Whisper (Whisper #1)(5)
I nod again, because I know that’s what he expects. I wonder who Ward is and what he’ll do when he discovers for himself how apathetic I am. A month is a long time, but nothing he does can be worse than Vanik’s experiments. And at least I now have a time frame. An expiry date.
It’s best this way. I know it is. And yet … now that I’m facing my end, I can’t ignore the whisper of unease in the back of my mind. Because … what if a month isn’t long enough?
“We’re done here, then,” Falon says, standing.
I follow his cue and rise from my seat, resisting the urge to glance longingly down at it.
“I do hope you make the most out of Ward’s training,” he adds, then calls for the guards to escort me back to my cell. “Very few people are granted one-on-one time with him. Don’t waste this opportunity. It may well be your last.”
Message delivered, Director, I think. Then I’m again cuffed like the monster I am and manhandled back to my cell.
CHAPTER TWO
True to Falon’s word, the next day starts out normal for me. Or Lengard’s version of normal, at least. Dr. Manning analyzes my silence and tries to make me reveal my secrets, Enzo attempts to banish physical weakness from my body and Vanik does his best to strip away my sense of self. None of them succeed, except, perhaps, Enzo. But that’s because I find his training therapeutic. He doesn’t want me to talk to him like Manning does, to spill the words that flood up from deep within me. He doesn’t try to be like Vanik, peeking into my brain and shredding my nerve endings one by one. Enzo only wants a single thing: to train my body into compliance. He expects me to build strength and develop endurance. These I can do. These I enjoy.
I revel in my time spent under Enzo’s watchful guidance. The burning muscles, the sweat in my eyes, the straining heartbeat … they make me feel alive.
The only problem is that every day after Enzo, I have to go to Vanik. And if the time with Enzo brings me to life, my hours with Vanik all but kill me over and over.
I have never understood the reasons behind his obtrusive tests. Once I heard him utter the word incredible under his breath while examining my brain waves, a word that preceded a particularly painful experiment — agonizing enough that I blacked out and woke in my cell hours later. I have no idea what Vanik is searching for or why he seems convinced that I’m the one in whom he will find it. Falon may say there are others who can take my place, but I don’t think Vanik would agree. He needs me. It’s the only reason he hasn’t risked pushing me to the point of brain damage — or beyond.
Not yet, anyway.
Today’s session is no different from all the others. I somehow manage to survive his poking, his prodding, his attempted violation of my mind. I’m now being escorted down yet another black-and-white tile corridor, on my way to find out who my new evaluator is and what he plans to do with me.
My guards — two again, but not the same ones from last night — stop me in front of a closed door that has no label. One guard uncuffs me while the other presses a hand to the scanner, prompting the door to slide open.
I can’t keep my eyes from widening. That is my only outward reaction.
It’s some kind of library. Every wall is covered with books. Hundreds of them. No, thousands of them. Maybe more. Tome after tome after tome line the shelves spread all around the moderately sized room. I’ve never seen such a beautiful sight. So many words. So many wonders.
“You can leave us. I’ll call for you when she’s ready to go.”
I’m startled, not only by the words that imply it’ll be my decision but also by the speaker. I was so taken by the books that I failed to notice the room’s sole occupant.
He sits facing me, casually resting on the only piece of furniture: a couch that looks even more comfortable than the chair in Falon’s office. I want to sink into it without delay, but I don’t. I don’t move at all, in fact, not even when I sense the guards leaving and hear the door slide closed behind me. It takes every ounce of my willpower to remain impassive as I study the person in front of me.
This can’t be Ward.
I’d assumed he’d be middle-aged, like Falon, Vanik and Manning. He can’t be more than a year or two older than me, about Enzo’s age. But Enzo’s limited years make sense; his job requires physical fitness and little else. Age doesn’t matter. Ward’s position, however …
Maybe he doesn’t need to have the wisdom, knowledge and experience of years behind him for whatever he plans to do with me.
“Would you like to have a seat?”
He motions to the space on the couch beside him. It’s not an order; he’s giving me a choice.
I can’t remember the last time someone gave me a choice.
It was before I arrived at Lengard, that much I know.
“I don’t bite,” he adds.
Seeing my hesitation, he even throws in a crooked smile, a single dimple indenting the tanned skin of his left cheek. But as teasing as that dimple is, my gaze is focused on his eyes. I’ve never seen such a bright green. Falon’s sapphire shirt was dull in comparison.
When I continue to remain frozen in place, he rises to his feet, and I struggle not to stare. Golden hair, broad shoulders, narrow hips, long lean legs. Everything about his body is strong, hard, intimidating. But at the same time, his expression is soft, warm, inviting. I have the strange desire to run toward him — and away from him.