by Lynette Noni
“Are we ready?” Ward asks, and the children all respond loudly in the affirmative. “Then let’s get out of here.”
A soft beeping is what I hear next, along with the whoosh of the door sliding open. I’m then shuffled blindly forward. But I’m pulled to a halt after just a few steps. I wonder why we’ve stopped, until the floor underneath me moves and I realize that we must be in an elevator. We travel upward at a rate fast enough that my stomach lurches and my ears pop from the pressure.
I try to count the seconds, but it’s difficult with the kids’ constant chatter. I think it takes almost a whole minute before the elevator comes to a stop and Ward and Abby pull me forward.
“I was wondering when you’d get here,” says a rumbling male voice. “The director said you’d put in a request for this afternoon, but it’s getting so late that I figured you’d changed your mind.”
I try to place the voice but have to settle on assuming the man is one of the many guards.
“Falon cleared Six-Eight-Four to go with you, too. That’s weird, right? I’m not sure what he’s thinking. Gotta say, though, she sure looks different in street clothes.”
The guard lets out a low whistle, and I stiffen at the implication.
“Another word and I’ll end your employment here at Lengard.” Ward’s threat comes out sharp and pointed, leaving a loaded silence — and no room for misunderstanding.
“I meant no disrespect, sir,” the other man says, his words careful now.
Sir? When I first met Falon, he said something about few people getting to spend one-on-one time with Ward. But for this guard to defer to him so readily … Just what kind of position does Ward hold here at Lengard? Why doesn’t he have to wear a regulation uniform? Why does he spend so many hours with me, just reading? Why did Falon tell me to make the most of this opportunity?
I still have so few answers, to my unending frustration.
“See that it doesn’t happen again,” Ward tells the guard firmly.
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
“Good,” Ward says, and he moves on. “We’re scheduled to be back by nineteen-hundred. I’ll check in if that plan changes.”
“But, uh, sir —”
“We won’t be requiring an escort today. The director should have made that clear.”
“Well, yes, but —”
“Then you have your orders. Now, let us pass.”
There’s a moment of silence — of hesitation? — before I hear a shuffling noise and the whoosh of another door sliding open.
“Thank you,” Ward says, his words still terse. “That’ll be all.”
“But —”
“You’re dismissed.”
“I don’t like that guy,” Ethan mutters as the footsteps move away.
“Me, neither,” Isaac quickly agrees.
I want to hug them both.
Abby, meanwhile, is too busy humming to herself to add her opinion, and I marvel at her little-girl ability to remain locked in a happy land despite whatever tension might be circling around her.
“This way,” Ward says, leading me forward again.
Not being able to see where we’re going is disorienting. I don’t like that I have to trust Ward to tell me if there’s a step I need to take or an obstacle in my path I should avoid. I’m on edge, and all I want to do is rip the blindfold from my eyes. But Abby’s small hand still grips mine, as does Ward’s. So I can do nothing but grit my teeth and hope that our journey won’t end with a missed step and a broken ankle.
It’s not long until I’m tugged to a halt in yet another elevator. This one has a voice prompt asking for security clearance, password included. Ward doesn’t respond verbally, so I assume he’s inputting the specified information by hand.
When the elevator comes to life and moves us farther upward, I marvel at just how deep underground Lengard must be. Anticipation prickles my skin. We must be very near the surface by now.
A quiet ding is the only indication I have that the doors are sliding open, that and the lively noises greeting my ears. It sounds like people — lots and lots of people.
Abby gives an excited squeal, squeezing my hand tightly. She tugs me forward with so much force that the tip of my booted foot catches in the gap between the elevator and the landing, causing me to trip. I know I’m about to go down, so I yank my hand from Abby’s to keep her from tumbling with me, but there’s nothing I can do about being shackled to Ward.
Before I can dread the coming impact, his arms snake around me, hauling me upright and into his strong body.
“I’ve got you,” Ward whispers into my ear.
He does. He very much does have me. And he’s not letting me go, though I very much want him to.
Or … so I try to convince myself.
I squirm in his arms — which are still tightly wrapped around me — and the microseconds it takes for him to release me feel like years. Once free, I quickly step away, only to stumble again, because judging by the “Ow!” I hear, I’ve just walked into Ethan. Yet again, Ward’s arms are all that save me from falling for the second time in less than a minute.
“If I didn’t know any better, Chip, I’d say you just wanted to cuddle.”
I don’t have a chance to melt into a puddle of embarrassment, because he lets me go and almost immediately the blindfold is whipped off my head.
I blink, blink, blink and try to comprehend what I’m seeing.
The number of people makes perfect sense considering where we are. But I have no clue how we can be here. It doesn’t seem possible.
I spin around and see the elevator behind us, then I whirl back to take in the sight before me again. I’m overwhelmed by unanswered questions, and I turn incredulous eyes to Ward.
All he does is send me a knowing — and dimpled — grin.
My gaze narrows, and for some unfathomable reason, he bursts out laughing.
Not one to be left out, Abby joins in with her own giggles. Ethan and Isaac just look confused — which makes three of us. Of all the questions brimming in my mind, one takes precedence: How can Lengard — a secret government facility — be located deep beneath Centrepoint Tower, right in the heart of Sydney?
Another important question is, how did I get to Sydney? The psychiatric institution I checked myself into was located on the other side of the country. Just how drugged was I when they delivered me to Lengard?
I’m itching to know the answers, but I release a breath and decide to let my curiosity go. With so few days left, there’s little point in adding to my list of unresolved questions.
When I turn back to Ward, his humor has passed, but he still has a smile on his face as he gives our cuffed hands a tug and starts leading the way forward. Abby skips ahead with Ethan and Isaac, and Ward calls out a reminder for them to stay close. They slow down, but it’s clear they’re struggling to rein in their excitement.
“They don’t get to come out very often,” Ward tells me again as we head toward the exit of the shopping center located underneath the tower. “It’s hard to keep the facility a secret if we have people coming and going all the time.”
“Ice cream! Ice cream! Ice cream!” Abby chants, skipping around us.
I smile at her exuberance, but when we step out of the shadow of the tower and onto Market Street, it’s all I can do to remain standing as I take in my surroundings.
The noises — the crowds, the traffic. The colors — the sky, the sunshine, the clothes. Everything is so overwhelming. There are no whitewashed walls here, no silence of forgotten dreams, no nightmares of unending futures. Instead, here there is life.
I move a trembling hand out in front of me, marveling at the way the sunlight whispers across my pale skin. I can’t remember the last time I felt such beautiful warmth. I can’t remember the last time the wind teased my hair and tickled my flesh. I can’t remember the last time I felt so completely, gloriously, alive.
This is likely the last time I will feel any of this.
Three days isn’t long enough.
But that’s all I have, so I’m going to make the most of it.
“Okay, kids, do we want the park, or do we want the water?”
At Ward’s question, I tear my gaze from the fluffy white clouds overhead and come back down to earth.
“Park!”
“Water!”
“Park!”
“Water!”
And thus begins the rather heated debate, until Ward reminds them that they’ll have to wait longer for ice cream if we walk to Darling Harbour, whereas Hyde Park is only a few minutes away.
No one argues after that.
*
It’s the perfect afternoon.
After strolling casually along Market Street — and purchasing ice creams along the way — we arrive at the park and sit around the Archibald Fountain to enjoy our treats. By my calculations, there’s only a month left until winter hits, so it’s not ideal weather for ice cream. But as Abby reminds us all, any time is ice cream time. So, enduring the wind and the spray of the fountain, I enjoy the food, and the company.
The kids are delighted to be outside — almost as much as I am. They run, they jump, they squeal with joy. And when they’ve had enough of the park, we end up walking to the harbor after all, crossing the Pyrmont Bridge over Cockle Bay and then meandering our way back along the waterfront. A troupe of street performers doing acrobatics holds our attention for some time, and later a group of traveling magicians amazes the children so much that Ward and I eventually have to drag them away. But that’s also partly because Abby starts telling anyone who will listen that “my mummy makes magical pictures when she doesn’t know I’m looking.”
I’m not the only person in the audience who smiles at her indulgently as she makes her claim, though it does grow old rather quickly, which is why we don’t linger after the magicians finish their performance.
When the sun falls across the horizon and the light of the day begins to dim, I know the end of our outing is fast approaching. I don’t want to go back, not after the explosion of wonder I’ve experienced this afternoon. It hasn’t mattered that I’ve been cuffed to Ward — the children have kept me so entertained that I’ve barely noticed. But they’re beginning to droop now as their energy wanes, and I know it’s time we returned them home.
As if sensing my thoughts, Ward says, “We’d better start heading back to Lengard.”
I nod in agreement and he sends me a compassionate smile, almost as if he understands that I’m trying not to think about this being my last chance to experience the outside world. There are still three days left; maybe he’ll bring me out again. I hold on to that thought — it’s the only thing keeping me together as we begin the journey back to the tower.
The children are unwilling to end the day, regardless of their exhaustion. But after a few words from Ward — and the promise of food back at their suite — their grumbles turn into resigned acceptance. They trudge along, knowing that they’ll get to come out again at some stage in the future. I, however, have no such guarantees.
Especially given what happens next.
CHAPTER TEN
We’re halfway along Market Street and nearly back to the tower when it happens. One minute the kids are three steps in front of us and chittering about the magician show, and the next Abby is screaming, “HORSIE!”
Startled, I look up just in time to see the mounted police officer on the other side of the road, and then the world shatters around me as Abby leaps into a sprint — and hurtles right out onto the street and into peak-hour traffic.
“ABBY, NO!” Ward yells, surging forward and yanking me with him, heedless of the oncoming vehicles.
Suddenly, Abby stutters to a halt in the middle of the street. She takes her eyes off the horse and sees the city bus headed straight at her, screeching on its brakes. I react without thinking.
I throw out my free arm, I open my mouth and, in a voice hoarse from lack of use, I scream a word that wells up from an anguished place deep within me.
“STOP!”
At my command, the world freezes.
People halt mid-walk; they pause speaking mid-talk. Birds heading to their nests for the night rest suspended in the air. All noises cease. It is eerily quiet, eerily still. As for the bus that is now a hairbreadth away from Abby, it’s immobile, trapped in place by stoppered time.
My heart is pounding, my breath trapped somewhere between my lungs and my throat. I force myself to release a strangled gasp of air, but it brings me no relief. There’s nothing that can help me now; I am consumed by the terror of what I have done.
I reacted on instinct, and while I may have saved Abby’s life, it was stupid. So very, very stupid. Because in saving one life, I may have just frozen the entire world — forever.
“It’s true.”
I jump nearly out of my skin and whip around to find Ward staring at me. And blinking.
My mouth opens in shock, and I don’t have the capacity to close it. How is he not frozen when everyone else — and everything else — around us is? I want to ask, but the words are stuck in my throat. It’s been so long since I’ve said anything. And for good reason. Because when I speak, the world listens. When I speak, things happen. Like when I call out “Stop” — and the world simply stops.
“You’re a Speaker,” Ward says. He takes his eyes off me and glances around at the silent, still landscape. “And not just a Speaker. You’re a Creator, aren’t you? Vanik was right.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but my pulse skyrockets even more at the mention of Vanik.
“We need to get out of here,” he states, still looking around the paused world. “We need to get you back underground.”
He returns his gaze to me then, and whatever he must see in my expression causes his tense features to soften — if only slightly.
“Thank you for saving Abby. I mean that — really. But you should have said something about what you can do sooner. I would have been able to help you.”
A choking noise is all I can manage. He’s wrong. No one can help me.
When it becomes clear that I have no intention of responding, his lips form a firm line and he shakes his head, stepping onto the street. Still bound to him, I follow as he strides over to Abby’s motionless body and swiftly plucks her out of harm’s way. She is as stiff as a mannequin in his arms, her limbs rigid and inflexible.
Once we’re back on the sidewalk, Ward places her on the ground in front of us and turns to me.
I wait for him to say something, do something, explain something, but all I can wonder is why, why, why is he moving freely when no one else is?
As with everything else when it comes to Ward, it makes no sense that he is somehow able to withstand the impossible power within me.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he tells me.
I have no idea what he’s waiting for. No idea what he expects me to do.
He takes in my expression and raises his eyebrows. “You don’t know how to undo it?”
I shake my head, hoping he can read the gesture as helpless. I don’t just not know how to undo it — I don’t even know if it can be undone. I have no idea how it happened in the first place. All I know is that it’s not the first time my words have changed the world — or my world, at least.
Ward looks astounded. “No one’s told you how Speaking works? What about —”
He cuts off mid-sentence, choosing not to finish his question. If I were willing to risk causing more damage, I would beg him to continue, to help me understand. Clearly, he knows much more than he’s saying. Instead, I just shake my head again.
“Wow.” He blows out a breath. “Okay. Um. Wow.”
He releases a burst of laughter — but it’s not filled with humor. It’s almost like he’s having trouble believing me.
“That explains a lot.”
He looks stunned, like he’s not sure what to say or do. That makes two of us.
“I always wondered why
my uncle asked me to take on your case,” he says, rallying his thoughts. “I just had no idea that you had no idea. I presumed you kept silent just to be stubborn. This, though … complicates things.”
What kind of a person doesn’t speak for over two and a half years simply because she’s stubborn? Then I blink when I realize that technically, he’s right. It was stubbornness that kept me silent — because I alone understood what the consequences could be.
“There’s a lot to tell you, especially if you don’t know anything. But I need to talk to Falon and find out what the hell is going on before we have that conversation, so that means you need to fix this —” he waves an arm, indicating the motionless world “— so we can get back to Lengard.”
I’m pretty sure we already decided that a few minutes ago. Ward must be in shock or something.
“I need you to concentrate,” Ward tells me, looking deep into my eyes. “You’re a Creator, which means your words are filled with creative potential. Literal creative potential. As a Speaker, what you say, happens —” this much I already know, unfortunately “— so you need to use your imagination and focus on what you want to happen. In this case, I want you to think about unstopping the world. Think about life carrying on as normal. People moving, talking, going about their usual business. Close your eyes and see that picture in your mind.”
I send him a skeptical look, but he returns it with a “just try it” gesture. So I follow his instructions, closing my eyes and visualizing the world doing what it’s supposed to be doing.
“Now, I want you to Speak.”
Ward’s voice is soft enough not to disrupt my mental image.
“Say whatever comes naturally. The words don’t matter as much as their intent. Just … let go and feel it.”
Let go and feel it? Is he for real?
Despite my fear that I can’t undo the damage I’ve caused, I at least try to do what he’s asking. With my mental image well in hand, I open my mouth and speak for the second time in over two and a half years. The sound I make is barely a whisper, but the power behind it knows no bounds.
