He looked around and saw that he was in a basement. Finished. Nice enough. There was a distant familiarity to it, but no way of knowing if he’d been there before. The space was one large area with tiled floors. A sofa, television, and coffee table created a living room, while a bed, dresser, nightstand, and full-length mirror made up the bedroom portion on the opposite side. A small refrigerator had been placed up on a crate next to the television, perhaps to make it easy for him to access while in the wheelchair. It was the right height.
James wheeled himself past the couch and stopped at the base of three windows lined side by side near the top of the wall, directly across from a step up that continued down a corridor that he knew led to a set of hurricane doors, then outside. The height of the windows made it impossible for him to see out, but he could hear the hustle and bustle of the city and knew he was on Manhattan. The horns. The traffic. The shouting. The sirens in the distance. That noise was unique, like a particular song that could never be replicated and couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. He loved the city. It felt good to be there again.
A single flight of stairs sat in the middle of the room, reaching up to what must have been the rest of the house. His house? Someone else’s house? He couldn’t recall. Detergent. He needed to get detergent. He couldn’t wash the clothes without it.
James slowly spun around in the chair when he heard the door open at the top of the stairs. He saw boots first, small and clean. Then jeans, a red sweater, and finally a face he thought he recognized but couldn’t be sure.
The woman looked to be in her forties. She was pretty, with pale skin and brown hair that held tight curls. He could see her blue eyes from across the room and took notice of her full lips. No makeup. She smiled when she saw him.
“I know you,” James whispered, more to himself than her. “I know your face. I’ve seen it before.”
The woman was carrying a tray of food and placed it on the coffee table. She stood straight and looked at him, her smile never fading. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
“We need detergent. I can’t do the laundry without detergent.”
“You don’t do the laundry. That’s my job.”
“No,” he replied, head shaking. Why couldn’t she understand? “I’m not asking you to do the laundry. I’m telling you we need detergent.”
“Okay, I’ll get some.”
“Good.”
The woman waited. “Can you tell me where you are?”
He thought for a moment, looking around the room. “I’m in the city.”
“But what is this place?”
“A basement. My room.”
“Very good. And where is that?”
The fog was thick. He tried to work his way through it, following her questions, then losing them in the white blanket of nothingness. “I need detergent.”
The woman nodded, the smile fading just a bit. “Look at me.”
He did.
“What’s my name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think. Try and remember.”
“I can’t do the laundry with just water.”
“Okay. Can you tell me your name?”
He gripped the armrests on his chair, looking away from the woman, embarrassed, ashamed. “Why are you making me do this?”
“Come on, tell me your name.”
“James,” he grumbled. He could feel his face flush.
“Good. And what’s my name?”
“I don’t know! Bitch! How about your name is Bitch? I need to wash the clothes!”
The quick outburst brought the room to a silence. The woman walked past the coffee table and placed her hand on his. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “I’m not here to make you angry. I just need to know where you are today.”
“What do you mean where I am? I’m right here! In this . . . basement.”
“I need to know how thick the fog is.”
He stared at a woman who was both a stranger and someone he was certain understood him in a way others couldn’t. “You know about the fog?”
“Sure.”
He sat helpless as she pushed him over to the edge of the coffee table and sat on the couch. Dammit, he knew that face. Knew the smile and the voice. He just couldn’t remember her name.
“We’re going to eat now,” the woman said. She unrolled a fork and spoon from a napkin and placed them next to his plate of chicken and rice. “My name is Cindy.”
“Are you my daughter?”
“I heard you talking down here.”
“We ran out of detergent. Will you get me some?”
“I will, but first you need to tell me who you were talking to.”
“No one.”
“I think I know who it was.” The woman leaned in. “Did the ghosts come back?”
“How do you know about the ghosts?” James asked.
The woman scooped a forkful of rice and fed him. “You’ve told me about them. They come around whenever you’re having an episode.”
“When the fog is thick.”
“That’s right.” She placed the fork down on the plate. “Who were they? The ghosts.”
“A boy and a girl.”
“You said sometimes they come to scare you. Why would the ghosts want to scare you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you sure about that? Think for a minute. Why would they want to scare you?”
“The detergent. We need some.”
Cindy sighed and took two pills that were sitting on the edge of the tray. She handed them over.
“What are these?”
“Donepezil. It’s for the Alzheimer’s.”
The word hung in the air between them. Alzheimer’s. He wondered how many times she’d had to tell him about it. He was confused, the fog thick, his general recognition of things cloudy, like a rambling story without any real detail.
“How long?”
The woman looked away. “Too long. A few years now. Started with little things. Misplacing your keys. Forgetting where you put your phone. Not being able to follow your shows on TV. It got worse over time. You’d leave the house and forget where you were going. Then you started forgetting how to get home.”
The old man scanned the room again. It was as if he were looking at it for the first time. “My name is James.”
“That’s right. James Darville. And I’m Cindy.”
“How many times have you had to tell me that?”
“Enough.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. Come on now, eat.”
James leaned his head forward as Cindy brought the fork up to him again. He took a bite and fell back against the wheelchair. “Am I married?”
“No.”
“So how did I get you?”
Cindy smiled and pushed the chicken into a pile on the plate.
“I need to get to the store,” he added. “I’m trying to do the laundry, but we’re out of detergent.”
“I’ll get you your detergent.”
James nodded and chewed his food. He took a sip of water from the bottle the woman had given him. “Those ghosts are real,” he said. “They watch me, and I don’t like it.”