I SWAY, COMPLETELY STUNNED AS pinpricks of fear inject me with panic. Having the creator of The Program know your name is a bit like Death calling out to you. But here he is, the man who ruined our lives, standing in front of me. No one is reacting the way they should. I scoff at his outstretched hand and then look accusingly around at the others. Everything about the world is upended from what it should be: James isn’t here, but the creator of The Program is. This can’t really be happening.
Cas calmly goes to sit next to Dallas, but Realm has angled his body so he can step in front of me if he has to. Although I appreciate it, I’d think he’d want to stop the madness happening right now. But he’s just standing here.
“Why are you here?” I demand from the doctor. He looks at his hand and lowers it. My body begins to tremble, and I’m sure he can see it. “What more could you possibly want from us?” I ask.
“First let me assure you that I have no intention of harming any of you. In fact, as Dallas can tell you, I’m here to help. We all want the same thing, Sloane. An end to The Program.”
“You expect me to believe that?” I snap. “You ruined my life. You’re a monster!” I spin, looking around at the others in the room. “What is wrong with all of you?”
“Hear him out,” Cas says. “You don’t know the whole story.” I shake my head in complete and utter disbelief.
“Thank you, Mr. Gutierrez,” the doctor tells him, and turns back to me. “My dear,” he continues, and I cringe under his caring tone, “you are the perfect example of why The Program can never truly work. It’s in your personality to fight for what you believe in, what you love. The Program will fail because, although it can erase memories, the basic personalities remain unchanged. This leads to repeating the same behaviors, and ultimately, the same risks and mistakes.”
What he’s describing sounds like my and James’s relationship. It reminds me that if we fought before and failed, we were stupid enough to try again. “There’s no way I’d ever trust you,” I tell Dr. Pritchard. “I don’t want your help.”
“I’m afraid you don’t have another choice.” He looks at Dallas. “I know you contacted me in hopes of better news, Miss Stone, but your intelligence was correct. The epidemic has spread. There’s a call to action, and The Program is using this to further their agenda.”
It feels like the world has dropped out from under me. Before he killed himself, Liam had told me about his cousin—an adult—who committed suicide. He was raving about the epidemic spreading, but I attributed it to his depression. I thought he’d gone crazy. But Liam was right.
Dr. Pritchard takes a stark white handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes the sweat that has begun to gather on his brow. He loosens his tie. He sits on a stool in the front of the room as if he’s a teacher and we’re his class. I’m ready to run, find James, and get out of here.
“There have been several incidents of termination just this morning,” the doctor says. “Young men and women in their early twenties, no known exposure to stimulus. Now The Program is evolving to combat the worsening epidemic. There was a story that ran a few weeks ago, but it was quickly buried.”
“What are you going to do?” I ask. What sort of action is The Program proposing? How much more can they take from us?
“No,” the doctor states. “Not me. I may have created The Program, but I lost control of it months ago. It’s a corporation, bought and paid for by the U.S. government—and they expect results.”
Could The Program be worse than we thought? Is that even possible? Next to me Realm remains quiet, but his turned shoulder looks less like protection now. He doesn’t want Arthur Pritchard to notice his face. Secrets. Realm is full of secrets, and I don’t think I can take any more at this point.
“What are they planning?” I ask the doctor. The fight has gone out of my voice, replaced with fear.
“Mandatory admittance,” Dr. Pritchard responds. “Everyone under the age of eighteen will go through The Program. That means, before graduation, every person will be erased and re-created as a well-balanced, well-behaved individual. Complacency. An entire generation lost—as I’m sure you feel now, Miss Barstow.”
Mandatory admittance for people who aren’t even depressed is like mass brainwashing. Some sick and twisted version of utopia. There’s no way the public would let that happen. Right?
The doctor continues. “The Program is trying to jump-start new polices. They’ve shown they are one hundred percent effective, proven their preventative measures work. And so now everyone under eighteen will be changed—for better or for worse—against their will. Think of what they can do with that much control,” he says. “Think of what they can create from a society without any experience, any learned mistakes. People without connections.”
“Then stop it,” I say forcefully. “If you tell the government what’s really going on with The Program, they’ll put an end to it.”
“And there lies my dilemma,” the doctor says, clasping his hands together under his chin. “Like everyone who works for The Program, I have a gag order—a binding contract that gives them the right to take my memories—to wipe the slate clean if I violate the confidentiality agreement. Only they won’t stop there—not with my security clearance. They’ll lobotomize me,” the doctor says. “The Program considers some returners, and others like me, beyond help. When brought back into The Program, a patient’s evaluated. And if erasure isn’t an option, they’re subject to a lobotomy. It’s the last resort of an otherwise flawless operation. It’s how The Program keeps their success rate at one hundred percent.”
Realm’s hand closes around mine, but I can barely feel him. It’s like the edges of my reality are breaking apart. “Then what?” I ask weakly.
“Their entire personalities are stripped and they’re institutionalized. They’re wiped off the map, my dear. Evaporated into thin air.”
No, it’s too cruel. It’s too cruel to be a real possibility. “How can any rational human being inflict this on another? How can this happen in a civilized world?” I ask.
“Haven’t they done it before?” the doctor asks. “Years ago, when physicians didn’t know how to treat the mentally ill, they began shock therapy, and in extreme cases—lobotomies. They would poke holes in their brains, Miss Barstow. Human beings are cruel creatures. And what we don’t understand, we tamper with until we destroy it. The epidemic is forcing the world to focus on mental disease, but they’ve twisted it into something to be feared, rather than treated. I’m afraid the public support is not behind you on this. We’re in the middle of an epidemic killing our children. You have no idea how far the world will go to stop it.”
He’s right. I know he’s right, but all I want to do is scream that he’s a liar. I want James to burst in and call, “Bullshit!” and punch him in the face. But that doesn’t happen. Instead loneliness and terror bind together to consume me.
“We make no difference compared to the many they can save,” Arthur Pritchard says. “And if I go to the press, give The Program any indication that I’m no longer on their side, they will neutralize me. I need to complete my work before they do.”
I lift my eyes to his, my vision hazy from the gathering tears. “What sort of work is that?”
“A pill,” he says. “One that can counteract the effects of The Program and prevent erasure. It’s called The Treatment.”
My hand slips from Realm’s and I immediately glance at Dallas. She has no noticeable reaction as she twists a dread around her finger. Oh God. Please don’t say anything, Dallas.
“I need to locate The Treatment,” Dr. Pritchard says. “I plan to analyze it so it can be reproduced. If I can prevent The Program from erasing others—then it will be obsolete.”
My mouth has gone dry and I feel as though there’s a spotlight on me. Does he know Realm gave me the pill? Is that why he’s here?
“Say you do bring all the memories back,” Realm says quietly. “Not everyone can handle them—what will you do to stop them from
killing themselves?”
The doctor’s eyes narrow slightly as he looks Realm up and down. “People will still die, son. I can’t claim otherwise. But after we restore the original memories, we’ll treat the depression as best we can with traditional therapy. We’ll work through the issues, rather than avoiding them.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. He’s actually making sense, but I’m scared this is all an act. No, I’m sure it’s all an act. But how can he say these things and not see the truth in them? At the same time, how did the doctor know about the pill? Realm said it was the last one and that The Program thought it’d been destroyed. Who’s the bigger liar here—Realm or Arthur Pritchard?
“They tried that,” I say, facing Dr. Pritchard. “In the beginning they tried regular therapy, but it didn’t work. Why should I think yours will be any different?”
“The problem was that they didn’t—I didn’t—give therapy enough time to be effective. We moved forward too quickly. And now it’s time to set things right. I believe The Program itself is adding to the pressure, leading to more suicide attempts. You live in a pressure cooker. It’s not right.”
“It’s not,” Dallas agrees, drawing all our gazes. “But tell me more about this pill you’re looking for, Arthur. Where did it come from? I’ve heard only rumors.”
What the hell is Dallas doing?
The doctor crosses his legs, resting his folded hands on his thighs. “Dr. Evelyn Valentine never believed in The Program,” he starts. “While working there, she created a pill and tested it on several returners. There had been various incarnations, but eventually she found one that worked. It restored all their memories, and with it, their depression. One terminated himself immediately, and before Evelyn could properly treat her patients, she disappeared. Her files were destroyed, and the records of her patients went missing. The Program never found them. That’s why I think there’s still a pill or two out there. I’m looking for it. Evelyn’s cure is gone, but I’d like to create another one in her absence.”
My heart thumps; I expect Dallas to point one of her bony fingers in my direction, telling the doctor that I’m the person who has it. But her face remains neutral, loyal to Realm. Despite what he said earlier, she won’t betray him. I think Dallas loves him.
“I don’t understand,” I say, shaking my head. “Why do you need the actual pill? The formula can’t be that complicated to figure out. Wouldn’t that be easier than hunting down what might not even exist?”
Dr. Pritchard’s eyes lock on mine, and I feel myself wilt under their heavy suspicion. “No one knew the formula other than Evelyn, and she was a better chemist than any of us. Do you think I haven’t exhausted all other options? I’ve spent everything I have trying to buy scientists to help me, but they’re all with The Program—or scared of them. There’s no one left to fight with me. Except those of you here. I don’t think you realize how dire our situation is. I don’t think you realize how truly alone we are.
“If The Program finds the pill before we do,” he continues, “the formula will be lost. They plan to extract the ingredients, patent them, and make their production illegal. At least now we can continue testing. But once they have control of the substances, then no other treatment—nothing The Program doesn’t approve of—will ever be made.”
It’s all around me then, the pressure, suffocating and absolute. When the only person left to trust is the creator of The Program, all is lost. Realm reacts, walking swiftly from the room without a word, the doctor’s eyes following him the entire way. When he’s gone, it’s like I can’t get in a full breath—like a panic attack. Arthur Pritchard continues to talk, but soon I’m heading for the door.
“I need you, Sloane,” he calls to my back. The use of my first name startles me, but I don’t turn. “Together we can change the world.”
He’s offering hope where there is none. But isn’t that a form of brainwashing in itself? Hope in place of change? I shake my head, a small whimper caught in my throat, and leave—desperate to find James.
Outside of the room I’m able to breathe again, even though I’m still trembling. The house is eerily quiet as I pass through the kitchen, not finding James, and I head upstairs toward the bedrooms. Mine is empty, and it’s like I’m engulfed in isolation. James might not sleep here tonight. It’ll be the first time we’ve been apart since leaving Oregon.
I put my palm on my forehead, trying to steady myself. I can’t start thinking of the negative. I can’t afford to lose my sanity right now. I’m a fugitive, and I have to be smarter.
Realm’s room is down the hall, and when I walk in, I find his bed pushed next to the window. He’s sitting there, staring into the dark beyond it. He reminds me of a lost little boy, and for a second I want to hold him and tell him it will all be okay.
“I don’t trust the doctor,” Realm says, startling me. He turns, and his cheeks and neck are a blotchy red. “I think he’s lying.”
I obviously don’t trust the doctor either, but I’m curious as to Realm’s reasoning. I go to sit beside him, gnawing on the inside of my lip as I wait for him to explain. This is the first time I’ve been in his room since leaving The Program. There’s nothing here beyond the scratchy blue blanket and the hard mattress of his crooked bed. There’s nothing that says who Realm is. Even I have a few possessions, and I’ve been on the run since leaving school weeks ago.
Realm exhales, glancing outside once again. “I moved the bed next to the window because otherwise I start to feel claustrophobic, locked up. I check the pane at least three times a day, just to make sure it’s not sealed.” He looks at me. “Just to make sure I’m not locked in.”
“Side effect of The Program?”
“Among other things. And having Arthur Pritchard here doesn’t exactly help to ease my anxiety. I don’t trust him, and I need to get as far away from him as possible.”
Realm is always full of secrets. But this one he’ll have to share. “Why?” I demand.
“Because,” he says with a shrug, “Evelyn was a friend of mine. And I’m one of those patients she cured.”
CHAPTER TWO
REALM’S WORDS SMASH TOGETHER AND fall around me, heavy as stones. His secret is so much bigger than anything I could have imagined. Realm has been cured. When did this happen? What else hasn’t he told me?
Realm searches my expression. “What do you think of that, Sloane? How do you feel about the fact that I have all of my past but never told you?”
“I think you’re a dick.” Only I’m in such shock that I’m not sure how I feel about it. His sister had said he was saving it for after The Program, but he was already cured. He was lying to her, too.
Realm smiles, but there’s no humor in it. “I wish you really did hate me,” he says. “But I know you don’t. Not yet.”
He reaches to touch my hand, a movement too intimate while we’re on his bed, and I pull away. Realm opens his mouth to speak, but then he promptly shuts it as his gaze moves past me to the door. My heart leaps and I expect James, but instead I find Dr. Pritchard standing there.
“May I talk to you, Miss Barstow?” he asks. Terrified, I look at Realm. He rubs his palm over his face, then meets my eyes.
“I’ll be right outside, okay?” he says quietly. “Nothing will happen to you.”
“You’re going to leave me here with him?” I whisper back fiercely. I’m trying to gather my nerve, but it’s not easy when the doctor is standing behind me. Because either he knows I was given the pill, or he knows Realm has taken it before. Which means Realm shouldn’t leave me alone with the Program doctor! I’m not like him or James—I can’t just lie my way out of everything.
“You’ll be fine,” Realm whispers, widening his eyes as if asking me not to reveal what he just told me. Oh, sure. I haven’t even had time to process it, but let’s pretend I don’t know. I’m hiding so many things I’m starting to lose track.
Realm touches my shoulder as he gets up, and once he’s gone, the doctor
comes to sit next to me on the bed. I feel him watching me, and slowly I lift my head, petrified of what he’s here to say. Rather than continue pleading for my help, he takes out his wallet to remove a photo. When he hands me the picture, I see tears gathered in his eyes.
“I’m sorry for all that’s happened to you, Sloane.” He pauses. “May I call you Sloane?” I shrug, a noncommittal answer, and then gaze down at the picture. “I think it’s time you hear the reason,” he continues. “The purpose behind it all. I want you to know why I created The Program.”
The words are too big for me to comprehend. It’s as if God has just shown up to tell me the meaning of life—only it’s not God. It’s the disturbed doctor who stole who I was. And now he’s going to tell me why.
Arthur Pritchard taps the corner of the picture I’m holding. “She was seven when this was taken,” he says with a faint smile. “My daughter, Virginia.” For the first time I study the picture in my hand. There’s a little girl wearing a princess crown, a feather boa wrapped around her neck. She’s yelling or laughing, I’m not sure which. But the picture is sweet and sad and oddly lonely. The doctor takes it back from me.
“She had just turned fifteen the day I came home early from the office,” he says. “I found her hanging from a wooden beam in the attic. The rope was poorly tied. I imagine she struggled to breathe for quite a while.”
I blink quickly against the sick image of a girl suffering. I can feel her desperation, her isolation. It strikes me that I was probably suicidal once, suffering and alone. I’m alive now. Had I changed my mind in my last moments? Had my brother? Had Virginia?
“She left a note,” Dr. Pritchard continues. “A page of scribbles and nonsense. Virginia’s mother passed away when she was just a baby, and so it’d just been the two of us for so long. My daughter was among the first of the epidemic.”
I want to tell him I’m sorry, but I don’t. I don’t know how to tell the man who ruined our lives that I’m sorry for his loss, not when I can’t even remember all that I’ve lost.
The Treatment Page 10
