Echoes by Marissa Lete (best books for students to read txt) 📕

out is one barely audible word: “Maverick.” The name rolls off my tongue as if I’ve said it a thousand times already.

I don’t think he hears me, because he starts to turn, stepping away from me and toward where the Suburban is parked. I watch him moving, knowing that I can’t let him leave. I need to know who he is. I clear my throat.

“Maverick?” I say again, loud enough that I know he can hear me even though my voice is shaking.

The outline of him freezes, rigid in the dark.

“That’s your name, isn’t it?” I add, watching his movements carefully.

He turns to face me, pauses, then steps in my direction. This time, I don’t back away. He stops about ten feet in front of me and I strain to see his face, but it’s still too dark.

I open my mouth, unsure of what I’m going to say, and just as I do Maverick’s figure flinches, then turns in the direction of the Suburban. I follow his movements, noticing that the figure that had been lying motionless on the ground earlier is sitting up, holding something in his hands.

“No,” Maverick—or whoever he is—says, turning back to me. “Go—” he chokes out, then falls, hitting the ground with a thud before going completely still. My gaze snaps up to the figure by the car, and time seems to slow down around me as he raises something into the air. Something that looks like a gun.

I turn on my heel, but just as I do I feel a tiny pinch in my thigh. I look down and notice a little dart sticking through my jeans. Reaching down, I pull it out and hold it in front of me to look at.

And then the world starts to spin. I put my hands out in front of me, feeling my palms colliding with the cement just before the world turns black.

Chapter 18

When I wake up, the first thing I notice is the silence. No noise—not from today, not from the past. Nothing.

The second thing I notice is my pounding headache. It gets worse when I open my eyes and a bright light is shining above me.

Squinting, I take in my surroundings. I’m in a white room with tile floors, lying on a plain green cot on the floor. Long fluorescent lights hang from the ceiling above me, and a dark-stained wood desk sits against the wall across from me. There’s a window to my left with bright sunlight shining through and a door to my right, but other than that the room is empty.

After looking around, the panic sets in. I touch my thigh, remembering the dart that had hit me. I’ve been drugged, and I don’t know who has done it or where I am. Maverick—if that’s who he is—has too, I remember, an image of him falling to the ground coming to my mind.

Then the panic turns into urgency. I need to escape.

I try to stand, but a spell of dizziness hits me, so I have to use the wall for balance as I scramble toward the door. It’s locked, of course, and my next destination is the window.

Outside it’s bright, so I have to squint when I look through. Trees. Lots and lots of trees. The building is in the middle of a forest. The window itself is barred, letting me know I have no chance of escape that way, either.

My next thought is that I need a weapon, but right as I think it, I hear a click from the door—the lock sliding out of place.

I drop to the floor as soon as I realize what it is, but I’m not quick enough.

“Good morning, sweetie. Sounds like you’ve finally woken up.” It’s a woman’s voice, filled with empty warmth.

Shoes click on the floor toward where I lay facing the wall, frozen. Then a fist grabs a handful of my hair and yanks me up. I try to resist, but pain shoots across my scalp, so I give in. She turns me around and I meet her gaze.

The woman’s eyes are a bright, innocent blue, and despite her face looking fairly young, her hair is silver, cut short right beneath her ears. She sighs.

“I’m sorry you had to get caught up in this mess, honey, but there’s not much else I can do.” She sounds everything but apologetic. “Dave, bring Laura up to meet with us for me, will you?” She lets go of my hair, turning on her heel and clicking out the door. How does she know my name?

A middle-aged man appears in the doorway, his dark eyes fixed on me and his mouth set in a thin line. He isn’t much bigger than me, so I contemplate whether I can take him in a fight, but decide against it. The drugs are still wearing off, so it’s hard to move with any kind of speed.

Dave grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet without saying a word. He puts handcuffs around my wrists, then takes me through the door. He’s much more gentle than the woman, but he’s still got a firm grip on my arm, something I’m not sure I can get out of easily.

I’m led down the hallway, then up a flight of stairs. The building reminds me of the office building my mom works at, with sleek marble floors and pristine wooden doors on each side of the hallway. All of them are closed, and the entire place has a strange smell, almost like a hospital.

Eventually, Dave reaches out and pulls on one of the door handles, swinging it open. He jerks my arm, shoving me through the doorway first, then follows, closing the door behind us. Inside, I see a conference table with three swivel chairs evenly spaced around it. In one of