Listen (Muted Trilogy Book 2) (5 page)

She’d missed him even more than she’d realized.

She also knew now that she was better off than she could have been.

That she was lucky to have gotten to see Jack, to have gotten the daily newspaper set up.

That she was lucky to only be detained instead of beaten.

Seeing the increased guards on Jack, the shape Naomi was in, how small Kendall looked, all evidence pointed to the fact that she should stop making demands. If she pushed too hard, they might make things worse than they already were. And yet, the days of captivity had no end in sight.

Jemma sighed again and looked around her cell, as if anything had changed. The room was still small, next to empty, and inescapable, the red light in the camera blinking steadily, the only sounds her muted breath and the ever-present hum of the fluorescent lighting.

She covered her face with her pillow and screamed.

FIVE

Monotony

The days quickly started to blend together, one running into the next. If not for her newspapers each morning, Jemma wouldn’t even be able to guess what day of the week it was or how much time had passed; every day of the nearly two weeks since she’d been allowed to see Jack had been almost exactly the same.

Early in the morning, she got her breakfast, newspaper, and shower, escorted by a disinterested guard.

Until lunch, Josh tested her, with Dr. Harris watching.

After lunch, she sat in her room, alone in the silence, until she was taken for testing with Dr. Harris. Josh didn’t watch the afternoon sessions, but he seemed aware of what happened in them, referring to them the next day.

Dinner, sleep, repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

The meals varied, at least, between different versions of the tiny frozen dinners. Josh made a point of the daily granola bar to help offset the calories she was burning during their tests, but Jemma was pretty sure she was losing weight, anyway, and she was grateful for the snug elastic on the scrubs.

In the hallways, she watched for any information she could learn, anything new she could pick up, but they kept the rooms between her cell and “her” lab clear, at least when she was in the hall.

Jemma followed orders, wearing a cooperative face but putting forth no real effort, just enough to avoid any potential wrath more disobedience may bring on her.

Internally, she wasn’t so placid. She would find something, anything, to get herself and Jack out of this place.

***

“Read this.”

Dr. Harris was, in many ways, a lot easier for Jemma to deal with than Josh. He was detached, methodical by default, but he remained pretty easy to annoy without breaking any actual rules or guidelines. She learned just how far she could push him, when she was tired of testing in the afternoon, so he’d send her back to her cell rather than dealing with her any longer.

He fit her expectations better, was easier to see in his role, easier to react to than Josh was. Josh was brimming with exuberance, with certainty that what they were doing was right and good. He made her skin crawl when his green eyes flashed their excitement at each experiment.

Now, Jemma read a printout Dr. Harris held, mental tongue tripping over some of the sounds as she tried to communicate in a language she wasn’t familiar with. She thought it might be Greek.

The monitor responded, showing Jemma’s attempt, but Dr. Harris only frowned. He typed something on his clipboard keyboard, then turned his attention to his tablet.

Jemma waited, knowing what to expect.

After a few minutes, the door opened, allowing Naomi to enter. The female guard who stayed with Naomi smiled, first at her charge and then at Jemma, before shutting the door. Naomi, back straight and head high, made her way over to the chair next to Jemma’s and sat, waiting for Dr. Harris’s nod before placing a hand on Jemma.

The woman had gotten more certain of herself as her bruises faded, though she still paled significantly if there was an unexpected loud noise. Between her increase in confidence and Dr. Harris’s treatment of her when they interacted, Jemma had to admit that it looked as if Josh had been telling the truth when he’d said Naomi was there by choice.

Her guard seemed different than the others, too; Jemma certainly hadn’t seen many of the others smiling, and definitely not at Jemma herself.

“Let’s start with the standard greeting.” Dr. Harris’s theory was that the two women would have a better shot at hearing each other if they each knew what the other was trying to say. He explained to Naomi that it was like trying to read something that was a little blurry; if you already know what’s there, it’s easier to make out the individual letters.

“Hello, I’m Jemma.” Jemma thought the words with the part of her mind she knew would tell the monitor she was following orders, though her mind remained otherwise silent, as expected. “What’s your name?”

A polite nod from Dr. Harris let Naomi know it was her turn.

I’m Naomi. It’s nice to meet you.
Jemma couldn’t hear the words, but she could easily recall the script they were supposed to be sticking to. The monitor remained unmoving during Naomi’s half of the conversation.

“How are you doing today?” Jemma’s imagined mental tone was sarcastic, overly sugared. She massaged the bridge of her nose until Naomi squeezed lightly to indicate she’d finished her part. “Oh, I’m doing great,” Jemma tried in the same tone. “I’m just being bored to death and experimented on.”

Dr. Harris tapped on her arm, and when Jemma looked at him, he shook his head, his mouth pulled downward.

Jemma must have sent too long a message. She’d have to try a shorter sarcastic response next time, one closer to the expected, “I’m well, thanks!” She nodded and scratched around the sensors attached to her.

“Repeat.” Dr. Harris’s electronic voice always seemed pretty close to how he must really speak.

Jemma and Naomi went through the script again, Jemma ending this time with, “Love being trapped!”

“Repeat.”

Again, the same exchange, only half in Jemma’s head. “Go to hell.”

“Repeat.”

Most days, they went through the short conversation at least ten times. Jemma rubbed at her temple, trying to ignore the throbbing that tended to build after prolonged exposure to her captors, the frustration at repeating the same script over and over with unchanging results.

“Repeat.”

“You know what?” Jemma sent at him while he frowned at the monitor. “I am done. I’ve got a headache, I’ve been good for weeks, and I’m just done.”

“Repeat.”

Jemma tried sending a surge of frustration, to him, to Naomi, to anyone, but since her first exchange with Naomi, she hadn’t been able to get anything through. Why had it worked that first time but not any others? She’d been more upset, then, scared, feeling like she could relate to the other woman. She shook her head, rubbing it in an exaggerated way, and Dr. Harris scowled. He typed into his keyboard and waited, smiling absently at Naomi, who let go of Jemma’s arm.

Naomi’s guard entered, and the woman made a move to stand, but her guard shook her head, walking over to Jemma instead. The guard handed Jemma two pills, clearly marked with the name of an over-the-counter headache reliever. Jemma raised her eyebrows, and the guard retrieved a bottle of water from a large pocket, handing that to Jemma as well before giving both women smiles and leaving again, without a glance at Dr. Harris.

Jemma filed that information away for future use and swallowed the pills, then nursed the water while waiting for further instruction from Dr. Harris.

He looked at his clock, then typed. “We will give that a chance to kick in before we continue. Naomi, if you’d like to wait outside, you may.” Naomi nodded and left, and Dr. Harris turned his attention to Jemma. “This is the third time this week you’ve had too bad of a headache to continue. Are you exaggerating, or shall we send you for an examination?”

Jemma blinked. This was the first time he’d asked her what she thought about something, even something as obvious as what was happening in her own body. She took the crayon and paper he offered, watching his face. She saw the emotions she’d come to associate with him, when he showed any at all: annoyance, frustration, some of the same boredom she felt herself. Under that, though, was something that made Jemma’s heart rate increase for a moment.

Why would Dr. Harris be concerned about her?

Real headaches
, she wrote, pausing to decide whether she really wanted to be poked and prodded more than she already had been. A medical professional could turn out to be an ally. They could just as easily be another scientist who didn’t care, though.
Distracting, hard to focus. Not extreme pain.
She hesitated again, wondering what they would do if she collapsed, whether they would bring her to an emergency room or try to deal with it in-house. A false alarm would only work once. She would try to find out what happened in emergencies before she tried to create one herself.

Her pause stretched out too long, and Dr. Harris peered at the paper before nodding. “You may relax until the medication takes effect.” He set down his clipboard, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.

Relax. Right. She could do that.

Instead, she studied the lab again, the pain in her head lessening already now that nobody was making demands of her.

Outside the window stood a guard, his back facing her. Inside the room was the chair she sat in, and a chair for each Naomi and either Dr. Harris or Josh. There was a table that the employees used for their equipment, under which Jemma knew there were granola bars. There was the monitor that was still attached to Jemma, and there was a tray of medical equipment used when they wanted a sample of Jemma’s blood.

This seemed to be about twice a week, in fairly small amounts. Whatever they were looking for, they didn’t need much blood to do it. She didn’t care for the additional invasion of the extraction, but it did, at least, change things up a bit.

It also reminded her of where all this had started. Mysteries aren’t supposed to start in blood banks. Nor are kidnappings or elevated telepathic abilities.

The question still remained as to whether they’d found out that Jack and Jemma were likely to be more telepathic or whether they’d created that ability in the first place. Judging by their interest in her, Jemma’s best guess was the former; if they could get abilities out of anyone, it would make more sense to use one or more of their volunteers. It would be easier, certainly, if they didn’t have to kidnap people, pay guards to keep them contained, find ways to convince the subjects to try to use their abilities.

Then again, it wasn’t as if she’d really even been able to use her abilities since coming to this facility. She’d have read in the newspaper if people stopped being able to Talk, so they had to have some sort of suppression going on.

It had baffled her since she’d figured that out, though, why they would choose to suppress abilities they were trying to study. In addition to wondering why they were doing it, she often found herself wondering how they were limiting their telepathy.

The sound of the door opening brought Jemma back to the present, and she saw Naomi reentering, Dr. Harris already prepared with his clipboard and tablet. After Naomi sat, he nodded, and the pointless, one-sided, silent conversation began once more.

It couldn’t be any later than two in the afternoon, and Jemma was already waiting for the day to end.

***

What to Watch

Movies coming out this week include a science fiction feature, a superhero film, and a romance.

There’s nothing unusual about this list, of course, but today marks the first time that every new release is without natural voice.

The bigger budget movies were, of course, mostly recorded before the Event, but each chose to eliminate voice in order to better suit the current world. These movies have used silence, captioning, emulating old-fashioned silent movies, but new films currently under production promise to deliver replication of Talking, as well as more realistic depictions of current methods of communication.

By stepping up and producing films that reflect us, these movie makers are boldly renouncing replacement voices, saying that it’s okay to be who we are. They’re also saying, quite clearly, that they don’t think this is just a passing phase, that we won’t regain our voices in the foreseeable future.They have decided it’s easier to imagine a continued future without voice than it is to imagine a near future with our voices returned.

What do you think? Should movies use artificial voices as our newscasts do? Or should they continue this trend and become mute, as we are?

— Katie Brink, Staff Writer

She ate her breakfast while making her way through the newspaper. She paused, spoon halfway to her mouth, as she looked at the date.

It was a Friday, her second spent trapped in this place. She should be having dinner with her family that night, not sitting alone in a locked room, fighting an endless headache and waiting for the next round of repetitive testing.