“Going straight to the main course,” he says.
The sounds of crumpling cellophane can barely cover the sadness that’s hanging around, and soon enough our attempts at levity become pointless. I adjust the pillows behind me and lie back.
“What do you think they’re doing to her?” I ask Deacon, sick at the possibilities.
Deacon lowers his eyes to his food, but he no longer looks hungry. “Well,” he says, “I didn’t get far, but while I was waiting in the parking lot, I managed to make a few calls, find out the names of a few employees.”
This isn’t unusual; as closers we’ve done this sort of research for assignments. We don’t always leave it all up to Marie. “And?” I ask.
“I tracked down a receptionist—Magdalena. She had her profile on private, but she accepted my fake friend request. Anyway, she was complaining about work. She said the doctor was making her move boxes and her back was killing her. She suggested he was moving out. So I think that whatever Arthur’s doing, it’s happening somewhere else. Different facility, possibly.”
“You have to break in and find out for sure,” I tell him.
“Exactly. And I feel stupid, you know? Even though I never trusted Arthur, part of me believed he really was trying to protect you. That was the one part of him that seemed true. That all changed when he assigned you to Catalina’s case. He changed after that.”
“Because he thinks I discovered his daughter’s connection to the suicides,” I say. “And now I’m a liability. Which is why we need to get to Virginia before he erases her. I need to know what she remembered.”
“I think . . .” Deacon scrunches up his face like he doesn’t like where his thoughts are leading him. “I think part of what’s happening to her is my fault, because the memory manipulation with you seems to have started before Virginia’s,” he says. “You’re Arthur’s patient zero, and since I always told him you were fine and well-adjusted, because I lied to him, he went ahead and started testing it on his daughter.” Guilt crosses his expression. “So I’m basically the worst person alive.” He reaches for a can of Dr Pepper, staring down at it.
“Deacon,” I say softly, sitting up, “you were trying to protect me. You didn’t know what Arthur was planning. Hell, we still don’t. But what matters is that we’re here together now. We’ll beat this. We’ll beat him.”
Deacon looks up, his finger on the tab of the soda. “I’m crazy about you,” he says, setting the drink aside. “Do anything for you.” He crawls up the bed, crushing some of the food under his knees.
I pull him to me and kiss him, threading my fingers through his soft hair. And when his tongue lightly touches my lower lip, I moan against him. We lie back on the bed, brushing the snacks onto the floor. The mood here isn’t quite right, but if we waited for that, it never would be.
So I slowly strip away our clothes, and we pay attention to each other, to every need and whisper. We don’t speak a word about the epidemic, about Virginia, or about how the chances of us getting out of here alive grow smaller every day. For now we just live.
CHAPTER THREE
THERE’S RADIO SILENCE FOR NEARLY two days. Although we can leave the motel room to eat or run errands, Marie bars us from contacting anyone other than the closers involved. She also forbids Deacon from breaking into Arthur’s office or going to his home. As the only adult in our lives, one that we’ve all counted on in the past, I guess she still has power over us.
Reed suspects that Virginia is being treated at home. He saw an older woman at the house, but he wasn’t sure who she was. Marie guessed it was Dr. Evelyn Valentine and said she’d follow up. We haven’t heard from her since.
There is nothing about Virginia on the news. Despite the fact that her meltdown took place in front of two teams and half the school, her name is completely absent from the broadcasts. Absent from the websites. Like it never happened. Even when I check social media, I find only a few vague references to the event. And then I find a whole slew of accounts that have been locked.
“Do you think the grief department could do this?” I ask Deacon, looking over to where he’s sitting at the table, going through a list of former closers, now presumed missing. He’s researching them, but he hasn’t found anything unusual yet.
“No,” he says. “I think the threat of the grief department is causing people to police themselves. Intimidation at its finest.” He glances out the window, brow furrowed. “Where the hell’s Aaron?” he asks.
Deacon’s phone vibrates loudly on the table, and he snatches it up. When he sees who it is, he slips his phone in his pocket and puts on his jacket.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “Who was that?”
Deacon bites down on his lip. I scoff, letting him know that not telling me isn’t even an option. “I was hoping Aaron would be here by now to take the heat off of me,” he says.
“Uh . . . that’s an encouraging start,” I tell him. “Now, who just texted you?”
“Marie,” he says. “She’s staying in a short-term apartment across town, and I demanded a meeting. I can’t wait around here anymore. I need to know what’s going on.”
I tilt my head, slightly confused. “Don’t we all?” I ask. I’m not sure why going to see Marie would be a secret. I climb off the bed and walk to the chair to grab my jacket. “Fine,” I say. “Let’s go.”
He winces. “She said just me.”
Deacon and Marie have had a strained relationship since he left the grief department. His work with Arthur would make them more colleagues than the typical advisor and closer. And when Aaron told him his theory on Marie working for Arthur, Deacon didn’t disagree.
“I don’t trust Marie, and I think she’s hiding something,” Deacon says. “She said she wanted the closers to warn them, but instead she recruited them to work for Dr. Valentine. Not far off from transitioning into handlers, wouldn’t you say?”
I swallow hard, not wanting to believe that Marie would betray us. Lie to us, sure—she’s done it before. But work for Arthur Pritchard and actively put us in danger? No.
“I need to know whose side Marie is really on,” Deacon continues. “And if it’s not ours, we leave.”
“Say it’s all true,” I tell him. “Say she’s working for Arthur and is royally screwing us over. Why would Marie tell you any of it? She isn’t exactly an open book.”
“Because I plan to drug her with her own truth tea,” Deacon says innocently.
I stare a moment and then laugh. “What?”
“Tabitha was able to track some down,” he says. “We’re not the only ones who don’t trust Marie anymore. We just want to know the truth.”
“This is absolutely not going to work,” I say. “You know that, right?”
Deacon smiles and comes to a pause in front of me. “Oh, baby, with that sort of confidence, I can do anything.”
“Be quiet,” I say, putting my palm on his cheek. Worried. Terrified. You don’t drug a person and go on like nothing happened. I mean, not unless you’re their advisor.
Deacon leans in and kisses my lips softly—an obvious, but not unpleasant, distraction. “I love you,” he whispers.
“Just be sure to come back,” I say, knots tightening in my stomach.
There’s a knock on the motel room door, and Deacon goes to open it.
“What’s up?” Aaron says with a big smile, but he immediately senses that something’s wrong and sucks in a tentative breath. “Aw, shit. What now?”
Deacon slaps his shoulder and starts past him, stopping in the doorway. “I’ll be back,” he tells Aaron.
“Where you going?” Aaron asks.
Deacon looks past him toward me. “I’m going to get answers,” he says, and turns back to Aaron. “I’m sure Quinn will fill you in on my idiotic plan. Now, both of you stay safe. Back as soon as I can.”
Before Aaron can ask any more questions, Deacon is out the door. And I’m left in a motel room with a huge weight on my chest.
*
* *
Reed arrives an hour later, saying he’s happy we got in touch. Aaron and I had grown bored, and since we’re not allowed to contact nonclosers, Reed was the only choice, since we actually like him.
Reed moved to a place across town with Shep. He’d been staying at a Best Western downtown, but Marie wanted him to keep an eye on Shep since he’s only fourteen. But Reed says his roommate barely looks up from his phone, and when he does, it’s to be sarcastic.
“It’s like living with a younger version of me,” Reed says, yanking off his black jacket before tossing it on the chair. “Except terrible and not at all awesome. Please fucking save me,” he adds, and sits at a table near the window.
Aaron laughs, lounging back on one of the beds while I sit cross-legged on the other. “Sorry, man,” Aaron says. “I only got a double bed, and you look like a snuggler.”
Reed smiles. “Oh, I am.” He begins to sort our latest pile of vending-machine food on the table, picking through until he finds a pink Sno Ball. He tears open the plastic wrapper and takes a bite, flakes of flavored coconut dusting the chest of his blue Nike T-shirt. “I feel disgusting eating this,” he says with a full mouth. “I’ll have to find a gym later.”
“Wrong crowd,” I say. “In fact I don’t think Aaron has ever seen the inside of a gym.”
Aaron tsks, looking over at me like I’m crazy. “Please,” he says. “You think I get this good-looking naturally?”
“No,” I say, wide-eyed as if he’s wrong about the good-looking part.
Aaron cracks up and then asks Reed to throw him a bag of Doritos. As the two of them happily snack, I lie on my side, facing them. This is nice. I take a moment to enjoy it. I’ve lived many lives, even if just short-term. I’ve met many people. On my last assignment I got a chance to hang out with regular people, and I liked it.
But here, now, I am myself. I’m a closer around other closers. I don’t think people can understand the freedom in that. These guys understand what my life is like, what my experiences are like. These are my people. These are my friends.
“What’s that about?” Reed asks, nodding at me. “You look like you’re a million miles away.”
“No,” I say, smiling softly, “I’m right here. And don’t think I’m being weird, but . . . I’m glad we’re all together. I’m glad we’re all closers.”
Aaron and Reed exchange a glance, ready to play off my comment, but they don’t say a word. I think they realize it too. This is who we are, and together we don’t have to fake anything, pretend anything. Our souls can be stripped bare in the best kind of way.
Reed crumples up the empty cellophane packaging and tosses it into the trash. “You’re a nice person, Quinlan,” he says, licking the marshmallow off his fingers. “I’d like to say Hatcher doesn’t deserve you, but he probably does.”
“Naw, he don’t,” Aaron adds, and turns to give me a quick wink.
“Since we’re sharing,” I say, digging into a wound he opened earlier, “can I ask you something, Reed? You mentioned the other day that my dad tried to bribe you?”
Reed scrunches his nose, looking embarrassed. “Sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have told you that. It wasn’t a huge deal, mostly just a passing mention. But on the bright side, it’s good to know I didn’t take him up on the offer, right? You would have certainly fallen in love with me.”
“Did he say why?” I ask, ignoring his joke because my heart aches at the depth of my father’s manipulation. “Why he thought I needed you?”
“Not really,” Reed says with a shrug. “He just said you were lonely and that he was worried. And honestly, that’s normal. What we do? That’s not normal. Not at all.”
“But why you?” I ask.
“Ouch,” Reed says, putting his hand over his heart. “Maybe he knows I’m a catch, Quinn. Jesus.”
I laugh, admitting the slightly insulting tone of my question. I realize that Reed probably doesn’t know my father’s true motives, much like I don’t. Like I never will. And of course it makes me think of Marie, and how Deacon’s right: She’s probably hiding something. Knowing my track record, I wouldn’t have seen it until it was too late.
“Let’s change the subject,” Aaron calls out. “The last person I want to talk about is your father.” He looks sideways at me to let me know he doesn’t mean that cruelly.
“Agreed,” I say. I take a moment to sigh out a topic-cleansing breath. “Okay, Reed,” I start. “What do you do for fun when you’re not on assignment? And please don’t say work out.”
“I work out.” He grins and leans back in the chair. He stretches his legs so that his sneakers rest on the side of the bed where Aaron’s lying, the soles of his shoes not actually touching the sheets. “But, yeah. I do other things too.”
“Like?” I ask.
“How detailed you want me to get, Quinn?” he asks, as if daring me.
“Well, we’re trapped in this motel for a little longer, so I guess you could tell me all of it.”
Aaron sits forward, hitching up the side of his mouth like he’s waiting to hear something juicy. Life stories—we just can’t get enough of them.
As I figured, Reed comes alive at our interest, not exactly unattractive in his need for attention. It’s weirdly endearing.
“Okay, yes—there was a girl,” he says, as if that’s my real question. It isn’t, but no need to burst his ego bubble. “A few girls,” he corrects, “but only one that mattered.”
“Uh, they all matter, Reed,” I say, making sure he’s not about to go locker room on me.
He laughs. “Sorry, not what I meant,” he says, holding up his hands. “There’s only one girl that I loved.” His expression softens. “One I won’t forget.”
“Aw . . . ,” Aaron says, tilting his head when he looks at me. “My insides feel all tingly.”
Reed snatches a package of peanut butter crackers and throws them at Aaron’s head, purposely missing him. He’s smiling, though, knowing that Aaron has a girlfriend with whom he readily admits he is stupidly in love.
“I had a girl once,” Aaron says, pretending to sound forlorn. “But then I left her in Idaho, and I’m pretty sure that by the time I get back to her, she’ll hate my guts.” He looks at me. “Thanks, Quinn,” he sings out.
“Hey!” I say, feeling incredibly guilty. “She’ll forgive you. She always does.”
“Better be right,” he responds. “Enough about my relationship, though. I think Reed was about to get deep with us.”
“Whatever,” Reed says as Aaron chuckles. “Nothing left to tell. It’s over now. Instead, here I am stuck with you guys. Such is life.”
“That was incredibly vague,” I tell him. “I thought I was getting details.”
Reed’s expression falters as the closer part of him falls away. His pain shines through. “I’m not sure it’s the right story for the mood we want now,” he says, holding my gaze. There’s a touch of fear in his eyes, like after the volleyball game. Maybe it’s been there since.
Sometimes you can know a conversation is disingenuous, but you’ll buy into it anyway—like polite small talk. Like the way people will tiptoe around a subject they want to avoid. I once worked with a family who would change the topic of death to one of birth nearly every time. It was a tic, one I came to understand. They replaced the bad memory with a positive one. They adjusted.
Reed, Aaron, and I are here in a motel room, trying to forget, even though we obviously can’t. We’re trying anyway, stubbornly. Reed’s story is going to be sad; it will pull us out of our illusion. But all at once I decide I want to hear about his pain. I want to feel it. I want to stop pretending.
“Tell me,” I say simply. Across from me Aaron’s expression grows somber, and the veil around us drops completely. Our motel room is dim and poorly lit, and these closers are sad and scared. We have nothing left but our past, and only a small bit of that actually belongs to us.
Reed swallows hard, nodding his chin like he agrees to go on.
“She was my assignment’s sister,” he says. “And before you say anything—I know. Unethical doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
I’m not judging him. He has no idea that I thought I was in love with my assignment’s boyfriend. “Okay,” I say, not willing to delve into my own failings as a closer. Aaron doesn’t out me either.
“It didn’t start as anything,” Reed says, watching the toes of his sneakers. “In fact she was completely uninterested in the process. For the first two days she wouldn’t even sleep under the same roof. It was Sunday night, and I was leaving in the morning, when there was a knock on my bedroom door. When I opened it, she was standing there like her world had just collapsed. She asked if she could come in, and it was the first time I actually looked at her. I tried not to,” he says, “since I was supposed to act like her brother, but I thought she was beautiful.
“The minute I opened my mouth to talk,” he continues, “she asked me to stop. Asked me to be myself or she would leave. And . . . I didn’t want her to. It was right at the end of the assignment—that feeling, you know?” He taps his chest and looks from me to Aaron. “That feeling like it’s all ending, you’re ending. It’s too fucked up to explain.”
“I get it,” I tell Reed, watching as he starts to unravel the carefully crafted exterior he’s shown us until now. “I’ve been there. Truly.”
He presses his lips in a grateful smile. “Katy and I ended up talking all night,” he continues. “I told her my real name, and she asked all sorts of questions about closers. I don’t think we mentioned her brother once. The next morning, before I left, I stopped at her door to say good-bye, but she was gone. She never wanted to be part of the closure; she’d already made her peace before I got there.”
Reed exhales. “I’d been home two weeks when she showed up at my apartment,” he says. “She’d tracked me down because I’d given her my name.”
“Dude,” Aaron says, shaking his head. “Closer 101.”
“Yeah, I know. It was stupid. I can’t believe Marie didn’t find out, to be honest. She must have been having an off week.”
The Epidemic Page 21
