The Complication (The Program #6)(91)

“When?” I ask. “Because you seem to be the master of incomplete truths here.”

“In The Program,” Realm clarifies. “You agreed to tell me everything, but instead you lied to me. You lied to yourself. You have a pretty strong will, Tatum. I’m glad they never broke it.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Realm looks down at his hands again. “The other day,” he says, “you asked why I care what happens to you when we don’t even know each other. But the truth is, we were close. We kept each other close.”

And I’m not sure if it’s because he gave Wes back his sister, or if I still feel that closeness, but I find some affection toward Michael Realm. Some sense of connection.

“How did I get out of The Program?” I ask. Even though it’s not the most important question right now, I have to know.

Realm picks up his coffee, stalling with a long sip.

“I’m guessing it has something to do with this,” Wes says, taking a paper out of his file and setting it on the table. I lean over to read it and see it’s a patient intake form.

I don’t get what he means at first, but toward the bottom, I see the checked box. My stomach sinks, and I cast an accusatory glance at Realm.

“Voluntary,” Wes says. “It says I voluntarily turned myself in to The Program. Now, why the fuck would I do something like that?”

We both stare at Realm, and before he can answer, the server comes by and refills our coffees. The three of us sit in active silence, waiting for her to leave. She asks Wes if the ice cream is okay, and for her benefit, he takes a spoonful and tells her it’s delicious. When she’s gone, he sets the spoon down on the table with a loud clank.

“He didn’t turn himself in,” I tell Realm, jabbing my finger at the box. “He was taken from his house. I was there.”

“You were there,” Realm agrees. As he starts talking again, his voice grows serious, steady. It reminds me that he’s not a regular guy, not someone you meet at school. He’s a hardened handler, having spent years manipulating people. I realize he’s someone I should never trust. But that doesn’t mean I think he’s lying.

“I told you there was a deal,” Realm begins, looking at me. “When I met you in The Program, I was on my way out. I had been under contract with them for years, but after getting involved with Sloane and James, seeing the true horror of the system, I was trying to escape. Trying to stop it.

“But I couldn’t just disappear. If they found me, they would’ve had me lobotomized. I tried to stick it out, but my mind wandered. I began to research different organizations that could help. Tried to find Marie Devoroux, who was one of the first doctors I worked with. And then you showed up, Tatum.” He smiles at me. “You showed up, and you refused to cooperate. You were defiant. I loved it.”

Wes doesn’t love his word choice, and he clears his throat before sipping from his coffee. Realm nods to him and continues.

“After we talked,” Realm says to me, “I realized that your memories had already been tampered with. Something about your past had been changed, altered. You processed things differently, saw things for what they were. I thought . . . I thought that could matter down the line. I couldn’t let The Program erase you, not in any significant way. I tracked down Marie and told her about you. At the time, I didn’t believe in her cure, but I did believe she could keep you safe.”

“This is all great,” I say. “But that doesn’t explain how I got out of The Program. What deal was made?”

“I went to Dr. Warren with specific memories you had given me—willingly given me,” he adds. “You and I had made a plan: You would give me your memories to pass on, and once you got out, Marie and McKee would give them back to you. It should have been simple.” He scrunches up his nose. “Fucked up, but simple in implementation.”

He steadies himself, seeming uncomfortable in his skin, a little twitchy. He meets my eyes. “I went to Dr. Warren, and I told her you weren’t a candidate for The Program. I told her the intake form was wrong, that Weston’s mother’s statement was wrong, vindictive even. I believed that because in the memories you gave me, there was no illness. Just . . . a broken heart. But Dr. Warren wasn’t easily convinced. She didn’t want to make a mistake. She was under the impression, thanks to Dorothy Ambrose, that your and Wes’s relationship was the problem. She said it couldn’t continue.”

Realm’s mouth pulls taut, and he looks regretful when he says, “I agreed. At that point, I did. So Dr. Warren told me to interview Wes and to present an offer. I called him and asked him to meet.” Realm turns to Wes, but Wes won’t look up from his file page. He’s seething, not enjoying this conversation one bit.

“We went over all the options,” Realm says, turning back to me. “And I told Wes the deal Dr. Warren wanted to make.” Realm swallows hard. “She agreed to let you go if Wes turned himself in for erasure. The deal was that both of you would be erased from each other’s pasts. That was all that was supposed to happen. When I told Wes this”—Realm puts his elbow on the table, his fingers rubbing roughly at his forehead like it hurts—“he agreed without even a second thought. He said he would do anything for you. He just asked . . . he said he wouldn’t go until he made sure you were safe.”