The Complication

by Suzanne Young

  Sloane gets down on her knees at his side and puts her palm on his cheek. “Hold on,” she whispers. “For me, hold on.”

  “Always for you,” he says quietly.

  If James is this bad, what condition is Realm in? He’s already died once today.

  Marie grabs her black bag and heads toward the bedroom. Wes helps me up. It’s still a little difficult, but I want to check on Realm.

  “The Program got to you when you were a kid,” Wes says in a quiet voice. “They’ve ruined your life from the start.”

  I’m on my feet, standing to face him as I get my bearings. I feel suddenly exposed, broken down. And I can’t lie about it—not yet. The ache of the truth is slowly coming over me. Wes gathers me into a hug, letting me cry against him.

  “This is why we’ll win,” he whispers into my hair. “You’ve survived their worst, and now it’s your turn. You’re going to make them pay. You’re going to destroy them.”

  I want to believe him, not just that we’ll win, but that I’m the reason for it. I need that. I need to know it was worth it somehow. They essentially killed the little girl I used to be. It has to count for something.

  Marie comes back into the room, her entire demeanor professional, emotionless. It’s exactly how we need her to be. I quickly straighten out of Wes’s arms, swiping my palm over my face to clear my tears.

  “We’re beginning,” she says, before focusing her attention on James. “And let’s get him into the room before he dies at my kitchen table.”

  • • •

  Realm sniffs a laugh as they lay James next to him. He looks sideways at his friend, but James stares at the ceiling, annoyed that he’s getting this unwanted attention.

  “Do we seriously have to share everything?” Realm asks.

  “She loves me,” James says, his voice barely a whisper. “So I already won.”

  He tilts his head to the side, and he and Realm smile at each other. Wes helps me to a seat, and Sloane begins to pace the room, chewing on her nails.

  Marie puts her hand on Realm’s shoulder. “This is going to be . . . uncomfortable.”

  “Awesome,” Realm replies.

  “Now, using the pattern we extracted,” she says, motioning in my direction, “we’re going to overwrite your memories. It will either smooth the cracks, or it will widen them, distort them. And we won’t know until we try it.”

  Realm nods that he accepts this risk, and Marie takes the crown and fits it onto his head, attaching the wires. She gets her laptop ready, and unexpectedly, Realm looks over at me.

  And it hurts to see him so sick, so half out of this world. We had a whirlwind friendship, that kind of summer camp romance that lasts a lifetime. Add in the threat of being erased and lobotomized, and I daresay Realm and I lived a hundred friendships in those weeks.

  “Hope you don’t kill me,” he says, flinching a smile.

  “Same,” I reply. “And if you don’t die, you owe me a card game.”

  His eyes weaken. “I’d like that,” he murmurs, tears gathering. The air in the room grows thick with grief.

  Marie’s finger is shaking as it hovers above the key. And then she hits enter, and Realm screams.

  We all flinch back, and Realm bares his teeth, Marie trying to keep him from pulling off the crown. The scene is alarmingly violent, and I wonder if it’s because she doesn’t have all the equipment needed, or if she’s killing him. James watches in horror, and fresh blood streams from Realm’s nose.

  Realm convulses, his eyes rolling back in his head. And all at once he goes limp. I get to my feet, and Sloane stops pacing.

  “Michael,” she calls under her breath.

  It’s a horrific sight, and just as I look at Wes to see his reaction, I hear the squeal of tires outside the duplex, cutting through the night air. Shouts, voices.

  “No,” Marie says, typing faster on the computer. “I need more time. We need more time!”

  They’re here. They’re going to take us. The Program is coming.

  I don’t wait for direction. I run out into the kitchen and through the apartment. I take a quick glance out the living room window and see two black cars, a white van, and a beat-up Bronco at the curb. There’s a rush of movement toward the door, and before I can see who it is, I go back into the kitchen and grab a chair.

  Sloane appears, and we meet each other’s eyes for just a moment—true fear pulsing between us. She motions to the table, and together we drag it toward the door. We can’t let them in. We can’t let The Program take us, not when we’re so close.

  We slam the wood against the door just as we hear the sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs.

  “Fuck!” Sloane growls out, and takes a step back from the door, her hand on her throat. She turns to me, and with a moan she murmurs, “It can’t end like this.”

  “It won’t,” Wes says coming into the room. His right arm is in a sling, his shoulder grotesquely swollen, but my boyfriend walks over to the butcher block on the counter and draws out a knife.

  Sloane watches him and then nods. I don’t know what to do, but Sloane’s right—it can’t end like this. Not after everything.

  A sharp banging on the door startles us, and the door rattles on its hinges. The knob begins to twist back and forth, the loud thud of a shoulder against the wood. I jump forward and put my weight against the table.

  “I won’t let them take him,” Sloane says, mostly to herself. “They can’t have us.”

  “Open the door,” a deep male voice says from the other side. “Marie Devoroux, open the damn door.”

  I don’t recognize the voice, and Wes comes to stand next to me, knife in hand. There’s no other way out, no back door.

  We’re all that’s left of the rebellion. Without us, The Program rules the world.

  There are more voices in the hallway now, and Sloane sneaks over to the window and looks out. She’s shaking.

  And then, from the back room, there is a groan. We all turn toward it, silent, as we tilt our heads listening. A cough, followed by a soft laugh.

  “Well, that fucking hurt,” Realm says.

  I gasp and run in that direction, leaving the violence at the door behind. Running for Realm. When I get to the bedroom door, I find him sitting up in bed, blood everywhere, awake. Marie is sobbing next to him, murmuring that she did it. That it works.

  James has a soft smile on his lips, his eyes blinking heavily. Realm notices me in the doorway.

  “Well, damn,” he says, his voice hoarse. “You always beat me at cards.”

  I choke out a laugh, about to say that I’m glad he didn’t die, when there is a loud bang, making us all jump. Sloane comes running into the room, Wes behind her, holding out the knife defensively. I don’t think he’d use it, and beyond that, I’m not sure how well he’d use it with his left hand anyway.

  Marie stands, defiant, ready to face whatever comes.

  “Where is he?” a female voice yells from the kitchen. Behind us, Realm laughs loudly.

  “You have got to be shitting me,” he says.

  Sloane turns to him, stunned, and steps out into the kitchen tentatively. Wes tells her to wait, but it’s like she’s entranced by the voice.

  “Sloane?” the voice says. Wes and I look at each other, and then we start in that direction, unsure of what’s happening.

  There are six people in the kitchen, most of them in suits. An authoritative-looking man with dark skin and a well-manicured beard stands in the doorway, surveying the scene. But it’s a girl with blond hair and dark red lipstick who takes up all of the room with her presence. When she smiles at Sloane, there is a large gap between her two front teeth.

  “Oh my God, Dallas?” Sloane says, and walks right into her for a fierce hug. “I thought you were The Program.”

  Dallas gives her a quick squeeze. “Yeah, no. Just me, the FDA, and the CDC,” she says like she knows it sounds ridiculous. “Also, awesome I had to hear all this from them. Now, where the hell is Mic
hael?”

  “In the back.”

  Dallas rushes past Sloane, only glancing at me, before stopping at the doorway. She sweeps her gaze over the room and then puts her hand on her hip. She doesn’t smile, but Realm beams at her.

  “Hi, honey,” he says in an amused voice. “You’re late.”

  “Huh,” she says, crossing her arms over her worn T-shirt. “You’re not dead.”

  “Nope. Not anymore.”

  Dallas’s lips flinch with a smile. “Good news, I guess.”

  “Yep.”

  They stare at each other, and from next to Realm, James holds up his hand.

  “Hi, Dallas,” he says.

  “Hi, gorgeous,” she replies. “You’d better not die. The world couldn’t handle that kind of loss.”

  He laughs softly, and Marie says hello to Dallas and leaves the room. I follow behind her, not sure who any of the people standing around the kitchen are. They don’t seem to be with The Program.

  The tall man steps forward, sliding the table aside, and comes to stop in front of Marie. He’s wearing a sharp gray suit with a white shirt, a lemon-yellow tie. He holds out his hands to her, and she grasps them.

  “Hello, Luther,” Marie says. “I’m glad you made it.”

  “Marie,” he replies in a deep voice. “I’m glad you got my message. I hope it helped.”

  Marie nods, and her eyes well up. “It did. We have the cure,” she says. “I’ve done it.”

  He smiles. “I always knew you would,” he replies.

  They stay silent for a moment, and then he motions the other people forward.

  “And Nicole and Deacon?” Marie asks, hopeful, as the people pass.

  Luther’s smile fades. “Your kids found me,” he says. “But they left. They told me . . . they said they forgive you, but that they couldn’t be a part of your life anymore. They said good-bye.”

  Marie drops Luther’s hands, brushing at her hair. She doesn’t say anything else, but I can see her heart breaking.

  Luther’s associates file into the room with Realm, and Dallas strolls out, going to the living room and dropping onto the couch like she owns the place. Boots up on the cushions. She makes a call, laughing loudly. Telling Cas that Realm is alive.

  Dallas is Realm’s ex-girlfriend, the one he’s still fond of. The one he didn’t think he deserved. But she came for him. I hope she’ll stay for him.

  Wes sits at the table with me while Marie administers the cure to James, the FDA and CDC there to witness and document the entire process. When they’re done, Luther comes out to interview all of us.

  I’m a little scared at first, but Marie’s ex-husband is actually very engaging, understanding. And for once, I don’t feel like I’m being manipulated. An adult who’s actually listening to our feelings—what a novel idea.

  “You were very brave,” Luther tells me, nodding from across the table. “And we appreciate what you did. We’ll keep you safe. I don’t want you to worry.”

  “Uh . . . definitely easier said than done,” I tell him. “I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t scared.”

  Luther reaches to put his hand over mine on the table, comforting me. “It’ll get easier over time, but the first days will be hard,” he admits. “The fear . . . it’ll find you at inopportune times. A flash of a memory that might leave you feeling vulnerable.”

  Of course the moment he says that, I pull my hand back, thinking of Derek. I roll my eyes to the ceiling to stop myself from tearing up, the memory unsettling me.

  “But there’s hope,” Luther says, leaning into the table. “You never gave up, Tatum. None of you. Your fight is what’s going to bring down The Program. Set us back on the right course. Helping people. Not controlling them.”

  He exhales heavily, folding his hands in front me. “Just please promise me that you’ll get counseling—deal with this the proper way. You’ll have some things to work through.”

  I tell him that I will, thinking of Nicole’s card in my pocket. Who better to understand my issues?

  Luther smiles warmly at me and nods a good-bye before interviewing Wes, who really doesn’t know much. When he’s completed all of his debriefings, Luther tells Marie that he’s filing for immediate evaluation of the cure. With him standing by to confirm, they contact Dr. Wyatt and let her know it’s begun.

  “I suggest you get these kids out of here before the authorities arrive,” Luther says quietly to Marie, standing in the doorway of the bedroom. “We need to lock down the scene. And then we’ll round up those involved with The Program. We have everything we need.”

  Marie smiles at him, and I imagine she feels vindicated, justified in everything she’s done to get us here. I’m not sure I agree, but I’m still grateful. She stares at Luther, but it’s different from how she looked at Dr. McKee, not as deep. She’s lost people too.

  “Just give me a few minutes with them,” Marie says to Luther. He nods that he will, and Luther tells Realm and James that he hopes they’ll feel better. He says good-bye to Dallas—who apparently does freelance work for his office—and then offers me one last smile before taking his team, and Marie’s equipment, out to his van to make more calls.

  Marie comes over to the stove, her body still shaking, and puts on a kettle for tea. Wes says he’ll be back and goes to the room with Sloane to check on the others. The space is suddenly intimate, and Marie looks at me.

  “Thank you,” she says. “Thank you, Tatum.”

  She doesn’t need to thank me for being a good human, and I tell her so.

  “How are you feeling?” she asks.

  “Little bit of a headache,” I say. “Heartache.”

  She nods like she understands and leans her back against the sink. “I didn’t know,” she offers. “Not the extent. I was Arthur Pritchard’s employee, and I brought him Quinlan several times, but I didn’t realize how much she knew. I would have never . . . I didn’t know he was so cruel to her.” She closes her eyes and gathers herself.

  “I’ve made a lot of mistakes,” she continues after a moment. “And I’ve spent years trying to correct those mistakes, sometimes making more. I’m sure you can understand that.”

  “Every time I try to make things better, they get worse,” I tell her.

  “It’ll be different this time,” she says like she believes it with her whole self.

  The kettle starts to whistle, and Marie takes out two cups and turns off the burner. When she’s made tea, she brings the cups to the table and sets one in front of me.

  “I’m not sure I can live with it,” she says quietly. “Live with what I did to Quinlan . . . Nicole,” she corrects. She hitches in a breath, and her entire façade breaks wide open. For as many times as I’ve seen Marie, I’ve never seen this. The woman here now is shattered.

  “She’s my baby; she’s my little girl,” Marie says, choking. “And I did that to her. I . . .”

  My eyes are tearing up in response, and I reach over to put my arms around Marie. I admit, what she did was disturbing. She ruined that girl’s life. She tortured her.

  But I hug Marie anyway, because even though she messed up, she tried to make it right. She never gave up, even when other doctors did. Teachers, politicians, and parents—they all gave up on us at some point, relying on The Program instead.

  Marie Devoroux never did. She searched for a cure until she found one. She’s the true face of this rebellion. She’s our hero, even if she nearly killed us to save us.

  As Marie straightens out of my arms, thanking me and wiping her tears, Wes comes back in. He pauses a second, not sure if he should interrupt, but Marie offers him her chair.

  “I’m going to check on my patients,” she says. “Dr. Wyatt is on her way, and we hope to start clinical trials immediately. Fast-track it to the market. Now, the rest of you should get out of here. Go home. It’s over.”

  It’s such a strange thing to hear: over. I can’t quite believe it. Marie leaves the room, but Wes and I take a moment to ab
sorb what’s happened. I’ll call Nathan in a few minutes, ask him for a ride so we can fill him in. He won’t believe it either.

  “I hate to bring this up,” Wes says, biting his lip like he knows he shouldn’t continue. “But what are we going to do about your grandparents? That whole memory was really . . . fucked.”

  “They’re not my grandparents,” I say, although not coldly. “But I love them anyway. They’re my family. Do you remember the other day when I asked you how we live with the people we love, knowing they betrayed us?”

  “Vaguely,” he says. “I was much shinier then.”

  “Yeah, well, you told me that you just do—you forgive the people you love because you have to. And I don’t know . . . I forgive them.” I take a sip of tea. “But I’m going to tell them everything, what I remember. It’ll hurt them, seeing themselves as the villains. I’m going to anyway. It’s time for all of us to see the whole picture—even the messy parts.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Wes says, picking at a scuff in the table. “If you want me to.”

  “You can be there,” I say, making him smile.

  “That’s good,” he says. “Because I’m never going home again, so . . . I hope I can live with you too.”

  It’s sad, but we laugh anyway. I tell him there’s always room for him. He murmurs that he loves me, that he’s happy we saved the world after all.

  And it reminds me of something Michael Realm said to me once in The Program. He told me that Wes and I were a heart rate on a monitor, sky high and then through the floor. Never quite even. We love hard and completely, and that’s the stuff that never goes away. Not from us. Not ever.

  “You’re the love of my life, Wes,” I say, looking sideways at him.

  Wes flashes me that devastating grin, the kind that can convince me of anything. The kind that made me fall in love with him in the first place.

  “It’s three lives for me,” he says like it’s a competition. He looks over my face, pausing at my lips. “So let’s make this one count.”

  I smile that we will, and when he leans in to kiss me, groaning once at the pain in his shoulder, I think that we’ll both be okay.