Desire ❃ newt

cнapтer 24

For the second time that day, I was shocked into silence.

"Well, come on," Newt said to me as he grabbed my arm. "No way I'm not going with ya."

I followed him, with Chuck right behind, as they left the Council room and went down the hall toward a narrow, spiraling staircase that I hadn't noticed before. Newt took the first step, then gave Chuck a cold glare. "You. Stay."

For once, Chuck simply nodded and said nothing. I figured that something about Alby's behavior had the kid's nerves on edge.

"Lighten up," I said to Chuck as Newt headed up the staircase. I began climbing the stairs. Sweat slicked my palms. I did not want to go up there.

Newt, all grim and solemn, was waiting for me at the top of the stairwell. We stood at the opposite end of the long, dark hallway from the usual staircase, the one I had climbed on my very first day to see Ben. The memory made me queasy; I hoped Alby was completely healed from the ordeal so I didn't have to witness something like that again—the sickly skin, the veins, the thrashing. But I expected the worst, and braced myself.

I followed Newt to the second door on the right and watched as the older boy knocked lightly; a moan sounded in reply. Newt pushed open the door, the slight creak once again reminding me of some vague childhood memory of haunted-house movies. There it was again—the smallest glimpse at my past. I could remember movies, but not the actors' faces or with whom I'd watched them. I could remember theaters, but not what any specific one looked like. It was impossible to explain how that felt, even to myself.

Newt had stepped into the room and was motioning for me to follow. As I entered, I prepared myself for the horror that might await. But when my eyes lifted, all I saw was a very weak-looking teenage boy lying in his bed, eyes closed.

"Is he asleep?" I whispered, trying to avoid the real question that had popped in his mind: He's not dead, is he?

"I don't know," Newt said quietly. He walked over and sat in a wooden chair next to the bed. I took a seat on the other side.

"Alby," Newt whispered. Then more loudly: "Alby. Chuck said you wanted to talk to Kam."

Alby's eyes fluttered open—bloodshot orbs that glistened in the light. He looked at Newt, then across at me. With a groan he shifted in the bed and sat up, his back against the headboard. "Yeah," he muttered, a scratchy croak.

"Chuck said you were thrashin' around, acting like a loonie." Newt leaned forward. "What's wrong? You still sick?"

Alby's next words came out in a wheeze, as if every one of them would take a week off his life. "Everything's... gonna change... The girl... Thomas... Kameron... I saw them..." His eyelids flickered closed, then open again; he sank back to a flat position on the bed, stared at the ceiling. "Don't feel so good."

"What do you mean, you saw—" Newt began.

"I wanted Kameron!" Alby yelled, with a sudden burst of energy that I would've thought impossible a few seconds earlier. "I didn't ask for you, Newt! Kameron! I asked for freaking Kameron!"

Newt looked up, questioned me with a raising of his eyebrows. I shrugged, feeling sicker by the second. What did Alby want me for?

"Fine, ya grouchy shuck," Newt said. "She's right here—talk to her."

"Leave," Alby said, his eyes closed, his breathing heavy.

"No way—I wanna hear."

"Newt." A pause. "Leave. Now." I felt incredibly awkward, worried about what Newt was thinking and dreading what Alby wanted to say to me.