The Treatment (29 page)

“Is she suicidal?” the doctor asks.

“No.” It’s Realm who answers from next to me. I blink my eyes open and see the wood shingles of a small cottage as we
approach the entryway. There are vines crawling up the sides like the house is trying to stay hidden in nature. “She’s upset, though,” Realm adds. “We almost didn’t get to her in time. The other one, Dallas, she needs your help.”

The doctor sighs, mumbling something I don’t understand. I turn my head lazily to find her, but the scene is bouncing wildly as James carries me. It’s hard for me to catch my breath.

“Hello, dear.” Then she’s next to me: a tall, slender woman with glasses. She’s somewhere in her sixties with shaggy brown hair and a mole on the side of her nose. She smiles; her teeth are yellow and crowded, but her expression is genuine. I like her immediately.

“Don’t try to talk,” she says with an impatient wave of her hand. “You need to sleep off the drugs. I’m going to have a look at your side first, just to make sure you haven’t injured anything too badly.”

“Will she be okay?” James isn’t trying to be brave. He’s a wreck, and if I wasn’t the one being carried, I would want to hold him and tell him I’m fine, just so he wouldn’t have to be so scared.

“Oh, I think so,” the doctor says, and I feel her brush back my hair. My body shifts as James turns sideways to fit us through the doorway. We’re swallowed in darkness. The windows are covered, and from above us a light flicks on. “It looks like a nasty hematoma, but I’ll poke it a bit just to make sure.” She pats my arms to let me know she’s joking. “All right, put her in there.”

Cool sheets come up to meet me as James sets me on a small twin bed. I’m groggy, achy—but mostly I’m terrified to be alone with anyone but James. I grab his shirt to prevent him from leaving my side. He sits next to me on the bed, taking my hand and holding it to his lips.

“All but blondie out,” the doctor calls, shooing Realm and Asa from the room. “Now get that awful color off of her,” she says to James, and he begins to work my arms out of the gray scrubs. Evelyn kneels next to me, checking over my side before actually poking it and making me moan. She apologizes, but does it again in a few other areas. When she’s finished, she walks to the dresser and pulls out a bright pink T-shirt, handing it to James. “Help her into this this,” she says. “I can’t bear to put her back in gray.”

“Is she okay?” James asks, his voice strained.

“Contusion, bruising. She’ll be tender for a few weeks. So far as I can tell, most of her damage will be emotional.” The doctor takes a small wooden chair and sets it next to the bed, sitting down. Once I’m dressed, she runs her gaze over me and James. “I am so sorry for what you’ve gone through. But perhaps you can fill me in a few things. Like how the hell Michael Realm found me.”

I lag against him James, widening my eyes a few times to wake myself up. “When we were taken from the farmhouse,” James starts, “Realm was in the van I was loaded into. He was dressed as a handler, him and Asa, and they brought me to some sketchy-ass motel near the facility. Asa was off the books
on the pickup, so The Program had no idea he was involved. Basically my entire existence at the site was covered up because I went off the grid. Realm saved me.”

There’s an ache in my heart, because I’m not sure what James could tell me that would make me forgive Michael Realm. I honestly don’t.

“I had the business card of a reporter,” he continues, “and Realm and I met with him. We asked for his help, promising to get him the story of his career—but not until Sloane was free.” James shrugs. “Realm offered you up, Evelyn. He said he could get Kellan an interview with you if he helped us.”

The doctor’s good nature slips momentarily as she looks toward the door where Realm is waiting on the other side. Realm told me once that Evelyn cared about him. But if she was hiding from The Program, did he have the right to turn her over? Does he have the right to do any of the things he does?

James goes on. “Kellan had the idea to walk into the facility and cause a stir. He’d tried to get in before and knew security would show up to strong-arm him out. Once that happened, Realm and I were going to slip in. Of course, we didn’t expect Sloane to try to break
herself
out, but I guess we should have.” He smiles, but James hasn’t recovered, not from the idea of losing me. I can’t remember my last time in The Program, but if it weren’t for James and Realm—I’d be gone. The real Sloane Barstow would be dead, and I don’t know if there is a way to feel whole again. To ever feel safe.

“And the other girl?” Evelyn asks, crossing her arms over her chest. I can’t read her expression, whether she’s all business or truly pissed.

“Dallas is one of us,” James says. “But she’s been violated. I don’t think she’s okay, no matter what she looks like on the outside. Realm thought you might be able to help her, too.”

“Michael Realm seems to think a lot of things,” Evelyn says. “Please, go on.” She’s definitely pissed. I’m happy the Thorazine has begun to fade, or maybe my adrenaline is working it through my system quicker, because I half-expect the doctor to kick us out.

“The plan was to get Sloane and Dallas out and head here,” James says. “Realm’s known your location for a long time—said it’s why he’s been staying in Oregon, to be closer to you. He’d been waiting for the right moment to show up at your door. I guess this was it.”

Evelyn is quiet, and in the silence, I glance around at what must be her bedroom. The light is dim, but it’s quaint. There are pictures on the walls—landscapes of forests in clumpy oil paints, and the sheets of the bed are a deep green. It’s humble here, and it occurs to me that we’ve just shattered what was left of her life. She’s harboring fugitives.

“I knew my time would come,” she says solemnly. “And if I can save a few more kids on my way out, so be it. Once The Program learns of my location, you can expect them to converge on this place. You can’t stay long.”

“But if you talk to Kellan,” James says, leaning toward her,
“you can tell him your story. We can take down The Program. Realm thought you’d know how.”

Evelyn smiles briefly, tugging her red sweater closed around her. “Michael always did think too highly of me. Truth is, The Program will eliminate me long before the government can offer me any protection. And I’m too old to run any longer. Too tired. I have a lot of secrets in my head. Ones I’ll never forget.” She tilts her head, looking over James. “I suspect you’re the same?”

In the craziness of escape, I’d forgotten. James has taken The Treatment—he knows everything about us, about himself. Oh my God. What does James know?

“I wasn’t a doctor,” he says. “My secrets are small compared to yours, I’m sure.”

Evelyn leans forward, looking concerned. “Are you well?” she asks quietly. “Were you able to hold off the depression?”

James shifts uncomfortably. “I had help,” he says. “Between Realm and medication, I was able to fight off the worst of it. I stayed focused on Sloane and making sure she was safe. But it wasn’t easy. I think I’m past the worst of it though.”

Evelyn nods. “Not everyone was so lucky,” she says solemnly. “You’ll have to be prepared. The memories will continue; some may be harder to take.”

“I understand the risks. But right now we don’t have time to dwell. You were kind to let us in, but I need to know, Evelyn, can you end The Program?”

The doctor rolls her eyes toward the ceiling, like she’s trying
to stop tears from slipping out. “I don’t think Michael’s left me another choice. And I have no delusions about how far The Program will go to keep me quiet.” She sniffles hard and then leans back in her chair, crossing her legs.

“Did you know I never had any children of my own?” she asks. “When the epidemic began, I didn’t have the same investment as some of the other doctors. That’s not to say I wasn’t horrified—I was. But as much as I researched, I couldn’t find the source of the outbreak.

“The closest I got was a small school outside of  Washington, where three girls poisoned themselves at a sleepover. They were among the first, and other than being friends, there were no genetic markers or links. One of the girls—sixteen—had been on antidepressants since she was nine. She’d been diagnosed with a myriad of conditions, and was prescribed medications to help her function at school. In the end, I believe the medication cocktail is what led to her suicidal thoughts. Now, what she said to her friends, how they came to want to die—that’s the real mystery. Because after that day, the outbreak pushed outward.

“News stories, articles, copycats. It all happened so quickly that it no longer became the focus of
why
teens wanted to kill themselves, just how to stop them. It was a worldwide psychosis. At least, that’s what I believe. There are other scientists with different theories, of course. All seems moot now—now we have The Program,” she says with a flourish of her hands. “And wouldn’t that just save us all.”

I’m absorbing all of Evelyn’s words, putting them together
with what I’ve seen and experienced. I can’t say I completely buy into her notions—I won’t downplay the outbreak to a fad. But maybe there are some kernels of truth in there.

“I took a shine to Michael,” she says nostalgically. “He has such a good heart, such a fighter. But he can also be cruel and manipulative—and that was after he’d been stripped of his memories. The Program didn’t save him—it made him worse. I knew then it wasn’t the answer. I began playing with formulas and came up with a way to return the memories. I gave The Treatment to Michael, Kevin, Roger, and Peter.” Her eyelids blink quickly as she fights back the start of tears.

“Peter didn’t make it. Despite everything I did to get him through, he didn’t make it.” Her voice chokes up, and I have to look away. “He would have survived if I hadn’t given him The Treatment. I killed him. I vowed to never take that chance again.

“But . . .,” she says, shrugging sadly. “The Program learned about The Treatment, and my contract was up. I wasn’t about to stick around for a lobotomy, but I did what I could to protect my patients. I destroyed the files, the formula. There are no pills other than the one Realm kept. I don’t suppose he told you who it belonged to?”

“No,” I say. The doctor scoffs softly, ready to continue, and it strikes me whose pill Realm stole. Roger—all this time, Roger was looking for his Treatment, and it was with Realm. He must have figured it out.

“Can you make more?” I ask. I think of Dallas, wondering if her past would help or hurt her.

Evelyn shakes her head slowly. “Oh, I would never do that. Bringing back all those dark thoughts at once? I may as well kill them myself. Arthur Pritchard had that idea, and I told him it was a mistake, The Treatment was a mistake. He didn’t believe me.”

Arthur Pritchard, alone in a gray room. “They lobotomized him,” I say quietly, earning a look from James. “I saw him in the Program.”

Evelyn’s shoulders sag slightly. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that. I truly am. But the fact remains, The Treatment won’t save everybody. It was the testing of a naive scientist, when all along, I should have been preventing The Program from erasing memories in the first place.

“You asked me if I knew how to stop them”—Evelyn levels her gaze on James—“and the answer is no—I don’t know how to make the world believe. But if your reporter can find the studies The Program buried, I believe he’ll have his answers. The Program is the reason the epidemic is spreading. The pressure, the attention—it’s causing a whole new outbreak it hopes to contain by resetting the world. The Program is breeding suicide.”

IT’S LATE BY THE TIME
Evelyn finishes talking, and she tells us we can stay in her room to rest while she checks on Dallas and the others. It feels sort of creepy to be lying in her bed, but at the same time, with James next to me, I just want to sleep for a few hours. We don’t say much, just a few relieved murmurs about being back together. I have so much to ask him, but with all I’ve learned in the past few hours, I don’t think I can contain another thought.

I’m not sure how much time passes when James moves next to me, saying I slept like the dead, and I’m stirred awake. It’s dark, but he clicks on the light, flooding me in unflattering hues. I glance down at the pink T-shirt and gray pants I’m wearing, and take a moment to familiarize myself with where we are.

It comes in a wave, and I’m quickly out of bed, wincing when I put pressure on my side. I check the bruise again, and James sticks out his bottom lip, seeing the colors. He comes to hug me gently. I promise I’m okay—even though it hurts like hell—and kiss his lips before leading us from the room.

We don’t have to go far. I stumble to a stop, putting my arm out to stop James from passing me. Evelyn is at her round kitchen table with a bright light pointed at her. Kellan sits close by with his cameraman, recording their interview. Realm and Asa are standing off to the side, and Realm meets my eyes before looking away. James and I stand and listen as Evelyn Valentine tells the world about The Program. She’s matter-of-fact, and at times maybe even a little cold, but she’s believable.

When they take five to reset the camera, I slip past them in search of Dallas and find her alone in the living room, staring at a blank television screen. Evelyn has gotten her out of the gray scrubs too, and Dallas sits in an oversize Seattle Seahawks T-shirt, more out of place than I’ve ever seen her. She glances over when I sit next to her.

We don’t say anything. Her lip quivers before she smiles widely, flashing the gap in her teeth. I put my arm around her and she leans into me, sniffling back a cry as we both stare at the blank television—we’re bonded but too damaged to talk about what we went through.

“Sloane,” James calls softly. I look over to see him in the doorway, perfect—at least for me. I kiss Dallas on the cheek, making her laugh, and then get up to meet James. Dallas’s
laugh isn’t a sound I thought I’d hear again, and it gives me a small sense of home. I take James’s hand and lead him back into the kitchen.

Evelyn is done with her interview, exhausted as she mumbles about making tea. I go to help her, turning the stove knob until the burner catches fire, and I set the kettle on top. There’s a touch on my elbow, startling me, and I turn to see Asa.