Whisper (Whisper #1)(55)
While no longer at risk of burning to death, Ward and I had struggled against drowning from the tsunami that enveloped us. It was only when my head was above water long enough to splutter out a nonsensical, “Freeze!” that our situation improved — slightly. The new problem was, while the water had indeed stopped pummeling us from all sides, that was only because we were encased in ice.
Had we not been frozen solid, the look on Ward’s face would have been enough to start a fire again.
“I panicked, okay?” I said by way of apology.
Fortunately, those three words had been tightly under my control, so they had prompted nothing more than a clenched jaw and glower of frustration from Ward, along with some terse instructions from him for getting us out of our predicament. I then had to erase all evidence of the natural disasters so that when the other recruits returned to the training room, they had no idea what had happened.
In my defense, I had warned Ward that I wasn’t ready to be tested. It wasn’t my fault he’d chosen not to listen, just as it wasn’t my fault he’d chosen not to use his protection power on my words.
Natural disasters aside, the last three weeks have been a mind-numbing repetition of Ward drilling control, control, control into my head during every waking moment. And the results are there — as witnessed by the king-sized bed in front of me — but my consistency is unreliable. Sometimes I can keep hold of my mental images and my intent, but other times I become distracted and am incapable of controlling my thoughts. Because of that, I’m still not safe to speak freely like a normal person — or even just like the other recruits, all of whom are able to carry on casual conversations. They have the opposite problem in that they struggle to infuse power into their words, so they have to actively practice to make their Spoken words work.
This little room is still the only place I can talk without consequences — unless Ward is with me. But he avoids me when we’re not working — especially since that night I found him sitting in the darkness of my suite — so I still spend plenty of time in silence, longing for the day when I won’t have to fear opening my mouth.
“Twice more, Jane,” he says, pulling me back to the present. “Then we’re done. Pillow.”
I sigh loudly and force myself to move beyond my exhaustion. Obediently, I rasp out, “Pillow.”
A boulder the size of a basketball appears, thunking onto the floor in front of me.
“Good,” Ward says. “Last one. Chocolate.”
That was cruel of him, because now all I want is chocolate. And that makes it harder for me to picture anything else. But I know if I don’t get this right, he’ll make me do it again. So I take a breath, scrunch my forehead in concentration, imagine a piano — because, hey, why not? — and call it forth by saying, “Chocolate.” All that is done in a matter of microseconds, barely enough time for Ward to scold me for taking too long, which he has done a number of times in our sessions.
“A baby grand?” Ward looks equal parts amused and dubious. “High aspirations, Jane. You play?”
I shake my head, not wanting to aggravate my throat further by answering verbally.
“Interesting,” Ward says. “Well, you never know. Perhaps one day.”
Something I’ve noticed about Ward is that right at the end of our sessions together, after the training is complete for the day, a hint of his old self shines through. He’s a little more pleasant, a little more talkative. A little friendlier. I don’t understand why. But on days like today, I don’t have the patience for his mood swings, not when all I want is to get back to my suite, take a hot shower and have Cami heal away my aches and pains.
Already eager to leave, I release a groan when the door opens and Crew walks in, followed closely by Keeda, Enzo and Cami. I also see a slight distortion of a blurred body, telling me that Sneak has joined us, as well.
In the last three weeks, Crew, Keeda and Sneak have dropped in to see me almost as often as Enzo and Cami, the three of them unendingly curious about what Ward and I do in here each day. They don’t know I’m a Creator — we’ve managed to keep that secret from everyone but Enzo and Cami — but they don’t seem to mind the mystery. I’d even go as far as to consider them friends now: Crew and his abrasive personality, Keeda and her snarky attitude, and Sneak and his shy vulnerability.
“What’s up, JD?” Enzo asks, walking straight over to me.
I send him a quick smile, again trying to save my throat. But all it takes is one pleading glance for Cami to dance over to my side, curl her cool fingers around my neck and whisper a quick, “Relieve,” before I’m as good as new.
“Sorry I didn’t come earlier.” Her tone is apologetic. “They had a mock Genesis-versus-Exodus battle and some of the Speakers —” she shoots Crew an irritated glance “— were a little overenthusiastic with their intentions.”
“Those Genesis Speakers bleed a lot,” Enzo says, flexing his arm muscles. “It’s unnatural.”
“Or maybe Crew just hacked into them more than was necessary,” Keeda counters around a mouthful of chewing gum. “He practically aimed straight for their arteries.”
“No pain, no gain,” Crew says. “We were told to win at all costs. I was just following orders.” He lowers his voice to a mutter. “Like the good little puppet I am.”