While I stood there, utterly lost, the passengers around me started voicing their complaints:
"Clearly this guy's got something wrong upstairs. He imagined a girlfriend who doesn't even exist, then threw a fit about it on a plane."
"Exactly. His own parents and friends all confirmed he's never had a girlfriend, and none of them have ever seen any photos. How does he have the nerve to scream about a missing girlfriend on a flight?"
"What rotten luck. It's the holidays, I'm trying to get home, and instead I'm stuck dealing with some lunatic who's completely derailed my trip."
"Just lock him up in a psychiatric facility already. Don't let him out where he can cause more trouble."
The grumbling swelled from every direction.
Captain Gray shook his head and gave the order:
"Take him to a psychiatric facility for evaluation."
Two officers stepped forward immediately, flanking me on either side, gripping my arms to escort me off the plane.
They dragged me forward, and despair crashed over me like a wave.
Was it possible that all of this really was in my head?
Was it possible that Amy Pruitt truly didn't exist?
Just as doubt was eating me alive, Bertram James suddenly turned to Melissa Cobb, his voice tight with urgency:
"Miss Cobb, do you have any idea when this plane will be cleared for takeoff again?"
"I'm a doctor. There's an emergency surgery waiting for me across state lines, and I simply cannot afford any more delays."
The words hit me like a bolt of electricity.
I wrenched free of the officers' grip and seized Bertram's hand, holding on for dear life.
"What did you just say? You're a doctor?"
Bertram stared at me, bewildered. "Yes. Why?"
That's it.
I shouted, my voice ringing through the cabin:
"I know where my girlfriend is!"
