Her Last Whisper Read Online Free PDF

summoned reinforcements. The blast of the siren hurt her eardrums, made Michael wince, echoed off the walls. Even as she started to move away, an odd, metallic rattling sound made her glance back. She saw that Creason had reached the door and was peering through the small glass window at her.
    His features seemed blurred. His mouth was twisted. His eyes blazed. The power of his gaze was such that she found it almost impossible to look away.
    The intercom buzzed impatiently as Creason signaled the guardthat he wanted out. Drawn by the same small metallic sound that she had heard before, Charlie dropped her widening eyes to the doorknob as it rattled and turned.
    Creason’s voice crackled through the intercom. “Guard, open the door.”

CHAPTER THREE
    Charlie’s heart lurched.
    “Move,”
Michael barked at her.
    Jerking her gaze away from that twisting doorknob with an effort, Charlie regained enough of her wits to briskly walk away.
    “I’m sorry, Dr. Creason. I can’t do that.” Behind her, the guard spoke apologetically. “The infirmary’s on lockdown. I don’t have the power to override it.”
    Charlie couldn’t hear Creason’s response to that: Michael was urging her along until she was practically running. He was almost solid-looking again, which was a tremendous relief: in her experience, he only ever turned translucent when he was way too close to disappearing into Spookville. She took his increasing opacity to mean that he was growing more and more firmly anchored to this plane again. Despite the fitful glow of the overhead fluorescents, which were still, she presumed, sputtering along on backup power, the windowless hallway was as gloomy-dark as a tunnel. It smelled, as did most of the rest of the prison, of Pine Sol and urine. About twenty feet ahead, guards in riot gear burst out of an adjacent hallway, heading toward the infirmary with the precision of a military operation.
    “Warden Pugh is going to go ballistic about this,” she murmured to Michael as the dozen or so heavily armed guards rushed toward her, their booted feet echoing like thunder as they ran toward the infirmary. She was running herself now, only headed in the opposite direction, her bloodstained lab coat slung over one arm, her low-heeled shoes clattering on the hard floor. “But shutting down the infirmary was the only thing I could think of to do.”
    “That should work.” Michael kept pace beside her easily, of course. What worried her was the way he kept glancing back. What was he watching for? As far as she could tell, they were no longer in any immediate danger. The guards who weren’t rushing toward the infirmary were clearing the area of inmates. Angry male voices and shuffling footsteps joined the jolting clang of doors closing and locks being thrown, to form a nerve-rattling backdrop to the shrilling alarm. No one paid any attention to her (them) as she hurried past, beyond casting her a few cursory glances. “At least, as long as what we’re running away from stays in Creason’s body,” he added.
    Talk about amping up the fear quotient again: Charlie felt an icy rush of horror. “I never thought of that!”
    His grunt clearly said,
not surprised
.
    Charlie could hear her pulse drumming in her ears. “What is it we’re running away from, exactly?”
    “Trouble.” His voice was hard and clipped. They reached the hallway that led to the nearest exit. When Charlie failed to turn down it he reached out to grab her arm: she felt the mildest of electric tingles as his hand passed right through her flesh and then watched his jaw tighten in frustrated acknowledgment of his physical limitations, which for that one moment he had clearly forgotten. “Damn it. This way.”
    “I have to get my purse,” she said without even breaking stride. He seemed to accept that, because he didn’t argue beyond a quick, classically masculine shake of his head that silently condemned women and their purses. She continued, “So you