Read Online Numbers 3: Infinity by Rachel Ward - Free Book Online

they’re finally gone. But this time it’s only one set of steps, and there were two voices. Is someone still there?
    Mia’s arm is slung across my body. I lift it up carefully and lay it on top of her, then I ease out from under the covers and tiptoe across the room.
    I look through the crack in the shutter. My stomach turns over.
    There’s an eye looking in, only a few centimetres away from mine.
    ‘Who are you?’ I whisper. I’m scared of getting an answer, scared of not getting one. I’m back in the house where I grew up. There’s a door and a man outside and I’m trapped.
    My dad’s dead but the panic’s still there, waiting to get me. Waiting for moments like this. I hold my breath.
    The eye blinks, once, twice, and moves away.

Chapter 16: Adam
    ‘Y ou’re doing very well, Adam. Your cognitive functions are excellent, considering what you went through yesterday.’
    It’s the guy with the squished face again. Newsome. He’s asking the questions now, doing more checks. And next to him, sitting silently, is Grey-hair, the guy with the scar and the shimmering number. Every time I look at him, the violence of his number hits me. It’s sickening and mesmerising at the same time. There’s something about that number … but I can’t get it. Not right now.
    ‘Excellent,’ Newsome says. ‘So now it’s time for some more sophisticated tests.’
    Before I know what’s happening, an assistant has put a leather strap through the arm of my chair and buckled it round my right wrist.
    ‘What the—?’
    ‘Just a precaution.’
    ‘No, no, I don’t want this.’
    ‘We can’t have movement or the tests won’t work.’
    I try to fight back, but I’m weak and there are two of them now. My left wrist is held down and strapped too.
    Another assistant wheels forward a trolley with monitors and a bunch of wires like spaghetti on it. As he looms nearer I realise he’s gonna attach most of these wires to my head.
    ‘No—’
    ‘It’s all part of the assessment of your condition,’ Newsome says smoothly. ‘Essential medical treatment. Nothing more. Just sit back. Try to relax.’
    I can’t do anything but sit there, but my jaw’s clenched and my arms and legs are tense and stiff as they tape me up. They don’t need to shave my head: most of my hair was burnt off when I fell in the fire the night Junior died and the rest is so short they’ve got no trouble attaching the electrodes.
    They wire up my chest, too, so they can monitor my heart through the tests. And my fingertips. What’s that all about? Looks like something out of a spy film. Isn’t that what they do to see if you’re lying?
    ‘No way. Stop it. Stop!’
    This feels wrong. Really wrong.
    Newsome’s set up two other chairs facing me, about a metre away. Now he sits in one and Grey-hair sits in the other. He still hasn’t said a word. But his eyes … those dark eyes … and that number… . I can’t tear my own eyes away.
    ‘I’m going to ask you some questions,’ Newsome says, ‘and I want you to fire the answers back at me. First thing that comes into your head.’
    ‘Okay.’ I feel my temper flare. ‘Undo the straps.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘That’s what’s in my head right now.’
    ‘I haven’t started yet. I haven’t asked you a question.’
    He’s getting tetchy. But he started this with the wrist-straps. I’m not going to make it easy for him.
    He turns to the bank of monitors next to him and fiddles with a couple of controls. He keeps reaching up, tucking his hair behind his ear – the thick, brown hair that looks twenty years younger than him. It’s a wig. It’s got to be a wig.
    ‘What are you thinking?’ he says. I hesitate, and he leaps in. ‘What’s in there right now? Right now.’ He snaps a finger in front of my face.
    ‘I was wondering … who cut your hair.’
    One of the assistants stifles a laugh. I think I see the corner of Grey-hair’s mouth twitch, but I’m not sure. Newsome’s eyes narrow, just