I practically never boast about my work, but I'm very proud of this chapter. It took me just five days to write, plus another to revise and edit. I even procrastinated on my homework to work on it. The words just seemed to flow out of me, and they wouldn't stop. ;)

This chapter contains a quote that I think really avid fans of the Sprouse twins would appreciate. Kudos to whoever spots it! (The title of this chapter should give you a hint.)

Enjoy. And please leave a review!

Disclaimer: I don't own The Suite Life, but Lisa, Reverend Conroy, Dr. Donovan, and TJ are mine.

It wasn't supposed to be like this, Lisa thought worriedly as she pulled out of the Boston Lacunar Inc. faculty parking lot onto the street. It was practically vacant; no one was out and about at 10:00 on a week day morning. Everyone was at work, or in school, or wherever else they had to be, living their mundane lives. Trucking through for prosperity's sake.

Lucky them.

Lisa never thought she'd miss the simplicity and tediousness of her life before Lacunar Inc., but anything was better than this. She didn't know what was in her future but she was willing to bet it wasn't prosperity. She'd fucked up. It had been her first real assignment—her moment to shine—and she'd completely fucked it up. Now she had a "possible security breech" on her hands that she was solely responsible for fixing. She'd been called into Dr. Donovan's office earlier that morning and he'd specifically said, "This is your mess, Miss Burke, so I'll leave you to clean it up. I want you to go down to that church on Bennington Street at your earliest convenience and find out what Mr. Martin was doing there. I want to know everything—why he went there, who he talked to, what they talked about...everything."

She'd been tempted to ask how this was her problem. She'd wanted to point out that she had merely presided over Cody Martin's procedure, and had done everything she was asked to do. But she didn't do that because she knew it'd be a bad idea. It was no mystery why she was being sent to investigate. No one wanted to take the blame. Cody was her charge; therefore, if anything happened to him it was automatically her fault.

It was neither fair nor just, but what could she say? The system was rigged. The head honchos looked after them and theirs. Everyone else was expendable.

Lisa didn't know Dr. Donovan too well. No one did. He only invited employees into his office under two conditions: A) he needed them for something, or B) they were in trouble. In the months that she'd been working there, Lisa had only seen him in person twice. He was a pompous man who loved to flaunt his authority, and took great pleasure in intimidating anyone below his status—which consisted of nearly everyone.

He prided himself the head physician for the Boston Lacunar Inc. clinic, much like his cohorts from surrounding clinics. They all had one thing in common, and that was that they practically worshipped the corporation's founder, John Wilkinson. The man was a living legend among them. He was even perceived by some to be "God-like."

"Science calls for no deity," Dr. Donovan proclaimed at a meeting once. "But if it did its God would no doubt be Wilkinson—the things he's done, the contributions he's made...if anyone is or ever was 'the light' it would be him. It's a shame what happened to his son, but if it weren't for that blow we wouldn't be where we are now." Wilkinson's PTSD-affected son had turned into somewhat of a Jesus figure among the science world—a noble sacrifice in the name of learning and benefiting the many. Most of the common people didn't know much about him except that he, like his father, was dead. There was a general fear among scientists that if the citizens were to know the whole story their protests would increase, and that was one thing they were not willing to put up with.

They didn't handle opposition well. They viewed dissent as a preposterous nuisance. The idea that anyone would dispute their endeavors was beyond them. Dr. Donovan wasn't too pleased about Cody Martin setting foot in a church. Not that he had any real grounds to worry (many of their former patients were regular church-goers), but there was something about Cody that captivated the doctor—some aspect about the boy that fascinated him, which was a shock given his overall indifferent attitude.

There was certainly something off-putting about the boy. Lisa remembered the day she first saw him. She'd been led into a semi-lit conference room and shown a video of him talking to Dr. Donovan about the procedure, informed that—should he decide to go through with it—he would be her first real job.

She'd watched carefully, observing as Dr. Donovan guided Cody through one of the labs, showing him the erasure machines, explaining to him how they worked. Cody seemed to be listening intently; he asked so many questions. Though at the same time, he seemed so detached and isolated. And alone.

She remembered Dr. Donovan pointing to a black computer monitor with Lacunar Inc.'s logo at the bottom center and saying, "When the screen is blank, so is the part of your mind that contained Zack."

Cody had looked at him with a perturbed, almost sickly expression. "So he'll be gone...for good?" he asked nervously.

Dr. Donovan braved the faintest of smiles. "That's right."

Cody looked so lost, so unsure. He glanced down and bit his lip. "I won't know about him at all?" his voice had been shaking. "I won't remember any of the times we had together? Even the good ones?"

"Look at it as collateral, Mr. Martin," Dr. Donovan replied. "By undergoing this procedure, you will be forfeiting some pleasant memories. But in exchange, you'll be relieving yourself of some very painful ones."

Slowly, Cody's head rose and he found the doctor's eyes. "But, is it worth it?"

"That, sir, is up to you. In my humblest opinion, I should think so."

When Cody looked at him incredulously, he hastened to explain further: "People are naturally pessimistic; our minds have a tendency to dwell on the negative things and take the positive ones for granted. That fact is universally acknowledged. The media feeds on it, which explains why the news is always so full of tragedies and scandals; we're drawn to suffering. Overall, our brains store far more negative memories than they do positive ones. That's not very satisfying, now is it?"

"Maybe," Cody considered. "But the good memories…even if there're less of them than the bad, they're…they're more than just good. Some of them are great. Some of them are amazing." He looked like he wanted to break down and start sobbing. "I loved Zack, Dr. Donovan. I loved him more than anything."

"I'm sure you did, but that does not change fact that he is gone and you cannot bring him back. The bottom line is, you won't miss what you never knew existed."

"He did exist, though," Cody said.

"That's subjective."

"How?"

"Perhaps he did, perhaps he didn't, but—"

"He did," Cody repeated.

Dr. Donovan continued as though he hadn't been interrupted: "If you don't remember, then what does it matter?"

And what did it matter? What difference did a memory make? Memories were just flashes of things the brain couldn't let go of—snippets from the past that paraded through the mind like intangible video clips. They were powerful, but too apt to hinder a person. Too many lives were destroyed because of memories. Too many hearts broken. Wasn't it better to just get rid of them—to wipe the slate clean and start over? Wasn't life too short to spend brooding and wallowing in regret and disappointment?

Yes. It had to be. Living like that could never be the answer.

Lisa sighed and turned on the radio. She was tuned into an alternative rock station that was in the middle of playing R.E.M.'s "Losing My Religion," which she hadn't heard in a long time so she started to listen:

That's me in the spotlight, I'm
Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you
And I don't know if I can do it
Oh no, I've said too much
I haven't said enough
I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try

She almost laughed in spite of herself. She'd never realized it before but that song fit her so well. Loss of faith had been a rite of passage for her in her teens and early adulthood—the point where she'd decided to chase her own dream instead of her father's, and had abandoned the otherworldly in pursuit of the visible and proven.

After the song was finished, the DJ came on: "That was R.E.M. with 'Losing My Religion,'" he announced. "Gotta say, one of my top faves in the alt-rock genre right there—don't get much better than that, know what I mean? Now, for the morning news...we have protestors marching around the perimeter of a Lacunar Inc. treatment center here in Los Angeles, trying to prevent people from entering the building, claiming that they are 'saving these people from themselves.' Sources say eight of these protestors have been arrested, one for spray-painting the word 'antichrist' on the building's side and shouting obscenities at random people in the street. He is currently facing charges on vandalism and disturbing the peace and it looks like authorities aren't going easy on him."

Wow. She'd heard about protestors, and had even seen a few herself, but never had she witnessed anything like that. People simply couldn't tolerate change. Every instance of change that had ever been done to society had met with some sort of opposition. It was the price of evolution. Rippling the still waters of sameness was always sure to set off an angry mob or two.

"In other news, a father in Phoenix, Arizona has been charged with killing his 17-year-old daughter in a fit of rage after finding out that she'd joined a church..."

Good grief! thought Lisa, appalled.

"43-year-old Carl Webb, administrator of an atheist organization called the Free Think Alliance and advocator of Lacunar Inc., was apprehended yesterday after police received a phone call from his next door neighbor who complained of hearing screaming and what she called 'thumping noises' from Mr. Webb's house. Police arrived just in time to find Carl Webb wrapping the dead body of his daughter into a bed sheet, arresting him and taking into custody a blood-covered hockey stick that is believed to be the murder weapon. It has been reported that Mr. Webb is a profound opponent of religion, having been involved in numerous anti-religion demonstrations in the past decade and expressing hope for his daughter, Heather, to follow in his footsteps..."

Lisa didn't want to believe it. She wasn't the most religious person either—far from it, in fact—but the notion of hurting another person on the basis of religious beliefs was beyond her. Least of all, one's own child. Why were people so cruel? Why were they so intolerant? What was the source of intolerance? Fear? Pride? An inability to cope?

It made no sense.

She turned off the radio, not wanting to hear any more, and drove in silence, accompanied only by the purr of her car's engine and the gravity of her own thoughts.

She thought about her childhood—how she'd lost her mother to an unexpected brain tumor and was left in the care of a strict Christian father who believed himself anointed by God and destined to root out evil wherever he found it. His idea of "evil" had been anything that differed from him. Anything that deviated from his standards of right and wrong. He couldn't handle resistance from anyone...and that included her.

Involuntarily, Lisa took one hand away from the steering wheel and touched it to her upper thigh, feeling the place where the burn marks lingered, where she had been forever scarred by her own protector. Damaged.

Tears sprung to her eyes but she blinked them back. She couldn't afford to cry now; she had immediate business to attend to. She could cry later, when this mess was all taken care of and she had nothing left to think about.

But her father's face stayed with her, all the way to the church.

…

"Are you sure about this?" TJ asked.

Cody sighed. "Yes, TJ, for the tenth time, I'm sure."

TJ eased his hands into the front pockets of his jacket. "Just can't believe you're going through with this," he said. "Imagine what they'll think. Imagine what they'll do. These people don't like to be fucked with, Cody. You wanna fuck with them, you need cash—and I know you ain't got that."

Cody was only semi paying attention, fumbling around his apartment for his car keys, trying to compose himself as the thought of confronting Lacunar Incorporated sunk into his head.

"What about Bailey?" TJ went on. "Have you thought about her? Have you thought about what they might do to her? Have you ever thought that this may be what they want? This whole thing is fucking weird!"

"TJ, all of that has crossed my mind," Cody assured him, his voice strenuous. "But the fact of the matter is I don't have any other options. I have to try to remember my brother."

"Look..." TJ approached him, slowly. "I want you to remember your brother too. Believe me, that's not the issue here."

"Then what is the issue?"

TJ took a deep breath. "I don't want you to get hurt."

Cody looked at him, suddenly feeling guilty at the sincerity of his friend's tone, knowing he'd meant every word. "TJ...I don't want to get hurt either," he said, almost whispering. "I'm not doing this to get myself killed, or to get anyone else killed. I'm just...scared."

TJ was stunned. "Scared?"

"Yeah, man, scared. I'm scared for Bailey, for you, for my mom"—his voice cracked with emotion at the mention of his mother—"...for myself. But most of all, I'm scared of not knowing who I am. Remember how I said I felt like I've been sleep-walking?"

TJ nodded.

"It's because of Zack—because I lost him."

"He's dead, Cody." TJ stated, confused. "You can't bring him back."

"That's not what I meant. I've lost him in my mind—in the one place I still had him. Death is not the end, TJ. At least it doesn't have to be. Even if someone's physically dead, your memories keep them alive." Cody's face scrunched into a grimace. "But if you don't remember them, they're dead to you entirely."

TJ considered that, knowing full well that Cody had made up his mind about going to Lacunar Inc. and was not going to back down. "Okay, I get it," he gave in. "You won't be yourself again until you remember your brother."

Cody almost smiled. TJ got him. He wasn't the most sentimental guy around, but he understood his position.

"So what do you want me to do in the meantime?"

Cody shrugged. "Stay here."

"What?" TJ was incredulous. "That's it? Stay here? You really expect me to do that?"

Cody clutched his car keys, gazing at his friend with a mixture of appreciation and firmness. "There's nothing for you at Lacunar Inc.," he said. "On the other hand, I need you to look after Bailey. I need you to keep her safe."

"Oh great, so now I'm on Bailey-sitting duty?"

"TJ, please..."

"Alright, fine," TJ yielded. "But if you run into trouble, you call me. I mean it."

"Thanks, TJ."

Cody patted his friend on the shoulder.

Then left.

As soon as he was gone, TJ took out his cell phone and started zipping through his contact list. He was going to try to make a quick call.

…

There were butterflies in her stomach when Lisa parked her car in front of the Boston Methodist Church on Bennington Street. She took a moment to stare at it, taking in its architecture. It looked foreboding and ominous, and seemed to glare back at her with an aura of judgment.

"Well," she told herself under her stifled breath, "here goes nothing."

And she got out of the car.

Her progression towards the building was mechanical—a mental "one foot in front of the other" routine that kept her distracted from what she had to do. What was she going to say? What questions would she ask? What if she didn't get anywhere? What if no one remembered Cody, or had any idea as to why he came there? Or worse, what if someone did know, but refused to tell her?

What precautions would she have to take? How far would she be required to go?

She forced herself to suck in a deep breath when she came up the double doors, and then contemplated whether to knock as though she were an uninvited visitor or walk right in as though she were already welcome.

Wanting to get this over with as soon as possible, she went with the latter.

The interior of the church was lush and vibrant, decorated with beautiful paintings depicting significant moments in the life of Jesus Christ. She took a moment to observe them, unable to ignore their brilliance. From inside the sanctuary at the end of the hall, she could hear the voices of people talking and thought it best to wait until they'd finished their conversation.

Besides, she needed a moment to think things through. What was she going to say? Should she be blunt and straight-forward, or should she be subtle and coy? Would it be best to act tough and authoritative, or gentle and cooperative?

She'd never led an interrogation before, but hoped that when the fast-approaching time came, she could wing it.

The voices in the sanctuary died down, and she found herself moving gradually towards it, meticulously counting her footsteps to divert her mind.

When she reached the threshold of the sanctuary, she was passed by three people—two women and one man—who each walked by her without a word. Congregationalists, no doubt. Sheep who couldn't think for themselves. She stepped aside to allow them room, and then ambled into the heart of the church.

She took a moment to inspect her surroundings, noting their grandeur, but soon her eyes fell on an elderly man who was standing sideways in front of the first pew, reading what was most likely a Bible (though could have been something else). He must have felt that he was being watched because he looked up, titled his head, and saw her.

She froze in place, her body rigid, her mind instantly going blank. But then the man gave her a kind smile and she relaxed a bit.

"Hello," he greeted her. "May I be of service?"

She swallowed. Here goes. "Perhaps."

He started to come towards her and she instinctually took a step back.

"Are you afraid?" he asked.

"No," she lied. "Why would I be?"

He took another step towards her. This time, she readily forced herself to stay in place.

"My name is Jonathan Conroy—Reverend Jonathan Conroy," he introduced himself. "And you are?"

Before she could stop herself, she told him: "Lisa. Lisa Burke."

Reverend Conroy nodded in acknowledgement. "So what brings you here, Lisa Burke?" he questioned.

"I work for Lacunar Incorporated," she blurted out.

She nearly smacked herself. She should be careful about disclosing that kind of information, especially around religious types like him. Suppose he refused cooperate with her. What then? Should she call for backup (banking on the idea that backup would actually come)? Should she take the offense and warn him not the fuck around with her? Should she plead with him to be reasonable?

There were so many possibilities, and so little room for error.

Luckily, the reverend—though obviously disgruntled—did not act surprised. "Ah, and what is it you want?" he inquired.

"Answers," she told him simply.

"Answers about what?"

"About a boy who came in here yesterday, named Cody Martin."

The reverend acted as though he needed to recall the name, though she alleged that what he was really doing was speculating on how much he would be willing to tell her. "What about him?" he finally spoke, taking the defense.

"I want to know why he came here—that is, if you know...which I suspect you do given that you're a reverend and must spend most of your time here."

The reverend glanced down at the floor, and then back up at her, his expression guilty. "You're right, I do know," he admitted truthfully. "Though I don't know why I should be inclined to tell you."

Now it was time for a little persuasion. "This will go a whole lot easier on you if you just cooperate, Reverend."

Reverend Conroy cocked an eyebrow. "You don't frighten me, Miss Burke," he said.

"It's not my intention to frighten you—merely to be honest and direct with you. My employer, Dr. Harvey Donovan, Head of the Boston branch of Lacunar Incorporated, wants to know the reason behind Cody Martin's visit here. That's all."

There was a silent pause in which Reverend Conroy pondered Lisa Burke's position. It was relatively simple to figure out. Young, soft-spoken employees of Lacunar Inc. didn't just wander into churches of their own accord; there had to be a purpose—an unavoidable objective.

"You're in trouble, aren't you?" It wasn't really a question, but he thought it best to phrase it as one.

"What's it to you?" Lisa asked distrustfully.

"If you're in some kind of a jam, I'd be glad to help you."

She couldn't believe he'd just said that to her. Why would he want to help her? By all logical means, she was his enemy.

"And just how would you do that?" she wanted to know.

"I don't know," he replied. "In whatever way I can."

She crossed her arms, deciding to use this opportunity to bring up her business for coming there. "If you want to help me, you'll tell me what I want to know."

He looked at her apologetically. "I'm sorry, I can't do that."

"Why not?" This was not going well.

"Whatever happened between Cody and me is between us and God. I'm bound by my own conscience not to tell anyone else."

Damn, this man was insufferable! Her job and reputation were on the line, and here he was being stubborn. "Reverend Conroy, please..." she pleaded, sounding more desperate than she wanted to. "I wouldn't be asking you this if it wasn't important."

"I understand," he assured her. "Your position is a difficult one. But I beg you to understand, so is mine."

"How so?" she practically beseeched him. "What's holding you back?"

"God."

"God!" she scoffed, exasperated.

"Yes, God," he said. "Though, I don't take it you know much about Him, given who you are."

She was insulted. "Who I am?" she spat. Her blood was beginning to boil. "Let me tell you something about who I am, Reverend. Who I am is someone who knows more about God and the Bible and religion than I ever cared to know! Who I am is someone who was raised by a God-fearing lunatic who pounded into my head that I was worthless! Who I am is someone who has to take Zoloft almost every day just to silence the screaming in my head!" She had no idea where all that came from, but letting it all out was oddly therapeutic for her. She sighed in slight relief, wanted to continue but scarcely knowing what more to say.

"I see," Reverend Conroy murmured, shamefaced. "Forgive me, for making a false accusation."

Lisa calmed down, but couldn't find it in her to forgive him. He had cut her too deeply. If there was one thing she hated it was hasty assumptions.

Reverend Conroy noticed her distress and attempted to mend it. "The only reason I said that was because..."

"I know why!" Lisa snapped, cutting him off.

He nodded sadly. "I'm sorry. I truly am." His voice was so genuine. "Why don't you tell me what's going on? There's got to be some way that I can help you."

"Oh, so you can't tell me anything but you expect me to confide in you? Is that it?"

She had a valid point and he couldn't refute that. Underneath his sympathy and compassion, he had nothing to offer her.

"Then why don't you tell me only as much as you want to tell me?" he suggested.

"And what do I get in return?"

"Isn't my listening enough?"

"What makes you think it'd be enough?"

The reverend was suddenly vexed. "See, that's the problem with people like you!" he exclaimed. "Nothing's ever enough. You keep wanting more and more and never consider what you already have." He looked at her as though she was of a different species, as though she was something he couldn't fathom. "Isn't it exhausting?"

"It's human nature to want, Reverend," she pointed out. "There's nothing wrong with wanting. Everyone wants something."

"True enough," Reverend Conroy concurred, "but it's also human nature to choose. You could be grateful if you chose to be."

Lisa sighed, growing tired, wondering how her planned interrogation had managed to go awry. "Look, Reverend, I didn't come here to argue with you over gratitude and human nature. So if it's all the same to you, why don't we just agree to disagree and get down to business?"

"Always business," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "No time for inner reflection."

"I do plenty of inner reflection," Lisa shot back indignantly. "But right now, I need you to work with me."

Reverend Conroy looked at her with heartfelt expression, his gaze baring down into her as though he were trying to reach her soul. "I am working with you."

For a moment, Lisa forgot where she was and why she came, and all she knew for sure was that she was with an honest person—perhaps the first she'd been acquainted with in a long time—and she felt safe.

"I feel it's my duty to get people to look inside themselves," the reverend continued. "I think that's what people need nowadays—to look inside their hearts more."

Lisa shook her head, bringing herself out of her reverie. "Actually, Reverend, I think hearts are the last place people should look."

Reverend Conroy's expression shifted, not to one of contempt, but to one of pity—one that a parent would likely give their child for not understanding why they did what they did. The look made Lisa's legs buckle, but she willed herself to remain on her feet.

"I beg to differ, Miss Burke," he said matter-of-factly, "the heart is where we find truth."

She waited for him to explain.

"'For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also'—Luke 12, verse 34. It's one of my personal favorites. Usually I don't quote Bible texts to prove my point, but I doubt I could express myself better than that." He looked at her in earnest. "Our passion is driven by our hearts, Miss Burke. Our hearts may very well be the only thing in this world we can trust."

"Oh, really?" Lisa challenged him. "Well, how about this: 'The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: Who can know it?'—Jeremiah 17, verse 9."

The reverend appeared, if anything, impressed.

"We can play at this game all day," Lisa stated. "But I'd really rather not. I came here to ask you questions about Cody Martin. Now, either you answer them, or I go back to Lacunar Inc. and send my boss after you. Which will it be?"

The last part of that was a lie. In truth, Lisa had no idea what she would do if the reverend didn't answer her questions. She would definitely report it to Dr. Donovan, but she hated to think how he'd react. Bad news such as that would likely get her fired.

Reverend Conroy was not affected. "By all means, send your boss," he said. "I'd love to meet him."

Lisa wanted to run up to him and ring his neck—to force an answer out of him—but of course, she legally could not do that. And deep down, she knew she wouldn't be able to look herself in the mirror if she did.

There was nothing left for her to say. She'd failed, and would now have to face the consequences.

She walked out of the church thinking about deceitful hearts, human nature, her own future, and Cody Martin.