like the others; he can remember the nightmares of his past.
As the weeks drag by, the memories that were supposed to be taken from him by WICKED begin to surface, creating a clearer image of who he is, why he was taken and what role he...
Alby is talking in his sleep again. It's been like this every night for the past two weeks.
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It started with sleep terrors when Alby first arrived at the compound. He'd be stuck between consciousness and unconsciousness, kicking and screaming until someone stroked his hand to calm him down. Of course, WICKED never helped. Me and Minho took it upon ourselves to soothe the broken boy when things got too bad, and at the beginning it was bad. Almost every night Alby would be trapped in a nightmare, unable to escape unless we pulled him out. When he woke up we wouldn't ask what he was dreaming about; the Flare left us all scarred, emotionally and physically, so we respected Alby's right not to tell us what tortured him.
After a few years, his sleep terrors were few and far between. Instead of every night, he'd have a really bad episode every couple of months.
As we got older, the terrors seemed to stop. It had been over a year since Minho had to hold Alby down as I whispered comforting words into his ear and stroked his hand. But two weeks ago, the sleep talking began.
Alby lies in the bunk above me. His tossing and turning must've woken me up. Pushing my body up so I'm leaning on my elbows, I try to listen to what he's whispering.
I catch a few words, 'help her,' 'all I have,' 'sorry' and 'I have to,' but the rest is inaudible.
Throwing my head back onto my pillow, I stare at the darkness in front of me. I'd glance around the room but I know where everything is without the lights on. After all, I've slept in the same barracks for nine years of my life.
In the bed behind me is Minho. I know he's asleep because his rattling snores could put an earthquake to shame. Near the door is Frypan, his stinky feet no longer an issue since WICKED must've listened to our complaints and made him special slipper socks that trap in bad smells. I laugh a little at the thought. A group of scientist, hellbent on saving the world from the Flare, using their high IQs to create some socks.
Alby turns abruptly again, sobering me from my thoughts. There's no chance I'm sleeping tonight.
My mind drifts, like it always does when I'm alone, to Thomas.
"Tommy," I whisper to no one in particular. It's been months since I've seen the inquisitive brown-eyed boy and the feel of his name on my tongue makes my heart expand. The last time we were together we were exploring the WICKED complex together.
"You probably know this place better than I do," Thomas had said as we made our way around a corner and quietly set off down another long hallway. "With all the sneaking around you guys have done."
"Yeah, probably," I agreed, excitement buzzing through my veins. He was right. I had scouted most of the compound with Minho and Alby, but whenever it was just me and Tommy, it was like seeing everything with brand new eyes.
