Whisper (Whisper #1)(12)
He says this like it’s meant to offer me some kind of comfort.
Remaining motionless is nearly impossible as Vanik begins his tests, prodding and poking, shocking and jabbing me over and over. I’m screaming on the inside, screaming so loud yet knowing no one will hear me, no one will help me, because no sound escapes my lips. It hurts — God, it hurts — and not just physically. Vanik tears away every part of who I am — any dignity that I regained with Enzo is now but a passing memory. I am a whisper of the girl who was sparring just minutes ago. If Enzo or Ward could see me now … if anyone could see me now … all they would see is a shell of a human being waiting — praying — for the pain to stop.
But Vanik doesn’t stop, not until our time is up.
“That’s enough for today,” he finally says, releasing me from the manacles he used to strap me down when my body began jerking uncontrollably. “We’ll pick up from here tomorrow.”
I want to scream at him, but before I can decide whether it’d be worth opening my mouth, a pair of guards walk through the door. They won’t hesitate to punish me if they see me as a threat, and I can’t take any more today. I demurely place my trembling hands behind my back and wait while they bind my wrists. I can’t hide a wince when the cold, unyielding metal presses against my tender flesh.
It takes all my energy to keep upright as my escorts lead me to my session with Ward. My skin feels tight and clammy, and while my nerves are on fire, my teeth are chattering with cold. My head is splitting with an ache so deep that it makes me wonder if Vanik performed intrusive neurosurgery without me realizing. But I don’t think he’s that desperate — not yet.
When my guards bring me to a halt outside the library room, they undo my handcuffs and wait for me to step through the doorway. It took only two days for Ward to make it clear that my escorts are not welcome inside his evaluation area. All the guards have strict orders to release me outside and send me in alone. Only, today is the first time I could actually use their support. Because when they walk away and I take a step forward, I stumble — literally stumble — into the room, and I don’t have the strength to catch myself before my body falls like a sack of grain onto the carpet.
Ward calls out to me in alarm, but I’m unable to respond. He’s saying my name, I think, repeating it with increasing volume as he approaches my unmoving body. Questions pour from his mouth, and he turns me onto my back, brushing hair off my skin and moving it behind my ears. My eyes are closed, but I find the will to open them, and I discover his concerned face hovering just inches above my own.
“Talk to me, Chip.”
He rests his hand against my cheek and sucks in a breath. “You’re freezing. What the hell happened to you?”
I can’t do anything but look up at him, shaking violently. Then my eyes roll to the back of my head as I’m overcome by the sweet silence of oblivion.
CHAPTER FIVE
I’m not sure how long I’m unconscious, but when I eventually wake up, I’m not in my cell. I’m also not in Lengard’s medical facility, a place I’ve visited a handful of times. The sterile hospital smell doesn’t linger in the air here, nor do the bleached walls assail my vision. That in itself causes me alarm, since during my time at Lengard I’ve never seen any other kind of walls. The ones around me, however, are dark gray, and I bolt upright in my comfortable bed to peer around the rest of the room.
Shades of gray and white meet my eyes, coloring everything from the blankets to the bedside table to the abstract painting mounted on the wall. I have absolutely no idea where I am. But I can guess. And that guess makes my mouth turn dry and my heart start to race.
I draw back the covers and drag my legs out until I’m seated on the edge of the bed, where I look down at my body in confusion. Magical elves must have changed me — or so I try to convince myself — because my pillowcase uniform is gone and I’m wearing an oversized, fleece-lined hoodie with an equally warm pair of track pants. Woolen socks cover my feet — a luxury that I haven’t experienced in what feels like forever — and I wiggle my toes in awe. I feel warm all over for the first time in years, and I try to appreciate this fact rather than fear it. But when the door opens, I know I can no longer maintain any illusions.
“Good, you’re awake.”
Ward steps into the room, and I rise to my feet. I wobble unsteadily, and he rushes forward to keep me from collapsing.
“Hold up there, Chip. I don’t think you should be standing just yet.”
His grip on my arm is gentle but firm as he moves me into a seated position again and kneels in front of me.
“How are you feeling? Any better?”
I don’t understand his concern. He shouldn’t care about me — he’s my evaluator. I have no idea what, exactly, he’s been evaluating during our library sessions, but I do know he has a job to do. To him, I’m supposed to only be a test subject. Six-Eight-Four. Jane Doe. Not —
“Chip?”
No.
I’m not supposed to be “Chip” to him. I’m not supposed to be anything to him. And I don’t understand how he can kneel in front of me thinking otherwise, while his gentle — too gentle — fingers cup my chin, and his green — too green — eyes probe mine for answers. I want to pull my hair in frustration, because even after two weeks, I still have no idea why I have sessions with him, let alone for so many hours each day.