Whisper Read online

  Jerod nods. “I can stop by the estate tomorrow night. Chat about Europe. I’ll bring Fallon.”

  “Sounds good.” Arthur leans forward and digs into his salad. Jerod and I follow suit. “This is nice,” Arthur says. “Just me and my two favorite people.” He smiles at me. “How’s that head of yours doing? Staying sane?”

  Jerod’s eyes widen, but I laugh. Our uncle’s candor is refreshing.

  “Define sane,” I say.

  Uncle Arthur laughs.

  “Actually, I think I’m doing well for the most part.” This afternoon aside. Which I’ll mention to no one. Ever. Including myself.

  Uncle Arthur nods. “Good. Good to hear.” The waiter returns with our wine, and Arthur holds his out in another toast. “How do you like the wine, kiddo?”

  “It’s good.” I bring the glass to my lips and let the intoxicating fruit burn some more of my thoughts away.

  My dad would blow a vein if he found out Uncle Arthur bought me alcohol. I don’t think he actually cares that much. He’s just a prick. Part of me wants to agree with him though. As soon as the elevator lurches upward, I collapse to the cold, metal floor. I also feel sick. Not in a I’m-going-to-puke kind of way. More in a I’m-going-to-pass-out-and-have-a-raging-migraine-later kind of way.

  I pull my heels off while I’m on the ground and then use the brass railing in the back to pull myself back up. My thoughts swim in a murky pool that looks suspiciously like wine. Deep inside I feel happy though. I almost feel free, like my life is my own and I can do whatever I want. Maybe I can. It’s not like I’ve tried.

  The elevator comes to a gentle stop, and I take small steps out into the dark, carpeted hall. To my left, Marley, the resident of the other penthouse, is unsurprisingly outside of her door for no damn reason. She stands in front of it, staring down at her phone with her hand on the knob like she hasn’t just spent the last two hours waiting for me to come home.

  She looks up and flashes me a wide grin. “Hey. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you come home this late. On a date?” She peers at me from behind her wire-frame glasses.

  “No.” I turn away from her and trek down the long hall to my door.

  “It’s your birthday, right?”

  I roll my eyes and turn to face her. “It was.”

  She brushes some short curly hair away from her face. “Happy birthday. I’m glad you did something fun.”

  I nod and turn my back to her again. A few moments later, I hear her door click shut, but I know she’s watching me through the peephole. I swear she was placed up here to keep an eye on me. Sure, she can legitimately afford a place like this—her father is the CEO of the largest bank chain in the world. I just don’t think a twenty-three-year-old hiker and nature photographer, who can live anywhere she wants, would pick the most sterile and industrial building in the city. It doesn’t mesh with her personality. Of course, it doesn’t mesh with mine either, but I wasn’t given a choice. Not that I tried to fight my father on it. There was no point. I’d never won an argument before.

  But I know I’m on suicide watch. Ninety percent of the time when I come and go, she “just happens” to be stretching outside her door preparing for a morning or afternoon run. If she really runs that much, she’s crazy. She’s also always knocking on my door under the guise of needing to “borrow an egg.”

  The only time it doesn’t bother me is when she stops by to ask me to feed and water her guinea pig while she’s away somewhere. For one, the black and white ball of fur is adorable as crap. For two, it means she’s away and I don’t have to tiptoe past her door for a few days. I think she does it because she thinks if I have something to do, I won’t try to kill myself. I know she has friends who could do that for her. Honestly, I think if I was inclined to kill myself, I probably would wait until she got back. I wouldn’t want the tiny monster to die.

  I start disrobing as soon as my door shuts and auto-locks behind me. I feel like I’ve been in a sauna. It’s not even hot outside. Or in here. I leave my clothes, purse, and phone in a trail on the floor and climb on top of my bed. Alcohol makes me hot. I’ll have to remember that.

  A row of buttons line the bottom of the silver touch-lamp next to my bed. Everything in this place is so freaking modern. Nice, but not my taste at all. I press the second button and the ceiling fan cuts on. I’m going to regret this in the morning, but I’m boiling right now.

  If given the option, I think I would much rather live in one of those medieval castles in Europe where the newest piece of furniture is two hundred years old and all scratched up.

  My heavy eyelids close on their own, and I curl up on my side, makeup still on, hair fanned out around me. The fan is nearly silent, but it offers a welcome whisper of white noise and a steady, cool breeze to soothe my clammy skin.

  “Jaaaade.”

  A groan leaves my lips. I burrow deeper into my pillow. “No…” A shiver travels up my spine. Cold already. I force myself to sit up. Did I just hear something? I squint around the immaculate room. Immaculate except for the dresser drawer I left open earlier. The mirrored surface displays a distorted reflection of my room. I hate that thing.

  After I quickly and messily braid my hair over my shoulder, I fight the sheets out from under my pillows and then throw them over my body. I keep the penthouse too cold. I don’t turn the fan off though.

  Instead of closing my eyes, I stare out the windows. That’s the one thing I really love about this room: the wide, floor-to-ceiling windows. I have blackout blinds, but I keep them up. I like looking at the sparkling lights below at night, and I like the sunrise waking me up in the morning. It’s soothing. I’ll probably wish they were closed tomorrow, but it’ll be nice to feel something real, even if it’s a raging migraine.

  I run my fingers over my braid. Sometimes I want to cut my hair off, just to change something, but it’s been long for so many years, it’s like a security blanket. And the one thing my father can’t control. He thinks I’m too old to have hair down to my butt, but he’s not going to pin me down and do it himself, so long it stays. I hug my braid to my chest and let my eyes drift shut.

  Smoky dreams dance in the back of my mind, trying to take shape. A low hissing disperses them. It’s so loud, I would almost swear it was coming from under my bed.

  “Jaaaaaaaade…can you hear me, Jade?”

  The lamp shakes, startling my eyes open. I put a hand on it to hold it still, inadvertently filling with room with a low, yellow light. I stretch my ears for the source of the sound, even though I know it’s just in my head. When I hear the expected nothing, I tap the lamp three times to turn it off and curl my fist back to my side.

  4

  She Has No Self-Respect

  Much to my equal disappointment and relief, there was no migraine this morning, only a low-grade, easily tolerable nausea. I can’t imagine how bad I would feel right now if I felt sick on top of sitting under these obnoxious fluorescent lights.

  After a few hours of ho-hum busy office stuff, the hissing from last night feels more like a dream. I remember what the last psychiatrist said: the episodes are…were…triggered by stress. Of course I was stressed yesterday. My birthday is always stressful. Not so much since Jerod’s been in college, but now that he’s back…

  I shake my head. Whatever. I love my brother. Both of them. They’re great. It’s not their fault our father treats me like a fourth-class citizen. I pick up the phone and check the morning’s messages.

  While I’m scribbling down the important bits, my father steps off the elevator with a model, or at least someone who looks very much like one. Pretty, exotic, designer clothes, perfect makeup, crazy long legs. Can’t say the man doesn’t have a type.

  He ignores me entirely and escorts the woman around the corner to his office, his hand low on her hip. “Hold my calls,” he tells his personal assistant. “I would like to give our client my full attention.”

  I snort. Client. Sure.

  “Hey, Jade.”

&
nbsp; I hold up a finger while I finish taking down messages.

  Griffin waits patiently on the other side of the giant desk, rocking back and forth on his heels to pass the time.

  I drop the phone back into the receiver and give him a questioning stare.

  “Oh, right.” He throws me a lopsided grin and slides a thick stack of manila envelopes my way. “Can you hold these for Malcolm? He’s supposed to be stopping by around one to pick them up, but I have to get across town with the board to shadow a lunch meeting.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Thanks.” He brushes some dark hair out of his eyes, and even though I know he’s in a hurry, he continues to stand there.

  I shrug. “It’s my job.”

  He nods. And still doesn’t move.

  What Jerod said last night at dinner flashes through my mind, but I quickly push it back to the recesses. Griffin and I stare at each other for a moment. I let my eyes graze over his hair. He always looks like he started to tame it but ran out of time.

  Finally, I say, “What do you want?”

  “You look nice.”

  I glance down at my drab button-down blouse and matching skirt. “Okay,” I say slowly. “Thanks?”

  He nods again. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something.”

  The phone rings. I ignore it, per usual. “What?” I look at the clock between the main elevators. “Aren’t you late?”

  “No, not yet.” He clears his throat. “So, you know how they have open mic on Thursdays?”

  The phone rings again and I hit the mute button. “What about it?” I’m well aware of the coffee house’s cutesy open-mic night.

  Kerry from advertising stops by my desk and drums his fingers impatiently on the surface to get my attention. Last time he snapped his fingers and I nearly bit his head off. This is only marginally better. I give him a much-deserved glare and shove a small package his way. He scowls and leaves without saying anything.

  Griffin follows him with his eyes for a moment before turning back to me. “Anyway. I write stuff. Music, you know. It’s just for fun. Jerod thought I should try my hand at playing some of it in public. I’ve been doing it every once in a while the last couple of months. I’m going to be down there tomorrow night.”

  “Great.” My thoughts turn to the advertising department. That should be my job. Maybe that’s why Kerry hates me. Maybe he thinks my father is going to use his brain for once and give me a job I’d actually be good at.

  “I thought maybe you could stop by sometime and hear some of it.”

  “What?” I drag my attention back to Griffin. He’s still here. “Okay. Oh, no. No, no. I don’t go down there.”

  “You don’t have to drink coffee. Do you drink coffee?”

  I lift my shoulders. “I don’t know.” Very few things mix well with poison. According to my dad. I keep forgetting I don’t take that stuff anymore. It’s been three years, I would think I’d be used to it by now.

  “Well, they have tea and water and stuff.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Griffin looks down at his phone. “I hope you do.” He smiles at me and crosses over to the elevators.

  A woman from personnel stops by my desk. “Where’s David?”

  “I haven’t seen him.”

  She lets out an impatient sigh. “He is so lazy.”

  “Not really. We have a mini mountain of mail coming in every day.”

  She stares at me.

  “Well, if it’s that serious, you can go back there and get it yourself.”

  She blinks. “Will you tell me when you see him?”

  “No.”

  She sighs again and her heels click as she walks away.

  The elevators ding. Griffin steps in, and my mother steps out. She gives Griffin a friendly hello and then turns a hard expression in my direction. She doesn’t make eye contact—something I’m quite used to. She hasn’t aged a minute since I was born. I hope I’m that lucky…if I live that long. I’ve already set a record for most time spent outside of a therapist’s office though, so there’s that.

  “Is your father back yet?” she asks.

  “Are you talking to me?”

  She squeezes her eyes shut for a second. “Of course, I’m talking to you.”

  I smile at her, even though she can’t see it. “He’s in his office with some girl barely older than I am.”

  My mother takes a deep breath and rounds the corner with her head held high.

  Astrid, my father’s assistant, immediately goes ballistic. “Mrs. Xacharias, Owin is in a meeting. I’ll let him know that you’re here. Please wait out—wait! He’s very, very busy. Eliane!”

  “Owin.” My mother’s voice is bright and pleasant. “We had a lunch date?”

  “I told her you were busy,” Astrid says, sounding on the verge of tears.

  “It’s all right, Astrid,” my father says, calm as the eye of a storm. “You can take lunch.”

  The model enters the lobby the next instant, moving with the speed and grace of a gazelle. Her designer suit is a bit less immaculate than when she arrived. She avoids my stare and wraps her arms around herself as she waits for the elevator. Astrid cuts across the lobby next, her pointy nose in the air, her blue eyes watering behind her glasses. She disappears down the hall by my desk.

  I abandon my post and sneak up to the wall to spy.

  Hushed voices snake around the fake plant.

  “Who the hell was that, Owin?”

  “She…was….it was an interview. For a second assistant. Astrid is overworked.”

  “Oh, save that bullshit. I don’t care what you do. Our children work here. What does that look like to them?”

  Bullshit indeed. Astrid would happily work another eighteen hours a week if he’d let her.

  “The children are fine. They’re not little kids anymore.”

  “Jade’s not fine.”

  “Jade has other problems.”

  I press in closer to the partition.

  “How can you do that in front of your daughter and still stand here and act like you give a damn about her? It’s so disrespectful. No wonder she has no self-respect.”

  My eyes widen. Wow, really? I don’t know why she doesn’t leave him. She’d get a nice lump sum in a divorce settlement. Staying with someone who doesn’t respect her is just as bad of an example to set. Besides, I know my father is an asshole. If I want a male role model, I’ll look to Uncle Arthur.

  “Will you calm down? That girl is a potential client.”

  “So all your potential clients sit in your lap?”

  “She wasn’t sitting in my lap.”

  “She was sitting in your damn lap! Why are you lying to my face?”

  “Shh. Eliane, please. This is a place of business. Can you at least wait a second and do this in the car?”

  “Fine. Get your shit.”

  I hurry back to my desk and jot down more messages for something to do. My parents come around the corner looking frazzled and stressed. My father gives me a small wave and then turns his eyes to the clock. My mother taps her foot against the polished floor.

  I half-heartedly takes notes while I watch their backs. Is she really more upset about his cheating on her in front of me and Jerod than she is about the actual cheating?

  My parents are both jerks, but that doesn’t make their fighting any less distressing. A heaviness settles over my chest. I wonder if Jerod knows about it. It definitely got worse while he was in college.

  They don’t look at each other when they step into the elevator. They’re like two strangers, separated by a thick wall of glass.

  5

  Lies

  There are just a few stragglers left in the office when I leave my post. I’m more tired than usual, probably because I stayed up until after midnight when I’m usually knocked out by nine. I press the button for the elevator and yawn while I wait.

  “Jaaade…”

  I close my eyes and squeeze them tight. T
he hissing voice drifts like a cloud around me. It sounds like it’s coming from right next to my ear. In fact, I can almost feel its breath, uncomfortably hot and damp.

  The disembodied voice sighs. “Please…I need you…”

  My eyes fly open. “What?”

  “You can hear me! Finally! Jade—”

  “No.” I pinch my lips together.

  “Jade?”

  I stare straight ahead.

  “Sister?”

  I whip around.

  Jerod stands behind me, his jacket slung over his arm. “What are you doing?”

  “N-nothing.”

  His dark golden brows draw together.

  Crap. My heart flutters high in my chest. Did he hear me talking to myself?

  He frowns. “I’m meeting Logan and Fallon for drinks. Do you want to join us?”

  “No.”

  His frown is displaced with a wide grin. “Come on. I think you would like her if you would spend any time with her at all.”

  Not likely. “I’m really tired.”

  “It’s four o’clock.”

  I think about reminding him that I’m not technically allowed to drink, but I can’t bring myself to say it. “I don’t like Logan.”

  Jerod laughs. “He’s not so bad.”

  “He’s obnoxious.”

  He tilts his head to the side. “It would mean a lot to me if you would come. Just ten minutes.”

  The elevator stands open, waiting for me board. I suppress a groan and turn away from it. “Fine. Ten minutes.”

  Jerod’s face lights up. “Thank you, thank you! We won’t be down there too long. We’re just going to de-stress from the day before heading over to Grandpa’s. You stopping by?”

  “Isn’t going into a bar to hang out with your girlfriend enough torture for one day?” Our grandfather thinks I’m cursed. He’s nice about it, but he’d call a shaman to come over and wave incense over me the second I stepped foot on the property. He’s done it a few times. One of these days I’m afraid he’ll catch me off guard and tie me to a chair, force me to stay for the whole nonsense ritual.