Whisper (Whisper #1)(2)

“Follow us and remain silent,” says the man on my left, reciting the same words the various guards use every time they lead me out.

He wraps his hand around my upper arm, and I almost wince at his painful grip, but I manage to keep my face carefully blank. I don’t nod — I don’t even blink. I stare straight ahead and place one foot in front of the other as they guide me out of the cell.

It’s bright in the corridor. The overhead lights sear my retinas, and I struggle not to flinch. Instead, I tilt my head down and let my hair shield my eyes. I continue to focus on the gleaming black and white tiles underfoot as we proceed. I don’t dare ask them where we’re going. I heard their orders; I will remain silent. Even if I chose to ignore their warnings, I still wouldn’t ask my questions. But they don’t know that. And I won’t tell them.

The guards lead me along hallways and through doorways — some paths I’ve traveled before, some I haven’t. Lengard, I discovered early on, is built like an underground labyrinth. A sterile, ultramodern, high-tech maze. Only those with the highest level of clearance know how to find their way around the facility, while I move about the corridors as good as blind, relying on them to deliver me where I need to go.

Right now we’re moving deeper into the facility than I’ve ever been. The tiles are still black and white, the lights are still blinding, but there’s more warmth to this area. I can’t explain it — it’s more a feeling than anything else — but the sterility doesn’t seem as intense.

There are doors spaced out along the corridor, some of them labeled, but I don’t read their descriptions. My head remains lowered, my eyes on my bare feet. I only glance up when we come to a halt. We’ve stopped at a dead end revealing a single doorway. It looks just like all the others we’ve passed, whitewashed and unassuming. There is no label on this one. I have no idea where it leads.

The guard not squeezing the blood from my arm moves to the panel beside the entrance and inputs his clearance code on the touch screen. My wariness grows when he lowers his face for a retinal scan and pricks his finger for a blood swab. In my whole time at Lengard, I’ve never been delivered to a location with such stringent security measures.

A quiet beep sounds, and the door slides open. I don’t keep my head down anymore; my curiosity is piqued. But all I see is another identical corridor, black and white tiles, unassuming doorways.

I want to ask where we are, why clearance was needed to enter this area, what’s different about this corridor. It looks the same, but there must be a reason for the added security at the entrance. Lengard has secrets — this much I already know. Other than the guards, I’ve never seen people walking the hallways. Everyone else — if there even are others — is locked up. Just like me.

“Move.”

The pincer-grip guard yanks me forward, and I realize that I’ve been standing motionless for too long. I stumble a little at his rough action but regain my feet and move obediently onward.

We’re halfway down the corridor when something unexpected happens.

A doorway only a few feet in front of us bursts open, bringing with it a sound I haven’t heard in over two and a half years.

Laughter.

The guards jerk me to a halt when three children surge out of the entryway. Two golden-haired boys are cackling gleefully, one holding a rag doll above his head. A little girl with a head full of dark ringlets is chasing after them, shrieking and near tears.

“Give it back, Ethan! Isaac, make him give it to me! It’s mine!”

“You’ll have to catch us first, Abby!” taunts the boy with the doll, keeping it out of reach when the girl jumps for it.

“Don’t hurt her!” Abby cries, attempting to claw her way up the boy’s body. When the other boy pulls her away, she screams, loud and clear, “Mummy!”

I’m frozen to the spot, mesmerized by the sight in front of me. They’re so young. So carefree. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen an interaction so … normal.

“Abby, what on earth is the matter?”

A woman steps out from the doorway, wiping soapsuds off her fingers with a dishcloth. Her eyes sweep over the scene, and she places her hands on her hips. “Ethan, Isaac, you know better than to steal your sister’s toys. Give the doll back and apologize.” When the boys hesitate, the woman steps forward and lowers her voice. “Now.”

Isaac quickly mumbles an apology, and a grumbling Ethan does the same as he hands over the doll. Little Abby clutches it to her chest and runs to hide behind her mother’s legs.

“Back inside, all of you,” the woman says. “You know you’re not allowed to play in the hallways. I don’t know what you were thinking.”

She turns to shoo them back through the doorway and, as she does so, they catch sight of me for the first time. The children merely look curious, but the mother’s reaction is much stronger. The emotion flooding her features — I’ve seen it before.

Pure, unadulterated fear.

“Kids, inside. Right now.”

She all but shoves the children through the doorway and slams it shut behind them.

I feel as if I’ve lost a rainbow of color in my otherwise bleak, whitewashed world. Seeing people — normal people — sparked something in me. A memory. An emotion. A hint of a life long forgotten. But now it’s gone again, hidden behind yet another doorway.