THE HEARTS » TMR [1]

07. Another Girl

Margaret was drowning in a sea of confusion. Another girl? How is that even possible? And to think, Margaret thought she was the only girl in the Glade. But it wasn't for long. . .

    Newt shushed the boys as they squabbled over the arrival of another opposite gender into the Glade. "I think she's dead."

    Margaret noticed the girl as she stood near the edge of the Box. Her hair was a tar black color, much darker than Margaret's. She had the same flawless white skin as Margaret. Freckles were strewn across her cheeks, just like Margaret's.

    "What's in her hand?" Gally asked.

   Margaret furrowed her brows and took a closer look at the girl, noticing a rolled-up piece of paper in her delicate hand. Gally's ability to notice that important detail while it was well hidden in the girl's grasp was impressive. Newt dashed forward, ripping the paper from the girl's grasp. He unfolded the paper and read the message aloud.

    "She's the last one. Ever," he said. Margaret didn't break her stare when she heard a few gasps coming from her right. "What the hell does that mean?"

    Then the girl's eyes snapped open, and she sucked in a huge breath. Everybody, except for Thomas, jumped back a few steps. Margaret caught a glimpse of the girl's eyes, as well as the sound of her distinct voice.

    "Thomas."

    The air became deafeningly quiet. All of the boys had surprised expressions on their faces, except for Gally. He wasn't surprised. He was suspicious at best. The boys' focus shifted from the girl to Thomas, who was sweating from nervousness. Margaret felt bad. Things just kept getting worse and worse for him.

    "Still think I'm overreacting?" Gally said, his scratchy voice so low and cruel it was almost comical. Almost.

    Margaret rolled her eyes at him and wanted to grab Thomas's hand in an attempt to comfort him. But she didn't. She just stood nearby and watched as the boys dragged the girl's body out of the Box. They carried her into the Homestead, where Alby was being cared for by these people known as the Med-Jacks. Margaret had passed by Alby's room and noticed his wrists and ankles were all bound. Margaret leaned in closer to see what was wrong with him, but when she saw his condition, she was terrified. 

    In agony, a distorted, dark figure writhed, chest bare and grotesque. Taut, rigid lines of sickly dark purple veins protruded from the boy's body and limbs. Alby's body was mostly covered in purplish bruises and bloody scratches. His eyes were squeezed tightly together, and his chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace.

    Margaret gulped; she was on the verge of vomiting. She pushed herself away from the door, away from the horror, and continued to follow the boys. They entered an open room and found the girl peacefully sleeping on a wooden bed. The bed where Margaret once slept in. 

    "Jeff, what's going on? What's the matter with her? Why won't she wake up?" Newt asked. 

    "Hey man, I got my job the same way you did," he simply said.

    Then Newt looked at Thomas. "Do you recognize her?"

    Thomas shook his head. "No."

    Margaret couldn't help but scoff. "That's hard to believe since she recognizes you."

    Minho turned around, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Uh, sorry, who are you? I don't think I've ever seen you here before."

    "My name's Margaret," she said without looking at him. "I was in the Council Hall, sitting in the front row. . . "

    "Oh, shuck. Guess I didn't see ya there. Sorry about that," Minho said, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.