The Treatment

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “There’s a doctor they want you to meet.”

  I let the guy help me up, glad to be on my feet again. The back of my hair is a tangle of knots, and I run my hand over it self-consciously as we exit the room. I’m not going to see Dr. Beckett—I’m going to the surgeon. They’re going to lobotomize me.

  One of the handlers stays behind, guarding what must be Dallas’s room. Nothing around me seems real, not the walls or the white coats. Not the smell of soap or the ache in my wrists. I’m walking through a nightmare that I’ll never wake up from. Will this me—the me I am now—be trapped in a padded cell while the new Sloane takes over? I’ll be waiting for James forever. A tear trickles down my cheek, and I hitch in a breath, my dry lips cracking as I begin to whimper. The fear is so completely overwhelming, so entirely encompassing, that I let myself slip back into a memory—I retreat to a safe place. A final place. I think of James.

  “Sloane,” James says, his lips curved in a grin. “I think you should learn to swim.”

  “Uh-huh.” I adjust the sound on the car radio, and James playfully slaps my hand away.

  “I’m not kidding,” he says. “What if we had to swim for our lives?”

  I turn and laugh. “What, like, from sharks?”

  “You never know.”

  “No, I’m pretty sure I’ll never have to swim from sharks. I’m fine with not swimming, James. I’m pretty good at skipping rocks. I’ll have to show you sometime.”

  “I hate that you’re scared,” he says, his smile fading as his voice becomes more serious. We’re on our way to meet Lacey and Kevin, on our way to join rebels. Every moment of normalcy we have has an undercurrent of  fear. I don’t think it’ll ever go away again.

  “I don’t want you to be scared of anything,” James says. “I want you to fight. Fight for everything, always. Otherwise they win.”

  I swallow hard, the unspoken “they” being The Program. “I fought for you,” I murmur.

  James lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Yeah, well. Now I want you to learn to swim.”

  “Never.”

  James turns on the windshield wipers as a soft rain begins to patter the glass. He shakes his head as if I’m the biggest pain in the ass he’s ever known. “One day,” he says, “I’ll find a way to convince you to listen to me.”

  I open my eyes, the hallway stretched endlessly. The stark white walls begin to fade away—the color deepening to a dusty gray the closer I get to the surgeon’s room. I’ll never swim with James. He was right; I was too scared—always too scared. I turn from side to side, looking up at the handlers as they continue to usher me forward, moving me closer to the end of life as I know it.

  I can’t be scared anymore. I have to swim.

  “You realize what you’re doing, right?” I ask one of the handlers. “I’m not even sick. They’re doing this to keep me quiet.”

  Neither of them looks at me, although I see the handler on my right squint slightly. I wish Asa was here; I wish he’d help me. But instead I have these two strangers with whom I’ll have my last conversation before I meet the doctor. I yank my arms back, but they hold me fast.

  “Keep moving,” one says gently, as if I really am crazy.

  “I can’t believe you let yourself be part of this,” I hiss at him. “I can’t believe you let them destroy people. What if I was your friend? Your sister? What if I was you?”

  The handler turns, his lip curled up with some sort of ready response, but I seize the moment. I throw all my weight into my shoulder and slam into him, knocking him off balance while freeing my arm from the other handler. My socks slip on the floor, but it gives me an advantage as I drop lower, missing the swinging arm of the handler trying to catch me.

  I take off, sliding until I get enough traction, and then I’m through the doors leading out into the main hallway. The handlers are yelling, both to me and into their walkie-talkies. I’ll never get out like this, but I refuse to let them walk me to my death. If they’re going to take me, they’re going to take me kicking and screaming. I won’t make it easy for them.

  The walls are white again and I’m running as fast as my legs will carry me. I’m not sure how far behind me they are, and I don’t turn to look, afraid it will slow me down. I expect the shock of the Taser at any second, but I keep going. I’ll never stop.

  I take the final turn and see the backs of several security guards. The air catches in my throat, my stomach sinking to the floor. It’s over. I’m about to scream, fight to the death, but they don’t turn to me, and then suddenly the handlers behind me stop yelling. They listen to their handsets, glancing from me to the scene up ahead. I’m confused, my adrenaline pulsing through my veins until I hear the other voices. I realize security isn’t concerned about me or the calls from my handlers because they’re talking to someone, or rather, actively trying to keep someone out of the hall.

  I continue in that direction, knowing I’m walking straight into the arms of security, but hoping it’s my salvation somehow. I cast glances back at the handlers, who have paused, looking torn about what to do. One of the security guards raises his voice, repeating that he has no comment. Oh my God.

  I start to jog, craning my neck around the broad-shouldered men. Another voice shouts that he will not be censored, and I recognize him. I stop next to the stairwell door, flooded with relief, overwhelming relief.

  A guard steps toward him, and he comes into focus. Kellan—his dark hair, his eager eyes. “Kellan?” I say, not loud enough for him to actually hear me because my voice is still hoarse, because I’m already crying. I’m saved. The reporter won’t let me get lobotomized.

  Behind Kellan there’s a cameraman filming the entire exchange, even though one of the security guards keeps pushing his lens, knocking it aside. I get on my tiptoes, lifting up my tired arms to wave them and get the reporter’s attention, when the door next to me opens with a loud click. Before I even have time to see who it is, a hand darts out and grabs my elbow, pulling me into the stairwell. The door slams shut behind me.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “HOLY CHRIST, SLOANE,” JAMES SAYS, pulling me behind him before he jams a tire iron in the metal bar of the door, securing it closed. Without another word he gathers me into a hug, pressing his lips to my forehead as we stand in the cold concrete stairwell.

  I can’t even hug him back. My hands are shaky as I lift them, slowly, to touch the sleeve of his shirt and then his arm—his warm skin. I look up and study his blue eyes, his shaggy blond hair, the blond beard on his jaw. He’s the James from my memories. Is he just a memory?

  “Are you real?” I ask, my voice wavering. I half-think I’ve slipped into a delusion, that I got the lobotomy and this is the resulting psychosis. But then my fingers touch the scars on James’s bicep and I know it’s him. I moan and fall into him again.

  “I’m here,” James whispers, holding me so tightly, so securely. “I’m here, Sloane. I told you I’d come for you. Now”—he leans back to see me—“we have to get out of here. Your reporter friend is running a distraction, but we have to get out now. Can you run?”

  I nod, wiping my face, but unable to let go of James’s arm. I’m afraid he’ll slip away, and then someone will grab me and drag me back into the white hallway. And I can’t go back. I just can’t.

  “What about Dallas?” I ask. “They have her and—”

  “I’ve already sent for her,” a voice says from the landing below. I look down the stairs and see Realm standing there, wearing a white jacket, his hair combed smooth. The image of it makes me so sick to my stomach that I think I might throw up. Realm as a handler. Realm as who he is.

  “Once you’re out safely, Asa is going to bring Dallas down,” he says. “He gave me his keycard, and in the madness of everything, we were able to slip in unnoticed. It was a brilliant plan, if I do say so myself.” He smiles a little, but I don’t return it.

  I drop James’s hand and start down
the stairs, my body trembling, my face hot like it’s on fire. Realm’s expression brightens the closer I get to him. When I pause on the landing, I look him over. His scar is still jagged on his neck, just above the collar of the white jacket. His skin doesn’t look quite as pale and the circles aren’t as noticeable. I’m not sure if it’s makeup or just that handler-white suits him.

  I slap him hard across the face. Tears spill onto my cheeks and my palm stings. Realm keeps his face turned for a long second, and then he slowly straightens, his eyes watering.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers, knowing. I lean closer.

  “I don’t forgive you,” I growl. There’s a touch on my arm, startling me, and I turn to see James.

  “We have to go,” he says gently, glancing at Realm sympathetically. Does James know Realm is a handler? Would he have let him come here if he did?

  James’s fingers slide down to take my hand again, and he nods like he’s asking me to trust him. I do. He tugs me forward, past Realm, although I’m not done with him. Not yet. We trample down the stairs, Realm lagging behind. Just as we get to the exit door, we hear the stairwell door shake, clanging against the tire iron. They’re coming. James squeezes my hand just before we explode out of the door, and blazing sunlight temporarily blinds me. Pebbles on the pavement are cutting into the slipper socks, but I keep going, even though I have no idea where James is leading me. An alarm sounds from the building and my fear spikes. We’ll never get away. They’ll never let us.

  “Over there,” Realm calls from directly behind me, pointing past my shoulder to the left. He could pass me—he’s faster—but he’s trying to protect me. On the side of the building is a small alleyway where the front of a white van is sticking out. I hear the slam of bodies against the metal door; the handlers are nearly outside. My lungs burn as I run, knowing that I’m running for my life.

  There’s a parking lot half-filled with cars, but we’re heading for the alley. Just then I see the flash of a white coat next to the van and my entire body tenses up, making me a stumble a step before James rights me. The handler is pushing a wheelchair, stopping to slide open the back door of the van. A cry bursts from my lips because I’d recognize that blond hair anywhere. I watch as Asa loads Dallas into the back of the van, her body limp and uncooperative as if she’s heavily drugged. In the distance I hear the start of sirens, and I know I don’t want to stick around for the police to arrive.

  Even though The Program is wrong, I’m not taking the chance the authorities won’t believe me. In the chaos, I could end up back inside the facility while they sort things out. I’m not so naive as to think The Program wouldn’t do everything possible to keep me quiet.

  “You have to run faster, Sloane,” James says, gasping, looking once behind us and then renewing his speed, practically ripping me off my feet. The handlers must be closing in, and it’s as if I can feel them breathing down my neck. Dallas once said it was impossible to break someone out of The Program—they’ve tried. James told her she must be doing it wrong. I sure as hell hope he’s figured out the right way.

  We round the corner and Asa is already in the front seat, the engine running. He tears off his white jacket, pulling on his seat belt and revving the engine. The back is still open, and we’re so close to being free I’m sure we’ll make it. We have to make it.

  I hear the gear shift and for a wild second I think the van is going to leave us behind, but I feel someone take hold of the back of my shirt and launch me forward. I’m completely off balance as I stumble, slamming gut-first into the running board of the van. There’s a commotion all around me, a flurry of grabbing hands making it impossible to tell what’s happening. And then I’m moving. Gravity rolls me inside the van and the door slams shut, locking me inside.

  Realm collapses next to me, and we’re shoulder to shoulder. The van tires squeal, spinning out as we fishtail and shoot forward. My lungs burn and my side aches. I may be injured internally, but my adrenaline is rushing too hard for me to properly analyze my condition.

  “Thanks, man,” James says, his cheeks flushed and his hair matted down with sweat. I turn and see he’s looking at Realm. Realm gasps for breath next to me but lifts his hand in a halfhearted salute. Realm is the one who pushed me into the van. I turn away from him, unable to look at his face—even though he just saved my life.

  “Sloane?”

  I smile, recognizing the voice, and I force myself up, groaning at the severe pain in my side. I push Realm’s hand away when he tries to help me. Dallas is in the back, a seat belt across the chest of her gray scrubs. She’s not wearing a patch, and I can’t contain my relieved laughter. She hasn’t been lobotomized.

  I want to get to my feet and hug her, but the van is racing forward at a breakneck speed and I can’t get my bearings. James has moved to the passenger seat, talking with Asa and giving him directions. The handler, my friend, is now a fugitive, and I can tell by the lack of color in his cheeks that he knows that.

  There’s another sharp pain in my side, and I lift the corner of my gray scrubs to check for an injury. There’s a dark purple fist-size bruise with dark magenta in the middle. I swallow hard and quickly cover it, trying to remember which vital organs are on my right side.

  “Realm, help her onto the seat,” James calls from the front, drawing my gaze. When he sees my expression, he furrows his brow. “You okay?” He checks with Asa before coming to gather me from the floor, using the seat to hold him up. I don’t answer and let James move me, biting down hard on my lip to keep from screaming at the pain of being jostled. Realm skirts around us, taking James’s spot in the front.

  I’m folding in on myself and slide in next to Dallas. James is concerned, but he’s also checking out the window to look for cops—or worse, handlers. I catch the reflection in Asa’s driver’s-side mirror and immediately freak.

  “They’re following us!” There’s a black car close behind, racing through the traffic. When we turn, it turns with us. Overwhelming fear bubbles up.

  James quickly follows my gaze to the black car behind us and then takes my hands to calm me. “It’s Kellan,” he says. “It’s okay. It’s just Kellan.” I meet James’s eyes, surprised. Certainly confused. “I had his business card,” James adds. “He helped us break you out.”

  I check the car again, but the windows are too tinted for me to see the driver. There’s so much happening, I’m not sure what to ask first. I rest my head against James’s chest, happy to have him back, happier to be free. I can’t help but wonder for how long, though.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, wrapping my arms around James, sighing after his hand brushes along my hair. I tense when Realm is the one who answers.

  “We’re going to Oregon,” he says quietly. I force myself up, glaring toward the front. Is he crazy?

  “They’ll be waiting for us there. I can’t just show up at my front door. My parents turned me in to The Program!”

  “It’s our only choice.”

  “Oh, now I’m supposed to trust you? You’re a handler—you’ve always been a handler. You let them take me!” Tears threaten to spill, betrayal attacking me all over again. Even if I forgave everything Realm did before, he didn’t get us out of that farmhouse. He found us for The Program—and he disappeared when I needed him most.

  Realm lowers his head, not daring to look back at me. “I didn’t let them take you. I just didn’t have the power to stop it. Cas told me about his deal, but all of us would have been screwed if I didn’t leave when I did. I got James.” He turns to me, his jaw set hard. “I got him for you, so yes, you should trust me.”

  James pulls me closer, murmuring that Realm is right. But it’s not enough for me. I’m angrier than I thought possible—about Realm being a handler, about the farmhouse. . . . But that’s not all. There’s a touch of a memory in the back of my head, and I turn to Dallas, sure it has to do with her. But nothing surfaces. I look back at Realm. They erased it. The Program erased part of the reason why I’m an
gry with him; I can feel it. What more could he have possibly done? I refuse to forgive him for crimes I can’t even remember—I’m not that kind.

  “So we go back to Oregon,” I say, agitated that The Program got to any of my memories at all. “And then what? How long before they come for us again?”

  Asa glances at Realm, obviously having the same concerns. I realize how shitty this must be for him. Whatever debt he had to Realm is paid off, but now his life is ruined. He’s on the run with a group of half-crazed rebels.

  “I don’t know,” Realm says solemnly. “But you’re not going home. We’re going to Oregon to meet someone—a friend. Probably the only one we have left.”

  “Who?” At this point, I can’t imagine anyone would want to fight with us, not even for him.

  Realm smiles sadly and turns to face front again. “We’re going to see Dr. Evelyn Valentine.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE FARMHOUSES IN THE OREGON countryside still look the same, and nostalgia builds the closer we get to town. I’ve spent my life driving through these pastures, grown up hiking and camping with my family—my brother. Even though I can’t remember, I’ve spent them with James, too.

  My eyelids are heavy as I battle against sleep, but my side is stiffening, pain radiating from the bruise. James is in the back of the van talking to Dallas, but her one-word responses do little to placate our fears. She’s unwell—severely unwell. There’s an unspoken agreement between all of us to keep watch over her. And to make sure she doesn’t leap from the moving van.

  Realm has been talking on the phone with Kellan, but he’s not offering much information. The conversations sound grim though, all ending in “We’ll see.” I would have thought our faces would be all over the news and scanners, but The Program must be trying to cover this up. There’s not even an Amber Alert issued for us.