Suzanne Young - The Treatment

“I’m sorry I pushed you,” Realm says quietly. “I did this.”

I swallow hard, looking over at him. There’s a rush of affection, but I quickly squash it, refusing to let him in even a little bit. Because if I do, I don’t know how much of me he’ll take.

“Don’t be stupid,” James says to him, not unkindly. “You saved our lives. Now, Asa. Can you pass me back the needle?” I look pleadingly at James, but he shakes his head definitively. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

We stare at each other, knowing he’s promised before. Maybe this is how we go on: making promises about things beyond our control to offer one more moment of hope. Hope—like Arthur Pritchard offered us, is sometimes enough to survive on.

So I nod, pushing up my shirtsleeve to give him access to my upper arm. Asa gives him the needle, and James looks all sorts of nervous as he takes off the cap and holds it up like he’s about to stab me. If my side didn’t hurt so badly, I’d laugh.

“Hold on,” Realm says, climbing back and snatching the needle out of James’s fist. “Jesus, you’re not trying to break through her breastplate.” Realm slides in between us, and this close to him I’m struck with grief. He’s taken off the handler’s jacket and is wearing a cotton T-shirt underneath instead. But his hair is still combed to the side, and I think he looks handsome. I hate him more for it.

“Here,” he says quietly, unable to meet my eyes this close. He runs his fingers over my muscles, warm and gentle, and then grips the underside to lift my arm. “Take a breath,” he whispers, too kindly. Tears well up, and I press my lips together to keep from crying. I don’t want him here—I don’t want the pain and regret. I don’t want to love him and hate him at the same time.

There’s a pinch and a deep burn as he injects me, and I cry out. But it’s not the needle hurting me, and Realm knows that. When he removes the tip, I cover my face and continue to cry—cry for all I’ve lost in the past few months. The ways I’ve been violated and betrayed. They were going to lobotomize me! Nothing will ever be right again. So I cry.

Realm gets up and James slides over, whispering I should let it out, as he helps me lie across his lap. I curl against him, my side still aching, and hiccup a few more whimpers. The Thorazine slowly works through me, coating me in contentment. This time I don’t fight against the calm.

“We’ll be at Evelyn’s in an hour, and Sloane can rest there,” Realm announces from the front, pausing before going on. “So long as the doctor lets us in.”

There’s the loud scrape of the metal door opening, and I’m startled awake. My side doesn’t hurt anymore—it feels stiff and full, and I imagine for a second that my midsection has hardened like petrified wood.

“Let’s get her to the back,” a woman’s voice says. The sound is raspy with a light German lilt. It must be Evelyn Valentine. Strong hands slide under me, lifting me from the seat, and my head falls against James’s chest. I’m trying to wake up, but I can keep my eyes open for only a few seconds at a time as I battle the Thorazine.

“Is she suicidal?” the doctor asks.

“No.” It’s Realm who answers from next to me. I blink my eyes open and see the wood shingles of a small cottage as we approach the entryway. There are vines crawling up the sides like the house is trying to stay hidden in nature. “She’s upset, though,” Realm adds. “We almost didn’t get to her in time. The other one, Dallas, she needs your help.”

The doctor sighs, mumbling something I don’t understand. I turn my head lazily to find her, but the scene is bouncing wildly as James carries me. It’s hard for me to catch my breath.

“Hello, dear.” Then she’s next to me: a tall, slender woman with glasses. She’s somewhere in her sixties with shaggy brown hair and a mole on the side of her nose. She smiles; her teeth are yellow and crowded, but her expression is genuine. I like her immediately.

“Don’t try to talk,” she says with an impatient wave of her hand. “You need to sleep off the drugs. I’m going to have a look at your side first, just to make sure you haven’t injured anything too badly.”

“Will she be okay?” James isn’t trying to be brave. He’s a wreck, and if I wasn’t the one being carried, I would want to hold him and tell him I’m fine, just so he wouldn’t have to be so scared.

“Oh, I think so,” the doctor says, and I feel her brush back my hair. My body shifts as James turns sideways to fit us through the doorway. We’re swallowed in darkness. The windows are covered, and from above us a light flicks on. “It looks like a nasty hematoma, but I’ll poke it a bit just to make sure.” She pats my arms to let me know she’s joking. “All right, put her in there.”

Cool sheets come up to meet me as James sets me on a small twin bed. I’m groggy, achy—but mostly I’m terrified to be alone with anyone but James. I grab his shirt to prevent him from leaving my side. He sits next to me on the bed, taking my hand and holding it to his lips.

“All but blondie out,” the doctor calls, shooing Realm and Asa from the room. “Now get that awful color off of her,” she says to James, and he begins to work my arms out of the gray scrubs. Evelyn kneels next to me, checking over my side before actually poking it and making me moan. She apologizes, but does it again in a few other areas. When she’s finished, she walks to the dresser and pulls out a bright pink T-shirt, handing it to James. “Help her into this this,” she says. “I can’t bear to put her back in gray.”

“Is she okay?” James asks, his voice strained.

“Contusion, bruising. She’ll be tender for a few weeks. So far as I can tell, most of her damage will be emotional.” The doctor takes a small wooden chair and sets it next to the bed, sitting down. Once I’m dressed, she runs her gaze over me and James. “I am so sorry for what you’ve gone through. But perhaps you can fill me in a few things. Like how the hell Michael Realm found me.”

I lag against him James, widening my eyes a few times to wake myself up. “When we were taken from the farmhouse,” James starts, “Realm was in the van I was loaded into. He was dressed as a handler, him and Asa, and they brought me to some sketchy-ass motel near the facility. Asa was off the books on the pickup, so The Program had no idea he was involved. Basically my entire existence at the site was covered up because I went off the grid. Realm saved me.”

There’s an ache in my heart, because I’m not sure what James could tell me that would make me forgive Michael Realm. I honestly don’t.

“I had the business card of a reporter,” he continues, “and Realm and I met with him. We asked for his help, promising to get him the story of his career—but not until Sloane was free.” James shrugs. “Realm offered you up, Evelyn. He said he could get Kellan an interview with you if he helped us.”

The doctor’s good nature slips momentarily as she looks toward the door where Realm is waiting on the other side. Realm told me once that Evelyn cared about him. But if she was hiding from The Program, did he have the right to turn her over? Does he have the right to do any of the things he does?

James goes on. “Kellan had the idea to walk into the facility and cause a stir. He’d tried to get in before and knew security would show up to strong-arm him out. Once that happened, Realm and I were going to slip in. Of course, we didn’t expect Sloane to try to break herself out, but I guess we should have.” He smiles, but James hasn’t recovered, not from the idea of losing me. I can’t remember my last time in The Program, but if it weren’t for James and Realm—I’d be gone. The real Sloane Barstow would be dead, and I don’t know if there is a way to feel whole again. To ever feel safe.