THE HEARTS » TMR [1]

01. Margaret

All she could think about was Thomas. How they were going to put him through the Swipe to erase all of his memories. Of her. Of them.

    She stood outside the operating room, looking through the window to see the doctor and nurse prepping him. They lowered a mask onto his face. There were clicks, hisses, and beeps. It made her cringe every time she heard them, and she felt the pain that Thomas was experiencing. She saw Teresa standing beside him, watching as the metal and wires and plastic tubes slithered across his skin and into the canals of Thomas's ears. His hands twitched reflexively at his sides, making her heart ache. Why would he do this if he knew it would cause her so much pain?

    She had no choice but to endure it.

   The machine began its work, plucking images from Thomas's memories. Erasing his mother, his father, and entire life. Erasing her. He won't remember her tomorrow, and she would have to endure it.

    Part of her wanted to break down and cry. Part of her wanted to scream and smash the glass in front of her, to curse at the people performing the operation. But she couldn't do it. Thomas and Teresa were going to prove their conviction by submitting to what had been asked of the others. But what if they were to perish? What if she couldn't get to see him anymore? She didn't want to be selfish. She knew that if they did this, they would find the cure, save millions of lives, and return to normalcy on Earth. She wasn't sure if it would happen, but she had hope for Thomas.

    The clicks and hisses continued. She returned her gaze to Thomas, who was now taking even breaths with his chest rising and falling. She leaned her forehead against the window with her eyes closed, and she thought back to the day she first met him on the train.

    Her young self was sick of staring at the men who surrounded her and her mother, so she looked out the window. She noticed a large crowd of people being pushed and shouted at by white-suited men. One of the white-suited men picked up a young, little boy, and carried him away from a woman on her knees. 

     "Mom!" The little boy sobbed.

     As she watched the white-suited man approach the door of the train, she became intrigued. Her legs began to move in unison with his. She disobeyed her mother and followed the man with the little boy in his arms.

    "Mom!" The little boy sobbed once more before being pushed inside the train by the white-suited man. When the door closed behind him, he pushed himself up to a sitting position with his knees up to his chest. 

     She dashed after him as fast as she could. He had his head down when she approached him. Silently, she sat down next to him with her legs crossed. The little boy perked up when he sensed her movement. He had a sad, hurtful expression on his face. His eyes were red and puffy, and he had tear stains on his cheeks.

   "Hi," she said, in the most comfort way as possible.

    The boy didn't respond, so her smile faded. She wanted to say something else, but instead she grabbed his hand and squeezed it. The boy felt a sense of comfort when he saw their hands intertwined. He wiped his tears away with his sleeve and returned his gaze to her.

    "I'm Margaret," she said in a soft, soothing tone.

    "I-I'm Thomas." He shifted his gaze to the window, then back to Margaret. "She won't be with me anymore."

    Even though she was young at the time, she understood what he meant by that. She squeezed his hand once more and said, "No, but. . . I'll be with you, Thomas. Always."

    The tears streamed down her freckled cheeks. How would she be with him now when he was going to be put inside the labyrinth, without her by his side? But even if she was immune, she and Thomas would have forgotten about each other and their times together. She'd have to put up a wall to keep her emotions in check, and become strong for him. For Thomas.

    As the procedure on Thomas was finally completed, her thoughts faded. The doctor pressed several buttons on his screen, and the beeps, hisses, and clicks increased in frequency. His body twitched slightly as the tubes and wires snaked away from their intrusive positions and back to his mask the doctors had fitted him with. Thomas became still and the mask powered down, all sound and movement ceasing. The nurse leaned forward, and lifted the mask off of Thomas's face. His eyes remained closed and his skin was flushed, with lines where the mask had rested.

    Margaret felt weak. The barriers she was attempting to construct within herself were failing; her emotions were beginning to take control of everything. She knew they'd be easily broken if she saw Thomas waking up and not remembering her. She looked at Teresa, who was wiping her eyes. She had feelings for him, too, and it also pained her that Thomas won't remember her either.

    Margaret hated this.

    Two members of the security team arrived to assist Thomas in his relocation. They hoisted his body off the bed as if he were stuffed with straw. One held the unconscious boy's arms, the other his feet, and he was placed on a gurney. Margaret moved and pushed through the door to see him.

    "Wait," she said, running up to his body. She looked up at the members. "Please let me say goodbye first. I may not ever see him again after this."

     The two members agreed with a nod. Margaret looked at Thomas's face, his eyes closed and his breathing still steady. She lowered her head, kissed his forehead, and then moved her lips to his ear.

     "I'll always be with you."

    And just like that, Teresa and the two men took Thomas away from Margaret and into the corridors. He was gone.

    Nothing came into her thoughts except three words.

    "WICKED is good."

❦

Nothing but murmurs and voices could be heard. Was it hers? No, it had a much more masculine feel to it. It sounded more like a British accent she hadn't heard in years.

    "Bloody hell," the boy said.

    She realized she was sleeping at that point. Her eyes were closed, and she took steady breaths. She wasn't dead yet, at least not completely. Her mind worked flawlessly, attempting to calculate her surroundings and situation. She was lying on what appeared to be a bed. Knowledge flooded her mind, facts and images, memories and details of the world—even the universe—and how it works. And then she remembered seeing trees, grass, and. . . a boy.

    She remembered fleeing from him, afraid that he would do something to harm her. She remembered slowing down in order to catch her breath. Her vision had blurred and before she even knew it, she'd collapsed to the ground, the leaves crunching beneath her. Then all she could see was darkness.

    She had no idea where she'd come from, how she'd gotten into the woods, or who she was. Her name, last name—none. Confusion was overpowering her, and it was killing her. She needed to get up. She had to get up.

    "Do you recognize her?"

    Pause.

    "No. . ."

    The voice sounded familiar, but all she could think about right now was waking up. For some reason, she couldn't. It was like she was paralyzed, unable to move parts of her body. She tried everything she could, with all her strength, to move at least one finger, but it was futile. Was she really dead?

    "Where'd you find her?"

    "Alby did, actually. He was walking around the bloody Deadheads, and saw her body lying there upon the grass. Let's just hope she ain't dead."

    Another pause.

    "Are you sure you don't know her?"

    "Yes. . . I'm sure."

    Her mind was drowsy as the person's response replayed in her head. She was then pushed into a black abyss, where she fell into a deep, heavy sleep.