Listen (Muted Trilogy Book 2) (4 page)

The monitor remained blank, and Jemma mimed writing. Josh nodded, pulling his hands away and retrieving the same crayon from the day before, along with a few sheets of paper.

Maybe we should hook them up to your head instead
, she wrote.

He shook his head, but he smiled, that same proud look he’d worn the day before. Jemma felt her shoulders tense. “We’ve tried that, of course. All employees have to submit to these tests before starting work.”

Tap tap tap
. The rapping on the door made both of them jump, and Josh waved, showing he understood Dr. Harris’s obvious disapproval.

“Let’s continue,” typed Josh, winking at Jemma.

For what seemed like hours but was probably less time, Jemma was asked to try to send various thoughts and emotions in Josh’s direction, the monitor confirming her efforts or letting him know she hadn’t tried.

Finally, Josh nodded, seeming pleased with his data, and he let go of her. He gestured to Dr. Harris, who nodded and moved away from the window, then rummaged in a container next to where he kept the crayons and paper, retrieving a granola bar and handing it to Jemma, then snagging one for himself.

“You burn more calories using telepathy than walking on a treadmill.” He typed using one hand and ate using the other.

Jemma ate hers, too. She massaged her shoulders and fought a yawn in between bites. When she was finished, Josh took her wrapper and threw it, free-throw style, into a small bin by the door, then sat down, looking like he was waiting for something. She rubbed at the bridge of her nose, trying to lessen some of the pressure there.

The door opened after just a few minutes, and Dr. Harris entered, a woman in tow. The woman wasn’t dressed as an employee; instead, she wore scrubs like Jemma’s. Her shoulders were hunched, and she kept her eyes on the floor, her face obscured by long, dark hair.

Josh pulled a metal, folding chair to the other side of where Jemma sat, indicating that the new arrival should take it. Dr. Harris left the room, watching from the window once more.

“Jemma.” Josh was typing on his keyboard again. “Naomi here has had limited success in communicating with people like you, people who excel telepathically.”

Jemma looked at the woman. Naomi sat, shoulders drawn inward, her hands on her lap clasped tightly. She was still watching the floor. She reminded Jemma a bit of Ken, how broken she’d looked right after they’d told her Marcia had been taken.

“Naomi, you know the routine.” Naomi jerked slightly at the sound of Josh’s speaker, and Jemma frowned. Something was wrong here. “Hold on to Jemma’s arm, and raise your other hand if you hear her communicate.”

Naomi nodded without lifting her face, her hair swaying. Jemma placed her arm on the provided rest, and Naomi put a careful hand down atop it.

“Okay, Jemma, go ahead.” Josh had the tablet set up to record again.

“What’s wrong?” Jemma tried to send her the message. A glance at the monitor showed her effort, but there was no echo to indicate it worked. Jemma continued. “I mean, I suppose a lot of things are wrong. We’re stuck in here, for one thing. We’re being experimented on, for another.” No reaction. Naomi was still all but curled in on herself. Jemma used her free hand to cover Naomi’s, sending a surge of reassurance.

The woman looked up at her, blue eyes wide, a bruise spread across her cheek.

“Did it work?” At Josh’s message, Naomi looked down again, curling in on herself further and raising her hand.

What happened to her?
wrote Jemma, leaving her left arm under Naomi’s hand. At Josh’s blank look, she continued.
She’s been hurt.

Understanding crossed Josh’s face, and he waved a hand dismissively before typing. “There was an incident with one of the guards. Don’t worry, he’s been fired.”

Fired? And you think that’s okay? We’re here helping you, helping everyone, you said. Against our will.
Jemma’s hand was shaking as she wrote, and she barely registered when Naomi pulled away, covering her head with her hands.
You have us completely at your mercy, and it’s okay that someone got hurt because the person who did it was fired?

Josh blinked at the paper, then shook his head. “Of course not, but what were our options? Now, if you’re ready to continue, it looks like we were having some success.”

Jemma shook her head, hard, ignoring the pounding behind her eyes. If they could do this to someone who didn’t seem like she’d hurt a fly, what were they doing to people who might actually resist?
I’m done
, she wrote.
I’m not jumping through any more of your hoops until I know Jack’s okay, until I’ve seen him in person.

“As I said yesterday, I can’t authorize that.” Josh looked frustrated, confused, his brow furrowed and mouth pulled down to one side. “They’ll never approve it.”

Then we’re done here
. Jemma set down the crayon and crossed her arms, watching as Josh started typing on his keyboard.

Almost immediately, Dr. Harris entered the room and a female guard led Naomi out with a gentle hand on her arm, shutting the door firmly behind her. Josh continued typing, and Dr. Harris watched Jemma disapprovingly.

“You know it would have been better to just go along with it,” typed the scowling man.

Jemma kept her arms crossed and pressed her lips together more tightly.

Some of Josh’s displeasure had eased, and he continued typing. Jemma fought down a surge of hope.

“For the record,” typed Josh so she could hear, “Naomi is here because she volunteered to help us test a family member. She wants to help. She’s been a little jumpy since the incident, understandably, but we’ve assigned her a new guard to keep her safe.”

If this was how they treated volunteers, Jemma really didn’t want to think about how badly her demands could backfire. At least Naomi had cooperated and should be fine.

Dr. Harris tapped his foot. “We could have accomplished so much more today.”

Jemma stared at him. He was really worried about a time table in all this? Maybe it shouldn’t surprise her.

A guard entered, and Dr. Harris nodded impatiently, then retrieved Josh’s tablet, studying it and the readout from the monitor. Josh gestured for Jemma to join the guard, exasperation on his face.

She was still the pet, only she’d peed on the carpet.

The guard led Jemma briskly through the halls, passing more windowed rooms, before stopping and pointing at one of the windows.

He was in the room, in a chair just like she’d been in minutes earlier, wearing identical navy blue scrubs and a frown on his stubble-covered face as he watched the technician next to him. He turned to face the window, and she saw her own emotions reflected on him; joy in seeing her, frustration at being kept apart, anger that they were in the situation, relief, annoyance, hope.

It was Jack.

And he was okay.

FOUR

Searching

“Jack!”

Even the resulting silence that told her the message hadn’t gone through didn’t lessen her thrilled frustration at being able to see Jack with only a piece of glass between them.

He tried to rise, but the scientist or doctor or assistant, the white-coated man next to him, put a firm hand on Jack’s chest, indicating he should stay where he was, backing this up with a pointed look at the guard who stood next to him. He followed this up with another look at the guard Jemma could see a hint of just inside the door.

Did Jack have heavier security because he was a man or because he’d fought his captivity harder than Jemma had?

Jack watched Jemma intently, studying her through the glass. He was attached to a monitor like hers, and it was spiking, higher than she’d seen hers go, but her head remained silent.

Jemma took a step toward the door, stopping when one of the guards clutched her arm. He shook his head firmly and pointed toward the window. Jack’s mouth pulled up to one side, no humor in the smile as he watched her stand back in front of the window instead.

He turned his head toward the worker next to him, his eyes the last part of him to move, and mimed writing, his eyebrows raised and his mouth twisted downward. The worker seemed to consult with someone, typing on his keyboard, before grabbing a piece of paper, crumpling the edges in the process of handing it to Jack. The paper was followed by a pink crayon, and Jack wrote in sure strokes.

You okay?
read the page when he held it up.

Okay? She was alive. She was being held against her will. Jack was here, too, which seemed to be somehow both a negative and a positive. She had little freedom and wasn’t sure whether any further demands would be met. She’d managed to earn a few things to make captivity more comfortable.

Finally, she nodded, and she saw more understanding on Jack’s face than she’d expected, though she wasn’t sure why she was surprised; he always had seemed to know what she was feeling, sometimes better than she did herself, and he was in the same situation, too.

One of the guards in his lab gestured, radiating impatience, and Jemma amended her earlier thought. Jack seemed to have it worse than she did. Jemma raised an eyebrow at him in a silent return of his question.

His mouth pulled up into a humorless smile once more, and he shrugged.

Been better
. He rested the paper back in his lap, watching her again.

It wasn’t like they could have a private conversation. Anything they could really say, they already likely knew. His guard gestured again, and Jack broke eye contact with her to write again.

Stay safe
.

Jemma nodded more quickly this time, then pointed at him, silently seconding the sentiment.

Her guard was pulling at her arm again, and Jemma wrenched it away, placing her hand flat on the glass.

Jack watched her, his own hand opening and closing, his foot tapping as he forced himself to stay seated. His eyes were bright, not with the humor she was used to seeing, but with frustration, pain, and something else she didn’t want to put a name to.

The guard grabbed her again, and Jemma’s back straightened as she fought a pained noise nobody would have heard anyway. When she turned the way the guard maneuvered her, the grip lightened, and Jemma had one last glimpse of Jack holding up his hand in farewell before she lost sight of the window.

After they’d passed a few more rooms, the guard let go of Jemma but continued to walk close behind her, booted footsteps echoing through the sterile hallway.

Jack was okay. She was okay.

Movement behind one of the windows caught her attention, and Jemma turned her head to see a stranger in the same situation she’d been in, the same situation Jack was in, being attached to monitors while scientists tested and prodded.

How many of the rooms they were passing held more captives? How many held volunteers? How many of the volunteers were truly free to leave?

Her guard didn’t seem to care whether Jemma looked around, so she continued to do so, watching through the windows on her left and right while maintaining a steady pace. The next few rooms on each side were empty. After that was a room with workers only, three of them, functional furniture replacing the medical equipment she’d seen in the rest of the labs. They looked bored, normal employees on a break in a job that wasn’t desired as much as needed.

The next room, again, was empty. The next held a thin blonde woman.

Jemma’s steps faltered, and the guard pushed her along with a firm hand on her upper back, giving her only another couple of seconds to be sure she was right about what she’d seen, about whom she’d seen.

Kendall was here, too.

It should have been something Jemma had considered; if she and Jack were both here, along with others, it made sense that Marcia and Ken would also be in this large, windowless prison.

She’d only had a glimpse, but Ken seemed to have shrunken in on herself, seemed even worse off than she’d been last time Jemma had seen her, though she looked physically unharmed. She seemed smaller, the scrubs swallowing her. She looked like a child.

***

The door to Jemma’s cell clanged shut behind her, just inches between it and her heels, and she closed her eyes. She rubbed her arm, then stopped, wincing. Jemma looked down, moving the sleeve of her scrubs out of the way, and saw bruises were already forming from where the guard had held her.

She let the sleeve drop and walked over to her bed, checking for and failing to find her soiled clothing. Jemma sighed silently and sat, her head against the wall, right hand resting above the marks on her left arm.

Seeing Jack had been…

Jemma trailed her hand up and down her arm.

Even though the circumstances weren’t even near the realm of ideal, she’d been able to see him. He’d looked as good as could be expected given the circumstances, the excess facial hair the only physical indication anything was different.

He’d watched her like he was afraid to take his eyes off her.