a distance that shouldn’t be possible given the length of New York city blocks. From within the elevator, it’s eerie, like something out of a survival horror video game. As Manny steps out, however, something seems to swipe its way across his perception. When he blinks, the hallway light is brighter, its shadows reduced, its contrasts softened, and its faint scents—lingering food smells from someone’s dinner, dust, paint, a whiff of cat piss—sharpened. Now it’s just a hallway… but it feels safer, somehow, than it did a moment before.
Weird. Okay, then.
4J is the apartment number in his phone. Manny’s got a key tagged with the same number, but he knocks just to be polite. There’s a thump of hurried feet from beyond and then the door opens, held by a lanky Asian guy who’s got sleep lines all over one side of his face. But he brightens and spreads his arms at once. “Hey, roomie!” he says in a heavy British accent. “You made it!”
“Yeah,” Manny says, grinning awkwardly. He has no idea who this man is. “Had some, uh, some trouble on the FDR.”
“The FDR? Isn’t that on the east side of the island? Why would your cab go that way from Penn? Was the traffic that bad, after that horror show at the Williamsburg?” But the man ignores his own question in the next instant, stepping forward and grabbing Manny’s suitcase. “Here, let me. Your boxes and other suitcase all got here a few days ago.”
It’s all so normal. Inside, the apartment is enormous, with a full-sized kitchen and two bedrooms that are nicely spaced from each other—one just past the living room, the other farther down the hall, past the bathroom and a storage closet. His roommate has claimed the closer one, so Manny heads to the far end of the apartment to find a spacious room that features a full suite of bedroom furniture. Apparently pre-amnesia Manny wanted a furnished space. There aren’t any sheets on the bed, and there are dust bunnies in the corners, but it’s nice. The window displays a great view of a commercial parking lot. He loves it.
“See? Yeah?” says the roommate, watching him take it all in. “It’s a great flat, yeah? Just like the pictures I sent you.”
Pictures. He’s the kind of guy who signs a lease based on pictures. “Yeah, perfect.” But he can’t keep calling his roommate “you.” “Uh, this is embarrassing, sorry, but your name—”
The man blinks, then laughs. “Bel. Bel Nguyen? PhD candidate in political theory at Columbia, just like you? What, was the train ride that bad?”
“No. Uh—” It’s a useful excuse. He evaluates its potential benefits and decides to deploy it. “Well, yeah. I had, I don’t know, a fainting spell? When I was getting off the train. And my head’s feeling a little…” He waggles his fingers, hoping to convey confusion rather than delusion.
“Oh. Shit.” Bel looks honestly concerned for him. “You need anything? I could, uh—Maybe some good tea? I brought some from home.”
“No, no, I’m okay,” Manny says quickly, although all at once he’s not entirely sure of that. Here in this so-ordinary place, as he thinks about what happened on FDR Drive, it seems less and less possible. If he’s got amnesia, then maybe there’s something genuinely wrong with him. Maybe he’s been hit in the head. Maybe he’s got early-onset dementia. “I mean, I feel okay. But there are things I’m having trouble remembering clearly.”
“Like my name?”
Manny considers replying, No, like mine, but decides against it. Discovering that one’s roommate is actively undergoing a break with reality is high on the scale of “things one wants to learn before signing the lease.” “Among other things. So, uh, sorry in advance if I ask about things you’ve already told me. Or if I tell you things you already know. Like, uh, my nickname. Call me Manny.”
He’s braced for pushback, but Bel only shrugs. “Manny it is. You want to change your name every week, mate, whatever, as long as the rent checks clear.” He laughs at his own joke, then shakes his head and lets go of Manny’s suitcase. “Sure you don’t want that tea? It’s not a bother. Or—huh. I was thinking about going for a walk, to get the lay of the land, so to speak. Join me, yeah? Fresh air might do you good.”
It’s eminently sensible. Manny nods, and after a pause to dump his jacket and change into fresh jeans—he’s just noticed the streaks on