The Treatment (The Program #2)(63)

“Michael Realm is a handler, Sloane. An embedded handler who was assigned to help erase you, and then later, assigned to track you and the rebels down. Only he must have gotten caught up in your cause, or more likely, gotten sick. We need to find him before he harms himself.”

My lips work, but no words are coming out. Realm is . . .

a handler? Realm . . . My eyelids flutter, and I’m on the verge of fainting as my shoulder hits the metal bar of the wheelchair.

Realm helped erase me and then tracked me down for The Program? Is any of that true? Could it be?

Realm ignores James, looking at me with a sort of reverence.

“So you’re happy to see me?” he asks, as if he’s scared of the answer.

“Yes. What kind of question is that?” He smiles, dropping his hand. “Of course,” he repeats. “You didn’t take it.”

My world breaks apart and I begin fighting my restraints.

I understand now what Realm meant the first time I saw him after he gave me the pill. At one point I must have known exactly what he was. He thought I remembered that.

“No!” I scream, my skin scoring under the restraints. Tears roll down my cheeks and my throat becomes raw. I start to sob, so betrayed, so hurt. My wrists slide around in the blood as I shred my flesh under the buckle. Dr. Beckett moves around the desk to undo my restraints, and once freed, I make no move other than to cover my face and cry. “Realm,” I say, moaning.

“What have you done?”

My best friend helped to destroy who I was. He worked for The Program—he was never my friend. How could he be when he had inside information on my life? My relationships? I was being manipulated the entire time. And now he’s with James.

What is he going to do?

I feel stupid. I feel alone. Dr. Beckett puts his arm around me in a show of support, and I turn and cry into the crisp collar of his button-up shirt, smearing blood on his sleeves. I wish I could see Michael Realm again. Just so I can kill him.

A dozen other memories want to surface, ones where Realm is kind and caring, always looking out for me. But I growl at the lies of them and push back from Dr. Beckett. He quickly grabs my arms, pinning me down.

“Stay calm,” he says soothingly. But it’s no use. I’m ready to tear him apart. Tear this place apart. “We will catch Michael Realm,” he says, close to my face. “And then you’ll be free of his lies.”

I lift my chin defiantly. “How do I know you’re not the one who’s lying?”

Beckett lets go of my arms and sits in the chair beside me.

“Don’t be naive. You already knew, Sloane. Maybe you didn’t want to admit it, but you knew. Michael Realm, your friends in The Program—Shepard, Derek, Tabitha. They’re all part of this, Sloane.”

I stare at him a moment, quickly picking through everyone I’ve ever known, suspicious of every friend I can remember.

There’s no way to know the truth anymore. There’s no way to know who or what is real. “And Cas,” I say. “You had Cas, too.” The doctor shakes his head. “Casanova Gutierrez was merely an informant. He’s not on the payroll. We struck a deal with him—The Treatment in exchange for your freedom. At least he had a noble cause. Unfortunately, when the handlers arrived, it was obvious you’d all been infected. They told me they had no choice but to take you into custody.

Suicide is contagious, after all, and you’re all a high-level threat. We’ve let Mr. Gutierrez go, though. We try to keep our word.”

I ball my hands into fists, bloodstains dotting my scrubs. I don’t believe Dr. Beckett. They never planned to fulfill their bar-gain, just like they don’t plan to let me go now. Asa confirmed it. I can’t possibly take this all in; no one could. Dr. Beckett is trying to drive me insane, have me submit to The Program.

Why? I’m not that special. I’m not worth this much pain and effort. What more do they want from me? They’ve taken everything !

I jump up from the chair and grab the paperweight off Beckett’s desk—a cast-iron brain with its different parts highlighted.

I hold it up, and Dr. Beckett slowly rises from his chair, his eyes narrowed as he darts a look from me to the raised paperweight.

“Put it down, Sloane,” he says in a low voice. “I’m going to tell you only once.” The door opens behind him, as if our whole conversation had been monitored from the start. Asa stands there, his face unreadable. And then he silently shakes his head. I feel myself break, crack, and fall apart. I won’t get out this way—not by killing a doctor who can be replaced so easily. It’s bigger than that. It’s bigger than me.

I drop the brain to the floor, where it clanks loudly even through the carpet. Dr. Beckett’s hand shoots out, and I push him back hard enough to make him stumble over the chair and onto the floor. I start to scream, pull my hair, before Asa rushes over. I’m losing it. I’m totally f**king losing it. Asa pins my arms to my side, locking me in his grip as he holds my body against his, immobilizing me. I continue to yell as Dr. Beckett tries to stand, and I kick out my feet, barely missing him.

Nurse Kell is fumbling with the cap of a syringe, running into the room amid the chaos I’m creating. I have only a moment to meet her concerned eyes before she stabs me in the thigh with a sedative. Soon I’m sliding from Asa’s arms back into the chair, my cries fading into soft whimpers. Nurse Kell kneels beside me, wiping my face as I stare at her helplessly.