The Complication (The Program #6)(5)

I don’t respond as I take a seat in the chair next to him, awkward and silent. I keep my eyes on Dr. Wyatt’s impeccably neat desk, afraid to look at Wes. Afraid I’ll blurt out our entire past with another flash of his dimples and easy smile. My phone buzzes, and I check the open doorway to make sure Dr. Wyatt’s still occupied.

It all hits me: The Program, the handlers, it’s like being submerged in ice water—the fact that my life is no longer my own. Someone has tampered with my past. Heartbreak and fear combine to make my head spin. Again.

I take out my phone and see that Foster sent me a response to my question about Derek being an embedded handler. The reply is only one word, and my stomach sinks as I read it.

Yes.

“Thank you for waiting,” Dr. Wyatt announces, making me jump. I quickly shove my phone into my pocket, blinking away my shock at Foster’s answer, what it means.

Yes, there are embedded handlers. Yes, they could be watching me.

Dr. Wyatt closes the door, but she doesn’t go to her desk. Instead, she comes to stand directly behind our chairs. I look over my shoulder at her, lip curled and brows pulled together.

“What’s this about?” I ask, finally finding my voice. “You can’t just . . .” I look at Wes, who’s waiting to hear what I have to say. I temper my annoyance. “You can’t just make me miss class,” I tell her. “I didn’t do anything.”

Truth is, I’m sure Dr. Wyatt has noticed the change in Wes. Notices that he’s different than he was a few weeks ago. I don’t even know what excuse his family gave as to why he was gone this time. Dr. Wyatt has no real idea about the Adjustment. She doesn’t know what it does or who runs it. I’m no longer protecting Dr. McKee and Marie, but I also don’t want Wes, or possibly me, to become lab rats for Dr. Wyatt and whoever she’s working for.

Dr. Wyatt walks around to lean on her desk, leveling her gaze at me. “I can pull you out of class if I deem you to be dangerous,” she says simply.

“I thought this was all because I said ‘fuck,’?” Wes says to me conversationally. “But now I’m really starting to wonder.” He turns back to Dr. Wyatt. “Is it because we were reading a book in class? Are you . . . are you afraid of original thought? Creativity?” He tilts his head like he’s trying to decide which it is. Dr. Wyatt takes his attitude in stride, letting him continue.

“Definitely autonomy,” Wes continues. “Look at us, making our own decisions. Thinking for ourselves. That must burn you up.”

As I watch him, I realize Wes’s natural state is defiance. No amount of memory manipulation can erase that part of him.

“Don’t play games with me, Weston,” Dr. Wyatt says. “You’re not clever. You—”

“Well . . .” He holds up his finger, scrunching his nose like he hates to argue the point. “I am in the gifted program. But if your measure of intelligence is test scores, then . . . no, wait,” he says, as if confused. “Those say I’m a genius too.”

Dr. Wyatt looks at me accusingly. I shrug, emboldened by Wes’s jokes, and it’s then, in a sudden movement, that Dr. Wyatt jumps forward. She gets right up in Wes’s face—a drill sergeant shouting commands. It’s unexpected, and it throws both me and Wes off balance.

“I want answers,” she calls out sharply, her hands on the armrests of his chair as she faces him. “You were in The Program, Mr. Ambrose. I saw you there myself.”

Wes flinches away from Dr. Wyatt, blinking quickly.

“Stop it,” I tell her immediately. She doesn’t know that he’s been reset. She doesn’t know that she can cause a meltdown by bringing up his past.

Dr. Wyatt ignores me and continues her interrogation.

“You were in The Program, and they erased your memory,” she says. “You came back, but whatever has happened to you since . . . this isn’t The Program.”

She reaches to tap his temple, and Wes lifts his face to stare at her, his eyes wide. His skin pale.

“What have you done?” she demands.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies, teeth clenched.

“Yes, you do,” she says. “Who did this to you, Weston?” Dr. Wyatt is beginning to lose her cool, and I’m half out of my chair, ready to push her away from him if I have to.

“They tampered with your memories,” she continues. “Erased them. It’s against the law to manipulate memories. Why did they do it? What do you know?”

“I said I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” Wes snaps at her.

“Tell me,” she growls, leaning down. Her behavior is erratic, alarming.

“Leave him alone,” I say, taking her by the elbow to pull her back. “He doesn’t remember.”

Dr. Wyatt turns on me fiercely. “Do you?” she demands. “Are you the reason—”

“No,” I say quickly. “We don’t know anything!” The words echo around the room, and I lower my hand from her elbow, wrapping my arms around myself. I’m scared, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how far this will go.

“Can we please leave?” I ask, trying to sound brave.

Dr. Wyatt stares me down, and for a second I’m afraid she’ll say no. That she’ll imprison us in her office for life. Instead, she takes a step closer to me.