The Scorch Trials - James Dashner [43]
It was her.
It was Teresa.
When he reached a point just a few feet from her, right before the faint light would finally reveal her face, she turned around and went through an open door, disappearing inside the small building. It was a rectangle, a slightly tilted roof tenting in the middle, longways. As far as he could tell, it had no windows. Large black cubes were hanging from the corners—speakers, perhaps. Maybe the sound had been broadcast, been a fake. That would explain why they could hear it from so far away.
The door, a big slab of wood, stood all the way open and rested against the wall. It was even darker inside than out.
Thomas moved. He walked through the door, realizing even as he did so how reckless and stupid it might be. But it was her. No matter what had happened, no matter the explanation for her disappearance and refusal to speak with him through their thoughts, he knew she wouldn’t hurt him. No way.
The air was noticeably cooler inside, almost moist. It felt wonderful. Three steps in, he stopped and listened in the complete darkness. He could hear her breathing.
“Teresa?” he asked aloud, pushing away the temptation to ask for her in his mind again. “Teresa, what’s going on?”
She didn’t respond, but he heard a short intake of breath, followed by a halting sniff, as if she were crying but trying to hide it from him.
“Teresa, please. I don’t know what’s happened or what they did to you, but I’m here now. This is crazy. Just talk to—”
He cut off when a light blazed to life with a quick flare that then dulled to a small flame. His eyes naturally went straight to it, to the hand holding a match. He watched as it dropped, slowly, carefully, to light a candle resting on a small table. When it caught, and the hand flicked the match until it went out, Thomas finally looked up and saw her. Saw that he’d been right after all. But the short and almost overpowering thrill of seeing Teresa alive was soon cut short, replaced by confusion and pain.
She was clean, every part of her. He’d expected her to be filthy like he must be after all this time in the dusty desert. He’d expected her clothes to be ratty and torn. He’d expected greasy hair and a smudged and sunburned face. But instead she wore fresh clothes; her clean hair cascaded to her shoulders. Nothing marred the pale skin of her face or arms. She was more beautiful than he’d ever seen her in the Maze, than any memories he could pull from the murky goop of what he’d recovered after the Changing.
But her eyes sparkled with tears; her lower lip trembled with fear; her hands shook at her sides. He saw recognition in her eyes, saw that she hadn’t forgotten him again, but behind that there was pure and absolute terror.
“Teresa,” he whispered, knotting up inside. “What’s wrong?”
She didn’t respond, but her eyes flickered to the side, then back to him. A couple of tears trickled out, slipping down her cheeks, then falling to the floor. Her lips trembled even more, and her chest lurched with what could only be a stifled sob.
Thomas stepped forward, put his hands out to her.
“No!” she screamed. “Get away from me!”
Thomas stopped—it was like something massive had just slammed him in the gut. He held his hands up. “Okay, okay. Teresa, what …” He didn’t know what to say or ask. Didn’t know what to do. But that terrible feeling of something breaking inside him intensified, threatened to choke him as it swelled in his throat.
He stilled, scared to set her off again. All he could do was lock eyes with her, try to communicate how he felt, beg her to tell him something. Anything.
A very long moment passed in silence. The way her body shook, the way she almost seemed to struggle against something unseen … it reminded him of …
It reminded him of how Gally had been acting, right after they’d escaped from the Glade and he’d entered the room with the woman