I ball my hands into fists, bloodstains dotting my scrubs. I don’t believe Dr. Beckett. They never planned to fulfill their bargain, just like they don’t plan to let me go now. Asa confirmed it. I can’t possibly take this all in; no one could. Dr. Beckett is trying to drive me insane, have me submit to The Program. Why? I’m not that special. I’m not worth this much pain and effort. What more do they want from me? They’ve taken everything !
I jump up from the chair and grab the paperweight off Beckett’s desk—a cast-iron brain with its different parts highlighted. I hold it up, and Dr. Beckett slowly rises from his chair, his eyes narrowed as he darts a look from me to the raised paperweight.
“Put it down, Sloane,” he says in a low voice. “I’m going to tell you only once.” The door opens behind him, as if our whole conversation had been monitored from the start. Asa stands there, his face unreadable. And then he silently shakes his head. I feel myself break, crack, and fall apart. I won’t get out this way—not by killing a doctor who can be replaced so easily. It’s bigger than that. It’s bigger than me.
I drop the brain to the floor, where it clanks loudly even through the carpet. Dr. Beckett’s hand shoots out, and I push him back hard enough to make him stumble over the chair and onto the floor. I start to scream, pull my hair, before Asa rushes over. I’m losing it. I’m totally fucking losing it. Asa pins my arms to my side, locking me in his grip as he holds my body against his, immobilizing me. I continue to yell as Dr. Beckett tries to stand, and I kick out my feet, barely missing him.
Nurse Kell is fumbling with the cap of a syringe, running into the room amid the chaos I’m creating. I have only a moment to meet her concerned eyes before she stabs me in the thigh with a sedative. Soon I’m sliding from Asa’s arms back into the chair, my cries fading into soft whimpers. Nurse Kell kneels beside me, wiping my face as I stare at her helplessly.
“Shh . . .” she whispers. “It’s almost over, Sloane. Just a few days and this will all be over.”
The words renew my cries, and I turn to my gaze to Asa who only looks through me, his jaw set hard. I’m all alone in this. And I can finally see that I always was.
I’m not sure how much time has passed, but I’m in the office with Dr. Beckett, my body slung across the chair, bandages wrapped around my wrists. My clarity fades in and out. I’m destroyed, but the medication has brought me numbness. A foggy contentment I can’t fight. Dr. Beckett takes this as cooperation, and I guess it is. Except for the part where I don’t really have a choice.
“Michael Realm was sent to recover you and James,” Beckett says. “Unfortunately, he cut off contact shortly after leaving the facility. It wasn’t until Arthur Pritchard became involved that we got a lead on your whereabouts. It’s not unusual for us to keep an eye on our employees, but I must admit that Arthur’s interest in The Treatment was an unforeseen complication. What did the doctor promise you, Sloane? Did you give him The Treatment?”
They don’t know. I smile to myself, grateful James took The Treatment before The Program got their hands on it. I know he won’t melt down—he’s too damn cocky to let The Program beat him. He’s with Realm now, but with The Program looking for my former friend, he’s not that likely to hand James over. I look at the doctor from under my wet lashes. “Arthur wanted to undo the damage done by The Program,” I say. “He was going to set us back and treat the depression the way it should have been before you corrupted the therapy.”
Dr. Beckett’s expression falters, and he leans closer. “Arthur Pritchard’s methods failed. The Program had to evolve. And there’s no guarantee The Treatment can even be reproduced. They say Evelyn Valentine used stem cells—which is illegal. Did he talk about that?”
Even through my numbness, I can feel the satisfaction. They know nothing about The Treatment, and he’s hoping I can give him details. I’ve never been so happy to not have the answers. “I guess you’ll have to ask Arthur,” I say, knowing full well Arthur won’t be able to tell them anything. Not after what they’ve done to him.
I look at a high shelf on the other side of the room, where Beckett moved his paperweight, its presence surely making him unsettled. I could have killed him. Maybe I should have.
“What do you want with Realm now?” I ask, my lips slurring my words. “You have us in custody. Even if he didn’t hand us over himself, he did his job. Why do you still want to take his memories?”
Dr. Beckett folds his hands in front of him on the desk. “He’s a liability,” he says simply. “We’re going to erase him completely.”
My affection for Realm flares, even though I hate him—hate what he’s done. I sniffle hard and wipe my cheek on my shoulder, refusing to give in to the sympathy. Realm betrayed me. I can’t forgive that.
“Good,” I say finally, even though I don’t really mean it. “Good.”
Asa walks me back to my room, leaving the wheelchair in the hall outside of Dr. Beckett’s office. His arm is around my waist as he supports me. Once standing, the true effect of the medication can be felt, and I’m woozy and unsteady.
“Just a little bit farther,” Asa says, taking a turn down my corridor.
“You should have used the wheelchair,” I mumble, and reach to touch the wall so I can get my bearings. “How come I’m not restrained anymore? Aren’t you afraid I’ll bludgeon you?”
“No,” he says. Asa gives nothing away, his face always stoic, his movements purposeful. When we get to my room, he pulls back my sheet with one arm, supporting me with the other. He helps me into the bed, and I feel the pain of all that’s happened today. Asa stands for a moment, looking down at me, and I reach up my hand to him.
“Why are you helping me?” I ask. He takes my hand, and squeezes it reassuringly.
“Because Realm asked me to.”
My eyes widen, and I yank my arm away from him, but Asa grabs my hand again and holds it against his chest. “Realm cares about you,” he says forcefully. “He asked me to look out for you.”
I don’t want to listen. I use my other hand to try to strike Asa, but he blocks it easily, grabbing both of my sore wrists and making me cry out in pain. “Calm down, Sloane,” he says, pinning me to the bed.
“Michael Realm is a lie,” I growl, continuing to fight until Asa has to lock my hands at my side once again.
“We’re all lies, Sloane,” he says. “Every single one of us is hiding who we really are.”
“Not like that.” I start to cry again, and behind it is anger. I turn my body from side to side in the bed, fighting—against what I’m not sure. I thought Realm loved me. I was so wrong about everything. “I hate him,” I say with a sob, the grief finally too overwhelming. I turn my face into the pillow. “I hate him.”
I feel Asa’s hand touch my head, a gentle brush through my hair. He does this until I start to drift toward sleep, a release from pain the medication can’t give me. And just before I slip away, I hear Asa whisper, “Michael will be very sad to hear that.”
CHAPTER FOUR
WHEN I WAKE UP THE next morning, there’s a sharp pain in my head like I’ve been smacked with a hammer. My hands fly up to feel for any incision, as if the doctors had given me a lobotomy while I slept. There’s nothing but the knots of my hair.