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Theo’s jaw works overtime. “It isn’t that easy to quantify.”
“But it’s small, isn’t it? Like an impossibly small chance that I’ll getallof my memories back?”
He looks down at his feet, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yes,” he admits reluctantly.
“And the surgery? What are my chances if I have the surgery?”
“You can’t base a decision like this on which option has the least shitty odds, Sorrell. They’re both bad options, except one of them might leave you fucking dead.”
“They both might leave me dead,” I grit out. “Don’t you think that’s what it feels like for me? This constant uncertainty? The thought that I might go to sleep and wake up a completely different fucking person tomorrow morning? Don’t you think that would be like dying tothisversion of me?”
“It’s not the same and you know it.”
“Do you wanna deal with another Catherine? Or someone even worse? What if I turn into a complete fucking psychopath?”
“That’s very unlikely.”
“JUST TELL ME WHAT MY ODDS ARE, THEO!”
His eyes snap up to meet mine, and a world of hurt exists within his gaze. He looks tortured beyond belief when he says, “Twenty-seven percent. There’s a twenty-seven percent chance that, if you make it through the surgery, youcouldget your memories back.”
“Twenty-seven percent’s not bad.”
“You’re not listening. If you make it through the surgery. If. There’s a fifty-fifty chance youdieon that table. Fifty-fifty. It’s a fucking coin toss at best. It’s unethical that they’d evenofferthe surgery—”
“I like those odds.” Even as I say this, fear creeps its way into my mind, rattling me to my core. They’re terrible odds. There’s nothing to like about them at all. Still… “Isn’t it worth the risk? To get everything back? To getmeback?”
I know I’ve struck a chord with this question. Theo glares at me, anger bubbling out of him, his eyes fucking alive with it. “I lost you to Amelia. I lost her to Catherine. I lost Rachel to you. I cannot loseyoubecause you fuckingdied.”
“You don’t even know that I’m gonna die!”
“For fuck’s sake, Sorrell, I do!”
“How?”
“Because that’s what happened to Henry!” he roars.
26
SORRELL
The Henry DeKoskyCenter for Neurological Study.
I stare at the brass plaque on the wall of the grand brick building with bile rising up the back of my throat. “When did they change the name?” I ask quietly, turning to Theo. After three days of bitter arguments, he agreed to fly back to Los Angeles with me, on the proviso that this be an exploratory trip only, where I ask questions and gather more information. Theo runs his tongue over his teeth, studying the plaque, too.
“Couple of months ago, I think. His father’s a politician. Donated a lot of money to the hospital while Henry was a patient here. I’m sure they renamed the place to keep him happy. He was understandably upset when his son died.”
I know this building. I recognized it the second the Uber pulled into the parking lot. But of course I know it as Falcon House.
Theo places an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into an embrace. “You’re sure you want to do this?” he whispers into my hair. “It’s not too late. We can always go back.”
I shake my head. It’s way too late to go back. I can’t do this anymore. Knowing the truth is one thing but try telling that to my brain. I still live in a world where I’m convinced Rachel was a real person. A separate person. I still have all of these memories of a horrific childhood that make no sense, whilst having absolutely no memories of my mother and father, who loved and cared for me deeply. I don’t want to live a lie anymore. I want my life back, every single detail of it in sharp focus.
Taking a deep breath, I pull back from Theo’s hug. I’m still so mad at him for keeping this from me, but I understand why he didn’t say anything. I know how scary this is for him. I also know what it’s costing him to come back here with me. This place holds unimaginable nightmares for him—I’ve already nearly died here twice already, and he was sitting by my side both times it happened. It was probably unfair of me to ask him to come, but I’m weak and I needed him. The prospect of coming here alone, without his support, nearly broke me clean in two.
“Sorrell! Oh my goodness, what a surprise!”
I look up and tears spring to my eyes. Gaynor stands in the sliding glass doors, her mascara clumpy and smudged as ever. She’s wearing pale blue scrubs this morning. I get the feeling she’salwaysworn them, only I wasn’t paying attention somehow. The huge oatmeal colored cable knit cardigan she’s wearing over her nurse’s scrub top is full of holes, the sleeves are far too long.
