After Chuck left, Trace composed three songs:
The first was called 'Talk to Me, Thomas'. It was a love ballad she wrote, feeling inspired by Thomas' refusal to talk to her after she became too annoying.
The second composition resided more in the heavy metal genre, and was entitled 'I Don't Need Friends Anyway'. It involved a lot of screaming and head-banging, and Newt had to come past and tell her to 'slim it before people think you're possessed'.
Which inspired her to write the third song, a country-western piece, which she appropriately named 'Maybe I'm Possessed, Maybe It's Just Passion'.
They were all hits; Trace was sure of it. She was also sure she had room to compose a few more, but when she heard the rumbling of the doors closing for the night, she breathed a sigh of relief. Before long, Alby appeared to let her and Thomas out.
Thomas looked at Alby as though he was seeing a ghost and, to be honest, Trace was even a little surprised herself at how much better he looked. No gross green veiny things or pale, ghostly skin.
Alby looked well.
He said he didn't feel that way, though, and Trace didn't doubt him there.
Alby started talking, not wanted to say too much about what he knew, for fear of strangling himself again. Trace knew what he'd seen about Thomas though; she didn't care about that. She wanted to know why he knew her. She wanted to know what she'd done to end up here. Why she knew so much.
"What about me, Aunty Alby?" she asked, elbowing him as she used the nickname, in case he'd somehow forgotten about it during The Changing.
"You're different," he said, and then hesitated as if he were afraid to say too much.
"Different? In what way? Why am I different to Thomas and Ter- the girl?"
Alby sighed. "I don't remember much. Even now it's fading. I only remember bits and pieces. But you knew something before. About the people who sent us here. You knew they were up to something."
He shook his head as if it would somehow clear his mind. "But you didn't stop them."
The words sent chills through Trace's heart. She felt sick. As if she might faint.
"And you remember some of it, don't you? I can see it in your eyes. I knew something was up the minute you showed up here."
Trace's voice got caught in her throat and she found herself unable to reply all of a sudden. Her expression had given herself away. Still, she refused to admit what she knew.
"No. I don't remember it at all. I didn't even know I was involved." Technically, it wasn't a lie.
"Right..." Alby narrowed his eyes at her, still suspicious. "Well, when you decide to remember, let me know," he said, obviously too run-down to argue any further.
Trace ate dinner in silence, which was an unusual state for her. Newt tried to talk to her a few times, but not even he could break her from her stupor. She did manage to thank him for lending her his clothes though.
After dinner, she headed straight to bed, somehow exhausted from doing nothing all day. She was surprised to see a small square lump at the end of her bed, and smiled when she got closer. Her own clothes were clean, dry, and folded neatly into a pile.
"Thanks, Mom," she muttered, before picking them up, intending to take them away to change back into.
"You're welcome."
Trace screamed and jumped about a foot in the air at the sound of the voice, which was right beside her right ear.
"Shuckity shucking pile of klunk slinthead! You scared the klunk out of me, Nut!" Trace yelled, trying not to drop her clean clothes onto the floor.
YOU ARE READING
Subject A250: The Fangirl (COMPLETED)
Fanfiction--Book one in the Subject A250 series-- She's read the books. She's seen the movies. She knows all there is to know about the storyline. Except for her role in it.
