Thomas felt an almost painful prick of confusion. Everything pointed to Aris's having come from another version of the Maze, set up in the same format except with the ratio of girls to boys being switched. But that would make Aris their version of Teresa. And this Beth sounded like their version of Gally, who'd killed Chuck. With a knife. Did that mean that Gally was supposed to have killed Thomas instead?
But why was Aris here now? And where was Teresa? Things that had almost started to click in his mind fell apart again.
"Well, how'd you end up with us?" Newt asked. "Where are all these girls you keep talking about? How many of them escaped with you? Did they bring all of you here or just you?"
Thomas couldn't help but feel sorry for Aris. To get grilled with all these questions after something like that had happened. If the roles were switched, if Thomas had seen Teresa get killed ... Watching it happen to Chuck had been bad enough.
Bad enough? he thought. Or was seeing Chuck die worse? Thomas wanted to scream. At that moment, everything in the world just sucked.
Aris looked up finally, wiped a couple of tears from his cheeks. He did it without the slightest hint of shame, and Thomas suddenly knew that he liked this kid.
"Look," the boy said. "I'm just as confused as everyone else. About thirty of us survived, they took us to that gym, fed us, cleaned us up. Then they brought me to this place last night, saying I should be separate since I'm a guy. That's it. Then you sticks show up."
"Sticks?" Minho repeated.
Aris shook his head. "Never mind. I don't even know what it means. Just a word they used when I got there."
Minho exchanged a glance with Thomas, half smiling. Looked like both groups had come up with their own vocabulary.
"Hey," one of the Gladers Thomas didn't really know called out. He was leaning against the wall behind Aris, pointing at him. "What's that on the side of your neck? Something black, right below your collar."
Aris tried to look down, but couldn't bend his neck to see that part of his body. "What?"
Thomas saw a dark splotch just above the back neckline of the boy's pajama shirt as he shifted around. It appeared to be a thick line, stretching from the hollow of his collarbone around to his back. And it was broken up, like it might be lettering.
"Here, let me look," Newt offered. He stood from the bed and walked over, his limp―from something in the past he'd never shared with Thomas―showing more than usual. He reached out and pulled Aris's shirt down more so he could see the odd marking better.
"It's a tattoo," Newt said, squinting as if he didn't believe his eyes.
"What's it say?" Minho asked, though he'd already gotten up from the bed and approached to get his own look.
When Newt didn't answer right away, curiosity forced Thomas to his feet, and soon he was right beside Minho, leaning over to see the tattoo himself. What he saw printed there in blocky letters made his heart skip a beat.
Property of WICKED. Group B, Subject B1. The Partner.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Minho asked.
"What does it say?" Aris asked, reaching around to feel the skin of his neck and shoulders, pulling his shirt collar down. "I swear it wasn't there last night!"
Newt repeated the words to him, then said, "Property of WICKED? I thought we'd escaped them. Or you'd escaped them, too. Whatever." He turned around, visibly frustrated, and went back to sit down on his bed.
"And why would it call you the Partner?" Minho said, still staring at the tattoo.
Aris shook his head. "I don't have a clue. I swear. And there's no way that was there before last night. I showered, looked in the mirror. I would've seen it. And someone would've noticed it back in the Maze for sure."
"You're telling me they tattooed you in the middle of the night?" Minho said. "Without you noticing? Come on, dude."
"I swear!" Aris insisted. Then he got up and went to the bathroom, probably to try to see the words for himself.
"I don't believe a shuck word he says," Minho whispered to Thomas on his way back to his seat. Then, just as he leaned forward to plop back down on the mattress, his shirt shifted enough to reveal a thick line of black on his neck.
"Whoa!" Thomas said. For a second, he was too stunned to move.
"What?" Minho asked, looking at Thomas as if he'd just sprouted a third ear on his forehead.
"Your―your neck," Thomas finally got out. "You have it on your neck, too!"
"What the shuck you talkin' about?" Minho said, pulling at his shirt, face scrunched up as he struggled to see something he couldn't.
Thomas ran over to Minho, slapped his hands away, then pulled the neckline of the shirt back. "Holy ... It's right there! Same thing, except ..."
Thomas read the words to himself.
Property of WICKED. Group A, Subject A7. The Leader.
"What, dude!" Minho yelled at him.
Most of the other Gladers had gathered in a tight group behind Thomas, squeezing in to get a look. Thomas quickly read the tattooed words out loud, surprised he did it without stumbling on them.
"You're kiddin' me, man," Minho said, standing up. He pushed his way through the crowd of boys to follow Aris to the bathroom.
And then the frenzy began. Thomas felt his own shirt tugged down as he pulled at others. Everyone started talking over everyone else.
"They all say Group A."
"Property of WICKED, just like his."
"You're Subject A-thirteen."
"Subject A-nineteen."
"A-three."
"A-ten."
Thomas was slowly turning in a circle, dazed as he watched the Gladers discover the tattoos on each other. Most of them didn't have the additional designations like Aris and Minho, just the property line. Newt was going from boy to boy, looking for himself, his face set in stone as if he were concentrating on memorizing the names and numbers. Then, quite by accident, the two of them stood facing each other.