Need (29 page)

I blink at the brightness, and look around for something that can help me escape Dr. Jain and her gun. The inside of the barn is nothing like the ones I've seen. No animals. No hay or farm equipment. The floor is cement. The walls are stained wood. Lining two walls are shelves filled with boxes of all sizes, along with colorful stone vases and other carvings. In the center is a large glass table equipped with enough desktop computers and printers and other machines to fill the lab at school. It's the other two walls that grab my attention. On them are whiteboards filled with numbers and names. The name at the top is Amanda Highland. It's followed by others:

• V
  ICKI
  B
  OCKNICK
  

• L
  OUIS
  V
  AZQUEZ
  

• M
  ICHAEL
  D
  ILLMAN
  

• S
  AMEENA
  J
  AHN
  

• G
  RADY
  O
  STERMAN
  

• A
  ARON
  Z
  ACHOWSKI
  

• G
  INA
  F
  ERGUSON
  

Dead. They must all be dead. Vicki, with her annoying laugh. Michael, who always wore brightly colored gym shoes. Aaron, the captain of the football team. Gina, with her mean smile and even meaner spirit. All dead. And the list isn't complete. Two more, lying in the snow outside, have yet to be added. I'm sure I'm going to be ill again when I realize Nate's name isn't there. I just hope he's not attached to machines that are the only thing keeping him off this list.

“Is your curiosity satisfied? I suppose you deserve some answers after everything. Take a seat.” Dr. Jain points to a black leather computer chair near the whiteboard with the list of names. “Now, if you'd please snap those cuffs around your right wrist, I'll take care of the left one and do what I can to make that wound a little more comfortable. You're lucky. Ethan was a terrible shot in real life. He should have stuck to video games.”

I look at the gun and at the chair, trying to ignore the pain in my shoulder and the way my body trembles. If I sit, I'm giving her permission to kill me. I don't want to die. My shoulders droop as I turn toward the chair. I let out a sigh in hopes Dr. Jain will think I've admitted defeat. I don't have to work too hard to stumble so it looks like I'm grabbing the chair arms for support. Pain shoots through me as I tighten my grip, pivot, and hurl the chair toward her. The gun goes off and I scream as fire sears through my injured arm. When I stumble this time there's no chair to catch my fall, and I slam against the concrete floor.

“I asked you to take a seat. And rest assured I am a much better shot than Ethan. If I had wanted to kill you, I would have.”

The cement is cold against my cheek. I try to focus on that and Dr. Jain saying she chose not to kill me instead of the fire burning through my body. Everything hurts, but I won't give in to the pain. I want to, but I can't.

“Now, let's try this again.” Dr. Jain stands the chair upright, places it back where it stood before, and comes to squat next to me. The gun is pointed directly at my head. “Can you stand on your own or do you need help? One way or another, you're going to get in this chair. The only thing you control is how many more holes I have to put in you before that happens.”

“I don't need your help,” I say, and grit my teeth as I struggle to my knees, then to my feet. “I never needed your help.” Blood drips down my arm from the two gunshot wounds and I sway back and forth. I take a step forward, determined not to show how weak and nauseated I feel as I drop into the chair.

“You're right. You didn't.” She smiles at me as she clicks a cheap metal handcuff that looks like a toy around my right wrist and around the arm of the chair. I decide I'm offended that she didn't bother to spring for stronger handcuffs. It's easier to focus on that than everything else—the way she restrains my other arm, how I'm starting to shiver, the sweat pouring down my back, the death of a friend who has been left outside in the snow, another who is missing, and whatever is going to happen next.

With a nod, Dr. Jain puts down her gun and takes out her phone, taps the screen several times, then walks to a cabinet on the other side of the room. “In case you were wondering, I meant it when I said I don't plan on killing you.”

Hope flares and then just as quickly fades. “I know you can't keep me alive. Not without jeopardizing your project.”

“You're smart, Kaylee.” She turns, holding a syringe, gauze, and other medical supplies. “Despite what some of your teachers think, I've always known you're smarter than you demonstrate in class. You've just put your attention in the wrong places. But you're correct. A decade of work has gone into this project and there's too much at stake. It has to be protected. So, yes. While I won't one be the one to end your life, but I know who will.”

DEAR NEED ASSOCIATE,

A SPECIAL ASSIGNMENT HAS ARISEN AND NETWORK MEMBER D385 IS NO LONGER AVAILABLE TO TARGET PROBLEM AREAS WITHIN THE SYSTEM. WHEN YOU DELIVER THE SUBJECT, YOU WILL FIND ANOTHER NETWORK MEMBER, KAYLEE DUNHAM, ONSITE. RETURN HER TO HER HOME, WHERE ANOTHER MEMBER WILL BE ASKED TO PERMANENTLY REMOVE HER FROM THE NETWORK—UNLESS YOU WISH TO ELIMINATE HER FIRST. IF SO, COMPENSATION WILL BE DOUBLED TO REFLECT THIS ADDITIONAL ACTION. THANK YOU FOR YOUR ASSISTANCE IN THIS PROJECT.

THE NEED TEAM

Sydney reads the email on his phone and shakes his head. Email with this kind of information is sloppy. It can be traced. Sending messages through the website is a better policy. The whole thing is more contained and easier to control. Network messages can still be printed out, but paper can't be tracked back to the origin. This type of email can only lead to trouble.

From where he's parked down the street, Sydney eyes the house and barn. Unlike the person who sent him the email, he knows it pays to think through all potential problems before picking a course of action. Which is why he prepared for every contingency.

Leaning across the seat, he pulls the handgun out from under the passenger seat. Sydney prefers the shotgun for hunting, but his grandfather made sure he knew how to use both with equal accuracy. He always told Sydney that a person had to pick the right tool for the job. Grandpa might not approve of the job, but he'd approve of the weapon. He should. It was his.

Sydney checks to make sure the gun is loaded. He knows it is, but he checks anyway. He's just stalling and really, why? He's made his decision and has taken the first step. Unless he wants to bow out, he has to follow through.

He looks back at Nate. Sleeping peacefully, but he should be waking up at some point soon with a hell of a hangover from the drugs. Well, it could be worse. And really, Sydney thinks as he opens the car door, it probably will be.

“H
ERE
. . .” She unzips my coat and frowns. “I've never treated a patient who's tied up in a winter coat before. This is going to be tricky. I don't want to cause you more pain than you're already in.”

“Why does it matter? Since you've admitted you're going to kill me anyway.” I resist the urge to kick her. I hope I get to later.

“Just because something has to be done doesn't mean it has to cause suffering,” she says, stepping back. “As a rule, I dislike pain. I think I'm going to have to cut the sleeve of your coat.” She takes a pair of scissors from the supplies she placed on a nearby table and begins to work. When she's done, she rolls up the sleeve of my sweatshirt and pulls out a syringe. “It's pain medication. I told you I won't be the one to facilitate your elimination. Not unless there's no other option. I'd rather not contaminate the project data if I don't have to. Now hold still.”

I do, because I want the pain to end. Then maybe I'll be able to think clearly enough to find a way out of here.

Dr. Jain is efficient. In less than a minute, she has cleaned, poked, and put a bandage on the injection site. Compared to the pain in my shoulder when she cuts the fabric around the wound and bandages it, the jab with the needle is nothing.

As she puts the supplies back in the cabinet, I finally can't help but ask, “Where's Nate? What have you done with him?”

Dr. Jain stares at me, then shakes her head. “He doesn't deserve your concern or your loyalty. We often trust those who don't. It's human nature, really, to trust those we love. Your father trusted your mother. I trusted my husband. Then I realized my trust was unfounded. Your father took longer to see the truth, probably because your mother was better at concealing her emotions. Betrayals are hard, but I had it easier in many ways than he did.”

“I thought we were talking about Nate.”

“We are. And we're not.” Her smile is humorless. “You're angry at your father for abandoning you, but you're more like him than you might imagine. As soon as your brother's illness progressed to the point where doctors felt a kidney donation would be needed, your father got tested. Like you, learning that he couldn't be a donor for your brother was difficult. But his test results showed something he didn't believe, so he had them run the test again and finally understood that he isn't DJ's biological father. The confirmation of that betrayal by your mother shattered everything. In many ways you could say that this all is her fault.”

“What? No. I don't understand. What are you saying? My mother loves my father.” She flipped out when he left and has only spoken about him when I push her.
He's
the one who shattered
her
. She loves him. Right?

“Maybe she did. But that didn't stop her from sleeping with my husband and ruining my marriage. Didn't you ever wonder why she didn't want you to find your father? If you did, you'd know what she did. Everyone in town would know that she isn't the victim here. And your mother likes playing the victim. It's hard to get sympathy when you're exposed as an adulterer. I could tell you a lot about her personality type, but I think you can figure it out on your own if you really want to.”

She's lying. She knows what buttons to push because she knows how I feel. I've spent months telling her how I feel. The world swoops around me and I blink back the lightheadedness and notice the pottery sitting on the far shelf and how it resembles the vase on our living room end table and the piece on my mother's nightstand. And then I think about the days before my father left. The silences. The way he stared at my mother and then at DJ, as if he couldn't bear to lose him. I thought my father couldn't handle the terror and unhappiness that come with having a sick child. I thought he was too scared to stay. Only, I was wrong. Dr. Jain is telling the truth, and it's worse than anything I thought I knew. My father couldn't handle knowing DJ isn't his child. That loss meant more to him than I did. I wasn't important enough for him to tell me the truth. Like my mother, he chose to leave me behind.

I don't know what to do with the rage I feel, but I can tell by the gleam in Dr. Jain's eyes that she wants me to be angry. She wants me to feel betrayed.

I do. But I won't cry. Dr. Jain has taken enough. If it kills me, I won't give her more. I swallow down the anger and do my best to sound calm when I ask, “My mother and your husband are the reasons you came back to Wisconsin?”

“No.” She smiles in a way that says she understands what I am doing and approves, which makes me angrier. “NEED is the reason.” She glances at her watch and frowns. “After years of research and development the program was finally ready for a controlled test. Since I know the area, it was easy for me to insert myself into the community in a manner that put me in a position to evaluate the accuracy of the data we received on our surveys. I could also monitor the reactions of the Network members after the site went live. It's interesting, but out of all the subjects, circumstances made it so I knew you best, and yet you were the one who presented the biggest surprise. When your chance came to ask the network for something you needed, I thought you'd ask for a way to find your father. If you had, it would have changed everything.”

“Why?”

“If you think about it, I'm sure you'll figure it out.”

The pain has faded but my mind is fuzzy. Yet when I think about it I do know. “Because my father couldn't be a donor for DJ. Locating him wouldn't qualify as a need.” And like the site states—there is a difference between a want and a need. “I would have been given a NEED fulfillment request.” DJ could live without finding Dad. A kidney is necessary. I'd like to think I would have ignored the request, but I'm not so sure that I could have given up on the chance to help DJ. I wouldn't have cared about the consequences of fulfilling the request until it was too late. And then, like Bryan had, I would probably have done anything to prevent my mother or the people in this town from finding out what I had done. I would have been just as bad as everyone else. I might have been worse. It was all a trap. One that I escaped, because Dr. Jain played God and deemed my request a need.

Her smile is slow and satisfied. “See, I told you you're smarter than people give you credit for. Yes, you asked for something that your brother will not be able to live without, and that changed everything for you. It also changed everything for Nate Weakley, who thanks to your request will no longer need that physics grade he wanted. I'm told he's been delayed due to the snow, but he should be along soon. Weather is something we can't seem to anticipate with any consistent accuracy. Human reactions, thank goodness, are much easier to predict. Otherwise, I'd be out of a job. As it stands now, this accelerated test has been far more successful than any of us planned.”

“The test is for the government?” I try to shake off the fog and I tug at my restraints. “This isn't just about revenge for what happened between my mother and your husband.”