Suzanne Young - The Treatment

“You’re crying,” he says in a low voice. “Don’t do that.”

I scoff, ready to tell him to drop dead because what does he care? I’m crying over a real tragedy, and he’s just some asshole working for The Program. Before I can, the handler stops at a doorway with a small rectangular window and then takes a keycard from the retractable chain at his waistband. He pushes the door open, weaving his head as he tries to see inside the dimly lit room. He takes the Taser from his hip and disappears inside. I’m listening for Dallas’s scream, or worse, the sound of her hitting the floor, but the silence stretches on until the handler emerges with a stony expression. He comes behind my chair again and pushes me inside the room. He unfastens my hands, giving me a stern look as warning, and then walks out, closing the door behind him.

Solitary is darker than the other places in the hospital I’ve seen, but it’s not gloomy. The floor is covered in gray rubber tiles, and the walls have white padding. There’s a small set of track lights, but there are no windows. The corners of the room are set in shadows. That’s where I find Dallas, sitting on the floor with her hands bound in front of her. She’s wearing bright-yellow scrubs that wash out her complexion. When she recognizes me, she smiles broadly. Her gap-toothed grin is no longer charming, not when she looks insane.

“Did I kill him?” she asks.

Has she been focused on Roger this entire time? “I don’t know,” I say. “Last I heard, the ambulance was coming for him.” I hate the disappointed look in her eyes. What’s become of us—wishing for someone’s death? What has The Program done to us?

“Did they find Realm?” she asks.

“I don’t know. They haven’t mentioned him yet.” I don’t want to voice the possibility that Roger could have hurt him. This way I can hope that Realm got away. Right now he might be the only person who can save us. James will be able to remember—he took The Treatment—but he’s still somewhere in The Program. I just hope he’s all right.

“No one gets away,” Dallas says, rocking gently. Her entire demeanor is smaller, vulnerable. “The Program will find Realm. It’s only a matter of time, because somewhere in your head is a clue that will help find him. They’ll get it out of you. Or me,” she reasons, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling. “But probably not me because I’ll be dead.”

“Dallas,” I whisper, leaning forward in the chair. “I need you right now. We need each other. Pull yourself together or it’s over.”

“It’s already over.”

“No.” I climb down from the chair, my body still lethargic from the earlier medication. I take Dallas’s hands in mine, trying to draw her back. Trying to wake her up. “We survived The Program before,” I say. “We can do it again. Do you know who I saw? Lacey—she’s here.”

This seems to invoke mild interest in Dallas’s expression. Her dark eyes widen, a slight curve in her lip. “She’s alive?”

I nod emphatically, hiding my despair at Lacey’s actual condition. “She is,” I say. “And now we just have to hang on. You have to hang on, Dallas, until I figure out what to do.”

“I’m tired of fighting,” she whispers. “Cas was right—it’s too hard. I think I’d rather die.”

Her sadness fills the room, fills me. I wrap my arms around her in a hug, absorbing her pain as best I can. Her hair no longer smells earthy; it smells of wet paper. Of something breaking down and dissolving. In a way Dallas is exactly where she belongs—she’s suicidal, and without this intervention . . . she’d be dead. I can’t let that happen.

“You have to be stronger,” I say bleakly. She feels tiny in my arms, fragile. “You don’t get to quit. I won’t let you.”

There’s a click behind me, and the door opens. The handler stands there, his face hidden in gray shadows. It’s time for me to leave. I pull back and put my hands on her cheeks, but I see she’s not there—not really. Her eyes are unfocused, unfeeling. It’s like Dallas is already dead.

I’ll save us, I mouth, feeling the sting of tears. Just fight a little longer.

The handler walks over and takes my arm; he isn’t rough, but firm. He sets me back in the chair, reattaching the restraints and keeping an eye on Dallas. She watches, but doesn’t have any reaction. She’s lost inside her head right now.

I murmur my good-bye to Dallas as the handler backs me out of the room. We’re gliding through the hall, and I’m completely grief-stricken. Dallas is crazy, Lacey is erased; right now I’m the only one left standing, and ironically enough, I’m strapped down to a wheelchair. I can’t wait around for James or Realm to show up and rescue me. I’ll have to gather information, explore this facility, and figure out how to get out of here. I know what The Program wants from me: complacency. I’ll need to brush up on my acting skills.

“Any chance you could take me on a tour?” I turn to the handler, asking as sweetly as possible. There’s a small tug of a smile on his lips as he flicks a quick look in my direction. He has hazel eyes, not remarkable or arresting like James’s, but they seem kind. He’s definitely more human than the other handlers I’ve seen—with the exception of Kevin.

“It’s a little late for guided tours,” he says in that same soft voice. “Maybe tomorrow.”

I straighten up, disappointed but not completely deterred. I’ll block out the sadness, get rid of the emotions. I was telling Dallas the truth. I will save us.

I have to.

There is quiet humming when I open my eyes. The morning sun filters in the surely sealed window of my room. I blink quickly and then turn to see Nurse Kell sitting in a chair next to my bed, knitting, of all things. I watch her, a bit disoriented, before I clear my voice to talk.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

She doesn’t glance up, but the humming stops as the clicking of the metal needles continues. “I was letting you sleep in,” she says. “You looked so tired yesterday.”

I clench my teeth but then remember my promise to myself the night before. I have to play along. “Yes, well,” I say reasonably, “it could have been the medication you gave me.”

She stops and lowers her needles. “I suppose. But maybe we won’t need them this morning. Dr. Beckett would like to see you.”

“Okay. But any chance I can get out of these restraints on a permanent basis? They’re rubbing my wrists raw.”

Kell’s face flinches and she looks down toward my arms. “Poor thing,” she says, examining the skin. “I’ll check on your progress and see what I can do. The answer will be up to you, of course.”

It’s so hard to keep my sarcastic tongue from lashing out at her. Because if it was up to me, not only would I not need to be tied down, I wouldn’t be in this horrible place. I want to spit in Nurse Kell’s face, tell her how cruel she is. I just lower my head.

“I’ll try my best.” I sit there passively, but inside I’m boiling over. “Why do you do this, Kell? What’s in it for you?”

She seems genuinely surprised by the question, and sets her knitting aside. “I’m saving lives. I’ve even saved yours once.”

Does she really think that? I look her over, seeing that she does. Her round face, her short, curled red hair isn’t sinister. She could be someone’s doting grandmother. “You know what they’re doing to us,” I say, my facade falling away. “They’re changing us against our wills. They’re ruining our lives.”

Nurse Kell’s small green eyes weaken. “I know you think that, honey,” she says, “but you’re wrong. I’ve been a nurse for thirty years, and nothing, nothing could have prepared me for what happened when the epidemic started. I don’t think you realize—”