Whisper (Whisper #1)(7)

I shift on the edge of my seat, wondering not only what Enzo has been saying but also why he’s been talking to Ward about me at all.

“You should get comfortable. That one’s a classic. It’ll be ruined if you read it sitting like there’s a pole stuck up your ass.”

He doesn’t catch my stunned expression; instead, he continues to scan the shelves. While he’s distracted, I tear my eyes from him and look down, reading the title. It’s not one I’ve heard of before.

“All right, I lied. It’s not a classic per se.” Ward returns to the couch with his own book. “But it should be. You’ll agree by the time you’re done, trust me.”

I don’t trust him. Not even a little bit.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not completely stumped when he eases back into the cushions, spreads an arm along the back of the couch — alarmingly close to me — and begins reading his own selection.

One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes pass as I sit there watching and waiting. But all Ward does is read. I see his eyes flicker from line to line, page to page as he absorbs the words only he can see.

When we reach the five-minute mark, he uses a finger to keep his place and glances up to catch my perplexed gaze.

“If you don’t relax and start reading, I’ll have to begin narrating out loud. And fair warning, I do voices. And accents.”

He clears his throat dramatically and looks down at his book before reciting in a thick Scottish brogue, “‘I don’ wan’a cup’a tea,’ McNally told the old widow. ‘I wan’a see Cormack.’ ‘I told ye,’ she replied. ‘Cormack don’ wan’a see ye. Ye’ll hav’te wait till —’”

Ward stops butchering what should have been an enchanting accent the moment I snap my book open.

“You should see your face right now,” he says, grinning. “But come on, I wasn’t that bad.”

I beg to differ. I feel like my ears are bleeding.

“Why don’t you put your feet up and get comfortable. We’ve still got a long afternoon ahead of us.”

He’s right. And I have nothing to lose at this point. If it turns out that this is an elaborate hoax or some new psychological experiment, then that would be disappointing. But if I really do get to spend the next few hours reading, I might as well get comfortable.

I shrink back into the cushions, once again wedging myself into the farthest corner of the couch. After another moment’s hesitation, I tuck my bare feet up underneath me. I don’t have to look at Ward to sense his approval. Instead, I ignore him and allow my eyes to take in the beauty of the words spread out before me.





CHAPTER THREE


“Chip? Hey, Chip, wake up. It’s almost time to go.”

Someone gently shakes me until the muffled words penetrate my sleeping mind. I lurch upright, my head only just missing a painful collision with Ward’s face.

“Easy there, Chip. I’d like to keep my nose unbroken, if you don’t mind.”

I’m sure I must be looking at him like an idiot, but my sleep-addled mind is struggling to figure out why he’s so close to me.

It’s been almost two weeks since I started “working” with Ward. My time with him has been the same every day. He’s friendly — too friendly — and I find myself unconsciously warming to him while at the same time straining to keep up my defenses. Somehow he knew right from the beginning about my love of reading, and that’s all we do in our time together. I don’t get it. But I love it. Before Ward, I hadn’t read anything in over two and a half years. Now, in the last twelve days, I’ve read five whole books from cover to cover. I’ve spent over thirty months alone in my own mind, and suddenly I have a cast of characters clamoring for my attention. It’s refreshing. Relaxing.

Amazing.

“I’m flattered that you find my company so stimulating.”

Ward’s dry comment draws my eyes to his.

“Or is it your reading material that has managed to keep you so energized?”

I glance down at the paperback still resting on my lap. It’s a favorite of mine, one I read many times in the years before Lengard. So, no, the book didn’t cause me to drift off. But there’s no way I’ll admit to Ward the real reason I was unconscious for the last — I peer up at the clock on the wall — three hours.

Ward is watching me, so I mask my shock at how much time has passed. I’m not sure why he let me sleep so long. Why he let me sleep at all is also a valid question. But I don’t ask. Because if I did, he’d want to know why I fell asleep to begin with. And I don’t want him to know. It’s none of his business.

The truth is, Vanik’s experiments have been worse than usual for the past two weeks. Today was especially brutal. I feel as if he shredded my brain in a food processor and put it back together again like a jigsaw puzzle. Only, he didn’t care about joining the pieces in the right places. Instead, he just shoved them all together and hoped to retain some semblance of workability.

For whatever end, Vanik needs my unique brain to be perfectly healthy and functioning at optimal capacity for his research. He’d never do anything to cause me permanent damage, but that doesn’t mean I’m not harmed in his labs. The damage leaves no physical scars. But his tests still hurt like a son of a —