230.03.13 | 2:36 p.m.
Thomas sat in the chair, staring at the bank of monitors across from the control deck, feeling a little better than he had in months. Which wasn’t saying much. At least he actually wanted to take his next breath instead of wishing that maybe it wouldn’t happen, that some mysterious illness would strike him dead on the spot. It had been a long time since he’d felt…okay. And today he felt okay.
Dr. Paige continued to let him observe his friends in the maze as long as he kept up with his normal schedule of classes, tests, checkups, and everything else. He no longer had workdays since the maze had been completed, so he had extra free time and, even though he knew they were observing him as he sat and watched, this was the only place he wanted to be.
The techs had installed a new display system, and maybe that was part of the reason he’d finally been able to snap out of his doldrums, even if it was only for a fraction of each day. Now he could choose any of the beetle-blade feeds and throw it onto a much-improved center screen, which was a full six feet across and had spectacular color and detail and improved audio. He loved it, seeing and hearing his old friends in the maze close-up, almost as if he were there with them. The entire system was a hundred times better, and he knew that his whole life would now revolve around finding more and more excuses to be in this very room, watching. Observing. Digging for something to give him insight. Sadly, their memories had never returned, a thing that still galled Thomas to no end.
He chose beetle blade number thirty-seven and swiped it onto the main viewing screen. The display showed Alby and a kid named George standing at the east door of the maze, talking and laughing, both of them eating peaches they’d just plucked out of the trackhoe’s scoop. Thomas had never even spoken to George before, but these were the kinds of scenes he craved. Shots of the Gladers actually enjoying life. It always gave him hope, helped him forget for a while the terrible theft they’d experienced. And with nothing that interesting going on anywhere else, he sat back and watched, wishing he could be there. Just for a visit.
Someone knocked on the door.
“Come in!” Thomas called, not bothering to check who it was when the door opened, then closed. He knew by the sound of the person’s steps. He definitely knew. “Hi, Chuck,” he said without looking.
“Hey, Thomas!” the young boy said, his voice filled with the usual enthusiasm. He pulled a chair over and put it right next to Thomas, barely an inch away, and jumped up into the seat with a jovial grunt. “Anything exciting happen yet?”
“You’re looking at it,” Thomas replied. “See that? Look really close. Look at what Alby and George are eating. You won’t believe it.”
Chuck leaned forward, his hair a wild eruption as usual, and squinted at the screen, searching with all the seriousness he could muster.
“Looks like peaches,” he finally said.
“Bingo,” Thomas replied, slapping Chuck on the back. “You might be the best analyst in all of WICKED.”
“Hardy har har.” That was the kid’s favorite response when Thomas teased him. “You so funny.” That was his second favorite.
Thomas had begged Dr. Paige to let Chuck serve as his assistant for an hour or two each day. It had become clear that WICKED appreciated the insights Thomas provided and he insisted that he needed someone to bounce ideas off during these work periods. Teresa was often too busy learning computer systems on top of her normal schedule to help him.
He claimed he was grooming Chuck to do great things, but the truth was that Thomas needed him. Being alone often brought his memories crashing in, and Chuck was a beacon that lit the darkness. Dr. Paige seemed more than happy to acquiesce, considering the value of studying Chuck’s reactions to the things he witnessed. It was pure selfishness on Thomas’s part, but he couldn’t let it go. He flat out needed Chuck, like a kid with a security blanket.
Chuck was a constant bright spot in what had been a miserable couple of months since sending the first batch of subjects in, after stealing their memories. If it weren’t for Chuck and Teresa, Thomas didn’t know how he would have survived.
As if the thought had summoned her—which it very well might have—Teresa spoke in his mind.
Hey, what are you doing? she asked. I just finished prepping the next kid to go in. It’s Box time for him tomorrow morning. Poor guy.
I’m in the observation room, he answered. I’ll give you three guesses who’s sitting right next to me, and the first two don’t count.
Sweet little Chucky-Chuck? He could feel her beaming over the connection. They both had a soft spot for the kid. Care if I come join you guys?
Are you kidding? It’s never the same without you.
She didn’t respond right away, and he knew she was about to say something serious. He cringed, waiting.
I can tell you’re feeling better, she finally said. And that makes me very happy.
He sighed with relief.
You and me both, he responded back. Now get your butt over here.
Teresa showed up at the observation room a few minutes later. She slipped inside without saying anything and pulled up a chair next to Thomas. The whole routine was as comfortable as a well-worn pair of shoes. Chuck looked over at her and winked—flirting with an older girl was his idea of hilarious—then gave a thumbs-up.
“How are you, Chuck?” she asked. “Been sent to your room yet today?”
“No, ma’am,” he replied, batting his eyelashes. “Perfect little angel, just like always.”
“I bet.” She reached over Thomas’s lap and grabbed a piece of skin on Chuck’s leg, then wrenched it hard.
Chuck screamed in agony and leaped from his chair, hopping up and down as he rubbed at the sore spot. “Not cool!” he yelled. “Not cool!”
“That’s for stealing the deviled eggs from my lunch tray when I went back for a drink,” she said, one eyebrow raised accusingly. “You know how much I love deviled eggs.”
“What?” he asked. “How did you…” He looked at Thomas. “She’s some kind of mind reader.”
“Don’t mess with Teresa,” Thomas said, slowly shaking his head back and forth as if in pure awe of her powers. “If I teach you nothing else in life, my son, it’s that. Don’t mess with Teresa.”
“Come here, you little deviled egg,” Teresa said, now chasing Chuck around the room, trying to smother him with hugs. For all his flirting jokes, the kid hated when she did that.
Thomas leaned back in his chair, enjoying every second of it.
Yeah, he thought. I feel good again.
