Never Never: Part Two (Never Never #2)(15)

The backpack is nowhere.

I’m either going crazy or someone was just in here.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

When all of the contents from the entire row of lockers are on the floor, I move to the other wall of lockers and begin doing the same to them. I look inside other people’s backpacks. I empty gym bags, watching as gym clothes tumble to the floor. I find anything and everything, from cell phones to cash to condoms.

But no letters. No journals. No photographs.

“Nash!”

I spin around to see a man filling the doorway, looking at me like he has no idea who I am or what’s gotten into me. That makes two of us. “What in the hell are you doing?”

I look around at the mess I’ve made. It looks like a tornado just ripped through the locker room.

How am I going to get out of this?

I’ve just destroyed every single locker in here. And what explanation would I give them? I’m looking for stolen evidence so the police won’t arrest me for my girlfriend’s disappearance?

“Someone…” I squeeze the back of my neck again. This must be one of my old ticks—squeezing the stress out of my neck. “Someone stole my wallet,” I mutter.

The coach looks around the locker room, the anger never once leaving his face. He points at me. “Clean this up, Nash! Now! And then get your ass to my office!” He walks away, leaving me alone.

I waste no time. I’m relieved I left all my clothes on the bench and not in my locker with the stuff that was stolen. My keys are still in my pants pocket. As soon as I’m out of my football gear and back into my clothes, I walk out the door, but I don’t go in the direction of the offices. I head straight for the parking lot.

Straight for my car.

I have to find Charlie.

Tonight.

Otherwise, I could be sitting completely helpless in a jail cell.

Chapter 10: Charlie

I hear the lock open again, and I sit up. The pills the nurse gave me make me feel drowsy. I don’t know how long I was asleep, but it couldn’t have been long enough to already be time for another meal. However, she comes in carrying another tray. I’m not even hungry. I wonder if I finished my spaghetti earlier. I can’t even remember eating it. I must be a lot crazier than I thought. But I did have a memory. I debate telling her, but it feels private. Something I want to keep for myself.

“Dinner time!” she says, setting it down. She lifts the lid to reveal a plate of rice and sausage. I eye it warily, wondering if I’m going to have to take more pills. As if reading my mind, she hands me the teeny paper cup.

“You’re still here,” I say, trying to stall. These pills make me feel like crap.

She smiles. “Yes. Take your pills so that you can eat before it gets cold.” I pour them into my mouth while she watches, and I take a sip of water.

“If you behave today, you may be able to go to the rec room for a while tomorrow. I know you must be itching to get out of this room.”

What constitutes behaving? So far there hasn’t been much mischief to get up to.

I eat my dinner with a plastic fork while she watches me. I must be a real delinquent if I have to be supervised during dinner.

“I’d rather use the restroom than the rec room,” I tell her.

“Eat first. I’ll be back to take you to the restroom and to have a shower.”

I feel like a prisoner rather than a patient.

“Why am I here?” I ask.

“You don’t remember?”

“Would I be asking if I remembered?” I snap. I wipe my mouth as her eyes narrow.

“Finish your food,” she says coldly.

I grow immediately angry at my situation—at the way she’s dictating every second of my life as if it’s hers to live.

I fling the plate across the room. It smashes against the wall by the television. Rice and sausage fly everywhere.

That felt good. That felt more than good. That felt like me.

I laugh then. Throw my head back and laugh. It’s a deep laugh, wicked. Oh my god! This is why I’m here. Craaaaazy.

I can see the muscles in her jaw clench. I’ve made her mad. Good. I stand up and run for a broken shard of plate. I don’t know what’s come over me, but this feels right. Defending myself feels right.

She tries to grab me, but I slip out of her grasp. I pick up a sharp piece of porcelain. What type of mental hospital gives you porcelain plates? It’s a disaster waiting to happen. I hold the shard toward her and take a step forward. “Tell me what’s going on.”

She doesn’t move. Looks quite calm, actually.

That’s when the door behind me must open, because the next thing I know there’s a sharp sting in my neck and I’m falling to the ground.

Chapter 11: Silas

I pull over on the side of the road. I grip the steering wheel, trying to calm myself down.

Everything is gone. I have no idea who took it. Someone is probably reading our letters right now. They’ll read everything we wrote to ourselves, and depending on who took it, I probably look certifiably insane.

I grab a sheet of blank paper I find in the back seat, and I begin to write things down. Anything I can remember. I’m pissed, because I can’t remember even a fraction of what was in the notes inside the backpack. Our addresses, our locker codes, our birthdays, all the names of our friends and family—I can’t remember any of it. What little I can recall, I write down. I can’t let this stop me from finding her.