The Treatment (The Program #2)(72)

I broke his trust by going after Dallas. I don’t think he’ll help me again.

The doctor walks into the room, and Asa moves quickly to pull him aside before he can talk to me. I watch, anxious to tell Dr. Beckett exactly what happened so he can stop Roger from hurting Dallas or from finding Realm.

The doctor takes out his phone and begins talking; shooting concerned looks in my direction. Is he calling Roger?

Would The Program get the police involved? After a moment Dr. Beckett hangs up, walking past Asa to stop in front of me.

Absently, I touch my neck.

His smile is apologetic but warm. “Leave us for moment,” he tells the other handlers, glancing back at them once. They exchange looks but then leave—including Asa. Soon it’s just me and the good doctor, alone in a tiny white room. I’m starting to panic—afraid the doctor will try and hurt me like Roger did. I’m vulnerable. I’m scared.

“I must admit . . . ,” the doctor begins, “I came here expecting Michael Realm. I’m disappointed he hasn’t come for you. I guess he doesn’t love you after all.”

His barb hurts, but I move past it, focusing on what really matters. “You can’t let Roget get away with this,” I say after an extended silence. My voice is strangled and weak. “He’s a psychopath and he’s going to kill Dallas and Realm. I know he’s part of the boys’ club here, but even you must to have limits.”

“Measures are being taken.”

I laugh but then grip my damaged neck to alleviate the burn. The doctors are the ones who are crazy. Not us. Not the patients. “He’s going to get away with it,” I say. “Just like last time.” I look him directly in the eyes. “He was blackmailing patients to have sex with him in exchange for memories.”

Beckett’s expression falters. “Are these rumors? How do you know this?”

“I was a patient, remember?” I pause. “I was a victim.”

“You retained memories?”

“Are you not getting the point? He’s raping underage girls, Beckett. Who gives a shit if he lets them keep one inconsequen-tial memory? They’re losing so much more. And this should all be documented,” I add. “He was fired while I was a patient.” Again Dr. Beckett looks perplexed. I can’t believe this.

“Dr. Warren knew all about it,” I say. “Realm broke his arm, they fired Roger and escorted him out. Why did The Program hire him back?”

“We didn’t. Roger no longer works for The Program—not on a public level. And neither does Dr. Warren for that matter. Her position was terminated after you went rogue.” Beckett exhales, looking weary. “Sloane, we’re going to have to talk about Nurse Kell.”

Guilt attacks my conscience. “Is she okay?” Dr. Beckett tilts his head from side to side. “She’s not great, that’s for sure. She needed several staples to close the wound in her head. Is that how you repay someone who’s been trying to help you? Do you still think you’re not sick?”

“I didn’t want to hurt her,” I say, ashamed. “I just wanted to see Dallas. I was worried about her. What you’re doing is wrong. You can’t just turn us into zombies.” Dr. Beckett scoffs. “Hardly, Sloane. You’ve seen Lacey—the patients are all perfectly well. Just . . . less violent. Less suicidal. Can you really not see that?”

I’ll never make him understand. I think he believes this bullshit. “Leave me alone then,” I say. “I don’t know where Realm is, and even if I did, I would never tell you. He may have betrayed me, but at least he’s not a delusional prick.” Dr. Beckett doesn’t move at first, but then a wide Cheshire-like grin spreads over his face. “Poor girl,” he starts in a sympa-thetic voice, “you really are a lost soul.” He reaches down and brushes his fingers over my cheek gently. “Sleep well, Sloane,” he murmurs. “I’ll do what I can to help Dallas.” On cue, the door opens and two handlers come in, talking in hushed voices. Dr. Beckett gives me one last look, his expression a bit doubtful, but concerned nonetheless.

“Sweep the area, and call outside and have them search the grounds,” he tells the handlers. “And keep extra security outside of solitary until the surgeon calls down tomorrow.” The handlers, like mindless drones, leave with their mission.

“So that’s it?” I call to Beckett’s back as he starts to leave.

“You’re just going sever our memories and pretend like we never existed?”

“Believe me, Sloane,” he says. “I wish that’s all there was to it. You can’t imagine the PR nightmare you and your boyfriend have created for us. But we’ll get through it. The Program will survive. Because teens will keep trying to kill themselves, and we’ll keep saving them. It’s the new order of things. I’m just glad I’m on the right side of the battle.”

“You’re not.”

“Yeah, well, what do you know?” he says, annoyance cracking through his otherwise cool exterior. “You’re depressed.

Delusional. Your opinion means shit here.” He pauses, vis-ibly collecting himself. “I’ll see you on the other side, Sloane.

I think you’ll be a lot more likeable then.” And with that, Dr.

Beckett leaves me locked in a padded cell, while he goes back to tend to The Program.