The Complication (The Program #6)(51)

Realm was right. She did know me from The Program. It’s horrifying when I think about it; the idea of her listening to my problems while knowing more about me than I knew about myself. It was the ultimate manipulation.

“So The Program’s back?” I ask.

“Tatum,” Dr. McKee replies. “The Program never left.”





CHAPTER EIGHT


MARIE SHIFTS, SCRAPING THE HEEL of her shoe across the floor. “I’m going to step outside and check on . . . the others.” Marie exits, and I run my palm down my face, holding on for the bigger reveals to come.

“After your release from the facility was secured,” Dr. McKee continues, “your grandmother brought you to us. She was concerned because you still seemed so deeply sad. Marie and I . . . we felt we had a viable cure with the Adjustment. We thought we could fix you.”

“I’m a human being, not a computer virus. And how do I know any of this is true? Nathan told me that my grandfather used his journalist connections to get me out.”

“That was part of it,” he admits. “The possibility of exposure did aid in your release. But there were side deals. And ultimately, Dr. Warren signed off on a statement saying you weren’t a threat to yourself, her position supported by your handler.”

“I wasn’t a threat,” I snap at him automatically.

“But you were,” he says sadly. “You most certainly were, Tatum.”

I want to deny it, but I remember what I was like the night I was taken into The Program. The way my knuckles bled. The way I hated myself. I needed help. I didn’t need The Program, but I did need help. Maybe I was a threat.

Dr. McKee continues talking, beginning to pace the room, slightly out of breath. “In the agreement to let you out, Dr. Warren insisted on erasing your time in The Program. Erased the history of you and Wes. We’ll never know all that she erased, but we had a good idea because we had your file. Still, this had to be done undercover—without her knowledge. If she knew you’d been adjusted, it would have broken the arrangement. You would have gone back to The Program.”

“Give me my file,” I say.

“I don’t have it. We lost it months ago.”

“Of course,” I say, not believing him. “So you gave me back memories—wrong ones—and wanted it secret. But you let me keep seeing a Program doctor,” I continue. “Putting myself in danger every time I showed up for therapy. She could have flagged me at any point!”

“We couldn’t risk her knowing we’d interfered with your care. We erased the Adjustment while we gave it.”

“What did my file say?” I ask. “What memories did you put back in, and why are they wrong?”

“Over two days, we implanted all the information we could gather. But we focused on memories that would allow you to resume your life. We had no idea that you and Weston Ambrose had broken up. It wasn’t something you admitted to in therapy, even with the help of medication.”

“How?” I ask. “Doesn’t The Program always find out the truth?”

“Yes,” he admits. “They have their ways. And that’s also why we’ve dedicated significant resources into keeping you healthy, both you and Wes. You beat The Program. To some extent, you did. We’re hoping your continued health will prove the Adjustment works.”

Right now I don’t feel like the victor. I feel like a lab rat. “My grandparents let you put memories in my head?” I ask.

“They wanted you to come home, not just physically—fully. They were worried about you.”

“Did I fight?” I ask, sitting back in the chair. Dr. McKee comes to lean on his desk, and I notice his right shoulder sags slightly. He swallows hard.

“Yes,” he says. “You were not a willing subject, Tatum. And this was . . . this was difficult for everyone involved. But it was for the best. Your grandmother knew she could trust me, so she let us treat you.”

I cover my mouth, horrified at the idea of these doctors strapping me down, injecting me with serums, all while my grandparents stood by. How far will people go to keep their family? At what point is it no longer my life to control?

“Tatum,” Dr. McKee says softly, as if he can see I’m struggling with his explanation. “You’re safe now,” he says.

“But I’m not,” I say. “I’m going to fall apart just like the rest of them. I’m a returner too. And in case you missed it, they’re crashing back.”

“That won’t happen to you,” he says. “Not the same way. You’ll have crashbacks, yes—but you come back. You process these memories differently. Don’t you see? You are the only one who has come through the Adjustment without a setback. You are our proof of concept. You are the cure.”

“I’m no cure.”

“But you are. Our entire case study is built around you. We haven’t figured out the difference—why the procedure worked on you and not the others. Why not Wes? Why not Vanessa? We don’t know the answer yet, but your existence proves the Adjustment can work. And Marie is close to the answer. You’re going to save lives.”

“No,” I say, horrified. “I’ve ruined lives. Because it worked on me, Vanessa is dead. You wouldn’t have replicated it if I hadn’t proven it could work. And Wes wouldn’t have been reset again. You’ve turned me into a weapon. It’s on my conscience.”