All the rest of the day I barely speak. No matter how much Mack tries to talk to me, I refuse to be drawn into any conversation.

The offer of lunch doesn’t get a response. I’m too busy thinking about how I’m going to get from the bed and downstairs without breaking my neck.

Mack’s suggestion to take me to the garden tempts me for a moment. Not because I’ll be getting fresh air, but because it would make escape easier if I was already outside.

But then I catch sight of my gray duffel ...