Error | The Maze Runner / Newt ² ✓

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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.

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"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.