The Treatment (The Program #2)(41)

He remembers his life. He’s had an unfair advantage our entire friendship: He can never forget.

The car bumps the curb as we pull into the parking lot of a gas station, drawing me out of my thoughts. I’m quiet as we park, and Dallas and Cas quickly hop out. I’m slow to move, but I go outside without a word to Realm, and head into the small convenience store.

Dallas is already in the restroom, and the clerk eyes me suspiciously as I loiter. I’m worried he’ll recognize me from the news, and I opt to wait outside instead. I tighten my sweater around me and try to look inconspicuous. I reemerge in the parking lot, and a small blue car pulls up to the pump. I have to be more careful about being seen. I walk around the side of the building, keeping my face concealed. I wonder if James knows to stay in the shadows. I wonder if he knows we’re even gone yet.

I rest against the gray siding, waiting for the others. I glance to where the van is parked, but the tinted windows make it difficult to see inside. Which is just as well—I’m sure I’d find Realm guilt-stricken, watching me. I’m not going to make him feel better right now.

“You seem a little lost.”

I jump and see a guy walking over, his hands in the pockets of his zip-up hoodie. I recognize him immediately, even though he doesn’t look the same. I should run, but I’m rooted in place by fear.

“Who are you?” I ask. Clearly “Adam,” who I met at the suicide club, isn’t what he pretended to be that night. His hair is brushed smooth, his eyes blue and clear—not the black orbs his contacts had presented. He’s wearing a light-green hoodie, preppy in an Abercrombie way, not a returner way. He’s also older than I first thought—mid-twenties maybe. “Are you a handler?” I demand, afraid someone is about to jump out and grab me.

Adam laughs. “No, Sloane. I’m not a part of The Program—but I am interested to hear your thoughts on it.” He pulls his hand out of his sweater pocket, and I flinch like he’s going to Taser me. He holds out a business card, but I can only stare at him.

“It’s okay,” he says gently. “I promise, I want to help.”

“Well, that’s the second time I’ve heard that in the last twenty-four hours. I didn’t believe him, either.” But Arthur Pritchard could have been telling the truth—after all, The Program took him. Is it possible Adam is telling the truth too?

“Why are you following me?” I ask, darting a look behind him. I expect Realm to show up at any second, but then again, I’m not sure if I want him to. Will it put him danger?

“I don’t mean to scare you,” Adam says. “But, Sloane . . .

you have to understand—you’re a big deal in my world.” He offers his card again, and this time I take it. I’m caught off guard by what it says.

“Kellan Thomas,” I read, then look up surprised. “You’re a reporter?”

“For the New York Times,” he responds. “Been following your story since you disappeared last month. You’ve taken me on a hell of a chase.” He smiles. I go to hand him back his card, but he waves it off, telling me to keep it.

“I didn’t tell you right away because I wanted to check your state of mind. In case you’ve forgotten, messing with returners is against the law. I had to make sure you wouldn’t turn me in.

But some laws are meant to be broken, especially ones that keep secrets. Will you talk to me, Sloane? Will you tell me your story?”

“Why? What can you do?” I’m beginning to feel anxious, Adam’s—Kellan’s—presence here is proving we’re not that diffi-166

cult to find. The Program could show up at any second. Arthur had told us the public wasn’t on our side. Can Kellan possibly change that? Will he end up like Arthur if he tries?

“I’ll be honest,” Kellan says. “The paper’s been burying my stories, and I have yet to gain access to any of The Program’s procedures or methods. They operate under cloaked secrecy, and for a public health institution, that seems a bit unethical. But you and James Murphy—you’re a national scandal. There’ve been other returners, but none with the story you have: a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde. The world is starting to root for you. I can only imagine what The Program thinks of that. I’d like to find out. Let me tell your side of things, bring some awareness to what’s happening inside the facilities. What did they do to you, Sloane? What happens inside The Program?” Kellan is watching me, his eyes wide with impatience even though he’s trying to look calm. Arthur Pritchard had mentioned embedded handlers—is Kellan one of them? He could be playing both sides. I open my mouth to tell him it’s too dangerous to talk to him, when I hear my name.

“Sloane?” Realm sounds frantic as he calls me a second time. Kellan closes his eyes, exhaling heavily before looking at me again.

“My number’s on the card,” he says. “Please talk to me.

But . . . let’s keep this between us. I don’t want to end up in jail—or worse.”

It occurs to me that I’m the “worse.” I hurry past him, jogging out to the front of the gas station, where I see Realm, his clasped hands on his head as he darts a panicked look in all directions. He curses when he sees me.

“There you are,” he says when I get closer. “You scared the hell out of me.”