CHAPTER TEN
FOSTER TAKES A BITE OF pancake, wipes his mouth, and then looks across the table at Nathan. “So your ex-girlfriend was a spy for the Adjustment and kept tabs on all of us?”
“I guess,” Nathan says with a shrug. I sip from my coffee. “Although mostly it was Tatum.”
“She said she loved you?” Foster asks him. He bites off a piece of bacon, calm about all of this. “Did you love her? Is that what she used to manipulate you?”
Nathan sighs, lifting his head to glare at Foster. Foster nods that he doesn’t have to answer, before biting another piece of bacon. And I can’t stand that the first girl Nathan loved did this to him. He’ll never get over it; how could he?
“She also got a job at Rockstar Pizza a few weeks ago,” I add, trying to lighten the moment. Lift his pain. “So she manipulated him with pizza, too.”
Nathan sniffs a laugh like he hates me. “Now I can never eat there again,” he says, pushing his food around on his plate. “She took my favorite restaurant from me. It’s unforgivable.”
“You’ll learn to love again,” I tell him wistfully. “Maybe it won’t be Rockstar, but I know there’s a special pie out there for you.” Nathan laughs.
“So just to make sure . . . ,” Foster starts, scrunching up his nose. “Jana is Melody, who is a closer—a person who impersonates someone who died. Am I right so far?”
Nathan nods.
“Cool. She’s also a handler, and Vanessa was a patient she monitored in The Program. I’m still good?”
“Yes, Foster,” Nathan says, wanting him to get to the point he’s sure he’s trying to make.
“And then Melody watches Vanessa until she kills her—inadvertently,” he adds quickly for Nathan’s benefit. “But then she starts hooking up with you to keep an eye on Tatum?”
“That’s what I’ve got,” Nathan says. His skin is pale, and when he glances over at me, his hazel eyes are glassy with embarrassment.
“Don’t,” I whisper, hating that he blames himself.
“And so you broke up with her,” Foster continues brightly, and holds out his fist for Nathan to bump; he does. “But she’s still around. At least for a little bit?”
“I guess,” Nathan says.
“But I can’t tell Arturo?” Foster wants to know.
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Nathan says. “I just want her to go away. I don’t want to answer questions or have people wonder if I was somehow in with a handler.”
“You were in with a handler,” Foster says, taking a sip of his coffee. I kick him under the table, and he apologizes.
“Look,” Foster says, pushing aside his plate and leaning into the table. “It’s not your fault, Nathan. I seriously shouldn’t even have to tell you that. You’re one of the most decent guys I’ve ever met, and I fucking love you. But Jana sucked. She always did. Now, we’re going to expunge her from the record, and push ahead. Correct?”
I can see Nathan wants to blame himself anyway, but he nods that it’s time for us to move on.
“The real Jana Simms died last year,” Nathan says. “And I never knew her. So let’s just leave it at that.”
“Done,” Foster replies easily. But the moment is dark. Morbid and heavy.
My phone buzzes with a message, and I check it. I sigh heavily, and Foster peeks over to read the text.
Seriously, Wes texts. Please call me back.
I look up and meet Foster’s eyes, and he motions to the phone on the table. “Seems to be going well,” he says sarcastically. “And we should note that I saw Wes at school before I left, and he’s at once the most adorable and saddest thing I’ve ever seen. Am I wrong to assume that has to do with you?”
“Not on purpose,” I say, lowering my eyes.
“Uh . . . didn’t you sleep over his house, like, two days ago?” Foster asks.
“Right?” Nathan laughs and reaches over to take a piece of bacon off Foster’s discarded plate. Foster smiles, as if reassured now that Nathan is eating again.
“Yes, I did sleep there,” I say. “But nothing happened. Wes and I aren’t getting back together. In fact, I told him that we never dated—that we were just friends.”
“That was dumb. And kind of fucking mean,” Foster adds, partially under his breath.
“Yeah, well, in case you forgot,” I say, “I killed someone yesterday.”
“You didn’t kill him,” Nathan says immediately.
“Okay,” I admit. “But I’m still their proof of concept, whatever that is. I’m like, the last person Wes should talk to.”
“You are definitely a bit of a mess right now,” Foster agrees. “But that’s exactly why you shouldn’t cut him completely out of your life. You have a history together. You don’t have to burn the entire bridge, Tatum. You might still need to cross it.”
“You don’t understand,” I say, guilty. “He can’t be with me. I . . . I broke up with him. Last year, before he met Kyle, I broke up with Wes. I told him to see other people.”
Foster tilts his head, confused, and Nathan leans his elbows on the table.
“I had a crashback,” I confess to them. “And I saw it all. What I did, said. How I hurt him. It’s my fault.”
“What?” Nathan says, shaking his head. “Wait . . . seriously, what? This changes everything. Your entire history. How could you—?” He stops himself from asking how I could forget something like this, wincing slightly.
“I thought I was protecting him,” I say. “Protecting us from me. Instead, I made him sick.”
“You told him to see other people,” Foster corrects. “He did. You didn’t force him to do anything, Tatum.”
“But then I wanted him back,” I explain.
“Uh-huh,” Foster says. “And that happens in regular relationships that aren’t being manipulated by the fucking Program. The way I see it,” he says, “you’re doing more damage now. He’s better. You’re better. Why lie to him? It’s going to mess him up.”
“Listen to Foster,” Nathan relents. “You’ve both made mistakes. Admit to them, accept them. I’m sorry, but lying isn’t an option anymore.”
“Besides the two of you,” I say, “everyone else in my life tells me to stay away from him.”
“Yeah, well, you should trust us, obviously,” Nathan says, and Foster nods. “Talk to Wes,” Nathan continues. “You don’t have to dive into your entire sordid past yet, but give him the option to find out. Don’t steal his life away.”
The words hit me hard, and I sit back in the chair, staring down. I think Nathan’s right—I have to give Wes the option of knowing the truth—the full truth. I owe him that much.
“Where do I even start?” I murmur. “I brought him to this point. My constant lying, even if I did it to protect him. I’m no better than my grandparents, than Dr. McKee or Marie Devoroux. I’m—”
My phone buzzes, startling me. I check it, and my heart jumps. I quickly look at Nathan, and he leans forward, reading my alarm.
“Who is it?” he asks.
“The Adjustment office,” I murmur in the same breath I say hello, the phone at my ear, my gaze locked with Nathan’s.
“Tatum,” Marie says, the sound of her voice jarring me. “Have you heard from Melody Blackstone? I can’t get hold of her, and her mother said she was gone this morning. Her room cleaned out.”
“Oh . . . ,” I say, watching Nathan’s expression. “No, I haven’t heard anything. I—”
“I’m worried,” Marie cuts in. “I need you to come by the office.”
“Are you serious?” I ask, annoyed she’d even suggest it. “After everything you and Dr. McKee did to—”
“Dr. McKee is dead,” Marie says harshly. “And this isn’t negotiable. I’ll see you shortly.” Marie hangs up, and I lower the phone.
“Marie?” Nathan asks. “What does she want?”
“She said Melody is missing. And she wants me to come by the Adjustment office.”
Foster’s mouth falls open as he darts a look between me and Nathan. “Not to be that guy,” he says, brow furrowed, “but it’s a trap. Don’t go.”
“I’ll be with her,” Nathan says instantly, tossing money onto the table. He’s worried about Melody. Despite everything, he’ll still protect her.
Foster checks the time on his phone. “Shit. I have a test fourth hour—I can’t miss it. But I’ll be done by noon. Find you after?” he asks.
“Of course,” I say, still thinking about Melody. Wondering if she has anyone to turn to. Worried that she really is in danger. We should have looked out for her.
“For real, though,” Foster adds, getting up from the chair. “Answer my call at twelve or I’m showing up at the office to rescue you.”
Nathan promises Foster that we’ll check in, his mind clearly somewhere else. Foster glances at me, concerned, and touches my arm in good-bye before walking out.
• • •
“Do you think she’s all right?” Nathan asks quietly from the passenger seat as we drive toward the Adjustment office. I look sideways at him and see him chewing on the corner of his thumbnail.
I almost say yes automatically, but I think about Marie and Dr. McKee, how they were always honest with each other. Sort of like Nathan and me. At least, the way we try to be.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “But I truly hope so.”
“What if she . . . ?” Nathan creases his forehead and turns away.
My heart aches, and he doesn’t have to finish his sentence. We’ve lived through a suicide epidemic. The possibility is always on the table.
There are no cars in the strip mall parking lot when we pull in. It’s early, and none of the few remaining businesses are open yet. The frosted-glass windows of the Adjustment office are lit up, the lights on inside. I can’t help it—I check around for handlers. For their van. For any sign that Foster was right about this being a trap. But it’s a quiet morning in Oregon. Nathan starts to open his door, but I reach out to grab his arm.
“I’m scared,” I say.
“If she or anyone tries to hurt you, I swear, I’ll go nuclear,” he says. “Remember that time in Chuck E. Cheese’s when—”
I smile. “When Rex Wisteria pegged me with a plastic ball from the pit?”
Nathan nods, looking proud of himself. Nathan isn’t exactly a fighter, but he beat the shit out of that kid when we were in eighth grade. Of course, Rex deserved it. He’d been torturing me at school, and when he saw me at the restaurant without my grandparents, he tried to continue. Only this time Nathan was there, and he pounced. A fight in a Chuck E. Cheese ball pit is certainly something to behold. Rex never messed with me again.
“I love you,” I tell him.
“Yeah,” he says, lifting one corner of his mouth. “I love you, too.”
He gets out of the Jeep, and although I’m frightened—terrified, really—I don’t think Marie would call me, drag me down here, only to forcibly adjust me. Again. She’s far too clever to be that obvious.
The door is locked, and I press the buzzer to let Marie know I’m here. It’s quiet, apart from a few birds in the cherry trees along the road.
The door opens, and Marie nods a hello at Nathan—her mouth tight. He flashes her a winning smile, part sarcastic, and she tells us both to come in. She leaves it unlatched.
We get inside the lobby, and I’m stunned by her appearance. Marie is a beautiful woman, but today she is a tragic figure. Her dark skin has taken on a greenish hue, her red lipstick gone and her lips chapped. By the swelling around her eyes, I can see she’s been crying. It actually chokes me up a little bit, and I clear my throat to regain my composure.
It’s then that I see the picture of Dr. McKee, the one Nathan joked about the first time we came to the Adjustment office. Marie must have hung it back up today.
“When’s the last time you spoke to Melody?” Marie asks, folding her arms over her chest.
“Yesterday,” Nathan says. “But if you think she’s going to come back and work for you, you’re insane.”
“I don’t want her to work for me,” Marie says curtly. “I’m worried about her. There are things you don’t understand, Nathan. Other forces at work here. She can’t just disappear; believe me when I say that doesn’t typically lead to a good outcome.”
“Typically,” I repeat. “Meaning it’s happened before?”
“Not with Melody,” Marie says with a shake of her head. “I’ve known her for years, since she was a child really. She helped us in the grief department, and then she decided to work for The Program, against my and Dr. McKee’s wishes.”
Nathan flinches and sniffs as he looks away.
“But when The Program was getting shut down, Melody came to me. She felt horrible about what she’d been a part of. She wanted to make amends. So she began to help us here, watching returners and correcting those we could.”
“You didn’t correct anybody,” I say.
She levels her gaze on me. “We corrected you,” she replies. “Now, as you know, The Program is still operating. They have their own handlers, ones who have no part in the cure. I’m not sure who else is involved.”
I look at Nathan. “Derek’s one, I bet.”
“He is,” Marie agrees. “He’s been a handler with them for years.”
The confirmation chills me, and I turn back to Marie. “I saw him talking to Melody,” I say.
“She was attempting to dissuade him from following you. Derek is . . . stubborn.”
“He’s an asshole,” I correct, and she smiles.
“Yes, he is definitely that, too. But Melody was looking out for you, Tatum.”
I have a flash of regret, having always assumed the worst about Melody. Sure, she wasn’t honest with us, but I’m grateful that she tried to get Derek off my back. I’m grateful she put herself on the line for that. Maybe I’ve been unfair to her.
“It makes sense,” I say. “About Derek? Realm told me that The Program was after me.”
“Michael?” Marie asks. “What else did he tell you?” I don’t like that she expects me to answer so easily, and she must read that in my stance. “Michael always says The Program is after people—it’s how he thinks,” she explains. “My biggest concern right now is for Melody. She and Michael are friends, and I want to talk to him. But he hasn’t returned my calls.”
The fact that he’s not returning her calls heartens me; it means he wasn’t lying when he said he was done with the Adjustment.
“What does The Program want from me, Marie?” I ask. “Because I’m not buying the ‘Realm is paranoid’ excuse.”
“I didn’t say he was paranoid,” Marie corrects. “Although he is most of the time. It’s what makes Michael Realm excellent at his job. But you asked me about The Program, what they want—it’s not a simple answer. There are a lot of moving parts here, Tatum. As you know, Dr. Warren has been your therapist; she’s been keeping an eye on you.”
“Yeah, thanks for the heads-up on that,” I mutter.
“I don’t know the nature of the deal that got you released from The Program, but we had no choice in bringing you to her. And . . . I’m guessing Dr. Warren has realized that the memories you gave her in The Program, the ones she erased, were not accurate. The crashbacks you told her about contradict your story. She hates being wrong. And now The Program wants to know if you’re the cure.”
“Why would they care? Why wouldn’t they want to fix the problems they created?”
“Because they don’t see crashbacks as problems. They are merely complications. And allowing a cure to come to market would wipe out any hope of The Program returning. They’d be obsolete.”
“Good,” I say. She smiles.
“It would be good. But when powerful people have profits to protect, when even more powerful people have ideas on how to use the technology to control the masses, they’re going to fight. You are the cure, Tatum. And believe me when I say that we can’t let them find out.”
“Because?” I ask.
“Because then they’ll want you dead.”
My heart skips, and I look quickly to Nathan. He puts his hand on my arm, pulling me to his side. Ready to jump into the ball pit with a faceless organization.
“Or at the very least erased or lobotomized,” Marie adds, and I feel like maybe that was the better answer, as disturbing as that is. The concern that settles in her expression makes me think I’m not the only person The Program is after. Maybe they’re after Melody, too. Maybe they’re after everyone involved with the Adjustment.
“If you talk to him again,” Marie says calmly, “please have Michael contact me. I’m sorry Tom and I didn’t warn you about Dr. Warren sooner, but we were trying to be discreet.”
“You lie,” I say. “You’re not discreet.”
A smile tugs on Marie’s lips like she’s impressed with how I’m standing up to her. Before she says anything more, the door to the Adjustment office rips open, and two people rush in.
The young woman has blond hair and blue eyes that are deeply red from crying. The guy with her looks equally miserable, and he buries his hands in his pockets, staring intently at Marie. The doctor falls back a step as she takes them in, obviously recognizing them.
“What happened to him?” the woman demands from Marie, not even glancing in my or Nathan’s direction. “What was he doing?”
Marie stares back, wide-eyed in awe or disbelief. “He was trying to do right,” she murmurs, sounding far away.
“What the hell does that mean?” the woman asks, talking with Marie in a way that’s so personal, so steeped in history, that it feels like a parent/child relationship.
The woman herself is nondescript. She’s young and pretty, I guess, but in a way that’s not memorable. None of her features are prominent, a face that could be anybody. I don’t know how else to explain it.
Next to her, the guy surveys the room before he notices us. He’s intimidating—not because of his build or an aggressive expression. It’s how he seems to look right into me, like he can see me and know everything. Know my every secret.
“Marie,” the woman says, her voice tight but pleading. “What were the two of you doing here?”
It’s then that the woman’s eyes drift to the picture hanging on the back wall. Dr. McKee told us that his daughter shot it, and as her eyes well up, I realize this is her. This is his daughter.
Marie sees her looking and reaches to put her hand on her arm. “Quinlan—” she starts, but the woman shakes her off violently.
“Don’t call me that,” she says. “It’s Nicole. And what is this?” she demands, pointing to the picture. Behind Nicole, the guy she’s with curses under his breath.
“He remembered, didn’t he, Marie?” Nicole asks. “He remembered me.”
“You know he didn’t,” Marie says sympathetically. But she’s lying, and the way Nicole shakes her head, she knows she’s lying too.
Dr. McKee asked for his daughter—why would Marie try to cover that up? What else is she hiding that even after his death she has to keep a secret?
“You shouldn’t be here,” Marie says to Nicole. She glances at the guy. “You either, Deacon. How did you even know what happened?”
Nicole scoffs, offended. “Find out that my father was dead ?” she asks bitterly. “A stranger called me, Melody someone. Told me that my father died in the back room of a fucking office.” She chokes up, tears spilling onto her cheeks. “A stranger,” she repeats. “You should have been the one to call.”
Nathan and I exchange a look, not sure if this means Melody is okay, or if it was her final moment to set things right. He puts his hand over mine where I hold his arm. I can feel him shaking.
“Go,” I tell him. “Go look for her.”
He seems torn, partly because he’s upset with her and shouldn’t want to find her. But he still loves her. It’s not something that just shuts off in a day.
“You sure?” Nathan asks.
I tell him that I am and pass him the keys to my Jeep.
I’m glad that Melody called Dr. McKee’s daughter. It proves she has some compassion, after all. And although we don’t know much about the real Melody Blackstone, I hope Nathan can find her. I hope she’s still alive.