CHAPTER Nine
I WALK INTO THE BEDROOM AND BEGIN PACING. MY
mind is in overdrive, imagining the worst—making up elabo-rate scenarios where James was my unrequited love. Is this what Realm said I wouldn’t want to find? He’d told me I loved James madly, but he didn’t say James loved me back. Could that be why I got sick?
I cover my face, begging myself to stop, stop the negative thoughts that are feeding on me. But I can’t. Something I’d accepted as fact, this love story between James and me, might not be true. When I think about it, there were plenty of signs.
That day he came to my house to talk about Brady—he walked out on me when I hugged him. And later he even told me I was imagining our relationship in my head.
“Sloane.” James’s voice startles me, but I don’t respond.
James pulls my hands from my face, and I start to sob. It’s not just because of James’s file. I’ve lost Lacey. I’ve lost Miller. I’m completely falling apart and I’m scared. I’m so scared!
“You’re spinning out, Sloane,” James says, his voice hurried. “I need you to pull it together right now. Right f*cking now.” I start to shake my head, but James takes my wrist to pull me up, hugging me tightly against his chest. “Stay with me,” he murmurs next to my ear. “Stop thinking and stay with me. Everything is going to be okay. Everything is just fine,” he soothes in his liar’s voice.
It comforts me though. Those words ease down my skin me as James strokes my hair, telling me we’ll be all right. I measure my breathing until it settles into a normal pattern, the tears dry on my cheeks. James is right. I’m spiraling, and I need to pull myself out.
“Do you think you were lying to the doctor?” I ask, my voice thick from tears.
James holds me away from him so I can see his face. “Yes, Sloane. Obviously, I wasn’t telling him the truth. Do you think I’d really tell The Program about us? There’s no way.”
“But how do we know?” I ask, hitching in a breath. “How do we know what’s real anymore?”
James puts his hand over his heart, an anguish on his face that nearly kills me. “Because I can feel it here, and I could read it in my words. I was protecting you. I would have died to protect you had they not stopped me. We’re f*cking mental for each other—but maybe that’s how we survive from here. We just have to be crazier than The Program.” I choke out a small laugh, and James hugs me once again.
“I’m tired of running,” I whisper.
“Me too,” he says. “But this is when we have to fight the hardest. This is all that’s left of us—this right now. We have to make it count.” James brushes my hair behind my ear.
No matter what the file says, lies or not, who we are now matters.
“I still love you madly,” I whisper.
“I love you too.” He says it so honestly that I can’t believe there’s any other way for him to feel. My doubt begins to fade, and James buries his face in my hair. Gliding my hand up his arm, I stop over his scars—his tattoos—tracing patterns until I feel him kiss softly at my neck.
A soft sound escapes my throat, and I turn my face to kiss him. He professes his love again, his hands gripping my hips. I back us toward the bed, kissing, whispering. I’m quickly losing layers of clothing, but James is still dressed as we lie on the bed.
When I try to undo his belt, he stops me.
“Don’t,” he says. He looks down at me and laughs. “I can’t handle the temptation.”
“Then stop resisting.” I lift my head to kiss him again. He returns the kiss, but then quickly flops over onto his back.
“I can’t, Sloane,” he says. “I forgot the condoms back in Phoenix.”
I freeze for a moment, and he turns to me, smiling sheepishly. “Are you kidding?” I ask.
“No. But believe me—I’m pretty pissed about it.” I groan, but then I realize I’m better. The distraction worked, and my head doesn’t hurt as much—although there’s still a tiny ache behind my eyes. But James made me forget the pain. I throw my leg over his, and put my head on his chest.
“At least we’re building some anticipation,” I say with a smile, content to feel well again.
“At the very least,” he mutters.
I slide my hand under James’s shirt to rest it over his heart, feeling its rapid beats. They say stress brings on the meltdowns, so I block out the thoughts of Brady, Miller, and Lacey. If there’s one thing The Program made us experts at, it’s repression.
“I mean it, you know,” James says quietly. “I love you like crazy, and I don’t give a goddamn about anything else.” We’re quiet for a long while until James has to sit up because his arm fell asleep. “Should we check out the rest of that file?” he asks tentatively. “You’ll have to take it easy, but this could be our only chance to find out what happened. Pretty sure The Program isn’t handing them out like greeting cards.” I’m worried, but I agree, letting him take the investigative lead. This was a fluke—I’m not breaking down. There’s nothing wrong with a few memories, so long as I don’t let them control me. I can handle this. I’m strong enough.
Dallas is in the kitchen, pouring water into the back of the coffeemaker while Cas sits at the table, looking exhausted.
When we come down, he presses his lips into a smile, seeming relieved we’re joining them. Dallas tosses a curious glance over her shoulder but doesn’t say anything as James and I each take a seat.
“So what happened to my file?” I ask as the coffee begins to percolate.
Cas shrugs, answering only after Dallas stays silent. “I’ve called every contact I have,” he says, “but your file is gone, or at least, not accessible. They tried to pull James’s, too—probably after you ran—but I got to it in time. I think they’re trying to cover their asses in case you turn up dead or on an Oprah special.”
“That’s the next stop on our publicity tour,” James says with a grin. Dallas turns, flashing him a smile before grabbing two coffee mugs and setting one in front of James. He thanks her, and then starts going through his file again. I can’t look at Dallas. She read the notes from James’s session, and whatever doubts I had are probably magnified by a thousand in her mind. Luckily, I don’t have to dwell on her possible thoughts before James holds up another paper.
“Look at this,” he announces. “Says here I assaulted a handler.” The paper is an incident report and apparently, after his blackout session, James attacked a handler in the hallway. It reminds me of when Realm took down Roger, and I turn to James, thinking for the first time that he and Realm have a lot in common—more than just me.
Dallas tops off James’s coffee, her hand shaking. She asks Cas if he wants a cup, but he passes. She never offers one to me. She clinks the pot back in place just as James calls my name.
“Here it is,” he says. He looks to me immediately and then points to a page clipped to the file. It’s an entrance form, and in the bottom box is a handwritten note in blue ink. The first word I recognize is my brother’s name, and I prepare myself for what comes next.
Patient 486 was first infected after the self-termination of Brady Barstow (drowning), and was later triggered by the self-termination of Miller Andrews (QuikDeath). Under the influence of his medication, Patient 486 admitted to witnessing Brady Barstow’s death at the river, where his attempts to rescue him failed. He has since been struggling with depression, kept hidden with the help of Sloane Barstow, the deceased’s sister.
“You tried to save him,” I whisper. Then, before James can reply, I lean over and kiss him, my hands on his cheeks. My brother wasn’t alone when he died, that I knew, but the idea of James trying to save him fills me with a comfort I can’t explain.
I pull back, smiling at how brave James must have been.
Across the room, I notice a figure standing in the doorway. His shoulders are slumped, his head downcast. I hitch in a breath when he lifts his dark eyes to mine. It can’t be. . . .
“Realm?” My voice cracks and I scramble to my feet. Realm is thinner, his clothes hang on his tall frame. His dark hair is now a brassy shade of orange, as if he’d dyed it blond not too long ago. The shadows under his eyes are deep and dark, and I think he’s been through something. I step toward him. “You’re back?”
A small smile pulls at Realm’s lips, and I’m absolutely overcome with relief. Dallas chuckles, standing at the sink, but nothing else matters as I rush over to Realm and throw myself against him, wrapping my arms around his neck. He’s alive.
“I’ve missed you.” I whisper into his shirt.
“Ah, Michael Realm,” James calls out, still sitting at the kitchen table. “What a surprise. I’d give you a hug too, but I think I’d rather punch you in the face.”
I don’t bother reacting; I just hold on to Realm. I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. He touches gingerly at my shoulders and then glances past me to James. “You’re not really my type, James,” he says. “So I think I’d prefer the punch anyway.”
“Good to know.” James darts a look between me and Realm, smiling but obviously tense by our proximity. It wasn’t that long ago that he saw me kiss Realm, back before we got together. And he knows about the time I went to Realm’s house in the middle of the night. He knows we’ve been more than friends.
I feel a touch on my cheek and turn to Realm as he glides his finger over my skin. “You look good,” he says softly. “I was worried.”
“You were worried? I haven’t heard from you. I thought you were . . .” I stop, not wanting to finish the thought.
“Dead,” James finishes for me.
Realm ignores him, still looking at me with a sort of reverence. “So you’re happy to see me?” he asks, as if he’s scared of the answer.
“Yes. What kind of question is that?”
He smiles, dropping his hand. “Of course. You didn’t take it.” My expression falters when he mentions the pill. Realm doesn’t know I told James about it. He doesn’t know we’ve kept it secret from the others. Dallas slams the cabinet door under the sink, and my heart jumps. When I look up, she’s walking over with a small box in her hand, focused on Realm, and I relax.
“Hey, blondie,” she says with a big grin. “Was wondering when you’d get here. I picked this up for you earlier.” She slaps a box of hair dye against his chest. “I’ve always liked you better as a brunette anyway.”
Realms smiles at her, something affectionate and familiar.
“Thank you, Dal.”
She shrugs as if it was nothing, grabs a kitchen chair, and spins around to sit on it backward. “You really shouldn’t sneak up on us,” she says teasingly to Realm. “Have you gotten my messages?”
“I apologize,” he tells her. “But yes, I got them. That’s how I found you, actually. We shouldn’t stay here. We’ll need another safe house.”
“Working on it,” Cas says, getting up to grab a backpack from the closet. “Didn’t expect you for another week at least.”
They exchange a look before Cas tosses the pack in Realm’s direction. Realm immediately opens it, sorting through its contents. “We’ve found a basement apartment,” Cas continues,
“but I don’t think it’s a good choice. Not enough exits.”
“Keep looking,” Realm says, taking out a cell phone. “This clean?” he asks.
“Just got it today. Why?” Cas smiles. “You want to order a pizza?”
“I need to call Anna and thank her. Let her know I’m okay.” Anna, Realm’s sister, is the one who told us to run, gave us a car and some money. She helped us get away before The Program could catch us. And she did it all just because her brother asked her to.
“Tell her thanks from me, too,” I say, reaching to touch Realm’s arm. He flinches but then looks down at where my hand is on him. He seems a little lost, and I want to ask him where he’s been all these weeks, but I don’t. Not yet.
“I’ll tell her,” he replies.
“Hey, Realm,” Cas says. “I’ll drop your stuff in my room.
I think I’d rather sleep on the couch anyway. Place is getting a bit claustrophobic.” He gives Realm a fist bump before leaving.
Michael Realm smiles at me, somewhat sheepishly, and then he dials a number on the phone and walks into the living room.
I stand, looking after him, and when I hear him choke out a cry, promising he’s okay, there’s a familiar warmth for him. I like how he cares about his sister. He reminds me of Brady.
“I’ll be upstairs,” James mumbles, and leaves. His file is still spread open on the table, but I know he’s distraught. Realm is his insecurity, and I was jerk for not being more sensitive to it.
I glance at Dallas, who is leaning her elbows on the back of her chair, looking self-righteous.
“A boyfriend and a lover?” she asks. “Would have never thought you the type.”
“Shut up,” I reply, although I feel my cheeks redden. Then, with my pulse still racing from Realm’s return, I hurry up the stairs toward James.