Роберт Уилсон - Days Since... - Thomas - Day 758

Thomas noticed Blaine seemed intent on speaking at length. “I’m just trying to get my mind right before we head into their camp.” He tried returning to his book.

“I’m not trying to be rude here, but”—Blaine placed his fingertips on the table, propping his hand up like a tent—“we are going to talk.” He tapped his fingers a few times against the wooden top, insisting Thomas rejoin the conversation.

“That’s fine.” Thomas folded the cover, making the block of pages whole again. “I thought you were here to talk to prisoners.”

Blaine nodded. “Oh, I will, but I don’t go into these delicate proceedings blindly.” He pulled the seat opposite Thomas from the table and sat. He cracked his knuckles individually from pinky to thumb then removed a notepad and pen from his shirt pocket. He placed them very precisely on the table, setting the pad to his right, parallel to the table with the pen sitting along a line that ran horizontal across the cover.

“And the lady?” Thomas asked.

“I already spoke briefly with the woman. She gave a great bit of information that I feel you’ll find of use.” He tapped the notepad, which caused the pen to move slightly from its calculated position. Quickly, he fixed it. “It’s fairly obvious what her circumstances are. Speaking with her wasn’t the problem, it was getting her to calm down. But what I wish to focus on now is gathering the facts before I go at the kid.” Blaine eyed Thomas, expecting a response from him, but Thomas hadn’t heard a question. “And… that’s where I require your assistance.”

“I see.” Thomas slid the book to the side, straightened himself in the chair then placed his palms flat against the table. “What would you like to know?” He smiled.

Blaine cupped his hands and squeezed them together as he looked down into his lap. Thomas could see an unpleasant smile take shape—clearly displeased with this sarcastic response. But once Blaine took his eyes from his lap and faced Thomas again, his smile had changed to something more agreeable. “This isn’t a formal discussion.” He tried to soften the mood by waving his hand as if he were swatting a pesky fly from the air. “Seriously, relax. I feel you’ve misinterpreted my intentions.”

“I’m here to assist you with whatever you need,” Thomas jested as he folded his hands on the table and leaned forward a bit. “Whatever it is you need to ask me.”

A lump cleared Blaine’s throat, and he picked at one corner of his mouth with his thumb. He blinked hard then pressed his balled fists together in what had to be one last attempt to get every pop out of his knuckles that he could. “Why is it you’re here?”

“You know why—”

“You said,” Blaine interrupted him, but managed to remain cordial,” that you would answer my questions, correct? Keep in mind that any lies you offer, if proven, could disqualify you from the Soldier Program.”

Joseph… Thomas started to bounce his knee underneath the table, but restrained it by driving his heel into the floor. “Yeah.” Be careful. Play nice. Thomas wetted his lips and started, “The group that came before us missed the Butcher. I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

“Good. And how long have you been with the Second Alliance?”

“I’m not sure the exact date, but definitely over a year.”

The questions continued as he sat there—basic questions used to gauge his response—to set the bar for truthfulness. There wasn’t much thought required for each inquiry the interrogator posed. Thomas couldn’t help his mind from wandering as the answers slid easily from his memory.

Thomas wasn’t ignorant to what Blaine worked to establish. What he had trouble understanding was how this man with rounded spectacles held such a position within the Second Alliance. This thin, uninspiring man appeared so out of place next to his Soldier escorts—out of place in general. A man, by Thomas’s estimation, that should not have survived the end of the world. But despite this opinion, the man was clearly important to someone based on the amount of firepower he required and perhaps that was how he had survived.

“How did you come upon the young man you took into custody?”

“Camping here in the library last night when James woke me up. He told me he heard glass break and saw a light move across the bookcases.” Thomas pointed toward the lantern in an effort to validate his explanation.

“Okay.”

“The kid started pulling books from the shelf and just dropped them on the floor. Didn’t seem concerned at all. It was like he had been here before.”

“And?” Blaine seemed bored with the specific details, although it was clear he listened to them intently.

“At the time, we weren’t exactly sure what we had, but figured it would be best to make a move rather than wait and see.” I have to own this. Thomas cleared his throat. “It was me that made the decision to go and take control of the situation.”

“Control, huh?” Blaine pointed over his shoulder. “And what happened to the window there? The kid doesn’t appear to be cut.”

“Well…” Thomas calculated his response as quickly as he could. “I overestimated our advantage and missed what he had done with the lantern.” Nervously, he massaged his palm with the thumb of his opposite hand. “The kid almost got the best of us, but I manage— we took care of the situation.”

“You know that I’ll be speaking with the prisoner once I’m finished here, correct?”

Thomas paused. Through the lenses of Blaine’s glasses he saw an unimpressed gaze, but upon their surface, Thomas could see himself in the reflection—his own face showed worry. Blaine had caught the deceit in Thomas’s answer.

“These questions are simply for fact gathering.” Blaine expelled his breath. “This is nothing more than that. Do not turn this into something larger than what’s transpiring here.”

“I understand.” You’ve done nothing wrong to act this way. Yes, it’s embarrassing, but shit, man… Get it together before he really thinks you’re trying to hide something. Thomas diverted his attention from Blaine to the office. “It…” he tried to explain, but the laughter from inside the office was distracting—James with the others, currently the center of attention, chatting and laughing boisterously with the Soldier reinforcements from the Capital. A half circle wrapped around him while he acted out what appeared to be some sort of fight scene. No telling if it was a recent run-in or something from his past.

“It wasn’t what we were expecting.” Thomas said, finally able to gather his thoughts. “When we realized that he wasn’t there—that it was just the light—we retreated to the office. The kid threw a chair through it and came after us. The fight didn’t last long—”

“I would hope not,” Blaine retorted.

Thomas furrowed his brow, caught off guard by the remark. It was how he said it, as if to say “You’re a Second Alliance Guard. He’s a boy. It should never have been a fight.” He wasn’t completely wrong. But, for this man—this small and delicate person—to make a comment like that, to insult Thomas, when very clearly Blaine would’ve been completely overwhelmed and bested. Thomas and James had thwarted the attacker when the advantage he held was substantial. Blaine, on the hand, would be sprawled out across the floor on the other side of that broken window, his last breath taken several hours ago.

Despite Thomas showing disdain for Blaine’s comment, the interrogator continued unfazed, “Restrain yourself from sharing that you and James had issues with the kid. Lying is in poor taste, but being bested by a child is worse. Keep it close to the vest.” Blaine paused for a moment, finally realizing the death stare that Thomas had focused on him. “In addition to any interrogations required during this endeavor, I’ve also been instructed to mitigate any perceived weaknesses of yours—”