The Treatment (The Program #2)(71)

But we don’t make it. I’m not sure how many steps I take before I feel the sting, the surge, the overwhelming cramp that overtakes my body. The world freezes up and locks, and I’m crumbling, falling in a heap on the floor. My body quivers, tears leak from my eyes, and drool slips from my mouth. My eyes roll back in my head, and when I can finally focus again, I see the white coat of a handler, a Taser in his hand.

Suddenly someone else is there, grabbing me by the shoulders to drag me down the hall, place me in the open before flipping me onto my back. I see Asa, staring down at me with a cold stare, not disappointed or angry, just empty. In the distance I hear Dallas screaming, calling for me. But I can’t help her now.

“I’m getting a wheelchair,” Asa begins, “and then I’m taking you to solitary.” He looks down the hall, waiting for someone.

I want to ask him about Kell, but I’m still shaking too much to talk, my jaw locked as my muscles continue to spasm.

The chair arrives, and Asa and another handler lift me and set me down. I’m slumped to the side, but no one offers any help or asks if I’m okay. I think they’re going to kill me this time. I’ve finally crossed too many lines. I’m expecting to be driven to Dr. Beckett, but instead they turn and I’m going back where I came from. They drag me over to drop me in the bed in a room next to Dallas’s. The handlers fasten me down and leave, Asa not even turning back to look at me.

There’s a tapping noise, something faint at first, but the more awake I get, the louder it becomes. I open my eyes, at first startled by the unfamiliar room, until I remind myself that I’m in a Program hospital. I’m waiting to be lobotomized.

The tapping stops. I turn to my right, and at first I’m too stunned to react.

“Hello, Sloane,” Roger says. “I think we need to have a little chat.”

I open my mouth to scream, but Roger is across the room in a heartbeat, his hand over my mouth. “Now, now,” he says.

“Don’t make me cut your throat.”

I continue fighting anyway, thrashing my head from side to side. Roger takes a step back, wincing and cupping his side where Dallas stabbed him. The minute his palm slips from my mouth and my first scream breaks through the room, his grip on my neck promptly cuts them off. I choke, my eyes widening as air is strangled out of me.

“Let’s try this again,” he growls as my chest starts to burn.

I try to gasp, but I can’t get any air in or out. “I’m going to kill your friend,” he says, “but first I need to locate him. Where is Michael Realm?”

I don’t know, I mouth, struggling against my restraints, but it’s no use. Roger’s weight is too heavy, his strength far out-286

weighing mine. It feels like he’s crushing my bones. He’s going to kill me.

“Here’s the thing, Sloane,” Roger says conversationally, even as small black dots are starting to appear in the corners of my vision. I’m about to pass out. “Realm has something that belongs to me. I’m willing to trade for it, but first I need to find him. Now, you’ll help me, or I’ll destroy Dallas.” Roger lowers his face until it’s just over mine. I try again to take a breath, and fail. Roger smiles sweetly. “I will break her, Sloane. She’ll wish she were dead.” His threat is enough to send me renewed energy, and I use what little strength I have left to bring up my knee as hard as I can. It strikes his thigh, knocking him off-balance and sending him sideways. I start to scream, but my voice is raw, ripping at my throat as I beg for help. I choke on the air I try to take into my lungs. I watch helplessly as Roger staggers to his feet, holding his chest. He must still be healing from where he was stabbed, and I have a wild hope that his wounds will reopen and he’ll bleed to death.

“I will find him,” Roger says, pointing at me as he moves for the door. “Michael Realm is dead, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Help!” I try to yell, but it comes out only as a whisper before another coughing fit starts. Roger is out the door, and I’m crying, rolling from side to side to somehow free my bonds, tearing the flesh on my barely healed wrists. “Help!” I call again, worried that he crushed my windpipe and I’ll never get my voice back.

There’s the sound of footsteps, and I lift my head. The door flies open, and Asa looks in. The minute he sees me, he grabs his radio and calls in a code. I try to tell him about Roger: He’s going to kill Realm, do something horrible to Dallas, but he’s shushing me, working frantically to undo my restraints.

More people arrive, but they never let me talk. I’m strapped to a gurney, white coats whizzing by me as I continue to struggle for breath. I’m watching for Roger’s face, but he’s gone. Like a phantom who came to haunt me, he’s disappeared, making me wonder if he was really there at all. But at the end of the hall, just before they push me down the medical wing for X-rays, I hear one of the nurses say, “Oh my God. What happened to her neck?”

And I knew Roger had really been here after all.

I’m momentarily untied, surrounded by handlers in an infirmary while we wait for Dr. Beckett. “It was Roger,” I rasp to Asa as my throat continues to ache. He nods, his shoulders rigid and his posture alert.

“Yeah, I saw him run past me. I thought he’d come from Dallas’s room, but then I heard you calling.” His eyes lower as if they’re heavy with guilt, and I reach to put my hand on his forearm. The minute I do, he flinches away as if I’ve burned him.