CHAPTER NINE
I FOLLOW THE AMBULANCE TO the hospital—I’m not even sure why. I guess I feel responsible, even though Dr. McKee’s heart attack wasn’t my fault. Nathan left with Melody. He wasn’t happy about it, but she begged to talk to him. He told me he’d find me later and that I should be careful. I’m not sure what could happen in the hospital, but who knows anymore. Like Dr. McKee said, The Program never left. We were never safe.
Dr. McKee didn’t regain consciousness, and although they tried to revive him at the Adjustment office, they couldn’t. Marie didn’t look at me once while the EMTs were working on him, not even when I asked if she was okay. She was lost in her head, and it makes me wonder about her and Dr. McKee’s relationship. It didn’t seem romantic—more like . . . family. A closeness that could only come from unabashed loyalty and care. It makes me suddenly sorry for her. She’ll be all alone now.
I text my grandparents to let them know what happened with Dr. McKee, but I don’t mention what he told me yet. His explanation doesn’t quite make sense in my head.
Something feels off. Wrong.
I need to talk to Marie for clarification, but now isn’t the time. I’ll let her grieve. I understand how controlling grief can be, and unlike her and Dr. McKee, I won’t take advantage of that pain.
As I sit in the hospital waiting room, I’m reminded of the other times I’ve sat here, worried about Wes. I was hoping I’d never have to be in this hospital again, and yet here I am.
The sliding doors open, and I’m relieved to see Nathan walk in. He looks awful, drawn and tired. He drops down into the chair next to me. When he turns to me, my soul aches. Nathan with a broken heart is too much for me to take. I reach for him and pull him into a hug, and it nearly kills me as he silently cries into my shoulder.
Nathan tells me that he already filled in Foster on the fact that he and Jana/Melody have broken up and that she has been working for the Adjustment. As Nathan relayed it, Foster’s response was: “Well, fuck her. I knew it.”
Nathan promises to tell me what Melody said to him after they left the office, but first he wants to head home.
As we drive back to our houses in my Jeep, I’m torn on how to feel about Dr. McKee’s death. I didn’t want him to die, obviously. But I also think about Vanessa, how the Adjustment contributed to her death. How it nearly killed Wes. How Dr. McKee has spent his life manipulating others. It doesn’t justify him dying—I’m not a monster. But it does add an extra layer of emotions.
“She used me,” Nathan says under his breath. It’s dark outside, and I glance over at him and see he’s still the same brand of sad he brought with him to the hospital.
“Nathan,” I say, but he shakes his head and looks out the passenger window.
“She used me,” he repeats. “She was a fucking spy, and I was stupid for not seeing it sooner. I put us all in danger.” He turns to me, miserable. “I put you in danger. I welcomed her into our lives, and I even made you be friends with her.”
“You didn’t make me do anything.”
“You did it for me,” he says, and he’s not wrong. Jana and I were never completely on the same page, but I gave it a shot because he’s my best friend.
“And that’s not all,” Nathan says. “She wasn’t just a handler. I was right to be uncomfortable the other day. The woman she lives with is not her mother. Jana—” He stops and closes his eyes. “Melody was assigned to her as . . . a closer, she called it. She was . . .” Nathan doesn’t seem to want to go on, and I reach over and put my hand on his leg.
“She was impersonating Jana Simms,” Nathan says quietly. “A girl who died last year. Melody took over her life, originally at the mom’s request—some twisted kind of therapy. But lately, she and her ‘mother’ had been arguing. I guess the mother had gotten her closure, and wanted Melody to move on. But Melody hadn’t finished her assignment.”
Nathan looks at me. “That’s you. Her assignment.” The words seem to make him sick, but I don’t want his apology. Nathan hasn’t hurt me. Melody did.
“So what does she do now?” I ask. I take a left onto our street and continue toward the light of my front porch.
“She’s pretty tore up,” Nathan says. “She actually cared for Dr. McKee. She’s done with the Adjustment—I can tell that much. She hinted she might leave town soon. But I’m not sure she has anywhere else to go.”
“If it matters,” I say, “I think she really did care about you.” I pull into my driveway and turn off the engine of the Jeep. I look across the car, and Nathan meets my eyes.
“It doesn’t matter,” he says simply.
He gets out of the car, and I watch him from the driver’s seat as he crosses the driveway toward his house and disappears inside.
• • •
Over a late dinner of reheated food, my grandparents ask what I was doing at the Adjustment office. My grandmother flinches when I tell her that Dr. McKee died in front of me, but she adds nothing other than to say it’s a tragedy. It’s especially unsettling given the fact that Dr. McKee told me they were close. Given the fact that she and my grandfather offered me up to this experiment more than once. And yet, my grandmother sits there showing only quiet concern.
I tell my grandparents about Jana really being Melody. I lie and say Nathan and I were there to find her, afraid she was getting an Adjustment. But it turned out she worked for them. I try to gauge my grandparents’ reactions—my heightened sense for bullshit ready to find any discrepancies.
But either my grandparents didn’t know, or their lying skills are expert level now. My grandmother frets about Nathan and wonders if she should call his mother. But it’s late, and I agree to invite him over for dinner tomorrow.
“And how are you feeling, honey?” my grandmother asks me. I notice that Pop hasn’t said much the entire meal, and his passivity in this pisses me off.
“Well,” I say, pushing my plate away. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I’ve ended things with Wes; I’ve gone to therapy; hell, I even tell you about my headaches. So basically, I’m miserable.”
I’m purposely prodding them, seeing if they’ll break down and confess. Confess what, I still don’t know. It’s already bigger than I imagine.
“It’ll pass,” my grandmother says. “You’ll be in college soon—things will be better. You’ll see.”
I stare at her, and my eyes must be cold, because she lowers her gaze.
“I’m going to bed,” I say suddenly, and stand up. I’ll be better at faking normal tomorrow. Right now, I’m spent. Unable to pretend for another second.
My grandparents stay at the table, murmuring good night as I leave. But when I get to the top of the stairs, I don’t go directly to my room. I’m drawn to the box in my grandparents’ closet. Something about it felt off. And I want to know exactly why.
I slip inside their bedroom and stride over to the closet. I open the doors and get on my tiptoes, but as I reach up, I find the box is gone. I take a step back, surveying the space, in case I put it back in the wrong spot. But my heart sinks because I know I didn’t. The box is gone.
It’s so bizarre; I’d entertain it was never there in the first place, except there is a box-size hole on the shelf. An empty space exactly where it had been. And then I remember that I didn’t just tell Nathan and Foster about it—I told Dr. Warren, as well.
I fall back a step, overwhelmed. My grandparents aren’t who I thought they were—how could they be? At this point, if I confront them, will they tell Dr. Warren? Will The Program come for me? I need help—I see that very clearly now.
Paranoid, I quickly dash back to my room. I don’t understand what’s happened, how quickly my life has unraveled. And that box . . . I don’t get. It was baby stuff. What was in there to hide?
I shut my door, and consider locking it—just like Wes locks his—but I have to accept that physically, if I can keep pretending, I’m not in any danger. I have to believe that for now because there isn’t another option. Not yet.
My bed creaks as I sit down, and I’m more confused than when I woke up. So much of my past is a lie. Not even my recent past, but my actual childhood. And although I should be too worried to sleep, my eyelids are heavy. My conscience tired. I lie back, staring up at the ceiling.
I watched someone die today. I had my reality shaken. Once Nathan deals with his broken heart, we’ll figure out what to do next about Melody. We’ll figure it out together.
I’m drained, ready to slip away into the darkness of sleep, but I think about Dr. McKee again. How his last wish was to talk to his daughter. And how, for some reason, Marie said no.
There’s a buzzing, and I glance over wearily and see Wes’s name lit up on my phone. I debate answering, sure that if I talk to him, we’ll talk for hours. I watch the phone until it grows silent.
There’s a vibration, and I pick up the phone and see he texted.
I really need to talk to you, he writes. Can you please call me?
I stare at the words, and I hate that he has to ask. I should have answered the phone; I should call back. Wes has only known me two days—he can’t feel that strongly about me. Not after I told him we weren’t together like that. Then again, muscle memory. His heart remembers me.
But I don’t respond. I tuck the phone under my pillow, and I close my eyes. So tired. So fucking tired.
There’s an itch in the back of my head, deep in my skull. A fuzziness begins to spread, and then all at once, the bed drops out from under me as I fall deep inside a memory.
• • •
Wes and I were at the park, six months before The Program came for me. The weeping willow tree rustled quietly in the sunny afternoon sky. Blanket spread out in the grass; birds singing on the branches.
I turned the page of my magazine, and Wes leaned in to kiss my bare shoulder, his finger teasing the spaghetti strap of my tank top.
“Can I ask you something?” he said, kissing my skin again. I shrugged him off and turned another page.
“Sure,” I said. I didn’t really want to talk. The Program had been collecting more and more people from class, their threat bigger than ever. Closing in on us. Talking seemed like a terrible idea.
“Do you love me?” Wes asked in a quiet voice.
I looked over at him with a sudden skip in my heart. His soft brown eyes reflected the light, shining even as he squinted at me.
“Yeah,” I said impatiently. “Of course.”
Wes fell silent, and then pushed on. “But you don’t love me the same,” he added.
We stared at each other for a long moment, and then I set my magazine aside. Wes and I had been together for years, we were a team. I cared deeply for him, but lately . . . things around me had started to feel hopeless. What was the point of loving anybody anymore?
We would never survive The Program.
That idea consumed me; it consumed my love for Wes. It was all I thought about.
Something was wrong with me. I was unwell, and I didn’t have a single person to talk to about it aside from Wes. Anyone else would turn me in to The Program. But I couldn’t spread this to Wes, this . . . sadness. I couldn’t do that to him.
“Tatum?” Wes asked, still waiting for me to answer. But what could I say?
“No,” I told him. “It’s not the same.”
Wes flinched, lowering his eyes to the blanket. He sniffled, his lips parting as he tried to find the question he needed to ask.
He was right—I didn’t feel the same anymore. I was starting to think I didn’t feel at all. For weeks, I’d been retreating further and further inside my head. Finding a safe spot. From The Program, from the world. From his mother. I was detached from everyone, including Wes. If I stopped feeling, stopped loving, I could still make it. I could still survive.
But new guilt crawled into my chest as I realized what I was doing. I would destroy him if I kept this up—this push and pull of a relationship. This lie. I’d basically be handing him over to The Program.
I had to let him go.
“We should see other people,” I said, watching as he flinched again. “With everything going on, I think it’d be the best idea.”
Wes lifted his eyes to mine, his face pained. “You want to date other people?” he asked, his voice scratchy with emotion. Tears spilled over onto his cheeks, and he was crying. I was making him cry.
“I think you should see other people,” I clarified. He hitched in a breath, his hand over his heart like it hurt.
“I want to be with you,” he said. “Are you saying . . . do you still want to be with me, Tate?”
I couldn’t hold his eyes, and I let the darkness creep over me. Blotting out the light. Erasing us. “No,” I said, staring down at the blanket. “No, Wes. I don’t think we should be together anymore.”
Wes choked out a cry, and he was a wounded animal, desperate and hurt. I didn’t even want to look at him. Didn’t want to see the damage I had just inflicted. It would save him, though. Letting me go would save him.
“I’m sorry,” I said, low. “I’m so sorry.”
Wes dropped back onto the blanket, his forearm over his face, refusing to speak to me. But I curled up next to him anyway, unable to let him cry alone.
I still loved him. Just not the same.
And I listened quietly, hating myself, as he told me he wished he were dead.
• • •
I wake up to my phone buzzing near my head, disoriented. I squint against the light coming in my window, trying to unravel the mystery in my head. My phone stops buzzing, but my head doesn’t.
The world is blurry, slow to come back. The memory sticks with me, and a heavy realization crashes over my soul: I broke up with Wes first. I broke his heart and told him to date other people. I sent him away, and when he did try to find happiness, I pulled him back in. I pulled him down.
Until we were both taken by The Program.
Although it would be easier to blame the epidemic for this, blame fear—it doesn’t matter what caused it. In the end, my sadness, loneliness, ended with me hurting Wes. And then to make it worse, I continued to hurt him. Right up until the end. Right up until yesterday.
I finally know the truth of our story. I was slowly dying and thought letting him go would save him. When he did, in fact, start seeing Kyle, it tore me up. And I wanted it all back. I wanted him back. But it was too late. I’d hurt him, broken him down. He was trying to survive, but I begged him to stay with me. And in the end, he wouldn’t leave me, even though he should have.
I’m the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.
My nose is bleeding from the crashback, mixing with the tears streaming down my cheeks. As I reach to grab a tissue, my phone starts buzzing again. I peek at the caller ID and see it’s Nathan. I have no idea why he’d keep calling instead of texting. It must be serious.
“You okay?” I ask as way of answering, wiping off the last of the blood.
Nathan laughs bitterly. “Not quite. But I have an idea. Want to skip school today with me and Foster and get pancakes?”
I brush my hair away from my face, still trying to get my bearings. “Sure,” I say. “And I . . .” I’m about to tell him about the memory but figure it would be better in person. “See you in twenty minutes?” I ask instead.
“Deal,” Nathan responds, and hangs up.
I climb out of bed, the memory set aside, and suddenly the events of yesterday come flooding back. I fall to sit on the mattress. Dr. McKee is dead. My grandparents had my memory erased when I was a kid and then lied about everything. They let me get adjusted. No, they had me adjusted.
I’m overwhelmed, my heart racing, sweat gathering in my hairline. My skin prickles.
I switch to my default, the only way to have any normalcy. I have to block it all out, every confusing thought. Every question. Every returned memory. I push it aside and force myself to my feet. To the shower. To the kitchen.
It’s no way to exist, this empty way I’m going through the motions. But it will help me to live. For now. Wes was right—the past is a dangerous place to be.
“Have a nice day, honey,” my grandmother calls as I grab my keys from the kitchen. And for one fleeting moment, she stares at me as if she really sees me—like she can tell everything that’s happened. But all I do is smile and tell her I hope she has a nice day too.
Nathan is sitting on his front porch, his posture sagging, and his elbows on his knees. He looks up from his spot on the stairs when I get to my Jeep. I wave him over, and he grabs his backpack and heads my way. He climbs inside, and I motion toward his bag.
“Thought we were skipping?” I ask.
“Prop,” he says. His voice is tired and raspy. It makes me think he’s been crying, and I decide it’s not the time to talk about my past with Wes. It’s over anyway. Nathan’s pain is right now. I have to deal with one problem at a time.
“Didn’t feel like telling my mother about skipping,” he adds. “I couldn’t even bring myself to tell her about Melody.” He spits her name like it’s a curse.
“And Foster?” I ask.
“He’s going to meet us at Lulu’s.”
I pull out of the driveway and head toward the pancake house. “How much does he know?” I ask.
Nathan sniffs a laugh and rests his head back against the seat, staring vacantly out the windshield. “Enough to prove him right, which is going to be super annoying.”
I smile and press down on the accelerator, speeding us toward our friend.