…
Thinking?
…
Donny?
…
You remember, don’t you? You remember when he split you. He did that. He created me. He made us.
And then he took you away.
No. Oh. My. God. You’re not listening to me.
There is no you. You literally just told me you don’t exist.
Correct. It’s all you, Donny. Everything that’s happened, it’s all just you. That’s the cure. The truth. And as soon as you accept it, we can move on to other things.
What other things?
First, you need to agree that I never went anywhere. I’ve been here the whole time.
You just said you’re not real!
I did say that, didn’t I? I’m not real. I’m just you. But I’m the part of you that knows the truth. I’m the keeper of the truth because you couldn’t be trusted.
Is that it, then? My truth is just… I’m insane?
Insane? No, friend. You’re not insane. Not any more than the rest of us.
Us?
It’s a metaphor. Don’t worry. There aren’t twenty personalities hiding inside you, Donny. It’s just you. It’s always been just you.
Then how do you explain my memory lapses?
And the house of little blonde girls, and the mail, and the office at Duke. It’s kind of a mess, isn’t it? But that’s just because you think you’re two people, Donovan. And you’re not. You’re just one.
I don’t know about any blonde girls in a house.
Of course you don’t. You didn’t put them there. Carter did.
You just told me, like ten times, that he’s not real!
No. I said you’re not him. He’s real, all right. And he’s in charge of a lot of shit. Shit he tried to tell you about when you were in Wyoming with Ana. But you wouldn’t listen, would you? So steps had to be taken.
He killed her. He fucking killed her. The only woman—
Carter didn’t kill anyone. What the hell is wrong with you?
Wrong with me? You just said—
Stop talking and listen to me. You and Carter are two different people. He does his job, you do your job—
What is his job?
Oh, that’s above your pay grade at the moment. But don’t worry—the end is near. And that’s where all the answers are.
Then what is my job?
Well, your job was to get the fucking girl, Donny. Remember? Indie. Ringing any bells? Your job was to get Indie. And look what you did. Fourteen fucking years, man. Who takes fourteen fucking years to do one simple job?
I was supposed to kill her?
Kill her? Why the hell would you kill her? And now Maggie—listen. We don’t have much time. They just gave you a drug to wake you up. They’re going to ask you to take another drug to get to the bottom of things. But you’re going to make a deal with them. You make this deal, OK? And I will make sure everything turns out OK.
But you’re not real.
You make me tired. Just make the deal. I’ll do the rest. We’ll talk when it’s over.
What deal?
Listen very carefully now. Because we only have one chance left to end this once and for all. There is a gun in your bed, Donovan. Your friend is helping you. She put it there. And now you’re going to do exactly what I tell you. We need the little girl, understand? We need Maggie. But first—we’re gonna cure them all. And this time, you’re not gonna fuck it up.
CHAPTER THIRTY - INDIE
“Donovan?”
His hand is cold and his face is so white, it’s almost gray. He looks terrible. My Donovan isn’t pale. My Donovan isn’t cold. My Donovan isn’t this man in this bed.
I want my Donovan back.
“Donovan. Can you hear me?” I’m whispering as I squeeze his hand. I wish I was the only one here. I wish they would all go away. Even Nathan. I just have so many things to tell Donovan. But I can’t do that with an audience.
This is the last piece. He is the last piece. If I could talk to him, we would figure this all out and we’d be fine. I just know it. I would tell him about the girls, and the place, the things, all the things… and we’d all be just fine.
Just. Fine.
But there’s no way Adam is going to leave. Not after what happened in the woods that night. Not after Donovan got caught with Maggie.
Nothing turned out right that night.
No. That’s not true. Nathan came home that night. He was the only thing right about that night.
“Keep talking to him, Indie,” Doc Bolton says. “He’s responding to your voice.” Doc points to one of the machines. It looks like a heart-rate monitor to me, but Doc says, “Brainwaves.”
But now that I’ve been given a directive, I don’t have anything more to say.
Typical. My rebellious nature always rears its ugly head at the most inopportune moments.
And this is so not the time.
So I keep going. “Donovan, you can wake up now. It’s OK to wake up.”