The Whispers (15 page)

The hum of the hovercraft is all I hear for hours. Wrapped in a soft blanket with a cup of warm tea in my hands, I sit next to John, and across from Marianne and a trembling Connor Easton, the four of us in utter silence as the craft gently carries us over the ocean. Mari wouldn’t touch the food they offered us, even refusing the tea, which is her absolute favorite. Still …

“She’s my friend,” I tell the nurses when they enter our cabin—or should I say
airborne prison cell in the sky
—a sweet-faced boy and a long-faced girl with a hook nose. “She won’t eat or drink when she’s upset. I know her.”

“We need to get fluids into her,” reasons the male.

Mari’s bewildered eyes meet mine. She wouldn’t even let them touch her for a proper medical exam.

“In time,” I assure them. “When we get home, I’ll …”

It suddenly occurs to me that we may not be headed home. We might be heading straight to the courthouse to be judged for my crimes, or worse. I guess the upside is, we’ll be fed in prison, including Mari.

The nurses seem to accept my half-sentence, moving on to East to rebandage the third red eyebrow across his forehead, which has become something more of a cherry-black grimace.

I look up at Connor, struck with a realization at once, and whisper, “Dana?” to which he merely shakes his head and looks away.

That’s my last interaction or exchange with anyone for hours. I’m left to interpret what the hell that shake of his head meant. Regardless of Dana’s fate, I know one thing for certain:
I’ve been vindicated
. The crew on this hovercraft saw the Dead with their own eyes, the Dead from which we were fleeing. I may have left my device behind—and all my notes and proof with it—but the crew on this ship know my truth, and they cannot deny it.

The Beautiful Dead
do
exist.

Long after the hot tea’s been consumed and all I’m holding are John’s hands, I lean my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes for just a moment’s rest. That moment’s rest turns into a five-hour dreamless slumber.

“Jennifer Steel.”

I open my eyes. A tall woman in white-plated armor stands before me, a gun strapped to her belt and a red emblem on her chest. She holds a long gadget, waiting.

“Confirm your identity,” she states. “Jennifer Steel.”

“That’s me,” I choke, my voice waking up late.

The gadget in her hand glows, a little screen showing the wave output of my own voice, then issues a beep at the woman, who nods in response. I guess I’m confirmed?

Moving on to John, the woman lifts the gadget again. “Confirm your identity.”

“John Mason,” he answers.

The gadget glows. The gadget beeps. The woman moves on.

“C-Connor Easton,” says the boy, his eyes shining with tears for some reason. I can’t tell if he’s happy to be home, or sad. When he lifts his bright eyes to meet mine, I see a sudden flicker of anger in them, taking me aback.

“Confirm your identity.”

Marianne, who still has yet to utter a single damn word since we found her, simply stares at the gadget as if it were the most frightening thing in the world.

“Confirm your identity,” the woman repeats.

“I’m sorry, ma’am?” I interject. “That’s my best friend, Marianne Gable. She’s undergone some serious trauma and hasn’t eaten anything or drank a drop or spoken a single word since—”

“Fine,” says the woman tiredly, putting her gadget away. “Long damn day anyway. Get ready to disembark.” With that, she struts into the main cabin, leaving us alone.

In the peace of our separate cabin, I consider our mutual silence broken and venture to speak. “East?” I say, my voice soft. “What’s wrong? You look angry.”

“Can’t imagine why,” he mutters darkly.

I frown. “We’re heading home. We’re rescued, East. You’ll get to sleep in your own bed tonight. You’ll—”

“No, I won’t,” he retorts. “And neither will you.”

I glance at John, who returns my stare with a quizzical one of his own. “What do you mean?” I ask the boy.

“We’re all suspects. Criminals. They’ll hold us in a cell and question us. My brother shoplifted a bracelet for his girlfriend when I was seven. I know how this goes down. I didn’t see him again until my tenth birthday.” East scowls at the wall, his arms folded tight against his chest. “My life is ruined.”

“You’re innocent,” I assure him. “We’ll all say the same thing. Mari, John, and I will all tell the truth of it. You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. You got wrapped up in a plot that—”

“No, I was precisely at the
correct
place at the
correct
time. At my job, doing my duty, just as I should have been.
You’re
the one who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now, I’ll bring shame to my family. My parents will think I’m no better than my brother, no matter the truth of it. They’ve had three days to ponder why I would’ve helped assist in the abduction of school property. ‘Oh, he’s just like Cole,’ they’ll say. ‘He’s a thief just like his thief brother.’ My life is
ruined
.”

I sputter for a moment before saying, “No, East. No, no, no. They won’t say that. Your name will be cleared. We’ll all make sure of that. East, if it wasn’t for you—”

“My name is
Connor
,” he declares suddenly.

“I know. But listen to me. If it wasn’t for you and your bravery in filling that satchel, we’d all be—”

“Dead as Dana?” he finishes.

I sit back in my seat, the words having pummeled me in the stomach. “She … She’s dead?”

“Probably, by now.” Noting my confused expression, East sighs irritably and clarifies himself. “When the craft came to the city and found us, Dana told me she’d never return to the land of the Living, not now that she’d found her ‘true home’. She went
crazy
, Jennifer.” His eyes grow teary and his words bite with accusation. “The woman thought she’d belonged in the land of the Dead all along. She wanted to
stay
. Something’s wrong with her. No one in their right mind would choose to live there in that unlivable place. I’ll give her a week, tops. She’ll die. None of those others will help her, I can guarantee that.” East’s eyes flood with tears. “She’ll go through that s-s-satchel of mine in a day and s-starve until her last
breath
.”

With those dark words uttered, Connor Easton shuts up, turning away and allowing his tears of frustration to fall without restraint. Listening to him choke and sputter as the sobs erupt like earthquakes from his chest, I let the conversation rest and lean into John, pained by the boy’s words.
I can’t believe she wanted to stay,
I think to myself, trying to imagine it. On one hand, it’s totally believable. But on the other, how can I not see that as some far-reaching form of prolonged suicide?

I’m the reason for the suffering of everyone in this craft. Even the men and women who came to rescue us. I’m the reason they put their lives in danger, just to save the totally unworthy life of me, and the totally worthy lives of my brave and loyal companions … or rather, my now-eternally-damaged companions.

The disembarking process is smooth and quick. Upon passing down the ramp, escorted by the armed authorities every step of the way, the tired sunlight from a waning evening pours over our faces like warm honey. There is no mistaking it: all four of us pause in our tracks to drink in the light that we’ve so missed for the past few days. The little bit that shimmered in through the windshield of the hovercraft did not suffice.

As we’re brought out of the sun, I realize with a start that it’s the president’s building into which we’re being led. For some reason, I’d expected to be ushered to the disciplinary, if East’s fears could be founded. As we walk down the long tiled halls, I see a look of surprise on his face, too; he wasn’t expecting a visit with the president of the university herself.

The four of us are seated in a waiting room of sorts, watched over only by two armed men in those clean, white-armored uniforms. I study the pair of them who guard the president’s door, curious if they go through a gallon of starch and bleach every laundry day.

The door opens. “John Mason,” announces a young man without even looking up from the chrome tablet in his palm, tapping on it and causing it to chirp.

John gives me a look, then squeezes my hand before rising from the bench and moving to the door, which gently closes behind him.

I breathe evenly and stare across the aisle at Mari. She doesn’t stare back, her eyes glued to the fluorescent light in the ceiling. I whisper her name and she doesn’t react. I hiss it again, trying to get her attention, but poor Mari, she’s trapped inside her own head of horrors, and anything I do to get her attention is lost. I lean back on the bench, feet aching, and wait for my name to be called.

Ten minutes later, the door opens. John steps out, but he doesn’t return to me. His eyes locked on mine, a guard escorts him down another hall and out of sight. A million words stick in my mouth. Where are they taking him?

The young man stares at his tablet. “Marianne Gable,” he announces.

“Excuse me,” I say, rising. “My friend’s been through so much that she won’t utter a word, not even to me. I don’t think she’s going to be able to communicate to the president properly. May I go in with—?”

“No,” he says, eyes still glued to the tablet. “Marianne Gable.”

I look at my friend, who still stares at the light above and doesn’t move an inch. “Mari,” I say, nudging her with my voice. “They’re calling for you, sweetheart. Mari?”

One of the armed men comes up to her side and places a hand gently on her shoulder, coaxing her off the bench and toward the room. Trapped in that eternal daze of hers, she moves. The door closes behind her.

I drop back in my seat. And then there were two. East picks at his nails. I wish I could say something to calm his anger, to make things better between us, to recapture any sort of kindness he might’ve felt towards me … but every stupid word that crosses my mind is as futile as the last. The only one of us he seemed to connect with was John, whom he looked at as a protector. I stare at East across the aisle, longing for him to show me some sign of care or forgiveness. I’ll be staring forever, at this rate.

The door opens. Mari is escorted out at once, still trapped in her daze, and is taken down the other hall, just as John was.

The young man lifts his tablet. “Connor Easton.”

Of
course
they’d leave me for last. He rises from his chair and, like some militant young man, darts straight into the office without a second’s hesitation. I experience one single bite of resentment toward him before the door shuts, leaving me all by myself with the two stoic guards.

“
I’m so sorry
,” I whisper to my hands, clasping them and channeling the dead spirit of my dad, the living spirit of my mom back home or wherever she is, all the souls I’ve disturbed in my fruitless adventure. “
I’m so, so sorry.
”

The door opens one final time. East comes out of the room. His whole face is changed. Escorted away, he looks at me with a peculiar softness in his eyes before being taken around the corner. His changed demeanor startles me. I don’t know what to make of it.

“Jennifer Steel.”

With a stone in my throat, I rise from the bench, my weight supported by two annoyingly wobbly knees, and make my way to the door. The president’s office is a grandiose one, filled from one end to the other with antique furniture, mahogany bookcases, and the scent of summertime. The far wall is made of glass from floor to ceiling, much like my condo, and a desk that’s four times the span of one sits stretched before it. One fateful chair rests in front of the president’s desk.

“Jennifer,” says President Vale, standing on the other side of the aforementioned long-as-hell desk. “Come.”

I cross the office and put myself in the chair, which is outrageously comfortable. I’ve never met the president up close, but she is every bit as beautiful as I’ve heard. Her freckled skin is velvety and fair as cream. Her hair, wavy and ruby-red, drapes down to her shoulders, and her forty-something round face, plain and featureless, is warm and welcoming. President Vale wears a green pantsuit with a white scarf tied loosely around her neck, and two emeralds dangle from her ears.