Listen (Muted Trilogy Book 2) (3 page)

Jack
.

Josh’s amusement faded. “No, I’m sorry. They won’t authorize that.” He really was playing on the good cop thing. “Is there something else? Something I can get approved?”

Anything she could use to escape or communicate was going to be turned down.
What about a book?

Josh looked thoughtful. “I’m not sure I can get a book approved, but what about a newspaper?”

It would be entertainment, at least, something to keep her from completely losing her cool if they continued to put her in that empty room for hours on end. She nodded, and Josh grinned again; his dog had performed another trick and earned a treat. Jemma looked away, feeling tears in her eyes, and with the slightest prick at her skin, Josh quickly drew blood from her arm and set the vial aside, then removed the device he’d placed on her finger earlier.

“There, now. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Not compared to being held against my will, no
, wrote Jemma.

Josh frowned. “Have they told you why you’re here?” He continued typing without awaiting a response. “You could be a benefit to the future of us all.”

How?
Jemma was running out of room on the paper, and she turned it over when he’d read it.

“I can’t really tell you, but trust me. It’s important.”

I haven’t really been given a lot of reason to trust anyone here.

Josh visibly sighed. “Have you been hurt? Starved? Treated inhumanely?”

I’m not sure one tiny meal yesterday and a snack today really counts as
not
being starved.

Josh’s frown deepened, and he typed into his keyboard without any sound emitting. Jemma scanned for a display, something he could read a response on, but instead she saw a tiny earpiece. They must use something like she’d seen before, something that translated typing into audio. He kept the keyboard tilted toward himself so she wasn’t quite able to see what he typed.

“There was miscommunication during in-processing,” he finally let her hear. “It won’t happen again. And I’ve arranged for a newspaper to be delivered each morning with your breakfast.” He looked at her, somehow both apologetic and pleased, almost sheepish. “Now, if we can continue?”

Jemma shrugged, and Josh nodded.

“Okay,” he typed. “We’ll continue with the yes or no questions, and you can elaborate if needed.” He handed her another sheet of paper. “Were you able to communicate telepathically before the Event?”

Jemma shook her head, and he retrieved a tablet and started making notations, Jemma wondering briefly why he didn’t just use that to communicate.

“Are you aware of any who can communicate telepathically at your elevated level, aside from yourself?”

At Jemma’s nod, Josh consulted something on his tablet.

“That would be Jack, Kendall, and Marcia, correct?”

She nodded.

“Any others?”

She shook her head, and he tapped away on the tablet for at least a solid minute.

“Have any of your family members ever shown any aptitude in telepathy or empathy?”

Jemma tensed, picturing her outgoing sister forced into this situation, and she shook her head emphatically.

“Before the Event, did you ever know what was going to happen before it happened?”

Jemma shook her head.

“Before the Event, did you ever think you knew what somebody was going to say before they spoke?”

And so the questions continued, Jemma replying with a negative to virtually all of them. Finally, Josh propped up the tablet so it rested on the instrument tray, a small light indicating the camera was turned on.

“Now, we’re going to see whether you can communicate telepathically with a person you’ve just met. Me.” He grinned, looking excited. She considered telling him she already knew it wasn’t going to work, that she’d already tried it with library patrons, but she decided against it, against giving him any more help than she absolutely had to.

Besides, she suspected she’d have to prove it, regardless.

“We’ve already been able to determine that touch enhances communication in the vast majority of those with elevated telepathic ability, so we’re going to keep in physical contact for this experiment.” He placed his hand on her arm, halfway between her hand and the colorful bandage he’d applied after taking her blood, and Jemma stiffened, forcing herself to stay still. “Now, I’d like to start with each of us trying to send simple sentences to the other,” he typed with his free hand. “Go ahead and start when you’re ready.”

“Sure, because I’m just going to continue doing as you instruct,” she tried sending, without any echo or reaction to indicate he heard. She continued, feeling good doing something, even if it was just silently, pointlessly yelling. “Let me just sit here like a good little lab rat, accepting your treats and jumping through your hoops because I’m afraid of what you might do if I refuse entirely, and at least this way I get something out of it.”

“Were you able to hear what I tried to send?” Josh’s electronic voice was jarring after the anger she’d just tried to send his way. She shook her head. “Did you try to send me telepathic communication?” She nodded, and Josh looked disappointed.

The door opened without warning, and Jemma jumped slightly.

“What is it, Dr. Harris?” typed Josh, letting her hear, though Jemma wasn’t sure whether it was intentional or an oversight. Dr. Harris, the man Jemma had been thinking of as Doctor Clipboard, didn’t provide the same courtesy as he replied. Josh frowned and turned back to Jemma as Dr. Harris left, leaving the door open behind him. Josh unhooked her from the blood pressure cuff, then typed. “It’s time for you to return to your room. We’ll continue this tomorrow.” He gestured toward the hallway, where the armed woman waited for her.

She followed the guard back to her room, walking inside and letting the door shut behind her, grateful she’d had enough interaction over the course of the morning that the empty cell actually held some appeal in its solitude.

At least for a while.

THREE

Demands

Communication

Life continues.

It’s funny how quickly things become normal. The technology required to function outside of the home, the signals and gestures that can save time, the telepathic communication known as Talking: all of it has come to feel almost natural.

It’s barely been two months since The Event.

The world has moved on. Politicians have found ways to campaign again without ever having to speak a word. News anchors are effectively utilizing voice technologies to make it look and sound as if they are speaking. Methods of ordering food are getting more streamlined, and checking out at the grocery store is easy again, though I know I’m not the only one who misses the simple chit-chat that was present in these interactions.

If you want to hear about the weather, check out page four; you won’t find it in idle conversation.

As I’ve written before, things change, and things stay the same. At home, things have felt pretty normal since we’ve been able to Talk, though occasionally my three-year-old’s mental enunciation takes me by surprise. At work, I still write, still share my thoughts with my lovely readers.

I’d like to hear from you again. Write to our office or sign on at our website and tell me, what surprising thing feels normal to you already? What things might never feel normal?

— Katie Brink, Staff Writer

Jemma had enough time to read a few articles with her instant-oatmeal breakfast before she was led to the restroom, a towel and a pair of scrubs thrust at her by the guard in the hallway. After getting clean and changing into the surprisingly comfortable clothing, Jemma folded her own clothes, underthings tucked between shirt and pants, and hesitated.

The clothing smelled and needed to be washed, but she didn’t really want to let go of the last thing of her own she’d been able to hold on to, either.

She kept it with her, instead, leaving just the towel behind in the bathroom, and the guard, not one Jemma had seen previously, didn’t say anything as he led her back to her room.

Her cell.

Jemma set the clothing on the floor next to her bed. She didn’t have a way to ask whether they’d be returned to her, didn’t know whether she could believe them if they told her she would get the clothing back. She could at least buy some time, keep her things with her a little longer, by having them here in her cell instead of leaving them in the bathroom.

She shook her head at herself. She wasn’t the sentimental sort, not really. She adored her favorite television shows, but she avoided the paraphernalia that went along with them. She didn’t keep knick-knacks or collectibles, didn’t hold on to clothes that no longer fit. Words, whether books or cards, were her only exceptions; those, she didn’t let go of.

And now she was worried about a tiny pile of dirty clothing.

While she was gone, someone had come in and taken away her breakfast things, the disposable styrofoam bowl and the little plastic spork that wouldn’t do her much good in a scuffle.

They’d taken the newspaper, too.

With a sigh, Jemma sat down on the bed, leaning back against the wall, her feet on the cot and her knees near her chest, ignoring the twinge that went through her back after just two nights on the unforgiving cot. She thought back through what she had been able to read.

They’d brought her the local paper, with the right date, so either they were still in town or they were near enough to have the newspaper delivered on time. That was reassuring, at least; since she’d been unconscious when they’d brought her in, they could have taken her anywhere in the world without her knowing.

The paper had held much of the usual, a combination of news, opinion pieces, and advertisements. Nothing had seemed out of place. The world was going on without her.

Jemma closed her eyes, picturing her family, wondering whether they knew she was gone yet, whether Cecily had delivered the letters as requested.

Wondering how they’d reacted.

Hopefully, they were sensible enough not to go to the police. Her mother’s paranoia did usually win out over her dad’s traditional outlooks when the two conflicted without an apparent compromise. She knew Jilly wouldn’t say anything. Though the remote possibility that the police could help did still remain, it seemed like that would put a target on her family’s backs, and she really didn’t want them in here with her.

And Don. He’d seemed so tired, so weak after just a dinner with her and Jack. She really didn’t want to think about how he might be handling the disappearance of the one person he relied on. At least Jack had been able to set up help for him in case the worst happened, in case they disappeared, like they had.

Jemma jumped at the sound of her door opening. The guard who’d brought her back a few minutes before stood there, and he jerked his head at her, indicating she should come with him. With a silent sigh, Jemma complied.

***

Jemma was in the medical chair again, though without the blood pressure cuff this time. Instead, she had the electrodes attached to the base of her skull once more. Josh looked eager as he hooked them to the machine and set the tablet to record. Dr. Harris was watching from outside the lab, the large observation window to the right of the door revealing none of his emotion.

If he
had
any emotions, other than annoyance with her.

“Okay,” Josh typed, excitement failing to translate to the robotic voice, “we’re going to try again with the telepathy, only this time,” he continued, pausing only to gesture at the monitor of the machine hooked to her head, “we’re going to keep an eye on what your brain is doing. It’s entirely possible you’re sending or receiving more effectively than you’re aware of, and this should help us catch it.” He beamed at her, his green eyes bright and untroubled.

Jemma nodded her acknowledgment without uncrossing her arms.

Josh moved his chair closer so he could reach her upper arm. “Let’s try with simple sentences again.”

“How about you take the crossed arms to mean what they clearly say: don’t touch.” Jemma tried to send the thought, but as expected, there was no echo, no reaction from Josh.

The monitor, on the other hand, showed clear movement, spikes of activity that hadn’t been present previously.

“Okay then,” she tried, just focusing on her mental voice rather than on Josh.

There was no movement on the screen. Jemma found herself fascinated, despite the situation.

She attempted to send a few colorful, choice words his direction, and she felt her lips pull upward in humorless satisfaction as the monitor showed spiking in response. Josh, meanwhile, watched the monitor thoughtfully.

“It isn’t registering any of my attempts as incoming. It is obviously showing when you attempt an outgoing message, though.” He set his keyboard next to the tablet and placed his other hand on her arm, concentrating.