The Slammer stood in an obscure place between the Homestead and the north Glade wall, hidden behind
thorny, ragged bushes that looked like they hadn’t been trimmed in ages. It was a big block of roughly cut
concrete, with one tiny, barred window and a wooden door that was locked with a menacing rusty metal
latch, like something out of the Dark Ages.
Newt took out a key and opened it up, then motioned for Thomas to enter. “There’s only a chair in there
and nothin’ at all for ya to do. Enjoy yourself.”
Thomas groaned inwardly as he stepped inside and saw the one piece of furniture—an ugly, rickety
chair with one leg obviously shorter than the rest, probably on purpose. Didn’t even have a cushion.
“Have fun,” Newt said before closing the door. Thomas turned back to his new home and heard the
latch close and the lock click behind him. Newt’s head appeared at the little glassless window, looking
through the bars, a smirk on his face. “Nice reward for breakin’ the rules. You saved some lives, Tommy,
but ya still need to learn—”
“Yeah, I know. Order.”
Newt smiled. “You’re not half bad, shank. But friends or no, gotta run things properly, keep us buggers
alive. Think about that while ya sit here and stare at the bloody walls.”
And then he was gone.
* * *
The first hour passed, and Thomas felt boredom creep in like rats under the door. By hour number two, he
wanted to bang his head against the wall. Two hours after that he started to think having dinner with Gally
and the Grievers would beat sitting inside that stupid Slammer. He sat and tried to bring back memories,
but every effort evaporated into oblivious mist before anything formed.
Thankfully, Chuck arrived with lunch at noon, relieving Thomas from his thoughts.
After passing some pieces of chicken and a glass of water through the window, he took up his usual
role of talking Thomas’s ear off.
“Everything’s getting back to normal,” the boy announced. “The Runners are out in the Maze,
everyone’s working—maybe we’ll survive after all. Still no sign of Gally—Newt told the Runners to
come back lickety-splickety if they found his body. And, oh, yeah—Alby’s up and around. Seems fine—
and Newt’s glad he doesn’t have to be the big boss anymore.”
The mention of Alby pulled Thomas’s attention from his food. He pictured the older boy thrashing
around, choking himself the day before. Then he remembered that no one else knew what Alby had said
after Newt left the room—before the seizure. But that didn’t mean Alby would keep it between them now
that he was up and walking around.
Chuck continued talking, taking a completely unexpected turn. “Thomas, I’m kinda messed up, man. It’s
weird to feel sad and homesick, but have no idea what it is you wish you could go back to, ya know? All I
know is I don’t want to be here. I want to go back to my family. Whatever’s there, whatever I was taken
from. I wanna remember.”
Thomas was a little surprised. He’d never heard Chuck say something so deep and so true. “I know
what you mean,” he murmured.
Chuck was too short for his eyes to reach where Thomas could see them as he spoke, but from his next
statement, Thomas imagined them filling with a bleak sadness, maybe even tears. “I used to cry. Every
night.”
This made thoughts of Alby leave Thomas’s mind. “Yeah?”
“Like a pants-wettin’ baby. Almost till the day you got here. Then I just got used to it, I guess. This
became home, even though we spend every day hoping to get out.”
“I’ve only cried once since showing up, but that was after almost getting eaten alive. I’m probably just
a shallow shuck-face.” Thomas might not have admitted it if Chuck hadn’t opened up.
“You cried?” he heard Chuck say through the window. “Then?”
“Yeah. When the last one finally fell over the Cliff, I broke down and sobbed till my throat and chest
hurt.” Thomas remembered all too well. “Everything crushed in on me at once. Sure made me feel better
—don’t feel bad about crying. Ever.”
“Kinda does make ya feel better, huh? Weird how that works.”
A few minutes passed in silence. Thomas found himself hoping Chuck wouldn’t leave.
“Hey, Thomas?” Chuck asked.
“Still here.”
“Do you think I have parents? Real parents?”
Thomas laughed, mostly to push away the sudden surge of sadness the statement caused. “Of course you
do, shank. You need me to explain the birds and bees?” Thomas’s heart hurt—he could remember getting
that lecture but not who’d given it to him.
“That’s not what I meant,” Chuck said, his voice completely devoid of cheer. It was low and bleak,
almost a mumble. “Most of the guys who’ve gone through the Changing remember terrible things they
won’t even talk about, which makes me doubt I have anything good back home. So, I mean, you think it’s
really possible I have a mom and a dad out in the world somewhere, missing me? Do you think they cry at
night?”
Thomas was completely shocked to realize his eyes had filled with tears. Life had been so crazy since
he’d arrived, he’d never really thought of the Gladers as real people with real families, missing them. It
was strange, but he hadn’t even really thought of himself that way. Only about what it all meant, who’d
sent them there, how they’d ever get out.
For the first time, he felt something for Chuck that made him so angry he wanted to kill somebody. The
boy should be in school, in a home, playing with neighborhood kids. He deserved to go home at night to a
family who loved him, worried about him. A mom who made him take a shower every day and a dad who
helped him with homework.
Thomas hated the people who’d taken this poor, innocent kid from his family. He hated them with a
passion he didn’t know a human could feel. He wanted them dead, tortured, even. He wanted Chuck to be
happy.
But happiness had been ripped from their lives. Love had been ripped from their lives.
“Listen to me, Chuck.” Thomas paused, calming down as much as he could, making sure his voice
didn’t crack. “I’m sure you have parents. I know it. Sounds terrible, but I bet your mom is sitting in your
room right now, holding your pillow, looking out at the world that stole you from her. And yeah, I bet
she’s crying. Hard. Puffy-eyed, snotty-nosed crying. The real deal.”
Chuck didn’t say anything, but Thomas thought he heard the slightest of sniffles.
“Don’t give up, Chuck. We’re gonna solve this thing, get out of here. I’m a Runner now—I promise on
my life I’ll get you back to that room of yours. Make your mom quit crying.” And Thomas meant it. He felt
it burn in his heart.
“Hope you’re right,” Chuck said with a shaky voice. He showed a thumbs-up sign in the window, then
walked away.
Thomas stood up to pace around the little room, fuming with an intense desire to keep his promise. “I
swear, Chuck,” he whispered to no one. “I swear I’ll get you back home.”
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