The Remedy (The Program 0.5)(49)

“Couldn’t you tell my father no?” I ask him. Aaron has the advantage of not actually being related to his boss.

“Wasn’t really an option.”

I turn and rest my back against the wall, my mind spinning with scenarios. “What’s your situation?” I ask.

“It’s a shorter assignment,” he says. “But it’s got me thinking there must be something else going on. A change in the system? Change in the environment? I don’t know, but I got Deacon looking into it.”

“Yeah, he said he was researching something for you. He’s investigating for me, too.” I smile. “He really should be on the payroll,” I add.

“Right?” Aaron laughs. “Well, don’t worry. I’ve got you covered. That Virginia person, right?”

My stomach drops, and I straighten up away from the wall. “You found something?”

“Hell yeah. There were some deleted messages, but they were coded. Luckily, I’m super dope at this spy shit, so I plan to have it figured by the end of the day.”

“You’re amazing.”

“I know.” He chuckles. “And don’t worry—I’m on it. I’ll find her.”

“I’m just glad she’s real,” I say, feeling relieved. “At least my mother wasn’t lying about that.”

“What do you mean?” he asks. “What else is going on there?”

“It’s just . . . weird inconsistencies. It’s like everybody’s keeping secrets. Especially the girl I used to be.”

“Check your journal.”

“I did, but it’s total Pollyanna. I loved my family. Loved my life. I can’t find one bad thing about me, and yet it seems like everyone was walking on eggshells or handling me with kid gloves. I can’t explain it.”

“Think about it,” Aaron says. “If you were into some bad shit, you wouldn’t have kept it out in the open for counselors, right? You’d probably hide it.”

“You have a point,” I say. “And come to think of it, there were some missing pages, but I didn’t look for them. I’ve been . . . distracted.”

He laughs. “You didn’t search the room yet? I thought you knew better.”

“I did a basic sweep, but no—I didn’t turn the place over. I didn’t think I’d have to.” I wonder briefly if my parents are still in the kitchen, buying me time to search this room properly. “Aaron,” I say. “You mentioned that your assignment was like mine. What did you mean by that?”

“Emergency situation,” he says, like he’s thinking. “Death certificate in the file. Long-term—”

“Wait. Did you read the death certificate?” I ask.

“Sure. But it was ‘undetermined.’ ”

“So was mine. What the hell do you think that means?”

“To be honest, I’d normally say it was a coincidence, but your dad was acting pretty shady. He even asked if I thought Deacon would consider returning to the department.”

“Well, shit,” I say. “Then something is definitely wrong.” The sink in the kitchen turns on, and I realize I’m running out of private time. “Look, Aaron, I’ve got to go. Let me know when you turn up something on Virginia. Otherwise I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”

“Be safe,” he says, and we hang up.

I set my phone on the desk and exhale, looking around the room. Aaron’s right—if I were keeping secrets, I wouldn’t leave them in a journal that someone would read. There were pages missing. Question is: Did I keep them?

I pace the length of the room, looking at it from every angle. Trying to see it in a different light. Nothing sticks out, so I open the dresser drawers and run my hands along the bottom. Nothing. I look underneath in case I got all covert, but nothing is taped there.

My closet is small, so it doesn’t take me much time to thoroughly check it. Still nothing. The bedside table, the desk—I even check behind the framed photos on the wall.

This is frustrating, but Aaron totally called it. I should have done this the first day. I glance at the time and see it’s nearly noon. Isaac will be here any second. “Damn it,” I say, running my hand through my hair. My fingers get stuck in the tangles and I groan. I’ll have to set my mission aside and take a quick shower. I want to feel human again, or at the very least have clean hair when I see Isaac. Before I lose any more time, I grab a fresh set of clothes and head to the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later I’m running a comb through my short hair, grateful for how fast it dries now. I walk back into my room and survey the scene. Where would I have hidden journal pages? I wander around until I come to pause at the edge of my bed. I duck down to check underneath, but there are only a few dust bunnies and a plastic aerobic step. I straighten, defeated. Hmm . . . I tilt my head, examining the bed frame.

“No way,” I say, making my way to the other side. I get down on my knees and slip my hand in between the box spring and the mattress. Something scratches me, and I wince, yanking out my hand. There’s a small scrape near my knuckle.

There’s something hidden in my mattress. Are you kidding me? The most clichéd hiding spot in the world, and that’s where I put things I didn’t want anyone to find? I can’t decide if it’s genius or pure stupidity. I shake off the sting on my hand and push up on the mattress, balancing it on my shoulder while I peek underneath. There’s a small square of folded papers. I found them.