Whisper (Whisper #1)(87)

“You’re wrong.”

Vanik’s confident declaration hits me like a nail dart to the chest.

“You’re lying,” I croak.

“I’m not.”

His gaze is unwavering as it meets mine. It’s enough to plant a seed of doubt in my mind — a seed that blossoms when he adds, “I’m curious, Six-Eight-Four. Given all that you’ve learned about Speakers, have you never wondered what abilities your parents had?”

My heart skips a beat.

“It’s a shame you’ll never leave here,” he goes on, his eyes lit manically as he takes in my stunned expression. “Because I’ve now given you more than enough to find out what really happened to them.” He pauses. “Or even, perhaps, to simply find them, full stop.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO


I draw in a painful breath at what I think he’s implying. But I can’t — I won’t — believe him. I can’t allow myself to hope.

Now is not the time to wonder about this. What I need is a plan to get out of here, as I doubt I can stall for much longer. I’m not even sure I’ll be able to remain conscious for much longer.

“Story time is over,” Vanik says, checking my restraints are still firmly secured. “Alvin, start preparing the recruits to leave. All except for Camelot. We may need her … just in case.”

Just in case his hand does slip, I presume, and he needs someone with a healing ability to keep his precious Creator from bleeding out. Though, if he drains much more from me, not even Cami will be able to help.

I listen as Manning begins commanding the unresisting Exodus recruits to remember nothing of the night, belatedly making me realize that Vanik doesn’t have a memory modifier after all — just Manning, who can convince people to do things, including forget experiences. From my limited view, it looks as if all the recruits are fully recovered from Vanik’s experiments, presumably a result of Manning manipulating Cami into healing them.

“We’re going to be spending a lot of time together, Six-Eight-Four,” Vanik says, drawing my attention back to him. “Alvin’s abilities have no effect on Landon — I have to assume the same is true for you. So to keep you from running, you’ll be staying here with me. Indefinitely.”

My skin feels cold and clammy, yet my forehead is dotted with sweat. I’m not sure if it’s because of what he’s saying or because my body is reaching the end of its limits.

Vanik’s gaze narrows as it travels across my face, taking in my feverish skin and unfocused eyes. “I think you may have had enough for the moment.”

I hiss when he yanks the IV needle from my arm, and I have to close my eyes against the dizziness that comes at the sight of blood welling up on my inner elbow. I know my reaction is irrational considering the bags of deep red fluid I can see, but for some reason it’s different to see it and feel the pain of the incision point.

“I’m sorry about the blood loss,” Vanik says, not sounding apologetic in the least. “Some of it will be used for testing, but mostly I had to drain you to keep you weak.” He reaches forward and taps my nose with a finger. “We don’t want you Speaking yourself free, do we?”

I snap my teeth at him savagely, but he pulls back with a laugh. The move costs me, with darkness flickering around my vision as I fight to remain conscious.

“I won’t lie to you, Six-Eight-Four, this is going to hurt,” Vanik says. “I’m used to my patients heeding Alvin’s command to not feel anything, so I don’t keep a ready supply of anesthetic handy. Instead, we’ll have to improvise. Open wide.”

“Wha —”

My voice is muffled when Vanik shoves a wadded-up piece of material in my mouth.

“That will stop you from biting your tongue off,” he says, before reclaiming both his razorblade and scalpel. “Feel free to scream as much as you need to.”

The heart monitor picks up my accelerating pulse, the beats becoming more rapid with my growing distress. My fear is a tangible thing, but I keep breathing. I remain in control.

I remind myself that I am a monster. And monsters fear no one.

Only … I’m not so sure I’m a monster anymore.

I don’t know what I am.

No — that’s not true.

Because I am … I am Alyssa Scott.

The girl who has endured Lengard for two years, eight months and seven days.

I am not a monster.

But I am a survivor.

And I will survive this.

With a renewed burst of adrenaline born from terror and desperation, I push against my bonds with all my might. I kick, I wrestle, I shove my pelvis off the table, straining against my restraints. I call forth all the physical training I’ve mastered with Enzo and try — try — to make it worth something. It’s all useless. But as long as I’m moving, Vanik won’t risk using the scalpel on me; he won’t risk causing irreversible damage. I have to believe that. It’s the only thing that keeps me moving when I have so little energy — and so much agony.

“Will. You. Stop. That.” Vanik enunciates every word, trying to still my fighting body. “Alvin, leave the recruits and come hold her steady. Bring Camelot to help.”

No. No, no, no.

Only a handful of seconds pass before Manning presses his body weight against my lower half, restraining my legs and hips, while Cami, enforced by a Spoken command, holds my torso down. Tears well as I look up at her, so close, yet so far away. Her eyes are like those of a stranger. She doesn’t even see me.