The Treatment (The Program #2)(21)

Said I was a danger to myself.”

James reaches for the chair to steady himself, but I’m watching Dallas with both sympathy and understanding. She can’t be part of The Program—after what Roger did to her, she could never work for them.

“They kept me sedated for close to three weeks,” Dallas continues. “And for those three weeks all I remember is his hands on me. His body on mine. He said he only liked the willing, but when the choice is him or eradication, I’m not sure there is much willingness in that. I gave in to him. I had no choice. But he stopped giving me the pills, said I couldn’t remember too much or The Program would realize what he was doing. He lied to me. He took everything from me.

“The minute they removed my restraints, I grabbed a Taser and nearly killed him. I wanted to.” Her hard expression cracks long enough for a few tears to streak from her heavily lined eyes. “I’m going to kill them all,” she says quietly. “I’m going to burn that place to the ground.”

“I didn’t know,” James says to her. “I’m sorry.” Then to my surprise, he reaches for Dallas and draws her into a hug, brushing his hand over her arm in a moment so tender, I can’t help but feel jealous. “We’ll find him,” James whispers. “And we’ll kill him.”

Dallas doesn’t look at me. Instead she closes her eyes, squeezing them tight as her arms come around James, turning her face to rest on his shoulder. She’s completely stripped down and broken, and James is the only thing holding her up as she starts to cry.

“Shh . . .” He strokes her blond dreads. After a few minutes I leave to go back to our room, giving them some privacy.

Because even though I don’t trust Dallas, I trust James completely.

In my bedroom I go to the closet, where I set the pill on the top shelf behind an old book of children’s bible stories. I pull the string connected to the light and then sit on the floor of the closet, examining the pill through the Baggie. How hard both Dallas and I must have fought to keep our memories. Roger preyed on us. And now here I am with a key I would have given anything for.

Now I can take it. But it’s been only a few days since I felt the darkness, and only seven weeks since I left The Program.

Am I truly cured? Wasn’t Lacey? Lacey.

I close my eyes, crumpling the Baggie in my fist. Lacey’s memories drove her crazy; I can’t risk that. I can’t get sick again; I can’t let James get sick again. The girl I used to be is dead—

The Program killed her. And for better or worse, I’m what’s left.

I’ll never take the pill. I never want to know. Resigned to this, I stand and put the pill back in its place. Then I turn off the light and close the door behind me.

James and I are in the backyard, lying shoulder to shoulder in the dying grass, tanning our skin. We’ve been inside so much, we’re starting to look like vampires. We never did see the Dateline special, but it seems since then we’ve been replaced with more tragic stories about the spreading epidemic. We’re trying to make the best of our situation here, but staying in the house is making us stir-crazy. So we came to lie in the backyard, pretending we’re on the grass beach in Oregon again.

The Escalade turns into the driveway, and I shade the sunlight with my palm, watching the car pull into the garage. I’m annoyed Dallas and Cas are back—annoyed this isn’t just all ours. I wonder what James and I would do if they never came back at all. Would we stay here?

“I hope they brought food,” James says from next to me, his eyes still closed. “If not, we’re stealing the car and making a McDonald’s run.”

“Deal.” I turn over, curling against James as the heat of the sun beats down on my cheek and arm. If I could, I’d live this moment forever. Birds chirping, sun shining. James opens one eye to look over at me, and I smile broadly.

“Adorable,” he says, and gives me a quick kiss. When the garage door closes, James groans and sits up. “Dallas,” he calls.

“What’s for dinner?”

Dallas walks from the garage with a brown fast-food bag in one hand, and a canvas satchel in the other. She looks us over, her face more serious than I’d expect on a beautiful summer day. “I have something for you,” she says to James. Cas comes from the garage, his face downturned, and immediately James is on his feet.

“What’s happening?” he asks, meeting them at the back door. “What’s wrong?”

Dallas leans against the railing, the wood creaking like it might break. Cas tosses a weary glance in my direction. I climb up, suddenly out of breath. Are the handlers on their way? Did they hear something about Lacey?

Out of the satchel Dallas pulls a black accordion file, stuffed with papers, their edges fraying. My gut sinks, and I walk over to put my foot up on the stair, waiting to hear what they’ve found.

“It’s your file, James,” Dallas says. “From your time in The Program. I got access to it from a source—she stole the whole damn thing. It’s”—she looks at me—“an interesting read.”

“You read my file?” James asks, but his voice is choked as he stares at the papers. Dallas is about to give him what I wouldn’t . . . his past. My body begins to tremble.

Dallas shrugs. “I didn’t read the entire thing,” she offers.