The Remedy by Suzanne Young Read Free Book Online

tell you I was fit for the job?”
    He nods. “She did. I wanted to make sure before I sent you in. Look, I have no doubt you can do this, but it’s a big commitment. One I hope you’ll never have to repeat.” My father stands up and pushes in his chair.
    “It’s gotten late,” he says. “Why don’t you take the night to think about it and we’ll talk more in the morning.” He leans down to kiss the top of my head, but I stare straight ahead, overwhelmed by my responsibility. I murmur a “good night” right after he walks out, and then look down at the file waiting on the kitchen table. Look at the life I’m about to finish.
    *  *  *
    After tossing my uneaten burrito in the trash, I grab my backpack and go upstairs. I take a quick shower to wash the red dye out of my hair, and then head to my room. When I walk in, I’m temporarily displaced by its familiarity. My tall queen bed—not made, never made—with dark wood frame. My pale pink walls dotted with a white and silver pattern that Deacon designed. I told him it looked like a flower—he told me it was a cricket. Either way, it’s pretty cool. I set the file on my vanity table and cross to the walk-in closet, my backpack heavy on my shoulder. My jaw clicks when I yawn.
    The closet is filled with everything I could need for an assignment. Wigs along the top shelf—different colors and lengths. An organizer with drawers for extensions and contacts cases. From the file picture, it looked like Catalina had short blond hair in a shade lighter than mine. I scan the wigs, thinking I’ll have to adjust the length once I find the right color. I reach into my bag and pull out the hair extensions, combing my fingers through them to smooth them out. After I untangle them, I open the drawer and lay them next to the others, and drop my bag on the floor.
    Again I yawn, my eyes too heavy to keep open much longer. I’ll have to read through Catalina’s file to see what sort of clothes she wore—what kind of makeup. Sometimes the photos are outdated, so each assignment takes a careful case study. But there’s not much time for that. I click off the closet light and run my fingers along my wall, touching the raised pattern as I walk. I pull the first pair of pajamas I find out of my dresser drawer.
    “Catalina Barnes,” I murmur out loud. I wonder what her voice sounded like, if it’ll be easy to mimic. If she had any quirks or interests that I can’t master. I switch off the overhead light and lie in bed, staring up at the glow-in-the dark stars still stuck to my ceiling from a time I can’t remember. Each blink lasts longer, and just before I close my eyes completely, I whisper, “What happened to you?”
    *  *  *
    I’ve never needed an alarm clock. I wake early every morning no matter what time I go to bed, like my body automatically dispenses a bucket of caffeine into my circulatory system. My internal clock is permanently set at seven a.m., no matter how much sleep I get the night before. Still, by afternoon I’ll probably crash and end up napping.
    My head feels thick and cloudy, and I climb out of bed to move around—let my brain catch up with my body. The house is quiet; my dad is probably wiped out from staying up late with me. I see my reflection in the vanity mirror and pause for a long moment. For a second, I don’t recognize myself without the red hair. I don’t recognize myself as Quinn.
    The folder seizes my attention and the conversation with my father floods back. I’m going on assignment again—this time for two whole weeks. This is major. This is crazy. I pull out the small chair and sit down, resting my elbow on the vanity top. I open the file and find Catalina’s picture.
    She has small features and brown eyes and blond hair, although I can’t tell if the color is natural or dyed. She doesn’t have freckles, which means I’ll have to cover mine. She wears more makeup than I normally would, but that actually helps when I’m