THE HEARTS » TMR [1]

11. A Memory

Margaret was sitting in a darkened room, her head buried in her legs, crying silently to herself. It was like that for a few minutes when she heard the door open. Margaret looked up to see a woman in white hospital scrubs and a lab coat enter the room. She quickly drew back against the wall.

     "Stay away from me," Margaret cried, pushing her legs up to her chest. 

     The woman approached her in a gentle manner. "You don't need to be afraid of me, sweetie. I'm here to help you." 

     Margaret shook her head. "No. No. No, you're lying."

     The woman knelt to Margaret's level, a sincere expression on her face. "Sweetheart, I'm telling you the absolute truth. I'm not here to hurt you, I'm here to get you out."

     Margaret locked her gaze on the woman. Her eyes showed no signs of deception, only compassion and tenderness. She was telling the truth.

     "Who are you?" 

     The woman gently caressed her head. Margaret was soothed by her touch. "You'll find out soon, but for now," the woman said, pulling a needle from one of her pockets, "it's time to rest, sweetheart."

     Margaret didn't scream or protest when she saw the needle. Instead, she let the woman remove her hair from her neck and inject the needle into her pale, fragile skin. Margaret would soon fall asleep, but not before hearing one last important thing from the woman.

     "WICKED is not good."

The glare of the sun awoke Margaret. She yawned and rubbed her eyes. Her vision blurred for a split second before she noticed Teresa, up and running, softly dabbing a wet cloth around Alby's forehead. Her black hair was tangled, and she had bags under her blue eyes. Margaret could guess that she hadn't gotten enough sleep, but she wouldn't blame her. Sleeping in the Glade was an uncomfortable experience.

     Teresa smiled as she turned her attention to Margaret. "Hey. Sorry, I⎯I didn't want to wake you. You seemed so exhausted, I thought it might've been better to leave you alone and help Alby myself." 

    Margaret stood up and shook her head. She deeply regretted sleeping in a curled position, sitting on the floor against the wall, her knees tightly pressed against her chest. Parts of her body ached in pain, especially her bottom and back. She'd basically proven her previous thought at that point.

     "Oh, you didn't have to do that," Margaret said, stifling a grunt. 

     Teresa shrugged. "It's fine, I insisted. It's not fair that you're the only one who has to do all the work around here. Why not make it even?"

     "Yeah, I guess so." Margaret smiled. "Thanks."

     Teresa nodded. "No problem."

     Margaret continued to observe Teresa lightly dabbing Alby's forehead until she noticed something different about him. She examined his entire body; the purple veins were fading.

     "Wow," Margaret said in disbelief. "That syringe actually worked."

     "Of course, it did," Teresa said calmly. "Thomas said it would."

     Margaret's features soften at the mention of his name. "Yeah, and that thing came up here with you, right?"

     Teresa's eyebrows furrowed. "Thing?"

     "The syringe, I mean."

     "Oh, yeah. Thomas thought that the. . . Creators had sent me up here to deliver that for Alby. To save his life. But, to be completely honest, I believe it can also be used for something else. I just don't know what it is." Teresa bit her lower lip, her skepticism replacing the uncertainty on her face. She simply shook the thought away by continuing to cool Alby's feverish head, squeezing the remaining cold water from the cloth into the bucket.

     Margaret wondered what was so special about Teresa, given that she had arrived in the Glade in the same manner as the rest of the Gladers. There had to be a chance that she remembered parts of her past before entering the Glade and was simply concealing them from the rest of them, including Thomas.

     "Did you remember anything from last night in your sleep?" Margaret asked.

     Teresa sighed and licked her lips nervously. She kept her blue eyes on Alby's face and said, "No."

     Margaret caved in her response, but she knew deep down that it was a lie. She definitely remembered something, judging by the look on her face and the sweat clinging to her brow. She just didn't want to tell Margaret. 

     "Did you?" Teresa asked.

    "No."

     She lied straight to her face, just like Teresa had done to her, to keep things fair between them.

     After a few moments, Newt came limping inside the Homestead to check on Alby. 

     "How is he?" The british boy asked. 

     "Well, morning to you, too, Newt," Margaret remarked sarcastically. Newt rolled his eyes and huffed in annoyance. "Relax, Newt. Alby's fine. The veins on his body have practically vanished, and his fever is slowly going down. We just don't know when he'll wake up. It could take some time."

     Newt approached Alby's bed and lightly patted his leg. "It's fine as long as he's getting better. Thank you, you two. For taking good care of him."

     Teresa beamed, playful bumping her shoulder against Margaret's. "It's no problem at all."

     "Where's Minho and Thomas? Have they gone inside the Maze yet?" Margaret asked.

     Newt nodded. "They both went looking for something. Of course, those bloody two wouldn't tell me exactly what they were looking for, mainly because—"

     "They have no idea what they're looking for," Margaret finished, crossing her arms.

     Newt nodded once more. "Let's just hope they find something, even if it is completely useless."