Disclaimer:
If you ever feel ashamed over how attached you are to your characters, just remember that when I saw TST I asked, "Where's Dylan?" and my friend had to remind me that she isn't real.
-✼-
"Mommy? Mom, what's going on?"
Through wide, fearful eyes, I watched as my mother sat stiffly at the kitchen table and stared at her folded hands. There were the first signs of grey hairs beginning to replace the rich brown color that was identical to mine and Thomas' − hairs that should never be apparent on a woman so young. Her dark eyes were unfocused. She shook her head at the sound of my voice, as if she were snapping out of a stupor.
Her gaze flickered to me and her exhausted, worn features softened. "Honey, it's okay. Daddy's just sick. Where's your brother?"
"I'm right here."
I turned to see Thomas standing behind a dying potted plant as if that would hide him from the tragic screams that were coming from downstairs. He looked to be about five, with his hair tousled and skin pale. His eyes now looked large and innocent as he walked near me. His body was trembling.
Our mother took in the two of us and a crestfallen expression appeared on her face. Tears welled in her eyes; Thomas and I watched with astonished faces as she broke down before us.
"Mommy, don't cry," I sympathized, going up to her for a hug.
"You're right." She wiped her eyes and gave a half-laugh, returning my embrace. "I'm the mother here, crying, and look at you two." Thomas came and stood next to me, watching her with those large eyes of his. "You're so strong. My babies."
"I'm not a baby, Mom," Thomas argued childishly as he crossed his stubby arms over his chest and puffed it out. "I'm a big boy! We're big kids!"
Our mother laughed again, a musical sound that contrasted deeply to the almost psychopathic, crazed cackles originating from the basement. That was where our father was currently. The reason was unknown to Thomas and I. All we knew was that he was sick, but what kind of illness caused screams and giggles like that?
Every night and every day, I lived with those sounds. They constantly rung in my ears, a stark reminder of the horror we were going through. Mom never let Thomas or me even peek downstairs. We always questioned her, begging to be told what was wrong with Dad and why we weren't allowed to see him.
Once, I woke in the middle of the night, unable to stand the screams anymore. They rattled my brain and caused terrible anguish to delve into my heart. I threw the covers off of me and crept out of the room, making sure that the sound of the door creaking open wouldn't wake Thomas.
I brought a small flashlight with me. I clicked it on and swept it across the pitch-black hallway. My feet padded on the worn carpet as I moved slowly past the storage closet, the bathroom, and our mother's room. Finally, I reached the stairs. I carefully stepped down them and held onto the cold brass railing for good measure. It seemed to take forever to descend them, with my short legs only being able to handle a single step at a time.
The white beam of the flashlight shook with the trembling of my hand. I turned the corner after the stairs and came to the basement door, where deep, bubbly laughs were muffled. My heart was pounding; my hands were so clammy that the flashlight was starting to slide.
But I opened the door anyway. I directed the light downward right at my feet, so I could see where I was going but not what was too far ahead of me. The laughter grew louder, louder, louder and more intense as I descended the stairs. I brought myself to finally shine the flashlight on my father.
It was a mistake.
The man sitting on the concrete ground looked like Dad, but wasn't. The man he once was had been lost the instant he was shut down there. All of his hair was gone, leaving him strangely bald like he had somehow ripped the short, black strands one out by one until there were none left on his head. His brown eyes were sunken in by dark bags that seemed to encase his entire face. He was so frail that I could see every curve of his bone. His teeth were missing, gums black. Whatever was remaining of his smile was rotten and a dentist's most horrible nightmare.
But that wasn't the worst part. His skin was peeled off. Chunks of flesh, large and small, surrounded him in a circle like shredded bits of paper. Red sores covered his body where he had actually torn the skin off. Some sores had scabbed over, but others still bled profusely. The whole basement smelled rotten and coppery because of it.
I couldn't help it. The scarring image was enough to haunt me for the rest of my days. I screamed.
"Dylan!"
"I told you, dude. I've already tried that. Eight times."
"Man, that girl's out like a slug."
"What does that even mean, Frypan?"
"I bet you if I kicked her I could wake her up."
Five voices sounded at once. "No, Winston!"
I stirred slightly, but it seemed to be enough for the others to detect. All the talking ceased after a series of violent shushing. My eyelids felt like sandbags, and it took several blinks to successfully open them as well as clear my blurry vision. Boys were crowded around me. Among them were Minho, Frypan, Winston, Newt, Theo, and Thomas. They each wore similar expressions of confusion and terror. Winston just looked like someone had come into his house and broken a vase.
"Rise and shine, Princess," Minho greeted sarcastically, which didn't surprise me in the least. I noticed he was still wearing his sleeping clothes- black sweatpants with a dark blue t-shirt. His black hair was messy from lying down. "Why are you unconscious in the middle of the hallway?"
I was a bit stricken at how blunt he was, but then again, that type of thing should really have been expected from Minho. And he was right. When I looked around, I was positioned right beside the door that led to my and Teresa's room. My head and back ached slightly from how I had been propped up against the wall.
"Oh, I don't know," I grumbled as I struggled to stand. "I just decided to doze out here because my bed was too comfortable."
The serum those people had used to knock me out was strong− I could still feel its effects. The blood in my veins felt three times heavier than usual, like it had been filled with lead. My knees buckled; I used the wall for support. Newt went to help but I shooed him off with a wave of my hand. Even though I tried to swallow to reduce the dryness of my throat, it still felt like cotton. My brain was stuffy. That was probably why it took me so long to realize that we weren't alone.
Bodies hung from the ceiling. They were strung up at their necks, purple tongues hanging out of open mouths. The faces were completely pale as the white tile beneath our bare feet. Empty, lifeless eyes stared at me, glazed over with death. I felt my stomach churn as I surveyed them with my jaw dropped. And when it clicked, I couldn't help my sharp intake of breath as flashbacks of what W.I.C.K.E.D had done entered my brain.
They were the people who had rescued us. Dead. Gone. Hanged. But why? Why do that to themselves if they knew they had us to look after? Unless...
"We know," Frypan sighed, eyeing the bodies with unease as they slightly swung. "Grotesque. Didn't know they were here till we turned the lights on."
A thought struck me so quickly that I took a step back. "Teresa."
A crease appeared between Thomas' eyebrows, and he reached forward and clutched my arm so suddenly that I jumped. "What is it? What about her? Do you know where she is?"
I shook my head, nudging his arm off of me. "No, but I know she's not here."
Newt's watchful eyes calculated me for a second as he rubbed his lip with his thumb, a sign he was deep in thought. He shifted his gaze to Thomas after noticing the pained look on my brother's face. "What's bloody wrong with you?"
Thomas' face was screwed up in agony. A well of concern filled me, but the expression passed from his face once he realized it. "What...what do you think? Look around us."
"Yeah, but you looked like you were in pain or something."
"I'm fine− just trying to reach her in my mind. But I can't." Thomas sighed in frustration, running a hand across his forehead as he did so. It made his dark brown hair stick up slightly in the front.
I suddenly remembered the syringe with the crimson liquid inside of it. Teresa had screamed when they injected it into her bloodstream. Could that possibly have disconnected their telepathy? Was that even possible to do?
Thomas moved around the hanging bodies and tried to twist the doorknob to my room. It didn't budge one bit. He kicked the door, hit it with his fist, but nothing happened. "Someone grab the fire extinguisher!"
"Winston, go get it," Minho ordered without a pause. The acne-faced boy grumbled beneath his breath as he retreated into his own room.
My eyes wandered to a clear, plastic display that was posted on the wall beside my door. A sheet of paper had been stapled to it, with a single word printed in block letters at the center.
Dylan
Oh. I wasn't sure how to feel about that. It was weird seeing my name and not anything after; it was somewhat of a reminder that I had nothing else to call myself. No surname. Just...Dylan. It unnerved me to the point that I had to look away after a second.
Dylan wasn't even my real birth name− W.I.C.K.E.D had given this one to me, stripping me of my real identity. It frustrated me that not a single memory contained my legitimate name. How could my mother or Thomas never address me in that manner? Then again, I had never heard myself say Thomas' true name, either, so we were kind of even.
Winston snapped his fingers in front of Thomas' face, extinguisher in hand. My brother had been staring at my name on the paper. He shook his head and accepted the container, gripping it tightly in both hands.
Winston took a step back. After a deep breath, Thomas slammed the cylinder against the brass doorknob. A metallic clang rang through the air and caused me to wince as it pierced my ears. After two more forceful hits, the handle clattered to the ground and Thomas dropped the extinguisher onto the floor. His chest heaved with heavy breaths.
Just as he was about to push the door open, Minho stopped him. "Dude. Let Dylan do it."
Thomas hesitated, but took a step back anyway. I could tell that he was extremely worried about Teresa. There was a tiny sliver of hope in his eyes when I came by the door, that maybe I was wrong and she was still inside, waiting for us to find her. My heart gave a clench. Oh, how I wished that was the case.
My fingertips lightly touched the door before I pushed it open. I stepped inside, surveying the room for any sign of her as the others filed in behind. There was an obvious sign of the struggle we had endured- sheets were rumpled, Teresa's pillow was on the ground, and my covers were hanging over the railing of the bunk. The bathroom door was closed. That struck me as odd because we had left it open during the night. My heart skipped a beat as the toilet flushed.
Theo glanced at me, a look of questioning in his chocolate brown eyes. His curly hair was as unruly as it always was, with bags lining his bottom eyelids. He seemed slightly wary of the situation.
A look of understanding passed through us. If Teresa was gone, then who was in the bathroom?
"You sure she ain't here?" One of the boys whose name I didn't know asked me, bright green eyes locked on the door.
I nodded in response. "Positive."
Thomas started to walk toward the door. Before he could get far, however, Newt reached out and stopped him. "You're used to living with a bunch of boys...and one girl. I don't think it's polite to go stomping into the bloody ladies' room. Just wait till she comes out."
"Then we need to get everybody in here and have a Gathering," Minho added with a side glance toward the bathroom. "It doesn't stink in here, and there aren't any windows for Cranks to scream at us."
Cranks? Thomas noticed my confusion and shook his head, dragging a hand down his face. I took that as a sign that he would rather not talk about it.
But Minho was right− about the smell, at least. I hadn't noticed the contrast until I had come in here. The scent was definitely clean compared to the awful stench of decomposure and death in the hallway.
"I wish she'd hurry up," Thomas mumbled.
"Haven't you ever learned to be patient for a lady?" I asked, directing my gaze to him again.
"No."
Minho sighed and rolled his eyes. He turned toward the door. "I'll get everyone over here."
Before he even returned, in came several others who had respected the boundaries and waited in the hallway. Frypan took a seat on a plush blue chair that I hadn't noticed until he pulled it out of a corner. Newt and Theo sat on the bottom bunk. I turned and climbed up the metal ladder, plopping myself down on my own mattress and resting my chin in my hand. Whoever was in that bathroom was taking forever.
A faint click caused all of our ears to perk up. Thomas went a little more rigid from where he stood in the center of the room. The knob on the bathroom door turned as if in slow motion. I blinked as the door swung open. Thomas took a step forward and then promptly tripped in surprise.
It wasn't Teresa. It was a boy. He was wearing light blue flannel pajamas that made him appear innocent and young. His olive skin stood out against the soft color of his clothes, and his dark hair was an even bigger contrast. He had a rounded face but a thin body and long legs, which made for interesting proportions. His seafoam green eyes went wide as they scanned us.
"Who are you?" Thomas demanded a bit harshly.
"Who am I?" the boy questioned in an almost sarcastic tone. "Who are you?"
I took my chin out of my hand and sat up straighter. "How did you get in my room?"
He blinked at me. "Your room? What are you talking about? I've been here all night!"
Newt got to his feet and stepped closer to the unknown stranger. It was foreign to see him appear so intimidating once again. I was reminded of the first time I had seen him, and how awkward and small I had felt.
"Don't bloody mess around," Newt challenged. "There are a lot more of us than there are of you. Tell us who you are."
The boy folded his arms across his chest and returned the intense gaze. "Fine. My name's Aris. What else you wanna know?"
Thomas' jaw set and I could see anger flushing his face, so I quickly spoke to prevent a rush of spite from coming out of him. "There was a girl in here with me last night, before you came," I said patiently in a much calmer tone than Thomas. "Do you know what happened to her?"
Aris' brow furrowed. "Girl? No. I'm the only one here, and that's the way it's been since they put me here last night."
I didn't suppose he'd seen me in the hallway, then.
Thomas pointed back to the door leading to outside of the room. "There is a sign right out there that says this is my sister's room. Dylan. No mention of a shank named Aris."
Aris held out his hands in defense. All of the confusion on his face had been replaced with sincerity. "Look, man, I don't know what you're talking about. They put me in here last night, I slept in that bed" - he pointed to my bed - "but woke up in the middle of the night to move to the bottom, and I woke up about five minutes ago and took a pee. Never heard of some other girl in my life. Sorry."
"Teresa," Thomas informed, mouth pulled into a frown. "Her name is Teresa."
Aris dropped his hands. "Right."
None of that made sense. If Aris had been put in here last night, then how early had Teresa and I been taken out? It had seemed that we were sleeping for so long. And how did Aris not notice that I happened to be lying in the hallway?
Thomas shared a questioning look with Newt, who shrugged and turned back to Aris. "Who put you in here last night?"
Aris threw his hands up in the air in a motion of exasperation. Annoyance was clear on his face as he let his palms smack against the sides of his legs. "I don't even know, man. A bunch of people with guns who rescued us, told us everything would be okay now."
My heart picked up its speed at this information. A crease formed between my eyebrows and my hands grew clammy with anticipation. "Rescued you from where?"
Aris' head turned to face the floor and his shoulders sagged. He appeared as if some horrible memory had come upon him and he was being forced to relive it. With a sigh, he lifted his chin and looked right at me.
"From the Maze, man. From the Maze."
gif is dylan explaining teresa's absence
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first chapter is officially done! what did you think? let me know in the comments because i read every single one and they make me happy
questions:
-what did you think of dylan's memory?
-any suggestions/guesses as to what her real name is?
-why does jacob lofland look nothing like the aris described in the book like he was a good aris it's just why
-how do you think the rest of this book will roll?
that's all for now. i'll see you soon in chapter two!
+dedication: carly (holysmoak) because she helps me make a lot of decisions regarding my stories and we've been friends for a pretty long time now so yay go us
-kristyn