Vacant Voices (Blind Barriers Trilogy Book 3)

by Sophie Davis

  It was a lot more information than I’d anticipated, and I was a little surprised at how not surprised I was to learn that Asher’s father was a part of this mysterious Montauk Institute.

  “Was this experiment with me your idea?”

  Asher took another bite of his panini and chewed slowly. I drank from my water glass and stared at him over the rim. He was stalling, but that was fine, I had all day.

  “Yes and no,” he finally admitted.

  I remained silent, hoping he’d fill the conversational void as he was prone to do. Asher didn’t disappoint.

  “It was a team of us who developed the, um, immersive therapy trial,” he said, stumbling a little over the words. “Lila even had a hand in it.”

  Hand. I thought of the word Lark had capitalized twice in one of her riddles. For a moment, I sat there, rereading the letter in my mind. Hand, that was the hint, but what does it mean?

  “Raven?”

  I blinked and saw Asher leaning toward me, concern in his brown eyes.

  “Huh? Yeah, sorry…I was just, um, thinking. So, there’s a team? Are they all watching me like you?”

  Sighing heavily, he shook his head. “I really can’t tell you much more about the trial…it’s not really important anyway.”

  “Excuse me?” I snapped. “Not important? This is my life Asher.” Jaw clenched, I glared at him, holding Asher’s gaze in a game of chicken. He blinked first, and I grinned like a fool.

  “Okay, yeah, there are a few other people watching you. But you have to remember that it’s for your own safety. A real-world trial like this is potentially dangerous.” Gaze imploring, he reached for my hand, but my expression stopped him. “We’re here to protect you, Raven.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Great, they were there to protect me, but they were also spying on me. It was weird. It was creepy. It was weirdly creepy—creepily weird?

  I thought back on all the interactions I had since coming to D.C. Were they all manufactured? Were all the people I’d met part of the Montauk Institute? Was I like the character in The Truman Show who learns his entire life is really just a television show?

  “How much of my life here in D.C. is real?” I asked softly, fighting back the urge to cry.

  Hold it together.

  Asher set the plate of crumbs left from his lunch on the coffee table and leaned back in the armchair. “It’s all real, Raven,” he said carefully.

  Nice non-answer.

  “Okay, how much has been scripted?” I tried.

  “A lot,” Asher admitted reluctantly.

  I will pull your teeth if I have to.

  “Kim? And the apartment? That can’t have been random.”

  He shook his head. “It wasn’t. Kim is a junior member of our team.”

  I tried to recall finding the apartment listing online. I could picture myself sitting at a desk by a window, a twin bed behind me a little to the left. My laptop was open. On the screen, I saw Kim’s ad:

  One Bedroom in Petworth, Perfect for Someone New to the City

  The memory felt real. And yet…not real. Knowing that most, if not all, my memories were fabricated made me view each one in a new light. This one felt more like a scene from a dream.

  “How did it work? Did you all stage the entire thing? Or….” I shuddered, not entirely sure I wanted to know the truth.

  “Suggestion is very powerful, particularly under hypnosis,” Asher said, unable to meet my eyes.

  It never happened. David just made me believe it had.

  I’m gonna be sick.

  No! You must hold it together. If he thinks you can’t deal, we’re all in trouble.

  Swallowing the bile rising in my throat, I fought to keep my expression neutral. “What about the car? Same deal? David hypnotized me into believing I found the listing and then went and bought it?”

  Even before Asher nodded, I knew the answer. The memory had the same dream-like quality as the one about finding Kim’s apartment.

  “And the journal? Did you hide that in the trunk?”

  He sighed wearily. “No. The journal was all Lark’s doing—or, more likely Lila’s now that I think about it. The clues, the scavenger hunt, none of that was part of David’s plan.”

  “Oh? What exactly was his plan?” I asked.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Is that like a code phrase for turn-me-loose-in-the-city-and-see-what-happens?”

  “Come on, Raven. It’s not like that,” Asher insisted.

  I laughed humorlessly. “Then why don’t you tell me what it is like.”

  “It’s complicated,” he repeated.

  “I’m a pretty smart girl, and we have a lot of time for you to explain it,” I tried.

  Asher blew out a breath. “This immersive therapy is designed to jog your memory using specific triggers.” He held up his hands. “Don’t ask me to elaborate.”

  I opened my mouth to do just that, but clamped my lips shut almost instantly. Then, a thought struck me: He doesn’t want to ruin his experiment.

  Asher was clearly willing to discuss certain aspects, those which didn’t compromise the integrity of his research. What an ass.

  “Who else? Who else did you all plant in my path?” I asked after a long pause.

  He studied me closely, as though trying to gauge how much more I could take and how much more he was willing to give. I must have pulled off the blank stare I was aiming for, because Asher continued, “The man you met at Union Station—the one that offered you the table? He is one of ours.”

  “The Amtrak worker? Heather, I think her name was,” I asked, measuring my words just as carefully as he had.

  “No, she was really an Amtrak worker,” he said quickly.

  “Darrell? The guy at the front desk here usually?”

  Please say no, I thought. For some reason, the idea of Darrell secretly working for David bothered me almost as much as learning that Asher did.

  Asher shook his head. “No. You learned about this apartment before we did. We weren’t able to get someone inside.”

  “So I guess that means Deirdre in 10B is just a nosy neighbor after all,” I muttered, more to myself than Asher, though he did shudder at the mention of her name.

  “Nosy is one way to describe her.”

  “Who else?” I pressed.

  “No one,” Asher said quickly.

  I raised an eyebrow. “No one? Not someone on the metro with me? Or sitting next to me in a coffee shop?”

  “That’s a little different,” Asher hedged.

  I sighed, annoyed.

  “At times, members of my team have followed you,” he relented. “But their role is observational mostly. The people you have interacted with, with a few exceptions, are not from Montauk.”

  I’d have thought hearing him say that would make me feel better, but it didn’t. If anything, the fact that some parts of my life were real and some were staged just made the whole thing more confusing.

  “How many?”

  “On the team?”

  I nodded.

  “Six here in D.C., and then David is the head of our team and your main doctor,” Asher replied.

  “Six?” I choked on my water. Six people were watching my every move, following me as I went about my day, spying on me without my knowledge or consent.

  Wait, they do have my consent, I realized. Well, they had Lila’s consent, and that was basically the same thing. Or is Asher lying about her part in this?

  A creepy-crawly sensation, like long-legged spiders were climbing over my limbs, made me itch. I tried to shake off the feeling but couldn’t. I’m like a lab animal, I thought, both terrified and irritated by the realization.

  “It’s for your own protection,” Asher insisted, bringing me out of my thoughts.

  “I think….” I stood, my glass of water in one hand. “I think I want to be alone.” I glared down at Asher, and added, “If that’s okay with you?” my tone dripping with sarcasm.

 
; “Of course. I can leave, if you like?”

  “Really?” I asked uncertainly. When I’d said I wanted to be alone, I had assumed that Asher would stay in the living room while I sequestered myself in the bedroom.

  “Yeah, you aren’t under house arrest.” Asher smiled, but I didn’t return the gesture.

  In a clear, confident voice, I said, “I would like you to leave.”

  I didn’t wait around to watch him go. Instead, I marched to the bedroom and closed the door. However, I did listen as he cleaned up our lunch and put the leftovers in the fridge. Over ten minutes passed before I heard the front door shut.

  Sitting at Lark’s desk—my desk—with her letter in front of me, I reread the words I’d already memorized. HAND, what does it mean? Staring down at my splayed fingers, I tried to find meaning in the blue web of veins that shone through my skin.

  Frustrated, I consider ripping the paper in two to let off some steam. Instead, I stood and began pacing the room. There was a tug at the base of my skull, and I imagined Lark on the other end trying to pull herself out of a deep well.

  Relax, breathe. Stay in control, but let her in.

  The tugging turned to yanking, which became painful. Extremely painful.

  Relax. Don’t fight it. The transition is easier if you accept it.

  It was Lila’s voice in my head, and for a moment I wondered who was really in control. Was she guiding my actions? How would I know? She’d definitely stepped in the previous night to help me through everything, and I had been cognizant of her presence.

  Breathe. I’m the passenger, you’re the driver.

  I took several long, deep breaths as I continued to wear down the bedroom carpet. The pain in my head subsided just as quickly as it had come. My eyes were open, but I didn’t actually see my surroundings. First came the darkness. A jolt of panic seized my lungs, and my next breath hitched. Relax. If you let it happen, it will be easier. This time, the voice was male, and older. David. Should I follow David’s advice? He was my doctor after all.

  The choice was snatched away before I could make it. Darkness gave way to a hazy image. I was in another long, black gown. The material was soft and flowed from my shoulders like water. A diamond broach cinched gathered silk just above my left hipbone. In my hands, I held a glass of champagne.

  “This is our daughter, Lark.” Eleanor Kingsley put a hand on the small of my back and pushed me forward.

  I extended one hand to a man I recognized. “How are you Mr. Clemmons?” I asked.

  Though I was in Lark’s memory, going through the motions as if I were her, I was still me. I didn’t have Lark’s thoughts, so I didn’t know what she knew.

  “Well, dear. It is nice to see you again. How have you and your young man been?”

  I forced a polite smile. “Well, thank you.”

  “You two have met before?” Eleanor asked, her expression pleasant, though there was an edge to her tone.

  “Yes, remember, mom? When I was down here visiting American with Annie.” The lie was smooth, as though Lark had practiced it for this very situation.

  The look on Eleanor Kingsley’s face said she definitely did not recall Lark visiting with Mr. Clemmons, but she was too refined to start a fight with her daughter in public. She played along with the lie, though I could tell that she planned to have a very serious conversation with Lark later.

  “The reception has a wonderful turnout.” Phillip Kingsley’s booming voice broke up the tense moment.

  “It does,” Mr. Clemmons replied as though oblivious to the tension between Lark and her mother. “Of course, it’s not every day our museum gets to showcase the Kingsley Diamond.”

  The scene dissolved, and I was left staring into nothingness. Then, even before panic set in, a new scene materialized around me as though an architect had just finished sketching the design.

  I was wearing the same black gown. Eleanor Kingsley had me by the arm, and she was ushering me down a dark hallway. Halfway down, she came to an abrupt halt.

  “Why did you meet with Mr. Clemmons? And what ‘young man’ was he referring to?” Eleanor snapped.

  I swallowed hard. Just then, I didn’t know if the fear I felt was mine or Lark’s, but I feared Eleanor Kingsley in that moment. Her cornflower blue eyes were bright, shiny, crazed.

  “I wanted to do something nice for my friends.” The words flowed from my lips without hesitation.

  Eleanor simply stared, waiting for Lark to continue. With an annoyed sigh, I did start talking again. “I spoke with him about the possibility of displaying your diamond. I didn’t make him any promises. I just said we were thinking about it, and we were. In return, he let us have an afterhours visit to the museum so that we could see the exhibits without a bunch of tourists.”

  The lie sounded believable. Had I not read the truth in her journal, I would have bought it. But Eleanor Kingsley was shrewd, and she saw through Lark’s excuses. Lark’s mother—my mother—didn’t call us out. Instead, she shook her head and stared at her daughter as though she were a pod person. Then, in a low hiss, she said, “Sometimes, it seems I do not even know you anymore,” and strode away.

  When the scene faded, and the darkness came, I barely noticed. All I kept thinking was: The Kingsleys knew about Blake. Was he part of the reason they sent her back to Montauk? They wanted her institutionalized because she had information that could destroy the family business, and the Kingsleys wanted their daughter ignorant. They wanted her to forget. Did they want to erase Blake, too?

  The blackness vanished like smoke in a strong wind, and I was back in my bedroom. Lark, or Lila, had shown me those memories for a reason. I was certain that the reason had nothing to do with the Montauk Institute, and everything to do with that stupid diamond. But just then, I needed to know more about this institute, and how exactly they erased memories.

  My google search produced very little information. The Montauk Institute didn’t have a website, which was super sketchy. Without David’s last name, I couldn’t search for him directly. I tried “Dr. David + mental disorders”, but his name was too common, and the results too vast.

  Why couldn’t Lark have shown me a trip to David’s office. Surely, he has a nameplate or something on his door?

  Lost in the internet, I didn’t realize the time until my phone buzzed. I looked down and saw an unfamiliar number with a New York area code. Blake, the thought came to me unbidden.

  “Hello?” I said into the phone.

  “Raven?” Blake’s voice soothed my soul.

  “It’s me,” I confirmed.

  He sighed. “Good. So, um, I just finished practice…do you want to maybe grab dinner? It might do you some good to get out for a while.”

  I didn’t hesitate. “Yes, yes, I would. Just tell me where to meet you.”

  “Why don’t I send a car? It’ll be easier that way. Can you be ready in thirty minutes…or…?”

  “Not a problem,” I said quickly.

  “Okay, great. Just be in front of your building in thirty.”

  “Cool. See you soon.”

  I hung up before Blake could respond.

  I’m going on a date with Blake!

  He’s not yours.

  Blake loves us.

  The thoughts came fast and jumbled, and I couldn’t decide who they truly belonged to. I shook my head to clear the voices. I was in control. I would remain in control. I was the key.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  LARK

  Eyes wide and innocent, I touched the orderly’s sleeve to get his attention. “I need a favor.”

  He chuckled but didn’t immediately dismiss my request. “Of course you do.”

  “I keep worrying that I’ll forget something,” I pressed. “I’m leaving tomorrow, and I can’t sleep while thinking about all the things I might leave behind.”

  “Are you asking me to pack for you?” Amusement still laced his eyes as he stared down at me, arms folded over his chest.

  “Of course n
ot,” I insisted. “But David already has a car out front for me. Would it be okay if I put a few things in tonight?”

  He hesitated, no longer finding humor in the situation. “I…don’t know.”

  I forced a laugh, hoping it sounded light-hearted. “It’s not like I’m planning an escape. Literally, I’m being discharged in the morning.”

  “I’m glad,” he said, sounding like he genuinely meant it.

  “Are you glad I’m still awake at three in the morning?”

  “You’re killing me, Lark. What exactly are you asking here?”

  “To put a few things in the car so I’m ready to go,” I replied with a withering glare. “Don’t be so uptight.”

  Flashing a broad smile, I put a hand on his arm and leaned in. “Just do me a solid?” I added.

  “Fine,” he caved with a groan. “Give me your bag, I’ll take it out.”

  Grabbing a quilted duffle from the sofa where I’d tossed it, I was back before he could change his mind. He reached for the duffle. I relinquished it but slipped out the alarmed door behind him.

  This earned me a sigh. “You always have to push, don’t you?”

  “Just want to check out my new ride,” I replied innocently. “I’ve never owned a car before.”

  A black Toyota with PA tags waited on the edge of the circular drive. The orderly opened an unlocked door, then popped the trunk.

  “Actually,” I started, moving to the back of the vehicle. “I’d prefer to have that in the car with me. Do you mind tossing it in the back seat?”

  As soon as his back was turned, I lifted the trunk lid and pulled my leatherbound journal from where I’d stashed it in the small of my back. “This trunk is enormous,” I said excitedly. “I bet I can fit in it.”

  Before he could reply, I climbed inside and wedged the journal behind a speaker in the trunk. The orderly’s reappearance made me jump.

  “Seriously, Lark?” he asked with a wide grin. “You’d rather hang out in the trunk than scope your new car?”

  He offered a hand, and I took it. When I emerged from the trunk, I slammed the lid shut. “I’ll have plenty of time to get to know my wheels once I’m out of here.”