The Treatment (The Program #2)(70)
Author: Suzanne Young

James glances over, winks, and then does a backflip into the water. I clap when he surfaces, stopping a moment to admire the new ring he so subtly put on my left hand. James starts swimming in my direction; his mouth occasionally dips below the water.

“That can be you,” he says as he gets closer.

“Baby steps.”

“Toughen up.” When he’s in front of me once again, James wraps his cold arms around me, lifting me half out the water as he kisses me. His lips are slightly cooler than mine, and it takes only a minute before my fingertips dig into the skin of his back, pulling us closer. Making us downright hot.

“Later,” he says between my lips. “I think you’re just trying to distract me.”

I laugh and give him one last peck before he sets me back down into the water. He blows out a dramatic breath, tossing me a look of mock disapproval, and then he reaches out his hand to me.

“Grab on,” he says seriously. I take his hand and let him begin to pull me deeper. “Kick your legs. Scissors, Sloane.

Think of them like scissors.”

I do as he says, both of us patient—and soon my fear begins to melt away. My fear of the water. My fear of drowning. My fear of death—of life. It’s in these quiet moments since The Program that I’ve found the reason to go on. It’s not James. It’s not my parents or my friends.

I’ve found me. After all this time, after all that’s been taken and destroyed, I’ve found my way back home. I haven’t gotten any more flashes of my old life. The stress of The Program or running no longer cracks the surface of my psyche. I’ve accepted that, enjoying James’s stories in place of my memories.

And Realm, for as much as I still distrust him, has restarted his life at his old cabin. The last time he saw Dallas, he told her the truth about them—which I had forgotten from the day at the farmhouse. None of us has seen her since, but she does occasionally send me postcards from Florida. All the last one said was Don’t tell Realm.

Roger is in prison—but not for his attack on me or Dallas. Tabitha, one of the embedded handlers from The Program, pressed charges, admitting that when she was first a patient, Roger had assaulted her, too. Turns out, there were a lot of girls willing to step forward. Roger will be serving fifteen to twenty in an Oregon penitentiary and is awaiting charges relating to his role in The Program.

None of the handlers or nurses has been prosecuted yet. Dr.

Warren never resurfaced, and Dr. Beckett lawyered up. Nurse Kell didn’t report me for attacking her, although the guilt still eats away at me. I wish I could tell her I’m sorry—but I’ve never had the chance. Maybe one day I will.

I haven’t heard from Cas, but Realm has spoken to him a few times. They’ve both agreed to leave Dallas alone, let her start over. Then again, I never believe anything Realm tells me anymore.

“All right,” James says, his hands supporting my weight as he takes us deeper. “I’m going to let you go, but you’ll be just fine.” My breathing starts to become erratic, and I’m so terrified I’m not sure I can do it. “James,” I say, about to ready to grab him. He leans forward, his lips near my ear.

“Fight, Sloane,” he whispers.

I swallow hard, measure my breathing, and then give him a quick nod before I start to lap my hands. They’re uneven at first, large splashes of water coming over my face. But then I feel James’s hands leave me, the water rush past. James is beside me as we both head for the dock. There are a few moments when I think I won’t make it, that I’ll drown here just like Brady did.

But I don’t stop.

When I reach the dock, I grab on, laughing wildly. It’s taken me all this time, all this loss, to realize what really matters is now. Not our memories. Now. And right now I’m here in the river where my brother died. With James. Swimming.

The End

Epilogue

THE APARTMENT’S TOO BRIGHT WHEN DALLAS

walks out of her bedroom, blinking against the sunlight. She runs her palm over her short pixie cut, momentarily missing her long dreads. Her roommate left the coffeemaker full before she took off for work, and Dallas murmurs her appreciation as she fills a cup and drinks it black. Dallas’s shift at Trader Joe’s doesn’t start until noon, and she plans to spend the morning doing absolutely nothing. A plus of no longer being on the run.

She glances at her short nails, which she’s been biting obsessively. It’s a side effect—a way to process the trauma without actually freaking out and murdering anyone. She also goes to counseling—real therapy now that The Program is gone—to deal with some of her anger issues. Of course, she doesn’t always tell the truth—not about the parts that still hurt. And she plans to skip today’s session; she has an actual date later tonight, and frankly, that’s more important.

At the thought, Dallas smiles, sipping again from her coffee as she takes out her phone to scroll through her messages. One of the other cashiers—Wade—asked her out last night. He doesn’t know about Dallas’s past, doesn’t even know she’s been through The Program. It’s sort of a taboo now. No one talks about handlers. No one asks about the past. She’s not sure if keeping secrets is healthy—she suspects her shrink wouldn’t think so—but she likes that she’s able to start over here, in Florida.

The few messages on Dallas’s phone are from Wade. He has a dry sort of humor that she enjoys. He’s not like the other guys she’s dated, but maybe that’s why she likes him. He’s safe, kind of boring. Kind of good. Dallas swallows hard and sets her phone down.

Aside from her hair, there are a few other things that Dallas misses. She misses her friendship with Cas—even though it hurts to remember sometimes. Despite his involvement with The Program, she still believes he was her friend. She has to believe it. She even misses Sloane, who, although annoying, turned out to be tougher than she ever imagined. And one of the best friends she’s ever had. She sends Sloane postcards once in a while, just to let her know she’s alive. But she doesn’t want her to show them to anyone. Especially Realm.

At his name, Dallas quickly stands and drains the rest of her coffee, eager to push the thought of Realm far from her head. She goes about cleaning the kitchen and then slips her arms into a robe to go check the mail from yesterday.

The air outside the duplex is humid, and even the early-morning sunshine is bright. When she first moved here, Dallas loved the sunshine. It made her feel alive, healthy. Now she’s used to it, and it’s beginning to lose its charm. She thinks about Oregon some days—visiting Sloane and James. But she never does.