It is impossible that my husband could have had plans to meet her, both on the date when he texted See you tonight, gorgeous, and on the night he claimed their affair had begun, when he said she’d slid into a seat across from him at a hotel bar.
His lie was never challenged, however. It needed to remain standing.
Thomas had an excellent reason for trying to camouflage his one-night stand with April by layering the story of another, made-up dalliance over it.
And of course, his wife had an even better reason for hiding her own knowledge of both the counterfeit affair and the real one with April.
Would it come as a surprise to you that I’ve known the truth about my husband and subject 5 all along?
Jessica, you may think you have figured everything out. But if you have learned only one thing since becoming Subject 52, it is that you must suspend your assumptions.
It is a pity that you are so distraught. But you brought this on yourself.
Right now you feel all alone.
Not to worry, though. You will be in my company soon enough.
CHAPTER
SIXTY-TWO
Sunday, December 23
Have you spoken with your family recently, Jessica? Are they enjoying their vacation in Florida?
I stare at the text, feeling the questions sear me.
Dr. Shields took away my job. She took away my boyfriend. What has she done to my parents and Becky?
I’m in bed, my knees pulled up to my chest, Leo beside me. After Noah left me on the corner, I tried calling and texting him, but he didn’t respond. Then I did the only thing I could think of: I came home and cried gut-wrenching tears. They’ve slowed to quieter sobs by the time the message from Dr. Shields comes in.
I never responded to my mother’s call last night when I was creeping through Dr. Shields’s town house, I think as I sit bolt upright. And she didn’t leave a message.
I dial my mom’s cell immediately, fighting back panic. The automated voice mail message comes on.
“Mom, please call me right away,” I blurt.
I try my dad’s cell next. Same thing.
I start to hyperventilate.
Dr. Shields never even told me the name of the resort. My mom phoned right after they arrived, telling me all about their waterfront room and saltwater swimming pool, but she didn’t specify where they were staying and I was so thrown by everything going on in my life that I never asked.
How could I have been so careless?
I call my parents again, each in turn.
Then I grab my coat and push my feet into my boots and tear through the door. I run down the stairs, pushing past a neighbor who is carrying a bag of groceries. She gives me a startled glance. I know my mascara is probably smeared and my hair is wild, but I no longer care how I look for Dr. Shields.
I sprint down the street, frantically waving for a cab. One pulls over and I jump into the back. “Hurry, please,” I say, giving the driver Dr. Shields’s home address.
I still don’t have a plan fifteen minutes later when I arrive. I just pound on the door until my hand throbs.
Dr. Shields opens it and looks at me with no surprise, as if she has been expecting me.
“What did you do to them?” I shriek.
“Excuse me?” Dr. Shields responds.
She is flawless, as usual, in her dove-gray top and tailored black slacks. I want to grab her shoulders and shake her.
“I know you did something! I can’t reach my parents!”
She steps back. “Jessica, take a deep breath and calm down. We cannot have a conversation like this.”
Her tone is a rebuke; it’s as if she’s dealing with an irrational child.
I’m not going to get anywhere by screaming at her. The only way she’ll give me answers is if she thinks it’s on her own terms, if she’s in control.
So I shove back my anger and fear.
“Can I please come inside so we can talk?” I ask.
She opens the door wider and I follow her inside.
There’s classical music playing, and her home is as immaculate as ever. Fresh petunias adorn the glossy wooden table in the entryway, beneath the panel for the alarm system.
I avoid looking at it as I pass.
Dr. Shields leads me to the kitchen and gestures to a stool.
As I slide onto it, I see a platter on the granite counter holds a cluster of violet grapes and a wedge of creamy cheese, as if she