The Complication (The Program #6)(64)

As Marie speaks, I watch the color drain from Deacon’s face; Nicole’s lips part as she sucks in a staggered breath.

“And so,” Marie says, “we had another service, for those who needed it.”

“Needed it or could afford it?” Deacon asks in a growl.

“Let’s say both,” Marie responds. “Those families who couldn’t cope were given an option. Some chose to keep the replacement.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I ask, stepping forward. A pit has opened in my stomach. “What the fuck kind of business did you run?”

“As my closers can tell you,” Marie says, motioning to Nicole and Deacon, “their colleagues didn’t come from good homes. They were orphaned or wards of the state, for the most part. Their job required them to step into a family situation and help the parents cope with grief. And then, once the loop was closed, they’d leave. But on occasion, a family asked for more time. And then more. If it was deemed a good fit, we let the closer stay indefinitely and adjusted the paperwork.”

“What do you mean ‘adjusted the paperwork’?” I ask.

“The death certificates,” Marie says. “In some cases, we were able to vacate them. And the closer took over the identity of the dead.”

Holy shit. I can barely breathe—this might be the most disturbing thing I’ve ever heard.

“I was six years old,” Nicole says from next to me. “You stole my life at six years old. Are you telling me you did the same thing to other kids?”

Marie watches her for a long moment. “We sent in closers, and if it was determined they could stay, then . . .” Marie fights the next words, but the truth serum must win out. “Then they were delivered to Arthur Pritchard for programming.”

There’s the name again—Arthur Pritchard. My heart is beating so fast that it makes my stomach churn. I’m stunned silent, helpless to listen.

“You rewrote their lives,” Nicole says, her voice cracking. “You rewired their memories. You killed them.”

“We gave them lives.”

“Those weren’t their lives!”

Next to Nicole, Deacon continues to stare at Marie, unmoving. He finally licks his lips to speak. “Who else?” he asks weakly, as if he’s scared of the answer. “Who else did you do this to?”

“Not you, Deacon,” Marie says. “Although there were many times we wished we could have improved your situation at home.”

Deacon scoffs at the suggestion, telling her that no matter where he came from, he didn’t want to be a replacement. Nicole still stares in shock. Marie glances at her and smiles.

“There is some good news,” she offers.

Nicole reaches out instinctively to put her hand on Deacon, keeping him from stepping forward out of anger.

“And what could that possibly be?” Nicole asks.

“It’s given us a blueprint,” Marie says. “Those of you who were delivered as permanent replacements were the first steps in finding a cure. Because the crashbacks—the devastating ones—don’t affect the replacements who’ve returned. The memories smooth themselves out, a fail-safe.”

“Yeah, but . . . how many of your replacements went into The Program?” Deacon asks, shaking his head like he doesn’t get it. Marie stills.

“We’ve only found one so far. It’s why she’s so important.”

And suddenly a cold chill runs down my back. No, I think. No. “Marie,” I call weakly.

She doesn’t turn to me right away, even though I know she heard me. And it’s as if the floor is beginning to crack open, ready to suck me into a pit of despair.

“Marie?” I call louder, my cry already breaking my voice.

She slowly turns to me. “I’m sorry, honey,” she says.

“No,” I shake my head, tears streaming freely. “What are you saying?”

She measures her words, and I wonder if the truth serum is wearing off. Part of me hopes it already has and that this is a lie, but it’s too soon.

“Tatum Masterson was taken out of state by her mother,” Marie says. “That part’s true. But when Athena was located, Tatum Masterson was gone. She had drowned when she was five years old, and your grandparents—they were beside themselves with grief. Unimaginable grief, Tatum.”

“Don’t call me that,” I murmur, the entire scene going blurry. I feel Nicole look over at me sympathetically; she knows exactly how I’m feeling.

“You are Tatum,” Marie says. “That precious baby, she didn’t even have time to start her life. You’ve lived it for her. She was ripped unfairly from this world, and it was an absolute tragedy. But then there was another child for them. There was you.”

“Why not adopt me, then? Why make me a replacement?” I demand.

“Because that doesn’t stop the grief—not for your grandparents. They loved Tatum. They love you even more now. Your mother promised to leave in order to avoid neglect charges—promised to keep the secret. She hasn’t been a problem since. And your grandparents, they’ve raised you with all the love in the world. It worked out. Don’t you see, Tatum? You’re a miracle.”

“You stole me,” I say, and Nicole puts her arm around me. “You stole my life.”