The Treatment (The Program #2)(15)
Author: Suzanne Young

“We can’t trust them,” he says, motioning toward the cars.

“We can’t trust one f**king person, Sloane. Do you understand that?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Contacts in The Program,” he says as if the idea is ridiculous. “Are you kidding?” He reaches to take my upper arms and pull me closer. “Listen to me,” he says. “We trust only each other from here on out. I don’t give a shit what they tell us; it’s me and you. No one else. For all we know, they could have sent Lacey to The Program.”

The thought hadn’t occurred to me, and I instinctively turn to look back at the Escalade. The doors are wide open, flooding the dark street in light. Dallas is leaning between the front seats, waving for us to get back inside the SUV. James puts his hand on my cheek and turns me toward him; his touch is gentle, so serious. When I meet his eyes, my body relaxes slightly. James draws me into a hug, resting his chin on the top of my head, his arms tight around me.

“It’s just us,” I whisper into the fabric of his shirt. “Forever, just us.”

“That’s the idea,” he responds. The horn beeps, making us jump. James looks me over one more time before smoothing the curls of my hair away from my face. In this moment of calm, the disappearance of Lacey is crushing. But it’s no longer panic, it’s loss. Heavy, terrible loss covers me in a shadow.

Rather than cry, I take James’s hand and go back to the waiting car. There’s no time to mourn. There’s only time to run.

* * *

I’ve never been to Colorado before, and when we cross the state line, the sun is shining. It does nothing to comfort me though, and I lean my head on James’s shoulder in the backseat as Dallas drives. I’ve been checking the CNN feed on Dallas’s phone—hoping for word on Lacey, but at the same time, terrified of what an article would say about her. But there are no updates, save for an older one about James and I running away.

James asks me to check the New York Times, and when I do, my stomach drops. “Oh my God,” I murmur, scrolling through an interview. This can’t be real.

“What is it?” James asks. From the front, Dallas flicks her gaze to the rearview mirror. The date on the interview is from a few days ago, and when I meet Dallas’s eyes, I see she already knows.

“What’s going on?” James demands. I hold the phone out to him and watch as his expression falters. It’s an in-depth interview about us. And James’s dad is doing the talking.

“He’s claiming it’s your fault,” Dallas says quietly, looking at me in the mirror, “like you’re some sort of vixen. You’d think he’d be more concerned about getting his only son home.” James is still reading, and every second that ticks by makes his posture tighter, his hands curl into fists. I’d only skimmed the interview, but James’s dad claimed I was the mastermind behind our disappearance. There’s even a picture of him posing with a framed photo of James from middle school. It’s absolutely absurd.

“Propaganda,” Dallas calls back, even though James and I have fallen silent. “They baited him into that interview to gain public support. I wouldn’t let it bother you too much.” I scoff. “Right, Dallas. I’ll just put it out of my mind.” I look at James, trying to gauge his reaction. Eventually he turns the phone screen off and hands the cell forward to Dallas. I start to chew on my nail, waiting. But James just crosses his arms over his chest like he might never talk again.

“James?” I ask when his nonresponse nearly sends me over the edge.

“My dad’s an ass**le,” he says quietly. “Let’s just leave it at that for now.”

But I can’t drop it. I don’t know how James’s father feels about me—or at least I can’t remember. He could have a reason to hate me, or like James said, he could just be an ass**le.

Either way, the fact that this is news shows the reach of The Program. Using his father is another layer of betrayal. They knew it would hurt James. They wanted it to. It’s proof they won’t stop. They won’t let us go. “What are we going to do?” I whisper.

James turns toward me. “We hold on,” he replies. It’s not the give-them-hell response I need to hear, but James is only human. We’re all vulnerable. Like Lacey.

The reality of our situation is crushing, and we ride in silence—James lost somewhere next to me. I watch out the window as we pass a park. There are children playing in bright-colored shirts, running around while their doting mothers look on. For an instant I miss my parents in a desperate way I haven’t felt in a long while. For an instant, I wish I could go home.

But then I think of James’s dad sitting down for that interview, and know it just as easily could have been my parents. I close my eyes until I’m back to now, on the run with James and Dallas.

“I think you’re going to love Denver,” Dallas calls from the front, startling me from my thoughts. “There won’t be any Suicide Clubs for a while, though. The last one got raided after we left. In a way, Lacey saved my ass by taking off.”

“How did they find out about the club?” I ask.

Dallas begins twisting her blond dreads absently. “A handler probably,” she says, watching the road outside the windshield. “Those bastards are embedded everywhere.” Embedded handlers—the thought hadn’t occurred to me.

My memories from last night at the Suicide Club are hazy, but I remember Adam. Was he a handler putting on an act, pretending to be depressed? That’s so wrong, so unethical. If he was a handler then . . .

Fear crawls up my back and arms, a devastating reality I can’t even tell James. Not yet, not when he’s still feeling guilty about Lacey. But Adam knew my name—he knew who I was.

If he was a handler, why didn’t he take me right then? What if I was the reason the Suicide Club was raided?

“Hold up,” Dallas tells us when her phone vibrates. James’s eyes narrow as he watches in the rearview mirror as she answers it. “Seriously?” Dallas says into the phone. “Goddamn it, Cas.

Fine,” she growls, and hangs up, dropping her phone into the cup holder. The Escalade zooms past us, but we turn right.

“Cas says we need to split up,” Dallas tells us. “The place in Denver won’t work for you, and it’s too risky to continue driving right now. Apparently they’re doing a Dateline special about the two of you. The media has totally latched on to your runaway-lovers story—and the scanner is going crazy with possible sightings. This is a total clusterfuck.”