The Recovery Read online

  “Charming,” James said, taking out his wallet. “I’ll grab the room, you get the bags,” he said. Realm nodded and James started toward the office lobby.

  Realm stretched his arms over his head, cracking his neck to the left and then the right. He walked to the back of the Escalade and opened the trunk. He slid on James’s backpack and then looped his duffel bag straps onto his forearm before grabbing the messenger bag. He slammed the trunk shut, and when he turned, he noticed a girl two cars down leaning against the hood of a Honda, texting on her phone.

  She was out of place at the motel just as much as he and James were. She was pretty, with long legs and jet-black hair that fell to the middle of her back. She had a flannel tied around her waist, one boot up on the bumper of the car. The girl turned to him as if she could feel him staring and Realm nearly dropped his bags, trying to hide the fact that he was. He circled to the front of his SUV, wishing James would hurry. He kept his eyes trained straight ahead, avoiding the urge to look the girl’s way. Of course, the moments dragged on. What the hell was James doing?

  “The computers are down,” the girl called, startling Realm. He turned to her, lifting his eyebrows as if surprised to see her there.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Cash only because the computers are down. I had to call a friend to bring me money; the dick in there wouldn’t take my card. Guess that’s what I get for staying at a place with negative stars on Yelp.”

  Realm smiled, setting down his bags now that he knew he’d be there for a bit. James had money, but Realm couldn’t imagine him giving it up without an argument. The girl went back to her phone, and Realm studied her until she looked over. He smiled.

  “I’m Michael Realm,” he said. “But most people just call me Realm.”

  “Thanks for oversharing.” Her thumbs moved over her the letters on her phone again.

  Realm ran his hand through his hair, completely shut down, but not surprised. Another few minutes passed, and he heard the girl exhale loudly.

  “Are you an asshole, Michael?” she asked.

  He laughed. “What?”

  “An asshole. Because you look like a really nice guy, and I’ve found they make the biggest closet assholes.”

  Realm thought for a moment, and then shrugged. “Yeah, actually. I guess I kind of am.”

  “Totally called it,” she said. But she smiled, and Realm guessed she was mostly joking—the sort of joking used to avoid getting to know people. A tactic he’d seen with patients in The Program.

  Thumping bass from a car stereo filtered into the air just as a yellow Mustang came into view on the road. When it pulled into the lot, the girl cast a backward glance at Realm, and then approached the driver’s side of the car. The guy behind the wheel was talking, his face pulled into a sneer.

  Just then, to Realm’s relief, James came out of the office, looking annoyed. He motioned toward the stairs and Realm picked up the bags to follow. He met him on the landing, and saw James check him over and then look at the girl.

  “Making friends?” he asked with a smirk.

  “You know me,” Realm said. “Always looking for another bad decision to make.”

  James laughed and they walked down to room 237. He slipped the keycard into the lock and pushed the door open with his foot, taking a tentative look around before turning back to Realm. “I talked the guy into giving us the best room. And if this is it, we would have been screwed otherwise. Thank God I’m so persuasive.”

  Realm moved past him into the room. Of course, he’d been right; the place was a dump. Yellow, floral-patterned wallpaper that was probably once white. Navy-blue bedsheets with threads snagged and hanging out. “At least it doesn’t smell,” Realm said, testing out the bed and deciding that it was passable. It was only for a night.

  Realm noticed when the bass from the Mustang’s stereo faded, driving off the premises. He wondered briefly about the girl, but once James shut the door and took up space on the other twin bed, Realm forgot about her and thought about tomorrow.

  “Is it worth it?” he asked James. “What I’m doing to them . . . is it worth it?”

  “Yes,” James said without hesitation. “You owe them the truth. And the more you give them, the less you have to carry.”

  Realm considered the statement, and although he was still raw from his interaction with Ally, deep down, he did feel slightly better. Lighter. He had a long way to go, but he was starting to see that this would help him. This would help him forgive himself.

  • • •

  It was the middle of the night when Realm heard a rustling sound, a sniffle. He was drawn awake. Alarmed, he turned and found James awake in bed, the lights from the neon sign of the motel filtering in through the thin curtains and falling over his face.

  “James?” Realm asked, sitting up. “You okay?” Across the room, James was flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. Realm wondered if he’d had another nightmare, something that plagued him from time to time since taking the Treatment. Memories that would haunt him.

  “No,” James replied, his voice scratchy. “I can’t stop thinking.”

  “You know better,” Realm said, trying to lighten the moment. But then James shifted his eyes to look at Realm and it silenced him.

  “I love her, you know,” James said, sounding far too vulnerable, too sad.

  “Yeah, I know,” Realm said. Normally he’d want to avoid a conversation about Sloane, but it was clear James needed to talk. “She loves you, too,” Realm offered with a slight twist in his gut.

  James shook his head. “It’s not the same,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The way she loves me,” James said. “It’s not the same as it was before. I remember everything. I know exactly what we had. It was never about her brother, about Brady’s death.” James took in a shaky breath, and continued. “She’s the only girl I’ve ever loved. The only one I ever will. But no matter how many times I tell her, she’ll never really get it. She’ll never know how much I fucking love her.”

  Realm felt a lump form in his throat. “You’re wrong,” he told James. “I was there. I saw her in The Program. You’ll never know how much she loved you,” Realm said. “She fought like hell to hold on to you. She would have done anything. Anything at all.”

  James closed his eyes, misery passing over his features. “We have years,” he said. “Years of memories. But now they’re just mine. And sometimes it hurts too much. I would give anything for her to just tell me she understands. But she doesn’t understand—not like she used to. Sloane can’t feel it the way that I do. She’ll never love me the same.”

  Realm knew that James was right. Sloane’s memories of their life together were gone, and they would never come back. In The Program, she fought hard against the doctors, nurses, and handlers—but in the end, The Program won.

  “It’s my fault,” Realm whispered. “I helped take you away. She told me everything about you, James. How much she couldn’t imagine life without you. How she didn’t want one. I got the information and I fed it to the doctor. I erased you. You should hate me,” Realm said, his guilt bubbling up to the surface.

  “Shut up,” James murmured, using the pillow to wipe his face. “Just shut up, Michael.” And with that, James turned toward the wall. Ending the conversation.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE SQUEAKING OF THE SHOWER knob turning on woke Realm up. He looked and found James’s bed empty. Guilt stuck to his skin, and Realm stood and pulled on a clean hoodie before going in search of coffee—a peace offering he could bring to James.

  Realm went outside, surprised that the morning was cool and crisp, the sun hidden behind the clouds. He took the stairs and when he got to the lobby, he was grateful to see a coffeemaker on the small desk against the wall. The manager nodded to him as he entered, but didn’t speak. He was clicking around on his computer, uninterested in the patrons who might wander in at seven in the morning.

 
The door opened and Realm turned to find the girl from yesterday, her dark hair gathered in a high bun, her makeup smeared from sleep. When she saw Realm, she smiled, but quickly tried to hide it. Realm turned around and began to empty the powdered creamer into his coffee, trying to dissolve the chunks.

  “Good morning, Michael,” the girl said, reaching in front of him to grab a fresh cup. She smelled lightly of cigarettes and spicy perfume. “You’re up early,” she said, her body still close to his.

  “As are you,” Realm replied. He took a sip from his coffee and tried not to wince at the bitter taste. He grabbed another cup and waited for the girl to finish filling hers before pouring one for James.

  “Job interview,” the girl said, tearing open four packets of sugar at once and dumping them into her coffee. She looked at Realm and grinned. “No way in hell they’re going to hire me, though.”

  “I could be your reference.”

  The girl laughed, and stuck out her hand for him to shake. She had rings on nearly every finger, a brightly colored tattoo wrapped around her wrist. “I’m Corrine,” she said. “Sorry if I was harsh yesterday. Having to call my ex-boyfriend for money isn’t my idea of fun. I mean, he owed it to me. But still. Cold turkey is always best after a breakup, agree?”

  “If only it were that easy.”

  “Right?” Corrine smiled and stared down into her coffee, not in a rush to leave. When she looked at him again, she stared at him until Realm shifted his stance, trying to get out of her line of vision. “Sorry,” she said, realizing what she was doing. “I was just thinking . . . You were in The Program, weren’t you?”

  “What?”

  “You’re a product of The Program? Did you try to kill yourself? I see your . . . uh . . .” She motioned on her own neck to the scar on his. Realm had almost forgotten it was there.

  “Yeah,” he said self-consciously. “I was in The Program a while back.”

  “I thought so, but I wasn’t sure. You don’t really look like them. You’re too . . .” She shrugged. “Melancholy.”

  Realm took another sip of his coffee, although this time its bitterness couldn’t compete with his own. “Not exactly the trait I’m most proud of,” he responded.

  Corrine watched him a second longer, and then took a sip. “You don’t seem so bad to me, Michael Realm. I kind of like it.”

  His heart beat a little faster. “And what about you? Are you a product of our flawed mental health system?”

  “No,” she said. “I graduated the year before The Program was created.” She lowered her eyes. “But my little brother went through the system two years ago. My parents sent him to live with our aunt in Oregon and The Program picked him up.”

  Realm’s stomach twisted, the worry that he possibly knew her brother spiking fear. “I’m sorry,” Realm said. Corrine turned to him, surprised.

  “Why?” she asked. “He didn’t die. In fact, he’s back in L.A., finishing up his associate’s degree. He just got engaged”—she held up her hand—“which if you ask me is way too young to commit, but whatever. His life.”

  Realm noted the easy way she spoke about the aftermath of The Program. “So he’s okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Corrine said. “I mean, at first he was boring, dull as hell, but he adjusted. He doesn’t remember much, but I don’t know, maybe that’s not a bad thing.” She shrugged and took a sip from her coffee. “I just want him alive. So although that Program shit was scary . . . it worked, right? For a time, it worked. I’m grateful.”

  Realm couldn’t respond. He’d spent so long hating and resenting The Program, his part in it, that he’d forgotten that in the end, people survived. Even though the cost was high, they lived.

  The door to the lobby swung open, sucking the warm air out of the room. James stood there with his and Realm’s bags, his jaw tight and his hair still wet from the shower. When he noticed Realm, he cut across the room and stopped in front of him.

  “Let’s go,” he said, not acknowledging Corrine. Realm stared at him and then took a calm sip from his drink.

  “James,” he said casually. “This is Corrine. Corrine, this is James.”

  James glanced at her and nodded, cold and unapproachable. It was clear he had something to say to Realm—leftover animosity from the night before. Corrine shifted her eyes to Realm and snorted a laugh.

  “I’m serious,” James said. “Let’s go. It’s a long drive.”

  Realm waved him away, letting him know he’d be there in a minute. James’s expression tightened, probably annoyed at being blown off, and he walked back to the door.

  “Now, he,” Corrine said, gesturing toward James’s back, “looks like a real asshole.”

  Realm smiled. “Yeah, and he’s the nice one. Go figure.”

  Corrine looked doubtful, but eventually she turned to Realm. “So . . .” she said with a grin. “Do . . . you want my number?”

  Realm was attracted to her; she was cool. But in her dark eyes he saw vulnerability—learned to read that kind of weakness while in The Program. Corrine was going through something, whether it was about her ex-boyfriend or her lackluster job prospects, he wasn’t sure. But Realm had promised that he wouldn’t take advantage of another person again. He couldn’t. “I don’t think so,” he said, holding her eyes.

  Corrine pouted her lips slightly, and then smiled. “Too bad,” she said. “Under different circumstances, maybe?” she asked.

  Realm nodded with a slight sting of regret. “Definitely,” he said. He grabbed the cup of coffee from the counter that he’d poured for James and started toward the door. And just before he left, Corrine called his name. He turned, alive under her attention.

  “Be kind to yourself, Michael,” she said. “You’re the one who has to live with you.”

  He smiled sadly, sure this girl could see through him, know the hurt he fought against every day. “I’m trying,” he said. And then he went outside to find James.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  REALM SAT DOWN IN THE passenger seat of the SUV, ready to have it out with James. Finish the conversation so they could move on. He swallowed hard and turned to find James with his head down, his hands tight on the steering wheel.

  “I’m sorry,” James said, surprising him. “I’m sorry I told you to shut up last night.”

  Realm was quiet for a moment, confused. Was . . . was James apologizing to him? After everything Realm had done, did James Murphy seriously just apologize and make his guilt even worse?

  “James, don’t—”

  “I’m not saying what you did was right,” James clarified, looking sideways at him. “Not at all. But you’re trying to be better, Michael. You’re taking responsibility, giving people back their memories as you stand in to take their abuse. The Program erased them,” he said. “Not you.”

  Realm wanted to argue, tell James he was wrong—that he was to blame. It was his fault. But . . . maybe a part of him wanted to believe he was still a good person. “Thank you,” he said, lowering his eyes.

  James nodded, and started the Escalade. The sun had come out from behind the clouds, warming up the car interior. “Now,” James said. “Take out the paper and see who we have next.”

  “Right . . .” Still caught off guard, Realm fumbled with the coffee cups, getting them in the holders before checking the list James had left on the dash. “Looks like we have Anthony Winters in Sacramento,” Realm said. He paused, and then ran his hand through his hair, looking nervous.

  James watched him, and then shifted the SUV into gear. “I feel I should ask,” he said nonchalantly. “Am I going to have to fight today? If so, I should probably stretch.”

  “No,” Realm said, sitting back and clicking on his seat belt. “Anthony’s a good guy. He’ll probably only punch me in the face.”

  “Then I can’t wait to meet him,” James said, and smiled.

  • • •

  The air had warmed considerably when they arrived in Sacramento. The address James had found was t
o Anthony’s house. From what James could tell, he lived alone while attending school at a technical college nearby. They located the small stucco house and parked at the curb, Realm trying to gather his bravery in the passenger seat.

  “Do you want me to go with you?” James asked.

  “No, I have to do this myself.”

  “Thank God,” James muttered, and turned on the stereo.

  Realm laughed although the nerves were twisting his gut into knots. He grabbed the messenger bag and got out. He climbed the porch steps and knocked on the front door. The porch was barren save a wooden rocking chair that looked like it’d been rescued from the curb. Realm swallowed hard, a small hope that Anthony wasn’t home clinging to his conscience. The door swung open.

  Anthony stood there wearing an oversize Forty-Niners jersey; a skinny black kid with a shaved head and dark eyes. He was one of the first patients that Realm had helped—funny, charismatic. Or least he was once they started to erase the fact that both of his brothers had killed themselves in the three months before he was admitted to The Program.

  It took Anthony a minute as he scanned Realm questioningly, and then his mouth fell open. “Oh, shit!” he said, slapping his fist into his palm. “Michael Realm?” He reached in and gave Realm a sideways hug, patting his back hard. “What the hell are you doing here? Come in, come in.” He opened the door wider and Realm walked inside, his hands clutching the strap of the messenger bag on his shoulder.

  “How are you, Anthony?” he asked.

  “Good, man. I’d be better if the Forty-Niners didn’t suck this season, but whatever.” He grinned and walked past Realm into the kitchen, where he opened the fridge. “Drink?” he asked.

  “No, thanks,” Realm said. “I can’t stay.”

  “Oh, shoot,” Anthony said, coming back into the room. He sat on the arm of the leather sofa. “You’ve got that serious look. What’s wrong? You in trouble again?”

  Realm laughed. When they were in The Program, Realm was still new and he had it out with the handlers a few times. Roger wasn’t the first asshole to try to take advantage of patients; he was just the first one to take it that far. Realm tried to make sure that didn’t happen, but he also had to cover his own status as a handler. Sometimes his payback looked more like aggression, a flipped tray here, a stray punch there—the doctors always understood. And to the patients, it made him into a bit of a hero. Of course, Realm could now see the manipulation in that. But he did have good intentions. At least that was what he tried to tell himself.