“So if those men were stashed safely in the Blinds—” says Cooper.
“Please don’t call it that,” says Holliday. “I’ve never liked that name, you know that.”
“So if these men were stashed safely with us, without memories, why did Vincent’s agents come now?”
“Because they found out about the boy,” Holliday says. “The murders in the town created a convenient pretext for them to intervene. A backstory for Vincent, to explain why he’d taken the boy from his mother. They came in to take the boy home to his father. In a certain light, it’s not an ignoble goal.”
“And Dick Dietrich—”
Holliday frowns. “That was their innovation. They felt a certain amount of discord in the town, precipitating their extrication, would benefit their efforts. I thought it was foolish.”
“Is that what you call it? Discord?” says Cooper. “Loosing a fucking killer in the town?”
“Loosing another killer. Let’s not mince words,” Holliday says. “The town had no shortage of killers.”
“And you authorized all of this?”
“Yes, as the last phase of the experiment. Ten years, that was the deal, remember? We just moved up the timetable slightly. Vincent was eager to retrieve his boy, and then there was the business with William Wayne. The strangest mind we ever encountered and, in a sense, the most interesting. Our leverage over him was about to expire, and I knew he was not to be contained otherwise. So I arranged to send in Eleanor Sung to deliver her father’s message to him. At that point, the whole experiment seemed to have run its course. What happened to Wayne, by the way?”
“He’s dead,” says Cooper.
“A shame. A mind like that. You see, that’s what Johann, for all his brilliance, never understood. The minds of the innocent are simple and so easily explained. The minds of the guilty, however—they are endlessly fascinating, once you really roll up your sleeves.”
“So that’s what we are to you, Judy?” asks Cooper. “Guinea pigs? Lab rats?”
“Variables. As I’ve explained. Each of you, in the original cohort of eight, posed a different challenge. For Wayne, the goal was to leave him with one memory, just one—the memory of a memory, really, and by that, to secure his compliance. We were not entirely successful, in that case. For you, Calvin, the goal was to erase only one memory, just a few hours, really, and thereby convince you that you’d lost no memories at all. With you, we succeeded admirably.”
“And what was I?” asks Fran. “You erased my memory completely. So what was my variable?”
“You were pregnant, of course.”
Fran can’t keep her tears from betraying her. “You knew,” she says softly. “And you still sent me there.”
“Of course we knew. You had a full physical before you entered the program. We just didn’t tell you we knew. What options did you have, really? Prison? Abortion? In any other scenario, you’d lose the child. You should thank me. I saved your son. I was fascinated to see what choices you would make, given the care of a child in that place.”
“These people were entrusted to you,” says Cooper. “We all were.”
“You were made available to us, there’s a difference,” Holliday says sharply. “The residents of Caesura are people the existing justice system did not ask for, did not want, and had no use for once they’d served their purpose. I wanted you, I asked for you, and so I got you. And I gave you all a great gift. I gave you almost ten years to pretend that you aren’t who you know yourselves to be, and to live accordingly.” She turns to Fran. “You say you remember everything now?”
“I do,” says Fran.
“Yet the proteins in your brain where those memories were stored are literally gone. In a physical sense, they do not exist, as surely as if I cut off your arm right now. The memories are gone, and yet, they’re not, like a phantom limb that won’t stop itching. And there are certain stressors—like my triggers—that can bring everything back. Some of these stressors we knew about. Some of them we even planted. Some of them—well, some are just trial and error, I guess. That’s what those agents were. Trial and error.”
“So you would have let them take my son?” asks Fran quietly.
“The purpose of a laboratory is to observe,” says Holliday. “Not intervene.”
Cooper seethes. “If you wanted to shut the experiment down—”
“Not shut it down, Calvin. Conclude it. Take it to its natural end.”
“—then why not just set us all free?”
Holliday looks to Fran, then back to Cooper. She smiles. “Calvin, you were always free.”
Fran sits silent for the moment. When she finally speaks, she says: “How did they know about my son? Did you tell them?”
Holliday laughs, a laugh like chimes. “No, of course not. I would have preferred for the boy to stay, simply to observe him further. But once they learned you had a son—well, given the timing, Vincent’s paternity seemed plausible. Still, they needed to be sure.”
“The man. At the mall. Who cut my son’s hair,” Fran says.
“Just to test it. Just to be certain. Vincent was fully recovered at that point and very interested in the boy’s provenance. To his credit, a long-lost child now only complicates his political fortunes. But he seems genuinely . . . attached.” Holliday reaches across the table and lays a comforting hand on Fran’s arm, like a counselor. “At some point, I would love to talk to you about that moment of realization. When it all came back to you. In a sense, that’s what this”—she gestures here at the house, the labs elsewhere, the distant town, the Institute—“was always all about.” Holliday turns to Cooper. “So what’s next, Sheriff? I’m guessing my liaisons were not successful in their objective, or we wouldn’t be talking right now.”
“What’s next is we go home,” says Cooper. “To the town. And you stop. Like you said, the experiment’s over.”
“I do intend to shut down the facility, if that’s what you mean. As for the residents—”
“There aren’t many left alive. Maybe half,” says Cooper.
“—the residents will be free to relocate wherever they like.”
“They have nowhere to go.”
“The world is a big place. They’ll find somewhere.”
“No,” Cooper says. “That town is ours. We live there. And we’re going to stay. And you’re going to leave us alone.”
Holliday recoils, bemused. “That’s ludicrous, Calvin. You can’t survive without outside assistance. The weekly shipment of supplies, for starters, all of which is funded by the Institute—”
“Oh, you’re going to keep funding it,” Cooper says, leaning forward, calmly, and placing his large hands flat on the stone slab. “The Institute will keep it open, and fund it, but it becomes a line item on your budget, nothing more. Otherwise, you bury it. And you install Eleanor Sung as the new liaison between the Institute and the town.”