“Huh,” Wes says like that’s a fascinating observation, and then presses on. “There were severalMichael was my best friend, and anotherI dated Michael for three weeks.”
I scrunch up my nose. “Uh... he would have been busy,” I say. “Where was I in these posts? Realm and I were in The Program together. I... I was apparently friends with him.”
Wes stares at me a long moment, his eyes intense. “That’s the thing, Tate,” he says. “Most people are only in The Program for six weeks. These posts were scattered over several years. Michael Realm was in The Program foryears.”
A sense of dread winds through me. “Years?” I ask. “How? Why?”
“I couldn’t quite make sense of it at first,” Wes says. “So I pulled up public notices, articles, anything that might mention his name. I joined three different Program support groups, and in there, I found a guy who knew him. He even posted a picture. He said Michael dropped by recently with an apology and his file to give back. Michael Realm was his handler. And, Tate... I think he was your handler. He wasn’tinThe Program. He was working for them.”
The world drops out from under me. I call up the memory again, us in the leisure room. The way Realm looked at Derek. How he sensed that I could see through their act. And it was an act because he wasn’t a patient. He was a handler. They were all handlers.
When I had coffee with Realm the other day, I confided in him about Wes, and he acted like he’d never heard it before. But if he was my handler, he knows my entire history, knows it better than I do. And if he was my handler... that means he helped erase me.
And yet, Melody was certain we’d been friends. Even I’m sort of certain of that, although I can’t prove why. I’m not sure how to reconcile these two versions of Michael Realm. What else is missing?
“I have to find him,” I tell Wes. “Find him in person. Can you help me?”
“You want me to take you to your handler?” he asks, doubtful.
“I think he’s on my side,” I say, mostly believing it. “I think he’s on our side.”
Wes watches me, the corner of his mouth flinching up. “Are you sayingwe’reon the same side?” he asks, his voice lower.
“Yes,” I say.
He smiles broadly and looks down as he reaches to take my hand, playing with my fingers nonchalantly. He was always openly affectionate, and I forgot what that was like. It makes me melt a little.
“We’ll find your handler,” Wes says, sliding his fingers between mine and then out again. “But then what do we do with him?”
“We take him to Marie Devoroux. She said if she could perfect her cure for crashbacks, get it to the free market, The Program would be decimated. No point in having a mind-controlling service people are immune to. The company would be destroyed. And so would all their shareholders, politicians, or whoever the fuck runs it.”
“So...,” Wes says, tracing his finger over my wrist. “You’re saying you want to take on the entire Program, including any doctors, handlers, or politicians who are working with them?” He lifts his eyes to mine.
I smile. “Sounds a little ambitious when you put it like that, but yeah—pretty much.”
There’s a distant boom of thunder, and Wes glances up at the sky. I do the same, noticing gray clouds have rolled in. The weather here changes so quickly, and it almost always ends in rain.
“Another storm,” he says. “Want to come over?”
I laugh. “I guess it depends,” I say. “Are you going to help me save the world or not?”
Wes stares at me a long moment, and then he takes my hand and squeezes it. “Tate,” he says seriously. “I thought that was already a given.”
CHAPTER FIVE
AS I FOLLOW BEHIND WES’Smotorcycle in my Jeep, I put my phone on speaker and call home. My grandparents are understandably stunned that I’m with him, but when I tell my grandfather everything that Wes has learned, he’s impressed.
“I didn’t even think about checking with survivors’ groups,” he says, a little embarrassed. “Tell Wes if he’s interested in becoming a reporter, to let me know.” I smile, thinking about Wes and my grandfather working together, two supersleuths in a cramped newspaper office. Wes used to want to be a lawyer. I wonder what the new Wes wants to be.
“Nathan has been looking for you,” Gram adds in the background. “He and Foster came by a little earlier. And when I told them about Derek, they left here in a rush.”
I wish she hadn’t done that. Even the mention of Derek makes my stomach sick, my heart pound faster.
He hurt me.
I blink quickly, clearing my thoughts. Nathan is probably murderous right now, and he’s probably wondering what happened with Melody. I have to tell him what she said, that she really did love him. I have to tell him how she saved me.
“Thanks,” I say. “I’ll give him a call.” I’m tired of relaying the story of Derek, reliving it, so I guess it’s good that Gram got that part out there for me. I’ll just have to fill in the details.
