224.10.20 | 4:01 a.m.
No one spoke. Not a word. They walked into the WICKED complex and got checked in. Thomas and his friends remained stone silent. The two guards accompanied them to an elevator and they rode it up several floors, then walked down a few halls. Eventually they got to another elevator and took that up as well. Minho and Alby were escorted off the elevator first by the male guard. They exited the car with barely more than a nod of goodbye each, their eyes filled with sadness. Thomas and Teresa nodded back and waited quietly for the doors to close. Thomas rode the remaining floors consumed with his own thoughts.
Finally, after what seemed like an endlessly long journey, Thomas and Teresa stood in front of the doors to their rooms, the female guard next to them.
“Here we are,” she said, the first words spoken since the tunnel. And they were lighthearted enough to anger Thomas.
“How could he do that?” he said, cringing at how loud his voice sounded in the confines of the hallway. “Just shoot a man in the back of the head?” And slap a kid who’s barely five years old, he wanted to add, but didn’t.
The woman sighed, out of some deep frustration that seemed too complicated to understand. “Mr. Michael himself, the man who made it possible for all of us to be here today, asked him to.” She opened Thomas’s door. “Come on, now. Bedtime. It might be a while before you and your friends can have another get-together, okay? Now get some shut-eye.”
“How long?” Thomas asked, surprised by that sudden announcement. In all that had happened, it hadn’t occurred to him that he might not see his friends again anytime soon.
“Couple years, they tell me” was her response. “There’s plenty of work to do, and everyone needs a full night’s sleep. Just…no more parties for the time being. It’s for your own safety.” She turned away and left in a hurry.
Thomas went into his room and closed the door, then leaned back against it, staring at the dull interior in which he’d lived since coming to WICKED. Despite all the horrors of the night, the guard’s parting had been the toughest to bear.
Couple years, the woman had said. Then his earlier worry came back to hit him. What if they took away his meetings with Teresa? Or the job that had been dangled in front of them, building the maze? Ms. McVoy had said WICKED could use all the help available to them. Surely tonight didn’t change that.
He went to his bed and lay down, but he couldn’t sleep. His clock told him it would soon be time for breakfast, and his mind was churning with all he’d seen that night. He closed his eyes and thought through all the goods and evils of this place they called WICKED. Thought of the Cranks he’d been forced so close to only hours earlier—their empty eyes, their torn clothes, their hollow cries of misery. They were human, but at the same time the furthest thing from it. He thought of John Michael and the pitiful end to his life.
He thought of the Flare. The stupid Flare.
And WICKED wanted to find a cure for it. Wanted him to help them. Shouldn’t he want to? His head throbbed by the time the knock came for breakfast. It was Dr. Paige.
Thomas asked her if she knew about the night’s events.
She only smiled a very sad smile.
