The Rule of Thoughts

by James Dashner

  They sat on the couch, turned to face each other. Sarah pulled her legs up under her, one arm draped over her ankles as she solemnly stared at Michael. So many emotions bubbled inside him, but mostly he just felt an overwhelming sense of how surreal things had become. This girl was his best friend—one of two, anyway—and yet they’d just seen each other for the first time. And for him, the first time since becoming a human.

  “I … It’s hard to know where to start,” he said.

  “Wherever you need to,” she replied, green eyes blazing. “I need to know it’s you, Michael.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, okay. Well, I was with you when you got killed on the Path. The lava. I wanted to die and come back to the Wake with you, but … you made me promise to finish. And I did. I guess.”

  “Not good enough, moron. Kaine was watching everything we did. You could’ve been told what to say. Or seen it yourself.”

  Michael sighed. He’d suddenly lost all patience for proving himself, because he had something much bigger to say that would nail her jaw to the floor in shock. But how did he get there?

  “We met at Dan the Man Deli,” he began. “You and I love bleu chips, Bryson hates them. He says they smell like feet. On a troll. Lifeblood is your favorite game. You tried hard to match my Experience Points, but I was always a little ahead. Bryson didn’t care as much, as long as he was close. We have a fort programmed on the outskirts. No one knows about that. Only the three of us.”

  A smile grew on Sarah’s face as he talked, but she didn’t show any sign of wanting to stop him. Maybe she enjoyed seeing him struggle a bit.

  “One time we couldn’t find Bryson and we had a joint mission in Lifeblood. We searched all over. We finally found him at the Gorgon Nests making out with that alien chick. We never did find out if she was a Tangent or not.”

  Sarah made a noise that might’ve been classified as a snicker.

  Michael kept going, the memories pouring out of him in a rush. He didn’t have to dig deep; they were all there, close to the surface, most of them pleasant, fun to talk about. Hacking into places they shouldn’t have been. Being chased by VNS agents before such things had literally become life or death. Gaming stories, good and bad. Sharing it all made him feel warm inside—not just remembering all the good times they’d had, but knowing that the Mortality Doctrine process had truly transferred everything that made him … him.

  “Okay, you can stop now,” Sarah said. “I believe you.”

  Michael was in the middle of a story about a game called Deceit and Destruction, but he happily shut up midsentence. His face was warm, almost hot. She knew it was him; he’d stopped worrying about that almost from the get-go. But now he felt like a heavy chunk of steel had been placed on his heart. He had to tell her the truth: that the friend she knew as Michael was trapped inside a guy once named Jackson Porter.

  The HoloProj continued on the wall, showing news story after news story. Michael had almost forgotten about it, the noise drowned out by his hammering thoughts. He stared at the images for a minute, needing the distraction, then looked at Sarah. She could tell something was wrong.

  “Why do I get the feeling there’s something you’re holding back?” she asked. “And not just about what happened on the Path after I died.”

  Michael sighed. It was now or never. It had to be now. “You’re right. I haven’t told you all of it by a long shot. I don’t even know if you’re going to believe it. I wish you could just read my mind.”

  “Spill it, kid.”

  The words had barely come out of her mouth when the house rocked with a gunshot in the kitchen. They heard a woman’s scream, followed by the clanging of pots falling to the floor and the loud cracks of dishes breaking. Then the gun fired again. This time no one made a sound.

  Sarah was up off the couch, moving before Michael could grab her. She was across the room, heading for the kitchen, Michael on her heels.

  “Sarah, stop!” he yelled. “Stop!”

  She didn’t even slow down. Michael imagined someone waiting for her, gun loaded, ready to kill. He tried to catch her, but she was too far ahead. He slipped into the hallway, ran toward the kitchen. Sarah stood frozen just past the doorway. His heart lurched: he was expecting another gunshot. Expecting his world to crumble in front of him.

  But nothing happened.

  He threw his arms around his friend, pulling her back several steps. Then he saw what she saw. The kitchen was a disaster—drawers and cupboards thrown open, pots and pans everywhere, broken dishes scattered across the tile. The back door had been rammed open and hung crookedly on one hinge, swaying slightly. And there was blood. Not much, but it was definitely blood.

  Her parents were gone.

  Sarah trembled, raised her hands to cover her mouth. But she didn’t make a sound. Michael ran into the backyard—a wide patio and a lawn with a few small trees—and looked around but didn’t see anyone. He went back in, found Sarah, tried to pulled her into his arms. But she resisted. Instead of being wet with tears, her face had reddened with anger.

  “What …,” she started to say, but didn’t finish. Michael felt just as speechless.

  He searched the kitchen for clues. On a granite island in the middle, in a clearing in the debris, lay Sarah’s father’s gun. It looked as if it had been placed there deliberately, on top of an envelope. The envelope seemed so foreign—people hardly used paper anymore. Michael was sure there was something horrible written inside; he just knew it.

  “They left a note,” he whispered to Sarah.

  “What?” she asked, understandably dazed. “Where?”

  He pointed and she grabbed it.

  It was as if they’d been shifted back into the Sleep, immersed in a VirtNet game. Sarah seemed to be moving in slow motion as she picked up the envelope, tore it open. Even the words of the NewsBop anchorwoman seemed warped as they echoed down the hallway. Michael’s vision blurred as he stared at Sarah’s hands, removing the message.

  She unfolded the paper and scanned it quickly. Then she looked up at Michael, tears welling in her eyes.

  “What does it say?” he heard himself ask. His voice sounded like it was coming through a tunnel—it seemed barely louder than the anchorwoman’s. He couldn’t focus on anything, and there was an odd ringing in his ears.

  Sarah had gone even paler. She looked down at the paper again and read the words aloud.

  “This is your last warning. Never again doubt the consequences of disobedience. Obey, and they live. Disobey, and they die. Help me, Michael, and live forever.”

  Michael’s heart sank. Now his problems had spilled over into Sarah’s life, jeopardizing her parents. Kaine was insane. He was totally, utterly insane. He’d taken—and probably hurt—Sarah’s parents just to prove he could. To ensure he’d get what he wanted.

  But something was off. The NewsBop lady’s voice hit him in waves. It took a few moments until what she was saying finally sank in, a light piercing the fog of his jumbled mind.

  “Oh no,” he whispered. “No.” How could everything have fallen apart so suddenly?

  “What?” Sarah asked, the look on her face reflecting the terror Michael felt.

  Without answering, Michael turned and left the kitchen, following the anchorwoman’s voice to the living room, where the HoloProj still broadcast its images onto the wall. He didn’t want Sarah to see, didn’t want what he’d heard to be true, but there just wasn’t a choice. Sarah was already beside him, staring at the screen.

  A huge picture of Jackson Porter filled half the wall.

  Jackson Porter. Also known as Michael.

  Words scrawled across the bottom talking about a nationwide manhunt for the missing teenager, wanted for crimes related to cyber-terrorism. A large monetary reward for anyone with information.

  He turned to look at Sarah, and the look on her face broke his heart.

  “I can explain.”

  How many times had he heard someone say that in the movies? He might as well
admit guilt. Sarah’s expression didn’t change. Michael figured he had ten seconds before she pulled up her NetScreen and called every official authorized to carry a gun within a hundred miles. Or worse, she might attack him herself.

  “The Mortality Doctrine,” he said. “I was just about to tell you. It’s Kaine. He did this to me. To that kid, Jackson Porter.” He pointed at the wall, but the NewsBop had finally moved on to another story, mercifully removing his face from the enormous screen.

  “What are you talking about?” Sarah responded. At least she’d stayed.

  “Look …” He searched for the words to begin his story. “Can we sit?”

  “My parents are gone!”

  Michael knew he was about to lose her. “I know, I know.” He could see how upset she was and wanted to touch her, to connect with her somehow.

  Before he could, though, she turned from him and walked away, reaching up to squeeze her EarCuff. Over her shoulder, she said, “For all I know, you distracted me so one of your buddies could kidnap them. Next you’ll be asking for ransom. I’m calling the cops.”

  “I was a Tangent, Sarah.”

  She stopped in the doorway. Her NetScreen hovered in front of her, illuminating the hallway with an eerie green glow. With a few swipes of her fingers she’d already reported her parents’ abduction. Hopefully, just the abduction. She had to do it; he knew that. But he also knew he couldn’t be around when the authorities showed up.

  She finally faced him again. “Okay. I don’t know what’s going on, but I know that you’re Michael. You better go before the police arrest you. Obviously I won’t tell them you were here.”

  Michael desperately wanted her to understand. “It’s what Kaine was doing. He lured Tangents to find him, setting it all up so he could find the best programs for his experiment. I think he even duped the VNS. I passed the test, and somehow he transferred my … whatever you wanna call it. He put me in the body of this guy. Jackson Porter. He killed him. I killed him, Sarah. I … stole him.”

  Sarah was looking at the floor. A tear dropped from one eye. In the Sleep, she’d almost never cried.

  “Kaine sent two guys to take me to some meeting, but I got away,” Michael continued when she didn’t respond. “This news report about Jackson might be a trap. Kaine setting me up. Or, hell, maybe Jackson really is a cyber-terrorist. I don’t know! I set up a fake ID and tried to come here without anyone knowing. But I’m sure Kaine assumed I’d search for you.”

  “You need to go,” Sarah said.

  “What?” Michael couldn’t imagine leaving. He needed Sarah. “But we have to talk.”

  She moved toward him, reached out and clasped his arm, squeezed.

  “Let’s hope Kaine found us only because he knew you’d come here,” she said. “Not because he’s cracked your identity. But you have to go. Find a safe place. Let me know where you are somehow. I’ll find you, then we’ll find Bryson.”

  “Okay.” She was going to help him. His eyes welled up in relief.

  A few seconds later he was running down the street, darkness falling on the world as the sun sank for the night. He didn’t know if Sarah even realized what she’d been saying, but Michael had heard it just the same.

  Because of him, her parents were gone. Maybe dead.

  He ran until he could barely catch his breath, through neighborhoods and empty streets, until he reached the outskirts of the city. When at last it seemed he might collapse from exhaustion, he stopped. Bending over, he pulled air into his lungs, willing his heart to slow down. He wasn’t sure what he’d been running from: the police, Kaine, or the truth about what he’d brought down on Sarah and her family.

  Night had swamped the world now, but he couldn’t imagine sleeping ever again. The threat of dreaming—seeing images of Sarah’s parents tied up in the back of some car, the spray of blood on the kitchen floor—terrified him. How much blood had he seen in his many years of gaming? None of it had prepared him for the real thing.

  He found a cab, made it back to his hotel. Then thought better of it and changed hotels. Just in case Kaine had figured out his fake identity, Michael decided to start all over. And this time, he tried harder. He dug deep, pulling programs down behind him and picking apart others to cover his tracks. Firewalls and triple-protection Hider codes, anything and everything he could think of.

  It took him all night. He finally fell asleep when the first rays of dawn glowed behind the curtains. Later, sometime in the afternoon, a knock at the door woke him up. Inexplicably thinking that somehow Sarah had found him already, he bolted from the bed and ripped open the door before even taking a look through the peephole.

  Stunned, sure he was still dreaming, he stared at his visitor.

  Dark skin, dark hair, pretty.

  “You never should’ve called me Gabriela,” she said. “That’s when I knew something was wrong. Very wrong.”

  Michael had been through a lot, but he was pretty sure he’d never been quite as speechless as he was at that second. As he stared at Gabriela, his mouth literally dropped open.

  “Just let me in,” she said, her face stern but not unkind. “I have no idea what’s going on, but I think I deserve some answers.”

  “Um, yeah,” Michael replied. Dazed, he stepped back and pulled the door open wider. “I guess I can’t run away this time. It’s my hotel room, after all.”

  She smiled, but her eyes revealed the truth: she hadn’t liked that stunt in the city too much. “Thanks.” She stepped inside and took a seat on the little couch next to the kitchenette, leaning back and crossing her legs like she owned the place.

  Michael looked away, into the hall, as if something out there would give him a hint on how to proceed. Nothing but ugly patterned carpet and drab walls awaited, so he closed the door and turned to face his new nemesis: his girlfriend.

  He grabbed a chair and dragged it over, the long scrape of wood against linoleum cutting into the awkward silence. He took a seat and waited. Gabriela still hadn’t said anything. He put his hands in his lap and stared at them. He felt like he was ten, about to receive a punishment from his mother.

  “Well?” she finally prodded. “Go ahead. Talk. You know how to do that, right?”

  Michael looked up at her. “There’s no way I could possibly explain to you what’s going on. Trust me. Even if I did, you’d never believe it.”

  “All I know is that you have never, not once, called me Gabriela. Until I finally tracked you down in the city.” She leaned forward, something like pleading in her expression. “It’s always been Gabby. And you were acting totally normal the last time I saw you, all Mr. I love you, Gabby; kiss me, Gabby; stay one more hour, Gabby. Now it’s like you don’t even know me. I can see it. You’re not looking at me. You’re looking at a stranger.”

  Michael shrugged. “That’s one hundred percent true.”

  “Then explain it to me! What’s going on? I know you too well to think this is some ploy to break up with me. Did you get hit in the head?”

  A laugh burst from Michael’s chest, and he had no idea why. He rubbed his face with both hands, took a deep breath, and looked Gabriela in the eye. “Listen. I’m not … Oh man. This is crazy. I can’t do this.”

  “You can. Or I’ll call the cops.”

  “The cops? Why?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I saw on the NewsBops that you’re a cyber-terrorist?”

  This time Michael started laughing and couldn’t stop. He was going certifiably insane.

  “Not funny,” Gabriela said coolly. “Not even remotely.” Michael composed himself. “I know. I know. Look, something’s happened that if I explain it, it’ll sound crazy. It deals with the Sleep, and Tangents, and artificial intelligence, and all kinds of mucked-up stuff.”

  Gabriela threw her hands up and leaned back into the couch. “God, if I hadn’t spent the last year falling in love with you, I would smash you in the—”

  “Okay, fine!” Michael yelled. “You want the truth
? Here’s the truth: My name is Michael. I was a Tangent—completely programmed. But I thought I was real. And somehow my intelligence was downloaded into the brain of Jackson Porter. Your boyfriend. What happened to him, I have no idea. But he’s not up here anymore.” He tapped his left temple. “I am. I’ve got the body of Jackson Porter and the mind of someone else. There, that’s it. That’s the truth.”

  Gabriela’s face had frozen, her lower lip trembling—Michael couldn’t tell if it was out of sadness or anger. Her expression changed several times, remaining impossible to read. The moment stretched out as she stared him down with those piercing dark eyes. Then she stood up.

  “Just how …,” she began, then stopped. She pinched the bridge of her nose, took a deep breath. “Just how stupid do you think I am? How can you … how can you be such a coward to lie to me like this? I’m not going to sit here and beg for the truth. I can’t believe I risked being grounded for the rest of my life to come chasing you. Good. Bye. You need serious help.”

  She gave him a long, sad look, but try as he might, he couldn’t find a response. Mostly, he just wanted her to walk out the door and never come back. But then, a part of him …

  “Have a nice life, Jax,” she said, so calmly that it stung. “You want to act all crazy—run and hide, pretend whatever—fine. I’ll be there for you when you finally see a doctor and get some meds.” She shook her head and walked toward the door. “I need to go to Atlanta to see my dad. He’s sick, and I thought you would care, but just forget it.”

  Michael was suddenly on his feet. “Wait! Just … wait.”

  She turned and looked at him, her expression blank.

  “How could I possibly make that story up?” he asked. “You … you even said when you came here … that you could tell I wasn’t Jackson.”

  She laughed bitterly. “I meant that, I don’t know, metaphorically, for God’s sake. Something is wrong with you. You’re not the Jax I know. You really expect me to believe someone switched your brain with someone else’s? How can you even go there when my dad …” She stopped and whipped around, opened the door.