The Treatment (15 page)

Lacey wasn’t fine. And I know I’m not either.

I’M SITTING ON THE EDGE
of the tub as realm dabs a cold washcloth under my nose. Any anger he had is gone, replaced only with concern. For a moment I see him how he was in The Program: sweet, understanding, devoted to me. I want to believe that’s the real him, but my mind is spinning, leaving me dizzy.

“Am I going to end up like Lacey?” I mumble under the edge of the washcloth.

“No,” he says. “Not unless you have more breaks. It’s stress—not normal everyday stress—but this emotional roller coaster you’ve put yourself on is messing with your head. You’re fracturing your memories, but in a scattered way. It can make you crazy, Sloane. You need to take it easier.”

“I’m a runner,” I say. “It’s not like I can kick back on the couch,
eating cookies. Things aren’t going to calm down anytime soon. If anything, they’re just getting more complicated. Why did Dallas have to bring Arthur Pritchard here? Does she buy into his story?”

Realm laughs. “Dallas doesn’t trust anybody. She’s a really good actress when she needs to be. She wanted to find out what Pritchard knew about The Treatment.” He lowers his eyes. “I didn’t tell her I had it.”

“Yeah, I got that,” I say. Dallas pretty much hates us both because of it.

“She hit me with a soda can,” Realm says, as if he’s just remembering. “I mean, I deserved it, but it was a little violent, even for her. And I’m sure she’s not feeling any better about things. Turns out, Arthur Pritchard knew even less about The Treatment than she did.”

I take the pink-stained washcloth from his hand, wiping it under my nose to check if the bleeding has stopped. I’m relieved to see it has. “Well,” I say, “we did learn about The Program’s plan for mandatory admittance.”

“Unless he was just saying that to get his hands on The Treatment.”

Could he really lie about something so horrible? I groan, frustrated that there’s no one to believe. “It’s all of us,” I say. “We’re nothing but a bunch of liars.”

Realm climbs up from his knees. “Everybody lies, Sloane. We just happen to be better than the others. It’s why we’re still alive.”

As odd as the statement is, I think it’s a reflection of our lives. We’re all guilty of hiding things—it’s the nature of the world today. We hide our feelings, we hide our pasts, we hide our true intentions. There’s no way to know what’s real anymore.

Realm reaches to tip my chin up to him, and my breath catches. He looks over my face and then smiles softly. “All cleaned up,” he says. “I have to go talk to Cas about our next move. Sloane . . . you know we can’t stay here.”

“I’m not leaving him.” I’m not going anywhere without James. I can’t abandon him with The Program after us.

I slowly stand, and Realm holds my arm to steady me. I can see how frustrated he is, but after his take-it-easy speech, he can’t exactly express it. I’m not sure if my brains are scrambled eggs already, but I’m going to do my best to not spur on any more memories. I move past Realm, expecting him to call out to me, but he lets me leave.

It’s settled. When James gets back, we’ll go. Not before. I reach my bedroom, but I pause when I step inside. My closet light is still on. I glance around, seeing nothing else out of place, and then cross to turn off the light. I wait a beat, trying to remember if I left it on—but the night has been a jumble of thoughts and I can’t be sure. Either way, it sets me on edge. I climb into bed, wishing James and I had never met up with the rebels, that we’d run off on our own. But I can’t rewrite history. I can live only with what’s left.

*  *  *

I’m half-asleep, lying in bed in the dark, waiting for James. No one has come to speak to me, even though Realm assured me that Dallas was calling all of her contacts searching for him. I remind myself that Dallas can find anyone, especially James. I’ll see him soon. I know I will.

The door hinge creaks and I sit up quickly, my heart leaping into my throat. But it’s not James. Realm stands there, flooded in hallway light, his skin pale against the navy of his light jacket, his dark brown hair. Disappointment rocks me, and I rub my eyes.

“Have you heard anything?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

Realm slips his hands into his pockets and shakes his head. I curse and lie back down, staring at the ceiling. If I could just talk to James—he’d understand there’s nothing between me and Realm.

“Sloane,” Realm says quietly, “I’m sorry. We have to leave. I’m sorry, but we do. The Program is on its way. They picked up Arthur Pritchard about twenty minutes ago. We have to get out of here.”

I take a frightened breath, fear and panic tearing through me. Arthur Pritchard is gone—what if he was telling the truth? What if it’s my fault that he’s been caught?

“Sweetness,” Realm says, striding across the shadowy room to sit next to me. “We can talk about this on the way, but we have to go.”

I know Realm’s right—I really do. “I can’t leave him,” I say. “Please don’t make me leave James behind.” This could end him—literally
end James if The Program gets ahold of him. “Please,” I try one last time.

A figure materializes in the doorway and my heart stops. At first I can’t tell if it’s James or a handler. I’m about to scream, but the person turns on the light. My stomach sinks.

“Dallas is waiting in the car,” Cas says impatiently. He’s disheveled, fidgety, and when he glances around the room, I can’t help but think he’s looking for The Treatment. I wonder if he was the one in my room earlier just as he goes to the dresser, grabbing the duffel bag from the top and stuffing my clothes inside.

“Sloane,” Realm says, touching my knee. “We’ll find him—I promise. But right now you have to come with us. If not . . . we’ll make you. I’m doing what has to be done to keep you safe. I hope you believe that.”

There’s a sharp pinch of betrayal, and I push him away, climbing out of the bed. I pull on a sweater and then meet Cas across the room, ripping the bag from his hands. He nods to me, apologetic. Through a teary gaze, I get the rest of James’s and my clothing.

I have no doubt Realm would throw me over his shoulder or drag me out of here kicking and screaming. What’s worse, I know James would never leave me behind like this. He would never do this to me.

My belongings fall to the floor and I squat down, covering my face as I sob into my hands. How can I do this? How can I live with myself if something happens to him?

There’s a second of quiet before Cas bends to pick up my
bag. Realm comes to put his arms around me, leaning down and whispering into my hair how sorry he truly is. I continue to cry and let him stand me up, holding on to him so I won’t collapse. We walk from the room, but not before I cast one more look back over the room.

Empty.

*  *  *

We’ve been driving for hours. Stretches of highway blend together, lulling me in and out of sleep. I rest my head against the warm window in the backseat, Realm on the other side of me. There’s been no word on James—good or bad, but every time Dallas takes out her phone, my hopes climb and then crash to the ground. Last time I asked her about James, she assured me that if he’d been caught, she’d know instantly. She thinks he’s hiding or moping, but either way, she’ll find him. I hope she’s right.

Arthur Pritchard had been picked up by a group of handlers about thirty miles from our safe house. They hadn’t been watching us, not that we think, but the doctor’s intentions must have been reported. Someone turned Arthur Pritchard over, and now he belongs to The Program. I just hope he can talk his way out of it. He’s the creator—that has to count for something.

“How much longer?” I ask no one in particular. My mouth is dry, and I’m tired of riding in the van. The other rebels have headed to Denver, although I haven’t seen them since we left the Suicide Club back in Salt Lake. Cas didn’t want them to
come with us this time. He said we have to protect The Treatment, which means keeping it a secret for as long as possible. Of course, I’m not currently in possession of the pill, so I guess I’m keeping secrets too.

Dallas tosses an uninterested look in my direction but doesn’t answer. “Cas,” she says, turning to him instead. “Can we stop? My bladder is about to burst.”

“Thanks for the unnecessary explanation,” he replies, smiling from the driver’s seat. He clicks on his blinker for the exit, and I straighten, ready to stretch my legs. Realm murmurs for her to be quick about it, and Dallas sneers, keeping her body turned away from him. This has been the pattern since we left. Whenever Realm asks her a question, Dallas directs Cas to answer him or stays silent, pretending Realm doesn’t exist.

Throughout the drive I’ve turned over Realm’s confessions in my head—every moment in which he lied to me. Realm had been in The Program more than once. He knew Roger. He remembers his life. He’s had an unfair advantage our entire friendship: He can never forget.

The car bumps the curb as we pull into the parking lot of a gas station, drawing me out of my thoughts. I’m quiet as we park, and Dallas and Cas quickly hop out. I’m slow to move, but I go outside without a word to Realm, and head into the small convenience store.

Dallas is already in the restroom, and the clerk eyes me suspiciously as I loiter. I’m worried he’ll recognize me from the news, and I opt to wait outside instead. I tighten my sweater
around me and try to look inconspicuous. I reemerge in the parking lot, and a small blue car pulls up to the pump. I have to be more careful about being seen. I walk around the side of the building, keeping my face concealed. I wonder if James knows to stay in the shadows. I wonder if he even knows we’re gone yet.

I rest against the gray siding, waiting for the others. I glance to where the van is parked, but the tinted windows make it difficult to see inside. Which is just as well—I’m sure I’d find Realm guilt-stricken, watching me. I’m not going to make him feel better right now.

“You seem a little lost.”

I jump and see a guy walking over, his hands in the pockets of his zip-up hoodie. I recognize him immediately, even though he doesn’t look the same. I should run, but I’m rooted in place by fear.

“Who are you?” I ask. Clearly “Adam,” who I met at the suicide club, isn’t who he pretended to be that night. His hair is brushed smooth, his eyes blue and clear—not the black orbs his contacts had presented. He’s wearing a light-green hoodie, preppy in an Abercrombie way, not a returner way. He’s also older than I first thought—midtwenties maybe. “Are you a handler?” I demand, afraid someone is about to jump out and grab me.

Adam laughs. “No, Sloane. I’m not a part of  The Program—but I am interested to hear your thoughts on it.” He pulls his hand out of his sweater pocket, and I flinch like he’s going to
Taser me. He holds out a business card, but I can only stare at him.

“It’s okay,” he says gently. “I promise, I want to help.”

“Well, that’s the second time I’ve heard that in the last twenty-four hours. I didn’t believe him, either.” But Arthur Pritchard could have been telling the truth—after all, The Program took him. Is it possible Adam is telling the truth too?

“Why are you following me?” I ask, darting a look behind him. I expect Realm to show up at any second, but then again, I’m not sure if I want him to. Will it put him danger?

“I don’t mean to scare you,” Adam says. “But, Sloane . . . you have to understand—you’re a big deal in my world.” He offers his card again, and this time I take it. I’m caught off guard by what it says.

“Kellan Thomas,” I read, then look up surprised. “You’re a reporter?”

“For the
New York Times
,” he responds. “Been following your story since you disappeared last month. You’ve taken me on a hell of a chase.” He smiles. I go to hand him back his card, but he waves it off, telling me to keep it.

“I didn’t tell you right away because I wanted to check your state of mind. In case you’ve forgotten, messing with returners is against the law. I had to make sure you wouldn’t turn me in. But some laws are meant to be broken, especially ones that keep secrets. Will you talk to me, Sloane? Will you tell me your story?”

“Why? What can you do?” I’m beginning to feel anxious; Adam’s—Kellan’s—presence here is proving we’re not that difficult
to find. The Program could show up at any second. Arthur had told us the public wasn’t on our side. Can Kellan possibly change that? Will he end up like Arthur if he tries?

“I’ll be honest,” Kellan says. “The paper’s been burying my stories, and I have yet to gain access to any of The Program’s procedures or methods. They operate under cloaked secrecy, and for a public health institution, that seems a bit unethical. But you and James Murphy—you’re a national scandal. There’ve been other returners, but none with the story you have: a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde. The world is starting to root for you. I can only imagine what The Program thinks of that. I’d like to find out. Let me tell your side of things, bring some awareness to what’s happening inside the facilities. What did they do to you, Sloane? What happens inside The Program?”

Kellan is watching me, his eyes wide with impatience even though he’s trying to look calm. Arthur Pritchard had mentioned embedded handlers—is Kellan one of them? He could be playing both sides. I open my mouth to tell him it’s too dangerous to talk to him, when I hear my name.

“Sloane?” Realm sounds frantic as he calls me a second time. Kellan closes his eyes, exhaling heavily before looking at me again.

“My number’s on the card,” he says. “Please talk to me. But . . . let’s keep this between us. I don’t want to end up in jail—or worse.”

It occurs to me that I’m the “worse.” I hurry past him, jogging out to the front of the gas station, where I see Realm, his
clasped hands on his head as he darts a panicked look in all directions. He curses when he sees me.

“There you are,” he says when I get closer. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry.”

Kellan asked me to keep his existence secret, but it seems that being on the run is really about deciding who to trust. I take Realm’s arm and pull him close. “I have to talk to you,” I murmur. He eyes me curiously and then looks around the parking lot, pausing when he sees the empty blue car.