The Boat On The Beach

Chapter Thirty-eight: Urges

The two boys headed down the cliff, slipping on the mud and gripping to each other as they laughed and tripped. Eventually they got to the base of the hill and they put on their serious faces, met with stony faces as they were lead by Frypan to the small beach hut where Janson was being held. The cook opened the door for the two, the blond following Thomas into the rotting hut. Minho was stood in the corner with his arms crossed over his chest, watching the now conscious man, who was tied in a small wooden chair, behind a table, which was more of a fruitless barrier more than anything else. Another chair was ready on the opposite side of the table, which Jack was leaning on.

"Thomas, can you deal with this before we leave?"  The man pushed up onto his heel, straightening.

"Yeah, we can. Go get ready Jack." The boy encouraged, giving the mans shoulder a squeeze as he left. Thomas drew up the chair and sat at it, feeling the brit stand behind him, steely gaze set on the man.

"Janson, your going to tell us what we want to know." Thomas leant forward. The man scoffed, head hung low.

"No I won't."

"Yes you will." Minho growled.

"Or what? What could you possibly do to me now?" The man met the boys gaze, tired and furious. Thomas  thought. Janson was so set on getting the cure, surviving. He was sure he knew how to get to the man.

"We'll kill you." The american answered. Janson locked eyes with him, and Thomas was taken a back. He looked exasperated, maybe even hopeful.

"Please. Please kill me." Thomas felt all colour drain from his face. He hoped he'd never have to hear someone plead for him to take their life again. Even if it was Janson, the words weren't any less sharp. He practically heard the blond roll his eyes from the corner, striding past Thomas, squeezing his bicep reassuringly, clearly aware of the boys thoughts. Newt leant over the table, forcing the man to make eye contact.

"You don't tell us what we want to know, we'll leave you to rot." The boys growl was low, threatening. Thomas saw something flicker in Jansons eyes, something he had never seen before. Fear. True, genuine terror, just for a second. Then they flicked back to resentment and a soft smirk played on the mans blood stained lips.

"You wouldn't dare. Newt I know you. Your far too compassionate to leave me here."

"You don't know the first thing about me." The boy spat back, with too much fury to be his own. Thomas's heart skipped a beat when he realised Newt was on the edge of flying off the handle again, and getting one of his urges. "I will."

"No you won't."

"I'll leave you here, to starve. Well," Thomas heard the smirk on the boys lips, "You'll starve. But that won't." He tapped the mans chest, "It'll come. It's already coming, I can see it in your eyes. The monsters eating you from the inside out. You give us our answers we'll kill it. It'll stop. I know your scared, of course you are. Theres something in your brain that's not you. And its strong. Stronger than you, stronger than me, stronger than any willpower anyone has."

"I want to stop it." The man croaked, Thomas exchanging a glance with Minho.

"Then tell us what we want to know. We'll kill it." The man frowned in thought. Suddenly he grabbed Newt's shirt, pulling him closer. Thomas and Minho were on their feet in an instance, reaching for their guns.

"Stop, its fine." The brit reassured, leaning closer to the mans, who's hands were trembling. Janson leant closer, coming close to the blonds ear. He muttered something, low and unintelligible, and let go of him. Newt stared at him, his eyes cloudy with contemplation, conflict and pity. He eventually nodded curtly, and walked away, back to the spot he had previously been stood in. Minho and Thomas frowned at each other, confused and worried.