The Treatment (3 page)

“Hey, man,” he says. “Do you have any food in this place? This one”—he hikes his thumb in my direction—“sounds like she’s on a hunger strike.”

Cas laughs. “Yeah. Let me show you around.” I get up, but Lacey is still sitting there, rubbing her forehead like she has a headache.

“You okay?” I ask, reaching to touch her shoulder.

She lifts her gaze, and her eyes are out of focus, as if she’s staring through me. “Stress. Rebels. Who knows?” She smiles weakly. “It’ll pass.”

Her response does little to placate my worry. “James,” I say, turning to him. “I’ll catch up with you in a second.” He leans forward as if asking if everything is all right. When I nod that
it is, he walks out into the hallway with Cas. I move closer to Lacey.

“We’ve been through a hell of a lot,” I tell her. The other rebels eventually filter out, and in the quiet, the sadness starts to fill the air. “I’m sorry about Kevin.”

Lacey closes her eyes. “Me too.”

Kevin was the handler assigned to me right after The Program, and Lacey was my only friend. I had no idea they even knew each other until Realm’s sister mentioned it. “How did you get involved with the rebels?” I ask Lacey. The room is empty, but I keep my voice hushed—paranoia engrained at this point in my recovery.

“It was Kevin,” she says. “I met him at Sumpter High, weeks before you ever showed up. There was something about him that told me he wasn’t like the other handlers. We met a few times at the Wellness Center. Talked outside. And then we went out for coffee—in another town, of course. He told me he could see I was a fighter. He asked me to be part of the rebels. Then you appeared, and you were like me—a natural troublemaker, I think.” We both smile at this, but I ache at the loss of Kevin. He was my friend.

“He called me before he disappeared,” Lacey says, swiping under her eyes to catch the tears. “Kevin thought he was being followed and told me to go ahead without him to meet you and James. He said he’d see me at the rendezvous point. I waited so long. I waited until Cas and Dallas showed up, and I fought them when they tried to make me leave without Kevin. I even
punched Cas in the face. I fought like hell, but they shoved me into another van and one of the guys swept me away to here—just a few hours ahead of you. I think Kevin’s gone, Sloane,” she says. “I think he’s dead.”

“He could be in The Program,” I offer, although I’m not sure what sort of consolation that’s supposed to be, especially now that Dallas has told us that rebels disappear. “When this is over, we can find him.”

Lacey wipes roughly at her cheeks, clearing away the tears she couldn’t catch. “No,” she says. “He’s over eighteen and he knows too much. They’ve killed him. I know they have.”

“Don’t think that way,” I start. “There are so many other—”

“Sloane,” she says, cutting me off, “I’m actually really tired. Can we talk about this another time? My head is killing me.”

“I’ll be here,” I say. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” I try to make her smile, but Lacey only thanks me and hurries from the room. Alone, I glance around the barren space, processing the fact I’m actually here. I’m a rebel.

*  *  *

The kitchen is a revamped office with a small counter and sink, a white refrigerator, and an old cooktop. “What did this building used to be?” I ask, looking around.

“Don’t know,” Cas says. “This place has been here for a while, but Dallas couldn’t remember exactly where it was. I tracked it down for her; it’s in pretty good shape. A lot better than some of the other places I’ve lived in.”

Cas pulls a couple of burritos out of the freezer and pops them into the microwave. I murmur my thanks and take a seat at the round table while James leans against the counter. Now that there’s actual food, I realize how hungry I am.

“So,” Cas says, motioning around, “I know it doesn’t look like much, but at this location there are ten of us—twelve now. We had about thirty members in Philadelphia, but that includes the ones who were taken back to The Program. We’re not sure how many we’ve lost yet.” He lowers his eyes. “We’re starting to have more safe houses than people.”

The microwave beeps, and Cas puts the burritos on a paper plate and sets it on the table. James sits next to me and immediately grabs a burrito. He quickly mumbles around the food in his mouth that it’s too hot to eat.

“I was never in The Program,” Cas says conversationally. “But I lost my brother to the epidemic.”

I look up, a sharp ache in my chest. “Me too.”

“And my little sister went missing a while back,” Cas adds. “Presumed dead. After Henley died, she kind of lost it. Became really paranoid, said our phones were tapped and that she was being followed. She disappeared, but it turns out she was right about The Program. I watched the handlers from the road as they showed up at the house looking for her.”

“How old is your sister?” James asks.

“She’d be fourteen now.”

A wave of nausea hits me with the thought of someone so young doing something as desperate as running away, possibly
killing themselves. “I’m sorry,” I say, pushing my burrito toward James.

Cas sniffs hard. “Thanks. I keep thinking one day she’ll just show up. I’ll give her a big hug, and then I’ll ground her for the rest of her life.” He laughs, but he doesn’t look like he believes his words. He doesn’t think his sister will ever come back.

Cas pushes off the counter and lets out a shaky breath. “I should go,” he says. “I’m exhausted from the drive, and I need some sleep before our meeting.”

“Thank you,” I tell him quickly. “I really appreciate your help.”

“We’re going to help each other,” he responds. “Otherwise none of us will make it. Now, the room at the end of the hallway is yours. But I’ll warn you,” he adds with a smile, “it’s not much.”

“Damn,” James responds. “I was hoping for little chocolates on my pillow in the morning.”

“Next stop. Promise.”

After Cas leaves, James resets my food in front of me, motioning for me to eat. After we’re both done, we grab a couple of bottles of water from the floor next to the fridge. Even though it’s still daytime, it feels like it could be midnight—our days and nights are twisted around now that we’re on the run.

When we get to the room, James pushes open the door and actually laughs. The small room has a twin bed and a shabby wooden dresser. There are no windows, only a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling as a source of light.

“Whoa,” James says, glancing sideways at me. “I sure hope I’m up to date on all my shots.”

I walk inside, relieved to see clean-looking sheets on the mattress. James closes the door and throws the lock before tossing the duffel bag on the dresser. He stands there, looking about the room and I go to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Could use a woman’s touch,” he says, glancing at me. “You up for it?”

I smile, knowing he’s not exactly talking about my decorating skills. But I’m still bothered that Kevin is gone, that Lacey isn’t feeling well. I’m still bothered by everything.

James’s eyes slide over me, reading my expression. “Let’s crash,” he says softly. “We haven’t had any real sleep in days, and I think we should be clear for what comes next.”

“And what’s that?” I ask.

James shakes his head. “I wish I knew.” He exhales and climbs onto the bed. He slaps the flat pillow a few times and then curls up behind me. When he’s quiet, I look down at him. His eyes weaken slightly. “Want to snuggle?” he asks.

We’ve been through so much the past few days, few months, few years, I’m guessing. It’s too great to even put into words, so I nod and settle down next to him.

James moves until his mouth is at my ear. “We made it,” he whispers, the curve of his bottom lip grazing my skin. His other hand slides up my thigh, and James pulls my leg over his hip. Wrapped around him, I feel safer—like I can hold on to both of us.

But as James kisses my neck, I think about the pill in my pocket. We haven’t had time to discuss it, not fully. “James,” I say, my voice hoarse. “We should talk about the orange pill.”

He stops abruptly, his breath still hot against my neck. “Okay.” He trails his lips over my skin for another moment and then moves to rest his head next to mine on the pillow. His eyes read serious, even though he’s trying for calm. “What’s up?”

It confirms my suspicions. “Would you want your past back, all of it—including the bad stuff—if it could make you sick again?”

“Sloane,” he says, “It doesn’t matter. We’ve—”

“If I wasn’t here,” I interrupt. “If I wasn’t a consideration at all, would you take it?”

“Where the fuck are you going?”

“Just answer me.”

James pauses and then nods. “Yes.” He breathes out. “I guess I would.”

“No hesitation?”

He scoffs, getting on his elbow to look down at me. “Sure I’d hesitate. This is dangerous stuff. But The Program took my life—
our
life together. It couldn’t have been all bad. I want to know who I was, and I want to know what happened to land me in The Program.”

I close my eyes, ready to cry. “Then you should take it,” I whisper. James wants his life back, even if it means he could get sick again. He’s willing to run the risk, so who am I to hold him back? I’m giving him the same choice Realm gave me, right or wrong.

“Sloane,” James says, putting his hand on my cheek until I look at him. “I can’t take the pill. Not without you. And if you weren’t here, well . . . I don’t think I’d give a shit about anything at all. So let’s stop dreaming up stupid scenarios in which one of us evaporates and the other has to soldier on. If you want to take the pill, then let’s talk about the risks. Otherwise, we’re just going to hold on to it and see how this whole rebellion thing works out. Deal?”

James’s skin is flushed, his eyes wide with vulnerability. He’s lying; he wouldn’t hesitate before taking the pill. He’d swallow it down dry, to hell with the consequences. But he’s also stubborn—he would never take my choice from me. And for that, I love him madly. So I press my lips into a smile and draw him next to me once again, snuggling close until we both drift off.

THOUGH THERE ARE NO WINDOWS,
the harsh overhead light from the bulb slowly draws me awake. James is turned away, calm and quiet with sleep. I’m not sure what time it is, but my body is restless. I get up and take the pill from my back pocket, staring at it through the plastic Baggie.

If there were two, would we take them? How could we when a possible side effect is death? Besides, aren’t James and I happy now? Would memories really be worth the risk of our lives? If only I could talk to Realm, I think I’d understand more. But Realm ran away; he left me.

I close my eyes and compose myself, shaking off the bad vibes. I stride over to the dresser and stuff the pill in the top drawer, tossing in a few pairs of underwear on top of it. Then I grab a knit sweater and leave to wander alone down the hallway.

The place smells like cardboard and packing tape, but it’s better than the medicinal smell of The Program. I pass the kitchen and see Dallas standing at the counter, pouring a cup of coffee. I stop, and then make a point of shuffling my feet so I don’t startle her.

“Hello, Sloane,” she says without looking up. “If you need to take a shower”—her dark eyes drift to mine—“and it looks like you do—there’s a bathroom off the main room.”

I nod a thank-you and take a seat at the table. Dallas sips slowly from her coffee before smiling, the gap between her front teeth charming, her lips a natural bright red. She takes out another cup and fills it, then sets it front of me. I’m surprised, and touched, that she’d make even this small offering. I know I’m not imagining the tension between us. She takes the chair across from me and scrolls through her phone, resting her elbows on the table.

“So how long have you and Prince Charming been together?” she asks without looking up.

“We just—” I pause. “I don’t know, actually. I can’t remember.”

Dallas lifts her head, an apology crossing her lips. “I know how that is. When I first came back, I didn’t feel right. My hair”—she picks up a dread—“was dark and thick—sort of like yours now. My clothes were stiff and scratchy. My mother died right after I was born, I still knew that, but my dad’s an asshole. You’d think The Program would have changed
him
if they wanted my return to be successful.” She stops to take another
drink. “And when he punched me in the face after he came home drunk one night, my tooth wasn’t the only thing to fall out. So did a few memories.”

I nearly drop my cup. “Wait, your dad . . . You have memories?” I’m not sure which question to ask first, but Dallas holds up her hand for me to wait.

“My father went to jail,” she says. “I got extra therapy. I didn’t tell the doctors about the memories because it dawned on me where they were from. How I kept them.” She waits a long moment, reading my expression. “I take it you’ve met Roger too.”

“Roger was the handler who took me,” I say, lowering my voice as shame—shame I know I don’t deserve—sickens me. “And in The Program he was making trades. I gave him a kiss in order to keep a memory, one that led me back to James.”

“A kiss?” Dallas laughs bitterly. “Roger is the epitome of everything evil in this world. Everything I despise. He was in my facility too. But he didn’t ask for just a kiss.” Red blotches dot Dallas’s chest and neck as she starts to wring her hands in front of her. “Bare skin or nothing,” she says, mimicking his voice so perfectly it chills me.

“Oh my God,” I murmur. “Dallas, I’m so sorry—”

“By the time it was over,” she continues, ignoring my condolences, “I had six memories. But that’s not enough. I want more; I want all of them. Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m a real person—I don’t like what’s left.” She smiles sadly. “And I’m so damn angry. I want them to pay.”

“I’ll help you take down The Program,” I say seriously. “I won’t go back there, and I’ll destroy them to make sure of it.” Dallas’s story has resonated, awakening the desperation I left Oregon with. We’re fighting for our lives here. The Program will never stop.

Dallas seems surprised by my response. “There just might be more to you than I realized, Sloane,” she says. Weirdly, her approval validates me somehow. Then, after sharing her secrets, Dallas gets up and walks out, leaving her half-drank coffee on the table.