The Remedy (The Program 0.5)(93)

I click the play button, leaning in to watch as the video begins. The client is out of the frame, only a pair of men’s shoes visible in the shot. The metal door opens, and I recognize Marie immediately, although she’s younger. She has a small child with her. The camera zooms in on her face, and I take in a sharp breath when I realize it’s me. I’m the little girl with Marie.

“Come on, honey,” Marie says kindly, leading the girl to the chair. The child sits down, feet swinging because she’s too small to reach the floor. She looks around curiously, not scared or anxious, and Marie smiles to the client, whose shoes shift as he leans closer.

“This is our next candidate,” Marie says, taking a seat next to the girl. She puts her arm around the back of the chair to offer the child the feeling of comfort and safety. The girl rests against her, eyes wide.

“It’s uncanny,” the man says, his voice thick with grief. “She looks just like her.”

I cover my mouth, stunned. That’s my father’s voice. What’s happening? I don’t remember any of this.

“She’s very sweet,” Marie says, brushing at the girl’s hair lovingly. “I think she’s just perfect, Tom. She’ll make the perfect daughter. We’ve already filled her in on the assignment.”

My father is quiet for a long moment, and I imagine from the way the little girl is watching him that’s he’s studying her, too, looking for differences. Then there’s a sniffle, and the soft sound of my father crying.

Marie’s face registers his pain. “Tom,” she says sympathetically, rising to her feet. But then the little girl who used to be me climbs down from the chair and crosses to him, my father’s face still off camera. “Don’t cry,” she tells him in a closer’s voice. “Don’t cry, Daddy.”

I turn away from the laptop and get sick all over Marie’s wood floor.

* * *

I ejected the DVD and put in my backpack, careful to wrap it in my old Rolling Stones T-shirt so it wouldn’t break. I cleaned up my mess, intermediately stopping so I could sob. I’m a closer. I’m a closer for my own life. I hiccup in another cry, standing in the middle of Marie’s apartment, unable to move. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I fight to pull myself together, my mind racing with possibilities.

“Hello?” I mumble without checking the caller ID.

“Quinn?” Deacon breathes out. I cradle the phone to my ear, wishing Deacon was with me now. Saw what I just saw. “Are you okay?” he asks. “I’ve called you like five times.”

“No,” I tell him, my voice scratchy from crying. “Something’s happened. Something awful.”

I squat down, using one hand to cover my face as I start to cry again. I can’t imagine how this must all sound to Deacon, but I manage to get a few words out. “I’m a closer,” I tell him. “I’m a f*cking closer.”

“I know you are,” he says soothingly, not understanding the true meaning of my words. “And I’m sorry I asked you to quit. I’ll support you in whatever you want. But right now I’m worried. Are you still at Marie’s? Let me talk to her for a minute.”

“Aaron and Marie are gone,” I say, sucking in my cries. “They’re gone, Deacon. It’s all been a lie. Every damn thing.”

“What do you mean they’re gone?” he demands. I hear him moving, his voice taking on a frantic edge. “Okay, Quinn, listen,” he says. “I’m coming to get you. Don’t move.”

“No,” I tell him, shaking my head and getting to my feet. “You can’t save me from this.” I take the phone away from my face and try to regain my composure. The grief and shock begin to wear off, but now I’m flooded with thoughts. With anger. I have to find my father.

When I bring the phone back to my ear, Deacon is talking quickly and I hear a door closing, the sound of wind as he gets outside. “Don’t come here,” I say, my voice calmed. “I have to take care of something first.”

I have to go home. Home. I can never go back. I’m not even Quinlan McKee. My entire life is a lie, and I would be irresponsible to drag Deacon into that. “I love you, Deacon,” I murmur into the phone. “I’ve always loved you.” I hang up. I let the phone fall from my hand to smash on the floor, not wanting to be tracked. Even if I have removed the app, I can’t trust anything. The two people who loved me most in the world have lied to me. I start toward the door, fighting back the emotions, forcing myself clear. I need to deal with my father and figure out what happened to me. How I got here. I need to find out the truth.

* * *

The tires on my car squeal as I take a sharp turn into my driveway. My adrenaline is pumping and my mood is frantic. I’m slightly more rational, needing an explanation more than a cry at this point.

I slam my car into park, jutting forward in the seat. I jump out and rush up the front porch, trying the door but finding it locked. My hands shake as I try to use my key, the metal skipping along the hole. It takes a few minutes, but I finally get the door open, pushing it hard enough that it hits the wall, sending several frames crashing to the floor, smashing the glass panes.

“Dad!” I scream, looking wildly around the entryway. I start walking through the hallway of lies that are meant to remind me of who I’m not. “Dad!” I scream again, and even saying that word makes my throat burn. I curse, and toss the keys on the kitchen table and trample up the stairs.