Suzanne Young - The Treatment

“Can I see it for second?” James asks. I lift my gaze to where he sits, and nod. I take the Baggie and crawl onto the bed. James lies next to me, and I hand him the items, resting my cheek on his shoulder. He reads the business card through the plastic and then begins tracing the pill with his thumb.

“A cure dangerous enough to kill us,” he says. “What a cruel twist.”

I close my eyes, thinking back on what Dallas said. She would have made James take The Treatment. Realm would have made me. They both thought it would be worth the risk, and now that James has lost everything . . . I wonder if they’re right.

“I understand if you want to take the pill,” I tell him. “I know you’re strong enough to fight off the depression if you want the memories. Especially now that your dad is gone.”

James turns to press a kiss on my forehead. “I have all I need right here,” he murmurs. “And if there’s a chance a doctor, or anyone, can figure out how to use this pill to save others in the future, we should hold on to it.” He smiles. “How the hell did we become responsible for the fate of the entire world?”

I laugh. “I have no idea.”

James slides the Baggie into the leg pocket of his cargo shorts and then turns to wrap his arms around me. He pets my hair and I reach to stroke my fingers over the scars on his bicep—the names The Program took away.

“We’ll keep the pill safe from The Program,” he whispers. “In the morning we’ll go far away until all this has blown over. We’ll even get a puppy.”

“Two,” I say, although I know we’re just playing house again. I don’t mind. When your entire life has morphed into a low-budget action movie, you fantasize about a boring suburban existence. How easy it would all be.

There’s a sharp pain in my temple, and I wince and touch the spot. I’m reminded of what happened the last time a memory cracked through. But just as quickly as the pain hits, it disappears. So I don’t mention it. I just snuggle next to James and drift off to sleep.

There’s a whisper of wind through the trees, rustling the leaves above us. James stands behind me in the grass, brushing his fingers through my hair as he works out the knots.

“I feel like I’m dating Medusa,” he says. “Do you have snakes hidden in here?” He brushes my hair over my shoulder and the black curls cascade down before he leans to kiss my skin.

“If I did, they’d surely have bitten you by now.”

James bites playfully at my shoulder, and I spin and push him back, laughing. He leans down to pick up a pile of leaves from the ground, eying me in a way that leads me to believe they’re going to end up down my shirt.

“We have to get to class,” I warn, taking a step back from him. “Miller will be lost without us, so no ditching.”

James doesn’t answer, only grins stupidly as he moves closer.

“James,” I warn again, although my voice is twinged with laughter, “I will knee you so hard. Don’t make me do that.”

“You won’t,” he says, taking another step.

And just as I scream and turn to run, I feel him tackle me from behind and I fall onto the grass, leaves crunching underneath me as he proceeds to shove a handful of dirty foliage down my shirt, laughing like a maniac. But true to my word, I bring my knee up. It isn’t until he howls, rolling off of me, that I regret what I’ve done. I curse and immediately move beside him as he cups his package, his teeth barred.

“Goddamn it, Sloane,” he chokes out. “I think you just neutered me.”

“I’m so sorry.” I lean down and put my face near his neck, trying to hug him although he’s still moaning in pain. I feel awful, even if he totally started it.

“You just killed all our future children,” he mumbles, although his hands have gravitated to my arms as he keeps me in an embrace. I breathe against his neck, kissing him there once and whispering another apology.

“I didn’t want kids anyway,” I add. “I wouldn’t want them to grow up in a world like this.”

James is quiet for a moment, and the mood changes. The tragedy of life sinking in. “But what if I want them?”

I sit up and stare down at him. “You’re joking, right?” I ask. When I see in his expression that he’s serious, that he’s completely serious, I can’t talk fast enough. “James,” I say, “having children when they’re growing up to kill themselves is stupid. Really stupid and irresponsible. Second of all—having kids is hard. Like . . . what? I’m so confused right now.”

James shakes his head. “I’m not saying I want to plant my seed tonight or anything—”

“Gross!” I slap his arm and he laughs softly. “Please don’t talk about seeds of anything. I think I’m going to barf.”

“I’m just saying,” James continues, taking my hand to pull me closer. “That a little me would be kind of adorable and you should consider it. Like, fifteen years from now.”

“No.”

“Blond hair, blue eyes, a thirst for trouble. What could go wrong?”

“So many things.” I let James take me in his arms. It’s true that anything half-James would be cute and obnoxious, but that’s not enough. My heart sinks as I consider the future—the amount of people who’ll die. And how I never want to experience the loss my parents have. James must sense the despair settling in, so he hugs me tighter and kisses the top of my head.

“Don’t worry about it now,” he murmurs. “I’ll ask you again in fifteen years.”

I awake with a start, the memory still as clear as if it just happened. There’s no residual pain, and for a second I wonder if it was just a dream. But in my heart I know it really happened, can feel it in my soul. James is next to me in bed and I shake his shoulder.

“Sleeping,” he mumbles, folding the pillow over his head.

“James.” I put my palm on his cheek, and he blinks his eyes open. “I had another memory. We were playing in the grass and you were talking about having children.”

He pauses, then gets up on his elbow. “I’m sorry, what?”

I laugh. “You said you wanted kids and you were so sweet. I had a memory, and right now I’m not even dizzy. I don’t know, yesterday was a pretty stressful day, so it must have spurred something on. But maybe returning memories aren’t always bad. James,” I say, ecstatic and relieved, “we were so in love.”

James smiles then, pulling me closer. I’m about to kiss him, ready to refresh his memory too, when there’s a loud commotion from downstairs. I hear Dallas scream—actually scream, and both James and I bolt upright in bed.

We’re still in our clothes from last night, and James pulls me from the room so quickly, I’m afraid I’m going to trip over my own feet. He staggers to a stop in the hallway when we hear voices downstairs. The true devastation hits me—The Program is here. They’ve found us.

James spins to face me, his eyes wide and terrified. “Back door,” he whispers, and then yanks me toward the small doorway and spiral staircase that leads to the kitchen. We’re halfway down when we hear the footsteps over our heads. James curses, and then we’re moving faster, clumsier. I bang my elbow on the door frame as we bust into the kitchen. Behind us there’s a trample of footsteps on the staircase.

James crashes through the screen door, and the morning light is bright, the air is crisp. I’m gasping in puffs of air as we escape the house, heading for the woods as our cover; it’s our only chance. I’m still barefoot when my toes sink into the dewy grass and soon we reach the bridge—a bridge where I stood just this week, thinking how beautiful the world could still be. I was wrong.