“Yeah, thanks for the heads-up on that,” I mutter.
“I don’t know the nature of the deal that got you released from The Program, but we had no choice in bringing you to her. And... I’m guessing Dr. Warren has realized that the memories you gave her in The Program, the ones she erased, were not accurate. The crashbacks you told her about contradict your story. She hates being wrong. And now The Program wants to know if you’re the cure.”
“Why would they care? Why wouldn’t they want to fix the problems they created?”
“Because they don’t see crashbacks as problems. They are merely complications. And allowing a cure to come to market would wipe out any hope of The Program returning. They’d be obsolete.”
“Good,” I say. She smiles.
“It would be good. But when powerful people have profits to protect, when even more powerful people have ideas on how to use the technology to control the masses, they’re going to fight. Youarethe cure, Tatum. And believe me when I say that we can’t let them find out.”
“Because?” I ask.
“Because then they’ll want you dead.”
My heart skips, and I look quickly to Nathan. He puts his hand on my arm, pulling me to his side. Ready to jump into the ball pit with a faceless organization.
“Or at the very least erased or lobotomized,” Marie adds, and I feel like maybe that was the better answer, as disturbing as that is. The concern that settles in her expression makes me think I’m not the only person The Program is after. Maybe they’re after Melody, too. Maybe they’re after everyone involved with the Adjustment.
“If you talk to him again,” Marie says calmly, “please have Michael contact me. I’m sorry Tom and I didn’t warn you about Dr. Warren sooner, but we were trying to be discreet.”
“You lie,” I say. “You’re not discreet.”
A smile tugs on Marie’s lips like she’s impressed with how I’m standing up to her. Before she says anything more, the door to the Adjustment office rips open, and two people rush in.
The young woman has blond hair and blue eyes that are deeply red from crying. The guy with her looks equally miserable, and he buries his hands in his pockets, staring intently at Marie. The doctor falls back a step as she takes them in, obviously recognizing them.
“What happened to him?” the woman demands from Marie, not even glancing in my or Nathan’s direction. “What was he doing?”
Marie stares back, wide-eyed in awe or disbelief. “He was trying to do right,” she murmurs, sounding far away.
“What the hell does that mean?” the woman asks, talking with Marie in a way that’s so personal, so steeped in history, that it feels like a parent/child relationship.
The woman herself is nondescript. She’s young and pretty, I guess, but in a way that’s not memorable. None of her features are prominent, a face that could be anybody. I don’t know how else to explain it.
Next to her, the guy surveys the room before he notices us. He’s intimidating—not because of his build or an aggressive expression. It’s how he seems to look right into me, like he can see me and know everything. Know my every secret.
“Marie,” the woman says, her voice tight but pleading. “What were the two of you doing here?”
It’s then that the woman’s eyes drift to the picture hanging on the back wall. Dr. McKee told us that his daughter shot it, and as her eyes well up, I realize this is her. This is his daughter.
Marie sees her looking and reaches to put her hand on her arm. “Quinlan—” she starts, but the woman shakes her off violently.
“Don’t call me that,” she says. “It’s Nicole. And what is this?” she demands, pointing to the picture. Behind Nicole, the guy she’s with curses under his breath.
“He remembered, didn’t he, Marie?” Nicole asks. “He remembered me.”
“You know he didn’t,” Marie says sympathetically. But she’s lying, and the way Nicole shakes her head, she knows she’s lying too.
Dr. McKee asked for his daughter—why would Marie try to cover that up? What else is she hiding that even after his death she has to keep a secret?
“You shouldn’t be here,” Marie says to Nicole. She glances at the guy. “You either, Deacon. How did you even know what happened?”
Nicole scoffs, offended. “Find out that my father wasdead?” she asks bitterly. “A stranger called me, Melody someone. Told me that my father died in the back room of a fucking office.” She chokes up, tears spilling onto her cheeks. “A stranger,” she repeats. “You should have been the one to call.”
Nathan and I exchange a look, not sure if this means Melody is okay, or if it was her final moment to set things right. He puts his hand over mine where I hold his arm. I can feel him shaking.
“Go,” I tell him. “Go look for her.”
