Montag ran around to the back of the house, the pain coursing through his leg like a thousand electric eels. He made it around to his hiding spot. Yes! With the books in sight, he stretched out his arm to grab them, but was stopped short by a rough brown hand placed on his shoulder. He drew a shallow breath before turning to face the brave group of firemen who had effectively taken away his blowtorch. The fight was over. This was the end.
"Come with us," was all they said.
Two hours later, Montag had been flown to a psychiatric institution just out of state. Montag thought to himself, "This is it. They sent me to the loony bin, forever to be locked in a white padded room and be expected to bounce off the walls day and night." What came next was a surprise to him. As he was escorted down the long, brightly lit hallway, Montag noticed that they had entered a different wing of the institution. He continued to follow his guide to a wide metal door with a huge lock on the outside. The sign on the door read, "The Cold Room."
"This is where you'll be staying," the man barked before forcefully pushing Montag into his cell and slamming the door shut, making a heavy thudding noise as its hinges were locked.
It was dark. There were no windows, no cracks under the door, no peep hole, no light. He was in total darkness. Pained and torn, Montag fell to the floor, which was also made of a heavy, seemingly impenetrable metal. The hope had fallen from his being, lost somewhere beyond the walls of the asylum he now called home. No Mildred, no Faber, only Montag in a metal box. He was nothing more than broken glass swept away into the trash. He would not suffer for long though. He could feel his heart weakening from the pain aching through every piece of him. His head felt like it was about to explode. His last thought, "Dandelions."