I feel as if I should be mad that he sent me back to camp without warning, especially since he didn't accompany me, but I don't feel like complaining. Not after a successful day.

A few boys sit around the table, finishing off the meat on the bones of whatever unfortunate animal was killed today. No food left for me, which is alright since I'll get up early for breakfast tomorrow. I'll make sure the boys in the tent are doing alright before heading out to get Felix back.

At least I'll leave here knowing the boys are safe from danger. I have confidence Pan can take care of the Natives, and who knows how long this illness can really last for; certainly not long enough to cause any real harm.

Once Felix is back and Dominique is dead, I'll finally be able to leave in peace. Tomorrow marks the beginning of four days until the end.

I can't tell if the thought gives me butterflies because of excitement, or because of fear.

What will being home be like after this? I can't imagine living there, but I can't imagine surviving here. It slips my mind quite consistently that upon my discovery I could be killed. That's why I need to get home. Not because of anything other than the fact that I am a girl.

Seems not only sexist, but completely unjust as well, but who am I to oppose it?

I step forward, looking around for Harry and Alex, but no such luck. Quickly peaking around, I check the med tent, the clothing tent, the armoury, hoping maybe they are hiding in some corner, though I can't seem to find them anywhere.

Perhaps they are still training. I head towards the forest, rounding the corner. A cough echoes past me, followed by a guttural roar.

The sound trails from just off the path. I follow the sound, until I smell the retched scent of vomit. Grass surrounds me, up to my waist in fact, but I wade through.

"You alright?" I call out.

There is no answer other than the groan from the boy.

Another sick. This is the last thing we need.

I spot the body on the ground, and I place my hand on his back.

Keaton sits up, and my hand recoils off of him. He's the one who sounds like a dying lion, a loud cough escaping his lips. And I just touched him.

Body curled up, face much paler than it ought to be, and drool running down his purple lips.

The other boys are sick, but for the most part they look fine. All a little pale, and all in a decent amount of pain. James, Thomas, and Robert all look flushed, as if they've been living too hard. Their cheeks are red, their temperatures high, and they are all so tired. Max, however, looks the sickest out of all of them, his body looks as if the life is draining out of him. His freezing touch and glossy eyes are too similar to death for my comfort.

Keaton however looks as if he has already died. There's a fuzziness about him, as if he's fading away.

He wipes the clear liquid that drips out from his nose, attempting to clear his face of it. Instead, the liquid mixes with the tears escaping his crusting eyes.

Neither of us know what to say. The silence between us is more piercing then I imagine such a frail boy can muster.

I don't know what to do when he starts crying. My fingers can't bring themselves to find their way on to his shaking shoulder. I don't know how to give a dying boy energy, and even if I could I don't know that I'd give it to this boy. Keaton is a murderer, and it's only fair that an illness is sucking him away.

I manage to sit down across from him though, the paralysing feeling in my body starting to fade.

He doesn't make eye-contact with me.

I return his gesture.

"You know," he croaks, "I know you hate me, but I've never hated you."

The thump of my heart beat fills my ears, and I can't find the words to answer him.

"It all seems silly now," he admits. "I've been here since 1917, and a sudden illness is going to kill me."

"The other boys have lived." My voice is but a whisper. I don't know if it's to give him hope, or to take hope away from me.

"All but one." His eyes suddenly find their way to mine. "This is so very embarrassing." His chuckle cracks under the pressure he asks it to hold; the pressure of his life. It turns into a sob, running away from its responsibilities.

"I don't know why you hate me." He answers. "I tried to get you to like me, to like my friends even. You seemed like a good asset. I could tell you were special, that day after the Hunt."

He was so cocky that day. He carried himself like he owned the place, and he always has. This is different.

"Pan had taken to you, and I watched you attack that tiger with my own eyes. It was amazing." He says. "First you were a girl and then you were here. It was all quite amazing."

Now it is my turn for my eyes to fill with tears. "You know?"

He almost scoffs. "I know you take me for an asshole, but an idiot as well?"

"Why didn't you tell?" My eyes are soft.

He shrugs. "Why would I?"

I guess that's a fair question. "Do you think anyone else knows?"

"I imagine Alex does," he sniffs. "And Jared, Jared knows. Of course he knows."

"Jared's dead." My body tenses.

His eyes are glossy. "I know you must think me awful, but I didn't kill him."

"You did." I say, holding my voice sturdy. My voice is not a tree or a building, it is a mountain, and it will not shake. "You killed him and took his thumb to save yourself."

He shakes his head. "I could never kill Jared. He's just a bit older than I am you see. Maybe a year or two. Jared, Alex and I were a gang. Rufio too. And Devin, but he was barely there, so we'd forget about him. We've been mates longer than you've been alive."

"How could you kill him?" I hiss.

"I took his thumb, but that doesn't mean I killed him." Keaton admits.

Jared was already dead when Keaton took his thumb. That means someone else killed Jared. Oh lord, who was it?

"You could've brought his body back," my voice crumbles. "You could've brought it back."

He shakes his head. "I'm a coward. I couldn't have even if I tried. It's funny, because I only took his thumb because I thought Alex was going to kill me out there. I'm surprised he hasn't yet if I'm honest. Put me out of my misery."

The boy in front of me is human. It's very easy to forget that he has a soul too. I think back on all the times Keaton has wronged me. Has he?

I reminisce on all our time together, and every time, Gregory has been the antagonizer, Keaton the friend trying to calm him down. At the time, it had just seemed as if it were because Keaton was trying to manipulate us, and Gregory was spoiling his plans with his harsh tongue.

Maybe it was both.

"Why do you always act as if you are in charge?" I demand. "You are so full of yourself all the time. So self-assured."

He doesn't make eye-contact with me. "I don't know. I've got to stay on top of the heap. Make a name for myself, I guess. It's not all an act, it's real. I need to be the best, to be impenetrable. I need to be in control."

He always is, as it has seemed. Other than in this instance, I've never seen Keaton vulnerable. The only time something similar has happened, was when he was punished for the Hunt. He did not even kill Jared, but he took the boy's death as his own sentence. As if it would be worse to admit his cowardice and destroy his reputation, then too die.

Keaton may be a lot of things, none of which are the way he represents himself.

None of which are the way I've ever seen him before.

Is this part of his act? To garner my sympathy, or is this the truth?

I don't imagine I'll ever know. This feels too real to even question.

"Being here, it does things to you." I can't tell if he hates the truth more than I do, but he talks as if it burns his tongue. "Did you ever hear my story?"

I shake my head.

"I was the only one to come during the war." He says. "1916. My brother, he was drafted in 1914, right when Belgium was invaded. Thought it would be a tour around Europe, which was nice, because we hadn't the money to leave England. My mother had told me my father was Scottish, and that he traveled Europe. Never met the fellow though."

He pauses, but the silence is for him to breathe, not for me to speak.

"She hung herself, when the news that my brother was killed arrived on our doorstep. They say it was German gas, in Ypres. As my heart broke, so did her neck, and then what was left of me was washed away. They were coming to recruit me next, and it wasn't that I didn't want to fight for my country, but I didn't want to fight for the money that would pay for the graves of my loved ones.

Ypres, they say it was horrific. The gas battle, where the German's brought a liquid that blinded and killed those fighting them. It was always my favourite battle, even more than Passchendaele, but I guess that's a luxury of never having lived it.

"I didn't even know if we won the war." He admits. "I didn't know until Devin came. An orphan from the second war he was. A second, if you can believe that. I imagine by the time the next boy comes, he'll be an orphan of the third. The only good men are for is fighting."

"I never knew." I say.

"Everyone has a tragic backstory." He says. "Why else would they be here? It doesn't excuse what I've done. And it doesn't change the fact that I'm going to die here."

I didn't imagine I would answer him, but the words escape my lips. "No, it doesn't."

I find myself second guessing everything that has happened before me. What has he done that has been bad? Other than exhibit his personality, he once had Marcus beat up Johnny. Which I'm taking a neutral stance on.

Humans don't exist in a black and white world. We are neither good nor bad, but somewhere in between. Keaton is neither, as it would seem. He's just a boy.

A boy who is egotistical, and a show-off. A boy who's world would fly out of control if he couldn't control the world around him. A boy, who is alone, even if he is the root cause of it.

A boy.

There are some who are viler than others, like Gregory and Dominique. And some who's light shines through the darkness, like Jared and Harry.

It may make them easier to understand, and put in a box, like I've always wanted too, but here in this moment, I wish everyone else walked along the tightrope between good and evil. Always in danger of falling on one side, unsure of if we are good or not.

It doesn't matter if I'm evil or not, or Johnny, or Alex, or Keaton. Or even Pan.

We are only human.

"I'll die tonight, I imagine." Keaton croaks. "I've been sick for a while. Since before Devin beat me up."

I shake my head. I'm not sure if I want Keaton dead or not. He's only human when he is at his most vulnerable. If he dies, he will die human. If he lives, he will live a beast of a boy.

"I've come to accept it." He admits.

I shake my head. "No, you'll live. I know you will. You must."

"You don't even like me." He says. "Do you even know my last name?"

I don't know his last name, but I know what I stand for. And I don't stand for death. I may be all for killing Dominique and Gregory, and I would wish upon them this illness that is causing Keaton to wither away, but that doesn't mean I believe he deserves this death. Not bad enough that I'd let him die anyway.

"I still may not forgive you for all that you've done." I tell him. "You had Johnny beat up for stealing firewood. You humiliated him in front of a crowd. Gregory killed Lyle, maybe not because of you, but your paths are so intertwined it's hard to tell whose is whose. I became a murderer because of you. I killed Samuel. You are selfish, and cruel, and belittling. But you are also so much more, and you aren't going to die."

He wipes his nose again, then his eyes. "Your record isn't so clean yourself."

I'm not denying that. "I've come to accept that. Though I may always believe I'm in the right, I'm most likely not."

He chuckles, before wheezing. "The feeling is familiar."

I stand up, pulling him up after me. The weight of his body rests against my shoulder, as I pull him along through the darkness.

He won't die. Not tonight anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~

I. Have. Feelings. Charlie is wrong almost all of the time. She hates Johnny, but also not, and hates Keaton, and also not. And who killed Jared? I don't think we'll ever know. No one will ever know.

Who do you think did it? What do you think of Keaton? Let me know in the comments.

As always, contemplate life, and I'll see you Thursday.