Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
With one more careful look around, I pull my journal from my makeshift tote bag—crafted from a long-sleeve t-shirt I cut with my knife then knotted by hand. It’s not great, but it works. If I find anything of use on my explorations, I’ll have somewhere to store them while I ferret them back to my room.
My most recent journal page bears a list of experiments I conducted while I was still in Austin. They aren’t detailed in my scrawl, but I remember plenty of the particulars of each one. In fact, Austin and everything that happened before we came to DC lives in my mind with relative clarity. It’s when I moved to the CDC lab that things get murky. I know people block out traumatic experiences, that their minds build walls around those memories to keep the person’s psyche safe from additional injury. But how could my mind have blocked out months and months of time, a million details? I don’t think that’s the answer. It’s something Whitbine has done to me, siphoning off my memories while I was strapped to his metal table. But if that’s the case, then why is he still questioning me? What could I possibly have left?
I don’t know, but it all revolves around Juno. Or, I suppose more specifically, Theo’s death, which I only know about from the other captives in the cell. I wasn’t there. I have no idea what happened to him, no matter how many times Whitbine asks. A warning throb pulses through my temples, and I let that train of thought go.
Instead, I continue my list of studies on the plague virus. Then I draw out its structure again. All exercises in futility. I need a lab. I need blood samples. I need a multitude of things that this ancient castle doesn’t have, could never have. Golden tassels? There’s a million of them. Electron microscopes? Shit out of luck.
“Ugh.” I slam my notebook shut and tuck it back into my bag.
I have to get going. Just knowing there’s an elevator is enough to keep me scouring the other levels of this unique hell. If I can access it from some other floor, that’s all I need. I have to keep searching. I’ve gone through every inch of Piano Bay, or at least as far as I can tell. There could be hidden doors like the one to the elevator, so I’ll have to go over it all again with a closer attention to the walls. But not today.
With admittedly shaky resolve, I get to my feet and descend the curving staircase. I quicken my pace as I reach the green flame landing, hurrying past the doorway until I hit the steps going ever downward. The light here is sparse, the sconces spaced farther apart and their glow tantalizingly faint. I can’t see what lies on the lower level, so I go slowly, one hand on the wall.
When I reach the next landing, I keep moving forward to see if there are more stairs winding down into the dark, then curse under my breath when I discover there are. But here there are no lights, no way to keep from breaking my neck, and no way to know what I’m walking into.
I back away until I can feel the stair railing again, a lifeline that leads to the brighter floors above. Swallowing hard, I close my eyes and imagine the layout of the higher floors. This one has to be similar. It holds true on the other levels, so it only makes sense this rotunda is shaped the same. I take careful steps, following the path I’ve tread on Piano Bay dozens, maybe hundreds of times. I take halting steps with my hands out in front of me.
Each step forward feels like five degrees cooler. My skin is pebbled with goosebumps. If I could see better, I’m certain my breath would be puffing out in a steamy cloud. When nothing jumps out, I keep going until I find the familiar corridor opening that leads to whatever rooms have been carved from the rock. Stopping on the threshold, I peer into the gloom. There’s a dull light quite a way down the hall, but at least it seems like a straight shot.
I step inside, the air turning stale and dank. Colder now. I wipe my nose with my sleeve. It takes every bit of resolve I have left, but I force one foot in front of the other. If the layout holds true, the elevator shaft might be down this hall. All I have to do is reach it.
The floor is solid, likely stone, but I can’t tell. I tread carefully, moving slowly with one hand on the wall until I feel the edge of a doorframe.
I freeze.
A sound. Soft. Like someone whispering. Creeping closer, I press my ear to the door.