That’s the amount of time that we are both confined to our rooms in punishment. We eat in our rooms without company.
They watch us so carefully that we can’t sneak out at night, and I can’t see for myself that Calla is ok. I have to believe she is, and that she’s waiting for me on the other end of the hall.
In the forty-ninth hour, I am allowed to go to breakfast, and I search the room for Calla.
She’s not here.
I scan all the faces, and she’s simply not here.
My heart pounds as I grab a tray and head outside, so certain she’ll be there.
The gardens are empty.
The trails are empty.
She’s not at the pond, either.
I ask around, but no one has seen her, and I truly begin to worry as I rush through the halls toward her room.
“Mr. DuBray?” a nurse stops me. “Where are you going?” I can tell from her face that she knows.
“I’m just out for a walk,” I lie.
She looks sympathetic, but she can’t give in. “I don’t think you need to walk down this hall. Go outside and get some fresh air.”
Calla is my air.
I stare her in the eye. “Is Calla Price all right?”
She pauses.
“I can’t give you information about another patient, Mr. DuBray.”
But she wants to. I can see it in her eyes.
“Can you just tell me if she’s ok? Please?”
The nurse’s brown eyes waver.
“She’s no longer a patient here, Mr. DuBray.”
My heart leaps into my throat.
“What?”
I fight to remain calm, to hold my composure, to breathe.
The nurse lowers her voice.
“After the incident at the beach, her father felt it prudent to remove her from here.”
“She’s gone?” My voice is limp.
The nurse nods.
“I’m afraid so.”
She turns and walks away and I’m limp, standing motionless in a sea of insane people.