Realm’s hand closes around mine, but I can barely feel him. It’s like the edges of my reality are breaking apart. “Then what?” I ask weakly.
“Their entire personalities are stripped and they’re institutionalized. They’re wiped off the map, my dear. Evaporated into thin air.”
No, it’s too cruel. It’s too cruel to be a real possibility. “How can any rational human being inflict this on another? How can this happen in a civilized world?” I ask.
“Haven’t they done it before?” the doctor asks. “Years ago, when physicians didn’t know how to treat the mentally ill, they began shock therapy, and in extreme cases—lobotomies. They would poke holes in their brains, Miss Barstow. Human beings are cruel creatures. And what we don’t understand, we tamper with until we destroy it. The epidemic is forcing the world to focus on mental disease, but they’ve twisted it into something to be feared, rather than treated. I’m afraid the public support is not behind you on this. We’re in the middle of an epidemic killing our children. You have no idea how far the world will go to stop it.”
He’s right. I know he’s right, but all I want to do is scream that he’s a liar. I want James to burst in and call, “Bullshit!” and punch him in the face. But that doesn’t happen. Instead loneliness and terror bind together to consume me.
“We make no difference compared to the many they can save,” Arthur Pritchard says. “And if I go to the press, give The Program any indication that I’m no longer on their side, they will neutralize me. I need to complete my work before they do.”
I lift my eyes to his, my vision hazy from the gathering tears. “What sort of work is that?”
“A pill,” he says. “One that can counteract the effects of The Program and prevent erasure. It’s called The Treatment.”
My hand slips from Realm’s and I immediately glance at Dallas. She has no noticeable reaction as she twists a dread around her finger. Oh God. Please don’t say anything, Dallas.
“I need to locate The Treatment,” Dr. Pritchard says. “I plan to analyze it so it can be reproduced. If I can prevent The Program from erasing others—then it will be obsolete.”
My mouth has gone dry and I feel as though there’s a spotlight on me. Does he know Realm gave me the pill? Is that why he’s here?
“Say you do bring all the memories back,” Realm says quietly. “Not everyone can handle them—what will you do to stop them from killing themselves?”
The doctor’s eyes narrow slightly as he looks Realm up and down. “People will still die, son. I can’t claim otherwise. But after we restore the original memories, we’ll treat the depression as best we can with traditional therapy. We’ll work through the issues, rather than avoiding them.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. He’s actually making sense, but I’m scared this is all an act. No, I’m sure it’s all an act. But how can he say these things and not see the truth in them? At the same time, how did the doctor know about the pill? Realm said it was the last one and that The Program thought it’d been destroyed. Who’s the bigger liar here—Realm or Arthur Pritchard?
“They tried that,” I say, facing Dr. Pritchard. “In the beginning they tried regular therapy, but it didn’t work. Why should I think yours will be any different?”
“The problem was that they didn’t—I didn’t—give therapy enough time to be effective. We moved forward too quickly. And now it’s time to set things right. I believe The Program itself is adding to the pressure, leading to more suicide attempts. You live in a pressure cooker. It’s not right.”
“It’s not,” Dallas agrees, drawing all our gazes. “But tell me more about this pill you’re looking for, Arthur. Where did it come from? I’ve heard only rumors.”
What the hell is Dallas doing?
The doctor crosses his legs, resting his folded hands on his thighs. “Dr. Evelyn Valentine never believed in The Program,” he starts. “While working there, she created a pill and tested it on several returners. There had been various incarnations, but eventually she found one that worked. It restored all their memories, and with it, their depression. One terminated himself immediately, and before Evelyn could properly treat her patients, she disappeared. Her files were destroyed, and the records of her patients went missing. The Program never found them. That’s why I think there’s still a pill or two out there. I’m looking for it. Evelyn’s cure is gone, but I’d like to create another one in her absence.”
My heart thumps; I expect Dallas to point one of her bony fingers in my direction, telling the doctor that I’m the person who has it. But her face remains neutral, loyal to Realm. Despite what he said earlier, she won’t betray him. I think Dallas loves him.
“I don’t understand,” I say, shaking my head. “Why do you need the actual pill? The formula can’t be that complicated to figure out. Wouldn’t that be easier than hunting down what might not even exist?”
Dr. Pritchard’s eyes lock on mine, and I feel myself wilt under their heavy suspicion. “No one knew the formula other than Evelyn, and she was a better chemist than any of us. Do you think I haven’t exhausted all other options? I’ve spent everything I have trying to buy scientists to help me, but they’re all with The Program—or scared of them. There’s no one left to fight with me. Except those of you here. I don’t think you realize how dire our situation is. I don’t think you realize how truly alone we are.
“If The Program finds the pill before we do,” he continues, “the formula will be lost. They plan to extract the ingredients, patent them, and make their production illegal. At least now we can continue testing. But once they have control of the substances, then no other treatment—nothing The Program doesn’t approve of—will ever be made.”
It’s all around me then, the pressure, suffocating and absolute. When the only person left to trust is the creator of The Program, all is lost. Realm reacts, walking swiftly from the room without a word, the doctor’s eyes following him the entire way. When he’s gone, it’s like I can’t get in a full breath—like a panic attack. Arthur Pritchard continues to talk, but soon I’m heading for the door.
“I need you, Sloane,” he calls to my back. The use of my first name startles me, but I don’t turn. “Together we can change the world.”
He’s offering hope where there is none. But isn’t that a form of brainwashing in itself? Hope in place of change? I shake my head, a small whimper caught in my throat, and leave—desperate to find James.
Outside of the room I’m able to breathe again, even though I’m still trembling. The house is eerily quiet as I pass through the kitchen, not finding James, and I head upstairs toward the bedrooms. Mine is empty, and it’s like I’m engulfed in isolation. James might not sleep here tonight. It’ll be the first time we’ve been apart since leaving Oregon.
I put my palm on my forehead, trying to steady myself. I can’t start thinking of the negative. I can’t afford to lose my sanity right now. I’m a fugitive, and I have to be smarter.
Realm’s room is down the hall, and when I walk in, I find his bed pushed next to the window. He’s sitting there, staring into the dark beyond it. He reminds me of a lost little boy, and for a second I want to hold him and tell him it will all be okay.
“I don’t trust the doctor,” Realm says, startling me. He turns, and his cheeks and neck are a blotchy red. “I think he’s lying.”
I obviously don’t trust the doctor either, but I’m curious as to Realm’s reasoning. I go to sit beside him, gnawing on the inside of my lip as I wait for him to explain. This is the first time I’ve been in his room since leaving The Program. There’s nothing here beyond the scratchy blue blanket and the hard mattress of his crooked bed. There’s nothing that says who Realm is. Even I have a few possessions, and I’ve been on the run since leaving school weeks ago.