Strange Beings

.Seven Days.

A week passed before they would let her out of her ward. She was miserable the whole way through, and never talked so much as a peep about what happened after speaking with the cops. Harry and I came in one a day, Harry in the evenings, I in morns. And Puke was always there, as if he didn't have work or classes to tend to.

Of course, on the eighth day—not knowing that they were to let her leave—I arrived to an inquisitive woman at the front desk.

"Ms. Kingston left last night, an hour after her last visitor departed," she explained in a monotone, as if she had rehearsed this line a thousand times over. "Walked out with a tall, bulky man."

I thanked the lady, then went off to attend my classes, not thinking anything of what she had said.

I texted Macy around midday, toward the end of my Music Theory class, to ask if she wanted to meet up for lunch. No response. That didn't worry me, since she had never been punctual in replying to anything on her phone.

At the end of the day, I tried calling her, but it went straight to voicemail. The sun was setting as I feasted on Ramen noodles, alone since my roommate had been out of town for a funeral.

She would have responded by now, I kept thinking. I don't know what drove me to do it, but when I had consumed the last few noodles, I slipped into my coat—the same way I had on that night eight days before—and took a stroll to her place.

I should have known something was wrong when no one answered after my first knock. Macy was punctual, and had excellent hearing. She'd have heard me when I was coming up the stairs, and been waiting for a single rap on the wood before swinging it open.

I thought she might have been napping, so I knocked again.

My phone buzzed in my pocket as I began to wonder if she was maybe bathing or taking a shower. It read, from an unknown number: Hey, it's Luke Brown, Macy's boyfriend. Has she talked to you in the past hour?

No, I was actually just knocking at her door. She hasn't come yet.

She was with me a bit ago, then just disappeared. We were at her favorite museum, the transit one.

She couldn't have gotten here in an hour, with such bad traffic this evening.

A pause, then an ellipsis that might've held an answer about her whereabouts appears.

I'm going to file a missing person report tomorrow if she isn't back around.

My phone slips from between my fingers, clatters to the floor.