by Amy Cross
"No," I reply. "That's not mine."
He runs a finger along the top of the cabinet, and then he comes over and shows me the thick layer of dust that has accumulated on his fingertip. "This is not an apartment that has recently been changed in any way," he says firmly, before leaning down and moving the cabinet slightly to reveal a firm indentation in the carpet. "Do you see what I'm trying to show you?" he continues. "No-one's been moving stuff in or out of this place today. Hell, I don't think anyone's been moving anything in or out for months. It's clear to me that Mr. and Mrs. Albers are the tenants of this apartment, and that they've been here for a long time, which means that you most certainly do not have any right to be here."
"We don't want to press charges," Mr. Albers says. "We just want to get her out of here and make sure she doesn't come back. She's lucky I didn't shoot her when I heard someone moving around through here."
"Here's your key back," the officer says, passing the key to him.
"That's mine!" I blurt out.
"No," the officer continues, turning to me. "It really isn't. Now, Ms. Jones, you have to decide what you want to do. If you really want to press this matter, we can make some more inquiries and get Mr. Hermanetti to come down and confirm that Mr. and Mrs. Albers are his tenants. Alternatively, you can accept the situation and leave with me. If you want to come down to the station, we can start working out where you really live."
"Am I under arrest?" I ask.
"Are you under arrest?" He pauses. "No, Ms. Jones, you're not, but I'm concerned about you. It's clear to me that you genuinely believe that this is your apartment, which makes me wonder if maybe you need some help." He stares at me for a moment, as if he's waiting for me to say something. "If you walk out of here," he continues, "where are you going to go?"
"Home," I say.
"And where's that?"
I open my mouth to reply, but finally I realize that I'm already home, except that apparently now it belongs to someone else. This morning, I had an apartment and a job, and now I have neither. Taking a deep breath and forcing myself to remain calm, I try to work out what the hell is happening here. The last thing I want to do is tell the officer all about my day. He'd probably decide that I'm insane, and I could even end up being hauled off to some kind of mental institution. Maybe that's what I need, but for now I figure I'll just find somewhere quiet and work out exactly what's happening.
"Ms. Jones?" the officer continues. "Can you tell me where you'd go if you walked out of here right now?"
"I don't know," I mutter. "I guess I'd go and get a coffee and... try to work out what I should do next. I mean..." My voice trails off as I realize that I've got no better options.
"So you don't have a home address?"
"Of course I do!" I reply, shocked at the suggestion. "Look at me! Do I look like I'm homeless?"
"Then where do you live?"
"I..." Taking a deep breath, I realize that there's no way I can answer his question.
"I'm reluctant to let you just leave," the officer says. "For one thing, I need to know how to find you again. For another, I'm worried about your wellbeing."
"But I'm not under arrest," I continue. "Am I? You said it yourself. I'm not being arrested."
"No, you're not, but -"
"Then I'll leave," I say, figuring that my only option is to go and take a moment to figure out the truth. "It's okay," I add, "I won't bother these people again. Like you said, it's just a big misunderstanding, and I've clearly got things wrong in my head. I'm sure I'll feel okay in a few hours. I just need to get my head together. Maybe I haven't been sleeping properly. If I just go home and get some rest, everything'll be okay in the morning."
"Have you been drinking?" the officer asks.
I shake my head.
"Any other substances?" he continues. "Have you been in a bar tonight, or any other situation where someone might have been able to slip a substance into your drink?"
I shake my head.
"Is there any history of mental instability in your family?"
Again, I shake my head.
"You've got to help me out here, Ms. Jones. Right now, none of this is making any sense to me."
"I'm absolutely fine," I say, heading over to the door. "You know what?" I add, turning back to him. "Come to think of it, I have been drinking. That's probably what this is all about. I guess I just went a little crazy and got confused, and now here I am, at the wrong apartment building or something." I pause, and it's clear from the look on the officer's face that he's not convinced. "I won't bother anyone again. I'm sorry. This is just... It's been a weird day, and I guess I got confused. I must have picked the wrong building. I mean, it happens to us all, right? Sometimes?"
"I still want to know where you got that key," the officer says. "I'm gonna need a name and address from you before I let you go. Do you have any I.D. on you at all?"
A few minutes later, having given him my driving license, I wait out in the hallway while he phones through to confirm the details. Right now, I swear to God, my head is spinning and I just want to be alone so I can work out what to do next. I've got a horrible suspicion that the details from my license won't match up to the database, since that's how the day seems to be going in general. Sure enough, after a couple of minutes, I hear the officer asking the person on the other end of the phone to double-check, and moments later his tone changes, as if he's decided that he has to take this entire situation more seriously. I freeze as I listen to the conversation, and it occurs to me that I'm about to be taken to the station. The last thing I want is to get deeper into trouble, and there's a part of me that wants to turn and run. Then again, I figure I have to trust in the system to sort this out. After all, I definitely still exist, so whatever's going on, it will get fixed.
"Ms. Jones," the officer says, coming out into the corridor, "I'm going to need you to come with me. I can't confirm the details on this I.D. and given that you had a key to this family's apartment, I'm afraid I can't ignore what's happening here." He pauses for a moment. "I'd prefer it if you'd come with me voluntarily, but I'm willing to arrest you if necessary. It's for your own benefit as much as anything else."
"No," I reply, trying not to let him see that I'm close to a complete nervous breakdown, "it's fine. I want to get this sorted out. I'll come with you."
"You still believe this is your apartment, don't you?" he says as he leads me toward the stairs. "That I.D. you gave me... You think it's genuine, huh?"
"I remember living there," I tell him. "I guess you think I'm insane."
"I think maybe you need some help," he replies. "We'll see if we can get that help for you."
When we reach the sidewalk outside the building, he excuses himself for a moment and heads back inside, claiming that he needs to double-check a few details with the occupants. Taking a deep breath, I wander over to the police car that's parked nearby and I look up at the night sky. It's at times like this that I find myself wishing that I had some family living nearby. If my parents were within driving distance, I could just get the officer to drive me to their home. Instead, I'm basically alone in the city, with few friends and no family. I've already tried to contact my mother and father by phone, but there seems to be something wrong with the network. Still, whatever's happening, I'm sure I can get it sorted out at the police station. Someone has to be doing this to me deliberately. Either that, or I've genuinely lost my mind.
"Let's get this over with," I say a few minutes later, as the officer comes down the steps from the front door of the building.
"What's that, M'am?" he asks as he reaches his car.
"You've got to have records, right?" I continue. "I mean, I can't have just vanished completely. There's got to be a way to sort this out."
He stares at me for a moment. "I'm sorry," he says eventually, "I'm not sure I follow."
"I just don't..." Feeling tears welling up in my eyes again, I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. I hate the fact that I cry so
easily when I'm stressed. "I feel like something really weird is happening," I continue, my voice sounding a little frail, "and I just want to sort it out as fast as possible."
"I don't understand," he says, glancing over his shoulder for a moment, as if he expects there to be someone behind him. "Is there a problem?" he asks as he turns back to me.
"I think so," I reply. "Don't you?"
He pauses. "M'am, are you okay?"
"Shouldn't we get going?" I ask him.
"Going where?"
"To the station."
He frowns. "Why do you want to go to the station?"
"You said you wanted me to come down there with you," I reply, starting to feel a nervous, gnawing sensation in the pit of my stomach. "After what happened in the apartment, you said I had to come with you."
"I said that?" he asks.
"Of course," I reply, "don't you remember? You..." I take another deep breath, but I can't control the feeling of panic that's spreading through my body. "You remember talking to me, don't you?"
"I'm sorry," he replies, with a concerned look in his eyes, "but I don't recall seeing you before. When was this conversation?"
"Just now," I tell him. "Five, ten minutes ago. We were in my apartment, or the apartment that those people claim is theirs, and you wanted to know how I got the key. You checked my I.D. and it wasn't in the system." I wait for him to reply, but he seems confused. "You told me to wait right here," I continue, "while you went back inside to check something."
He stares at me for a moment. "M'am, I'm here after a call about a domestic dispute. I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."
I take a deep breath, and slowly it dawns on me that there's no point trying to explain any further. Whatever's happening here, it's way, way bigger than I'd realized. Either the entire world is rearranging itself around me, or I'm losing my mind.
"Never mind," I say, turning and walking quickly away.
"M'am!" he calls after me. "Are you okay?"
I hurry around the next corner, desperately hoping that he's not following me. After a few meters, I glance over my shoulder and see to my immense relief that there's no sign of him. I keep walking, determined to get away from here and find somewhere I can just sit and think for a moment. There has to be an explanation for all of this. People don't just cease to exist like this, and I'm fairly sure I'm not the kind of person who'd suddenly flip and go crazy. When I reach the entrance to a subway station, I pause for a moment and try to work out if there's anywhere I can go that might help. Finally, I decide that my only option is to go back to John Lydecker's apartment and hope that there's some kind of clue. Taking the train, I finally emerge at the edge of Battery Park and hurry into Lydecker's building. When I get to his door, I knock and wait, but I already know that there won't be an answer.
"Mr. Lydecker?" I call out, trying not to sound as if I'm on the verge of tears. "Are you in there? Mr. Lydecker, please, I need to talk to you! It's Caroline Jones from the office!"
Silence.
"Open this goddamn door!" I shout, before realizing that I'm in danger of losing my mind. "Please," I continue, lowering my voice, "just answer the door!"
No reply.
"Fuck!" I mutter, leaning forward and resting my forehead against the door. I feel as if I'm lost, cut off from my life and from the real world. There has to be a solution, and a way out of this mess, but right now I don't see it. The only possible explanation that makes sense is that maybe I've got some kind of serious brain injury. Is it possible that I've got a brain tumor, and it's causing me to imagine all this crazy stuff? As hard as that might be to believe, it's literally the only thing that even remotely makes sense, and I figure that when all the impossible stuff has been discounted, what's left - however insane or unlikely it might seem - has to be the truth.
Finally, realizing that there's no point spending all night in the corridor, I try to open the door to Lydecker's apartment, only to find that it must have automatically locked after we left earlier. I make a couple of half-hearted attempts to break it down with my shoulder, but finally I trudge back along the corridor. I don't know where I'm going, but I figure my best bet is just to go and sit in the park and hope to hell that my head clears.
When I emerge from the building, I cross the road and start walking toward Battery Park. After a moment, however, I notice that the coffee shop from earlier is still open, and as I glance through the window, I see to my shock that Reed Williams is sitting at the same table as earlier. I stop dead in my tracks and stare at him for a moment, until he happens to look over and we make eye contact. To my immense, overwhelming relief, it's immediately clear that he recognizes me, and he hurries over to the door, finally coming out to meet me on the sidewalk.
"You're here!" he says, looking shocked. "I'd almost given up!"
"You remember me?" I ask, the words sounding strange and crazy coming from my mouth.
He nods. "And you remember me?"
"Of course," I say, "but something's wrong. Something's totally wrong with my life."
"Tell me about it," he says cautiously. "I swear to God, I don't know what's happening, but it's as if I've suddenly stopped existing altogether. It's like -" He looks past me, as something catches his attention.
Turning, I see that Chloe is running toward us with tears running down her eyes. Whatever's happening here, it's clear that I'm not the only victim. The three of us are in this together.
Part Two
The Station
Dr. Stef Grant
Today
The storm moves in just after dusk, and by nightfall the whole city seems to be under siege. High winds sweep in from the south-west, buffeting the trees that line the front of the park and sending rain almost horizontally across the grass. I've been in storm before, of course, but this time there are two crucial differences: first, there are no lights, so everything is pitch-black; and second, there's nowhere to hide, nowhere to shelter. There's just the storm, raging all around in the dark.
"We should go back inland!" I shout, even though I know my voice probably can't be heard over the howling wind. Having taken cover behind a section of solid wall by the waterfront, I'm not even sure where Cooper and Lacey have got to, but I'm assuming they must be close. "Cooper!" I shout. "Can you hear me?"
I wait, but the storm is too strong. After a moment, I hear a loud banging sound, followed by some kind of scraping, and then a loud impact. In the dark, it's impossible to know what just happened, but I can only assume that one of the nearby benches must have been ripped from the ground and sent clattering across the grass. Hopefully Cooper and Lacey were well out of its way, because in a storm like this, a direct hit could be fatal. Even now, I can hear a loud splitting sound, as if one of the nearby trees has been torn from its roots.
Taking a deep breath, I try to get closer to the wall, hoping to avoid the worst of the rain. I don't dare to imagine how the boat is managing out there, but unless Sutton got to safe harbor, I doubt he's got much chance. If the boat's gone forever, I'm not sure how we're ever going to get out of here.
"Stef!" a male voice calls out suddenly, sounding distant and barely audible over the swirl of the wind and rain. It's barely recognizable as Cooper, but I can just about make out his familiar tones. "Stef!" he calls again. "Can you hear me?"
"I'm over here!" I yell.
"Stef!" he shouts yet again. "Are you out there?"
Realizing that he can't hear me, I decide to save my energy. Curling tighter and tighter into a ball, I wait for the storm to pass. For several hours, the situation seems to get worse and worse, to the extent that I can't help wondering if the concrete wall might give way. My other concern is that this storm might in some way be connected to the craziness that's been happening lately. After all, it seems like something of a coincidence that this would happen so soon after the entire population of New York - hell, the entire population of the United States - simply vanished. I can't imagine a connection right now, but I
guess it's possible.
Eventually, just when it seems as if things can't possibly get any worse, the storm starts to die down. I have no idea what time it is, but the park is still pitch black even though the wind and rain are finally abating. Once things have died down to a steady drizzle, I get to my feet and start walking across the park. The grass is soft and muddy under my feet, and a gap in the clouds is finally allowing the moon to shine through, casting an eerie glow on the dark, distant skyscrapers. For a moment, I'm transfixed by the image of New York as a ghost city, with the skyscrapers rising up like huge, mournful tombstones.
"Cooper!" I shout. "Lacey! Where are you?"
No reply.
"Cooper!" I shout again, before stopping and listening out for even the faintest sign that he's somewhere nearby. Although I don't want to admit it to myself just yet, I guess there's a chance that he could have been injured - or worse - during the storm. Hearing a rumble of thunder in the distance, I turn and see that lightning is flashing on the horizon, and with the way the wind is moving, it's clear that there's more bad weather headed straight for us. If this keeps up, we've got no chance of survival unless we take cover.
"Cooper!" I scream, turning and stumbling across the mulchy grass. "Lacey! Come on, one of you, answer me! Please!" I pause, trying not to panic even though I'm becoming more and more convinced that I might be alone out here. If they've been hurt, or worse, I have no idea how I'm going to keep going. "Someone!" I shout.
I wait.
"Over here!" a voice calls out after a moment, and with a huge sense of relief I realize that Cooper's alive. Hurrying in the direction from which the voice came, I soon spot him in the moonlight, huddled under a tree with Lacey at his side.
"We need to get under cover!" I shout as I reach them.