The Complication (The Program #6)(62)

“He never stopped experimenting on people,” she says. “I guess all the blame heaped on Arthur Pritchard wasn’t fully deserved. And Marie was part of this?”

“She was most of it, it feels like,” I admit. Even though Dr. McKee did a lot of the talking, it always felt like Marie was the driving force.

“Yeah,” Deacon says. “Marie has always pulled the strings.” He looks at Nicole. “On all of us.”

I glance over to the closed door that leads to the offices. Marie’s only been gone a few minutes, but it feels too long for a simple conversation. What could be so important that she wouldn’t put it aside to talk to Dr. McKee’s daughter the day after he died?

“I just want answers,” I say, mostly to myself. “I want to move on, but I don’t know how. I don’t know what’s true.”

Nicole sighs, and there’s a sense of camaraderie between us, as if she’s been through something similar. She gazes at me, and I wonder if I somehow remind her of herself.

Abruptly she turns to Deacon. “I have an idea,” she says. “There’s not much time. She’s probably already thinking of excuses and cover-ups.”

Deacon stares at his wife for a moment, and then his lips flinch with a smile. “You have a plan,” he says.

“Yep,” she says. “And—”

“Oh, I’m already in, Nic. Let’s go.”

She smiles and then turns back to me. “I’m sorry to drag you into this deeper, but I need your help.”

“I just want my life back,” I say.

Nicole presses her lips together sadly. “I can understand that. Now,” she says, motioning toward the back offices. “Do you have any idea where she keeps the syringes?”

? ? ?

While Deacon keeps watch in the hall, Nicole and I creep past the closed door of Marie’s office. I lead Nicole into the treatment room where the Adjustments are performed.

As we enter, I see Nicole take it all in, seeing it for the first time and looking horrified. There’s a large machine, computers and files, and various instruments ranging from sci-fi-looking to archaic. From a distance, the entire room is dangerous. I wish I’d seen it that way before.

I glance at the door, scared Marie will walk in. Nicole rushes across the room and starts going through the drawers of the cabinet. I don’t know exactly where Marie keeps the syringes; they were always in her pocket. But I assume they keep some in the treatment room.

Toward the back, I pull open a drawer underneath a set of cabinets and find a few syringes in blue plastic bags. I grab one and turn to Nicole. “I got it,” I say. She comes to take it from me.

“Perfect,” she says. “Now we need to find the drugs.”

Nicole goes to a white cabinet set against the back wall. She opens one side and finds folded paper gowns on the shelf. When she opens the other side of the cabinet, she pauses. There are rows of small glass bottles, neatly lined up. She turns a few with her fingertips to read the labels until she gets to the last row and snatches one out.

“That it?” I ask.

“Yep.” She closes the cabinet and sets the bottle on the counter.

The label indicates it’s the truth serum Marie uses. I watch as Nicole opens the syringe, pulling apart the plastic, and then picks up the bottle. She sticks the needle into the rubber top, and pulls out a dose . . . or two. I flick my eyes to her to see if she’ll acknowledge how much medication she withdrew, but she doesn’t look at me. I’m suddenly worried how far this will go. What is her intention here?

Nicole slips the bottle into her pocket and turns to me. There’s a flicker of hesitation in her expression, but then Deacon’s voice echoes through the hallway.

“Who were you talking to, Marie?” he asks loudly. “Didn’t sound like you were making funeral arrangements.”

Nicole curses and takes me by the arm, moving us into the center of the room, close to the exam table.

“Get out of my way,” Marie says sternly, and then the door flies open. Marie sees us standing there, waiting for her, and she quickly glances around the room.

“What are you doing in here?” she demands. Deacon dashes inside and skids to a stop as he takes in the scene.

Nicole keeps her hand holding the needle behind my back, positioned as if she’s comforting me.

“I wanted to see where you did it,” Nicole says. “Where you’ve ruined lives. Like you learned nothing from what you did to me.”

Marie flinches at the statement and lets down her guard. “That’s not true,” she says. “We only wanted to protect you.” Marie takes a step closer. “We love you.”

With her hand still hidden, I hear the sniffle, and Nicole starts to cry. I can’t even tell if she’s pretending.

“If only that were true,” she says, her voice sheer pain. It breaks my heart.

“It is true, baby,” Marie says, her voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. I look between her and Nicole. I don’t understand their relationship, how they’re even connected, but Marie nearly crumbled at the appearance of Nicole upset. She reaches for her and wraps her arms around Nicole like a confidant. Like a mother.

I watch as Nicole brings her arms around to hug her back, and then, with sudden fierceness, she jabs the syringe needle into Marie’s backside and injects her.