The Complication

by Suzanne Young

  “I’m glad you realized it was a lost cause,” I say, glancing at Realm. He laughs.

  “It certainly is,” he replies.

  “Say Marie can save you,” Wes interjects. “How exactly does she plan to get the cure from Tatum? I know she wants to use it, but how does she get it?”

  “That is something only Marie knows,” Realm says. “But at this point, it’s not what the cure is—it’s who will get it first. Marie or The Program. And the problem with that, is some of her people work for both. In the end, I guess it’ll matter what side they choose.”

  Realm coughs, and the sound is thick and worrisome. Wes looks toward the backseat, true concern playing over his features.

  “You okay, man?” he asks. Realm nods that he is, his hand a fist at his chest.

  “Never better,” Realm says.

  • • •

  We arrive on a quiet street with widely spaced lots and a few wispy trees. When he said he had to grab something, I kind of thought he meant a burger or a file. Does he live here? It’s weird that I never wondered where he’s from. The real him.

  Realm points out a house, and I pull up to the curb in my grandfather’s car. Wes and I get out, and although he can’t do much of the helping, Wes holds the door as I ease Realm to his feet. I loop my arm around his waist and get us to the curb. Wes comes over, and the three of us stare up at a two-story house. There are no cars parked in the driveway, no lights on or sign that anyone’s here.

  Realm coughs again and spits a mouthful of blood onto the grass. Wes narrows his eyes, examining him.

  “Dying?” he says. “What exactly is happening to you?”

  “A crashback, I’m assuming,” Realm tells him. “I was supposed to be immune, but who knows. Science, right?” He laughs, but my heart sinks. “That’s why we’re here.” He motions to the house, and I tighten my arm around him.

  “Let’s hurry up and get what you need,” I say, and begin walking him toward the front porch.

  As we approach, there is the distant chirping of crickets. A low buzz from the streetlights. We get on the porch, and Wes and I exchange a concerned glance as I open the screen door and knock. The sound echoes throughout the house, but I don’t hear any movement inside.

  Realm groans, putting his finger on his temple to massage the area. I knock on the door again, harder. There is a swish of curtain from the nearby window, and my heart jumps.

  There’s the sound of locks, a chain, and then the door opens—just a crack at first. Realm smiles wildly and holds up his hand, as if he’s just dropping by for a drink.

  “Holy shit,” a male voice says. The door swings open, and a guy rushes out, quickly gathering Realm from my arms. “What’s wrong?”

  “James,” Realm says with a grunt. “These are my friends.”

  James turns to look at me and Wes, nodding a hello. I’m immediately stunned, not just because he’s gorgeous, or because of his startling blue eyes, but because he’s James Murphy.

  Wes glances over to check my reaction, not realizing that we have one of the people who beat The Program in front of us. One the most important people in the entire series of events.

  “James, who is it?” a girl calls from inside. She comes to the door and skids to stop, surveying all of us. She has thick black curls and an expression of absolute horror that drags down her pretty features. I recognize her from when her picture was being flashed on the news. On billboards. Sloane Barstow.

  “Michael,” she says, her voice dripping in concern. She comes over to wrap her arm around the other side of him, and together she and James help him toward the door.

  “Wait,” I say. “We have to get him to Marie.”

  Sloane looks confused by the name, and James narrows his eyes.

  “Marie Devoroux?” he asks. “What does she have to do with this?” He turns to Realm accusingly. “What kind of shit are you into now?”

  Realm winces, holding his chest before looking at him apologetically. “Not just me, James,” he says. “And it’s moving fast.”

  He and James stare at each other for a long moment; Sloane is equally silent, but her expression begins to rage. When they don’t speak, she readjusts her grip on Realm, making him groan. I think she did it on purpose.

  “Tell me what’s happening to you,” she demands. “Tell me right now, or I swear—”

  “Poison,” Realm says, and I see James flinch. “The Treatment pill . . . basically poison at this point.”

  James’s jaw tightens, and he and Sloane immediately turn to each other. James grabs Realm roughly and rests him against the house.

  “What are you talking about?” James asks. “In case you forgot, Michael—I took that pill too.”

  Realm’s expression darkens. “And how are you feeling?” Realm asks him. Sloane darts her gaze to James again, and her lips part when he doesn’t immediately say he’s fine.

  “Headache,” James says quietly. “In my ears, too. I . . .” He glances at Sloane apologetically, and her chest begins to rise and fall quickly. “I had a nosebleed earlier,” he says quietly to Realm.

  “You didn’t think to mention this?” Sloane asks him, her voice tight.

  “I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “Oh, because I’m certainly not worried now,” she says. James tilts his head like she’s overreacting, but he reaches out his hand to her anyway. Reluctantly, she squeezes it before letting it drop to his side.

  Sloane turns on Realm, looking him up and down. He flashes his teeth in a smile.

  “You don’t get to die either,” she tells him, pointing in his face. “And if Marie can fix whatever’s going on, then we have to talk to her.”

  “Marie,” I interrupt, immediately self-conscious when they all turn to me. “She isn’t entirely trustworthy. We should be careful what we tell her.”

  Sloane presses her lips into a smile. “That’s the general rule around here,” she says. “We don’t trust anyone but each other.” She gives Realm a quick side-glance, and I’m not sure if he’s part of her circle of trust at the moment.

  Realm rests his head back on the siding of the house, and Sloane watches him, concerned.

  “We took a pill to get our memories back,” Realm tells me, blinking heavily. “We survived it, which, let me tell you, was no small feat. I began to worry when I saw the other returners crashing back, but I thought James and I were safe. We remember everything—what’s there to crash back? Apparently, our nervous system.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” Sloane demands. “Let’s see what Marie has figured out.”

  “Marie’s not known for her ethical experimentation,” Realm says, looking sideways at her. “If she sees me like this, I could end up with my skull cracked open on the table somewhere.”

  “Yeah, well,” Sloane says, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “If anything happens to James, you’ll be missing more than your brain.” She turns to James, whose blue eyes have grown uneasy.

  “Stay with him,” she says, motioning to Realm. “I’ll grab the keys.”

  James nods that he will, but he doesn’t even look at Michael Realm. He watches Sloane go into the house, waiting for her to come back. Concerned only with her.

  Realm turns to me, and I meet his eyes. He lifts one side of his mouth in a sad smile. “You might be the cure for all of us,” he says quietly. “But whatever happens, once this is over, leave. You and Wes . . . just leave. Never let anyone mess with your memory again. No more—” He starts to cough, and this time he gags on the blood in his mouth. He stumbles over to the railing, his entire body racking.

  James curses and crosses to him, helping Realm to the edge of the porch, where he spits blood into the bushes. James holds him up, his arm wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Their heads close together.

  “You should have called,” James says to Realm privately. “Let me know how bad you’d gotten.”

  “Would it have mattered?” Realm asks, looking sideways at him. />
  “Yes,” James replies simply. “You matter, Realm.”

  Sloane rushes out of the house, closing and locking the door behind her. “How far is it?” she asks Realm, taking stock of his condition but not letting it deter her mission.

  “Twenty minutes,” Realm says, spitting again before letting James straighten him.

  “Have you got that long?” she asks.

  Realm laughs. “I hope so.”

  James helps Realm off the porch, and Wes walks beside them even though he can’t do much to assist. Sloane suggests we use her SUV, and we start that way. I’ll leave my grandfather’s car here for now.

  “Thank you for bringing him,” Sloane says. “I know he can be difficult.”

  “He is . . . something,” I say. “But I guess if there’s anyone who’s in the know, it’s usually him.”

  “Yeah,” Sloane replies. “Whether he shares that information is a different story.”

  Well, she’s definitely friends with Michael Realm.

  I don’t entirely understand their history together. Realm said that he loved her, and I think she cares about him—but she seems pissed. And it’s about more than him not alerting James about getting sick sooner. This goes deeper. It feels a little brutal.

  James eases Realm into the back row of the SUV, leaving him moaning, his breathing shallow. Sloane gets behind the wheel, and James sits in the front while Wes and I get in the middle row.

  Realm calls out the address from the back, and Sloane has a lead foot as we race in that direction. Realm sits with his head against the window, gasping occasionally. Sloane continues to monitor him, silently taking in his condition. They don’t speak to each other.

  “I’m sorry,” James murmurs to Sloane. “I should have told you about the nosebleed.”

  “Yep,” she replies, and when James turns to her, she keeps her eyes on the road. James leans over in the seat to put his face in Sloane’s hair, snuggling into her, his palm on her neck. Sloane rests her cheek against him, and I hear James whisper that he loves her. That he loves her so fucking much.

  “Good,” Sloane says. “Then let me drive.” James pulls back, and Sloane smiles at him, making him laugh, before he turns toward the window. He keeps his hand on her thigh.

  The sky is dark and without stars, the clouds still too heavy. I wonder then if Marie is expecting us—if she has the same uncanny ability of knowing shit like Realm does. I’m pretty angry with her right now. She planned to send in a handler to ruin my relationship with Wes. After we save the world, I’m going to tell her she’s a real bitch sometimes.

  We end up in a residential neighborhood with small bungalows, several Craftsman homes. Most are run-down with overgrown yards. Cars with parking violation stickers line one side of the street.

  I glance back at Realm and find him staring out the window, awake.

  “You sure this is the place?” I ask.

  “I am,” Realm says, and when he turns to me, my heart dips. His lips slightly blue, gray in the low light. He must not be getting enough oxygen. I don’t understand what’s happening to him.

  “Realm,” I start, worried. “What—”

  “My brain is shutting down certain body systems,” he says in explanation. “I can’t diagnose it, but I can tell you that it sucks. My joints ache, my head hurts. My lungs are filling with fluid, so I guess I’m drowning.” He says the last part like it’s an inconvenience.

  “I can stab you in the chest with a pen to relieve the pressure,” Wes suggests brightly. Realm laughs and tells him to fuck off before turning back toward the window. I glare at Wes, letting him know he shouldn’t joke.

  “Should always joke,” he says under his breath. He might be right about that. The minute we stop laughing is the moment we start crying.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SLOANE PULLS UP IN FRONT of a duplex and parks behind a black car, one nicer than any other on the block. I have a spark of worry, but we don’t have time to be methodical right now. We need to get Realm inside.

  Sloane and I help Realm out of the back, while James rests his palm against the SUV, gathering his strength. I’m alarmed at how quickly he’s deteriorating. This is faster than how it happens to returners. It’s not the typical crashback—this is a system-wide shutdown.

  We all get to the porch, and Realm rests against the railing with James, Wes standing with them, a little helpless in his sling. Sloane and I wait together at the screen door, and Sloane rings the doorbell.

  There’s no immediate response, and Sloane and I turn to each other before she sighs. In the humid night, her hair has become unruly, wild and curly with a layer of frizz. She pulls it over one shoulder, twisting it to keep it out of her face, and then takes a step back to glance up at the second-story window, where a light is burning.

  “James,” Sloane asks. “Any chance you’re up for scaling a wall?”

  “Anything for you, baby,” he responds easily, although he doesn’t move. Sloane smiles, then opens the screen door and begins to knock loudly on the wood, eventually closing her fist and pounding.

  There is a click of an inside light, and then the quiet padding of feet on stairs. Sloane lowers her arm, and I move closer to her, both of us prepared to confront Marie and beg for her help.

  The handle turns, and the door opens. Marie is haggard, her face devoid of makeup, her sweatshirt stretched out at the collar. I’ve never seen her disheveled like this. Sloane sweeps her eyes over Marie and then nods to her. I’m not sure how well they know each other.

  Marie smiles weakly at me and then takes a step onto the porch and looks sideways to where Realm and James are against the house. Realm holds up his hand in a wave, pathetic.

  “I figured,” Marie says to him. “The Treatment is speeding up your decline.”

  She moves back and holds open the door, telling us to come inside. We all file in and start up the stairs toward her apartment. When Marie closes and locks the door behind us, she says in an exhausted voice, “I’m not alone.”

  Wes is beside me as Sloane and James help Realm up the stairs. We don’t make it to the top before the door opens. I nearly trip when I find the monitor, Dr. Wyatt, standing there, her arms crossed over her chest.

  “Holy shit,” Wes says, moving in front of me protectively. “What the hell’s going on, Marie?” he calls back to her.

  Sloane doesn’t stop moving, though. She continues to work Realm up the stairs, pushing past Dr. Wyatt to get him inside, James following behind them. The monitor watches them but then turns back to Wes.

  “Nice to see you again, Mr. Ambrose,” she says coldly. “Seems you know more than you let on.”

  “Let them pass, Angela,” Marie asserts from the door. Dr. Wyatt stares down at her and eventually steps aside.

  Dr. Wyatt studies us, studies Wes’s shoulder like it’s evidence of our recklessness. Yeah, well—adults did this damage.

  Sloane dumps Realm into an oversize chair in the corner of the room and then goes to join James on the couch. I pause in the doorway with Wes, exhausted, scared, and hungry. But judging by the room, I’m better off than most.

  James leans to whisper something into Sloane’s ear, and she looks worriedly over at Realm. For his part, James seems unfazed. Strong. If I hadn’t seen his actual concern earlier, I wouldn’t think he had any. He’s a skilled liar, and I suddenly understand how he and Realm are such good friends.

  Marie and Dr. Wyatt both come into the room, and Wes and I move to the side. My heart is racing. I have no idea how these two ended up here together. I’m not the only one.

  “Well?” Wes demands, glaring at Marie. “I’ll be honest and say I don’t know you, but I know her.” He motions to Dr. Wyatt. “She’s not on our side.”

  Dr. Wyatt’s normally stoic expression falters. “You’re wrong,” she says. “We’re fighting for the same thing. I’m just not as irresponsible as you.”

  “Oh, come on—” Wes is getting angry, but when he moves, it must tug o
n his shoulder and he winces. He looks away as if to disguise the pain, but Dr. Wyatt smiles like he proved her point.

  “Why are you here?” I ask her. “Why can’t you just leave us alone?”

  “Angela is here to shut down the Adjustment. For good,” Marie says. “She’s against memory manipulation, but she’s proposing a new system, one that will put you back into a facility for returners. She deems all returners a danger to society. So despite her beliefs, she’s decided a complete reset is the only option left. It’s the only one that’s worked. She wants to save your lives, but she plans to do it by erasing them.”

  “Over my dead body,” James says. “Because no offense, Angela, or whoever the fuck you are, but none of us are going back to The Program.”

  He sounds so sure of this that it actually gives me a ray of hope. James may be heading toward a crashback, but he shows no signs of it when we’re all being threatened.

  “It’s not The Program,” Dr. Wyatt says. “It’s to save your lives.”

  “And I told you,” Marie replies tersely. “I have the cure.”

  Dr. Wyatt exhales heavily. “You’ve said that before, and it’s never worked, Marie. Why now? And how without McKee?”

  “Because Marie has always been the brains,” Realm says, his head back against the seat, his face slack and tired. Unlike James, he can’t hide how sick he is. “She’s done more to find this cure than anyone. More than you, or The Program, or any other doctor. If she says she has the cure, then I believe her,” he says. “And excuse me for saying this, Angela, but if your daughter were alive today, you’d want it for her, too. You wouldn’t want her reset.”

  I dart my eyes to Dr. Wyatt, stunned by this revelation. She had a child, one who must have died during the epidemic. Is that why she’s been such a beast, tracking and hunting us? Was it all really in search of a cure?

  “Don’t, Michael,” she says warningly, betraying her emotion. And, holy shit. I had no idea Michael Realm knew her, but I should have guessed.

  “Don’t let Ally’s death mean nothing,” he says, holding her gaze. “Give us one more shot at the cure. Please. I won’t survive otherwise.”