Forgotten Memories [A TW/TMR Fanfiction]

8. Escape

THOMAS/STILES POV

When I wake, I open my eyes to see a grey ceiling. I let out a groan, and try to move, only to yell out in excruciating pain.

Everything hurts. Which means, this wasn't a dream. Janson did torture me.

I sit up on the bed, and clutch my leg when it protests. I see a entry wound, and remember the bullet. I try to bend over to see, but my body is so stiff I can't hardly move a muscle. All I can tell is that the bullet is still lodged in my leg. Nothing I can do about that.

Slowly, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. Once that is complete, I try to stand, but when I use my arms to push myself up, I collapse. I notice that I now have a white tshirt on, and my arms are covered in blood. The two long slices of a knife are still there, but now I see a couple more bruises that weren't there before. I guess Janson didn't stop after I blacked out. I try to put the pain aside and stand up.

It takes a minute, but I have enough strength to balance on my right leg, favouring my left. I look around the room. It isn't the same as my dormitory that I stayed in before. The walls are a dark grey, the floors white tile. The only furniture in the room is a bed, a mirror, and a single desk and chair. Not exactly a prison cell, but close enough.

Taking a breath, I start walking--hobbling, is more like it--to the mirror. I gaze at my appearance, and try to contain my gasp.

I look like I was run over by a truck a dozen times. Bruises cover my face, and large gash runs along my cheekbone. My arms are caked with dry and blossoming blood. I slowly pull off my shirt to reveal even more wounds. The one that stands out, though, is the word sliced across my chest with a blade.

WICKED.

Janson actually branded me. Jagged letters cover the left side of my chest, still bleeding. There are cuts and bruises all over my torso, but this one stands out. It's my own personal name tag; property of WICKED.

I also notice my pants have changed from fitted sweatpants to black jeans. Why? I have no idea. Blood covers my left calf, but is more red around the bullet wound. I only know where it is based on the stain.

I don't even recognize myself.

I pull my shirt back on, ignoring the blood staining the pristine colour. Instead, I look for more details around the room.

There's one entrance; the large metal door, which is coded. No windows. No bathroom. Limited furniture. An AC vent. No materials whatsoever.

Wait.

I hobble over to the grating, and see some loose screws. If I take them out, the grate will come right off.

I look around once more, and spot a camera. I look back to the vent, making sure it doesn't look like I've taken an interest in it. I make my way back to the bed. The camera is right above it. If I can stand up on the mattress, I could try to disable it. But, then Janson would know I did it and come for me. Dammit.

My eyebrows raise as I come up with an idea. I take another look up at the camera, and sure enough, I see it pivoting. It's rotatable.

I look around for something to hit it with. Spotting nothing, I sigh, and turn back to it. Carefully and quietly, I climb onto the bed and stand. I can just about reach the lens. I raise a hand up, careful not to block the view, and push the camera to the left side of the room. It moves with ease. I let out a silent breath.

I get off the bed and head to the vent again. My left leg protests as I squat down in front of the grate. I pull at the first screw, surprised when it pops right out. I move to the second one. It give a little trouble before coming out as well. The third is the same. The fourth, however, won't budge. I grunt in frustration, and twist and twist. After about two minutes, it finally gives. Once the screws are set aside, I pull on the grate and take it out of the wall.

There's enough room for my body to fit. Smiling to myself, I look back at the camera, and smile brighter when I see it hasn't moved. This might actually work.

I climb in feet first, making sure to put the grate back in place. I have enough space to turn back around, and once I have, I start moving. It's dark, but my eyes adjust quickly. I see no other directions to choose from, so I keep going straight.

After maybe five minutes of crawling, my leg starts to throb. I look back, and notice I'm leaving a fresh trail of blood. I sit up, hunched over, and see that my bullet wound has started bleeding again. I continue crawling.

Another minute passes before the vent goes on a curve. It's brighter up ahead, but I can't see what it's coming from just yet. I make my way around the curve.

About three meters ahead of me is another grate, just like the one I entered through. I use caution when approaching. I have to be careful, since this grate is on the ground. I look down under it to see computers and people in white coats. Must be the lab. I'm about to move on when someone speaks.

"I just don't understand why you had to beat him so hard," Ava Paige says, sighing.

"It was necessary for his understanding," Janson answers. I feel myself bristle. "He wouldn't have--"

"Janson. He is valuable. And you went and beat him to a pulp. You made him pass out."

I hear a loud grunt from Rat Man. "I am sorry. I thought it was something I had to do. It won't happen again. But, what do you want us to do with him?"

"I don't know. Whatever makes him trust us again."

I keep crawling before I can hear anything else. I need to get out of here before they go to get me. It becomes dark again once I'm far enough away from the lab.

After what I think might be ten minutes, I feel a gust of wind. Only, it isn't the AC. This feels natural. Exactly like the outside. My heart jumps. I move towards it, and see natural light up ahead.

I reach another grate, and I see blue sky beyond it. Sitting up, I put out my right leg. With as much force I can muster, I kick at the grate, surprised when it falls right off. I scurry out of the vent, and fall on my side. I wasn't aware of the slight drop. I groan when my whole body shudders.

I get to my feet, and take in my surroundings. I'm momentarily disoriented before a memory kicks in, and surprise comes full force.

In in California.

But how?

I squint, looking around. I notice that the vent I came out of actually was underground. I exited the vent into a ditch of some sort.

Carefully, I limp up the side of the ditch, and make it to a deserted road. A sign catches my eye:

Beacon Hills - 5 miles

I breath a sigh of relief. Beacon Hills, My hometown. Beacon Hills, where I was taken from.

Beacon Hills, where I can find Scott McCall.

I start walking.

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