“Isn’t that good?” Realm asks in a low voice.
“I don’t know if it will work on you,” she confides. “You’re pretty far gone, Michael. Right now it’s a fifty-fifty shot.”
“Those aren’t terrible odds,” Realm replies.
“Fifty percent you’re cured, fifty percent you die within ten seconds.”
Realm’s lips twitch with the start of a joke, but the moment drags on, and the heaviness of the truth weighs us down. His eyes tear up, and Marie doesn’t break his gaze. Her lips press together, holding in her emotion.
“I don’t want to die today,” Realm whispers to her, and I have to turn my head. “Don’t let me die, Dr. Devoroux.”
Marie dips her chin in a nod and then reaches to put her hand on Realm’s cheek, making him turn into it. I don’t quite understand their relationship; Realm never talked about her. But when it comes down to it, Marie has known Realm since he first went into The Program. I imagine she’s known him the entire time. Somehow, they’ve worked together, maybe not always on the same side.
But there’s respect and mutual admiration in their relationship.
“I’m going to warn you,” Marie says, taking her hand away. “This is really going to hurt.”
Realm rests back against the pillow and closes his eyes like he was waiting for it. “Everything good usually does.”
Marie begins to prep Realm, helping him take off his shirt so she can attach some sticky tabs and wires to his skin. Wes and I go out into the kitchen, and Sloane and James are on the couch. James’s head is in her lap while she plays with his hair, the two of them talking quietly. They just watched their best friend die. They know time is running out for all of them.
Wes pulls out a chair at the table, offering me the seat, and I thank him as he sits next to me.
“Thanks for going with Marie,” I say. “You didn’t need to take that risk.”
“I’m just doing my part to save the world,” he replies. “Besides, I wanted to know what sort of equipment she planned to use on you. I don’t want you to forget me again.” He smiles at me, and it makes my heart warm.
“You’re so cute,” I murmur, smiling.
“God,” he says, dramatically. “We’re like obsessed with each other or something.”
I laugh, and he reaches to pull my chair closer to his. He flinches a little, overextending himself because of the haze of medication. “Speaking of obsession,” he says. “My phone rang about eighty times, and eventually I answered it.”
“I swear, if this is another conversation about your mother—”
“It was my mother,” he says, talking over me. “And she apologized and asked me to come home.”
The joking stops, and a spike of fear plunges into me. “You didn’t agree, did you?” I ask.
“Uh, no. I’m not stupid,” Wes says. “But I also told her I didn’t know where you were. I thought it was better that way. I told her I needed a night away to think. Do you hate me for lying?”
“Toher? No. Just don’t lie to me.”
“Okay,” Wes says, leaning to kiss me, lingering there. “We’re full-on honesty here,” he murmurs, his lips grazing mine. “Unfiltered, naked honesty. Completely—”
“I get it,” I say with a laugh, pushing him back down in his chair. “So,” I say. “What kind of equipment was in that box you brought in?” I ask.
“Not much, actually. Some computer equipment, a bunch of vials of the truth serum. A metal-looking crown with wires. We talked a bit in the car, and from what I can gather, she has a theory that if she can synthesize your memory patterns, the way your mind lays them out, she can apply it to others. She says as long as you’re healthy, you have a unique connection—a bond—between memories.” Wes shrugs, like he can’t confirm if it’s true. “She said you and Nicole have similar patterns, but you’re the glue. Your patterns can make the transitions seamless because you also went through The Program—you’re like, extra special.” He smiles.
When Arthur Pritchard turned me into Tatum Masterson, he had to erase or rewrite who I was. I’d only been a child, but even children have lasting memories. As Marie describes it, memory patterns are unique pulses, creating images. In the Adjustment, to add memories, they re-created those pulses in a patient’s brain, letting it build a memory from the ground up. It was never exact; things like hair color, anything on the periphery, would be up to the individual brain to fill in. The core of the memory stayed mostly the same.
Marie and Dr. McKee thought this would be enough to cure what The Program had done. They were wrong. The Adjustment failed miserably, and as a result, people died. What if this cure has the same problems?
“Tatum?” Marie says, appearing in the doorway of the bedroom. I gasp in a breath, not sure how long she’s been standing there. “We’re ready,” she adds.
I exchange a nervous look with Wes, scared of what’s about to happen. Marie comes closer to the table when I don’t move right away, and she rests her hands on the back of a chair.
“I assume Wes told you about our conversation?” she asks.
