“Did I fight?” I ask, sitting back in the chair. Dr. McKee comes to lean on his desk, and I notice his right shoulder sags slightly. He swallows hard.
“Yes,” he says. “You were not a willing subject, Tatum. And this was... this was difficult for everyone involved. But it was for the best. Your grandmother knew she could trust me, so she let us treat you.”
I cover my mouth, horrified at the idea of these doctors strapping me down, injecting me with serums, all while my grandparents stood by. How far will people go to keep their family? At what point is it no longer my life to control?
“Tatum,” Dr. McKee says softly, as if he can see I’m struggling with his explanation. “You’re safe now,” he says.
“But I’m not,” I say. “I’m going to fall apart just like the rest of them. I’m a returner too. And in case you missed it, they’re crashing back.”
“That won’t happen to you,” he says. “Not the same way. You’ll have crashbacks, yes—but you come back. You process these memories differently. Don’t you see? You are the only one who has come through the Adjustment without a setback. You are our proof of concept. You are the cure.”
“I’m no cure.”
“But you are. Our entire case study is built around you. We haven’t figured out the difference—why the procedure worked on you and not the others. Why not Wes? Why not Vanessa? We don’t know the answer yet, but your existence proves the Adjustment can work. And Marie is close to the answer. You’re going to save lives.”
“No,” I say, horrified. “I’veruinedlives. Because it worked on me, Vanessa is dead. You wouldn’t have replicated it if I hadn’t proven it could work. And Wes wouldn’t have been reset again. You’ve turned me into a weapon. It’s on my conscience.”
“Oh, honey,” Dr. McKee says, and reaches for me. I slap his hand away, a sharp sting on my palm. He slides his hands into his pockets.
“Why did you use my memories in Wes’s Adjustment?” I ask. “You knew they weren’t real.”
“We thought they were accurate,” he corrects. “In fact, we thought they might be better, clearer than real memories. It was a risk that didn’t pan out.”
“Didn’t pan out,”I repeat in disgust. “And what about Jana—Melody? Or whoever she is. What is she doing in all of this?”
“Melody Blackstone is a handler, and she has worked closely with Marie since the beginning. She left The Program and wanted to make things right. She wanted to cure people. So she was assigned to watch Vanessa and, from a distance, you. Unfortunately, Vanessa found out who Melody was, and it caused her breakdown. We’d hoped to avoid that.”
“So she’s using Nathan?” I ask, my anger rising. “She’s using him to watch me?”
“She’s trying to protect you.”
“I don’t want your protection!” I shout. “I want you to leave me alone. Leave all of us alone. I won’t be your cure, your case study. Leave me out of it. I won’t be your excuse to kill anyone else.”
“Tatum,” Dr. McKee says like I’m being unreasonable. He stands up and tries to take my arm, but I rip from his grasp.
“Don’t touch me,” I hiss. “Don’t you get it? You stole my life.”
“We were trying to give it back to you. We did.”
“No.” I shake my head. “This was a deal with a doctor who erased only part of me, a part that you tried to fill in, patching up holes with false memories. Changing my life. Who knows if anything I said in The Program was real. If I could hide one truth, I could hide them all.”
I stare at him, and the familiar sense that I know him is back. An awful idea itching at the corners of my mind. I take a step toward him.
“You knew my grandmother for years,” I start, my voice hoarse. “Am I supposed to believe that using me as your pet project only occurredafterI was taken into The Program?”
“Yes.”
“Because you say so?” I ask. “How long have you been treating me, Dr. McKee?”
And it’s the slight pause, the one second of raw guilt that makes my heart sink. Before he goes on to deny it, I lunge forward and grab him by the collar of his lab coat, fierce and violent. “How long?” I demand.
Dr. McKee meets my gaze head on, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard. “I treated you when I was with the grief department,” he says quietly.
Oh my God. Hehastreated me before. “For what?” I ask with barely a breath.
“Your mother,” he says. “She neglected you.”
“I know—”
