How Does The Narrator’S Performance Impact Stephen King’S The Stand Audiobook?

I've developed a fever all of a sudden. But that's when I hear the thoughts belonging to my Alpha mate, Alder Garrison, whom I've bonded to for five years. His voice is husky and attractive, and yet the tone he adapts is very unfamiliar to me. [She's pulling the pity card again. How annoying.] My breath hitches in my chest as I look up at Alder. He's in the middle of pouring me a glass of water, his gaze seemingly gentle beneath the light. His lips aren't moving at all, and yet I'm very sure that I heard his voice just now. When Alder helps me to sit up so that he can feed me the medicine, I purse my lips together before speaking up, albeit hesitantly. "Alpha Alder, I think I'm hearing things all of a sudden. Can you please accompany me to a healer's station tomorrow?" Alder is quick to envelope me into a hug and comfort me. "Shh… I'm here. You'll be fine." But his thoughts sing an entirely different tune. [Ugh… She's doing it again. Can she stop pestering me already?] I no longer utter another word. All I feel is my heart slowly going cold in despair.

Being a mute used to be simple before all the craziness started. I just can't talk and that's who I am. Mum has learned to accept that and I guess so have I. Everything was just fine in my high school in Shanghai. I had finally made it to year twelve and even though I was in China, I was actually being treated as a human being despite my disability. Things were definitely not perfect but I would give anything to go back to that, like it was before. I heard my first voice that year, right at the beginning of year 12. I didn’t really have any real friends, but I was used to it and before the voices started, I was fine with that. But it all changed when I first heard them. The voices inside their heads started then and my life was never the same. They weren't just thinking about school or they girls or guys they were into, no they were thinking about doing things, doing horrible things to each other and I was the only one that knew how messed up they really were.

On the night the hurricane is about to hit us, my brother-in-law, George Madden, calls again right after the Extreme Wind Warnings are issued for a Category 5 hurricane. When I hear his hysterical sobbing on the phone, I calmly hand the phone to my wife, Taylor Cochran, who is next to me, and continue sealing the balcony. I don't know what he says on the other end of the line, but Taylor keeps responding and nodding repeatedly before putting on her raincoat and turning to me with an apologetic smile on her face. "Honey, George's window just broke, and Ryan won't stop crying. It's hard for him to take care of his son by himself. I'll go and pop by their house and check on him and Ryan. But I'll make sure to be back before the hurricane hits." It's always like this between us. Everything she tells me is always only an announcement with no room for discussion. Things have never changed over the past five years of our marriage. George will always call every time there's a heavy storm or some thunder and lightning, asking for Taylor to go over. He claims it's from some PTSD or something. In the past, I always get upset and fight with Taylor about it. However, she keeps refuting that, "Tiffany died too young, leaving him to raise Ryan on his own. He doesn't have it easy because he knows nothing about motherhood. We should help him as much as we can. "You're a strong man, aren't you? You're fully able to take care of yourself and our Timmy, can't you?" A strong wind blasts right through the glass windows, and a broken shard cuts into my leg, leaving a nasty, bloody gash behind. I stroke the wool sweater next to me that I still haven't finished knitting. After tonight, Timmy and I are not going to need Taylor by our side anymore.

I have a severe case of logorrhea. Only speaking makes me feel alive. My classmates all call me a freak, but Marvin Britt is the only one willing to listen to me. One day, I bring some homemade soup over to see him, only to catch him holding his junior's hand. "Lexie, your voice is so lovely, unlike my wife at home. She sounds like a squawking duck. It's exhausting." My hands shake so violently that I drop the thermal flask. The commotion angers a nearby madman, who forces a bottle of boiling water down my throat. With my mouth full of blood and blisters, I realize I need proof. I send Marvin—a lawyer—a frantic voice note to accompany me to the police station for evidence. Marvin shoots back a single word—"Noted". Of course. He doesn't even listen to it, as usual. He used to reply to everything I said with voice notes at least a minute long. But we hit the seven-year itch, and he's sick of my endless talking. Leaving the hospital, I stare at my diagnosis of permanent mutism and laugh bitterly. He must be thrilled. His world is finally quiet.

Grandpa died, and we immediately went for each other's throats over the inheritance. Then a blizzard hit, trapping us all in the family estate. An app appeared on our phones: [THE LAST ZOMBIE: FINAL RECKONING]. We had to pick a hiding spot. The last one standing—the last human standing—would inherit everything. I chose the dark, silent recording studio in the basement. Away from them all. When it was time to pick special powers, my family chose powerful weapons or pocket dimensions full of supplies. I chose Bio-Stasis. It slowed my cells to a crawl, and my body along with them. My stepbrother's fiancée, Chloe, called me an idiot. "Hiding from your family and picking a useless power? You're on a suicide mission." They threw a zombie-slaying party upstairs, already celebrating an inheritance they hadn't even won. Until, one by one, they turned. And started tearing each other apart. What they didn't know... was that I'd rigged the game from the start. The only way to win was to stay completely silent.

My husband, Ryan Costa, is one of the most renowned scientists in the apocalypse. To retrieve a reagent, he goes deep into the high-risk zone with his secretary, Clara Gibson. I, Alice Ashford, lead an elite squad to protect him all the way. But when a zombie horde besieges us, he refuses to retreat. "With the reagent Clara brings back, I can develop a serum that saves all of humanity! Just ten more minutes! Ten minutes, please!" Ryan insists. I feel torn as I see the zombies closing in. I can't gamble with the lives of my squad on a vague, uncertain sliver of hope. In that split second, I knock Ryan out and drag him onto the helicopter. As a result, Clara dies being torn apart by the zombies. When Ryan wakes up, the first thing he does is slap me hard across the face. He rages, "How can you be so selfish? You've doomed all of humanity!" I am sentenced to be burned at the stake. I die in unbearable pain as the crowd curses me relentlessly. When I open my eyes again, I am back at the moment when Ryan stands in front of the helicopter, blocking our retreat. I am just about to speak when I suddenly hear his inner voice, "Clara should have grabbed her makeup bag by now. Hopefully, she brings something back with her. Otherwise, I'll have a hard time explaining myself to Alice." My mind goes blank, and I stare at him in shock. He smiles at me just like he did in my previous life and asks, "Darling, don't you think we should wait?"