Forgotten Memories [A TW/TMR Fanfiction]

11. Janson's News

BRENDA POV

Minho shakes me awake.

"Brenda! Get up you lazy shank, Janson's back."

It's been a couple of days since Thomas came back, and was taken yet again. We've heard nothing, seen nothing. Until now.

I scramble to my feet. Once I'm standing, we rush over to the now open Flat Trans. Janson stands in front of it, no emotion clouding his face. His hands are clasped behind his back, clothes perfectly un-wrinkled; like a professional.

We stop a couple meters away. He sees us, and I expect a smirk. But, his face is solemn. That isn't good.

"Where's Thomas?" I ask, not bothering with greetings.

Janson sighs. "That is actually why I'm here. Thomas...Thomas has--"

"What the hell did you do to him, you mother--" Minho starts, but I stop him. He lets out a huff, and glares at the Rat Man.

Janson tries to speak again. "Once we got back, Thomas was punished for his outburst. We took him back to his room, and left him there for the night. When we went to check on him in the morning, he..." Anger flares in his eyes, but it's quickly replaced with some sort of sadness. "He was dead."

My heart leaps out of my throat and onto the ground. "What...?"

Minho gasps, and grabs me shoulders to keep me upright. "No...that can't be--Tommy..."

Janson offers a sad smile. "I'm very sorry. It seemed that he had tried to...hang himself, and unfortunately succeeded."

Pain takes over. My bones shake. Thomas...dead? No.

The sadness is replaced by anger. "No. You're lying. He would never hang himself."

Rat Man steps forward. "I would never lie about something like this. Thomas has indeed--"

"Listen here, Shuck-face." Minho practically spits out the words. "Thomas would never kill himself. He's better than that. And, we know you lie about every shuck thing you say. You hurt him, didn't you? That's why you're covering for it. Thomas isn't dead."

Janson visibly stiffens. His eyes turn to cold rock. "Thomas is dead. I am not lying. Would you like to see a picture of it?" He pulls out a portable screen. He clicks a few times before pulling up a picture, turning the screen toward us. I gasp.

It's a picture of Thomas, lying on a table. A sheet is pulled up to his chest, just under his shoulders. His eyes are closed, his skin pale. But that's not what worries me. It's his wounds.

A huge gash runs along his cheekbone, red with dry blood. Bruises cover any part of skin that's visible. There's a faint line running across his neck; as if he was strangled.

Minho's intake of breath is enough to bring tears to my eyes. I speak anyway. "No. You beat him. This isn't a picture of a dead body, it's a picture of an unconscious boy who was tortured."

Janson's eyes are still full of anger. "You don't have to believe me. But do trust me when I say this: you won't see him again. He's gone. Dead."

Minho's face contorts into anger, but there is sadness in his eyes. "Then show us the body. If he really is dead, I want to see him."

I look to him, but he doesn't meet my gaze.

Janson sighs. "I'm afraid I can't just yet. He is undergoing a autopsy. We cannot move his body. But, when we can, I'll be sure to bring him to you."

I scoff. Before I can speak, Janson is saying goodbye and heading back through the Flat Trans.

Once he's gone, I burst into tears. Minho pulls me close, and we just stand there, crying.