Listen (Muted Trilogy Book 2) (27 page)

TWENTY-NINE

Interview

As they left the assessment room, leaving Ralph behind, Ashley produced a cell phone to continue speaking, using a polished female voice that suited her much better.

“I’m assuming you don’t have anything a little more formal to change into, but as long as you’re comfortable in that, it’s okay. It lends some credibility to your story, the functional clothing.” Jemma glanced down at her shirt, glad she’d at least put on one of the clean ones that morning before leaving. “We will do a little bit of makeup, though, unless you object. The camera’s gonna make you look like a ghost, otherwise. This way.”

She led her through the building to a small dressing room, standing to one side as another woman went to work on makeup.

“I’ve added you to the ten o’clock news,” explained Ashley. “That gives us time to build a little bit of interest before we go on.” Jemma’s stomach flipped. She’d both hoped and dreaded that her captors might be aware of the segment beforehand. “You’ll be interviewed live. Have you watched one of our interviews lately?” Ashley gave the makeup artist time to let Jemma shake her head before she continued. “You’ll be in a chair across from one of the hosts. The arm of the chair has a tablet. One of our specialists will go through voices with you before the segment, help you pick one that suits you. Don’t try to move your lips with the voice unless you have practice with it, but that’s what the host will be doing. Some of the questions will be similar to the ones Ralph asked, and some will be new, after we’ve had a chance to sort through those papers a little bit more. Okay, Sandra, that’s enough.” The woman applying makeup nodded and left, and Ashley moved to where Jemma could see her better.

Jemma pulled out her phone. “You said one of your friends went missing. Was he like me?”

Ashley shook her head. “He was normal, but he accidentally stumbled across some information. He was going to have me report it, but he never got me any real details, never got me any of the proof. Then one day he said he might’ve finally found something, but that there was someone else he had to warn first, and then he’d tell me what he’d found. I never heard from him again.”

Jemma shifted in her seat; it sounded a little too familiar. There had been too many disappearances. “What was his name?”

“His name is Davis. Davis Powell. I refuse to believe he’s gone for good. It’s part of why I’m putting you on tonight, even if it costs me my job. He’s a good man, and he took a risk to help, and it cost him. How can I not do the same?”

The name was familiar, too. Still, it took Jemma a minute to place it. She’d only seen the name once, and it had been an eventful several weeks since then.

Davis Powell. He was the blood bank employee who’d given Marcia Jack’s and Jemma’s names, who’d then been taken away from his family because of it.

“I’m sorry,” she typed.

Ashley shook her head. “Not your fault. You didn’t happen to see him, did you? That’s not one of the names that Ralph wrote down.”

“No. I’m sorry,” Jemma repeated, unsure whether to say she knew more about him. Unsure whether he’d really been a help, in the end.

He’d introduced them to Marcia, briefly, and to Kendall for a little longer, and the decisions she and Jack had made afterward had probably sped their capture, but ultimately, he probably hadn’t changed anything except to get himself taken, too. Jemma rubbed her shoulder, hoping her current course of action would prove less futile than his had been, deciding not to tell his friend that his noble actions hadn’t been as effective as he’d intended.

She toyed with her phone for a moment before typing again. “Ralph mentioned that the information could upset people. I told him that people would be dying anyway, so it isn’t like we’d make it worse, but that was a knee-jerk reaction on my part. You might say I’ve had a rough week. Is it responsible to move forward with a news report that could cause widespread panic if people believe it?” Her family was still out there, after all, and Don, and Cecily, and it wasn’t as if she really wanted to see harm come to the people she was trying to protect.

Ashley was still for a minute. “Honestly? I think some people might panic, yes, but others will just be relieved to finally know what caused the Event. I mean, the world isn’t ending. It can be reversed. We can get things back to normal. All we need to do is get a different batch of scientists to take over. The only people who panic are going to be the ones who focus on the problem, not the solution. We’ll try to spin the information toward the positive as best we can without glossing over it.”

Jemma nodded. “What happens if your broadcast gets interrupted or taken down?”

“We’ll try again.” Ashley met her eyes, expression serious. “In the meantime, I know and Ralph knows. The anchors have been informed by now, and most of the studio will at least have the basic idea by the time you’re ready to go on. Not even the government could take out an entire news studio without raising some serious questions, right? And when I hand you off to Patricia for prep and to choose your voice, I’m going to send out a few emails. We’re going to get this as widespread as we can.” She leaned forward to put a hand on Jemma’s shoulder before leaning back against the wall again. “Can I ask, what happened to Jack?”

“We split up, and they took him again.” Jemma’s jaw clenched, and Ashley nodded, seeming unsure what to say.

“I’m sorry. Okay. It’s time to get this started. I’ll introduce you to Patricia. She’ll show you where you’ll interview while the anchors start the hour, and I’ll get those emails sent out. I’ll be watching from where you can see me by the time your interview starts, though, okay?”

Ashley led the way out of the room and through the building again, skirting cameras in a large room until they reached a section that looked like a typical interview setup. They were far enough away from the main news desk, which was already filming, to be able to use voice on the phones and tablets, though Ashley did first lower the volume, and Jemma followed suit. “Jemma, Patricia. Patricia, this is Jemma. Take care of her. I’ll see you in a little bit.” With another squeeze to Jemma’s shoulder, Ashley left.

“Okay, this will be your chair.” Patricia typed on a tablet with one hand and gestured with the other. “Go ahead and sit.” Jemma did before looking around. There were no men in suits yet. No people with guns. Nobody had come to take her. She might actually be going through with this. “I’ve sent a few voices that fit your face over to your tablet. Go ahead and listen to them, and let me know which one you’re most comfortable with.”

The tablet was positioned so Jemma would be able to see the host easily by looking up over the device, the chairs angled toward each other and the cameras. On the tablet, there were four audio clips. Two of them set her on edge, and one reminded her too much of her mother, bringing tears to her eyes, so Jemma chose the remaining voice, shaking her head to clear it after letting Patricia know which one she wanted to use.

“That’s about it, then,” typed Patricia. “Dallas will be over here in about two minutes, and we’ll go live in five minutes. Any questions?”

At Jemma’s negative, Patricia left. Jemma sank back into her seat, her hand clutching her arm. She’d left her backpack in the assessment room, and now she almost wished she’d kept it with her, if they’d let her, to hold in front of her as a shield.

People started gathering behind the cameras that were pointed toward the chairs, and Jemma blinked while they adjusted the lights. A man came over and extended his hand for Jemma to shake before he sat down and started typing. “Dallas Frederick. I’ll be conducting your interview tonight. Some story you have, Jemma.”

She nodded, not sure of the proper response to that. “Nice to meet you.”

“I want you to respond to my questions as honestly as possible, okay?” He waited for her to nod. “Go ahead and look at me, not at the cameras. It’s usually easier that way.” Jemma swallowed.

An assistant handed him a glass of water, and he drank a sip before handing it back. Jemma looked toward the cameras, spotting Ashley, who gave her a thumbs up.

“Okay,” someone typed from behind the cameras, “we’re live in 5, 4, 3…” He finished the countdown using his fingers, and Jemma watched Dallas as he lit up in a cheesy grin aimed at the viewers at home, tapping a button to start his pre-configured speech.

“Dallas Frederick here, and tonight, we bring you an exclusive interview from local librarian Jemma Tyler.” He turned to face her, his expression growing serious. “Jemma, let’s start with the most serious facts. You say you were held captive by scientists who engineered the Event and who, if they don’t get help in reversing it, may allow people to die.”

Before Jemma could respond, the lights in the studio flickered once, then went out, plunging the room into almost total darkness. Electronic voices overlapped as people tried to sort through the resulting chaos.

“Are we still broadcasting?”

“What happened?”

“Why aren’t the backup lights on? Or the emergency lights?”

“Use your LEDs. They’re brighter than the phone screens.”

“I don’t think we’re broadcasting.”

Jemma tried to keep her breathing slow, controlled. She knew what was probably coming. She fought the impulse to hide. She’d wanted this, after all. It had been her idea.

“Can we get the lights back up?”

“Hey, that’s my foot.”

“That’s my face.”

The lights from the cell phones created almost a strobe effect, and Jemma saw nothing out of place at first, only flashes of the news station employees.

Only thirty seconds had passed before she saw the first guard.

She stood, not sure where she was going. She could at least get to somewhere less crowded.

She made it ten steps before she felt the sharp prick in the side of her neck.

Seconds later, she was unconscious.

THIRTY

Where We Started

Jemma came to in an all-too-familiar cell. She was back where she’d woken up the first time, on her little cot in the nearly empty room. She ran a hand over the pounding in her head before glancing at the camera over the door, then sitting up.

She was still wearing her clothes, at least, but her pockets were, unsurprisingly, empty. There was nothing in the room that she could use to communicate. She closed her eyes again, hoping the headache was a side effect from whatever they’d used to render her unconscious, not a leftover from her brief exchange with the senator.

Keeping her eyes closed, she ran her fingers across the rough cement wall, wondering whether Jack was in a similar room, in better or worse conditions, until she heard the door open.

When Jemma sat, she saw Dr. Harris, clipboard in hand. Beside him stood an armed guard, one whose name Jemma had never learned, but whom she vaguely recognized.

“I had come to think of you as a smart person, Jemma,” typed Dr. Harris. She blinked back at him, unable to respond. “Escaping wasn’t smart. Letting yourself get caught again, even less so.” He seemed to realize he was staring at her, and he turned his attention back to his clipboard before he gestured to the guard. The guard moved forward and took Jemma’s arm, pulling her up from the bed. Jemma scrambled to find her footing, refusing to fall against him. “You’ll be escorted to the restroom to change into scrubs, and then we’ll begin testing, see what damage was caused by your little escapade. At least, if there’s some silver lining, they’ve finally approved that MRI I’ve been asking for.” Dr. Harris continued watching his clipboard instead of her. Jemma could tell he was upset, but she wasn’t sure whether he was more upset that she’d escaped or that she’d returned.

“Bathroom visits will no longer be a luxury,” he continued. “A female guard will be present with you while you use the facilities, while you change. You will be allowed one shower per week. Your calories will be restricted again since clearly you had too much energy if you were able to use it to escape.” Jemma’s stomach dropped at the thought of how much weight she’d lost in the first weeks here, how little strength she’d had, but as the guard pulled her toward the door and her head throbbed, she wondered whether that was even her primary concern. “While in your room, you will be monitored constantly.” He pointed at the camera as they passed through the doorway. “Lunches in the cafeteria have, of course, been canceled. Privacy is something you no longer have, gone along with anything else that isn’t necessary for either our research or your survival.”

Another guard, female, not Heidi, waited for them outside the restroom, scrubs in hand. The guard guiding Jemma roughly through the hallway pushed her toward the door, and Jemma rubbed her arm as normal blood flow returned. The woman followed Jemma into the restroom, handed her the change of clothing, then crossed her arms and leaned against the door, waiting.

Jemma changed as quickly as she could into the navy blue scrubs, movements slowed by pain in her head, in her arm, by lingering soreness from her escape.

Had it been just days earlier?

As soon as she exited, the male guard—it would really help if they had name tags—grabbed her again, using the other arm this time, which Jemma wasn’t sure made things better or worse. Dr. Harris continued typing almost immediately.