Afflicted↠ Newt [1]

Chapter 18

-Emily-

I fought to see over the small crowd of boys. To see whose body lay on the ground in front of us, writhering and thrashing about as if he were in pain. Newt pushed his way through the crowd, and I tried to do the same, but I failed miserably. Though, judging by the way Newt's muscles tensed as he stared at the body on the ground, I knew it couldn't be good. The boys grew silent, and I began to hear the most dreadful sound coming from the boy's lips. It sounded close to a dying pig, mixed with some grunts of pain here and there. It was as if they boy was being possessed.
I pushed my way through the crowd of boys and stood beside Newt. I felt my breath hitch in my throat, my stomach doing somersaults inside of me as I stared down at the body, finally recognizing who it was. Nick.
Clint kneeled beside him, though he did nothing to help the poor boy. Just watched as he thrashed about on the ground.
"Shouldn't we do something?" I practically screamed, looking over at Newt.
He stared at me helplessy and shrugged. "Clint said we just have to let him get through this."
I looked back down at Nick, felt utterly helpless. His brown hair fell over his eyes, drenched in sweat. His fists were balled at his sides, beginning to turn white.
A voice spoke to me in the back of my mind. His tone ominous- possessing, almost.
"This is all because of you, Emily."
And then my vision went black.

+

I woke up in the Homestead, groaned as the sunlight scorched my eyes. Sweat dappled my forehead, my breathing heavy. At first, I was confused as of what happened. But then I remembered Nick.
My thoughts immediately went to him. Wondering whether he was okay or not. I could hear faint screams coming from outside my room- perhaps in a different room altogether. The scream of pain. Sounding as if whoever was screaming was ripping their vocal chords to shreds, it was almost unbearable. I covered my ears, squeezed my eyes shut, attempting to block out the dreadful sounds.
I knew that there was something terribly wrong with Nick.
I heard the door open, causing me to jump slightly. I opened my eyes to see Newt standing in the doorway, his eyebrows ceased in concern.
"I knew you'd be awake," he said and smiled. I forced myself to return the smile, though I knew it must've looked like I was in pain. It seemed almost impossible to smile with the screaming coming from just down the hall.
"Are you okay?" Newt walked over to the bed, sat on the edge.
"I'm fine," I assured him, though he didn't look to convinced. He took my hand, entwined our fingers, concern evident on his face. "What's wrong with Nick?" I asked him.
He shrugged, "He's going mental. Screaming stuff about things being inside his buggin' head. It's bloody horrible."
As soon as he finished speaking, almost as if on cue, another scream echoed off the walls, shaking the rickety building. I closed my eyes, tried my hardest to ignore the sound, though it was no use. Newt rubbed his thumb over my hand comfortingly, though stayed silent.
"Don't pass out on me again," his voice brought me out of my daze. "You scared the hell out of me before."
I then realized that my eyes were beginning to close. I felt light-headed, as if I were about to black out any moment now. Though, honestly, I would rather have been in a coma than having to listen to Nick's painful screams a moment longer.

I barely slept that night. Though, I'm sure no one really did. Unless they were a heartless shank. Nick's screams echoed off the stone walls all night long, accompanying the dreadful screams of the occasional griever.
Newt stayed with me all night, his arms wrapped around me as I snuggled into his chest. He comforted me, making me feel at least a little safe. It was hard to feel safe, especially with someone going completely mental just in the other room. Finally, however, I slipped into a light sleep, the screams still haunting my dreams.

I stood in a dark room, watching as a man talked to two kids- the same two kids from my previous dreams. They were older now, probably around 9 and 10, though they showed no signs of such a young age. If it weren't for their looks, I would have assumed they were both at least 20. They were mature. Both wearing an over-sized, all white lab coat- one familiar, dreadful word stitched across the breast pocket: WICKED.
Whether the kids and the man could see me or not, I wasn't sure. But, if they could, they showed no signs of it. It was as if I were invisible. Though, I could've very well been, as it were a dream.
They're mouths moved, but no words came out. I felt a prick of frustration, wanted to know what they were saying. What they were talking about. Blue and red lights flashed behind them, on some type of transparent screens. Pictures flashed on the screens- very bad quality, but still there. They were pictures of kids. Profiles, almost.
I focused on one boy, narrowed my eyes in attempt to make out every detail of his face. Even though the photo was low quality, I still recognized something about the boy. Sandy blonde hair, though his eyes were closed, so I couldn't see what color they were. If only I could've, then I would've been able to know who this boy was. And why he seemed so familiar.
I focused back on the kids and the man, who were still engaged in a deep, silent conversation. The kids looked scared, almost threatened, as the man bent down. He patted the girl on the shoulder, his eyes shining with pride. He then stood up, flashed the boy a look that sent chills down my spine, and turned to exit the room, leaving the two kids alone.
Suddenly, as if I were just given the gift of hearing, I began to hear noises. Beeping. Almost like a heart monitor in a hospital. A hissing sound came from my left, causing me to jump slightly. And then I heard a voice- a girl's voice. The little girl had turned to look at the boy, her eyes shining unnaturally, as if she were being possessed. The words that came out of her mouth sent shivers up my spine.
"Stephen, WICKED is good."