The Treatment (The Program #2)(32)
Author: Suzanne Young

“How did The Treatment protect your memories?” I ask.

Everyone is so bent on getting this pill, and I still don’t even know how it works.

“It made my brain like Teflon,” Realm says with a somber smile. “The dye The Program used couldn’t stick. It just slipped away. None of my memories could be targeted for erasure, but of course, the doctors couldn’t see that. I learned to become a very talented liar. The good news is: I’ll never forget. The bad news is: I can never forget.”

“Protection against The Program,” I say, a small glimpse of hope finally breaking through my otherwise gloomy existence.

What would it be like to have that worry gone?

“They could still lobotomize us,” Realm says. “But I can’t imagine they would want to do that. It’d be a PR nightmare for them to send you—a recognizable face—back as anything other than well-behaved and complacent.”

“What about Arthur? Would he really mass produce it?” Realm shakes his head. “Evelyn was a smart lady. I don’t know what she put in the pills, I really don’t, but I’m not sure it is reproducible. Thing is, she never meant for The Treatment to go public. She wouldn’t want Arthur to get his hands on the pill; be responsible for the mass suicides she’d been trying to prevent. It broke her heart when Peter died.” The house is eerily quiet around us, and I lean my elbows on the table, glad Realm is finally sharing his secrets with me.

“Peter?”

Realm presses his lips into a sad smile. “Peter Alan was my friend, but his memories—he couldn’t survive them. He ingested QuikDeath.” Realm looks down. “Evelyn destroyed the files after that. She said the risks were too great—one in four. She didn’t like those odds.”

A new worry spikes as I consider James’s reaction to The Treatment. If he takes it . . . I swallow hard, unable to finish the thought. I have to find him.

“What about the others?” I ask, hoping for better news.

“Who were the others patients?”

Realm bites down on his lip. “Well, you’ve met Kevin.”

“My handler?” Kevin was supposed to be here with us, but he disappeared. Lacey thought The Program got to him, and I know she’s right. But if he took The Treatment, then they can’t erase him. He’ll be okay. Thank God he’ll be okay.

Realm’s brown eyes are so sorry when he mentions the next name. “And Roger.”

All the air seems to whoosh from my lungs, and I slap my hand over my mouth. Realm knew Roger? Roger who bartered for sexual favors in The Program with intimidation and sadistic threats. Roger who ruined Dallas, destroyed her trust in people.

Realm knew him and never once mentioned it while we were in The Program together?

“How could you keep that from me?” I demand. Roger is a monster and Realm knew him. All the lies are dragging me down, plunging me into a darkness I can’t swim out of.

“I’m sorry,” Realm says, reaching to take my hand. I don’t pull away because I’m starting to drown. “I’m so sorry, Sloane.” He pauses, looking down at my hand. “I need you to promise me something: When we get The Treatment back from James, you have to take it. You’ll be fine—I swear. But I want you to be protected when The Program finds you.”

“When they find me?” I get up and stumble back from the table. Roger, Kevin, Realm—they all know each other. There’s a hint of something beneath that knowledge, like a memory fighting to surface. Fluid trickles over my lip and I sniffle, wiping my nose. My mouth floods with a metallic taste, and when I glance down at my hand, I see blood.

I hold out my red fingers to Realm, terrified. He quickly comes over and tips my head back, pinching my nose. I’m too shaken to stop him, too shaken to tell him that I want James and not him. Instead I think of how James helped Lacey when this happened to her. And how he told her she would be fine.

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

Chapter Four

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 past, we hide our true intentions. There’s no way to know what’s real anymore.