Whisper

by Lynette Noni

  Not even “Jane Doe,” the unidentifiable, breathing corpse.

  I am nothing. No one.

  I am a test subject, not even worthy of a name.

  I bite the inside of my cheek to keep the crushing weight of emotion from revealing itself through my expression.

  Ward’s face hardens further at what he must assume is my indifference.

  “From now on, your days will be spent down here to keep you fully immersed in the Exodus Project,” he tells me. “Your psych evaluations with Dr. Manning and your physical training with Enzo have been suspended indefinitely, and your sessions with Vanik will also be put on hold.”

  I can’t keep the hopeful look off my face, until he adds, “Unless you fail to cooperate with us and we need a way to … motivate you.”

  I’m calling him every dirty name I can think of in my mind right now. What happened to the Ward who took care of me? The one who embraced me in a bathroom while I clung to him for dear life? The one who teased me, held my hand, moved me out of a miserable cell and into an actual home? Who is this stranger in front of me, threatening me with Vanik of all people?

  If I were braver, I would ask him if any of it was real. But I’m still too afraid to open my mouth, even with his promises about the soundproofed, protected room.

  His promises mean nothing to me now. Just as they never will again.

  The door hisses open before Ward can say anything else, and four people walk in. Two of them I already know.

  “What’s up, JD?” Enzo sends me a wink and a knowing grin. “It’s about time you joined the fold. I thought you were never gonna Speak.”

  I feel as if the ground is falling out from underneath me. Did everyone keep this secret from me?

  “You okay, Jane?” Cami asks quietly, walking over and placing her hand on my arm.

  I step back, breaking her contact and avoiding her gaze. But not before I see a flash of hurt flicker across her face.

  I can’t deal with the fact that Cami is here right now. Or Enzo. I can’t handle the idea that they were a part of the performance, too. Playing a role, just like Ward.

  Instead, I look at the two new faces. One of them I recognize as the paintball girl, Keeda, who still has blue smears across the front of her clothes and in her dark, over-the-shoulder braid.

  The other boy at her side is unknown to me. His black hair is buzzed short at the sides but styled with a bright-red Mohawk on the top of his head. He also has an eyebrow ring and a lip ring, with ears so pierced that I can barely see the skin through the metal.

  “Guys, this is JD,” Enzo says. “JD, meet Keeda —” he points to the girl, and she waves a paint-covered hand in my direction “— and Crew —” he motions to the metal-pierced Mohawk guy, who stares unflinchingly at me. “Sneak is around here somewhere, as well, but he’s shy, especially near girls. He’ll show himself when he’s ready.”

  I … have no idea what he means by that.

  “She goes by ‘Jane,’” Cami says.

  Her words are soft, and I can hear in them that she’s still upset about my earlier brush-off.

  Enzo gives a one-shouldered shrug. “‘JD,’ ‘Jane’ — whatever.”

  “Neither,” Ward interjects, his tone hard. “She goes by her real name. If she refuses to tell us what that is, then you’ll address her as ‘Six-Eight-Four.’”

  All eyes look to me, and saliva pools in my mouth. I swallow it down and keep my lips sealed. I don’t care if I can talk safely in this room. They can’t have who I am. I even convince myself that I don’t care if they call me “Six-Eight-Four.” It’s just a name — I won’t let it upset me. Because my real name, my identity, is the only thing left in the world that truly belongs to me. I won’t give them that.

  “Let’s, uh, let’s just go with ‘Jane’ for now,” Enzo says when it becomes clear that Ward and I are at a standoff. “I’m sure JD will update us when she’s gotten to know us all better.”

  Fat chance, Enzo. But I still send him a grateful look. I don’t know where he fits in all this, but at least it seems like he’s on my side.

  Keeda jumps in before Ward can argue. “Why are we here, Landon?” Her arms are crossed defiantly over her chest. “You said you wanted to use us as examples?”

  “Jane —” Ward’s biting inflection speaks volumes “— is naive to the world of Speakers. She knows nothing about us, about what we can do, about how we do it. You’re some of the strongest Exodus recruits down here. The director thinks a demonstration might help her understand better than a lecture.”

  Crew raises his pierced eyebrow. “She doesn’t know what she can do? How’s that possible? Has she lived under a rock?”

  “Something like that,” Ward says.

  I wonder if he’s recalling my prison cell as clearly as I am.

  “It seems she’s aware of what she can do,” he adds, “but she’s ignorant to the abilities — and limitations — of other Speakers.”

  “What can she do?” Keeda asks, looking at me with curiosity.

  “That doesn’t matter,” Ward says, his tone firm, “since you’re here to show her what you can do.”

  “Why don’t you try explaining it to her first,” Cami says.

  Her voice is stronger now, and the hurt has been replaced by something fiercer. It takes me a moment to realize that she sounds angry — at Ward.

  “Like someone should have done, oh, I don’t know, maybe when she first arrived at Lengard?” she continues. “It might have been a better idea than locking her up in a prison cell for years. Did anyone think of that?”

  “Cami, enough,” Ward warns.

  She throws her hands out. “No, Landon. It’s not enough. If even half of what I’ve heard she’s been through is true, it will never be enough.”

  He regards her through narrowed eyes. “Are you done?”

  She returns his gaze, and we all wait to see what will happen next — me most of all. But when Ward doesn’t waver, Cami makes an aggravated sound, spins on her heel and storms from the room.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Silence descends after Cami’s abrupt exit. Then Enzo clears his throat and says, “Right. Well. To play the mediator, here are the basics, JD — er, Jane. The real quick version.”

  He ignores the glowering Ward and hurries on with his explanation.

  “For whatever reason, Speakers don’t all have the same ability with words. But we fit under three main categories — physical, mental and emotional — even if our actual abilities differ within those labels. Take Crew, for example.” He jerks his chin toward the pierced guy. “His gift is a physical one, and while we don’t usually label Speakers with specific names because there are so many different kinds of abilities, we still like to affectionately call him a ‘Slayer.’”

  Ignoring my puzzled look, Enzo turns to the Mohawked guy. “Sock it to me, Crew. I’ll hit Cami up later. Just do me a favor and keep it shallow.”

  I don’t understand their interaction until Crew sends a smirk in my direction and strikes a finger through the air. “Slash,” he says, and light surges out of him.

  I gasp when the light collides with Enzo, causing a deep cut to open on his upper arm. He’s wearing a sleeveless tank, so I know my eyes haven’t imagined the magical injury on his dark skin that appeared from nothing.

  Enzo hisses out a curse and tears a strip off the bottom of his shirt, using it to stem the flow of blood. “What the hell, man! You call that shallow?”

  Crew shrugs. “Like you said, Cami will fix you when you find her. Don’t be such a baby.”

  Enzo grumbles some very unflattering words and ties the cloth tightly around his arm. Even with the pressure, blood quickly soaks through the makeshift bandage, and my insides churn unpleasantly. Not just from the sight of all that red, but also from the power Crew just displayed and the delight he seemed to take in doing so.

  “Some Speakers have very little respect for others.” Enzo throws a glare at Crew and turns to me again. �
�People like Crew can use words to damage others physically, mentally or emotionally, depending on which of the three categories they fit under.”

  I can see how the government might have a reason to fear people like Crew. And why they’d want to use people like him, too. He’d be the perfect foot soldier, wounding the enemy before a single gun was fired.

  “There are plenty of other physical gifts, ones that don’t involve hurting people — both Cami and Sneak have them, along with a stack of other Speakers here — so I’m sure you’ll see some other examples over the coming days.”

  I’m intrigued and want to know more right away, just as I’m curious about this Sneak person who has been mentioned twice already, but Ward clears his throat, his patience clearly waning.

  With more courage than I would ever be able to summon, Enzo frowns at him and says, “Bro, you said yourself that we’re here because Falon wants us to demonstrate our abilities. It won’t take long, so mellow out and quit acting like such a dick about it.”

  I suck in a breath, not sure if I want to laugh or cower.

  Enzo chuckles at the nonverbal response Ward offers and turns his dark eyes back to me. “Next up we have your mentals,” he says, with a quirk of his lips at his own wording. “Take Landon, for instance. He’s what we call a ‘Protector,’ since he has an extremely rare protective ability that he uses to help control the power and intent behind the words Speakers use. It’s almost like he can see the words that are Spoken and can help shape them, guide them, make them safe. Basically, he protects anyone or anything that might be affected by Spoken words — and in some cases, he protects the Speakers from themselves, too.”

  Remembering how Ward helped me reawaken the world and then make everyone on Market Street forget Abby’s near disaster, I have at least a vague understanding of what Enzo is saying. Curious, I throw a glance Ward’s way, wondering if he’ll give another demonstration, but his glowering expression is enough for me to swiftly turn back to Enzo.

  “There are other mental abilities, like being able to create illusions or influence dreams or narrate stories so vividly that they come to life,” Enzo goes on. His features tighten as he adds, “There are also some very powerful and potentially very dangerous mental abilities, like being able to force people to do things against their will or suggest changes in thought patterns.”

  A shiver runs down my spine at the very idea of such abilities.

  “Then there are mentals like Keeda here, whose words can have a hypnotic effect.” Enzo turns to the paint-smeared girl, eyebrows raised. “Keed?”

  Looking straight into my eyes, Keeda says, “You’re so very tired.”

  A pulse of light shoots from her into me, and my sudden exhaustion is so crippling that I nearly collapse right onto the ground. A yawn overtakes me, then another, and my eyelids flutter shut before I hear a voice as if from far away saying, “Clear.” I see a flash again, and the next moment I’m back to normal.

  Keeda is still staring at me, and I hastily break eye contact, not wanting to see what other ways she might try to use her power on me. What if she can somehow force me to Speak without my consent?

  I’m certain my face is an open book right now, my unease clear for all to see. Indeed, the blue-splattered girl shakes her head as if she can read my thoughts.

  “Making Speakers say anything against their will, even just normal words, is one of our biggest limitations,” Keeda tells me. “The kind of control it would require to break through another Speaker’s natural defense mechanisms …” She shakes her head again. “I don’t know of anyone in either the Genesis or Exodus generations with that much control, that much power.”

  That, at least, brings me some relief.

  “You still look worried,” Keeda observes, and my eyes flick up to hers again. Big mistake. Because the moment they do, she cocks her head to the side and says, “Tell us your real name.”

  I see the flash and feel the hypnotic words wash over me, and just like the first time, they’re captivating. I know I should respond, should open my mouth, but something is stopping me. Something inside me is saying I don’t have to listen, that I can ignore, that it’s my choice. I hold on to that something, I revel in the security it offers, and when the light that accompanies Keeda’s quiet “Clear” comes, I blink quickly and look at her in amazement.

  She sends me a half smile. “See what I mean? Natural defense mechanisms.”

  I return her smile tentatively, hoping she can tell I’m grateful she took the time to ease my concerns.

  Enzo reclaims my attention by saying, “The last category is Speakers with emotional gifts. Some can manipulate the way others feel … make you happy, sad, angry, embarrassed or whatever. Some can give compliments and offer flattery so believable that you’ll never doubt yourself again. Others can do the opposite.”

  I don’t revel in the idea of someone influencing my emotions, but before I can linger too long on the negatives, Enzo continues.

  “I’m in the emotional category, since I can use words to encourage others, to motivate and inspire people.”

  The teasing glint in his eyes makes my stomach plummet, and I brace for what he’s about to say next.

  “I don’t think you need a demonstration, because I’ve been Speaking to you ever since we first met,” Enzo admits, without the slightest hint of shame. “I may have … encouraged you to be more dedicated to your training than you would have normally been.”

  And there it is.

  Here I thought I just enjoyed my personal training sessions because they gave me a modicum of control in my otherwise restricted life. But now I know that even those feelings were a lie. Or if not a lie, not entirely my own. I was encouraged.

  Son of a —

  “Hey, it worked,” Enzo says, cutting into my thoughts after noting my stormy gaze. “You’re fitter than Wonder Woman and pretty damn kick-ass these days. You can thank me later.”

  He’s just taken away one of the only things that I considered mine. There will be no offerings of gratitude.

  Ward makes a sound in the back of his throat, and Enzo seems to realize that he’d better hurry it along.

  “Right,” he says, pressing a hand to his still-bleeding arm. I feel myself soften toward him — but only slightly. “So, that’s us. We’re a talented bunch, sure, but there are other kinds of Speakers out there, too.” He gestures toward the massive training room beyond these four walls. “There are some who can make you believe ridiculous lies, some who can command animals, some who can convince you that you played the leading role in a fictional story, and heaps of others. Those are just a fraction of the Speaking abilities we’ve come across.”

  I can’t even begin to process the scope of what he’s saying. All these different abilities. I’m not — I’m starting to wonder if perhaps I’m not like them at all. Because … I don’t fit under any of the categories Enzo has mentioned. Physical, emotional, mental … are they the only options?

  “Every Speaker has strengths and weaknesses according to their type of ability, but all of us are limited to using words in one specific way,” Enzo goes on. “There’s only one kind of Speaker who has no limitations, and that’s —”

  “Creators,” Ward cuts in, his eyes firmly fixed on me. “Creators have no limitations.”

  A chill slides down my spine.

  “Creators have all the strengths, none of the weaknesses,” Enzo states. “They don’t fit in any of the three categories, since they can literally do everything. The only other kind of Speaker who has even close to that sort of power is a Destroyer, but there aren’t any of those around anymore. And they still have nothing on Creators, who can do whatever they want with any words they want. They can create the unimaginable, unleash the impossible. They’re the ultimate weapon.”

  The ultimate weapon. The ultimate monster. He couldn’t be more correct.

  “They’re also power-obsessed psychos,” Crew drawls.

  Part of me marvels that this s
cary-looking, metallic-laden Slayer who can cause immeasurable pain with a single word has the audacity to call anyone a psycho.

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” Enzo says, plucking at his makeshift bandage. “There’s only ever been one Creator on record, and since he died ten years ago, it hardly matters either way.”

  “After everything he did …” Keeda actually shudders. “Ultimate weapon or not, that kind of power …” She trails off again, lost to some dark memory. “We’re better off without them.”

  I can still feel Ward’s gaze on me, but I refuse to look at him. I’m waiting for him to speak up. To tell them what I am. For him to awaken in them the fear that lies just beneath the surface at the very idea of a Creator being in their midst. I want to know what happened to the last one ten years ago. I want to know what memory holds Keeda captive and what could cause Crew to label someone a “power-obsessed psycho.”

  I want to know so many things.

  But mostly, I want to know why moments have passed and Ward remains silent. So I succumb to the temptation and look up at him. Immediately, I become trapped in his bright-green stare, and everything around us fades away. He raises his eyebrows just slightly, enough for me to notice but not to draw attention from anyone else. Almost like he’s challenging me to speak up for myself. To tell them my deepest, darkest secret. To share that I’m the monster they fear.

  “So, that’s the basic introduction,” Enzo says, and I force my eyes back to him. “Lando, you need anything else from us? Or can we leave you both and go grab some grub?”

  I try to pretend that my heart isn’t thumping anxiously at the idea of everyone leaving me alone with Ward. It’s a useless endeavor.

  “You can go,” Ward tells them, and my shoulders hunch in resignation. “Crew, you have tomorrow morning free, right? Swing by after breakfast and you can help out with a lesson on intention. Enzo, you up for being his punching bag?”

  Enzo makes an unhappy sound. “As long as Cutter Freak over here —” he jerks his head at Crew “— controls his inner sadist, and someone makes sure Cami is nearby in case there are any ‘accidents’ —” he makes quotation marks with his fingers “— then sure, whatever.”