“Do what you can,” he offers. He slips out the door, but not before I noticed the way his skin paled, his muscles tensed. Despite Asa’s warning, I can’t let it go. I can’t just leave Dallas helpless for them to stick a metal rod behind her eye and sever her life. There has to be something I can do.
My breathing is jagged and adrenaline starts to pulsate as a frantic thought takes over. Maybe I can fight our way out.
I scan the room, looking for anything I can use as a weapon. All I see are covered plates of food and the plastic spoon that sits on the side of the breakfast tray. I wish Nurse Kell would have left her knitting needles or something sharp. I’ll need a key card to get into solitary, and it’s obvious Asa isn’t just going to hand over his.
The minutes tick by, and all I can think about is Dallas, whose life is about to be irrevocably changed. No one else will help her. I’m the only person who can save her. I walk over to clear off the tray of food and then pick up the flat metal pan. I’m going to have to take a key.
I crack open my door and peer out, hoping to find a nurse heading in this direction—but the hall is empty. The tray is cold in my hand and my heart is pumping blood loudly into my ears. I’ll have to hurt someone, and even though I’m mad as hell, I still don’t want to do that. But what choice have they left me? I’ll get to Dallas, get her out of solitary, and then we make a break for it. My entire future depends on luck, on not getting caught.
I blow out a steadying breath, wondering if I’ve completely lost my mind at this point. Then I lean forward and whistle loudly. When I hear nothing in return, I do it again, and then there is the shuffling of feet. I curse, suddenly debating this idea, but close my door and hide behind it. The footsteps get louder, and I lift the metal tray above my head, readying the force I’ll need to bring it down on whoever walks in the door.
The world is moving in slow motion as I watch the handle turn, the twitch in my arm, the shake of my breath. And then there is a side profile, followed by the back of a head with short red hair. I bring the tray down with as much force as I can. The metal connects against the hard skull with a heavy clang, sending vibrations up my arm. I see the bend of the metal and lift the tray to drive it down again, but the body falls to the floor in front of me.
It’s Nurse Kell. I lower my arms and let them hang lifelessly, guiltily, at my sides. For a terrible moment I think she’s dead, but then I hear a gurgle, a soft moan. I have only a moment. I have to get to Dallas.
I lean down and grab Nurse Kell’s key card from her hip, and then, still carrying the tray, I rush from the room. I book down the hallway, my head whipping from side to side as I search for the right set of double doors. I expect an alarm to sound, flooding the hall with handlers, but nothing happens. Not yet.
The nurses’ station is just ahead, and I stop and press myself to the wall, just out of their view. I’m not sure how to get past them, not carrying a metal tray and looking crazy. I set my weapon down on the white floor and then start forward. Therapy. I could be going to therapy.
A young, dark-haired nurse glances up as I pass. I nod to him, and he goes back to his computer as I take the turn just before the doctors’ wing. Once in the new hallway, I recognize the door at the end and start running again. This is where Asa took me when I visited Dallas. I’m not sure if she’s still there, but I’m about to find out.
After a quick check around me, I use Nurse Kell’s key card and cautiously walk inside, seeing a series of rooms. I can’t remember which is Dallas’s, but she must be the only person down here because all the doors are open but one. I swallow hard, scared she won’t actually be inside—that maybe I’m too late. I swipe the key card and then push the door open, my stomach in knots.
The room is awash in muted colors, and it takes me a long moment to find the figure inside wearing gray scrubs. Just at that moment, Dallas lifts her head, her eyes widening when she sees me. “Sloane?” she calls in a weak voice.
“Oh, thank God,” I say, and move quickly to grab her. Dallas has dark circles that have changed the shape of her eyelids, drawing them down. She’s been here only for a few days, but she looks sickly and even thinner than before. I think the isolation has been wearing on her.
“We have to get out of here,” I say. “They’re going to lobotomize you.”
I help her up, and Dallas staggers beside me, wobbly like it’s been too long since she’s walked. “What?” she asks, looking over. “Lobotomy?” She uses the word like she’s never heard it before. I’m not sure what sort of psychosis she’s in, but I have to get us out of here.
“We’re escaping,” I tell her. “And if we fail, they’re going to lobotomize both of us. They’ve already done it to Lacey, and we’re next. Now move your ass!” I push her ahead toward the doors, checking behind us and sticking close to the wall. I’m waiting for an overhead alarm, flashing lights, but it’s still quiet. There’s terrible guilt as I wonder if anyone has found Nurse Kell yet.
When we get to the double doors, I pause, my hand against the frame. “Dallas,” I say, drawing a half-glazed stare from her. “We have to run for the stairs, do you understand? Don’t stop, not for anyone. Not even for me.”
It takes a second, but I see the life start to return to Dallas’s eyes. Suddenly she reaches out to hug me, a quick squeeze before pulling back and nodding toward the door. I swipe the card, and then we’re walking, heading for the staircase, which is on the other side of the nurses’ station.
But we don’t make it. I’m not sure how many steps I take before I feel the sting, the surge, the overwhelming cramp that overtakes my body. The world freezes up and locks, and I’m crumbling, falling in a heap on the floor. My body quivers, tears leak from my eyes, and drool slips from my mouth. My eyes roll back in my head, and when I can finally focus again, I see the white coat of a handler, a Taser in his hand.
Suddenly someone else is there, grabbing me by the shoulders to drag me down the hall, placing me in the open before flipping me onto my back. I see Asa, staring down at me with a cold stare, not disappointed or angry, just empty. In the distance I hear Dallas screaming, calling for me. But I can’t help her now.
“I’m getting a wheelchair,” Asa begins, “and then I’m taking you to solitary.” He looks down the hall, waiting for someone. I want to ask him about Kell, but I’m still shaking too much to talk, my jaw locked as my muscles continue to spasm.
The chair arrives, and Asa and another handler lift me and set me down. I’m slumped to the side, but no one offers any help or asks if I’m okay. I think they’re going to kill me this time. I’ve finally crossed too many lines. I’m expecting to be driven to Dr. Beckett, but instead they turn and I’m going back where I came from. They drag me over to drop me on the bed in a room next to Dallas’s. The handlers fasten me down and leave, Asa not even turning back to look at me.
* * *
There’s a tapping noise, something faint at first, but the more awake I get, the louder it becomes. I open my eyes, at first startled by the unfamiliar room, until I remind myself that I’m in a Program hospital. I’m waiting to be lobotomized. The tapping stops. I turn to my right, and at first I’m too stunned to react.
“Hello, Sloane,” Roger says. “I think we need to have a little chat.”
I open my mouth to scream, but Roger is across the room in a heartbeat, his hand over my mouth. “Now, now,” he says. “Don’t make me cut your throat.”
I continue fighting anyway, thrashing my head from side to side. Roger takes a step back, wincing and cupping his side where Dallas stabbed him. The minute his palm slips from my mouth and my first scream breaks through the room, his grip on my neck promptly cuts them off. I choke, my eyes widening as air is strangled out of me.
“Let’s try this again,” he growls as my chest starts to burn. I try to gasp, but I can’t get any air in or out. “I’m going to kill your friend,” he says, “but first I need to locate him. Where is Michael Realm?”
I don’t kno
w, I mouth, struggling against my restraints, but it’s no use. Roger’s weight is too heavy, his strength far outweighing mine. It feels like he’s crushing my bones. He’s going to kill me.
“Here’s the thing, Sloane,” Roger says conversationally, even as small black dots are starting to appear in the corners of my vision. I’m about to pass out. “Realm has something that belongs to me. I’m willing to trade for it, but first I need to find him. Now, you’ll help me, or I’ll destroy Dallas.” Roger lowers his face until it’s just over mine. I try again to take a breath, and fail. Roger smiles sweetly. “I will break her, Sloane. She’ll wish she were dead.”
His threat is enough to send me renewed energy, and I use what little strength I have left to bring up my knee as hard as I can. It strikes his thigh, knocking him off balance and sending him sideways. I start to scream, but my voice is raw, ripping at my throat as I beg for help. I choke on the air I try to take into my lungs. I watch helplessly as Roger staggers to his feet, holding his chest. He must still be healing from where he was stabbed, and I have a wild hope that his wounds will reopen and he’ll bleed to death.
“I will find him,” Roger says, pointing at me as he moves for the door. “Michael Realm is dead, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Help!” I try to yell, but it comes out only as a whisper before another coughing fit starts. Roger is out the door, and I’m crying, rolling from side to side to somehow free my bonds, tearing the flesh on my barely healed wrists. “Help!” I call again, worried that he crushed my windpipe and I’ll never get my voice back.
There’s the sound of footsteps, and I lift my head. The door flies open, and Asa looks in. The minute he sees me, he grabs his radio and calls in a code. I try to tell him about Roger: He’s going to kill Realm, do something horrible to Dallas, but he’s shushing me, working frantically to undo my restraints.
More people arrive, but they never let me talk. I’m strapped to a gurney, white coats whizzing by me as I continue to struggle for breath. I’m watching for Roger’s face, but he’s gone. Like a phantom who came to haunt me, he’s disappeared, making me wonder if he was really there at all. But at the end of the hall, just before they push me down the medical wing for X-rays, I hear one of the nurses say, “Oh my God. What happened to her neck?”
And I knew Roger had really been here after all.
* * *
I’m momentarily untied, surrounded by handlers in an infirmary while we wait for Dr. Beckett. “It was Roger,” I rasp to Asa as my throat continues to ache. He nods, his shoulders rigid and his posture alert.
“Yeah, I saw him run past me. I thought he’d come from Dallas’s room, but then I heard you calling.” His eyes lower, heavy with guilt, and I reach to put my hand on his forearm. The minute I do, he flinches away as if I’ve burned him. I broke his trust by going after Dallas. I don’t think he’ll help me again.
The doctor walks into the room, and Asa moves quickly to pull him aside before he can talk to me. I watch, anxious to tell Dr. Beckett exactly what happened so he can stop Roger from hurting Dallas or from finding Realm.
The doctor takes out his phone and begins talking; shooting concerned looks in my direction. Is he calling Roger? Would The Program get the police involved? After a moment Dr. Beckett hangs up, walking past Asa to stop in front of me. Absently, I touch my neck.
His smile is apologetic but warm. “Leave us for moment,” he tells the other handlers, glancing back at them once. They exchange looks but then leave—including Asa. Soon it’s just me and the good doctor, alone in a tiny white room. I’m starting to panic—afraid the doctor will try to hurt me like Roger did. I’m vulnerable. I’m scared.
“I must admit . . .,” the doctor begins, “I came here expecting Michael Realm. I’m disappointed he hasn’t come for you. I guess he doesn’t love you after all.”
His barb hurts, but I move past it, focusing on what really matters. “You can’t let Roger get away with this,” I say after an extended silence. My voice is strangled and weak. “He’s a psychopath and he’s going to kill Dallas and Realm. I know he’s part of the boys’ club here, but even you must have limits.”
“Measures are being taken.”
I laugh but then grip my damaged neck to alleviate the burn. The doctors are the ones who are crazy. Not us. Not the patients. “He’s going to get away with it,” I say. “Just like last time.” I look him directly in the eyes. “He was blackmailing patients to have sex with him in exchange for memories.”
Beckett’s expression falters. “Are these rumors? How do you know this?”
“I was a patient, remember?” I pause. “I was a victim.”
“You retained memories?”
“Are you not getting the point? He’s raping underage girls, Beckett. Who gives a shit if he lets them keep one inconsequential memory? They’re losing so much more. And this should all be documented,” I add. “He was fired while I was a patient.”
Again Dr. Beckett looks perplexed. I can’t believe this.
“Dr. Warren knew all about it,” I say. “Realm broke his arm, they fired Roger and escorted him out. Why did The Program hire him back?”
“We didn’t. Roger no longer works for The Program—not on a public level. And neither does Dr. Warren for that matter. Her position was terminated after you went rogue.” Beckett exhales, looking weary. “Sloane, we’re going to have to talk about Nurse Kell.”
Guilt attacks my conscience. “Is she okay?”
Dr. Beckett tilts his head from side to side. “She’s not great, that’s for sure. She needed several staples to close the wound in her head. Is that how you repay someone who’s been trying to help you? Do you still think you’re not sick?”
“I didn’t want to hurt her,” I say, ashamed. “I just wanted to see Dallas. I was worried about her. What you’re doing is wrong. You can’t just turn us into zombies.”
Dr. Beckett scoffs. “Hardly, Sloane. You’ve seen Lacey—the patients are all perfectly well. Just . . . less violent. Less suicidal. Can you really not see that?”
I’ll never make him understand. I think he believes this bullshit. “Leave me alone then,” I say. “I don’t know where Realm is, and even if I did, I would never tell you. He may have betrayed me, but at least he’s not a delusional prick.”
Dr. Beckett doesn’t move at first, but then a wide Cheshire-like grin spreads over his face. “Poor girl,” he starts in a sympathetic voice, “you really are a lost soul.”
He reaches down and brushes his fingers over my cheek gently. “Sleep well, Sloane,” he murmurs. “I’ll do what I can to help Dallas.” On cue, the door opens and two handlers come in, talking in hushed voices. Dr. Beckett gives me one last look, his expression a bit doubtful, but concerned nonetheless.
“Sweep the area, and call outside and have them search the grounds,” he tells the handlers. “And keep extra security outside of solitary until the surgeon calls down tomorrow.” The handlers, like mindless drones, leave with their mission.
“So that’s it?” I call to Beckett’s back as he starts to leave. “You’re just going to sever our memories and pretend like we never existed?”
“Believe me, Sloane,” he says, “I wish that’s all there was to it. You can’t imagine the PR nightmare you and your boyfriend have created for us. But we’ll get through it. The Program will survive. Because teens will keep trying to kill themselves, and we’ll keep saving them. It’s the new order of things. I’m just glad I’m on the right side of the battle.”
“You’re not.”
“Yeah, well, what do you know?” he says, annoyance cracking through his otherwise cool exterior. “You’re depressed. Delusional. Your opinion means shit here.” He pauses, visibly collecting himself. “I’ll see you on the other side, Sloane. I think you’ll be a lot more likeable then.” And with that, Dr. Beckett leaves me locked in a padded cell, while he goes back to tend to The Program.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“JA
MES,” I WHISPER INTO THE air above my bed, wishing his name could conjure him up. Instead I can only imagine his face, his eyes so blue, the sound of his voice. James isn’t really here. He never will be. I’m alone in a room, hands at my side in the most claustrophobic position in the world.
As I sit in silence, I feel my sanity wavering. I’m not sure how much time has passed since I attacked Nurse Kell—a few hours? A day? There’s no way to tell. No windows. No anything. Another female nurse has come in twice to help me use the restroom. Last time she was here, she dressed me in scratchy gray scrubs, but she didn’t speak to me. In fact, I could feel that she hated me. I wonder if she was friends with Kell. Once, I almost asked about my old nurse, but then thought better of it. I don’t have the right to ask. I’m the lunatic who hurt her.
Now I’m tied down to a bed, calling out the name of my boyfriend, actually waiting for an answer. Time ticks by, and then, from beyond the door I hear sounds . . . heavy footsteps, not the quiet brushing steps of the nurse. Then more noise, multiple people. My pulse quickens and I smile. They came for me. James and Realm have finally come back for me.
I strain my neck, lifting my head off the bed to watch the door. I’m going to get out of here. Thoughts spin in my head, erratic and smashing into each other. I don’t try to clear them. Instead I start screaming.
“I’m in here!” I yell to them. “James!” I cough, my throat still sore from Roger’s attack, but I don’t care. I don’t want them to walk past. I hear the swipe of a card, the beep of the door. I’m almost free.
The door swings open, and it takes me a moment to process. It’s not James, or even Realm. It’s a guy in a white coat, comb-smoothed light hair. Behind him are two other guys, near copies of each other. The smile falls from my face. The butterflies in my stomach catch fire and turn to ash, filling me with despair.
“No,” I say, shaking my head slowly. “No.”
The handler betrays little emotion as he comes inside the room. He begins to unfasten the restraints, his touch firm but not painful. “We’re going on a trip, Miss Barstow,” he says, as if I’m unable to understand his words. “I’ll help you up, and then you just have to walk with us, okay?”
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