Which room?
I suck air into my lungs, but it’s like trying to inflate a punctured tire.
Where are they sending me?
It can’t be room zero. Not already.
I stumble forward, my legs like lead. My palm hits the door first, and I push it open.
Get it together, Piper. You can do this.
The lighting is low through the rooms, and the smell of bleach stings the back of my throat. Caleb, Owen, and Matt cleaning this place doesn’t seem to fit somehow. But they must do it. It’s not like they can have a cleaner come in.
I press on, ignoring the speakers and cameras on the ceiling as they watch me make my way to whatever torture they have planned.
Opening the door to the hallway to hell, I lean against the wall and take a second to compose myself.
Whatever this is going to be, I can do it. I’m not going to die in here. I’m not going to leave my parents with another child’s funeral to plan. I could really use you with me right now, Penny.
The first door on the right is open.
I sob in relief, my eyes closing. It’s not room zero. One is sound. It’s going to be loud, but I can cover my ears to hopefully muffle the worst of it. I can do sound; it won’t kill me.
Underestimating. That’s what I’m doing on a major scale. It’s going to be awful.
Opening my eyes, I walk to the room and gently push the door until it opens enough for me to slip inside. The room is the same size as the temperature room, but this one is framed with round speakers at the top and bottom of the walls.
In the middle of the tiled floor is a thick, black pillow in the shape of a square. It could be a dog’s bed or one of those outdoor beanbags. Inside, I burn. They haven’t left that on the floor for my comfort, and I refuse to curl up like a dog.
Spurred on by a surge of adrenaline, I stomp forward and kick the pillow. It flies across the floor and hits the wall. I can imagine Caleb chuckling at that, but I don’t care about his reaction.
Folding my arms, I look up at the camera in the corner, challenging them, although I know it’s foolish. They don’t need encouraging; they’re going to do this with or without my cooperation.
The door behind me clangs loudly, locking me inside the small white cell with all the speakers.
This is it.
I sit in the middle of the floor, where the pillow used to be, and cross my legs. My pulse drums and my palms sweat, but I keep my face straight, absolutely determined not to show any fear. Which is super-hard to do when all you feel is fear.
Closing my eyes, I place myself anywhere but here. I go back seven years when my parents took me and Penny on our first vacation. It was to a crappy hotel on the coast because we couldn’t afford to do much. We did get to spend days on the beach, go on rides at the fair, and eat ice cream for breakfast. We had the time of our lives.
It was the only week in my childhood that I didn’t feel as if I was missing out. It didn’t bother me that other kids had yearly vacations because I’d had one, too. We didn’t manage to get away after that because the house needed repairs, and Mom lost her job and needed to find another one, but I’ll always have that week.
My body leaps, heart stalling as a piercing foghorn sound penetrates the room. I curl my back, pressing my head into my hands. The noise is gone as quickly as it started.
Okay, take it one sound at a time.
I raise my eyes and look up as if I’ll be able to see when the noise is coming. There is nothing in this room but me, a lot of speakers, and what is possibly a dog bed. What am I looking for?
Dropping my hands from my ears, I place my palms on the floor. Whenever I can, I need to show them that I’m still fighting.
I am stronger than they think.
The next sound that rattles through the room is so high-pitched, I fall to the floor and curl in a ball with my palms over my ears and my head tucked low. The sound slices through my eardrums, making me scream in red-hot pain.
It hurts so bad, I’m sure my head is splitting in two.
“Stop!” I scream, but I can’t even hear my own voice over the noise.
It ends abruptly, and I bow my head, heaving. My body shakes, hands trembling in front of me like I’m freezing.
I want to move, but I’m too afraid they’ll start it again.
There is a ringing in my ears that adds to the throbbing pain, taking my breath away.
Have my eardrums burst? The pain is so intense that I can’t lift my head or move my limbs, but there is no sound in here now, so I can’t tell if I can hear or not.
It’s not long until I get an answer and assume the fetal position again. A low-pitched, booming sound thunders through the speakers. Boom, boom, boom, over and over again, loud, low, and punishing like having something constantly smashing into the side of your head.
I cry out, my throat dry and raw with the rips of screams that I can’t hear over the booms. They come thick and fast, so powerful that I feel them vibrating through my body and into my bones.
Squeezing my eyes closed and pressing my hands to my ears so tight I feel my tendons pop, I scream into the oblivion.
It stops and starts. The process turning over and over until I wish I had run when I had the chance.
All of a sudden, silence swirls around me, almost as painful as the noise. The contrast between the two making my ears throb in agony.
I wait. And I wait.
A minute later, or it could have been seconds, I dare to open an eye. Is it over? The booming sounds went on for the longest time imaginable.
My headache, feeling like a full-blown migraine now, prevents me from moving an inch. My body is paralyzed with pain.
I don’t know how long I’ve been lying on the floor curled into a ball, but it’s been a while.
Time means nothing in these rooms, but I bet I was in here at least an hour.
My head lolls back, and I look toward the door.
Is it over yet?
Groaning, I lift a heavy hand and run it over my face. My ears hurt so bad, I feel the sting of tears. They’ve already made me wish I’d run; they won’t have my tears, too.
Get it together. Mom and Dad are out there waiting. Be strong for them. Don’t make them have to grieve for another child. I look up to the ceiling and blink until I’ve regained control.
I am getting out of here.
The door clicks. Oh God, it’s over.
Planting my palms on the floor, I push to my feet. The world seems to tilt to the side, and I stumble. I slam into the door and grab hold of the metal to stop myself falling. I reach for the door handle, but the door doesn’t open.
What? I heard the lock. Even with the ringing in my ears, I heard that clearly. It’s not a noise I could miss.
Gripping the handle, I shove it down harder.
“Come on!”
Please open. Please!
The door clangs again, and I fly out of the room. I fall on my knees with a painful thud.
I look back at the door. That was the second time I heard it unlock.
But that’s not quite right.
The first one was the door locking.
At some point during the torture, when I couldn’t hear anything other than the boom or high-pitched screech, they unlocked the door. I could have gotten out earlier.
I stumble back to our room to four pairs of eyes on me as soon as I step through the door.
“Piper!” Hazel says, leaping up and grabbing me into a tight hug. I wince at how damn loud she is. “I was so worried.”
“Shh. I’m okay,” I reply in a monotone whisper.
She steps back and, lowering her voice, replies, “Sit down and rest.”
I take a seat on the sofa and fiddle with my bracelet.
Theo clears his throat and, without looking anywhere near me, asks, “You okay?”
He’s still angry. And after that room, I almost can’t blame him.
“I’m fine. I need to take a nap.” Turning away, I lie down on the sofa.
With my eyes closed I can pretend, for a short time at least, that I’m not here.